The British Are Comi … They’re Here!

In North America, just like fishnet stockings and a push-up bra, a tuxedo and a British accent is so close to being soft core porn it should have a warning label. This is why we’re up to our entertainment elbows in expat Brits. They’re all over the place, from John Oliver’s weekly dose of escalating indignation to this new guy, James Corden, whose nightly impression of Ricky Gervais isn’t actually all that bad. But that’s the secret. The British accent is so sexy on this side of the Atlantic, Brits don’t have to do much except show up. You could give Bobo the dancing bear a bowtie and a few long vowels and even PETA would tune in. There’s nothing wrong with this, BTW, I just find it fascinating.

Check it out. Need a Lincoln? Look in London. Batman? Same again, please. Superman? One more time. Even Spiderman is a Brit, if not by birth. How about a villain who will literally steal the show? If Alan Rickman’s busy, try calling Tom Hiddleston. David Tennant could read the Ipswich telephone book and get an Emmy, and Benedict Cumberbatch has so many Cumberbitches is tow he wouldn’t even have to read it. Mark Strong, Kit Harington, Henry Cavill — the list goes on, and I haven’t even cracked open the Who’s Who of the Harry Potter franchise yet. There are so many Brits kicking around the American media these day that Jude Law, Hugh Laurie and Damien Lewis don’t even count anymore. It’s a wonder Clooney and the boys aren’t reduced to marrying rich lawyers or doing Chanel™ commercials just to make ends meet.

So what’s the deal?

Some people say our Anglophilia comes from watching too much PBS as children. After all, Masterpiece Theatre has been American highbrow for over forty years, from Upstairs, Downstairs (the first time) to Downton Abbey, with any number of Emmas thrown in the middle. Plus, for decades, Public TV has been so successfully murdering Brits every week that they’ve worn out one Sherlock Holmes and possibly three Miss Marples! That’s a lot of cultural tea and crumpets for impressionable young minds to digest.

Personally, though, I disagree. I believe our insatiable love affair with the Brits started here (see video) and is now irrevocably twisted into our DNA. (And kids, if you don’t know who this is, ask your grandmother — she’ll remember.)

Harrison Ford, You Ignorant Slut!

I like Harrison Ford. He might not be the best actor on the planet but when you’ve been Han Solo, Indiana Jones, Jack Ryan and Rick Deckard, all in one lifetime, do you really need to play Hamlet? I don’t think so! The problem is, lately, Harrison Ford has been missing a few rungs on the credibility ladder and he’s about to pull a Peter Pan and freefall into jackass territory.

I was willing to forgive Ford one last hurrah in Indiana Jones VS The Crystal Aliens — or whatever. Okay, the movie was bad — all the way from Shia LaBeouf to flying CGI monkeys . There were too many gophers, not enough plot, character or development and, no, you can’t escape nuclear annihilation by hiding in your refrigerator. But, it was still Indiana Jones, with, I might add, Cate Blanchett as the villain, and OMG that’s Marion Ravenwood! So, I ate my popcorn and shut my mouth.

Fast forward to George Lucas selling out Star Wars (where have we heard that before?) and the new owner, Disney, cashing in on the biggest cash cow since the mouse himself with yet another Star Wars movie. Big problem!

The original Star Wars was released nearly forty years ago — it’s twice as old as half the people on earth — and, ladies and gentlemen, so are the cast and crew. Yet word around the campfire is Han Solo and company are coming out of the Seniors’ Facility on Naboo to help propel a new generation of Star Warriors into battle. Has Disney gone nuts? These people were grandparents a generation ago. Luke and Leia are using The Force for regularity, and Chewbacca has a walker, if he can move at all. But let’s take a reality check. Last year, Harrison Ford (aka Han) stumbled over a movie set and broke his leg and just recently he crashed his plane into a golf course in Santa Monica. Are we expected to believe this guy can still pilot the Millennium Falcon? At my house, we don’t even let Grampy play with the remote control. Still, I’m an optimist, so, despite the problems, I’m taking a wait and see attitude.

Now here’s where the bike helmet hits the highway. They’re making a sequel to Blade Runner. Blade Runner? Just a damn minute! Ridley Scott, if you want to poop on the legacy of an entire generation, go someplace else and do it. You’re getting as bad as George Lucas, for God’s sake. But that isn’t the worst of it. They’re resurrecting Harrison Ford to play Rick Deckard and Ford has agreed to do it. In the 21st century, integrity isn’t even a word anymore.

I’m done. Ford, look at yourself. Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed by what you’re becoming? What next? American Graffiti: The Retirement Years