Lost is back!

First episode of Season 4 of Lost airs in the US tonight - I won't be able to download it fast enough tomorrow!

A little catch-up guide here.

You can type this shit, but you sure can't say it

EW have a funny feature on the worst movie dialogue ever. My personal fave is Andie McDowell's immortal clunker, said with all the passion of a talking clock, in Four Weddings and a Funeral: "Is it raining? I hadn't noticed."

Down to the Wire

For fans of the TV show The Wire...

3rd Rock's 2nd Life

Lucy Mangan in The Guardian has a great tribute to the madcap and eternally under-rated 90s sitcom 3rd Rock From The Sun, which lives on in syndication on the Sci Fi Channel.

Lego @ 50

50 years of Lego. Oh what would my birthdays and Christmases have been like without it??

O-mentum

Toni Morrison, Caroline Kennedy and Ted Kennedy are all endoring Obama...Read here and here.

SAGs

See the list of Screen Actors Guild Award winners here.

Pain and leisure

My Guest Column in today's Weekend magazine in the Irish Independent

Pain and leisure
By Declan Cashin
Saturday January 26, 2008
I sincerely hope that at this very moment you're propped up in bed reading this article or, at the very least, wrapped in a huge blanket on the sofa with a continuous supply of tea and toast at hand. For that's the only way the weekend papers should be consumed -- lazily, comfortably and at your own leisure. Continue here.

Oscar, come out!

The Guardian runs down the total cost to the industry if the Oscars are cancelled next month. Read here

January bleugh

The Last Word column from Day and Night in today's Independent

We're almost there people. Just six more days until stinky, dark, dreary, cold and broke January will be done with for another year. Huzzah! By my calculations many of you will be celebrating the first Feast of the Brown Envelope (i.e. pay day) of 2008 today, and are therefore probably too filled with joy and relief about having money once more to hold onto the memories of the lean three weeks that have just gone by.

But, by gum, remember you must, for those of us who forget history are condemned to repeat it. Burn into your mind just how you've felt for the past few weeks. Write it all down in great detail if you must. Go ahead, I can wait.

A friend of mine came out with a brilliant term to sum up the general January 'bleugh' feeling: "Christmas jet lag". All of December is basically like a foreign holiday. It's all parties, late nights and demented, relentless spending, where all your worries are put on the long finger, all your false energy reserves are called up into action, and all sense of reality is suspended. And to top it all off, you get a two week break at the end of it to either keep up that chaotic schedule or just retreat into high calorie hibernation.

No wonder we're all so discombobulated come the first week of the New Year. You genuinely feel about 11 hours behind the rest of the world. Everyone is in a slump. Nobody really wants to do anything. All around you — at work, on the streets, at home — people are just trudging around like mindless drones, their spirits broken, eyes downcast, and shoulders hunched by the shear weight of the January 'bleugh'.

It's so quiet everywhere in the country —- in pubs, clubs, even shops — that you feel like bursting into a rip-roaring, shrieking rendition of that Bjork song and begin dancing up and down the street with a man in a mailbox just to liven things up a bit.

Of course, there's a way to avoid all this, and if you're anything like me, you have at least 6 much smarter friends who made contingency plans for just that: they all literally fled the country. It's so simple, yet so ingenious, like all the best ideas always are.

For instance, I know a couple who have hightailed it off to Australia for the month. Another friend was in Brazil for New Year's, and engineered it so he’d be there until last week. A colleague went all Darjeeling Limited and decided to get lost by finding himself on a journey through India. Others are making tracks to Gran Canaria and New York, while several more are gone "on the piste" on the slopes of Andorra.

So what the bleedin' heck was I doing here, I found myself asking? And my answer was: I honestly don't know! Kind of like a Finance Minister in a Tiger economy, I got so caught up in the heady debauchery of the period that I never thought to make plans for when the party ground to a buzz-wrecking halt.

But, boy, January 2008 has been enough to give me the kick in the behind I need to ensure I ain't around for the festive fallout next year. Oh no. This time next year I'm going to make it my business to see that I'll be sequestered in the metaphorical nuclear bunker of the Caribbean or South America, or anywhere where the sun is shining, the days are long, the colourful cocktails are flowing, and January becomes the month that time - and I - forgot.

Hair don't

Feature of mine on cinema's hair-do hall of shame in today's Independent

By Declan Cashin

Friday January 25 2008

In the Coen Brothers' bleak and bloody new movie, No Country for Old Men, Javier Bardem steals the show by way of some killer hair -- literally. His bizarre bowl haircut has drawn a lot of attention from 'fringe' commentators in Hollywood, to the extent that his 'do' is now as notorious as his performance as deranged hitman Anton Chigurh. Continue here

NYT decides...

New York Times endorses Hillary and John McCain...

Speechless.Utterly speechless.

Diablo

Check out Diablo Cody - the freakishly cool and Oscar nominated screenwriter of Juno - on David Letterman this week.

Sein-field

Pat Kenny's notorious Toy Show interview with Jerry Seinfeld - or Jerry "Seinfield" as he repeatedly calls him. Absolutely cringe-inducing. Cheers to thechancer for the clip.

Hillary/Obama Death Match

The Hillary-Obama smackdown at the South Carolina debate. Wow, the hatred!

Are you really best mates?

Feature of mine in today's Independent.

Are you really best mates?
The 10 most important 'qualities' a man looks for in his best friend, according to Declan Cashin

Wednesday January 23 2008
This question is for the boys: is there anything that you wouldn't do for your best friend? Would you beg, borrow and steal for -- and off -- him? What would you consider the hallmarks of male friendship? If you need help answering these questions, then you need look no further than a recent web poll commissioned by Universal Pictures to tie-in with the DVD release of the Adam Sandler movie, I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry...
Continue reading here.

Heath Ledger

Jesus. Read here

Heath Ledger 1979-2008

Tributes...

Last interview with the New York Times

Oscar nods...

Check out the Oscar nominations by category here or see full list here. Saorise Ronan was nominated as Best Supp Actress for Atonement, and Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova picked up a nod for their track 'Falling Slowly' from Once. Biggest shock: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly snubbed as Best Foreign Language Film and Best Picture.

Cloverfield...

...Just saw it this morning...and it's awesome! The hype is justified. Cloverfield is like Blair Witch crossed with 9/11 mashed in with The Towering Inferno and Godzilla. It's nerve-shredding, disorienting, relentlessly, bravely bleak stuff.

With its deliberate invocation of the 2001 attacks on New York and its unremittingly apocalyptic tone - there's no explanation for the attack or the...creature that carries it out and definitely (?) no happy ending - Cloverfield is the disaster movie of and for the 21st century. Lost's JJ Abrams has done it again. This is a fantastic movie.

Razzie Time

With all this Oscar hoopla, it's easy to forget those other giants of the award season - the Razzies, celebrating the very best of the very worst movies of the year.

Dubya: The Movie

Oliver Stone wants to make a movie about George W. Bush, with Josh Brolin in the lead role. Read here

Going for Gold...

Oscar nominations are announced tomorrow (1.30pm Irish time), so here are my last minute predictions:

Best Picture:

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Juno

Michael Clayton

No Country For Old Men

There Will Be Blood

Watch Out For: Atonement

Best Actor:

George Clooney, Michael Clayton

Johnny Depp, Sweeney Todd

Daniel Day Lewis, There Will Be Blood

Frank Langella, Starting Out In The Evening

Viggo Mortenson, Eastern Promises

Watch out for: Emile Hirsch, Into The Wild

Fingers Crossed For: Ryan Gosling, Lars and the Real Girl

Best Actress:

Julie Christie, Away From Her
Marion Cotillard, La Vie En Rose

Angelina Jolie, A Mighty Heart

Ellen Page, Juno

Keira Knightley, Atonement

Watch out for: Laura Linney, The Savages

Best Supporting Actor:

Casey Affleck, The Assassination of Jesse James...

Javier Bardem, No Country for Old Men

Paul Dano, There Will Be Blood

Philip Seymour Hoffman, Charlie Wilson's War

Hal Holbrook, Into the Wild

Watch out for: Tom Wilkinson, Michael Clayton

Fingers crossed for: Max Von Sydow, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Best Supporting Actress:

Cate Blanchett, I'm Not There

Jennifer Garner, Juno

Amy Ryan, Gone Baby Gone

Tilda Swinton, Michael Clayton

Saoirse Ronan, Atonement

Watch out for: Catherine Keener, Into the Wild

Fingers crossed for: Ruby Dee, American Gangster

Best Director:

Joel Coen, No Country For Old Men

Julian Schnabal, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Paul Thomas Anderson, There Will Be Blood

Tony Gilroy, Michael Clayton

Sean Penn, Into the Wild

Watch out for: Joe Wright, Atonement

Fingers crossed for: David Cronenberg, Eastern Promises

Tina Baby

For all you fellow Tina Fey lovers. This looks hilarious.

Cold comfort

My Last Word column from Day and Night in today's Irish Independent

Well what do you know? It turns out I am a stereotypical man after all. Years of carefully cultivating the image that I was a more evolved, sophisticated model of modern masculinity have been undone in one runny-nosed strike. For as I write, I'm bleary-eyed and half-zonked with a headcold. Correction: make that the worst headcold ever.

Actually, I think that this headcold - which I'm pretty confident is mutating into flu at this stage - marks a new epoch in human suffering. In fact, I can't think of a single instance, ever, in all the history of mankind, that somebody has had to endure the misery, discomfort and hardship that I'm living with at the moment. What's more, I believe the world should acknowledge this profusely and bend over backwards to alleviate my wretched pain.

I'll pause for a second here to allow all you bros to nod in agreement out of solidarity and for all you ladies to roll your eyes and let out a knowing guffaw. Doesn't what you've just read sum up the mindset that every man sinks into whenever they're struck down by what everyone but the poor guy believes to be the most minor of afflictions?

But indulge me - afterall, I'm sick. It's all too easy to mock us for being bad patients that are hysterically prone to exaggerating symptoms and indulging in borderline hyperchondria. It's hard for us poor blokes to get a sympathetic break. If, like me, you've woken up on a chilly January morning in an achy fit of oozy sneezes, coughs and the feeling that your head has been replaced by a cement block, you need to find someone to lend you a kind word and tell you what a handsome, brave superhero you are for even contemplating getting up to face the world in the face of such cruel adversity.

I find in nearly all cases, it's the womenfolk in our lives that need to fill this role. In my case, I called my mother as soon as I woke up, for I was sure she'd want to be the first to hear that her son was so ill on an unprecedented scale. Of course, I forgot that she's a woman who's had five kids and worked as a nurse for 40 years, and she had a cold herself which she wasn’t complaining about. Sympathy wasn't on the cards, despite my best moany voice and pitiful coughs.
What was wrong with the world? Surely a sex whose biological make-up plunges them into involuntary physical and emotional turmoil on a monthly basis should understand what it's like to be so incapacitated?

In the face of such a dearth of human kindness, I did what any man must do - moan to anyone and everyone who'd listen to me. Everywhere I went, I presented the visage of a cursed man, and every time I sneezed or coughed, I quickly shot a glance to those around me with eyes that said, 'I know - I myself wonder where I find the strength to go on. Now carry on mere mortal, and take heart that one day you might be as courageous and resilient as I'.

I'm sure that after a few nights (and maybe the odd day) filled with hot whiskeys, and by popping enough vitamins to make 45-a-day Hilary Swank green with envy, I'll manage to best this cold. And while convalescing, I can spend my time pondering who will play me in the inevitable TV movie about my noble struggle, He Sneezed Alone: The Declan Cashin Story. Personally, I think Jake Gyllenhaal would be an uncanny choice. Wow, those hot whiskeys are strong.

Fleva-some

My review of Fleva in today's Day and Night magazine in the Irish Independent.

Ah, the Marble City: land of my youth. Of course, today Kilkenny is a very different city -- and yes, it is a city despite numerous attempts by others to downgrade its status to "town" -- to the one in which I became a man. These days, it's more like a terrifyingly successful suburb of Dublin, a stomping ground for those looking to flee the capital for a weekend, to which the 6.25pm train on a Friday evening from Dublin to Kilkenny will rowdily attest. Continue here.

Directors' Cut

The Directors Guild have struck a deal with the studios - meaning the striking Writers Guild now may have a template to use to settle their dispute with the AMPTP.

Cloverfield unveiled

Wow, Empire are impressed by JJ Abrams' new phenomenon Cloverfield anyway! Read review here.

Review from EW here.

And for those of you asking, 'Who or what is a Gloverfeld'? Here's a long background piece from Sunday Times a few weeks back.

Sly move

Saw hunkbot Ryan Reynolds' new movie, Definitely Maybe, today (and really enjoyed it I must say). Anyway, this song is used at the beginning - the perfect antidote to miserable January.

There May Be Blood...but there's no guts

Just back from the screening of Tim Burton's adaptation of Sweeney Todd. My initial reaction: meh.

I wasn't familiar with the stage musical at all, so this is coming from someone with no in-built expectations or point of comparison. It certainly looks great - as you'd expect from Burton - and Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter do okay with the vocals (though Depp at times seems to be doing karaoke versions of either Bowie or Rufus Wainwright).

But it's all technical achievement. The two leads are suitably haunted looking, though all this talk that Depp will finally land the Best Actor Oscar are hysterical. His performance is part Edward Scissorhands, part Jack Sparrow, part Henry Portrait of a Serial Killer all minced together and baked in a strikingly average pie.

There's no emotion in it at all. Burton never gets close enough to these characters for us to care - in fact, his direction is quite lazy. The romantic subplot is as limp as they come, and even the revenge theme seems lost in all the action - bizarre, considering that that's Todd's motivation, and the very premise of the whole piece.

It's gory, but ridiculously so. The worst sins though - and you Sondheimites out there prepare to pounce on my philistine ways - are that the songs are just shite. Musically superb no doubt: they're just not catchy, or entertaining whatsoever. In fact, the whole thing comes off as irritatingly, distractingly stagey. Musicals always require a stretch on the audience's behalf, but they should at least be entertaining (like Hairspray for instance). If they don't have that, they will perish. Maybe I'm missing something, but I was left deeply unimpressed.

Butterfly Effect

Article in today's Guardian about painter-turned-director Julian Schnabel, who won the Golden Globe this week for his exquisite adaptation of Jean Dominque Bauby's The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Celeb tat and trash keeps eBay in the cash

Feature of mine in today's Irish Independent.

There was a time in the history of celebrity worship when a simple autograph sufficed. Then, as Summer Roberts remarked in The OC, getting a picture with a star on your camera phone became "the autograph for the 21st century".

In recent years, however, fans have gone to greater lengths -- or new lows -- to own a piece of their favourite celeb, a process made possible by the explosion of online auction sites. Continue here.

BAFTA noms

View nominations for British Academy Awards here.

Past is present

Good piece in today's Guardian by John Harris about Noughties pop culture being defined by its neurotic obsession with the past.

Take it at Face value

Facebook fans: did you know that your favourite site is really an insidious neoconservative libertarianist experiment in uber-capitalism that wants to make cash out out of friendship, and is predicated on philosopher Rene Girard's theory of mimetic desire? No? Then read this startling piece in The Guardian today.

Pray for THEIR sins oh ye guilty ones

I'm sure you've read this elsewhere, but the Pope's recent suggestion that the world engage in a collective 24 hour prayer session to atone for the raping of children committed by priests, and the vast criminal conspiracy of silence headed by his "saintly" predecessor John Paul II, is beyond insulting.

Does this mean we're all complicit, and should beg for forgiveness? Sorry Benny, but I don't think it's us that need to pray for forgiveness. How about opening up Vatican files to a specially appointed criminal prosecutor so those who protected paedophiles will be brought to justice? Further evidence of the looniness of this religion: if you allow yourself to be conned by any of this codology, you might as well start believing in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus again.

Hahahahahaha

According to Tourism Ireland, who have launched their "radical" new marketing campaign to sell the country overseas, one of the reasons visitors love coming here is because, and I quote, "of how easy it is to get around".

Now, surely even marketing people have to laugh at that suggestion in a country with arguably the most abysmal public transport system in Europe?

"I'm not anorexic, I'm from Texas..."

My feature on dumb celebrity quotes in today's Irish Independent.

Globe winners

Golden Globe winners are here! Go Julian Schnabal and Tina Fey!!!

My Golden Globe predix

Best Picture Drama: No Country for Old Men (upset: Atonement) Best Actor Drama: Daniel Day Lewis, There Will Be Blood (upset: George Clooney, Michael Clayton) Best Actress Drama: Julie Christie, Away From Her (upset: Keira Knightley, Atonement) Best Picture Musical/Comedy: Juno (upset: Sweeney Todd) Best Actor M/C: Johnny Depp, Sweeney Todd (upset: Ryan Gosling, Lars and the Real Girl) Best Actress M/C: Ellen Page, Juno (upset: Marion Cotillard, La Vie En Rose) Best Supporting Actor: Javier Bardem, No Country For Old Men (upset: Casey Affleck) Best Supporting Actress: Amy Ryan, Gone Baby Gone (upset: Cate Blanchett, I'm Not There) Best Director: Ethan and Joel Coen (upset: Joe Wright) Best Screenplay: Juno (No Country For Old Men) Animated Film: Ratatouille Score: Atonement Song: Into The Wild Foreign Film: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Onion Boys

Interview with the head honchos of The Onion - the funniest satirical newspaper on Earth - in today's Irish Times. This link should work...

MoJo'

Restaurant review of Jo'Burger in today's Day and Night magazine in the Irish Independent

Jo'Burger
137 Rathmines Raod
Rathmines
Dublin 6
01 491 3731

I had been trying to meet an old friend of mine from the homestead of Kilkenny for weeks. Big Friendly Diarmuid (BFD) - for he is indeed a big, strapping, friendly man who nevertheless likes to pick me up and throw me around (more of this anon) – has been living in Dublin for two years working for CompuGlobalHyperMegaNet, or some such multinational software company, but we never get to see each other...

Continue reading here.

A Good Sport

The Last Word column from Day and Night in today's Irish Independent

There are only a few topics in this world that will make my eyes glaze over and my brain shut down automatically. Anything to do with taxes/mortgages/financial affairs is pretty effective in this regard. So too are computer games, and anything to do with science. But the one thing I simply cannot get my mind around is sport. One might even go as far to say that I, gulp, positively hate sport.

I bring it up because a friend, who's all caught up in a New Year fitness craze, recently asked me if I wanted to join an amateur soccer team with him. I laughed – oh how I laughed – for even though the guys on this soccer team allegedly are only there for the fun of it, and don't take it that seriously, I don't think there's an amateur soccer team anywhere that would be amateur enough to accommodate my soccer-playing "abilities".

For you see, I'm not one of those types who hates something for no reason. Oh no. My dislike of soccer and sport is grounded in lamentable, hard-forged personal experience. I'm talking years of enforced soccer games, of being picked last, and of pitying looks as I miserably tried to raise a sliotar with a hurl. Excuse me, I've got something in my eye!

It's not like nature hasn't tried to make me like sport. Afterall, I was born into a family with four sport-mad brothers who literally came out of the womb performing kick-ups and humming the theme tune to Match of the Day.

They did their best, bless 'em, to get me on board, but I wasn't buying it. After a few years, they realised that my soccer-playing talents were best suited to being a goalie in all our games, and even then they appointed another player to stay back and defend the goal, and basically do all the work. I was just the front – the George W Bush if you will – to that defender's Dick Cheney, the one calling – and blocking – the shots.

And so they came to accept that while they spent Sunday evenings watching match highlights, I was happier to cram into my parents' room to watch Melrose Place with my sister-in-law on the other TV.

To compound my sporting hell, I also spent a total of 14 years in all-boys primary and secondary schools, the latter of which was considered the south-east's feeder school for the GAA. Hurling, basketball, hockey, tennis – they were all foisted on me, and all subsequently proved to me that I was definitely born missing some gene. Seriously, it's not pleasant for all concerned when I get on a pitch or a court. Grown men – PE teachers usually - have been reduced to tears.

Now that I'm a fully-fledged grown up (we'll see what the lab has to say about that!), I don't have to even pretend to be interested in sport any longer. This being so, you can imagine how helpful I am when I'm occasionally asked to help edit sport stories at work, and I have to spend the time looking up words like "equaliser" and "pass" to find their meanings (though I'm pretty sure I won't be asked to muck in from this day on).

Curiously though, my sportophobia has eased somewhat lately. For instance, my interest in rugby seems to have spiked in recent years, which, by pure coincidence, corresponds directly with the emergence of beautiful players on the French team. I'd like to think the current plethora of hot sports men in the public eye is Mother Nature's way of apologising to all of us who suffered for years under thankless, cruel sporting regimes. Apology very much accepted Ma'am.

One in a billion

Hollywood Writers' strike could end up costing the industry $1 billion (say in Dr Evil voice for added effect). From EW

DGA

This year's nominees for the Directors Guild of America award

Paul Thomas Anderson, There Will Be Blood

Joel and Ethan Coen, No Country for Old Men

Tony Gilroy, Michael Clayton

Sean Penn, Into the Wild

Julian Schnabel, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Oscars Show is Go

Despite the cancellation of the Golden Globes, the organisers of the Oscars say the ceremony will go ahead. How mad would it be if the ceremony, which wasn't even called off at any point during World War II, was felled by a bunch of goateed writers with funky eye-wear?! Pen is mightier than the sword indeed!!

Comeback Gal?

Hillary wins new Hampshire. This is going to be an exciting few months. Oh and McCain won the Republican side, but does anyone really care?? I do, to the extent that it's not Mad Huckabee

Galactica to the four

For those of you like myself who are eagerly awaiting the return of the frackin' awesome Battlestar Galactica for its fourth and final season, there's a preview here courtesy of EW

Doing it for the lads

Feature of mine from today's Irish Independent

It may very well be a man’s world, but it’s certainly not a lad’s one, at least when it comes to men’s magazines. Sales of self-styled lads’ mags like Loaded and Maxim have plummeted by some 30 per cent since their peak in the mid-to-late 1990s, while the bottom (pun intended) also seems to have fallen out of the market for “boobs and bums” publications like Zoo and Nuts, which have been particularly hard-hit by the growth of the internet.

Taking their place is a new breed of man’s magazine, ones that target men in their late 20s and mid 30s who earn more, dress better, party harder and are better educated than ever before. Magazines such as GQ, Esquire (which has just been resized to slide comfortably into manbags across the land) and the recently-relaunched Arena have all tailored their content and style to appeal to the “urban cowboy who means business”, light years from the Loaded-era lad “who ought to know better”.

These magazines now take a more high-minded approach that favours style over sex, and that shys away from the once-dominant emphasis on booze and birds. The most recent issue of Arena, for example, is littered with adverts for designer sunglasses, titanium mobile phones and swanky flat-screen TVs, alongside articles on how to spend thousands on high class house parties and how the policies of the three main British political parties will affect this urban playboy.

Declan Leavy, men’s editor with Social and Personal magazine, explains that these magazines have changed simply because men’s tastes and interests are more varied and sophisticated than ever before.

“Men are much more likely to go into a shop and buy a magazine for the sole purpose of having a good read and finding out about the latest in travel, electronics, gadgets, fashion and even beauty,” Leavy says.

“I think as men we’ve on from the days of Loaded and FHM, which only cater to a certain reader, namely those solely interested in boobs and beer. The mature 21st century man is far more interested in reading about the latest sports car or luxury travel destination than reading about the most recent soap star that’s getting her breasts out for the lads!”

He continues: “Men are far more image conscious than they used to be, especially Irish men, and that is reflected in things like the appointment of a dedicated Men’s Editor for a lifestyle magazine like Social and Personal. But it’s not just fashion and beauty that dominates men’s magazines; travel, auto and electronics are also very popular areas with men.

“Of course, prosperity has a lot to do with greater magazine sales. Increased affluency means more disposable income to spend on luxury cars and holidays. We need to get our inspiration from somewhere and what better way to get inspiration and ideas than from magazines?”

Leavy also believes that advertising forces have dictated this shift. “Many believe that men are far more easily influenced than women,” he states. “This could explain why powerhouse brands like Dior, Boss, Gucci and Porsche all advertise heavily in men’s magazines. Perhaps they see us as an easy touch, much more gullible to the wonders of the latest skin treatment or designer threads.”

Michael O’Doherty, publisher of VIP magazine, agrees that advertising is the driving force behind the move towards the high end of the market by men’s monthlies. “Arena and Esquire have had to go upscale to attract advertising,” he explains. “Advertising is in the upper scale – you’ll see little or no adverts in Zoo and Nuts, for instance.”

But while the content of these magazines is now more chic than cheek, O’Doherty admits that these publications must retain some sex appeal in order to flourish. “Most of these men’s magazines have women on the cover,” he says. “Arena and GQ nearly always have female stars on their covers to draw in the FHM/Maxim reader. These mags have to make a buck, and you can do that with tabloid covers but sophisticated content.”

All of the magazines discussed so far are English publications, but publisher Kevin Kelly tried to conquer the domestic market with an Irish men’s magazine, entitled Himself, in the early Noughties. The publication lasted for nearly a year before folding.

“We didn’t get it right,” Kelly admits. “We almost had it. Our company got it right with women’s magazines like Image, but we couldn’t do it with men’s.
“The best thing about Himself was its title. That venture cost us a lot of money. Nobody in Ireland at present has the potential to create a quality men’s magazine.”

Michael O’Doherty is equally pessimistic about the chances of an Irish men’s monthly getting off the ground again. “The big problem, which is common in Irish publishing, is that English men’s mags sell here and inevitably it’d be compared to GQ for instance, which has huge production values. It’d rely so much on advertising and the numbers just aren’t there.

“I haven’t ruled out the idea of trying it some day, but it’s hard to see how money could be made from it. It’d be a huge risk.”

As for the men’s magazine that strikes the best balance between style and substance, O’Doherty says: “I’m not mad about the GQ and Arena style. It’s poncey, full of itself and self-consciously stylish.

“I would go for FHM above them all. It has no attitude about itself, looks great, knows what it does and does it well. It makes for a great toilet read and that’s what all men want in the end!”

McGovern: 'Impeach Bush'

Former presidential candidate George McGovern argues for Bush and Cheney's impeachment in today's Washington Post, and writes that this administration is even worse than that of Nixon - indeed, that it's the worst in American history.

'Obama is the liberal Reagan who can reunite America'

Andrew Sullivan in the Sunday Times.

Also Sarah Baxter's piece on how Obama is the JFK of the 21st century

Blood flows

There Will Be Blood dominates the National Society of Film Critics. See the results here

Obama mania

Obama opens a 10 point lead over Hillary in New Hampshire...read here

Global ban

Members of the Screen Actors Guild are to boycott the Golden Globes next Sunday, in solidarity wiith the striking writers, meaning none of the 70 acting nominees will turn up.If a deal isn't struck by Oscar time, surely the same ban will apply, hence marking the first time in the Academy's 80 year history that the awards will be shelved.

'Cisco

Travel feature on San Francisco from today's Weekend magazine in the Irish Independent
“I left my heart in San Francisco,” sang Tony Bennett, and it’s not difficult to see why upon visiting this beautiful city. The good news is that, if like Tony, you do find yourself leaving your ticker behind in the City by the Bay, it’s easier to go back and reclaim it as Aer Lingus is now operating direct routes there four times a week (and daily from summer 2008).

Most of us have certain images of San Francisco embedded in our minds, whether it’s the city’s landmarks or famous 43 hills that proved so crucial to the action of Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City, and the movies Bullitt and Dirty Harry, or its dense, atmospheric fog that contributed ineffably to the mysterious and chilly effect of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo.

San Francisco, of course, is also known for providing the vanguard of the countercultural movement in the 1960s, and for its adoption of, and by, huge swathes of gay men and women. Indeed, as much as one quarter of the city’s 800,000 strong population is gay, making San Francisco a modern Mecca for the pink pound tourism demographic. It was this very reputation for tolerance that led Mayor Gavin Newsom to issue gay marriage licences in the City in 2004 (that were later revoked), ensuring that the City became a cultural and political flashpoint in the nasty and divisive 2004 US presidential election.

The city’s gay focal point is the area known as The Castro, which is a moniker that no doubt leaves its Cuban namesake properly aghast (a theory highlighted in a brilliant episode of The Simpsons). The neighbourhood is packed with fantastic independent stores, cafes and cultural centres, such as the famed Castro Theatre, as well as a plethora of bars and restaurants. Like other Californian cities such as Los Angeles, San Francisco is surprisingly quiet on weeknights, with some shockingly early closing times for such a major city (11.30pm in places), but the City, and the Castro especially, explode into life from early Friday evening, more than making up for the mid-week lull.

But this is just one part of a rich and fascinating city. We took a bus tour of the City on our first morning, which really is a better way of finding your bearings than relying solely on guide books. A tour such as that opens up areas that might otherwise go unexplored such as the ethnically diverse neighbourhood known as The Mission (which once had one-third Irish residents), the swish Pacific Heights with its Victorian architectural splendour (and property prices that would even make Irish heads spin), and the Presidio, home to the Golden Gate Park, a huge green space that houses the stunning botanical gardens and Japanese Tea Rooms.

Of course, the two main tourist attractions that absolutely every visitor to San Francisco must take in are Alcatraz Island and the Golden Gate Bridge. The former attracts massive crowds, so it’s vital that you book tickets well in advance, even before you leave Ireland (http://www.nps.gov/alcatraz/).

Entry to the island itself is free, but an adult return ticket for the ferry costs $16 (around e11). Once at the prison, you can avail of a headset to guide yourself around the complex, with some interesting historical context and titbits thrown in for good measure. On a clear day (which are more common in the late spring and summer months), the island, and the ferry ride, offer stunning views of the City. Be warned though that Alcatraz is a steep climb, although cart transport is provided for the frail or disabled.

When you get dropped back on the mainland, now would be the ideal time to amble around the large waterfront area. Fisherman’s Wharf, for good and for bad, has all the carnival-style airs and trappings of a tourist seaside resort. The waterfront is packed with seafood restaurants and souvenir joints (if that’s your thing), and the area also serves as popular starting point for a ride in one the legendary cable cars that run throughout the City.

It’s also worth popping along to Pier 39 to avail of bay tours, as well as to have a gawk at the sea lions, who arrived shortly after the devastating 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake and have set up squatting rights on the walkways at the marina ever since.

For many visitors to San Francisco, myself very much included, the highlight in terms of tourist attractions is the Golden Gate. As iconic as the Bridge is, there really is nothing to prepare you for seeing this breathtaking structure when confronted with it in reality. At this time of year, the bay fog really is too impenetrable to be able to enjoy the Bridge, but if you are travelling in the spring or summer, I would strongly recommend you hire a bike from one of the many rental places on the waterfront in order to take it all in at your own pedalling pace.

There’s a route set out to the Bridge replete with cycle tracks and laneways, which continue the whole way over the Golden Gate too. Once you get to the other side, you can then literally freewheel the whole way down to the beautiful bayside resort of Sausalito (look out for the mad hippie guitarist with the dog!), have some lunch, and then get the ferry back to the Pier. Another option is to take a helicopter ride around the City, which involves flying under the Golden Gate. A seat for the 20 minute ride will set you back about $165, which works out at approximately e112.

Once the major draws are done and dusted, your time is then your own to explore whatever parts of the city you wish. I particularly liked Haight Ashbury, an eclectic neighbourhood that was once the seat of the Summer of the Love revolution, but is now defined by a peculiar mix of bohemian chic, record levels of homelessness, and middle ground gentrification (so much for Flower Power). There is still a lot to enjoy in Haight despite the encroachment of respectability, with some fantastically quirky eateries and stores (a big shout out to Amoeba, a wallet-hijacking record, CD and DVD emporium).

In a similar vein to Haight is North Beach, a predominantly Italian neighbourhood that became synonymous with artists, writers and leading figureheads of the Beat movement in the 1950s and ‘60s. Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s City Lights book store still stands tall on Columbus Avenue and is well worth a visit by anyone with even a passing interest in American cultural history. Today, North Beach is teaming with cafes and restaurants, many of which are considered tourist traps, but quite a few of which have avoided the worst excesses and ridiculous prices associated with that tag.

Despite the direct flights, I doubt San Francisco will ever challenge New York as Irish people’s US shopping destination of choice. The longer flight is one factor, but San Francisco is an expensive place, and the apparent scarcity of outlet malls which provide all the incentive for shopping in the US, means that the average visitor probably won’t be returning home with an extra bag of merchandise.

That’s not to say that the City doesn’t offer a great selection of shops, because it does. The streets in and around the heart of the City, Union Square, are filled with more household names and designer brands than you can swing a pricey purse at (Macys, Bloomingdales, Abercrombie and H&M to name a few).

The area around Union Square is also where the bulk of the tourist hotels are located, providing a fantastic base for all your various treks around the City. It’s quite easy to get around San Francisco on foot, though you will have to fall back on a cable car, bus, underground (BART) or taxi to navigate, and conquer, the City’s more vertiginous hills and inclines (such as the famous Russian Hills neighbourhood).

As for dining out, one of the most refreshing, and reassuring, things I found about San Francisco is that it’s very hard to put a foot wrong food-wise. There are a few places that seem too geared towards tourists, but there’s such a wide variety of fine general and specialist restaurants, and good quality (and good value) diners and eateries, that you should be able to eat well and eat cheaply.

One place I would recommend is the Cliff House (http://www.thecliffhouse.com/), located on Point Lobos about 20 minutes drive outside the City. This restaurant is located right on the cliff’s edge, overlooking the Pacific Ocean and the ruins of the Suthro Baths below. The view is, to use Californian parlance, awesome, and the food is pretty damn good too.

In terms of climate, many visitors to San Francisco are taken aback when they see how cool it is there. The City is surrounded on three sides by water, which together with the aforementioned fog, makes for a startlingly mild climate. The autumn and winter can be quite chilly, and although there’s a good deal of sun in the summer, it never really rises above 26 degrees then. The best advice is to bring plenty of sweatshirts and light jackets to cover all eventualities, and make sure to tote one around with you at all times, no matter what time of year it is. Chances are you’re going to need it.

Be excited

I've seen two major Oscar contenders over the past few days, and both are enough to restore your faith in American cinema, after the largely wretched movie year that was 2007.

The first was No Country For Old Men, the Coen Brothers' bleak, bloody and baleful adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's novel. Critics have been falling over themselves in praising this movie, and it's hard to argue. It's at once an awesomely suspenseful thriller with some of the most knuckle-whitening set pieces I've seen in many years, and a profound and philosophical lament for American society and the values that it once held dear.

No Country is anchored by a faultless cast, led by the brilliantly worldweary Tommy Lee Jones, Josh Brolin (all grown up from his days in The Goonies!) and, most memorably, Javier Bardem, sporting a bizarre bowl haircut, and baiting award booty with his chilling embodiment of irredeemable, baffling evil. Beautifully shot, faithfully and fluently adapted, and tightly directed, this is truly magnificent stuff.

The second is Juno, which has firmly established itself as the Little Miss Sunshine flick of 2008 (quirky indie movie with idiosyncratic characters and massive breakout hit appeal). Directed by the sickeningly promising Jason Reitman (he of Thank You For Not Smoking fame), Juno is the story of a whip-smart, sarcastic, independent-minded teen named Juno McGuff (played by 20-year-old Ellen Page, who, mark my words, will be the biggest star of the year) who becomes pregnant by her best pal and sorta boyfriend Bleeker (Michael Cera, from Superbad and the much-missed Arrested Development).

Quickly abandoning the idea of an abortion, Juno, with the support of her dad (JK Simmons) and dogs and nails-loving stepmother (the brilliant Allison Janney), opts instead to give the baby to yuppie childless couple Mark and Vanessa (Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner, extremely impressive in the movie's most dramatic performance).

I won't say anymore, but needless to say there are a few ups and downs along the way, but, thankfully and refreshingly, the plot does not descend into mawkish, judgemental hogwash. All the way through, it remains funny, sharp, insightful and ineffably real. This is testament to the strength of former stripper (yes, you read that right) Diablo Cody's script, a surefire contender for this year's Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.

Juno has been highly praised by critics over yonder, and has appeared in the Top 10 movies of the year of several well-respected publications and hacks. There is great ensemble work here - the finest of the year perhaps - but special mention must go to the luminous Page, who appears in almost every scene, and invests the sassy but romantic, strong but vulnerable, mature but childish teen with so many shades, and communicates so many conflicting emotions, often at once.

Juno is the kind of movie that you just can't wait to own on DVD, because it brings comfort knowing it's just there, in arm's reach, to pop in the DVD player whenever you need inspiring, or just to bring a smile to your face.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz top

The Last Word column from Day and Night in today's Irish Independent

It's that little 's' word that we think about every hour of the day. Most of us believe we're not having enough of it, and as soon as you get some, all you can think about is how to get more. Many of us will do it anywhere, anytime, for as long as we can. We invest huge amounts of time and energy in finding ways of making it better, more pleasurable and rewarding. You can bet that millions, maybe billions, of people somewhere are doing it as we speak.

So answer me this: are you satisfied with your sleep life? I know I’m not. I’m admitting here now that I’m sleepily frustrated. Christmas time is the period when a lot of us make exhaustive plans to catch up on our sleep, and indeed such plans seemed to mark the highlight of the season for many people I know. One friend of mine had nine days off, and he boasted that he slept 11 hours every night over the period.


I think I can honestly say that I haven’t slept 11 hours straight since I wore nappies and drank pre-sugar-free Ribena from a bottle until all my rotted baby teeth had to be removed (and yes, I’m referring to being a baby for all you smart alecs who are thinking, ‘Oh, so it was last week?’).

On any given night, at any time of the year, regardless of whether I’m working or on holidays, the maximum amount of sleep I get is 5-6 hours. The experts (Snoozologists? Sleepchiatrists?) are always telling us that we need a minimum of 8 hours every night in order to stay healthy. Even a 10 second customary Google search of the word ‘sleep’ will return around 7 billion articles informing you about how lack of sleep can detrimentally affect your work life, sex life, coronary and psychological health, weight, exam performance, memory and attention span. Suddenly it all makes so much sense. Now, where was I?


I don’t think I’m an insomniac, because it’s not as if I can’t sleep at all. I’m just incredibly restless. Quite frankly, sleep bores me a lot of the time. Plus I’m a light sleeper – a butterfly farting in Azerbaijan will wake me up. For these reasons, I can’t do lie-ins either, even at weekends. They make me feel guilty, like I’m not carpe-ing the diem enough and enriching my life (as if getting up to watch the Hollyoaks omnibus instead does that).

I’m really envious of all those people who can just switch off at night, and clear their minds enough to get a good rest. My affliction seems to be that I only seem to start thinking about everything the minute I lay my head on the pillow, which probably goes some way to explain why people – loved ones mainly – call me dozy when they’re talking to me during the day.

And I know going over everything that happened that day, or fretting about what has to be done the next day is the big bedroom taboo (now, now, this is a family newspaper). This, in turn, sends my mind into overdrive as I try to find ways to relax, which then makes me even more awake. And I have tried every trick, potion, scent, candle, cream, pill, voodoo curse, and dance known to man in my bid to get more sleep, all to no avail.

Luckily, I think I’ve gotten used to functioning adequately with this deeply inadequate sleep pattern. And I’m going to stop comparing myself to others. Because we all know that the ones who brag the most about how much sleep they’re getting are normally the ones who aren’t getting any.

Obama baby!!

Barack Obama tops the poll in the Iowa caucus with 37%, Edwards is second and Hillary third. Mike Huckabee wins on the Republican side, which is at once hilarious and frightening. Surely a sign that the GOP is falling apart. Obama baby! I knew he could do it all along. America just doesn't want Hillary - she's too much a part of the establishment that got the country into the mess it's in at the moment. This isn't decisive by any means, but if he wins New Hampshire next week, then that's the Big Mo heading into Super Tuesday. Brilliant, brilliant news. Watch his victory speech here.

Iowa Caucus

Tomorrow is the day that all the presidential madness really kicks off - and some analysts have predicted Mitt Romeny (R) and Barack Obama (D) to win the first round. Is Hillary doomed?

Oh Eight

Happy New Year y'all.