The Episode as a Promotional Video - Review: 09.08.2013

Inspirational music heard coming from the EastEnders' writing room.

They say the Messiah cometh at the end of the month. And yea, the dwindling multitudes did await the sign that the Chosen One walked amongst the studios at the sacred shrine of Elstree.

It was whispered that he arriveth yon at the end of the eighth month. This eventide did showeth the reason why the Messiah is long awaited. One score month plus two, the multitudes thought the Messiah had descended amongst the masses, and that she had taken the form of a woman who walked, unnoticed, amongst the multitudes for two score years and three. But, verily, I say unto you, she was a false prophet, and she lieth from her cake hole.

Thus, the dwindling masses were shown tonight and shown and shown again, the very reason why those more intelligent amongst us cry out in hope that the Messiah liveth and will snuff the life out of the very characters who spread calumny and discord, who lack talent and intellect, who spread disinterest instead of love ...

And lo, the long-term faithful pray daily for deliverance from ...

THE. WORST. ACTRESS. EVER. IN. EASTENDERS.

Let her be consigned to the dustbin of settled gypsies, empty collagen syringes and discarded boob implants, and let yon wanking youths be striken blind and deprived of their right or left hands.

Thus, the faithful hope for their Messiah, with the godly name of Dominic ...

Even better! As long as he rids Walford of everything that's bringing it down to the mire. Tonight showed every reason why the show cries out for DTC.

May Carey Andrews be amongst the first to get  her P45.

Walford Fashion Week.

There she was tonight, folks, Walford's very own go-to girl. She dominated, she shined, she gurned, she rolled those windmill arms, she emoted, she was conscious every second of every minute the camera was on her. She eyed it, she played up to it, she probably watched the unedited rushes and felt a peculiar rush herself, so in love with herself is she.

'Tis a pity she can't act for shit. But, boy, can she pose!

Never in the 28 years that I have watched the show, have I known TPTB to push one actress so damned much, and never an ingenue.

On EastEnders, previously, ingenues and central figures "happen." And previously, they didn't have to be the prettiest people, either.

Spotty Michelle Fowler, had the most emotive eyes in the industry at the time. Chubby Sharon gained everyone's sympathy as she lost her father and then endured a brutal marriage with a disturbed husband and turned to her brother-in-law for comfort. Bianca and Sam tussled over ordinary Ricky Butcher and still do to this day. Even chubbier Sonia Jackson overcame obstacle after obstacle to gain professional degrees.

Even Bradley and Stacey "happened." They weren't contrived, and Stacey, herself, with her porcine looks and piggy eyes is, amongst a heavy following, still longed for even now.

But when I look at the flawless skin of Rachel Bright, botoxed to the hilt (because Bright is nearing thirty and is playing a lass barely past twenty), the wannabe porcelain doll honed and deliberate skinniness of Hetti Bywater (who seriously cannot act), and the current resident "It" girl, daughter of a den of thieves, Jossa, with her collagened lips and surgically enhanced boobs, I wonder at how all of the above from the past would fare in today's EastEnders.

Maybe that's why the fanbois bitch about Sharon not belonging in the show anymore. She's the wrong side of forty, a stone too heavy and the actress is conscious of the crap writing meted her character, which is why her breathless delivery insinuates that she needs to be somewhere else far more important than a soap that used to be good.

When Brookside started emphasizing Jennifer Ellison's bee-stung lips and her huge cleavage and hair extensions, it tanked.

Tonight was all Jossa, from every angle. From the prolonged shot of her tying her running shoes, which weren't running shoes but designer sneakers, with her designer baggy, off-the-shoulder teeshirt, proclaiming "London-New York-Milan" (obviously, the places she wants her so-called fame to spread), thousands of adolescent boys instinctively reached inside their trousers and began to wank.

Really, the sad-sack, illiterate female troll, who claims to be twenty-six going on thirteen on DS, and who LOLs at other people's "sexy times" probably did the same as her male counterparts; because the only people who like Jossa are the people who wank over her picture.

People capable of critical thought recognise her for what she is: the daughter of a common criminal who likes the high life and the red carpet, herself, and who lucked out to be chosen for a part in a once-epic soap opera at a time when the executive producer was not only one of the shallowest people in the media, but who sought to promote that selfsame idea of shallowness and entitlement amongst all the show's youthful characters.

His successor continued his tradition, vicariously living a romance through such "beautiful people."

For Lauren, the most self-obsessed character ever in the programme, this is still all about her.

On the one hand, she wants her father to trust her and leave her alone - easier said than done since the first thing issuing from her collagen-enhanced lips was a lie, saying her putrid mother knew she had signed out of her clinic and returned home.

She moaned to Poopy-La-Dim, a character whom heretofore she'd never given the time of day, and in between casting a fish-eye over to the place where she might not now have a job, Poopy has suddenly acquired sage wisdom.

Well, she murmers stock platitudes to Lauren ...

'Ere, you doan 'after drink ter'ave a good time.

Lauren doesn't drink to have a good time. She doesn't drink to forget. She drinks because it makes her feel good and because she wants to drink. Everything else is just a flimsy excuse, designed to abnegate any responsibility for her actions. But Poppy isn't only being kind. She wants a safe candidate for a pedicure, in order to prove to Sexy Sadie Mysterious Lady that she's more than qualified to work for her, as Tanya's standards were poor white trash variety.

The main crux of this episode was Max worrying about Lauren, speaking to an unseen Tanya on his cellphone, lying about Lauren doing all right, yadda yadda. All the while, Jossa bopped about Walford, gurning, scrunching up her face and speaking in a squeaky voice which denotes that she's really really really worried.

(Aside: Have you noticed all the new pictures of Lauren adorning the Branning sideboard at Max's house? Before there were equally as many of Lauren, Abi, Oscar and even a couple of the late Bradley, but now it's Jossa, Jossa, Jossa ... taken from the Jossa family archive, including the celebrated one of Jossa as a five year-old with a custom-made doll which looked and dressed exactly like her, and probably paid for with the ill-gotten gains her old man lifted from the unsuspecting Enfield taxpayer. Greed and narcissism was taught this person at an early age, and it shows even now.)

Somehow, Saint Lauren turns up at the Vic in time to be treated to a cup of tea by Kirsty and a lecture on addiction recovery. It keeps being pushed that Kirsty is, herself, an ex-addict, and she assures Lauren that this isn't going to be easy, which prompts Lauren, again in typical Lauren fashion, to blame Kirsty for all the shit that's been going down in her pathetically self-centred little life.

Apparently, Kirsty owes the Brannings? Er, how, exactly? Apparently, Kirsty spoiled Tanya's big wedding day (her third in all and second to Max). Tanya was actually in her white wedding gown, symbolic of her status as a self-perpetuating virgin, when Kirsty spoiled her fun. 

Does Lauren realise that Tanya couldn't have a wedding with Max because Max was married to Kirsty, and Max married Kirsty, because Lauren commanded that Max leave Walford in August 2011, never to return. 

And we all know that, in Walford, Lauren's word is law. According to some pubescent fanbois on Digital Spy, whose wrists are limp from excessive wanking this evening, Lauren "lifts" the programme, and probably lifts their willies as well. At least, she's good for something, but that doesn't mean she's talented.

To make a long, boring badly-written and even worse acted story short, Saint Lauren re-unites Max and Kirsty (which will infuriate Carl, but let's not confuse the issue), and they'll all live happily ever after in the house that Jack built, with Abi the Dough-Faced Girl and Cora the Bora.

At least, I hope Max continues to live there, because Cora's behaviour shouldn't be allowed around Lauren. 

Subtlety not being a word in EastEnders' vocabulary at the moment, because the dumbass lowest common denominator of teenager to whom this piece of shit is being aimed, is incapable of thinking critically (and that includes the semi-literate Jossa), we were bombarded with loud 80s tracks all through every segment in which we saw Max, and the symbolism was rife.

• With or Without You (as in "I can't live with or without you" by U2 as Max argued with Tanya on the cellphone)
• Don't You Forget about Me by Simple Minds (how appropros) - again as he argued with Tanya
• Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears, as he waited impatiently for Lauren to return for her dinner. (As in what Kirkwood tried to do with the Brannings)
• Finally, Dreams, by Fleetwood Max (really from the 70s and before Max's time, but I suppose the wild-haired Stevie Nicks had some sort of correlation with the wild-haired Kirsty.)

Seriously, at the end of that brief scene she shared with Carl earl on tonight, Keirston Wareing looked proper scary. Ditch the botox, love.

Once again, Lauren's priorities are totally skewed. She thinks the lie Kirsty told is almost beyond redemption and that Kirsty owes her putrid mother something. Well, Kirsty lied about a pregnancy. She didn't try to bury her husband alive or run him over with a car.

Take that, Go-To Girl, and whilst your at it, go to a proper drama school. Betcha flunk out.

We can only pray that the Chosen One terminates her employment.

The Comedy of Errors.

I thought Lorraine Newman's main remit was to re-build the Beales. Well, all of Ian's children have new heads - far prettier than their previous heads. The daughter, however, is less talented than Melissa Suffield's Lucy; the older son is more talented than the woeful tall poppy, Thomas Law; and Bobby Beale is now annoying and frightfully posh.

Add to that, he's got a patronising girlfriend, who never defends him when he's being misjudged.

And this Ian is being presented as the bad man. He's gone from emotionally fragile Ian, who was seeing good and helping everyone to Mr Mean once again. He's a figure to be disrespected and one to be ridiculed.

Previously, those of us who'd watched Ian grow up, recognised his insecurities and his need to succeed to prove to himself that his father's assessment of him was wrong. Trophy wives and wealth were the trappings of success, but with each new marital venture, be it to the elaborately plumed birds (Cindy or Mel) or house martens (Laura) or bovine, big-boned creatures who sounded like Kathy Beale (Jane), Ian always manages to behave in such a manner that the wife inevitably seeks comfort elsewhere, which prompts Ian's revenge tactic to set in.

Give her time, and Denise will do the same, especially now that Ian's big bruv is back in Walford soon. David Wicks has a history of sleeping with the wives of both his brothers, so he'll probably carry on the tradition with Denise, which will see Ian toss Denise out the front door of Beale Manor, on a cold, wet and windy night, and be shunned by the population of Walford the next morning.

There you go.

"Stealing" from Lucy is one thing. That money was rightfully Ian's and she'd scammed him out of his livelihood. But stealing from Janine is quite another thing. Janine put up money for his restaurant venture, when no one else could, and now he's skimming her share of the profits in order to pay off Carl.

And Lucy, who's been suddenly appointed Assistant Manager in Charge of Existing Business after less than a week and who's now Ian's boss (again), knows that Ian's been short-changing Janine. Cue the new desperate, even-more-weasly Beale the Squeal to try and bribe his daughter onside. 

Apart from the fact that Lucy couldn't manage a booze-up in a brewery, the big, outstanding question is: Will she filch on Ian? If she does, then Janine will go ballistic and Ian will lose the restaurant. If she doesn't, then she's got no reason to criticize Ian, and she deserves all the wrath Janine throws at her,

This girl isn't cutting it. Her diction is bad, she mouth breathes and she needs about a month of fatty food down her gullet. Yes, I know Lucy Beale is a legacy character, but legacy characters can leave and return some years later with a new head and more meat on their bones. She's another one who needs to go.

Apart from that, we have yet another pisspoor attempt at comedy, concerning Ian and Jean, which falls flat.

Look, forget that Jean is bi-polar. That is not not not a mental illness. It is a physical condition resulting in a chemical imbalance in the brain and is treated with medication.

But Jean is seriously stupid. She's paid to be a sous chef, not to ignore a burning plate of expensive crockery whilst trying to learn French on an ipod in time to impress a middle-aged copper on a day-trip to Calais. Another fire in Scarlett's. 

Not only that, but more of the same old same old - Ian shouting at Jean, Jean taking umbrage and quitting, but not after taking advantage of telling Ian again just what a bad man he was and how much Jean hated working for him.

Just how many times do we have to have it driven home to us that Ian Beale is a bad man who deserves everything that's coming to him. According to Jean, once again, he's a bully and the worst person for whom she ever worked - all this is delivered in a silly monologue where she tries to incorporate the pidgin French she's learned.

You know, when Frank Butcher tried to speak French on a trip to find Diane back in the 90s, we laughed. The story was funny, but laced with poignancy and offered a learning curve for Frank.

For all you EastEnders' 2.0 2006 Luddites, watch and learn, when the show was good.

Twenty years ago, which means there's a French Butcher grandson, Jacques, who's actually half-German, wafting around someplace and will probably show up, being played by an untrained talentless underwear model sounding like a reject from 'Allo 'Allo.

Or how about Ricky's stag do in "France" (read: Kent) the first time he married Bianca, complete with Nigel's fractured attempts at French. Genuinely funny, but then, the show was better then.

I'm glad Jean's going. I find her annoying and yet another character with her head up her self-righteous arse. She listened to Ian's fears about Carl, although Ian wasn't completely honest with someone like Jean who would sit in judgement of him on that occasion and hasten to spread the news about his deceit.

NuMan Ian is a spineless, gelatinised, weasely wimp, who hides behind the silliest of women sent forth to do battle against the man he fears the most, who happens, himself, to be afraid of his own elderly, carehome-ridden mother.

Not only does DTC have to address a balance between yoof culture and older characters on this show, he also has to rid the programme of the dynamic of bullying, loud-mouthed, insulting women and weak, conniving and doormatted men. The way the new girl on the block, Sadie, openly insulted and humiliated Ajay last night, after remorselessly flirting with him and using him as a prop to promote her business, was disgusting. I'm not the biggest Ajay fan, but the fact that the only way she could gain acceptance amongst the female population of Walford was through male humiliation, is just fucking sick.

As for Jean, she bores Carl to death with her faux French accent and her tales of woe from the bi-polar front, then holds her hand out to Ian for financial remuneration.

And that makes her a mercenary. It's not clever, it's not nice, and it's not funny.

Please Stop John Lennon Singing That Song in My Head ...

Who is ruining Charlie Brooks and Steve John Shepherd's chemistry? I know he's leaving, and I know he's probably leaving because it didn't help their storyline or their on-screen chemistry that she thought she was a shoe-in for SCD and ended up in the jungle; but, Lordy!

How many times can various writers think of watching Michael try to one-up Janine or vice versa. We even got to glimpse briefly, MyAlice and her amazing over-sized veneers, which she calls her "Hollywood Teeth."

Why were Michael and Janine arguing over a picnic? And the imminent danger of Scarlett managing somehow to tip over her pushchair was pretty bad. Add to that, any long-term viewer with any modicum of common sense caught the foreshadowed remark that indicated that Janine would be spending the evening with Danny Pennant before the episode ended.

That much was obvious. I'll bet vaslav37, Digital Spy's resident bigoted gay man, is railing and cursing at Lorraine Newman, whilst howling at the moon.

The dialogue was poor and obvious. Janine is thinking about taking a leave of absence from work - whether she's serious about this or not, Michael loses no opportunity to belittle and bemoan her inability to do such a thing. This is a version of how he chipped away at her self-esteem when she was tired, hormonal and suffering from PND.

She brushes the criticism away with a retort. He insists that she misses him, she insists that he misses her. He tries to look disdainful.

The best part about this whole to-and-fro was that Janine, again for the benefit of the simpletons who think Michael is sexy, moody and misunderstood, openly accused him of manipulating her - which is exactly what he did, continuously. Then she accuses him of arrogance. 

Spot on de nouveau. These are the two core characteristics of a psychopath - they manipulate and they have an arrogant, inflated view of themselves as opposed to others. Unless and until the numpties recognise that Michael is not a normal man, he's not even a nice man, and he'd be the worst thing possible to happen to Scarlett, then the writers have to move closer and closer to the actual uttering of the p-word, and that's psychopath.

Janine promises Michael that maybe maybe she'll allow Scarlett a stay-over one night a month, but I somehow don't think she will. Did she ever do that, she'd awake the next morning to find him and the baby gone.

Of course, the not-so-clever and easily discernible twist in the tale of this vignette (which means it really wasn't a twist in the tale) saw Michael betting Janine couldn't resist calling him, after he left, just to ask him back to stay the night. Yes, we saw Janine emerge from her bath; yes, we saw her gaze across the Square to where Michael was chatting to 2 men whom we've never seen before; and yes, we saw her pick up her phone, make a call and arrange a date.

Then we saw Danny arrive, and the duff duff on Michael's weird face.

Who didn't see that coming? Well, obviously the dynamic at whom the idiotic, puerile and juvenile writers are aiming.

Three weeks and counting.

I just hope DTC doesn't disappoint.

Time's a-wastin'.

Bloody awful episode.