Skins

 

Lordy me. 

LORDY ME.

What’s happening in Skins at the moment, eh? Or more correctly, what isn’t happening in Skins? They are busy little bees at present. In a quick rundown we currently have:

• Jal’s pregnancy to fit-Skin Chris, shortly before he is swooshed off in an ambulance with a secret brain tumour of the hereditary kind.
• Sid and psycho-Skin Cassie are back together after Cassie’s flirtation with being an accidental prostitute and a lesbian. A lesbitute if you will.
• Tony and Michelle restarting their relationship after Michelle and Sid’s short-lived romance – key phrase “You’re the only man to ever make me come, Sid” – poor old Tony having that broadcast on E4.
• Anwar finishing his relationship with gay-skin Maxxie’s stalker, Sketch, after looking in a mirror and realising she’d been cunningly turning him into the Asian version of Maxxie, blond locks and all.
  Maxxie with a new boyfriend, cue scary looks from Sketch.
• Effie, Tony’s fifteen year old sister, adding to her pocket money through the medium of drug-dealing.
• A-Levels. 

I am a bit worried about the A-Levels thing. Does this mean that series three (and there will be a series three; they are currently inviting all and sundry to open auditions on the Skins website. Could I pass for an 18-year old Bristolian? Maybe one who’s had a very hard life) will be set in halls of residences around the country? The Skins must never leave Bristol. Never. Maybe they could all go to Bristol University and UWE. That would solve it nicely. Sorted.

In my last review, I pondered which ageing comedian might be wheeled on next, after appearances from Harry Enfield and Bill Bailey in the first episode. Well, the casting people should be patting themselves on the back. Not all ageing, and not all comedians, but so far I’ve spotted Josie Lawrence, Peter Capaldi, Josie Long (playing a Careers Adviser, which is sort of what I do, and I love her, so it is obviously a sign of our impending union) and Shane Richie (playing the drama teacher directing the school’s production of ‘Osama: The Musical’)… the list goes on. Well it sort of stops there, but still more impressive than *spits* Hollyoaks.

In other Skins-related news, I was in London with some drunk people recently, and one of them pointed at me and shouted “CHRIS FROM SKINS” in my face. I was momentarily quite chuffed, until I remembered I am a thirty-year old woman. I can sort of see the resemblance though in a round-faced Somerset-farmer kind of way… maybe I will go to those auditions after all.

Guardian Unlimited – Travelog Blog

 

You’ve probably already heard about this… my attention was first drawn to it by Football365’s Mediawatch section. I’m still ploughing through the comments now, and it’s rekindling my faith in the general public.

Unless it’s a huge wind-up and I’ve fallen for it, hook. line and sinker…

If it is some kind of viral advertising campaign, it’s pretty sickening in and of itself.

Skins. Episode one

Before I start, I want to point out how annoying it is when you are intending on writing a review of a programme that you have watched goggle-eyed since episode one of the first series and then some Johnny-come-lately wanders down your driveway and jumps on your FUCKING BANDWAGON especially when they are one of your favourite reviewers in the world and you fancy them a bit, and therefore find yourself in the position of wanting to touch your usurper inappropriately while spitting bile into their eyes.

Despite Brooker encapsulating everything that is great about Skins in 700 neat and well-chosen words, I shall continue, pointlessly but unbowed, like Scott tootling onwards after Amundsen, but with less frostbite. Follow me onwards to the South Pole (Bristol).

Nearly a whole year has passed since series one of Skins finished. A hollow, Skinsless pit of a year. The worst year of my pathetic little life. But now it is back! Hurrah! Hang the bunting! Call the local DJ! etc etc. The last series ended with Tony (teenage arrogance given flesh) being knocked over by a lorry after doing the Machiavellian life-messing thang on all his friends and… one sec. Sorry, I know I’m incapable of writing a review of Skins without shoehorning in a few mentions of their myspace sites, but what the fuck? Tony’s PARENTS have posted a message on his profile. His parents, no less.

“We like to thank [sic] everyone for the flowers, cards and well wishes you’ve sent. The thoughtful messages have been a real comfort at this very difficult time.
Best

Jim and Anthea Stonem”

Maybe da kidz have a different type of relationship with ma and pa than I did as a teenager, but is it really believable, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, really, that said kidz would tell them the password to their myspace site? I think not. There’s also a video of him in a coma on the profile, that I assume they’ve posted as well. Which is completely understandable of them, and not disturbing at all.

Anyway, onwards and downwards. Last night’s episode started with some urban dancin’, and I mean like really proper DANCIN’ from gay Skin Maxxie and some other equally implausibly beautiful teenagers (I grew up in the West Country, and people look weird down there, not all shiny and even of teeth. Even of tooth perhaps, at a push). One of them took her top off and had a see-through bra on. Saucy. Maxxie went home where his dad (Bill Bailey) practices country and western dancing with his dog. He gave up his dog dancing dream to join the construction trade, did Bill, and he thinks his son should do the same.

Tony is all spazzed up from his accident and upsetting his father with his frustrated anger at the world (Tony’s dad, incidentally is played by Harry Enfield – I wonder which ageing comedian will be invited to star next? Please, please, please let it be Russ Abbott). Max’s mum does Tony’s flies up for him. It looks like she is giving him a blow-job. Ho ho. There is a rave. Michelle gets it on with two blokes but only ‘cos her head is all messed up like, due to Tony. Sid takes acid and misses his girlfriend who is being taught the bagpipes in a mental asylum in Scotland.

There is more dancing as teens dripping in sweat take their tops off and rub against each other. ‘Chrriiiiist’ wheeze a thousand equally perspirant old men around the country.

Maxxie gets it on with one of the Asbo-homophobes who hang round his estate. Everyone goes home. It is college in the morning. Tony finally manages to sign his own name meaning that he can register for the new term (nice Somerset touch: that was an actual requirement when I was at sixth form).
 So yes, mock away, but it was great. I missed you Skins. Welcome back my loves, welcome back.

One Minute (and a bit) Review: Skins trailer

I managed about two and a half minutes of the previous series of Skins. It was hyped to the point where the viewer was led to expect Wim Wenders levels of production and cinematography. What you actually got was a budget version of Hollyoaks, except – ooooh, edgy – the kids occasionally talked unconvincingly about drugs and sex. Call me a stuck-in-the-past bore, but even as a kid I think I would have hated it, considered it unrealistic shit and followed up this thought process by yelling at my parents and drinking Cinzano in a shed.

So now series number two is upon us and even those of us who don’t watch it have to endure the fucking advert being replayed over and over and over and over and over again during every commercial break.

The Radiohead song that accompanys the trailer is quite classy. The first time. By the fifteenth it’s the sound of a cat being castrated over a spit. The visuals feature nubile lovelies of both genders wandering around a party in a confused state, presumably on drug-related comedowns in the early hours. One of them, that little boob from About a Boy, appears to be dead in a bath. Lots of girls make out with each other. Water drips from the ceiling. It is a hedonistic vision of glamourous decadence.

Problem is – these are little teenagers. Perhaps this’d work if we were talking about supermodels, rock bands or coke-dealers, but we’re actually dealing with little shits whose pocket money would probably stretch to one bottle of exhibition cider rather than a bag of the best pills known to man. In reality, they wouldn’t be kissing and making out and staring at the ceiling in blissed out confusion, they’d be dry-humping, puking into their own laps and smashing windows for a laugh. It is – frankly – bollocks. Only a Grange Hill boxset, an injection of hardcore realism, can save us now.

Skins. Again.

“She watches it so you don’t have to!”

Having seen many an ‘arthouse movie’ in my time, I am quite used to seeing deviant nudey sex stuff on screen (I’ve just realised that ‘arthouse movie’ looks like a euphemism for porn in that context. Well it’s not, I CAN ASSURE YOU). However I was quite surprised to switch Skins on the other day and witness a straight teenage boy fellate his gay friend while his girlfriend cried silent tears of misery. In a Russian youth hostel. If this had been on in an trendy leftfield cinema, I’d have been stroking my chin and going “yes, what an interesting sexual representation of the essential dichotomy between men and women in the heterosexual relationship” (ok, really I would have been sniggering at the word blow-job).

So, Tony is turning into a sexiopath (that is a proper medical term what doctors use), and using his smug-faced, funny-eyebrowed good-looks to weave his evil web round the rest of the Skins, male or female, gay or straight.

In yesterday’s episode, Michelle finally broke free of his manipulative tentacles. Side note: not that you would know this from her myspace profile where she proudly exclaims that “My Brad Pitt is the one and only Tony Stonem. He’s definitely the fittest boy in Bristol (and quite possibly the world!) He’s gorgeous, a total genius, supremely confident and…did I mention he was fit?”. Come on Michelle, it’s not that hard to click ‘edit profile’ (though as mentioned before, I have my doubts that these profiles are actually maintained by the Skins themselves).

I shall now reveal what Tony did to her yesterday and you can decide whether or not she should rethink whether Tony can stay in her ‘top friends’. After giving token gay Skin, Max, (poor Max doesn’t merit a myspace page, bless him) a blowjob while Michelle watched in horror, AND getting off with a posh girl in front of her (yeah, yeah, quite bad I hear you say – I will add the information that this was on a stage in front of about hundred people including Michelle and her friends, after serenading posh girl with “God Only Knows”), Michelle finally got rid. Being a pretty lady, she was not lonely for long however, and soon met posh-girl’s brother and got on very well with him (so well that they were naked in bed about 10 minutes later). This ANGERED Tony, who then took loads of photos of posh-girl in various states of undress, including one that I believe can be likened to a shot of a big-toothed river mammal in certain circles, arranged for posh-girl’s brother’s phone to be nicked (keep up), transferred the photos to posh girl’s brother’s phone, then sent them to Michelle so it looked like posh-girl’s brother had taken some saucy snaps of his very own sister!

I think that is absolutely amazing commitment. When I was a teenager and you split up with someone and then wanted to get back together with them you just plied them with cider and black, wore your nicest Levellers t-shirt and then snogged them on Taunton High Street. Sorted.

Skins

 

*American voiced deep-voice voice-over man voice*

THE 80S BROUGHT YOU PRESSGANG

THE 90S BROUGHT YOU HOLLYOAKS

And God looked round at what he had created and saw it was good.

So for 2007 we have Skins.

Skins is the bawdy tale of a group of Bristol friends who appear to be around upper sixth age (or year 13 or whatever it’s called these days) , takin’ drugs, shaggin’, boozin’, fightin’ and basically doing everything that you probably did between the ages of 16 (or younger if you were a delinquent) and 20 but squishing it down so it appears that this all happens on a twice daily basis.

I (vaguely) remember being at 6th form, but I’m sure I had to do work for my A-levels and have a Saturday job at Primark. That wouldn’t make such cutting-edge yoof-orientated programming though, admittedly.

But so much has changed since those heady days of 1994-1996. Did the good burghers of Hollyoaks have their own myspace pages? No, because the internet had hardly even been invented then, and it took forty minutes to download a single page, and it was more interesting to make mix-tapes anyway. But the Skins people do. Look at their faces here and here and here and . . . well, you get the idea.

It’s quite badly thought through though. Sid, for example, is the geeky-cool one. We have seen (in the last episode), the inside of his bedroom. He has a computer with internet access in it. How is it then, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that he last logged into his myspace account on the 29th of January this year? I am a 29 year old woman with a full-time job, yet I check mine more often than that (on works time, admittedly). IT JUST DOESN’T ADD UP.

Also, in a recent episode, Tony, the smug-faced kid from About A Boy dumps his girlfriend. They are back together now, but he remained in her ‘top friends’ while they were still split up. Hardly likely, is it. I moved someone out of my top friends for not replying to an email once, let alone pulling my heart out of my chest and stamping upon it.

Having reread all this, it might seem odd to spend so much time stalking virtual-teenagers through the internet, but it’s not. Okay? Don’t be so fucking judgmental! I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME. I DIDN’T ASK TO BE FUCKING BORN.

*slams bedroom door*