New Amsterdam (January 2019 TV Show, Season 1) - A Review by Mark Barry...

Happy Wappy E.R. Wannabe TV Show That Unfortunately 

Has Characters You Want To Scalpel (And Not In A Good Way)...

While "New Amsterdam" isn't quite the tripe some are saying it is (there is some good stuff in it) - unfortunately I can understand completely why so many are infuriated with it.

The scenarios are often laughably hammy, the punchline dialogue feels forced at almost every turn, the tangled relationships and faux tears, the Spanish dialogue that isn't subtitled so you can understand what's being said, and most of all, the staggeringly unhygienic scenes where people literally dance voodoo rituals as they cut a patient's skin and stick dirt in just before an open-heart procedure (because that's their cultural belief man). These things are completely at odds with the sterile environments of modern operating rooms (the doctor watches and is ok with a woman ranting like a banshee, smearing and spitting over the sedated patient – yeah right).

The sorry state that US medicine is in (dominated by money and nursing staff under siege from exploitive malpractice lawsuits) is addressed at times, as is the horrendous legally binding overmedication of most American youth - a health ticking time bomb if ever there was one. But it's always with a falsely upbeat outcome and never the reality of how the US government simply panders to big pharmaceutical cash cows while patients of all ages get hooked, damaged, destroyed and even get dead. Throw in a leading man that's a Matthew Fox wannabe dispensing hippy medicine and cures for broken internal hospital rules in his sneakers and perfectly sculpted morning stubble that never grows or changes - complete with a pregnant wife who always seems to have perfect hair after a labour emergency and a sloppy, rotund but loving therapist who looks like a friendly lion straight out Good Will Hunting goodness school – and you begin to get the level of cheese you're being ask to swallow.

In these days of too much darkness, I love hopeful (who doesn't) and "New Amsterdam" clearly seems to think it has something enlightening to show us at the centre of its saccharine-clogged aorta (positivity will cure everything including corporate greed), but IMO it just fails on too many fronts, offering up too many unrealistic set pieces to remain believable and therefore truly touch you.

What a shame. I've watched only two episodes and its already irritating me too much. And after Amazon's triumph with the stunning and award winning "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel" across two whole seasons and the sheer energy and hutzpah of their "Sex and The City" meets "Girls" Indian take on young lives in "Four More Shots Please!" – that's a real disappointment. 

Give it a go for sure, but be warned, I have facial stubble and I will diagnose you with it...

"Four More Shots Please! Season 1" (January 2019 on Amazon Prime) - A Review by Mark Barry...

Get Drunk with "Four More Shots Please!" Season 1

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Sexy, crude, rude and utterly at odds with the endemic poverty that infects so much of India's mainland - "Four More Shots Please!" is pure fantasy - an Indian "Sex & The City" meets "Girls" that’s very funny, hip and bristling with life - and I for one am down with that.

It's beautifully filmed in 4K making the absolute most of downtown Mumbai locations, the sleek interiors of glass skyscrapers and bonfire-lit Goa beaches. It also gets that right mix between personal fun, exploratory snappy dialogue and social commentary - taking none-too-subtle blasts at many Hindi stereotypes and lifestyle restrictions as the four ladies giggle, booze and navigate their way through a world still very much locked into the old ways.

The four leads are gorgeous (of course) – Sayani Gupta plays Damini, the young and conscientious journalist fighting to keep her investigative start up company relevant in a media market obsessed with gossipy celeb news and salacious titbits – while Anjana is a divorced single mum lawyer and oldest of the group (played lustily by Kirti Kulhari) – her character's life revolving around her adorable but precocious four-year old daughter Ayra. Then there's the well-endowed but physically naïve Siddhi who is played sweetly by Maanvi Gagroo - the youngest of the group who eventually resorts to some exposure of her own to counter her mum's constant put-downs. And finally - there is the wild and funky personal trainer Umang, played by a sensational Gurbani Judge – a lean mean long-haired panther machine who's all midriff tattoos, toned biceps and bulging eyes for the ladies – especially a Bollywood star whom she falls for like a cement mixer that's bursting – even if that star isn’t willing to trade love for fame by doing the brave thing and coming out.

The disparate bubbly group convenes several times a week in their fave bar "Truck" (where they met one terrible fateful night) and natter openly about men, work, family, sex, pleasure (or the lack of it) and pretty much anything else that jumps to mind. There's bisexuality, gayness, the difficulty of navigating a career in a predominately men's world, single parenthood, weight obsessions, pushy parents, workplace affairs, old flames, snogging on beaches and not remembering who you were with the night before or why. There is lots of discussion on lady bits and of course the big one - how do you find love in the modern world of smartphones vs. actually talking to someone. "Four More Shots Please!" is well written and the large cast eats it up and most of the men are hunky and likeable too (this program will undoubtedly make the ladies and their male counterparts bigger stars than they probably already are).

It should be noted that as the characters speak, the expletive-loaded rapid-fire dialogue in every episode often lapses from English into Hindi without any warning or onscreen explanation. Baring this in mind - I suggest that 'before' you watch any of the ten instalments, go the Menu bar above the Amazon program's photo square, move across and set the Subtitles button to 'English On'. It may be a pain having the words on the bottom of the screen but at least you'll be able to keep apace and get a gist of what's being said.

"Four More Shots Please!" is very funny in places too. But what I liked most (and what kept me watching) is the life force that is coursing through its admittedly over-pretty veins. This is India standing up to the West and saying yes we're beautiful too - yes we're sexy too - this is a young Bollywood wanting to be counted. For sure the girls all have too much money, apartments to die for, Carey Bradshaw costume changes every five seconds without the wherewithal to pay for any of it - but that doesn't stop "Four More Shots Please!" being great fun and shockingly open and deep at times about a culture that all too often wants to sweep anything that's not the religious norm under a very heavy carpet.

Raising yet another shot-toast at their favourite watering hole, the feisty character Umang shouts over the girly din, "Kick it in the balls!"

And indeed they have. Dig in and enjoy and well done to all involved...

"But Enough About Me" by BURT REYNOLDS (Hardback) - A Review of his Autobiography by Mark Barry...

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME by BURT REYNOLDS (and Jon Winokur)

"...Rock Out With This Jock Out..."

In a purely academic world, I suppose a snot-nosed celluloid aficionado would probably award Burt Reynold's autobiography "But Enough About Me" four stars - diligently pointing out its philosophical shortcomings and how it simply runs out of name-dropping steam in its final chapters. But I say knob to that - I found "But Enough About Me" five-star entertainment all the way. And I think most anyone who has affection for Burt the Actor and Man (and there's a lot who did and still do) and especially film in the Seventies will dig in and have a hoop and a holler.

In both life and death - Burt Reynolds was BIG. Big smile, big heart, big cheese puff. His undeniably loveable personality comes shining through chapter after chapter (ably co-written with Jon Winokur) - many of which are about his relationships with some seriously famous and admired people – the mighty and generous Spencer Tracy (keep going kid), the slippery but also generous US chat show host Johnny Carson who changed the face of TV entertainment, the sexual chemistry gal Sally Fields that everyone saw Reynolds falling in love with on screen, the dignified black giant Jim Brown whom he counted as a best friend, the no-nonsense actor and director Clint Eastwood still making class films into his late 80s and many other mentors he clearly worshipped.

When Burt likes someone, he pours it on. And if Burt feels he's ever done him or her wrong – he expresses reams of paper hurt and flat out apologises with genuine sincerity. In fact in his later years, regret seemed to play heavily on his mind. You don’t have to read too deep between the open-wound descriptions of lovers and liars to know that he is aware of mistakes-made in his career and personal life – decisions that despite good advice sought – he went ahead with anyway. Reynolds - the most popular film star in the world for five years running in the 1970s - made some absolute howlers that cost him, his wallet and his dignity big time. Burt was a hard man on camera (and in life too) - but in direct contrast to that tough streak which made him a star – Reynolds (by his own admission) was always putty when it came to strong women. This resulted in his disastrous marriage to the bottomless money-pit that was Loni Anderson who legally forced him to sell everything he treasured (film awards, football trophies and even toupees) to keep up her extravagant lifestyle (even his mother nodded NO as he walked to the altar). And yet you can't help loving the guy.

His admiration for stuntmen, risk takers and tough guys in general is almost like that of a breathless child - one suspects because Burt knows what pussies most male leads actually are (some have doubles for opening car doors). It’s a very funny read too. You get recollections about Frank Sinatra's prickly card games (grubby and generous as the mood took him), Jackie Gleeson's inability to speak a word of the script yet still make everyone howl with laughter spouting his different-every-time 'sum-bitch' ad libs (the Smokey & The Bandit film audience loved him to bits even if the studio thought he was all washed up), Lee Marvin's instigated bar fights yet strange aversion to needless violence on-screen, the classy she-ups-everyone's-game-by-just-being-around-them Dinah Shore and the legendary pain-resistant stuntman Hal Needham (who moved into his pool room after a messy divorce and was still there 12 years later). Burt regales the story of how Hal stood in a hospital corridor chatting up a cute nurse literally ignoring a broken back (for the second time). And as they lung/spine puncture him, Needham doesn't blink - but his body does and unfortunately deposits something on the uniformed lovely holding his legs steady that definitely rules out her phone number. These are the kind of Hollywood insider anecdotes that will have you beaming from ear to ear and chuckling in equal measure.

Even towards the end, the famous names just keep coming at you and you begin to wonder was there anyone of substance he 'wasn't' pals with - Farrah Fawcett (blew a date by turning up in a Ferrari he couldn't drive), Goldie Hawn (a jealous husband Kurt Russell wasn’t too enamoured with their friendship), Chris Evert (the World No. 1 tennis player who liked him anyway), Marlon Brando (clocked him as rude and lazy and Burt was none too impressed), Dom DeLuise (Directors would add 2 days to shooting schedules to allow for wasted giggle-time) and even Hollywood uber Royalty like Fred Astaire, John Wayne and Cary Grant (again more great puns and anecdotes). The chapters on his adopted son are lovely too – humane and full of a father's pride. There is also much about his own impenetrable home-from-WW II father (big Burt) who scared the living crap out of most human beings including his son and despite decades of steady stardom-rise found it hard to show affection or pride for his famous boy's obvious achievements. And perhaps most impressive of all is Reynolds' track record when standing up to industry-wide redneck racism with regard to his coloured colleagues – actions and deeds that smack of a fighter and not an appeaser.

Burt Reynolds enjoyed himself, screwed up regularly and probably bedded more women than was humanly good for a chap and his crown jewels. But because of his commercially-successful yet perceived substance-less movie choices and his sometimes overly rampant and naive ego – Reynolds never really got what he craved - recognition from Hollywood – and not just for his huge popularity with the public around the world but for his undoubted screen presence and craft especially when given the right role ("Deliverance", "The Longest Yard", "Sharky's Machine", "Boogie Nights"). He recalls with tangible disgust (and sorrow for his work pals) his notorious appearance as a centerfold in the Cosmopolitan magazine in 1972 (something he thought would be a laugh). Burt knows it subsequently cost him and the "Deliverance" movie dear at the Oscars – visionary Director John Boorman and his fellow actor pals Charles Durning and Jon Voight sticking by him in public, but in private most likely seething at him for such unprofessional self-centeredness.

Already old and visibly frail and yet still prepared to show the truth in his sunken eye sockets - his final film "The Last Movie Star" made in 2018 was brilliant, bare, open, sad and joyful into the bargain. He must have known that the end was nigh and the small but hugely affectionate movie cleverly included CGI scenes with him talking to his younger all-man self in "Deliverance" (sat at one end of a canoe) and smirking womaniser in "Smokey & The Bandit" (passenger seat of the famous Trans Am) - trying to advise the young buck in both instances to listen – to take heed. But of course youth doesn't - and pays the price in life and love.

Burt Reynolds rocked as does his memoirs, and I for one loved every dancing-with-your-tackle-out chapter of it. God Bless You mate wherever you may be and thanks for all the great memories and laughter...