I bow to no man, or indeed woman, in my admiration for Jennifer Aniston. Not that I know a great deal about her acting career beyond her starring role in We’re The Millers, a moderately funny movie about a pretend family smuggling drugs, but she is, in the eyes of this near senior citizen, as beautiful as anyone on the planet. That said, the Friends reunion was not for me.
It was not just the appearance of James Fucking Corden as host that turned me off the idea. It was more that as I had never seen a full, or even part, episode of the show there seemed little point in watching the reunion. Beyond Aniston, the only cast member I know is Matt LeBlanc, a man who excelled in a brief role as one of the post Clarkson presenters on Top Gear.
Out of interest, I looked at Wikipedia to find the names of the characters. Aniston plays Rachel Green. I didn’t know that. And Matthew Perry, who I have literally never heard of, plays someone called Chandler Bing. This, like Vienna, means nothing to me. The actors and the parts they played rang no bells.
Not that there is anything wrong with not having a clue what Friends nor the people who are in it. I don’t go much for American ‘comedy’ shows at the best of times, with the exception of M*A*S*H, and even then if you watch re-runs the Americans still insist on adding a taped laughter track.
I mean, if you like Friends, then all well and good. For me, it joins a long list of things that everyone else loves but I never do. The X Factor, I’m A Celebrity, Star Wars, anything featuring Sandi Toksvig, the late Victoria Wood and Heart Radio, to name but a few.
Ms Aniston is welcome to spend as long as she likes telling me how great Friends was and is. To be fair, she could simply read out names from the phone book and I’d be smitten.