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Each week we take your suggestions for things that have cruelly been denied the reviews they deserve, and then we review them for all they’re worth. This is vital, game-changing journalism, so important and close-to-the-edge that literally no-one else is doing it.
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Ludology
Reviewing: This Rubik’s Cube
Like most people, I used to have a Rubik’s Cube as a kid. Also like most people, I couldn’t solve the bloody thing unless I took it apart and reassembled it in its virgin state. But who cared? Sod Erno Rubik and his stupid, difficult, pointless cube. Space Invaders was where it was at anyway.
Still, for prompting memories of childhood inadequacy, there’s nothing quite like suddenly and unexpectedly finding a Rubik’s Cube on your desk at work. It is like it’s materialised from the past for the express purpose of reminding you that, yes, you are still a dumb-ass. So, dutifully, I had a little fiddle with it. Had something in my brain clicked into place in the intervening decades? No, of course it hadn’t. After, oh, 30 futile seconds, I felt like dismantling the cube and this time not reassembling it. Just leaving it in pieces on the floor as a statement of my failure, but also as a refusal to admit to shame at my failure. So yeah; the Rubik’s Cube. Still difficult. Still pointless.
I was one of the very few losers who experienced Erno Rubik’s Difficult Second Gizmo, the career-sabotaging Rubik’s Snake. It was also fairly rubbish. But it wasn’t a puzzle - just a bunch of connected tiles that you could shape and mould into satisfying designs. It was like a Rubik’s Cube for the slow learners’ class. I liked it much more. Next week, I’d like to find a Rubik’s Snake on my desk please. 3/10.
PH
Chrematophobia
Reviewing: Nescafé Azera Americano (Limited Edition Design)
I don’t want to show off, but the Guardian has got a really good canteen and coffee shop. So good, in fact, that it’s dangerously easy to spaff away £60 a week on scrumming yourself wobbly and quaffing large Americanos. Obviously, as a newspaper of note, everyone here is on at least £120k. But still, £60 a week just isn’t a sustainable outlay. That’s basically my quinoa and elderflower cordial budget for the entire month. That’s preposterous. So I bring food from home most of the time, like a peasant.
A more difficult circle to square is the coffee situation. I could get a cafetiere, but then I’d never be able to show my face in South Yorkshire ever again. I’m on thin ice as it is being a “Guardian wanker”. Plus, cafetieres are a faff. The obvious answer is to buy instant coffee, and I wouldn’t have a problem with that. It’s been empirically proven by boffins that there is no more appalling person than the “coffee snob” (it doesn’t make you intriguing, you are not the James Bond of coffee, get a real interest you colossal, unrepentant boregasm). But somehow Kay behind the counter downstairs makes a brew that you miss. It has medicinal properties. It’s got care in it. I’ve been through every type of instant coffee in an attempt to replicate it. So far, zip. Only longing.
This Azera stuff is the closest I’ve got. It’s not cheap – it can be upwards of £4 if you’re crap at sniffing out special offers – but it’s not bad. It’s like the e-cig to Kay’s smooth, delicious Lambert and Butler Superking. Two heaped teaspoons of this gunpowder is basically an adrenaline jab to the left atrium too. So, while not strictly “medicinal” per se, it is useful the morning after a night on the dizzy water. Plus the packaging is fly, and no-one has ever said “Oh, I wish that thing looked a bit worse”. I would happily give this 9/10 were it not for the betrayal I feel every time I have a sip. What if Kay thinks I’ve stopped going down because of him? What if he thinks his coffee is the problem? All that hurt I’m inflicting, just to save a fiver a day. I hate myself. This coffee is bitter with hate and misery. Therefore, it only gets 8/10.
LH
Creative Atrophy
Reviewing: A Ned Flanders-themed metal band a man on Twitter is listening to right now
Heavy metal comes in an apparently infinite number of permutations, designed to cater to every specialist taste. Perhaps you like your rocking of the “blackened death” variety; or possibly pirate metal or Viking metal is more your bag. Still, new Arizona quintet Okily Dokily feel to be breaking new ground. These clean-cut young men call themselves a “Nedal” band, in honour of their primary influence: affable moustachioed Simpsons doo-gooder Ned Flanders.
You can’t fault Okily Dokily’s attention to detail. Most of their lyrics are Flanders quotes; there’s the band uniform of comfortable slacks, pullovers and sharp pink polo shirts; and of course, there’s the music, a gnarly racket which they describe as “not as fast as Bartcore, and a little cleaner than Krusty Punk.”
At first, #ReviewAnything was profoundly skeptical about how all this would all hang together: Springfield’s most God-fearing man throwing the horns and getting down to the devil’s music? But let us not forget that Flanders is a man of hidden depths: take the Simpsons episode Hurricane Neddy (S8, E8), in which he explodes at the stupidity of his neighbourinos and checks himself into a mental hospital, whereupon the horrors of his childhood are revealed. Which is all very encouraging for Okily Dokily. Channel that repressed rage into music, add a splash of “stupid sexy Flanders”, and world diddly-domination is theirs for the taking. 6/10.
LP
Gelotology
Reviewing: Hashtag mirth
Unlike Facebook and its various prototypes, Twitter has always seemed to capture the spirit of the web as you’d imagine Tim Berners-Lee might have conceived it during a pub chat in the late 80s, five pints in and some people looking at him as if he’d really lost it this time. It’s completely egalitarian, able to bring people together regardless of place, age and social status, optionally anonymous in those regards, and not really about people posting ridiculously flattering photos of themselves eating an avocado.
Because of the sheer amount of people it allows to communicate with one another, Twitter is also able to host conversations of infinite nicheness. Like this one, in which some people apply the hashtag #enteringconferencecall, or variations thereof, to a series of characters from pop cultural history, all of whom are pictured on the phone. Normally, not understanding things on social media can make a person feel “past it”, but after reading this I don’t think I’ve ever felt so young. Judging by the vintage TV show grabs, the sheer, giddy monotony, and the fact that this joke does genuinely seem to be about conference calls, I’m guessing the people having this conversation are middle-aged. It reminds me of being 10 years old, and stealing sideways glances at my parent’s faces whilst we watched Have I Got News For You, just so I knew which bits were meant to be funny.
Having thoughtfully considered it for over 10 minutes and Googled the term “entering conference call” to no avail, I’m tentatively thinking that the joke might be that this disparate lot are having a conference call together, so Noel Edmonds is speaking to Elvis Presley and the woman from Acorn Antiques or whatever, but to be honest I’ll be happier never really knowing.
And that is the beauty of Twitter, I really don’t need to. One thing I am sure about though is, whoever these people are, and whatever they’re talking about, I’m really happy they’ve found each other. Because that means I’ll never have to talk to them. Thanks Tim. 10/10.
RA
Philosophy
Reviewing: Reviews
This sort of challenge was going to be laid down at some point. A meta challenge, one that sees our ridiculous concept and raises it. But wait! What if the “review” wasn’t just a refuge for the pretentious? What if it had a reason for being beyond indulging journalists who like to stick big words into their copy pleonastically? Well, I say it does, and here’s why.
Firstly, a review can serve a straightforward utilitarian purpose (“should I go see the new Fantastic Four film? Oh, according to this review, I’d be better off tattooing my own eyeballs”). Secondly, it acts as a provocation; the beginning of a (perhaps internal) debate about a work of art or whatever you call TV programmes. Thirdly, it offers a point of reference for appraising your own opinion on something (“am I right in thinking that Ed Sheeran is the new Bob Dylan? Hmmm, judging by the overwhelming consensus it would appear my opinion is an outlier”). And that’s just off the top of my head.
Basically the review is a valid format and everyone who writes them is a worthwhile human being. 11/10.
PM
