I've been playing catch-up on SF/Fantasy films/TV that passed me by. (Here be spoilers.)
Enders' Game
Did you ever see a movie so bad you genuinely start to think you licked a toad at some point? If not, look no further. Not quite as offensive as the book, but only because it seems to have been drained of any ideas at all... in the same way that you drain butchered farm animals of their blood. Which is a fate you start to long for after more than half an hour of looking at Asa Butterfield's sullen, gormless face. Harrison Ford makes it worth watching for his open, blatant boredom. One empathises.
Pacific Rim
The level
of disregard shown for plot logic - even their own heavily-established
plot points - is so brazen as to be almost admirable. Beautifully
made. But making this story beautifully is a bit like taking
ages to weave a tapestry for your grandma out of the finest silks with a
message on the front that gets her name wrong. The little girl who
plays young-Mako is a better actor than most of the main adult cast.
X-Men Origins: Wolverine
(Yes, I know it's ancient. There were reasons for me seeing it now. In fact, I think it goes to my credibility that I can honestly say I never watched it at the time.) I see one of the guys who ended up doing Game of Thrones co-wrote this. So he never needed George R. R. Martin's influence to get him interested in heavy-duty misogynistic woman-fridging and needless rapeyness.
The Wolverine
(Okay, so I kind of like the Wolverine.) I should've mentioned the weepy Asian woman stereotype under Pacific Rim. So I'll mention it here instead. There's a fight scene on top of a bullet train that is exactly the sort of thing that the character of Wolverine should be doing. It's the sort of thing that he, and only he, could do. Trouble is, there has to be someone on top of the train with him... someone who, in this case, isn't a guy with an adamantium skeleton, the reflexes of a wild animal, and claws that can help him defy gravity and inertia... so... umm...
The Machine
Seriously? An 'is the A.I. alive' storyline? A naked fembot? Again? In 2014? By the way... the main character has a little girl who is sick, and he puts her brainwaves in his fembot, who speaks in little-girl-voice, and who walks around naked, and with whom he has obvious sexual tension. So, creepy much?
Believe
Psychic/telekinetic little girl and her Dad on the run from sinister government types. Just go and watch Firestarter instead. The story is essentially the same, and even if you don't like it, at least it'll be over quicker.
Gravity
A bravura exercise in saying absolutely nothing. Virtuoso silence. Like space itself, spectacular nothingness.
By the way, Sandra Bullock's character in Gravity is in mourning for a dead little girl. Hey, SF writers... could we just leave the little girls alone for a bit? This is getting worrying.
ideas are icepickproof
Showing posts with label oh god I'm so bored. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oh god I'm so bored. Show all posts
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
Sunday, 25 August 2013
Darwinia
Here are a few of the fortunes I devised during my first week as a writer of fortunes at Trang's Fortune Cookies Ltd:
Mr Trang speaks no English, but he pops his head round my office door every day and expresses his benevolent interest in my work by means of gestures and facial expressions. I show him my work book. I concoct something in the region of 500 fortunes a day. More, on a good day. Mr Trang cannot read them but he casts his eyes over my work politely. He smiles and nods encouragingly. Sometimes he bows and mimes applause. I smile back, bow in return and mime modest shrugs. This appears to please him and he leaves.
I came to work at Trang's after losing my job at the Ministry of Insects. I was doing quite well at the Ministry. I'd only been there five months and had already been promoted to Under Secretary For Grasshoppers. I had my career path mapped out. I would ascend to helm the Grasshoppers Department and then I would rise to a mid-level position in the related field of Locusts. Once leadership of Locusts was mine, as it surely would be once I had ousted that fool Ormstead, I would deal directly with the other Heads of Department for the various bureaux in the Agricultural Pests Division. I would establish a power base amongst Pests and clamber up the greasy pole until I was in a position to become the Pests Oversecretary. The current Pests Oversecretary, Himmelfarb, would be hard to nobble, but I was confident I would find a way. From there it would be only a short step sideways to any one of several possible paths. I could choose which path I wanted to take based upon circumstances at the time. I might continue to rise in Insects, via a route through the large and complex Flies Department. I saw potential openings in Trichoptera and Megaloptera. Progress through this area of the Ministry would be slower but would have the advantage of giving me more experience, which might be an issue that would come up later on. Or I might jump sideways to the smaller but infinitely more prestigious Ministry of Arachnids. Or I might even be able to jump over spiders and go straight to Marine Arthropods, depending on Tinkerman's attitude to me. I found Tinkerman enigmatic, with his cold eyes and his monotonous voice and his habit of breaking things slowly and deliberately. Chairs. Desk tidies. Books. Paperclips. Anything that happened to be in front of him, he dismantled and left in pieces. I wasn't sure he disliked me, however. It was just a suspicion. And, even if he did, there was a possibility that he disliked everyone equally. Little did I know.
Speaking of things I didn't know, I had also entirely reckoned without Fotheringhamgaymortontonford at the Ministry of Long Names. I never saw him coming. I never knew that he harboured such animus towards me, such venom. I never knew that a desire for vengeance burned in his rotten heart, like sulfur in a cess-pit. I never knew how closely he was watching my every move, calculating my every thought, waiting for his opportunity, preparing his strike against me... a strike that would destroy my prospects, send me tumbling from my high perch down to the depths of ignominy and reduce all my exalted dreams to ashes in my mouth.
My work here at Trang's has gone through several stages. At the start, I made an effort to make my fortunes seem like predictions. I found this hard so I would buy newspapers and plagiarize the horoscopes. I was careful about it. I would use the horoscope I had selected as a template and subtly alter it so that it became unrecognisable while still retaining that ineffable flavour of prediction which I found so hard to synthesize myself. So, for instance, I might take the following horoscope (which, as it happens, was published in the Evening Standard on 19th May last year, addressed to Sagittarius)...
...and use it as the raw material from which to fashion the following fortunes:
YOU ARE CURRENTLY BALD. THIS IS A MISTAKE.
OBEY THE WISDOM OF THE FROG. HE KNOWS.
LOOK NOT TO THE RIGHT NOR TO THE LEFT BUT SIMPLY DO.
LOOK NOT TO THE RIGHT NOR TO THE LEFT BUT SIMPLY DO.
KEEP IT SIMPLE. COMPLEXITY KILLS.
HAPPY THE MAN WHO KNOWS NOTHING OF CHEESE.
STARSKY AND HUTCH, I SUMMON YOU.
I LOVE YOUR EARS, MY LITTLE FRIEND.
I LOVE YOUR EARS, MY LITTLE FRIEND.
ABUSE ANTS.
Mr Trang speaks no English, but he pops his head round my office door every day and expresses his benevolent interest in my work by means of gestures and facial expressions. I show him my work book. I concoct something in the region of 500 fortunes a day. More, on a good day. Mr Trang cannot read them but he casts his eyes over my work politely. He smiles and nods encouragingly. Sometimes he bows and mimes applause. I smile back, bow in return and mime modest shrugs. This appears to please him and he leaves.
I came to work at Trang's after losing my job at the Ministry of Insects. I was doing quite well at the Ministry. I'd only been there five months and had already been promoted to Under Secretary For Grasshoppers. I had my career path mapped out. I would ascend to helm the Grasshoppers Department and then I would rise to a mid-level position in the related field of Locusts. Once leadership of Locusts was mine, as it surely would be once I had ousted that fool Ormstead, I would deal directly with the other Heads of Department for the various bureaux in the Agricultural Pests Division. I would establish a power base amongst Pests and clamber up the greasy pole until I was in a position to become the Pests Oversecretary. The current Pests Oversecretary, Himmelfarb, would be hard to nobble, but I was confident I would find a way. From there it would be only a short step sideways to any one of several possible paths. I could choose which path I wanted to take based upon circumstances at the time. I might continue to rise in Insects, via a route through the large and complex Flies Department. I saw potential openings in Trichoptera and Megaloptera. Progress through this area of the Ministry would be slower but would have the advantage of giving me more experience, which might be an issue that would come up later on. Or I might jump sideways to the smaller but infinitely more prestigious Ministry of Arachnids. Or I might even be able to jump over spiders and go straight to Marine Arthropods, depending on Tinkerman's attitude to me. I found Tinkerman enigmatic, with his cold eyes and his monotonous voice and his habit of breaking things slowly and deliberately. Chairs. Desk tidies. Books. Paperclips. Anything that happened to be in front of him, he dismantled and left in pieces. I wasn't sure he disliked me, however. It was just a suspicion. And, even if he did, there was a possibility that he disliked everyone equally. Little did I know.
Speaking of things I didn't know, I had also entirely reckoned without Fotheringhamgaymortontonford at the Ministry of Long Names. I never saw him coming. I never knew that he harboured such animus towards me, such venom. I never knew that a desire for vengeance burned in his rotten heart, like sulfur in a cess-pit. I never knew how closely he was watching my every move, calculating my every thought, waiting for his opportunity, preparing his strike against me... a strike that would destroy my prospects, send me tumbling from my high perch down to the depths of ignominy and reduce all my exalted dreams to ashes in my mouth.
My work here at Trang's has gone through several stages. At the start, I made an effort to make my fortunes seem like predictions. I found this hard so I would buy newspapers and plagiarize the horoscopes. I was careful about it. I would use the horoscope I had selected as a template and subtly alter it so that it became unrecognisable while still retaining that ineffable flavour of prediction which I found so hard to synthesize myself. So, for instance, I might take the following horoscope (which, as it happens, was published in the Evening Standard on 19th May last year, addressed to Sagittarius)...
You were born with great energy and drive. However, you worry about hurting others as you push for what you want. Partly, your worry is justified. Take stock of your recent achievements and try to think how they might have put noses out of joint. Saturn is settling down in the next few weeks, so this is an excellent time to think about being conciliatory. But beware of compromising your ideals and goals.
...and use it as the raw material from which to fashion the following fortunes:
DRIVE NERVOUSLY AND ENERGY WILL BE BORN.
YOU WILL HURT PEOPLE IF YOU PUSH THEM.
TAKE STOCK OF NOSES.
SETTLE DOWN ON SATURN.
YOUR GOALS WILL BE OFF SIDE.
Saturday, 4 May 2013
Tygers & Horses
"The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction" said William Blake in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, and on lots of European walls in the 60s, and under the cover of an Eighth Doctor Adventure by Kate Orman.
I disagree. I think you need the horses of instruction just as much as you need the tygers of wrath. The thing about the tygers is that they chase you. The thing about the horses is that you have to chase them. If you've got a horse ahead of you and a tyger behind... well, that's not comfortable, but it's the better way round. It gives you both a strong impetus and a goal.
Of course, horses can be wild and tygers can be calm.
I'll stop there. All analogies can be pushed to breaking point. Even the ones invented by geniuses.
I disagree. I think you need the horses of instruction just as much as you need the tygers of wrath. The thing about the tygers is that they chase you. The thing about the horses is that you have to chase them. If you've got a horse ahead of you and a tyger behind... well, that's not comfortable, but it's the better way round. It gives you both a strong impetus and a goal.
Of course, horses can be wild and tygers can be calm.
I'll stop there. All analogies can be pushed to breaking point. Even the ones invented by geniuses.
Thursday, 31 January 2013
Categorically Speaking
Kant's categorical imperative is an expression of the bourgeois liberal ideas of the 18th century, expressed as morality. It is progressive in the sense that it attempts to derive morality from Reason. It is part of the Enlightenment. It also expresses the new, universal promises of the bourgeois revolutions in that it universalises (i.e. "All men are created equal"). It is based on the principle of universality. What you do must apply to all people or it fails to be truly moral.
However, it is also based on a bourgeois notion of rights. The concept of 'rights' is a product of the rise of bourgeois property/trade relations. One brings one's rights to the market place and, on that basis, one participates in the putatively level playing field. For Kant, one negotiates the conflicts between these rights on the basis of contractual clauses. If the Party of the First Part undertakes to do such and such, the Party of the Second part will be understood to be obliged to do so and so. It is this which finally inverts the universality of the notion into an entire bourgeois conception of individualism. Through this embedded notion of contractual obligations, the decision as to universal moral actions rests with the individual's willingness to enter into a personal contract regarding his conduct, his willingness to be bound.
The sting in the tail lies in the fact that different people will always have different notions as to what is or isn't universally desirable. One individual may consider it highly desirable that theft be considered universally immoral because they have a great personal interest in the institution of private property (i.e. because they own lots of it). Another (who perhaps owns little) may be prepared to risk universalising the permissability of theft if he thinks he can steal what he wants and then protect his stolen goods by force. Alternatively, there may be those who feel that there are worse prospects for the future than the fall of private property. And, in practice, the guardians of morality will always be ready to claim the universality of laws that they themselves break, simply because they take a more pragmatic view of Reason.
The R/reasonable promises of bourgeois liberalism and Enlightenment will always have such loopholes in their social contracts and, as a result, will always find themselves in full or partial, official or unofficial abeyance. The Enlightenment declared that all men were created equal, but oversaw (and, indeed, was partially built upon) all black men (and women) being crated equally... for shipping. Why should a white man who profits from the slave trade care if 'enslave black people' became a universal moral maxim? He knows the colour of his own skin will exempt him from the chains, and the inequality of property and opportunity will protect him from universal business competition.
However, it is also based on a bourgeois notion of rights. The concept of 'rights' is a product of the rise of bourgeois property/trade relations. One brings one's rights to the market place and, on that basis, one participates in the putatively level playing field. For Kant, one negotiates the conflicts between these rights on the basis of contractual clauses. If the Party of the First Part undertakes to do such and such, the Party of the Second part will be understood to be obliged to do so and so. It is this which finally inverts the universality of the notion into an entire bourgeois conception of individualism. Through this embedded notion of contractual obligations, the decision as to universal moral actions rests with the individual's willingness to enter into a personal contract regarding his conduct, his willingness to be bound.
The sting in the tail lies in the fact that different people will always have different notions as to what is or isn't universally desirable. One individual may consider it highly desirable that theft be considered universally immoral because they have a great personal interest in the institution of private property (i.e. because they own lots of it). Another (who perhaps owns little) may be prepared to risk universalising the permissability of theft if he thinks he can steal what he wants and then protect his stolen goods by force. Alternatively, there may be those who feel that there are worse prospects for the future than the fall of private property. And, in practice, the guardians of morality will always be ready to claim the universality of laws that they themselves break, simply because they take a more pragmatic view of Reason.
The R/reasonable promises of bourgeois liberalism and Enlightenment will always have such loopholes in their social contracts and, as a result, will always find themselves in full or partial, official or unofficial abeyance. The Enlightenment declared that all men were created equal, but oversaw (and, indeed, was partially built upon) all black men (and women) being crated equally... for shipping. Why should a white man who profits from the slave trade care if 'enslave black people' became a universal moral maxim? He knows the colour of his own skin will exempt him from the chains, and the inequality of property and opportunity will protect him from universal business competition.
Friday, 15 June 2012
Reimagined Moments #1
"Hurr hurr... You think this is the real Quaid?"
Well it might be, thought the guard. Then again it might not. It might be Quaid using his hologram thingy... or it might actually be Quaid pretending to be a hologram in order to trick us. I have no way of knowing, really... unless I wait to see if it flickers in that way that really makes the hologram projector next-to useless as a weapon. But that would take time. Time in which I might get shot if it turns out not to be a hologram. So I think I'll shoot it anyway. Just in case. After all, better safe than sorry.
Luckily for the guard, this train of thought only took him a split second. What with him having been highly trained and everything.
Well it might be, thought the guard. Then again it might not. It might be Quaid using his hologram thingy... or it might actually be Quaid pretending to be a hologram in order to trick us. I have no way of knowing, really... unless I wait to see if it flickers in that way that really makes the hologram projector next-to useless as a weapon. But that would take time. Time in which I might get shot if it turns out not to be a hologram. So I think I'll shoot it anyway. Just in case. After all, better safe than sorry.
Luckily for the guard, this train of thought only took him a split second. What with him having been highly trained and everything.
Thursday, 24 May 2012
Sunday, 19 February 2012
A New Hope?
Rewatching Star Wars is an odd experience.
It's surprisingly dirty, grimey and grotty.
It doesn't introduce the hero until about 15 minutes in.
Loads of the first reel is one-sided bickering, followed by silent wandering around in the desert.
Han is really very seedy... and a murderer.
Leia is a sarcastic, bossy, combative dominatrix; a far cry from the sexual-harassment-victim / soppy-girlfriend she later became.
The tone suddenly veers from deadly serious to comic/quippy as soon as the Falcon arrives at the Death Star.
The Stormtroopers hang around and chat.
The Rebels are an unprepossessing bunch - skinny, scrawny, tubby, greasy-haired, snaggletoothed, etc.
The droids are CLEARLY slaves to the humans.
The Sandpeople are CLEARLY evil Arabs.
The backstory as explained by Ben is much better than anything in the sequels, let alone the prequels: Ben and Annakin go and become Jedis, their protege Darth kills Annakin, Ben buggers off home. Clear, simple and emotionally resonant.
Darth is clearly a first name and is clearly NOT Luke's dad, no more than Leia is Luke's sister. Luke and Leia clearly fancy each other.
The funny thing is that, if we take the prequel canon as applying to the original film (which can be done without inflicting emotional damage upon oneself as long as its only a temporary thought experiment) then the lovechild of Luke and Leia would be absolutely LOADED with midichlorians... thus making it, in all probably, the most powerful Jedi in history. The only problem is that a lightsabre would probably be harder to wield effectively with webbed fingers.
Darth Vader, by the way, is a henchman to Tarkin... and god only knows how he comes out of the whole let-Leia-escape-with-the-plans clusterfuck with a PROMOTION!
Also... isn't destroying an entire planet, just to make a point, a bit of a fucking waste? Did Alderaan have no resources, no wealth, no strategic value, no military, industrial or economic significance to the Empire? None at all? It's a bit like Hitler saying: "just to prove how powerful I am, I'm going to completely destroy Belgium".
And ponder Luke's lack of concern over the slaughter of his adoptive parents - "ah, fuck 'em, they made me do farm work" - not to mention Leia's brusque dismissal of the destruction of her entire planet.
Weird.
It's surprisingly dirty, grimey and grotty.
It doesn't introduce the hero until about 15 minutes in.
Loads of the first reel is one-sided bickering, followed by silent wandering around in the desert.
Han is really very seedy... and a murderer.
Leia is a sarcastic, bossy, combative dominatrix; a far cry from the sexual-harassment-victim / soppy-girlfriend she later became.
The tone suddenly veers from deadly serious to comic/quippy as soon as the Falcon arrives at the Death Star.
The Stormtroopers hang around and chat.
The Rebels are an unprepossessing bunch - skinny, scrawny, tubby, greasy-haired, snaggletoothed, etc.
The droids are CLEARLY slaves to the humans.
The Sandpeople are CLEARLY evil Arabs.
The backstory as explained by Ben is much better than anything in the sequels, let alone the prequels: Ben and Annakin go and become Jedis, their protege Darth kills Annakin, Ben buggers off home. Clear, simple and emotionally resonant.
Darth is clearly a first name and is clearly NOT Luke's dad, no more than Leia is Luke's sister. Luke and Leia clearly fancy each other.
The funny thing is that, if we take the prequel canon as applying to the original film (which can be done without inflicting emotional damage upon oneself as long as its only a temporary thought experiment) then the lovechild of Luke and Leia would be absolutely LOADED with midichlorians... thus making it, in all probably, the most powerful Jedi in history. The only problem is that a lightsabre would probably be harder to wield effectively with webbed fingers.
Darth Vader, by the way, is a henchman to Tarkin... and god only knows how he comes out of the whole let-Leia-escape-with-the-plans clusterfuck with a PROMOTION!
Also... isn't destroying an entire planet, just to make a point, a bit of a fucking waste? Did Alderaan have no resources, no wealth, no strategic value, no military, industrial or economic significance to the Empire? None at all? It's a bit like Hitler saying: "just to prove how powerful I am, I'm going to completely destroy Belgium".
And ponder Luke's lack of concern over the slaughter of his adoptive parents - "ah, fuck 'em, they made me do farm work" - not to mention Leia's brusque dismissal of the destruction of her entire planet.
Weird.
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
The Blog of St. Bartholomew's Eve
Remember how the accuracy-nazis used to insist upon referring to 'An Unearthly Child' as '100,000 BC' (and 'The Daleks' as 'The Mutants' and 'Galaxy 4' as 'Enid Harper Collects Her Son Ian From His Karate Lessons') and so on? Despite the fact that doing so was really, really embarassing?
Actually, I think DWM still do that. Not sure. Ages since I read it. (Which is a lie because I read the copy with my name in from cover to cover.)
Anyway, remember that whole original titles thing?
Well, the original title of this venture that you're currently reading, when it was still just a glint in my bloodshot eye and long before I came up with 'Shabogan Graffiti', was... *drum roll puh-leeze* 'Carmine Seepage'.
I mention this because:
a) you didn't look bored enough, and
b) it is the context behind my new banner/logo thing (see above).
Originally, the banner/logo thing for 'Carmine Seepage' was going to be melty red lipstick-writing on 80s-style TARDIS walls. (My demographic don't need this reference explained.) But then I came up with the graffiti theme. And my old website wouldn't let me add my own logo anyway.
But I've been rejigging the look of this blog lately and reworked the red-on-roundels notion with my lovely graffiti font (which is a free one called 'The Battle Continuez', just in case you were dying to know that).
I really don't know why I'm telling you this.
Actually, I think DWM still do that. Not sure. Ages since I read it. (Which is a lie because I read the copy with my name in from cover to cover.)
Anyway, remember that whole original titles thing?
Well, the original title of this venture that you're currently reading, when it was still just a glint in my bloodshot eye and long before I came up with 'Shabogan Graffiti', was... *drum roll puh-leeze* 'Carmine Seepage'.
I mention this because:
a) you didn't look bored enough, and
b) it is the context behind my new banner/logo thing (see above).
Originally, the banner/logo thing for 'Carmine Seepage' was going to be melty red lipstick-writing on 80s-style TARDIS walls. (My demographic don't need this reference explained.) But then I came up with the graffiti theme. And my old website wouldn't let me add my own logo anyway.
But I've been rejigging the look of this blog lately and reworked the red-on-roundels notion with my lovely graffiti font (which is a free one called 'The Battle Continuez', just in case you were dying to know that).
I really don't know why I'm telling you this.
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