Monday, May 05, 2003

BBC3's The Bachelor is over - and the final rose was given to the Geordie Psychologist (that's what I was 10 years ago) so I was rather pleased. The rejected girls also got to "have their say" about the whole experience - there was plenty of bitching, recriminations and bitterness-disguised-as-morality on display. The whole format of the show is to encourage a guy to date lots of women at once, so there's not much point in calling him a slapper afterwards if he doesn't pick you. And why did these so-wronged ladies get involved in the show in the first place? The free holiday to Barbados maybe? The chance to get famous? Or to hook an former male model with his own business and defined abs? Not very noble motives.

Speaking of defined abs, I've been ordering films at like they were going out of style. Psycho Beach Party (a camp parody on old 50s beach party movies) had its moments, many of them featuring the rather well-developed Andrew Levitas and Nick Cornish engaged in a lot of not-strictly-necessary homoerotic wrestling.

Hollywood Horror House was another take on the Whatever Happened to Baby Jane/Sunset Boulevard genre - with Miriam Hopkins playing the old movie star hag, holed up in her old mansion with a handful of servants. More nihilistic and rambling than most, the best part was when she crashes a 1970s psychedelic party, complete with a midget drug pusher. But on the whole, this one will be consigned to "What was I thinking?"

Far more interesting was an early Rita Tushingham and Lynne Redgrave film called "The Girl With the Green Eyes". Being a fan of "Smashing Time" - the musical written by George Mellie where the pair take on Swinging 60s London, I wanted to see whether this earlier film bore any resemblance to Smashing Time's camp-fest. However, it turned out to be kitchen-sink rather than kitsch-in-sync (see what I did there!) But once I got past the fake Irish accents, I really enjoyed it - gauche Tushingham has an affair with a cultured older man - while gigantic Redgrave chatters about nothing incessantly in that fascinating way to anyone who'll listen. I want 1960s Lynne Redgrave as my best friend.

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