Russell Brand blowing your tiny mind on Australia Today

[namkha]

[Floyd]

I use to think RB was a bit of a twat, but I've seen a few clips recently that has changed my opinion, he's much more switched on than a lot of mainstream celebrates, although his eccentric persona is used against him to keep him on the fringe, as if he's no more than a hyperactive, egotistical celeb.

He is having a good giggle and play with the system, and see how crippling the wests cultural and social conditioning is, we need more of that

Eta:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ADJhErmJuoQ&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DADJhErmJuoQ

Edited September 27, 2013 by Floyd

[namkha]

this is great too - his award speech at the GQ/Hugo Boss Man of the Year wankathon - the title on the video doesn't tell you what is about to happen

[Floyd]

[Embryo]

His tweet about the GQ editor afterwards was even funnier!

[namkha]

Russell Brand's writing is great too

in those youtube clips the reaction to his comedy deconstruction is really revealing - they are all so threatened/scared/aggressive

the MSNBC one is great - but I wouldn't watch the BBC unless you like Peter Hitchens talking over everyone -

Russell Brand: what I made of Morning Joe and Question Time

So what really happened behind the scenes when Russell Brand turned up with his mum to take part in Question Time? And what did he make of Boris?

• • Russell Brand
  • The Guardian, Friday 28 June 2013 22.15 BST
  • Jump to comments (821)

'We were excited – Question Time, like Match of the Day or Corrie, is a potent piece of living heritage' …Russell Brand, Tessa Jowell, Boris Johnson, David Dimbleby, Ed Davey and Melanie Phillips. Photograph: Matt Crossick/PA

More from acute awareness of Instant Karma's immediate sting than morality, I have learned to treat people apparently lacking power with cordiality. This means that when I arrived at the New York studios of Morning Joe, the gleaming, informal mid-morning MSNBC news analysis show, I was polite to everyone there.

I was surprised by the soundman's impatient intrusiveness and yet more surprised as I stood just off set, beside the faux-newsroom near the pseudo-researchers who appear on camera as pulsating set dressing, when the soundman yapped me to heel with the curt entitlement of Idi Amin's PA. In response I wandered calmly from the studio and into the corridor, where a passing group of holidaymakers were enjoying the NBC tour. Often when you encounter rudeness from the crew, it is an indication that the show is not running smoothly, perhaps that day, or maybe in general. When I landed in my chair, on camera, and was introduced to the show's hosts – a typical trident of blonde, brunette and affable chump – it became clear that, in spite of the show's stated left-leaning inclination, the frequency they were actually broadcasting was the shrill, white noise of dumb current affairs.

One of the things that's surprising when you go on telly a lot is that often the on-camera "talent" (yuck!) are perfectly amiable when you chat to them normally, but when the red light goes on they immediately transform into shark-eyed Stepford berks talking in a cadence you encounter nowhere else but TV-land – a meter that implies simultaneously carefree whimsy and stifled hysteria. There is usually a detachment from the content. "Coming up after the break, we'll be slicing my belly open and watching while smooth black eels loll out in a sinewy cascade of demented horror." This abstraction I think occurs through institutionalisation. If your function is to robotically report a pre-existing agenda, you needn't directly interface with the content. I was surprised when the Morning Joe clip "went viral" (I have parenthesised a sexist joke here: "Many of my casual transactions with daft blondes go viral – I put penicillin on me Frosties"; don't read this if you are offended by that sort of thing) because a lot of my promotional interviews or appearances on these kind of shows have the odd "cuckoo" ambience that defines this transient slice of pop cultural life. It's the unreal, sustained glitch in naturalism that makes this genre of TV disturbing to either watch or be on. The Lynchian subjugation of our humanity; warmth and humour, usurped by a sterile, pastel-coloured steel blade benignly thrust again and again into a grey brain.

Why is our culture behaving like this? How has this become normal? It is by no means an exclusively American phenomenon, though wherever you encounter it, there is something American about it. Even on Question Time, which is as British as eating a pork pie out of Boudicca's vagina, on a Wednesday, in the rain, there is an air of the unreal.

The episode of the much-loved political forum hosted by Sir David Dimbleby in which I participated was broadcast (not quite actually) live from the glistening Thamesside titty from which Boris Johnson presides over London life. Knowing that, in spite of its maternal architecture, I was in fact entering an orb of patriarchy, I went in mob-handed. Not with a tooled-up crew of present-day Krays, but with my mum and some of the people I work with. Normal, working British people. We were excited – Question Time, like Match of the Day or Corrie, is a potent piece of living heritage; as soon as you see its name the theme tune gatecrashes your brain, all chuffed with itself, jigging through your synapses like Bez.

We met "the team" and watch Ed Davey (LibDem; why are we surprised by their fluctuations when they can't even decide on a name?) finish makeup. I suppose we shouldn't be irked that all politicians wear makeup to go on television; it's obvious, but as a symbol it's undeniably apposite – the gentle, accepted cover-up.

Ed Davey, though, is nice enough, tissues down his collar, smartphone in hand, selfie requested and delivered. Tessa Jowell was there an' all.

She seemed pleasant and my mum liked her.

We'd been told in advance that Boris Johnson, mayor of London, had invited the panel for drinks in his office. I was allowed a plus one, so I took my mum. We were nervous in the lift – me, Ed Davey, Melanie Phillips, a production assistant and a couple of others. I tried to observe what was what and look for early signs of dominance, but everyone acts the same in elevators. Compliant, mouth-breathing anxiety; time, like the lift itself, suspended in a shaft. We disgorge on to the top floor and are card-scanned into the mayoral complex. Just an office really.

Then we are led into BoJo's lair. He's in there, as you might imagine, kerfuffling around with some beverages, jugs and glasses all lined up on his boardroom table like a middle-management conference at the South Mimms Novotel. The view is startling: Tower Bridge is slapped across the window like it's perched on your hooter as a pair of novelty specs. Vistas like this induce megalomania. Staring at that while chewing a pencil, even Frank Spencer would morph into Hitler.

Somehow, after a polite hello from Boris and a reference to the MSNBC clip, I end up being mother (which was weird, because my actual mother was there, so I don't know who she was being) and serve the drinks. A few people have wine, most have water, and I wind up chatting to Melanie Phillips. Melanie is a columnist for the Daily Mail and is mostly known for her knee-jerk, right-wing, hang-em-high vitriol. In person, inconveniently, she is beautiful. Deep brown, soulful eyes, elegant features and a truthful, caring sincerity in her tone. It is surprising and bizarre, then, to see her contort on air into a taut, jabbing Gollum figure, untutored index finger fucking the audience in the face when they pipe up about Syria or whatever. Oddly, I still like her, regarding her opinions as an arbitrary appurtenance that she pops on in public, like a daft hat that says "Immigrants Out" on the brim. When the audience – who, incidentally, make all the best points – boo her, I think it a shame. The wall of condemnation is an audible confirmation that the world is a fearful and unloving place. Like most of us, Melanie just needs a cuddle.

Fellow panellists Ed and Tessa are a couple of lovely labradors, one chocolate, one yellow, with wagging tails and wet noses, fetching the party line. Sir David is statesmanlike and twinkly. Only Boris concerns me. When I used to watch Have I Got News For You, which as a kid I was proud to watch, full stop, I loved it when Boris Johnson came on. I didn't know who he was or what he did, I didn't think about it, I just liked him. I liked his voice, his manner, his name, his vocabulary, his self-effacing charm, humour and, of course, his hair. He has catwalk hair. Vogue cover hair, Rumplestiltskin spun it out of straw, straight-out-of-bed, drop-dead, gold-thread hair. He was always at ease with Deayton, Merton and Hislop, equal to their wit and always gave a great account of himself. "This bloke is cool," I thought. As I grew up I found out that he was an old Etonian, bully-boy, Spectator-editing Tory.

"That's weird," I thought. While I was busy becoming a world-class junkie, the man from HIGNFY became mayor. People like Boris Johnson; I like the HIGNFY Boris. He is the most popular politician in the country. Well, not in the country, on the television. There is a difference. Most people, of course, haven't met him, they've seen him on the telly. When I met Boris in his office, the nucleus of his dominion, I glanced at his library. Among the Wodehouses and the Euripides there were, of course, fierce economic tomes, capitalist manuals, bibles of domination. Eye-to-eye, the bumbling bonhomie appeared to be a lacquer of likability over a living obelisk of corporate power.

It is on record that, in his capacity as mayor, Boris has held seven times as many meetings with bankers as with normal people (no, bankers aren't normal – when normal people steal money they are punished). For his first campaign, 77% of his funding came from the City; for his second, his funding was put through the Conservative party and therefore didn't have to be declared. We can assume this was not because the sourcing was more egalitarian.

Boris Johnson is the most dangerous politician in Britain, precisely because of his charm. The members of the Conservative party that are rallying to install him as leader are those to the right of David Cameron. If you thought the fringe on his head was lunatic, you should see the lunatic fringe that want him as leader. Those for whom Cameron is not Tory enough. "Offshore Dave", leader of a coalition for whom 14 of its 20 most prominent donors have links to companies with offshore holdings. The politicians who want to move the party and our country further to the right want Boris. And well they might: he is the consummate televisual politician. Funny and likable, even when he errs it's cute, like a shaved Winnie the Pooh accidentally eating all the honey.

In this age where politics is presented as entertainment, it's the most entertaining politicians who ascend.

As we all sit behind the desk and the theme tune begins to play, I regard the faces of my fellow panellists. Apprehensive, like me. In makeup, like me. Whenever we see David Cameron or Barack Obama on the box – knitted brows, index finger and thumb of dominant hand pinched in that contemporary rhetorical fist, powerful but not too powerful – they, in spite of what they're telling us, are always covering something up: their true faces.

[HazyDaze]

I've always liked russel brand, the man whore that he is...

[jlmmy]

this is great too - his award speech at the GQ/Hugo Boss Man of the Year wankathon - the title on the video doesn't tell you what is about to happen

not available in uk? hes british ffs

[ratdog]

@@jlmmy

try this one mate

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfcUMd3eilw

[jlmmy]

@@jlmmy

try this one mate

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfcUMd3eilw

nice one! great vids!

[Twisted Rizla]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6gPGi3m2J4&feature=player_detailpage

I quite like the fella.

[Sun Tzu]

I'm afraid I've tried several times not to despise him to the point of wanting to see his hot life-blood escaping from his shattered corpse in one enormous, glorious burst.... and failed. Really badly failed.

[namkha]

are there any good reasons why people despise him these days - or is it still just the usual feeling intimidated/envious stuff?

people seem to be very keen to say they hate him - less keen to explain why

I don't much like all his TM / Krishnamurti stuff, for example - but I can't fault the guy on much else these days

[Boojum]

I rarely change my mind about people, cos I'm that kind of judgemental cunt, once I've made my mind up it's generally made. But Russell Brand is an exception. I absolutely hated him when he first appeared, I thought he was a stupid, pointless, facile waste of space. I hold my hand up and admit I was utterly wrong, he is far from stupid, he's a clever bloke and what I first thought was pointless and facile is actually a good sense of humour and a tendency to not give a shit what people think. I've got a lot of time for the bloke now

E2A Not that my opinion matters. Just drunk again.

Edited February 2, 2014 by Boojum

[Sun Tzu]

He is an intelligent, witty bloke. He is NOT as bright as he thinks he is, nor as witty as he supposes himself to be. He is not the only person to have taken or got hooked on drugs. Many people have been saying the same stuff as he is now for years, but without his ego-generated popularity (the only way you can get to be that well-known and popular with such sparse talent is by desperately seeking it out for a long time, which is what he has done.) nobody ever listened to them. Now brand rocks up, stinking like Kate Moss' gusset, and everyone thinks he's fucking ex-junky-ghandi.

I met him a few times before he became well known. He used to crop up all the time in this hampstead set that ended up in Notting Hill parties alot. He was nothing like he became after getting an agent and stylist. I swear I saw the twat in a ben sherman shirt and chinos.

I like the way he writes, but his constructed persona and his.... ahem.... style? I don't know, his whole demeanor just screams "insecure, self-obsessed wanker" to me. To be fair, he may have spilled my drink at one of those parties, or passed a bum-sucked joint. Sometimes I only remember that I'm pissed with someone without remembering why. I absolutely hated the old Rover SD shape. I mean HATED! I eventually remembered being on Hastings sea-front as a 6-year old, and a police SD starting it's siren just level with me and.... making me drop me ice cream on the floor. That was it, unreasoning hatred from then on.

I never claimed to be a very rational being.

Edited February 2, 2014 by Sun Tzu