The Night Watch

Written for TV Pixie

Yesterday’s adaptation of Sarah Waters’ 2006 novel, The Night Watch, will have ticked a lot of reliable ratings-grabbing boxes.

BBC television version of a popular modern classic, yes; World War Two, yes; Romance, yes; Lesbians, yes; Lesbians with no tops on having sex with other lesbians with no tops on, god yes.

Waters’ winning combination of literary panache and twisting plotlines has allowed her to jump into the best-sellers list from the ‘gay literature’ shelf at Waterstones, and her books (most notably Tipping the Velvet) have a good track record of successfully entertaining a mass television audience. However, The Night Watch is a 500-page novel, and a 90-minute adaptation was always going to be a difficult trick to pull off.

Were the BBC successful? Sitting happily on my fence, I say yes and no.

The hook of the book is that the story runs backwards - it is split into three parts, starting in 1947, travelling back to 1944 and then onto the conclusion/beginning in 1941. While this might sound pointlessly tricksy, in practice it works brilliantly, unfolding the story while also letting the audience know what happens to the characters at the end, thereby giving some real pathos to moments which should be uplifting. As the voiceover rightly tells us “The secret to a happy ending is knowing where to finish the story”.

Refreshingly, the writers have assumed a certain level of intelligence from their audience and the programme jumps straight into the story with no signposting for the more easily-confused - and if you haven’t read the book I imagine it causes some head-scratching at first. It follows the lives of five intertwined characters – Kay, Helen, Julia, Viv, and token-man-Duncan – through the war and into peace-time, and the backwards narration means that things are mentioned in the first ten minutes that don’t make sense for another hour.

Of course it looked lovely (the BBC prop and costumes department must have been straight down the pub for a celebration pint when they got the memo – when did they last get to dig the boxes of ‘generic rubble’ and ‘40s hats’ out of the cupboard?), and the performances sat firmly on the ‘very good’ to ‘excellent’ end of the thespy scale. Overall though it seemed more a narration of events as they happen in the novel, rather than taking the spirit of the book and running with it to create something new. The gorgeous prose is not transferred onto the screen, and some of the main set pieces in the novel lack the dramatic tension needed, purely because we haven’t got to know the characters in any depth and don’t care that much about them.

SLIGHT SPOILER:

Most criminally – and I imagine this annoyed the legions of Waters superfans - the adaptation changes the ending, taking the viewer back to 1947 for the finale. Waters’ novel is a thing of subtlety and intimates beautifully what the likely fates for the characters are. The adaptation takes a big neon light with “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS DO YOU SEE DO YOU SEE LOOK LOOK” on it and plonks it onto the final five minutes. A real shame, considering that the rest of the programme was determined not to spoon-feed the audience.

Whilst it's always good to see a decent book covered by the BBC, next time they decide on a lengthy and complicated novel it would be done better as a two- or three-parter. In the meantime, buy the book.

Candy Bar Girls - episode six

Written for Pink Paper

Candy Bar Girls, everyone’s favourite lesbocumentary (apart from The Real L Word of course, which has an actual budget and shows women, like, DOING IT) has come to an end.

It seems longer than six weeks ago since I first raised my eyebrows at this depiction of modern London lesbian life, which has tackled such biting political issues as “Is pole dancing intrinsically classier if you’re covered in ultraviolet paint?”, “What is Shabby FOR?” and, of course, “Is it vertical hair that turns you gay, or is it being gay that turns your hair vertical?”

It’s coming up to press night at the Candy Bar and owner Gary is taking the girls to Brighton for a team-building exercise. “That’s a gay bar over there” he points out. If he says that in front of every gay bar in Soho-on-Sea they could probably make an hour-long spin-off special. They tackle the dodgems. They drink some wine on the beach.

“Days like this help you bond”, events manager Sandra says, the defeated expression in her eyes telling a different story as the seagulls swoop down from the grey skies and attempt to eat her chips.

The Candy Bar is re-branding again, this time by putting a rainbow flag up. “It is a symbol of gay pride” our learned tutor in Homosexuality 101 tells us.

“Oooh mind my pole, it’s a big one” says Gary (Barbara Windsor) Henshaw. “Will it fit in that little hole?” Lesbians around the country weep.

“It takes a gay man with a unique insight into the lesbian world to create this” the voiceover states, as the camera swings over the crowd of drunk women, eating canapés made of tiny bagels and groping each other in corners.

I finish my drink and go to bed, dreaming of a lesbian documentary that reflects my life or that of my friends in some way, shape or form.

But it’s been good shallow fun, and maybe, just maybe, it could lead to more interesting things. 'Til then, bring on series two of Lip Service…

Candy Bar Girls - episode five

Written for Pink Paper

A new Candy Bar Girls drinking game has evolved on Twitter (thank you @PlanetLondon), involving downing a shot everytime: the front of the Candy Bar is shown; we swoop over stock footage of London Apprentice-style or there’s a pointless recap of a previous storyline.

Last Thursday there were ninety-seven lesbians in hospital with alcohol poisoning.

I know all documentaries have to recap, but we have now heard, for four episodes in a row, how Rox and Rachel met. And it’s not even an interesting story, bless them. They met in college. The end. I think they should make something up for next week’s episode, maybe involving a missed train, some dolphins and a jar of marmalade.

There are so many fascinating things to examine about being gay in a heterosexual society, yet Candy Bar Girls seems to miss out even the things that are jumping up and down in front of them and shouting “Me! ME! I might be interesting to spend a few minutes on!”

So, this week Jo invites her gay friends and her mother round for a Jewish meal and interviews her mother on a Jewish gay podcast, yet the documentary manages to avoid touching on whether there is anything Jo might like to share about being gay in the Jewish community.

After forty minutes of lesbian salsa and lesbian cocktails and lesbian shouting and lesbian life drawing classes, I was gagging for something with a little more depth.

One thing I did learn is how easy it is to get a job if you're a gay woman in London. You just decide what job you want to do and they let you do it.

Shabby has decided to be a television presenter, so she puts together a cack-handed showreel and is offered her own television programme. (To be fair, I think Shabby has enough charisma and cheekbones that she will be able to bungle her way through this fairly successfully.) Jo decides she wants to be a radio presenter, and – click those heels together - she is given a slot on a radio show instantaneously.

I have decided I would like to be a brain surgeon please. Pass the scalpel. I have some lesbians to operate on...

Candy Bar Girls - episode four

Written for Pink Paper

London is a big, bad, gay city. There are nearly eight-million people living here, only twelve of whom are straight.

With this density (and I use the word advisedly when reviewing Candy Bar Girls) of lesbians prowling the mean streets, there are some important rules for keeping things civilised. Don’t sleep with your ex-girlfriend’s sister. Don’t annoy the bouncer at Dalston Superstore. Don’t – please, whatever you do – change your profile on Gaydar whilst starring in a reality TV series about lesbians when the person you're dating is also being filmed. Drama will surely ensue.

But drama is what the viewer wants, right?

So why are we being subjected to people attending job interviews? These mini-interrogations are boring even for the people involved, second only in tedium to having your hair cut. So, please - fewer awkwardly staged job interviews in hair salons in future.

Why are they filming people visiting their parents? Every week we meet more. I see these people more than my own mother and father. They’re not even gay parents. One saving grace from this week’s mum-bothering is that we now know that Big Brother’s Shabby Katchadourian grew up in Milton Keynes rather than springing fully formed from an unfortunate industrial accident involving Shane from The L Word, the Artful Dodger and a barrel of radioactive waste.

And at the risk of coming over all Points of View, why oh why did I have to spend five minutes of my life watching two apparently sentient adults attempting to weigh luggage by standing one of them on the scales with a bag and then standing them on the scales without a bag and then subtracting one weight from the other? I can't have been the only person with my head in my hands, weeping quietly and muttering “Just put the bag on the scales. Please. For the sake of humanity. Just put the bag on the scales.”

A little more focus on the Candy Bar staff themselves would add to the entertainment – one of my favourite moments this week was the adorable Lisu following up her disciplinary for constant lateness and bad attitude by slapping her manager on the arse and demanding that she have her rota sent to her by text message every day. I want to keep Lisu in a box forever and ever and look at her whenever I need cheering up. A bit like a serial killer might do.

I'm ashamed to request this, but Candy Bar Girls, please can we have another ‘re-created for narrative purposes’ fight scene? Or at least some raised voices?

Many thanks, Candy Bar Girls. Many thanks indeed.

Candy Bar Girls - episode three

Originally written for Pink Paper

Candy Bar Girls is now onto its third episode and, despite very mixed reviews, has been increasing its viewers each week – which suggests drunk girls shouting at each other is an irresistible draw.

This week, the Candy Bar decide to cash in on Valentine’s Day with an, err, Anti-Valentine’s night. Some of the staff complained that this was just "sooo lesbian", but as events manager Sandra had to explain to owner Gary when he worried that the new marketing materials would ‘scare straight men’, that’s kind of the point.

Talking of Gary, he has decided to whip the barmaids into shape by employing a new manager, Sam. Alex, the bar supervisor, does not deal with change well, and is a little perturbed when she finds out she has a new boss. “Gimme five secs and I’m gonna break the lens on that camera” she hisses through gritted teeth. Sam is bringing in a whole new regime, shouting at an adorably hungover barmaid for being late – “but we are always late” just not cutting it as an excuse.

We are also introduced to some new characters, including Natalie, who is following her twin sister Kayleigh to London. Natalie is moving in with ‘face of the Candy Bar’ pole-dancer Danni, and Kayleigh lives with her girlfriend… Kylie. Got that?

To make things a little easier, Natalie and Kayleigh have different hair cuts, Kayleigh deciding on the ‘short, red’ look while Natalie has opted for a surrealist representation of a zebra surfing. Kayleigh is concerned about her sister moving in with Danni who she hardly knows, explaining that she and Kylie thought ‘long and hard’ before co-habiting (lesbian code for ‘we’d been going out for three days’).

The bar hosts a speed-dating event, where Danni takes the opportunity to delve deep into her new housemate’s psyche. “What’s your favourite colour?” she enquires earnestly. “Do you like bums or boobs?” Natalie escapes this grilling and flirts with Christina, cook by day (her dad is Jean-Christophe Novelli!) and aspiring pop-star by night. I think we will be seeing more of Christina.

After last week’s ‘ghost-hunting’ episode – possibly the most confusingly pointless thing ever shown on television - Shabby-from-Big-Brother was conspicuous by her absence. Maybe she was preparing her application for Celebrity Big Brother, at which point television will definitely have eaten itself.

Candy Bar Girls is definitely becoming more likeable, helped by the knowing ‘Come Dine With Me’ style narration, and it will be interesting to see if the characters are developed more fully now that the introductory episodes are over.

Bring on episode four!

Candy Bar Girls - episode one

Written for TV Pixie

On hearing that porn-baron Richard Desmond’s TV channel, Five, had commissioned a new documentary showcasing the real lives of real actual London ladygays (Dezzer’s Lezzers, if you will), I had some concerns.

Would Five be taking a sympathetic look at a diverse set of people? Would they be shown as well-rounded women, their sexuality only part of who they are? Would I recall having ever woken up fully-clothed in the corner of any of the participants' bedrooms?

When I found out that Candy Bar Girls' production company were specifically hunting out tattoo artists, aspiring models and ‘other creatives’ my heart sank a little, and the subtle advertising plastered all over the underground did nothing to answer my questions.

But. If there is one thing that lesbians love, it is seeing other lesbians making tits of themselves on telly. Not watching was never an option.

The rebrand of the Candy Bar is the hook for the show. If you’re not in the know, it’s a lady bar in Soho, with a fairly horrendous reputation. You go there once or twice when you first come out, then you go back five years later when you’ve forgotten what a hell-pit it is, neck your fluorescent pink shot and leave quickly for a cup of tea and a lie-down in a darkened room.

However, it has been taken over by new management - Gary, a gay man with an almost psychotic aversion to the colour pink (a shame as the Candy Bar is almost entirely made of bright cerise, like going drinking inside a nightmareish version of the girls side of Toys R Us). He organises the walls to be papered black. That seems to be pretty much the extent of the rebrand. He is learning about lesbians by watching Lip Service and The L Word. This is the equivalent of revising for a Mediaeval History degree by watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

In time-honoured reality TV fashion we are introduced one by one to the characters we will be following over the series.

SANDRA D

Sandra D is the manager and DJ of the Candy Bar. She says early on that “she is going to be a parent in two weeks”. I assume she is talking metaphorically about the rebirth of the bar, as it is never mentioned again. Unless she’s forgotten due to all the auditioning pole dancers and choosing photos of lesbians to put on posters she has to do. She is very thin and looks very tired and stressed and has cool hair. She has a brilliantly unimpressed voice. I like Sandra.

DANNI

Danni has just finished her performance arts degree and has moved to London with her girlfriend, Lucy.

Danni is a shiny fringe balanced on long thin legs, like a fashionable umbrella squid. She is the new pole dancer at the Candy Bar and spends quite a lot of time upside down in her pants and bra, apologising for forgetting the UV paint, an integral part of her act and what sets her apart from the less classy pole dancers in Soho. Props to Five for waiting at least three minutes into the programme before getting a hot girl to writhe around on a pole in her scanties.

Her girlfriend Lucy seems like a good sort, and explains that they have recently decided to enter into an open relationship. Unsurprisingly Danni heartlessly dumps Lucy in this episode. Lucy is shocked by this. “Gizza bit of warning next time!” she exclaims, “like five minutes or something!” and trudges sadly into the night with her rucksack. This makes me like Danni a lot less.

I have created a flow chart for Lucy for the next time she gets into this situation:

ALEX

The Candy Bar’s Australian barmaid. Alex is very Australian. She likes booze and falling over and seems quite affable. She once kissed a boy - “It was just saliva going in my mouth, mixed with hair”. Yes, hair. Australian males have hair in their mouths. They are PROPER MEN.

Alex is mainly drunk in this episode.

SHABBY

Eagle-eyed viewers may remember Shabby from the last series of Big Brother. If you can’t remember what she looks like, or love her so much that you want your own Shabby, you can form one with these ingredients:

Shabby is a musician, and makes t-shirts. “I have my finger in all the pies,” she tells us. “I am a pie-fingerer”. We meet Shabby on her way to a date, at a sushi bar. “Here’s to raw fish all night long,” she toasts. Shabby has a way with words, I decide.

Later, her date becomes angered that Shabby is besieged by fans (yes, Shabby from Big Brother has lots and lots of fans. This was one of the most surprising aspects of this week’s show). “I get a lot of female attention,” states our favourite media-whore-urchin. “Just cos I went on Big Brother. Not a good reason to f*ck someone though, is it?”

JO

Jo is annoying. Things that ‘drive Jo’:

She was the editor of lesbian free magazine G3, but felt her life was becoming “spiritually bereft” so off she trotted around the world, a modern-day Siddhartha, seeking fulfilment through the time-honoured western tradition of ‘patronising the locals’. “Going into this hut and hanging out with this Mayan family and their pet spider monkey was just brilliant,” she tells us. “Someone ran up to me in a fit of anguish going ‘Oh my god you have an incredible aura!’... Anyway, I gave her eight dollars and we moved on.”

Jo will be staying with her parents now that she's back in London, and is supremely ungrateful for their hospitality. “I wish I was back in Shoreditch” she moans, as she introduces us to the stuffed toys of her childhood. She also talks openly to her parents about sex, unlike a normal lesbian who comes out to her parents once and then hopes it’s never mentioned again.

So, Candy Bar Girls. It’s not going to change perceptions, it’s low-budget, pretty tacky and full of people with personality disorders. I am already absolutely addicted.