Iannucci Article in Big Issue

[princeps]

Anyway someone could provide a couple scans of this?


https://twitter.com/Aiannucci/status/1250776377667747840

[Smeraldina Rima]

Might be missing the point, but if you click and maximize the image it's fairly readable:

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EVudl0zXkAAKBeo?format=jpg&name=large

[the]

Might be missing the point, but if you click and maximize the image it's fairly readable:

      https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EVudl0zXkAAKBeo?format=jpg&name=large

Tweaked text for readability:

     

[vainsharpdad]

OCR has nailed this...

I want to write something farany. but what's funny about tus
moment? We're a}! beng ured to prve freely of our serves, but whe
other offer huse-cutbag bps and onhne bagusns, the best fve exten
offer are gags Do people really want gags from someone bhe me why
Furenng kaw on good cheer? fve always been an opumnent, but whe a
shard of & eemairs, fe never had that opt.msm more tested and dar
on than now Now males us yearn for the happner pre-Cond da of
Grew: the me of totahtananeum, tpalas on fire, and the total control of
our es by Mark Zuckerberg and the government of Chana. Now, weve
toned cur lnaing rooms se an open prion whale cutade the pobce
are onthe pont of Tasenng sunbathers

The common moment of qunet confidence in the face of medical
offwers adver has gone We're at that point where passengers on
turbulent fights realse the reassunng tane of veace pilots use when
Chey sry. "It's gorng to be a bitte bumpy for the next couple of menates?
@ the same one they ust fot "We're about Lo crash mina mourtamn'®
W's the tone of vorce we detect comreng from ecreaseingty nervous
menaters sang the rire Manater ss doong Yust fine" The looks on
their faces are less those of confident decision-makers, and more the look
Jimagine a sparrow would have if it was clearly explained to him that he's
now running the country. Much of my career has been spent writing comedy
about how people who sound like they know what theyre talking about dont,
necessarily know what they're talking about. I'm not sure if I dressed that
message up in punchlines now that it would help people pull through.

tused to be more positive. When businesses all around me began seizing
up I felt enormously thankful my work was something | could easily do from
home and for which I'd always assumed there'd be a terrific demand. Then!
looked at the work Iwas doing. I'm in the middle of getting scripts ready for
the second season of Avenues, my show for HBO and Sky It's set in the future
and involves six-and-a-half thousand people on an eight-week space cruise
around Satum suddenly finding out, because of a glitch, they're going to be
stuck there for eight years. The first season went out just as curse liners in
the present day became floating pandemics. Now, looking ahead to what
we're planning for season two—a chaotic fight for survival led by a broken
leadership among dwindling supplies - I'm wondering whether people are
ready for jokes about death lotteries.

Stull, it's work and t should be grateful. My creative dilemma isnt worth
amacaque's anus set against the daily traurna being faced by mullions
across the country, worries about rent, arise in domestic abuse, relatives
dying alone, businesses going under, work drying up, anxiety tuming toxic,
education fragmented, dreams all abandoned. Sadly, this moment is more
profoundly funny-peculiar than funny-ha-ha.

Most peauliar of alll is this induced coma we're living in at present, an
enforced hibernation whose end-point is hope but whose reality is helpless
detachment Most of us try tuming our bubbles of isolation into something
positive and active: binge-watching Comorrah, learning Portuguese, getting
out the telescope, posting videos of our family singang funny songs about
how youths who congregate in parks have blood on their hands to the tune
of The Laughing Policeman. We pretend to each other, and know we'te
pretending, that this is like some extended and much-needed family break
from a hyperactive life, a chance to slow down and find ourselves. And so
what if we're stuck indoors for a long ime: fve had holidays in Devon like
that And at least we get the chance to step outside every Thursday night and
bang a pot witha spoon I could write jokes for that sort of ume.

But. no, this is no holiday Of course itisnt Instead, each of us sits ina
strange and prolonged silence at the epicentre of a not-so-distant scream.
Leisure ume has been forced upon us, but because of a hundred thousand
tragedies we cant stop Many commentators have observed in thei more
byncal moments that, to quote TS Eliot, we're at a still POINT ina turning world
Ifthar's the case, then the turning is getting louder and louder Websites
and supplements may still project a cheery pattern of family discovery, the
frends we can call, and the games we can play. but we can also hear the
ambulances. We worry about an elderly parent, we offer sympathies for their
loss to someone we know, and we quietly fret every day about those close to
us with underlying conditions We act in holiday mode because that's whatss
being asked of us. It's our duty to bloody well emain atm until ithurts

The presentss a frozen moment, set between past and future Photos
and TV footage taken only weeks ago feel so foreign and from history Even
something as innocuous as a BEC ident feels aut of place ~ those canoeists
arent practising social distancing, they need to be at least two paddle-
lengths away from each other But at feast the past Rives us something to Inve
for The future ss currently unimaginable. What wall we see when we stepout
into the dazzling summer sunshine? Will there be planes and feenes, shoe
shops and anemas? Will going to a restaurant smack of danger, and will
we still dot anyway since we all carry an inner idiot? Who knows. the most
frghtening thing just now is not knowing when the future will begin

What i do know is that this future will be coloured by our expenences of
this extended now Some will bang memones of infinite sadness Others,
of companionship and acts of lundness All of us. gratitude for those who
care for us I cart imagine that this collective expenence, awed of so many
Separate moments of isolation. will not determine everything about us when
we Step out That's where my one smal fragment of optimise rests, that this
wll step up our appreciation of others {fthat happens. then it may not be the
time yet for Jokes, but it will definitely be something to cheer

1] Armando lanewucciis the creator of Veep, The Thich of It, The Death of
Stalin, The Personal History of David Copperfield and Alan Partridge

[idunnosomename]

THATS IANNUCCI OBE TO YOU

[Thomas]

Armando lanewucciis

[princeps]

Tweaked text for readability:

     

Thanks a ton for briefly side stepping what perhaps is your own fucking code of honour to show me this.

[the]

Thanks a ton for briefly side stepping what perhaps is your own fucking code of honour to show me this.

Not 100% sure what to make of that comment, but if you're trying to say thanks, then you're welcome.

Corrected OCR text from above:

I want to write something funny. But what's funny about this moment? We're all beng urged to give freely of our services, but while others offer hair-cutting tips and online baptisms, the best I've got to offer are gags. Do people really want gags from someone like me who's running low on good cheer? I've always been an optimist, but while a shard of it remains, I've never had that optimism more tested and shat on than now. Now makes us yearn for the happier pre-Covid days of Brexit, the rise of totalitarianism, koalas on fire, and the total control of our lives by Mark Zuckerberg and the government of China. Now, we've turned our living rooms into an open prison while outside the police are on the point of Tasering sunbathers.

The common moment of quiet confidence in the face of medical officers' advice has gone. We're at that point where passengers on turbulent fights realise the reassuring tone of voice pilots use when they say "It's going to be a little bumpy for the next couple of minutes," is the same one they use for "We're about to crash into a mountain." It's the tone of voice we detect coming from increasingly nervous ministers saying the Prime Minister is doing "just fine". The looks on their faces are less those of confident decision-makers, and more the look I imagine a sparrow would have if it was clearly explained to him that he's now running the country. Much of my career has been spent writing comedy about how people who sound like they know what they're talking about don't necessarily know what they're talking about. I'm not sure if I dressed that message up in punchlines now that it would help people pull through.

I used to be more positive. When businesses all around me began seizing up I felt enormously thankful my work was something I could easily do from home and for which I'd always assumed there'd be a terrific demand. Then I looked at the work I was doing. I'm in the middle of getting scripts ready for the second season of Avenue 5, my show for HBO and Sky. It's set in the future and involves six-and-a-half thousand people on an eight-week space cruise around Saturn suddenly finding out, because of a glitch, they're going to be stuck there for eight years. The first season went out just as cruise liners in the present day became floating pandemics. Now, looking ahead to what we're planning for season two - a chaotic fight for survival led by a broken leadership among dwindling supplies - I'm wondering whether people are ready for jokes about death lotteries.

Still, it's work and I should be grateful. My creative dilemma isn't worth a macaque's anus set against the daily trauma being faced by millions across the country: worries about rent, a rise in domestic abuse, relatives dying alone, businesses going under, work drying up, anxiety tuming toxic, education fragmented, dreams all abandoned. Sadly, this moment is more profoundly funny-peculiar than funny-ha-ha.

Most peculiar of all is this induced coma we're living in at present, an enforced hibernation whose end-point is hope but whose reality is helpless detachment. Most of us try turning our bubbles of isolation into something positive and active: binge-watching Gomorrah, learning Portuguese, getting out the telescope, posting videos of our family singing funny songs about how youths who congregate in parks have blood on their hands to the tune of The Laughing Policeman. We pretend to each other, and know we'te pretending, that this is like some extended and much-needed family break from a hyperactive life, a chance to slow down and find ourselves. And so what if we're stuck indoors for a long time: I've had holidays in Devon like that. And at least we get the chance to step outside every Thursday night and bang a pot with a spoon. I could write jokes for that sort of time.

But, no, this is no holiday. Of course it isn't. Instead, each of us sits in a strange and prolonged silence at the epicentre of a not-so-distant scream. Leisure time has been forced upon us, but because of a hundred thousand tragedies we cant stop. Many commentators have observed in their more lyrical moments that, to quote TS Eliot, we're at a still point in a turning world. If that's the case, then the turning is getting louder and louder. Websites and supplements may still project a cheery pattern of family discovery, the friends we can call, and the games we can play: but we can also hear the ambulances. We worry about an elderly parent, we offer sympathies for their loss to someone we know, and we quietly fret every day about those close to us with underlying conditions. We act in holiday mode because that's what is being asked of us. It's our duty to bloody well remain calm until it hurts.

The present is a frozen moment, set between past and future. Photos and TV footage taken only weeks ago feel so foreign and from history. Even something as innocuous as a BEC ident feels out of place ~ those canoeists arent practising social distancing, they need to be at least two paddle-lengths away from each other. But at least the past gives us something to live for. The future is currently unimaginable. What will we see when we step out into the dazzling summer sunshine? Will there be planes and ferries, shoe shops and cinemas? Will going to a restaurant smack of danger, and will we still do it anyway since we all carry an inner idiot? Who knows; the most frghtening thing just now is not knowing when the future will begin.

What I do know is that this future will be coloured by our expenences of this extended now. Some will bring memories of infinite sadness. Others, of companionship and acts of kindness. All of us, gratitude for those who care for us. I can't imagine that this collective experience, a web of so many separate moments of isolation, will not determine everything about us when we step out. That's where my one small fragment of optimisem rests, that this wll step up our appreciation of others. If that happens, then it may not be the time yet for jokes, but it will definitely be something to cheer.

Armando Iannucci is the creator of Veep, The Thick of It, The Death of Stalin, The Personal History of David Copperfield and Alan Partridge

[dissolute ocelot]

Armando Iannucci is the creator of Veep, The Thick of It, The Death of Stalin, The Personal History of David Copperfield and Alan Partridge

I think Charles Dickens might have something to say about that. Also God, for the 3rd in the list.

[idunnosomename]

Charles Dickens is dead

[mippy]

So's God.

[bgmnts]

What's funny is what gets you an OBE, we all know this.

[Retinend]

The lengths you fuckers will go to avoid helping the homeless...