Friday, October 21, 2005
Three Cheers for Joan Rivers!
You’ve got to give it those sassy American dames. For years in Britain we have put up with the self-obsessed dronings of ‘commentator’ Darcus Howe, self-appointed spokesman for Britain’s Caribbean community. A man who, as the Guardian’s Rupert Smith correctly points out in his tv column today, is happy to dish out criticism, but can’t take any himself. Smith writes that last night’s More4 documentary 'Darcus Howe: Sone of Mine’, was ’an extreme exercise in exhibitionism even by Howe’s standards’. Smith says the film showed Howe as ‘arrogant, self-deluded, sentimental and blinkered’. Meant to be a ‘dialogue’ between father and recalcitrant son, Smith failed to spot a ‘single word’ from the younger generation. I am not surprised. I once had the misfortune of spending 15 minutes with Howe, at a New Statesman party . The man simply doesn’t do ‘dialogue’- only monologues and, when he is finished, looks around for someone else to inflict his egocentric babble on. The fact that Howe has been able to get away with it for so long- tells us that in Britain, racism is sadly still a problem. For if we were truly colour blind as a society- we wouldn’t be reliant on a septugenarian American comedienne to tell such a self-obsessed bore where to get off.