First, you can't call a week in Greece an odyssey. It's an insult to the word and the concept. What you can call a week in Greece is completely and utterly inadequate. They could have called it "Why the Rush?" or "The Greeks Had More Books than The Odyssey."
I can totally understand how so many people watch this and see it as nothing more than self-indulgent nonsense, but for me the series has been enjoyable. It makes me wonder why in the United States we literally have no one in the entertainment industry who even attempts to come across as an intellectual, not even a little bit. I guess no one bothers to ask, or if they do, no one bothers to listen to them talk about anything other than their movies or whatever it is they do. If anyone mentioned a book on American TV, I'm sure most viewers would throw their backs out of whack diving for the remote to change the channel. America writers are mostly ignored in our popular culture except the few who have enjoyed wild success which usually means they aren't much as writers.
Ugh, Steve Coogan's failed marriage and ruined family is brought up again and again in the series. The good news is this aspect of his life seems to mean so little to him that it doesn't get in the way of the banter over over-priced lunches, one cost 307 euros (and one guy doesn't drink!) for two-which could probably feed everyone for a day at the refugee camp they brush up against very uncomfortably at the beginning of their "odyssey."
For being on holiday, they drive like work drones on their commute to boring jobs. Take the bus, a train, walk, ride a bike, a donkey, or swim. I don't find it particularly cinematic to show two guys talking in a car. Just about anywhere else is preferable.
Neither of them seem to know even the first thing about food, so why do they have to go to such exclusive (read expensive) restaurants? I think it would have been more charming had they popped into modest little places for a bite and a pint. I guess people love their lifestyle porn.
Both are crap at swimming, like embarrassingly so to the point that they shouldn't have allowed themselves to be filmed attempting this basic skill. They are OK at impressions, although they dwell on Al Pacino, Michael Cane, and Marlon Brando to the point of high annoyance. One is a decent singer, the other terrible and should never, ever sing publicly.
Maybe if they spent less time working on their impressions they could speak a foreign language? No one expects them to speak Greek, but neither of them can do an acceptable Italian or Spanish accent.
I loved the music throughout (except when performed by the cast). There were the simple piano melodies with light chords, and the orchestral surges at other moments (Philip Glass violin concerto 2nd movement, or a variation of it?). From the modest budget, I would guess that there wasn't much in the way of original music so I'm guessing that the piano music was all by Philip Glass as well.
They used his dad's passing as a dramatic tool, so why not take it a step further and have the two clowns do impressions of Michael Cane and Al Pacino imitating his dead dad? Instead, we are treated to a maudlin acting workshop that will make you beg for my version.
Middle-aged men talking to their kids on the phone is exactly the sort of cinema you would expect it to be: not at all good.
I can totally understand how so many people watch this and see it as nothing more than self-indulgent nonsense, but for me the series has been enjoyable. It makes me wonder why in the United States we literally have no one in the entertainment industry who even attempts to come across as an intellectual, not even a little bit. I guess no one bothers to ask, or if they do, no one bothers to listen to them talk about anything other than their movies or whatever it is they do. If anyone mentioned a book on American TV, I'm sure most viewers would throw their backs out of whack diving for the remote to change the channel. America writers are mostly ignored in our popular culture except the few who have enjoyed wild success which usually means they aren't much as writers.
Ugh, Steve Coogan's failed marriage and ruined family is brought up again and again in the series. The good news is this aspect of his life seems to mean so little to him that it doesn't get in the way of the banter over over-priced lunches, one cost 307 euros (and one guy doesn't drink!) for two-which could probably feed everyone for a day at the refugee camp they brush up against very uncomfortably at the beginning of their "odyssey."
For being on holiday, they drive like work drones on their commute to boring jobs. Take the bus, a train, walk, ride a bike, a donkey, or swim. I don't find it particularly cinematic to show two guys talking in a car. Just about anywhere else is preferable.
Neither of them seem to know even the first thing about food, so why do they have to go to such exclusive (read expensive) restaurants? I think it would have been more charming had they popped into modest little places for a bite and a pint. I guess people love their lifestyle porn.
Both are crap at swimming, like embarrassingly so to the point that they shouldn't have allowed themselves to be filmed attempting this basic skill. They are OK at impressions, although they dwell on Al Pacino, Michael Cane, and Marlon Brando to the point of high annoyance. One is a decent singer, the other terrible and should never, ever sing publicly.
Maybe if they spent less time working on their impressions they could speak a foreign language? No one expects them to speak Greek, but neither of them can do an acceptable Italian or Spanish accent.
I loved the music throughout (except when performed by the cast). There were the simple piano melodies with light chords, and the orchestral surges at other moments (Philip Glass violin concerto 2nd movement, or a variation of it?). From the modest budget, I would guess that there wasn't much in the way of original music so I'm guessing that the piano music was all by Philip Glass as well.
They used his dad's passing as a dramatic tool, so why not take it a step further and have the two clowns do impressions of Michael Cane and Al Pacino imitating his dead dad? Instead, we are treated to a maudlin acting workshop that will make you beg for my version.
Middle-aged men talking to their kids on the phone is exactly the sort of cinema you would expect it to be: not at all good.