The Very Belated 2023 Awards!
Ha! I bet you fuckers thought I’d forgotten about the End of Year Round-up from 2023. Nope! I was just lulling you into a false sense of security. As though I’d miss the opportunity to take a massive, steaming shit on an entire year’s worth of human culture. So, what can we say about 2023? It definitely fucking happened, we know that much. But was it good? Was it bad? Was it a little bit of both? We know from my previous blogs that it produced some real cinematic and televisual gems, but are these a sign of culture self-correcting after the wilderness years or just aberrations bobbing about in the usual sea of viscous dreck? Well, 2023 is dead now, so if we want to find out, the only way is to split open its bloated carcass and start rummaging around in a bleak parody of the autopsy process. As always, I’ll be handing out gongs to things, artefacts and events from 2023 itself, but also just to shit I discovered in the relevant year. Here we fucking goooooooo!
The Birthday Cake Full of Puppies Award for Loveliest Surprise… … Goes, jointly, to Wild Blue Yonder and The Giggle, the two Doctor Who specials that weren’t the fucking Star Beast. See, after The Star Beast, I was thoroughly disappointed. A virtue-signalling, nonsensical mess that, while briefly entertaining, failed miserably to reach the giddy heights of Russel T. Davies’ initial run on the show and desperately needed a strong editorial hand to stop characters repeating themselves or needlessly referencing the hot pile of garbage that was the Chibnall era. I wasn’t expecting great things from the two follow-ups and only really watched them because I thought RTD had earned himself more than one chance to impress me. And whaddaya know? We got two fucking perfect Who episodes- one a big, genuinely unsettling slice of cosmic horror and one a bombastic, energetic extravaganza that resurrected a lot of fan-favourite characters, introduced a new threat for the upcoming Gatwa-era and just generally fucking rocked. Yes, I know the Xmas Special that followed was a bit crap (nautical-punk Goblins in Doctor Who? Piss off.), but it’s not fair to judge any season of Who on its associated Xmas Special, so we’re just going to let that slide.
The Throwing Keanu Reeves Down a Lot of Stairs Award… … Goes to John Wick 4, which threw Keanu Reeves down a lot of stairs. And was also a very good movie. But mainly this award is about the stairs.
The Blind Archer Award for Missing the Cocking Point… … Goes to the whole bloody stupid debate around A.I., which is broadly divided into two equally slappable camps. In the Soulless Silicone Silver corner, we have a bunch of hooting tech bros who think that they’ve invented a tool that obviates the need for talent and spirit and artistic vision because it (technically) allows any yeehaw with an internet connection to vomit out ill-conceived content ordered up from a computer terminal like the intellectual equivalent of an underwhelming drive-thru burger. Meanwhile, in the drippy, wishy-washy grey no-colour corner, we have a swarm of whiny, for-profit ‘creatives’ (and I use that word with enough sarcasm to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool), terrified that their soulless, talentless content will be replaced by the equally soulless, talentless content of fucking Skynet, thereby doing them out of a revenue stream they don’t bloody deserve. Nobody seems to be talking about how the new technology can be leveraged to create actual, meaningful art, not just content. Case in point, I’ve always fancied creating a TV series or film, but I don’t know any actors and can’t afford to pay professionals, nor can I afford the filming equipment and green-screen studio rental I’d need to bring one of my sci-fi or fantasy concepts to life. AI allows for the creation of virtual environments and actors based on original ideas, sketches and descriptions plugged into machine-learning-guided rendering software. These can then be assembled using a human-provided script (mine, duh) to create footage which can be edited into something cogent and compelling. It’s a terrific amount of work involving a wildly steep learning curve, but it’s an example of how AI allows working class creators without the resources of our middle-class wanker peers a way into visual mediums that we simply haven’t been able to access or utilise. Incidentally, I hope to start uploading short films made using this method sometime in the next month or two. Pluuuuuuuug!
The Award for Special Services to Doom… … Goes to the impending collapse of AMOC (or Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation), which includes part of the Gulf Stream and several other important ocean currents. It’s due to cease functioning within the next 100 years due to man-made climate change, most probably by the year 2100, when many of us will still be alive (albeit old as balls). Once it goes, the northern hemisphere will become colder, making agriculture functionally impossible in parts of Europe; the ocean-level will rise up to a meter in some places, drowning many coastal cities; the wet and dry season of at least one rainforest will flip, with the result that said rainforest may die, unable to adapt quick enough, which would make climate change even more extreme. Basically, if you’re rooting for the collapse of civilisation in the not-too-distant future, you can start polishing your Mad Max cosplay outfits, because shit’s about to go doooooown, boi! I mean, unless governments actually listen to climate scientists for a change and somehow avert this looming catastrophe. Ha! Yeah. Dream on.
The Lex Luthor Award For Pure Fucking Evil... … Goes, once again, to the Tories, who are always evil, but seemed to make a special effort to ruin everything for everyone forever in 2023. Aside from engineering a decline in the NHS so severe that people with agonising mouth infections can’t access dentists at short notice, they also tried to pass a bill that would allow them to monitor the bank accounts of people on benefits as a matter of course and continued to allow the dumping of waste directly into the sea, turning the coast of Blackpool brown with human excrement (it was, of course, they who repealed the environmental protection laws that used to make this sort of thing illegal). You really couldn’t make these people up. It’s like someone drew the word ‘CUNT’ on a whiteboard and then got a whole room full of cunt-experts to make a mind-map around it. Then they loaded the results into ChatGPT and the result was the Tory Party of Great Britain.
The Confused Mountaineer Award for Picking the Wrong Hill to Die On… … Goes to Disney, which spent 2023 losing money hand over fist. Even when its films and telly shows technically made some money, they represented such a reduction in the value of the associated IP that the company might as well have time travelled into the future, stolen all its own shares, and flushed them down a giant toilet. Obviously, I hate Disney and I’ve always hated them- I didn’t just jump on the band-wagon when the Internet collectively realised they were a bunch of tossers. I’ve hated them steadily and continually for most of my life for the very simple reason that they use fucking slave-labour. Their merch is made in fucking sweat-shops! Which is why it’s particularly hilarious that their loss of relevance as a producer of culture owes so much to their flimsy pretence at wokeness (which manifested itself as a series of interchangeable, tedious girl-bosses photoshopped inexpertly into franchises like Star Wars and Marvel whose profitability largely came from grumpy nerds who were never going to fall for that shit). Shoulda stuck to making family films for people with very low expectations, Disno! It’s what you’re good at! And yes, this award does only exist so I can laugh at the slow death-by-a-thousand-cuts of some dipshits I dislike. It’s just so fucking dumb! Like, these are people who regard anyone from a developing nation as a disposable component in a big machine for making underwhelming crap- an interchangeable cog to be instrumentalised and dehumanised until death. And yet the hill they chose to fucking die on was pretending to give a shit about inclusivity. Yeah. Disney are real fucking inclusive… they want everyone to buy their ill-conceived swill, not just pasty, dick-owning Americans. Brilliantly, in their mad scrabble for new audiences, they seem to have lost the one they had… while utterly failing to convince anyone else to jump on board. Because, let’s be honest, if you want to watch a film about the black experience in the US or about smashing the patriarchy, you’re probably going to go to Jordan Peele or re-watch The Perfection (not just a great feminist film, by the way, but a fucking balls-to-the-wall brilliant film full stop). You’re probably not going to rely on a string of bland, cookie-cutter studios owned and operated by the arsewipes still desperately still trying to wring the last few pennies out of pissing Star Wars.
The Greatest Sentence I’ve Heard All Year Award… … Goes to my wife, who recently went to see that Barbie movie that people inexplicably decided to shove in the same bracket as Oppenheimer. I don’t really object to the existence of this flick in and of itself, because it’s not really taking anything away from me- it’s just not for me, and that’s fine. Obvs, I did think it was slightly icky that Matel were putting so much effort into re-framing their plastic Anorexia Generator as a feminist icon and it was super weird that the message it ultimately lands on is ‘sex-based oppression is fine if you gender-flip it’, but I don’t have to care so, for the most part, I don’t. I certainly didn’t have any problem with my missus taking her daughter from a previous relationship and her/our kinda-sorta adopted daughter to see it. Because I’m not a sack of shit who demands that other peoples tastes precisely match my own. However, I really didn’t like the hype around the movie. I don’t like brightly-coloured, disposable dreck that only exists to sell toys giving itself airs and graces, especially not when that means 1-for-1 comparisons to, say, a really important film about the invention of the nuclear bomb and the political scheming and manoeuvring that surrounded it. Which brings us to the Greatest Sentence I’ve Heard All Year. After returning home from her cinematic excursion, my wife had this to say about Barbie: “I don’t understand what all the fuss was about- it was a pile of shit, really.” Bonus points for the fact that she still quite enjoyed it and this wonderful piece of commentary was delivered, in musing tones, as an assessment of its objective merits rather than a statement of personal preference. I married the right woman.
The Circus Midget Genocide Award for Gratuitous Punching Down... … Goes to the song ‘What Have We Become’ by Paul Heaton, who I usually like. The Beautiful South are one of my favourite bands (despite the fact they no longer exist), but ‘What Have We Become’, one of Heaton’s subsequent solo efforts, makes me genuinely uncomfortable. In tackling the Americanisation of British culture (which I agree is a problem), Heaton seems to take aim as much at the ordinary folks on the receiving end of this neo-colonialism as at the phenomenon itself. I don’t think that whether or not something ‘punches down’ is a meaningful criticism relating to a cultural artefact’s artistic merit. Sometimes, it’s necessary to call out the bumbling normal on their slack-jawed bullshit. But this just feels mean-spirited and indiscriminate. Yeah, Heaton, people enjoy the convenience of US-style fast-food chains and, as a country, we’re probably a bit addicted to the cult of needless enthusiasm that started in the States, but I’ve never met anyone whose more of a miserable cunt for eating a takeout pizza while watching a happy-go-lucky comedy like My Name is Earl, so maybe get off your high horse for a minute. Your music’s great for the most part, but I think I can answer the question ‘What Have We Become?’ based purely on the song itself. A prick. You’ve become a prick.
The Pluggity McPlugface Aware for Most Exciting New Press… ... Goes to X Press, which is technically the new fiction imprint of Poetry Bus Press, I think. They’re still getting established and the name is subject to change, but I met the couple behind it at this year’s T.S. Elliot Prize and… er… okay, this is the bit where I have to admit I have a horse in this race. See, the reason I’m so excited by this new press getting off the ground is that I’m kinda the reason it exists. I pitched the publishers a sci-fi novel I had loaded and ready to fire off, not really expecting anything to come of it since they’ve only done poetry collections before. But hey, it’s not every day you meet someone in the publishing world while surrounded by gold-leafed rococo architecture and canapés, so I felt I had to go for it. Anyway, just a couple of months later, they’re putting together a whole new imprint and my novel, Warning: Infohazard is going to be first thing to roll out of it! So yeah… I’m chuffed about that. Stay tuned for further updates.
The Nick Clegg Award for Accomplishing the Square Root of Fuck All… … Goes to the AGA and WGA strikes that swept through Hollywood like a damp breeze this year. I’m usually on the side of striking workers, even when I’m being personally inconvenienced. Tell me the bus drivers are going on strike and, even if I need to catch a bus that day, I’ll pretty much root for them to win the battle- the poor fuckers are woefully underpaid for a tedious and demanding job. Teachers’ strike? Abso-fucking-lutely: these people work hard to ensure the next generation actually know things and deserve far more respect and accolades than they’re accorded (except the fuckers who worked at Marpool Primary during the 90s- those loathsome reptiles can choke on dick for all I care). NHS Doctors and nurses? Yup: they literally save lives and we, as a culture, still fail to give them their due. Dustbin men? Fuck yeah. Warehouse workers? Definitely (if anyone ever lets the poor fucks unionise). You get the idea. But I have my doubts about the Hollywood Writers and Actors Guilds mob. At the end of the day, even the working schlubs of Tinsel Town mostly deserve a thick ear more than a raise. We’re talking about people who drive past Skid Row (the most impoverished ghetto in the States, the lives of whose citizens they could actually improve) on their way to work, then get there and, as part of their social media management, tweet a load of shite about the Cause of the Week in order to look switched on and progressive. We’re talking about people who will do long-winded interviews about how important their casting or hiring is for the direction of our society while, two blocks away, a homeless dude overdoses on smack because it’s slightly quicker than starving to death.We’re talking about people who sold out their souls to a studio system that only wants and only seeks to produce derivative dreck when it was paying them well and only seem to have noticed it’s fucking them in the arse with a strap-on the size of the Empire State Building now that it’s no longer scattering coins in front of them. Of course, there are good, honest people working in La La Land who absolutely don’t deserve the fucking the studio system is giving them and who don’t walk around thinking they’re Zod’s Gift to the Enlightenment, and- for their sake- one slightly wants the strikes to succeed. The problem is that it’s very hard to spot them, obscured as they are by an ocean of absolute raging bell-ends. All of which is slightly by the by, because this award isn’t about whether the strikes deserve to succeed… it’s about the fact they made no appreciable difference to the media landscape of 2023 whatsoever. We still got Oppenheimer; we still got John Wick 4; we still got Luther: the Fallen Sun over on Netflix; we still got that unexpectedly fucking delightful Slumberland thing and a whole raft of really excellent, joyous family films; we still got some pretty ace telly. Basically, the only thing there seemed to be less of was absolute shit-swill, but it’d be a poor lookout for the strikers if that was their doing and not just a statistical anomaly. Imagine that on a placard: “We fucked off and culture improved by 150%!” So yeah: sorry WGA and AGA- as much as my socialist principles want any strike against a large, corrupt corporate system to succeed, you’re just not very sympathetic and you’ve done the square root of fuck all to help yourselves here.
The Special Award for Unbridled Excellence... … Goes to What We Do in the Shadows (the TV series- there was also a movie that was pretty good, but that came out ages ago). Technically, the telly series started in 2019, but it was still going in 2023 and that’s the year I finally got around to watching it, so I think I can justifiably slap it on this list. A mockumentary about three vampires, an energy vampire and a familiar flat-sharing on Staten Island, its one of the most hilarious, off-beat, filthy, brilliant things I’ve seen in years. It’s also surprisingly well-meaning and, mixed in with all the really, really funny jokes (which I’m not going to spoil), the violence and the gratuitous fucking, there are some genuinely sweet, heartfelt moments about found family, the bonds of love and friendship and the redemptive qualities that can sometimes surprise us in the darkest of people and places. I’m not saying it’s high art or anything like that- it’s as daft as a brush and any stab it takes at greater, more grandiose meaning is somewhat undercut by all the other shit that happens in it, but it is one of the most entertaining things on telly and deserves your attention. Just don’t tell the normals, they’ll only fucking ruin it like everything else. Let’s keep this one just for us freaks, okay?
The Smurf Viagra Award for Bluest Balls... … Goes to Dune: Part 2, which was supposed to come out in ‘23 and didn’t. Which is a shame because it the first part was a fucking banger. Maybe we could credit its delay to the writers’ and actors’ strike? I mean, that probably had nothing to do with it, but it’s important to boost the self-esteem of the simpler members of the international community. Great job, guys! You got one!
So that was 2023, then: a year of malice and incompetence just barely redeemed by a few shining cultural gems. Now we’re two months into 2024, and it’s time to look forward before we collide with a brick wall. Until next time, I’ve been Secret-Diary and you haven’t. Bye-bye.