Baha'i culture...art, film, literature

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The Scotsman



A mixed gag - Omid Djalili interview









Omid Djalili: 'I think you should always keep it light and entertaining'








By CLAIRE BLACK





Omid Djalili, the Anglo-Iranian comedian, has had an unconventional career so far – he is a revered comic, has his own successful sketch show and has appeared in numerous Hollywood blockbusters, but the BBC has labelled him as the stand-up whose name you might not know. CLAIRE BLACK finds out why
'A LOT of Iranians would like me to give a lecture with slides – like I'm working for the Iranian Tourist Board," says comedian Omid Djalili from his hotel room in Ipswich. "People don't understand that, in this country, if you pick on certain cultural things and show you can laugh at yourself, then people will warm to your culture. When people see Billy Connolly and he talks about some kind of essential and weird Scottish behaviour, they recognise it, laugh and then say, 'I love Scotland. Oh, actually, I'm half Scottish.' They become proud of it.'"

Britain's Anglo-Iranian comedian is talking about his brand of easily digestible ethno-cultural comedy. He's halfway through a national tour, which includes Edinburgh tonight, and he has already been chatting to Johnny Vaughn ("completely mad") and Denise Van Outen ("very tolerant") this morning and it's only just after 9am.

Djalili sounds pretty chipper and he's got every right to be. Watched by almost four million BBC1 viewers – and that was against X Factor and I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here – The Omid Djalili Show was a success. So much so that he's been asked to write a second series of the comedy sketch show. "It's all about getting a second series," he tells me with obvious pleasure. The tour has enough 'sold-out' signs peppered on the website to reassure him that people still want to see him in the flesh as well as on the box.

"This is the show I'm most happy with," he says. "It's not the pinnacle of what I've ever done and it's certainly not the pinnacle of what I'm capable of, but it's the most enjoyable show I've done in years.

"I keep doing stand-up because you just hope that you can get better and find the voice that you want. You have to get back on the road and try things out. I'm amazed that I have about an hour and 20 minutes of brand new stuff that's been getting fantastic feedback."

Djalili has had a funny old career. He's an Edinburgh Festival stalwart with two Spirit of the Fringe awards and a string of sell-out shows to his name. His last two visits to Edinburgh were in 2002 "when I got the record number of five-star reviews (six]", and 2005, "when I got the record number of two-star reviews, which I'm equally proud of".

But the BBC still found it necessary to prefix the publicity material for his BBC1 show with the line: "The stand-up whose name you might not know." Maybe it's because he hasn't appeared on the circuit with the same ubiquity as some of his comedy chums. Maybe it's because we don't remember foreign-sounding names. Actually, that sounds a bit like a Djalili gag.

It might also be that Djalili is an actor, too. In fact, he was an actor long before he told jokes for a living. With roles in The Mummy, Gladiator and the James Bond movie The World is Not Enough, Djalili describes himself as the "perfect, ethnic, Everyman, bit-part specialist". As far as the comedy goes, he says Edinburgh and Glasgow are his two favourite cities to play. "I think for any comedian to come and get big laughs from a really tough, discerning, comedy-literate audience, it is the biggest stamp of approval," he says. "I always get a bit nervous about it, but they're the gigs that I'm looking forward to the most."

Djalili's spent the last 13 years honing his act. He jokes about everything from al-Qaeda birthday parties to suicide bombing, with a bit of bellydancing thrown in for good measure. And whatever controversies and eyebrows have been raised, Djalili feels like he's really hitting his stride.

"The main theme of this live show is Britishness because our British heritage and identity has been outraged recently whether by British suicide bombers or the Archbishop of Canterbury talking about Sharia law," he says. "To have a second-generation British-Iranian talking about Britishness in a live show is quite an interesting way to approach things."

Djalili has been criticised by some for losing his edge to satisfy the mainstream audience, but there are plenty of people who still find him challenging. "I had loads of complaints about my TV show even before it began," he says. "People obviously thought, 'How dare they give an Iranian weirdo a TV show on BBC1!' Some said that they were no longer paying their licence fee because time was being given to a fundamentalist. They didn't even know who I was.

"I think I've been criticised for being too entertaining. When I did the Perrier show in 2002 some people said, 'Oh you're brave tackling the whole terrorism thing and all the issues, but you could go further.' And yes, I think that's true. I feel as I get older and more confident I do go further, but I think you should always keep it light and entertaining. My reaction to some people who go on and just do political stuff is, 'For God's sake, just tell us a joke.' When people know there's going to be something silly they allow you the space to be political.

"I've been a bit more forthcoming in this show with my viewpoint and I've got concrete suggestions about what to do about terrorism," he says, and, for a moment, I'm not sure whether he's joking or not. What kind of ideas I prompt tentatively? "Well, I don't want to give it away. You need to come and see the show. But, for example, I don't think we should call terrorists 'terrorists'. I think that's a huge mistake. I understand the power of words and ideas as I get older and as I become more responsible as a stand-up. I think the media can really help by changing that syntax and vernacular."

Sociologist or comedian? For Djalili it's a mix of the two. He says that he takes an academic approach to his comedy: writing his routine, learning his lines and even doing warm-up exercises before he goes on stage. "I have this habit of stumbling over words, and over important words so I've been doing warm-ups," he says. "Tongue exercises and singing scales like a real ponce. No other comedian does that."

Djalili is the son of a reporter ("the funniest man I've ever known") and a dressmaker, but his parents also ran a guesthouse. Rather than being a joker as a child, Djalili says he was an observer. "We had basically all of Iranian society coming through the doors. The only way to cope with it when you feel like you've got no privacy in your own house is to keep things light and funny. My dad always did that. He's a genuine eccentric. I'm not like that. I'm a very normal, very together, balanced individual."

Djalili's cuddly cultural dislocation routine – politics offset with plenty of silly dancing – may disappoint some, but he has never been happier with what he does. "I will actually humiliate myself as much as I can for the benefit of the audience," he says. "People always expect a big finish and it used to be disco dancing, but now I do this dance therapy thing which is very silly and makes me look like a clown.

"I'm in my 13th year of comedy and it's only now that I understand it all. Comedian friends of mine have said they always thought I was just a good performer, but now they see me as a proper stand-up.

"Coming from people like Boothby Graffoe and Ian Stone, I think that's good. It's like I've made it into the club. It has taken me a long time, but I've finally arrived."

• Omid Djalili, The Playhouse, Edinburgh, tonight at 8pm, £19, 0870 606 3424 and March 12, 8pm, Aberdeen Music Hall 01224 641122.

A FUNNY OLD LIFE

• Omid Djalili, 42, was born in the Chelsea area of London to Iranian parents who had settled in London in 1957. His journalist father was a contributor to Iran's top newspapers and a translator for the Iranian embassy. The family raised Djalili in the Baha'i faith, which he still follows.

• He graduated from the University of Ulster with a degree in English and theatre arts in 1988, and embarked on a series of odd jobs after returning to London, where he was reportedly rejected by 16 drama schools.

• He met his future wife, Annabel Knight, an actress and playwright at a friend's wedding and the couple moved to the Czech Republic
via a cultural exchange program, where they became involved in the experimental theatre scene.

• The couple returned to the UK and Knight was instrumental in boosting her husband's career after writing A Strange Bit of History, the one-man play which garnered critical acclaim at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 1993.

• In 1995 Djalili returned to the Fringe, this time with stand-up comedy, and gained rave reviews with Short, Fat Kebab Shop Owner's Son.

• As well as his comedy success, Djalili has had numerous film and television roles. His film credits include Gladiator, The Mummy, Spy Game, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow and Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End.

• He recently picked up an international film award for Best Supporting Actor in Casanova.

• The couple currently live in London with their three children, aged 14, 12 and eight.


The full article contains 1655 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
Last Updated: 09 March 2008 8:10 PM

Source:

A mixed gag - Omid Djalili interview - The Scotsman

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From Wikipedia:


Khalil Fong (Traditional Chinese:方大同, born July 14, 1983) is a soul singer and songwriter from Hong Kong. He was born in Hawaii and his family moved to Shanghai when he was 6. His father (an American-born Chinese from San Francisco, California) wanted Khalil to learn more about Chinese culture. 6 years later, they moved to Guangzhou and lived for about 2 years. Afterwards, they moved to Hong Kong. When he was 16, he sent demos, which he had written, to music producers. 4 years later, Warner Music Hong Kong finally recruited him as their producer. Khalil is a Bahá'í.

and a here's a Youtube:

YouTube - Khalil Fong - Southen Sound

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And another YouTube:

YouTube - [MV] 方大� Khalil Fong - 夠�夠

This one has Mandarin and English as well!

- Art

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Subject: Interesting


BANGALORE The EMAAR-MGF Ladies Masters trophy, a stunning piece of art, was unveiled on Friday at the Eagleton Resort clubhouse.

Senior officials of Ladies European Tour, golf in DUBAI, the promoters and organisers of the first Ladies European Tour (LET) event ever to be held in India, and Women's Golf Association of India were present at the ceremony.

Speaking on the occasion, Mohamed Buamaim, vice-chairman and CEO of golf in DUBAI, said: 'The trophy has this Indian feel to it as it is designed in the shape of Delhi's world-famous Baha'i Lotus Temple.

'Since the tournament is being held India, it's only appropriate that the winner should return with fond memories of India,' said Buamaim, who was flanked by, Alex Armas, executive director of the LET, Champika Sayal, secretary-general of Women's Golf Association of India, and Anjani Desai, the senior lady of Indian women's golf.

http://us.f379.mail.yahoo.com/ya/dow...&pos =0&Idx=2

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Omid Djalili: How many other small, fat, bald men get their own shows?’

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Omid Djalili is one of Britain’s most popular stand-up comics, as well as a star of film and TV. Not bad for an Iranian boy who failed his A levels – three times – and was rejected by 16 drama schools




Interview by Deborah Ross
Saturday, 5 April 2008

When I arrive at the comedian Omid Djalili's house in nicely tree-lined East Sheen, south- west London, it's his wife, Annabel, who answers the door. Omid's just popped out for milk, she says. He'll only be a tick. They've just returned from a few days in Devon with the children – they have three; the oldest is 15 – and the fridge is empty. Come in, come in. Cup of tea? She puts the kettle on. We chat for a bit. She is lovely; very pretty and smiley. Then Omid returns. "Hello, Omid," I say. "Milk?" asks Annabel hopefully. Omid opens his plastic carrier. There is apple juice. There is a newspaper. There is no milk. "I forgot," he says. "Oh, Omid," we both say in the way women do when they wish to capture centuries of female disappointment. Omid looks sheepish and smiles that smile, the one that says: "Please don't hit me, clever ladies who would get milk if they were sent out for it."

I am minded to stay in the kitchen with Annabel to talk about why men cannot do the one simple thing you have asked them to do (it's not my favourite subject – I'm just determined to get to the bottom of it one day) but Omid is ushering me into the living room with my black tea. That is: tea, which is black, there being no milk. Nice.
The house is 1920s and big but not fancy, with a living room that's all old rugs and comfy sofas. Omid says he doesn't do fancy. "I don't have extravagant tastes. I don't buy fancy cars. I'm not ostentatious. Buying a nice house in East Sheen was really pushing it for me." Having grown up without money, he now worries about his kids growing up with it, worries that they're becoming "bloody rich twats". The other day he overheard them talking about the houses they would like to live in when they were older and so he said: "Not with my money, you won't." He adds: "I saw my parents work desperately hard."
He settles on to a sofa, feet up, yawns, then yawns again. I'm keeping you up, I say. He says he's sorry, he's knackered. He's mid-tour plus has just driven the four hours back from Devon. He says that once, returning from a gig in Liverpool, he was so tired while driving down the motorway he hallucinated pterodactyls flying around his head that he had to flap away. He was eventually stopped by the police who asked him: "How fast do you think you were going, sir?" He said: "100mph?" No, they told him, "you were going 10mph in the middle lane while slapping yourself." They were nice, though, the cops. "They sat in the car with me while I had a little rest." He is amazed that "more comedians don't die on the road". I say I'm amazed more can't remember milk. Honestly, we send you out to do one simple thing...
He is a big man, hefty, but not Channel 5 freakomentary fat, although the way he speaks about himself you'd think he was. When I ask him if he still has a personal trainer he says: "I have to, I'm so heavy." I tell him he's not that heavy. Come off it. He disagrees: "I'm deceptively heavy. I'm 15-and-a-half stone, four stone overweight." He's not sure what the problem is, but thinks it might be food. "I eat too much on tour, because of the stress. It's comfort eating. It's soporific." What can't you resist more than anything? "A bowl of chips." He does like to cook, yes, and particularly Iranian dishes "full of walnuts and pomegranates".
Born in London to Iranian parents, he is that rare thing: a comedian in the West who, having a Middle Eastern background, can tell jokes about the Middle East. But although culture and ethnicity – as well as some wonderfully silly dancing – are at the core of his act, I do think he is mostly funny just because he is just funny. I like his joke about the Middle Eastern equivalent of our knock-knock jokes. "It's the Floomph, Floomph joke. Floomph, Floomph? That's someone knocking on a tent." That said, he often will make a point: "An asylum seeker arrives at Dover. 'Why are you here?' asks the customs officer. 'My house was bombed,' comes the reply. 'No, why are you really here.' 'Um... because I've always wanted to work in a chip shop in Basingstoke?'"
Success is good, and the money is good, but he's not in it for the money or the fame. "For me, it's always been about respect." He's failed a lot, and has been rejected a lot. He took three A-levels three times and failed them all. He was basically booted out of school. He was refused a place by 16 – 16! – drama schools. He says he's had to fight all the way to get to where he is with his sell-out tours, film roles and his own BBC sketch show. "How many other small, fat, bald men get their own TV shows?" he asks. "Kojak?" I suggest. "Apart from Kojak," he says.
One of his most recent film roles was in the last Pirates of the Caribbean movie, which I could not make head nor tail of. What was it about, Omid? He says he has no idea. He took the part because he was told he'd get to do a scene with Keith Richards. He adds: "I didn't understand the script or even the scene I was in! I'd ask the others: do you know what this is about? They'd say: no idea. Just shut up and do it." He is most proud of his performance as Picasso in the film Modigliani, although wishes he had been given more time to lose weight. "I was Picasso in his porkadelic phase."
His parents moved to London in 1957 – Omid was born eight years later – where his father, Ahmad, worked as a journalist for the Iranian newspaper Kayhan. However, this career came to a sudden end with the Islamic revolution in 1979 and the new regime's official campaign of persecution against the followers of the Baha'i faith, which include Omid and his family. To earn money, his parents turned their small Kensington mansion-block flat into a sort of pension for sick Iranians who had travelled to Harley Street for medical treatment.
"Iranians don't like staying in hotels. They want to stay with families. So my parents would take them in and cook for them and translate for them and take them to their appointments." Omid rarely, if ever, bought friends home from school. "Too embarrassing and too complicated. They'd want to know why a sick old man was wandering around in his pyjamas at four in the afternoon and I'd have to explain." He didn't have his own bedroom – "bedrooms were money" – so slept in the lounge. When I ask about siblings he says: "I have an older sister and brother who shared a room and escaped as quickly as they could." His mother, Parveneh, was also a dressmaker. What was her style? "Very flamboyant, very few clients," he says.
He went to trendy Holland Park school which is where, he thinks, he first learnt that being funny could feel really, really good. In his first year he wrote a sketch for his classmates that his teacher suggested he perform in front of the whole school. The sketch involved a monster lying under a blanket that no one could look at because the monster was so ugly that if you did look at him, you'd die. He primed a few kids to come up on stage, lift a corner of the blanket, then scream and drop dead. He then asked the deputy head to come and have a look but when the deputy head did so, the monster died, "because the head was so ugly". The sixth formers, he says, "roared with laughter and I felt like a rock star".
Alas, Omid did not make it to the sixth form himself. He was expelled, although never formally. The head – perhaps the deputy had been promoted and didn't think he was that ugly – just said: "Please don't come back." Why? "I was told I was disruptive. I was a real tearaway. I'd run into the staff room, take down my trousers, play the piano and then run out again." He went to some kind of college to take his A levels (English, Economics, French) which he thought he could do in a year. He could not. "I failed in January, took them again in June, and then again the next January." All in all, he has worked out that "I failed 49 separate papers". Omid, I say, you're obviously a smart guy, so what is with all this failing, already?
He says it was probably his chaotic family life; he could never get down to any studying at home because he was constantly being asked to drop everything and go and pick someone up at the airport, or drop everything so he could go and translate for someone. Your parents weren't interested in your education? No, he says. I say that's weird. Usually immigrant parents are mad for their children's education; mad for them to become doctors and lawyers so the whole family can feel somehow legitimised. This is true for some, he says, but not for him. Weirder still, he says, he comes from a background of doctors and lawyers on both sides. There was an actor though; his mother's brother. "He married a Mormon, went to live in Utah, and had a small part in Starsky and Hutch. Unfortunately, he died young, but when I said I wanted to be an actor, she encouraged it." And your dad? "He paid no attention until I started making money."
He didn't take his failures lightly. When his A-level results would come in the post he would implore: "Please let it be an A, maybe a B, and it would always say 'unclassified'." Each time, he'd get the results investigated but "they were always right". In the end, "I was so desperate to go to university I lied on my UCCA form, putting down Bs and Cs instead of Es and Fs." This led him to an English and Theatre Studies degree at the University of Ulster. When he graduated, pretty much top of his year, he confessed but was not run out of town. "They said that I obviously deserved to be there."
....
Luckily, at around this time, he met Annabel (Knight, an actress and playwright) and together they moved to the Czech Republic where they became involved in experimental theatre. Their company, In Theatre, was highly rated and travelled extensively. "I did think: this is it. This is what my life is going to be." But he felt he had to come back to London in 1995 when his mother died because "my father took it very hard, and was lonely". What does Ahmad think of his TV, movie and stand-up star of a son? "He does like the fame by association. He's 84 and says he has a lot of women in their sixties and seventies flirting with him."
I say I don't see where the stand-up comes into all this. He says it was Annabel, who just kind of saw it in him, and persuaded him to put something together for the Edinburgh Festival. You have her to thank for all this yet you can't remember to get milk? Omid, you should be ashamed. "I got apple juice!" he protests.
Anyway, our time is nearly up. He's got to get to Salisbury for a gig. Omid kindly gives me a lift to Richmond station, wearing a peaked cap that makes him look all cheeky. He says his life seems fantastic to him now, as if it is happening to someone else. He may be considerably more vulnerable than he cares to let on. Still, this is no excuse for not doing that one simple thing.
Never is, never will be.
Omid Djalili is appearing at Salford Lowry on 11 and 12 April and at Hammersmith Apollo on 18 and 19 April. For details see www.omidnoagenda.com.

* Deborah Ross has been shortlisted for Interviewer of the Year at the British Press Awards.