John Butcher

Just once in a while a  little something comes our way to brighten our lives and we just can't refuse it.  John Butcher is a long standing supporter of fileybay and when we asked him about his journalistic and broadcasting career, we just had to publish his response in full.

John is a presenter on Kingstown Radio (1350 AM) and has a lifetimes experience of travelling in exotic parts which is reflected in his superbly produced programme - Time and Tide.  He is featured on The Listening Zone where you may purchase his new CD and find out more about him.  We have reviewed the CD and it is worth every penny, So take it away John:

Hello, I’m John Butcher. Welcome to Time and Tide.

 Have you noticed how awards ceremonies have multiplied? No branch of the media industry now seems to be without its own televised bean feast. Actors, musicians, producers, entities and nonentities queue up at the sparkling trough for an orgy of mutual backslapping. These celebrations of Smug pop up on our screens with depressing frequency. BAFTAS, EMMYS, Golden Globes, Soaps, Brits. “Look at me”, simper the parade of faces on the stage, “I’m a celebrity”.

 These posturing events are truly awful. The gushes of false sentiment as they drool over one another, the appalling behaviour. The New Musical Express Carling awards are a perfect example. More commonly known as the BRATS, the main criteria for nomination seems to be the ability to get drunk as quickly as possible. Watch with amazement as bad manners which would get lesser mortals slung out of a nightclub in a second are paraded before us in the name of entertainment. And you, the public, bought the CD’s which made it all possible. The BRAT awards have been pre- recorded, since Mick Fleetwood and Sam Fox made such a pig’s ear of hosting it in 1989, but the news is that there’s a plan to broadcast the event live again. Won’t that be fun!

The great-granddaddy of them all are, of course, the Oscars. Running since 1929, the Academy Awards used to be made each year in late March or early April, but have now been moved up a month. This is because to qualify, a film has to have opened between 1^st January and 31^st December the previous year, and from then until the main event the studio P.R. men pull out all the stops to persuade the members of the Academy to vote for their product. The new date was designed to minimise the time available for this feeding frenzy. There are currently 24 categories, ranging from best picture to best sound editing. Several awards have been retired over the years, such as best short colour film and best dance direction.

 Even the Oscars aren’t without their critics though. The most common complaint is that they don’t truly reflect what’s best. The most striking example is Citizen Kane, which is widely regarded as one of the greatest films of all time. It was nominated for nine Oscars, but won only best original screenplay. Orson Welles himself never won the best director award, and there have been numerous other masters who never made it; Frederico Fellini, Stanley Kubrick, Alfred Hitchcock, Martin Scorsese, just to name a few. And then again, its been suggested that the Academy is guilty of awarding ‘mercy Oscars’ to actors with long careers who haven’t previously won anything.

 You’d think that with all these award ceremonies, most of the bases would be covered. But I think there’s still room for a few. Take the award for best host. I bet their heart sinks when they’re chosen for the job, because they know that’s their chances shot. The host never gets a sniff. So, for those who are always the bridesmaid and never the bride, here’s the Fixed Grin award for the longest-suffering M.C. The trophy is, naturally, a gold-plated pair of chattering teeth.

 Then there are the FABS, the Film Academy Backslapping awards. Or should that be backstabbing? These are given for the most sycophantic performance at an awards ceremony. Points will be awarded for the largest number of people thanked for their undying support without which it would not have been possible, and should include colleagues, family, at least 50 close friends, the dog, the babysitter, the maid, and whoever else you can cram in before they haul you off the stage.

 For journalists there are the SMUGS, for the best made-up gratuitous story. How many libel suites can you generate with the fewest number of words? The prize is an actual writ from a celebrity, lacquered and mounted on a handsome plinth. Workers at the coalface of the small screen, meanwhile, can take part in The Vaselines, for greasiest TV presenter. Win a year’s supply of the aforementioned slippery stuff.

 The Broadcasting Institute award for fighting and falling over, known as the BIFFOS, go to the celebrity who has made the biggest exhibition of themselves in a public place during the last calendar year. The only stipulation is that nominees should have been fully unconscious, or at least semi-conscious at the time. Attempts to deliberately court publicity by hamming it up will result in disqualification. This rule, it goes without saying, couldn’t be applied to entries for the WARTS, the honour for the most desperate wannabe Reality TV star. Big Brother? You’ve seen nothing yet!