The good and not so good.

Folded:

• The Road (not out in the UK until next year, but here is an early review because we can)
• Also coming next year: a game with hats (about time)
• Busting X Factor (vote for Jedward. They’ll win and the whole show will implode)
• Speeding (you might be able to. You are a doctor, right?)
• Emmanuelle Chriqui (hotter than Megan Fox, mainly because, unlike Fox, she doesn’t wear more make-up than your mother)

Creased:

• The singing guy who rips our ears out before, during and after every episode of Scrubs on E4 (we’re not the only ones)
• Jordan’s face (was never normal, but now she looks like Peter Weller, minus helmet, in Robocop)
• Remember Indy surviving a nuclear blast by hiding in a fridge? Want to recreate that mess in your bedroom for $175? (Here you go)
• The airport level in Modern Warfare 2 (Brooker has written about it and, as usual, he’s spot on)
• Rain (damn it, give us a rest will you?!)

Certain cities have various scenes that have been established over time. For bands that get involved, it’s all fine and dandy for them.

Look no further than Oasis and The Smiths from Manchester who set the bar for others to follow. But then again, not everyone wants to crank out indie music which continually sounds stale after every release. Still, a solid fan base will lap it up.

Other towns may not have such a strong musical heritage, but they put their stamp on where there from. Leicester, for example, may not be bursting with quality artists apart from breakaway act Kasabian – but do they really offer anything else apart from modernising Britpop ten years too late? Asides from producing tasty Walkers crisps, Leicester hasn’t been known for music. For some of you, this may change after listening to Silent Devices.

It almost sounds like an oxymoron. How can a band with the word ’silent’ in their name produce any noise? Is it just an elaborate and rubbish joke by us because we again forgot our submission deadline? Of course not. Of course not.

Silent Devices make music that has a soft and comforting feel to it. The slow-paced sounds don’t gradually build up and turn into something fast-paced and frenzied. Instead, the peppered addition of vocal over the hazy-sounding guitars make this perfect music for lounging around to. Put it this way, if Mogwai got a little bit happier and less cynical of the world, this is what they’d sound like. That’s unlikely to happen any time soon, so please invest in this lot instead.

For more:

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Jesus, we know when we’re being outdone. Most of the time, it’s when an unborn Japanese child severely beats us on FIFA. And we don’t mean by using the hand of God in extra time.

And then there’s Morrissey. Somehow, Morrissey is classed as a genius despite still singing songs that an old band of his wrote years ago and releasing solo albums that are properly gash.

Recently, Morrissey has had a bit of problems on the gig scene. He passed out in Swindon and then got twatted in the face with a cup in Liverpool. Surely it’s full steam ahead from here, right? Wrong! Continuing his tour to Hamburg, Morrissey got narked off with a fan who dared boo his miserable rant on meat-eaters. And what happened? Find out after the jump!

See what Morrissey did there? What word does Hamburg sound like? Go on, have a quick think about it, we won’t rush you. Almost there? Excellent, by now even your child should have answered ‘hamburger’. If they said hammers, then they’re probably dyslexic.

Morrissey, of course, is a vegan type person who doesn’t like people chomping on cows or drinking their milk. We don’t know what the fuss is personally – have you ever tried to make your own chocolate milk? If it wasn’t for cows producing strawberry, vanilla or chocolate flavours, we’d never get through a working day. According to NME.com, the singer became annoyed after someone mocked his shit joke on hamburgers:

“Morrissey was speaking about how “Hamburgers” should be called “Hamburgists” when the audience member shouted “fuck you” at him.”

Oh Morrissey, you are one crazy carrot-crunching vegan loon. We understand your opinion on us evil meat-eaters, but so buggery. We’re as happy as a butcher’s dog who’s just found some mouldy sausages behind the freezer when we tuck into a lunchtime sandwich that’s oozing with something that’s come from an animal.

All we can suggest to the constantly peed-off singer is to assemble an audience made completely out of fruit and vegetables. There they’ll have a wonderful time and no-one will attempt to rebel. Though they’ll stop short of burning a piece of bacon at the steak in vegan anger. It could result in a mini BBQ and cause all sorts of unwanted trouble from savages.

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Chris Brown can’t change the past – if he could, he would have done a better job on Rihanna and then fled to Mexico.

But he can change the future. And that’s Chris Brown’s prime directive right now. He doesn’t want to be known as the big-toothed singer who beat up his girlfriend in a moment of staggering violence any more – he wants to be known as the big-toothed singer who beat up his girlfriend in a moment of staggering violence and then cleaned up some rubbish quite well.

And that’s what he is. A judge has just given Chris Brown an ‘extremely favourable’ community service progress report. Now that’s being a role-model. For people who hit women and then have to pick up trash.

In all seriousness, there’s something slightly heartbreaking about Chris Brown’s efforts to atone for his attack on Rihanna in February. It’s the little touches – the slightly forlorn-looking bowtie he keeps wearing, the way he’s titled his new tour Fan Appreciaton, the videos of him playing with a young relative with a pitiful look of desperate neediness plastered all over his face – that do it. It’s tragic. We preferred Chris Brown before any of this happened. Because we didn’t really know who he was back then.

But Rihanna’s been allowed to move on with her life – apart from all the songs about violence, all the violent videos to accompany the songs and the uncomfortably graphic interviews about domestic abuse that she’s used to promote it, there’s barely a mention of the attack on her new album – and that seems as though Chris Brown wants that more than anything, too.

To prove it, Chris Brown isn’t just completing the 180 days of community service that he was sentenced with for beating up Rihanna – he’s apparently completing it really ruddy well. MTV reports:

Chris Brown appeared in a Los Angeles courtroom for a progress hearing on his probation — and in the eyes of officials, the singer has earned an “extremely favorable” report. Brown attorney Mark Geragos said in the courtroom that Brown has already completed 100 hours of community service in Richmond, Virginia. Brown has also completed seven of his 52 domestic-violence classes.

It’s a good start, but Chris Brown isn’t out of the woods yet. His community service still has a long way to run, and he’s still got 45 more domestic-violence classes to go. Right now he’s only good at domestic violence. 45 lessons down the line, though, and he’s going to be great at it.

So should we start to forgive Chris Brown for his past behaviour? It would certainly be the civilised thing to do given his level of remorse and dedication to bettering himself. Then again, if we forgive Chris Brown, he’ll probably go on to have a fairly successful long-term musical career, and we’ll have to keep writing about him all the time. So no. No we won’t forgive him. The big-toothed git.

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Having watched the last season of 24, we’re fully aware that you can never trust a politician’s offspring.

Statistically, they’re all quite likely to blow up Jon Voight, and that’s a fact. They’ll blow up Jon Voight and then they’ll make their mother, President Moonface, quite sad. But it’s not just fictional political children who are trouble – Alexandra Kerry, the daughter of failed 2004 presidential candidate John Kerry, was arrested early yesterday morning on suspicion of DUI.

But don’t worry – she wasn’t quite drunk enough for it to be illegal. It’s funny, because if we were Alexandra Kerry we’d have stopped going to bars long ago. There are only so many times you can put up with people saying “Why the long face?” after all.

Millions of people want to be famous, but we think they’ve got this all the wrong way round. Being famous is rubbish. All that intrusion and pressure and recognition can really wear you down. No, it’s much better to be related to someone famous. That way you can pretty much drive around like a massively irresponsible tool whenever you like. It’s why Paris Hilton’s little brother was arrested for driving drunk, why Al Gore’s son was arrested for driving around on pot, why Hulk Hogan’s son wrapped his car around a tree and why John Kerry’s daughter was arrested for DUI this week.

Oh, come on. You remember John Kerry. He was going to be president of America in 2004, until people decided that he wasn’t even as good as George Bush. Dull man. Face shaped like a coffin. You remember him. Anyway, early on Thursday morning his 36-year-old daughter Alexandra was arrested on suspicion of DUI in Hollywood. And, yes, you’re right, this is an incredibly slow news day.

However, even though we think that Alexandra Kerry would actually make quite a good jailbird, on the basis that her chin is so narrow and pointy that she could easily use it to shank a nonce in the ribs, that’s not going to happen. Because, although Alexandra Kerry was drunk, she wasn’t quite drunk enough for it to be illegal. The New York Daily News reports:

Alexandra Forbes Kerry, the older of the senator’s two daughters, was pulled over for a traffic violation. “She was arrested for driving under the influence,” said Officer Sara Faden, who added that Kerry was released on $5,000 bail. Kerry refused to take Breathalyzer test at the scene. A later test showed a level of 0.06, under the legal limit of 0.08.

Good for Alexandra Kerry. She’s a model citizen who knows her limit – drunk enough to be pulled over by the police, but not drunk enough to be arrested for it. Well done, Alexandra. Well done indeed. And don’t think for a moment that her father’s status helped Alexandra Kerry escape punishment, because if you take that into consideration, you also have to take the fact that she directed the pilot episode of The Hills into consideration as well, and most right-minded people would react to that news by jamming a lethal injection straight into her neck.

Anyway, join us next week when – unless the news gets any more interesting – we’ll break the hot news that Iain Duncan Smith’s cat has got trapped in a bloody suitcase or whatever.

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ClickPlay 2 is adorable and frustrating at the same time, much like a beautiful woman or a puppy who won’t stop pooing on your carpet.

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After two decades, several free cars and enough weight fluctuation to sculpt a small cellulite army, Oprah is done.

Sort of done. Oprah Winfrey is leaving her show. But not until 2011. And then she’s going to immediately start a new show somewhere else. But it’s still sad news – without Oprah Winfrey around, where will we know which treacly, middle-brow books to read? Where will we discover what people look like after they’ve had their face torn off by monkeys? Where will we get our fill of needlessly excited women unintentionally screeching bizarre non-sequiturs at a roomful of strangers? Where will we be able to slowly lose the will to live?

What? Tyra Banks? Oh, OK.

At this point in time, Oprah Winfrey has accomplished everything she can with her show. She’s given away cars to her audience. She’s watched dumbstruck as Tom Cruise leapt around on her furniture. She’s hit out at French stores that don’t recognise her greatness. She’s mildly annoyed 50 Cent. And, as with any show that’s been running since the mid-1980s, it’s all become slightly formulaic.

We know that Oprah Winfrey will whoop and encourage her guests to sob and appear in a pair of skinny jeans to boast about how much weight she’s lost every 18 months, and then spend the following year gradually swelling up like an infected blister again. And so does she. And that’s why Oprah Winfrey has done the unthinkable. She’s decided to quit her show in September 2011. ABC News reports:

Oprah Winfrey, one of the most influential and highly paid women on television, will announce on Friday she is ending her popular daytime talk show in 2011. Winfrey’s production company, Harpo Inc, said on Thursday she would make the official announcement on Friday’s live program from Chicago and talk about the reasons behind the decision to end it after 25 years on the air.

Well good for Oprah Winfrey. She’s earnt all the money she could ever need, and it’s better for her to bow out while she’s on top. We wonder what she’ll do with all her free time – maybe she’ll focus on her charitable work or take up knitting. What’s that? She’s starting her own network? Christ alive, that’s terrifying.

But at least Oprah’s new network will be good for anyone who wants to catch up with Oprah Winfrey at any given moment of the day. Or anyone who loves watching dozens of touchy-feely celebrity interviews. Or anyone who wants to spend upwards of 16 hours a day staring slack-jawed at a giant image of Oprah Winfrey’s head that’s made out of fire and does nothing but scream the word “REPENT” at them again and again. Probably.

But we’ve got all that to look forward to. For now we just have to wait for the official announcement on Oprah’s show later today. We can’t imagine what it’ll be like. Actually, we can – Oprah will cry, there’ll be a 15-minute VT montage of celebrities describing how brilliant she is and then Oprah will repeat the phrase “You guys!” 48 times in a row – but we meant to say that we don’t want to imagine what it’ll be like. Subtle difference.

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Quickly, what’s the most distressing thing you can think of?

Is it the sight of a man slowly crumbling to pieces – so that, at one point, he closely resembles Sloth from The Goonies – to the sound of a slowed-down version of Pure Imagination from Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory as performed by what appears to be a chain-smoking murderer with asthma? It is? Why that’s just wonderful, because that’s exactly what’s in the video after the jump.

Don’t worry, though – the video has a happy ending. Sort of. We think. We were too busy crying to notice…

There’s something rather amazing about Nicolas Cage films. It’s not that he can’t act – although, seriously, we’re not sure that he can – it’s more that you simply don’t know whether you’re going to spend the last few moments of the credits shouting furiously at the screen and simulating over-the-top air rabbit punches, or hugging everyone else in the cinema, because you’ve just shared a moment together. A wonderful wonderful moment. A moment that could end in sex.

High points in his career include: Con Air, Wild at Heart, Leaving Las Vegas, The Rock, Vampire’s Kiss, and Adaptation. Whilst crippling, “let’s brick up this picture house!”, low points can be found after watching Snake Eyes, World Trade Centre, Ghost Rider, or, especially, The Wicker Man – a film which must surely rank as the worst remake of all time. There isn’t another actor on the planet capable of such a movie-going lottery. He’s either excellent, or shit. There is nothing in between.

Well, the good news filtering through the grapevine is that he’s magnificent in the upcoming remake of Bad Lieutenant – which, remember, was a 1992 film, starring Harvey Keitel, about a really bad lieutenant. He was a horrible lieutenant in fact. They should really have called it Horrible Lieutenant.

Anyway, with this great news singing in our ears, we thought we’d celebrate a cluster of remakes that were definitely better than the originals…

Ocean’s Eleven

The first outing for this movie featured all of the big stars of 1960 – Sinatra, Martin, Davis Jnr, some other people. And, for the most part, it’s shockingly bad. Hence, it came as no real surprise that Clooney and his goons did a much better job of it in 2001, even with Don Cheadle on board, doing everything he could to bollocks the whole thing up with a preposterous “British” accent. On the downside, every sequel since has been steadily worse than the one before, which probably means that Oceans Sixteen will actually cause an outbreak of hysterical cinema suicides. Stop now.

Scarface

It’s actually a close call, this. The first one – made in 1932, about a mobster called Tony Camonte – is a gripping tale of a man rising up the criminal ladder. It’s pretty good. But, Pacino totally blows the thing out of the water in the Florida-based 1983 remake, in which he plays Tony Montana – a street smart Cuban, who shouts obscenities throughout the film, then shoots people up whilst magnificently high on cocaine. It’s Pacino’s tour du force, and it basically introduced the world to his brand new acting technique, which we like to call “shouting”.

Twelve Monkeys

Bruce Willis isn’t a million miles away from Cage in his ability to pick horrendous films, but one that was anything but rubbish was Twelve Monkeys, which found ex-Python freak Terry Gilliam on extremely weird form as the director. It’s a strange tale of time travel, world wars, freaky visions, mad scientists, and not really any monkeys whatsoever. Interestingly, it adapted much of the plot from a 1962, short French film called La Jetée, which featured only still images, a pretentious voice over, and was probably much enjoyed only by pipe smoking women who liked to wear gentlemen’s trousers. In that case, a man travels through time, meets a beautiful woman, then realises that his childhood memory of watching a man get shot was actually him witnessing his own death as an adult. Sounds very familiar, that.

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Warning: Brace yourself for a sickening display of cinematic affection.

As far as movies based on lunar missions go Moon is up there with the best of them. With only one man and a computer voiced by Kevin Spacey, this is a film that blows the dust away from the sci-fi genre.

This is movie that not only pays homage to the likes of Blade Runner and 2001: A Space Odyssey but also turns expectations and marks itself as a visionary exploration on what it means to be human.

It is helped in no small way by Sam Rockwell, here playing the aptly named Sam. The film relies completely on his performance and if you are familiar with Rockwell then it comes at no surprise that his enigmatic screen presence makes Moon not only absorbing but also completely believable. Dealing with agoraphobia, mortality and paranoia, Rockwell never falters in his portrayal, and further cements himself as one of the best ‘oh, I recognise him from something’ actors out there.

What helps the film is its sheer restraint to be anything bordering on mainstream. One time Zowie Bowie (son of David) Duncan Jones directs the film with care and passion. Not relying on computer generated effects – something that has become a prerequisite of modern sci-fi – and instead using practical methods of creating an environment that not only looks startling (and not just in crisp high definition) but also adds a layer of authenticity often lacking in today’s cinema.

This method also helps you feel connected to the environment and helping to add to the unsettling nature of the picture. When Sam falls deeper into the mystery surrounding an accident, we are never sure what is real and what isn’t. Can we truly believe a narrator who seems to be both mentally and physically deteriorating before our eyes? The film constantly makes you question what is going on, leaving the audience constantly in the dark – a brave decision in an impatient age.

As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place then it becomes clear that each twist and turn has been clever crafted and the story forms together to create something truly memorable. It may be compared to the likes of Blade Runner but as far as intricate storytelling then it is on a par with recent directional debuts such as Christopher Nolan’s Memento and Richard Kelly’s Donnie Darko.

Much like the aforementioned it takes the genre to new levels, often by making the ideas big and the storytelling simple – Something that Hollywood seems to have forgotten to do.

The Blu-ray release delves deeper into the process, featuring commentaries with Duncan Jones, Q&A sessions and behind the scenes footage. The only thing it lacks is major input from Rockwell. Still, you can’t ask much more than a high definition package that makes a visionary film truly visually spectacular.

Hecklerspray rating: 4/5

Now pardon us for our break in usual Hecklerspray cynicism so now enjoy a return to our normal programming…

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This is just a hunch, but we’re expecting Will Ferrell to be named as People’s sexiest man alive next year.

Because, seriously, that man is loaded. He gets paid so much money. Too much money, in fact. And he doesn’t deserve a bloody penny of it. That’s according to Forbes, at least – Will Ferrell has come out on top of a list 0f Hollywood’s most overpaid stars. The list claims that Will Ferrell only earns his investors a return of $3.29 for every dollar he’s paid.

Why such a poor figure? Well, it’s partly because Land Of The Lost flopped, partly because comedy is notoriously difficult to sell around the world and partly because Will Ferrell has cold dead eyes and a rapist’s haircut. Possibly.

What makes a good actor? Commitment? Research? An ability to emotionally connect with an audience? No, you idiot. What makes a good actor is the comparative financial return that they make for investors based on their salary. That’s why Matt Damon is a great actor and Will Ferrell is the worst, stupidest, actor to have ever walked the Earth.

According to a new Forbes list, Will Ferrell is the most overpaid star in Hollywood because he only makes $3.29 back for each dollar he’s paid. Compare this to Naomi Watts, who earns investors $44 for every dollar she’s paid, and you can see what an underwhelming amount that is.

That’s not necessarily a helpful comparison – Naomi Watts’ figure is so much higher because she’s generally paid less than Will Ferrell, her films cost less to make and she rarely carries movies by herself, plus the fact that her name is a guarantee that you’re either going to see her boobs or the outline of at least one of her nipples through a skimpy top at some point – but it must still be a worry for Will. ABC reports:

Ferrell took first place largely due to the flop of his summer 2009 movie “Land of the Lost”, which Forbes said cost an estimated $100 million to make but earned just $65 million at box offices worldwide for movie studio Universal Pictures. The movie followed a disappointing $43 million box office for Ferrell’s 2008 outing “Semi-Pro”, and $128 million for “Step Brothers”.

We should probably point out that Will Ferrell was part of a list of overpaid actors, but we’re trying not to mention that because it’ll only depress Ferrell further. For instance, Ewan McGregor came second in the list. And when was the last time you ever got excited about a Ewan McGregor film? This year? Last year? This decade? Ewan McGregor is awful, and he’s still better value for money than Will Ferrell.

Other actors on the list include Tom Cruise – a man who only makes films so that people can tell him how rubbish he is in them – and Billy Bob Thornton. Billy Bob Thornton, for crying out loud. He can’t even do an interview properly, let alone a bloody film. Seriously, Will Ferrell must be feeling terrible.

There’s only one thing for it. To turn this around, Will Ferrell will have to start taking on Naomi Watts-style roles before it’s too late. He should sign up for impossibly minor roles in bad Clive Owen films, harrowing remakes of brutally amoral German horror films and London-set films where members of the Lord Of The Rings cast beat a large number Russian gangsters to death with their bare penises. That will definitely revive Will Ferrell’s fortunes as a Hollywood commodity.

We expect a consultancy fee for this advice.

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Oh People magazine, you’re such terrible sluts. Don’t bother trying to hide it – we can see straight through you.

Look at how you’re treating poor Johnny Depp. According to that list you published yesterday, Johnny Depp is the sexiest man alive. But what happened the day before yesterday? That’s right, it was announced that Johnny Depp was going to earn at least $35 million from Pirates Of The Caribbean 4. Coincidence? HARDLY.

You only love Johnny Depp for his money don’t you, People magazine? Not his easygoing charm or his faultless complexion – it’s his money. We’ll never be good enough for you will we, People magazine? Even though we love you SO MUCH. Well stuff you, People magazine. Stuff you in your MOUTH.

Now we know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “But hecklerspray, surely Johnny Depp isn’t the sexiest man alive. Surely it’s you or – at a push – Robert Pattinson. But not Johnny Depp.” And that’s where you’d be wrong. Firstly, we’ve been ruled ineligible for People’s Sexiest Man Alive title on account of our bizarre face and horrible personality. And secondly, Robert Pattinson isn’t sexy. Yes, he makes people involuntarily wet themselves, but so does diabetes and that’s not especially sexy, is it?

So no. Forget Robert Pattinson. It’s Johnny Depp who’s the sexiest man alive. People magazine said so yesterday, so it must be true. And, yes, we know that People magazine also once said that Matt Damon and Matthew McConaughey were also the sexiest men alive, but you have to forgive it for those years – it was going through a lot at work and was probably on some sort of antibiotics that impaired its judgement or something. But that’s all in the past now.

So when People magazine says that Johnny Depp is the sexiest man alive, you have to believe it. Especially when it can back up its claims with stone-cold reasoning like this:

From a sexy swashbuckler in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise to quirkier roles like Edward Scissorhands, the 46-year-old star has had women swooning since his days as a teen detective on 21 Jump Street. Yet it’s his devotion to his family that really makes the actor so endearing. “I could sit there all day and do nothing but watch them grow,” he’s said of children. “I’m totally inspired by them.”

You see, men? What’s really sexy is being dependable and devoted to your family. And if that describes you, then deep down you’re as sexy as Johnny Depp. True, less people will want to sleep with you because you only wear tatty old clothes that are covered in baby sick and you generally don’t seem very motivated, plus you aren’t able to earn $35 million for dressing up in a silly costume and running around in a funny way, plus you’re flabby and pallid and balding whereas Johnny Depp is none of those things despite being much older than you. But aside from that, you’re just as sexy.

You’re not. You’re nowhere near as sexy as Johnny Depp. In a line-up comprised of you, Johnny Depp and a toilet that’s full of tramp sick, women would always pick you last. All women. Even your own wife. We think that’s what People magazine is getting at, anyway.

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Holy Jesus, Ultimate Assassin 2 has got to be the tensest game we’ve ever played. It’s unbearably tense. It’s beyond tense. It’s heart-poundingly, pant-poopingly tense.

We mean it. The aim of Ultimate Assassin 2 is to kill a single target and then escape the room without detection. But that’s almost impossible thanks to all the roaming security guards whose glances you have to avoid. Ultimate Assassin 2 is all about stealth and patience – if you have to wait in a corner doing absolutely nothing for a couple of minutes to accomplish your kill, then that’s what you have to do. But, God, it’s a phenomenally good game.

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Winning that Oscar for Dreamgirls didn’t just make Jennifer Hudson a household name, it also changed her life forever.

Not in a particularly good way, either. When Jennifer Hudson started acting, she probably thought that she’d do Dreamgirls and then maybe a couple of comedies or a big summer action flick. But no. Jennifer Hudson has won an Oscar now, so every film she stars in from now on is legally entitled to be overlong, dreary and so relentlessly worthy that you feel like scrubbing yourself clean with a dry brush afterwards.

And that’s why Jennifer Hudson is about to play Winnie Mandela in what promises to be a right old bundle of bloody laughs.

One of the main things that worries us about Jennifer Hudson is that she used to be an American Idol contestant, and that it wouldn’t take much for other Simon Cowell-approved singers to follow her lead. Sure, it might be OK for Jennifer Hudson to play a notorious historical figure in a transparently Oscar-baiting biopic, but what if it sparks a trend?

What if Leona Lewis suddenly decides that she wants to play Rosa Luxemburg in a film about the 1919 Spartakusbund uprising? Or what if Jedward signs up to play Dmitry Ivanovsky in a biopic about pioneering microbiology? You’d try to hammer yourself unconscious with whatever’s nearest to you, that’s what.

And it’d all be Jennifer Hudson’s fault for playing Winnie Mandela in an upcoming biopic based on the book Winnie Mandela: A Life. Variety reports:

Jennifer Hudson is set to star in Winnie, a drama that casts her as the former wife of South Africa’s first black president, Nelson Mandela. “I was compelled and moved when I read the script,” Hudson said. “Winnie Mandela is a complex and extraordinary woman and I’m honored to be the actress asked to portray her. This is a powerful part of history that should be told.”

Of course, Jennifer Hudson didn’t need to say any of that. She could have just shouted “I WANT ANOTHER OSCAR!” directly into the face of the Variety editor through a megaphone while repeadedly bonking him on the head with an oversized polystyrene Oscar, since that’s what she obviously means, but where would be the fun in that?

That’s assuming that Jennifer Hudson will win an Oscar for playing Winnie Mandela, of course, and there’s no guarantee that she will. Remember, she only won the Oscar for Dreamgirls because she was able to channel the emotions of her character through a number of painfully schmaltzy showtunes. So if Jennifer Hudson wants to win another Oscar for Winnie, there’s only one thing for it: it’s going to have to be a musical.

No, bear with us. A Winnie Mandela musical would be awesome. Imagine Jennifer Hudson, standing against the backdrop of Apartheid-ravaged South Africa, belting out the timeless Orange Free State (Is Something I Hate). Or winking her way through the ribald crowd-pleaser Let’s Burn Our Enemies With Tyres And Petrol! Or closing the whole thing with the heartfelt show-stopper Election (It’s Fifth Place For Me). It’d be awesome. Or terrible. Probably terrible.

But anything that stops Jennifer Hudson from making any more Sex And The City films, eh?

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In every episode of EastEnders, you can be guaranteed of a few things. For a start, you’ll never sit through the full 30 minutes without hearing an ear-piercing screech or cackle.

Peggy’s bra will have pinged off and blinded a child like in her Carry On days and then she’ll slop a warm pint all over Pat, causing fisticuffs at the bar.

There’s also the iconic music that accompanies the programme. Without those drum beats at the beginning and end of the show, EastEnders wouldn’t have any charm left at all. Kind of like the service in Ian Beale’s café. But things are changing in Albert Square. Soon, a spin off show dubbed E20 will launch, and the team behind the show want you to create the theme tune by doing up the original song.

Of course, there is already a remix of the recognisably anthemic EastEnders theme-tune. Frizzy haired guitar chimp Brian May’s wife Anita Dobson created a version of the song by simply singing over the top of it. She released it and thousands of morons purchased it, thus making her famous. Sadly, you can’t rip off her efforts as the producers of the show want you to make a thirty second remix that captures the sound and feel of living in East London.

For the majority of the population living outside of London, this may be hard to imagine. However, from our knowledge of London, we believe samples of people complaining about late tubes, recordings of coughing from inhaling smog and the sound of pigeon shit hitting the floor will be quite apt. Or as the competition page puts it:

“E20 is to encourage and develop exciting new talent. All the writers and cast are newcomers – and we want to extend this approach to the music production. For that, we need your help. We’re therefore looking for a fresh take on the classic EastEnders theme tune – one that will become the fanfare for a show which celebrates London life, and what it’s like to be young in the capital. All in the space of 30 seconds!”

Awesome, we all we have to do is chop up the beats and splice up the main tune to win the prize? Doesn’t sound too difficult to us. We can already imagine the look of surprise on the judge’s face as present a glitched-up gabba version complete with touches of white noise. Or if we forget the closing date and need to knock something up quick, we’ll just reverse the tune, steal some vocals from YouTube and plonk it on top. Easier than cooking, that is.

Of course, out made up genre of Fizzcorkcore probably won’t win as the current climate of wonky-sounding baselines and big beats will probably clinch it for some nerdy bedroom DJ. But good luck to you all, after winning the competition you’ll then be asked what you’d do to make the show watchable.

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