This article is taken from the November 2024 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Right now we’re offering five issues for just £10.

---

Lightweight Kate

With the ever-crusading Ms Winslet still persisting in presenting herself as celebrity spokeswoman for the now fashionable obese community, surely it’s high time this sensitive matter was addressed?

Having myself been officially amongst their showbiz number since circa 1995 (when we were anything but in vogue!), there can be no denying that having Kate championing the corpulent cause in the prime of life proves a tempting proposition. Alas, it must also be delicately pointed out that this delightfully proportioned girl lacks anything approaching the kind of tonnage required for the task.

Whilst she’s of course more than welcome to again come knocking on our door in the years hence, should a more convincing case emerge, our most versatile of English roses must for now accept this to be one role beyond even her.

Goodnight Vienna

An emotional goodbye — or should I say Auf Wiedersehen! — to Stephen Fry, who I read is “turning his back on Britain” in favour of Austrian citizenship.

Whilst Stephen’s insistence that this new arrangement allows him to “stick his tongue out at Brexit” meets with cynicism in some quarters, I naturally speak for the majority when saying England will feel considerably the lesser for the great man’s absence. 

The true significance of Mr Fry’s announcement will doubtless only become clearer to naysayers over the coming years, whenever he elaborates on this devotion to the Austrian way of life via Norfolk, Lord’s or the Garrick Club.

After that particularly inelegant attack on the “rude and mad” late Queen, one wondered whether McKellen’s faculties had truly recovered since the alarming tumble off the Noël Coward stage in June?

Whilst starry-eyed interviewers permit Ian to ramble on at will, fears discreetly grow that the elderly show pony’s insatiable need for chat show/daytime telly exposure will soon enough require more considered management.

Voice of reason

As a host of leading stars — not least Dame Judi — lucratively sign away their voices to artificial intelligence, let us never forget the admirable stance of one Dame Helen Mirren, who only in February made her position patently clear when “dramatically ripping up” an AI-generated speech during a US awards ceremony.

Though the old girl’s long proved adept at religiously following the direction of changeable showbiz winds (AI being the subject of quite the Tinseltown backlash at the time), we can rest assured this was anything but an easy publicity stunt on the night. 

Despite the now fast-growing way of things, let us instead confidently conclude that our media-savvy Dame will be sticking to her guns and bravely declining all manner of whopping AI-related offers in these months and years ahead … 

Disappointing to read that domestic strife has left the once amiable BBC personality Mr Blades being deemed beyond the pale. The professional rapport formed with Dame Judi during recent TV collaborations had been thoroughly enjoyed by this viewer — not least when imagining the secretly raging envy of the Brandreth, whose vampiric hold over Judi for relentless self-publicity purposes had long gone unchallenged.

With rival Blades out of the picture, the Brandreth wasted no time swooping back through the door, ensuring poor Judi rejoins that sorry ensemble of frail actress Dames, now too befuddled to keep this sinister salesman at bay.

Angered by news Sir Keir and comrades were snatching away one’s winter fuel payment, objections voiced over breakfast met with dismissal from the presently socialist nephew/lodger, who crassly suggested “baby boomer property owners in Earl’s Court” shouldn’t be counted amongst the vulnerable!

Any attempt to outline the financial challenges that come with being a thrice-divorced jobbing telly actor in 2024 fell on typically deaf ears.

Whilst the modern-day fate of the Bard rarely proves cause for celebration, news of a surprisingly welcome development in the provinces. I gather dreary Mancunian plans for A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Royal Exchange — predictably parroting all manner of fashionable slogans of the day — has mercifully hit the buffers!

Hats off to the long fragrant Rachel Weisz for so courageously standing by her former 007 at this time of very public sartorial crisis. Come the inevitable day when poor Daniel (never the sharpest of knives) looks back on this disastrous phase with all manner of regret, Mrs Craig for one can still hold her head high.

Perchance to scream

Reports pop group Radiohead had been given carte blanche by the RSC to ruin Hamlet from next spring predictably proved dispiriting. 

After admitting to being unfamiliar with their discography to date during a lively supper gathering, I found myself being passionately urged by one middle-aged devotee to have a “more open mind”. On then being subjected to the incoherent wailings of the “singer”, initial prejudices were of course wholly confirmed! 

According to the agent, who again proves incapable of defending this client in the face of unjustified controversy, it’s deemed “unreasonable and intimidating” to politely — though repeatedly — request one’s young co-stars “speak up!” during filming. Whilst the theatre schools have long abandoned any attempts to teach their alumni to “project”, I note this latest generation of fresh-faced mumblers suddenly find their voices whenever casting the older generation as the villains of the piece.

Farewell to the incomparable Maggie, whose damehood in 1990 came at a time when such honours for our greatest stars of stage and screen still carried the weight of old … before the sillier days of “Dame” Joan Collins and “Sir” Tom Jones.

Rupert’s regrets

Long tortured by “what might have been”, Mr Everett is reduced to desperately touting himself for movie acting work whilst appearing on downmarket British telly shows. Having previously admired Rupert’s ruthless approach to professional survival behind the scenes, one hopes this more regrettable phase is nipped in the bud. 

With award-winning ice maiden Gillian Anderson endlessly promoting that smutty tome about her own and other folks’ innermost sex needs, spare a thought for the fellow presently at this intriguing woman’s beck and call behind closed doors. Though a swordsman of note in his prime, no wonder poor Mr Morgan (sixty-something writer/creator of The Crown) looks such a shadow of his former self!