The Weekly Entertainment News Review. Delivered with the tone of a bloke in a pub who’s had nine pints, a Scotch egg, and a dangerously strong opinion about the Beano.

Well then, strap yourselves in and adjust your novelty underwear, because the last seven days in entertainment have been more chaotic than a hen night in Wetherspoons armed with sambuca and poor judgement. If you thought the world of showbiz might calm this week you’ve clearly never met British nostalgia, Hollywood mortality, or the Eurovision selection committee.

We begin with the news that a new range of Dennis the Menace‑themed coins is being minted to celebrate 75 years of the Beano’s most iconic delinquent. Yes, the Royal Mint has decided that what the British economy really needs right now is legal tender featuring a child who spends his entire life terrorising adults with catapults and bad manners. Collectors are thrilled, pensioners are confused, and economists are quietly wondering whether basing national currency on a boy who once glued his teacher to a chair is a sign that the country has finally given up. The Mint insists the coins will be “cherished for generations,” which is true — mainly by people who haven’t used cash since 2018.

Meanwhile, the UK has announced its Eurovision entrant, and in a move that screams “We’ve stopped pretending,” the honour goes to "Look Mum No Computer", a YouTuber and electronic artist best known for building musical instruments out of household appliances and mild danger. Eurovision fans are delighted, describing him as “quirky,” “innovative,” and “exactly the sort of chaos Europe expects from us.” The BBC insists he represents “a bold new direction,” which is code for “We’ve tried everything else and still finished 24th.” Expect lasers, synths, and at least one moment where a toaster plays a bassline.

Over on Netflix, the streamer has released How To Get To Heaven From Belfast, a dark comedy‑thriller that critics are calling “brilliant,” “sharp,” and “the best thing to come out of Belfast since the Titanic, Or George Best.  but with a better ending.” Viewers have praised its writing, performances, and the fact that it isn’t another series about a serial killer who keeps diaries in crayon. Netflix is thrilled, mostly because it’s been a while since they released something that didn’t immediately get cancelled after two episodes.

Speaking of cultural conflict, the Oasis vs Blur rivalry has been resurrected in a new stage play, because apparently the 1990s never ended and we’re all doomed to relive Britpop until the sun explodes. The cast has reportedly taken sides, with some actors declaring themselves Team Oasis, others Team Blur, and at least one poor sod insisting he prefers Pulp and being told to shut up. Critics say the play “captures the spirit of the era,” which is a polite way of saying it involves shouting, denim jackets, and men arguing about who’s more working‑class.

In soapland, Ross Kemp is returning to EastEnders for a short stint, presumably because the nation has reached dangerous levels of Grant Mitchell deficiency. Producers say his comeback will be “explosive,” which in Walford terms means someone will shout, someone will cry, and someone will get hit with a fruit bowl. Kemp himself has promised “drama,” which is reassuring, because the last time he appeared on TV he was being chased by armed rebels in a jungle. Albert Square should be a nice relaxing change.

But the biggest story of the week and the one that made everyone over 40 suddenly feel their own mortality  is the passing of Robert Duvall, Hollywood legend and star of The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, and roughly 400 films where he glared meaningfully at someone. Duvall was 95, which is impressive considering he spent half his career standing next to explosions or shouting at people in helicopters. Tributes poured in from across the industry, with actors calling him “a titan,” “a master,” and “the only man who could make drinking coffee look like a dramatic monologue.” Cinema will never be the same, mainly because nobody today has the gravitas to deliver a line like “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” without sounding like they’re doing an advert for Lynx.

So there you have it: a week where Dennis the Menace became currency, Eurovision embraced electronic chaos, Netflix released something good for once, Britpop rose from the grave, Grant Mitchell returned to Walford, and Hollywood lost one of its greats.

Tune in next week, when presumably someone else will get a commemorative coin, another 90s feud will be revived, and the Eurovision entry will already have been blamed for something.