Maybe Baby

Sam is out of touch at the all new BBC. Ewan, meanwhile, is successful. He's Scottish. He writes about drugs. (That's a Trainspotting reference.) But Sam's got Lucy. Lucy's great; stunning flat, scooter, bit like a trendy version of the original Madonna, only without the baby. They're both really sad about it. Sam says the London skyline 'makes you feel pretty damned insignificant, doesn't it?' and Lucy writes things down in her diary - you know, feelings, women's feelings. Sam 'suddenly' writes a brilliant film script (he copied the diary). Lucy's pretty angry, but some good does come out of the whole thing. The BBC goes back to making films about real people, and Ewan - who finally directs one - accepts that his writing is 'shite' (he's actually a positive character in the end). Rewind. A couple of loft-living media prats may or may not be infertile. One's a simpering idiot sicking up teenage twaddle into a pretty diary, the other - pitiable and emotionally retarded - still works at the BBC. Somehow getting it into his head that the twaddle in the diary is an authentic reflection of 'womanthink', the pitiable one turns twaddle into a script. Dazzled, the BBC wipes egg off its face for suspecting he was a middle class tosser and turns script into a film. Which a hotshot Scottish film-maker falls over his feet to direct. Pause. There is no 'Lucy' (that's just Joely Richardson, pretending). There is no 'Sam' (that's just Hugh Laurie, pretending to pretend). 'Authentic womanthink twaddle' is written by Ben (Inconceivable) Elton (he's not really a woman). Said twaddle does turn up in a film (this one). Elton directs it (in the mysterious absence of any hotshot Scottish director). The BBC funds it. (The BBC funds it.