The Wastepaper Bin

Television Ranting

2010-12-19T10:31:00.005Z

Grrrr. Arrrg.

Whilst I've left this blog to the wasteland for quite a while now, I did always use to gush a little about the TV series I happened to be watching. Two of the most promising of those were Stargate Universe and Caprica.

As of a few days ago, both of those have been canceled.

Now with Caprica, this was to be expected. A prequel to the award-winning Battlestar Galactica, the show had an awkward start. Eventually it began to establish itself as a story that was going to push the boundaries of television Sci-Fi. It took faith, the afterlife, dependence on technology, terrorism, and stuck them all into a boiling pot.

It was fucked.

Honestly, it's a great shame to see it canceled. Caprica was an intelligent show and it could have been a game changer. What's worse is the wonderful SyFy (vomit) channel decided not even to broadcast the rest of the series, replacing it with Star Trek: The Next Generation re-runs. Canada stepped in and saved the day, continuing with the series until its end, giving it a small measure of closure. I've seen it, and if you were watching Caprica and are wondering whether it's worth it, or even just really enjoyed Battlestar Galactica, I'd give it a shot. If anything, it'll be unlike anything else you've ever seen.

Anyway, that was a while ago. On Friday (I believe. Not sure about the time difference...) SyFy announced that they were also going to cancel Stargate Universe. Now, this was a troubled show that had just found its feet. The rest of its second series will be shown, but after that the Stargate franchise comes to an end. That's quite a big deal. The franchise has covered three films and seventeen(!!) TV series. That indeed, is a pretty good run.

But there are a few things that make me angry. Firstly, the announcement itself was done through twitter. Executives apparently decided it wasn't even worth the courtesy of giving the cast and crew advanced warning on this. Very classy.

Secondly, that's it for big budget Sci-Fi shows... on America's SCI-FI channel! (Sorry, SyFy) Coming up to replace these are an American remake of the British Being Human and another Battlestar prequel, basically showing Admiral Adama fighting in the first cylon war. Hmm. Of course we'll judge these when they actually come out, but it's a worrying practice. These two shows didn't do great in the ratings, but the problem is that if a show isn't an instant hit, the network seems to remove all support. Executives are looking for the next LOST or Heroes. Most of the best television shows of the past years needed time to nurture, get a roll going. The lesson now is to not get invested in any American show - it might not be around for long.

Ah well, we can hope that the Stargate franchise will be given a chance to wrap up its loose ends. Until then, everything is peachy this side of the pond. The Dirk Gently pilot was on BBC4 on Thursday, and is still on the iplayer. Go have a look now, it's rather brilliant. And come Christmas Day, we get Doctor Who! It's not all doom and gloom.

Tell you what though, they cancel that and I'll give up on television.

Woops.

2010-11-09T14:36:00.002Z

So a few months ago I wrote a rather lengthy post on this blog detaling how I was going to be a very good boy and upload lots of little things in the future. I even outlined LOADS of them.

Hah.

I should have known that the minute I'd even thought about outlining my plans I would instantly then ignore them completely. This is not going to be a lengthy post - I'm sitting in a computer room on campus, bored out of my skull after planning around completely the wrong schedule and leaving one of my bags in a lecture theatre. Rain clouds are forming, preparing to piss it down precisely between five and seven this evening, just in order to catch me outside. I want to go back to bed dammit.

Instead this post is more of a little reminder to myself to get back on the horse as it were. I will come here and write some more blogs, and upload some stories and so on and so forth. And I myself will probably come back and read this myself, then sigh and watch some TV. So, David, if you're reading this, stop being an arse.

So basically, I'll be back. Soon. But for now It's cold and my phone isn't working and I've got a presentation to do and bills to pay and work to finish and other work to edit and books to read and oh there's all these shows I want to watch but I just don't have the time and it's so annoying it completely bypasses all use of punctuation.

On the other hand, I had a lecture about lesbian nuns today. So that was nice.

Some Babbling

2010-07-25T10:59:00.002+01:00

Well there's quite a few things I need to put up on the blogosphere. Firstly, the review of the new Prince of Persia game, which should be up soon (like, later today unless I manage to distract myself) as the game isn't long enough to actually warrant a long review. Secondly, I've seen Inception. I want to write a review about it, but I think I actually need to see it again before I can. If that sounds like a shameless excuse, it probably is.

Thirdly, I went to Comic-Con last weekend, and that's worth writing about, if only to geek out massively. It was the London Comic-Con by the way, not the big massive proper one in San Diego that is happening RIGHT NOW WITHOUT ME.

Fourthly is a big old thing I was going to write about The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It all started back on Towel day, watching the film version to commemorate the late Douglas Adam's birthday. The film is not actually as bad as I remember it and spurred on an attempt to sample all the versions of Hitchhiker's that I hadn't had a go at... This meant ordering the radio series, which is a very good idea and you should all go and do it. Now.
So yes, maybe I need to do something on that, maybe something that will involve me having to ask quite a few people their opinions - one thing that I quickly realised is that there are a lot of Hitchhiker's fans, many whom I'd met at university and not actually realised were Hitchhiker's fans. Ho-hum.

Fifthly (Oh that's a horrible word. You should never let yourself get to Fifthly) , various little stories. One I was writing specifically for the blog and that has ground to a halt right at the bloody end. Nice little sci-fi story that was chugging along at a lovely speed, then suddenly seemed to hit a brick wall. I'll go back to it in a bit. It happens. Other than that, I found a huge amount of old work, a lot of stuff that I thought had been sent to technology hell, including the first story I ever wrote. At the time I'd been damn proud of it, looking back now I see the huge muddle of mistakes and problems. It's both sad and nice, sad in that I wrote like that once, nice in that at least I've improved a bit. One of these stories seemed actually salvageable, so I jazzed it up and sent it to my lovely editor Jenny, henceforth known as the grammar God.

Editing is weird - for one it make's you feel like a complete fool in lots of little intervals, mainly because I'm rubbish at editing my own work and let buttloads of mistakes slip through. There will probably be one in this blog, which Jenny will probably notice and give me an internet slapping for. But really, I don't mind it anymore. It's nice to have another perspective on writing, especially one that's coming from the outside. If you're reading this Jen, cheers for pulling me out of my little worlds and reminding me that I at least have to obey the rule of this one.

Lastly was a little story I was writing up for the blog, the difference being this one's real. The problem here is how much I actually put in, because frankly writing about other people, even if I'm involved, is dodgy business on the internet. It's a fun little anecdote, nothing bad, but you can't be too careful. Maybe I'll have to go and change it a bit, edit the names and so on. That reminds me, I've already mentioned Jenny in this post, maybe she would take issue at that - in which case I'd just have to only mention her as THE EDITOR, which frankly sounds far more dramatic, so bugger that. Of course, me having to change parts of my real stories brings into question whether you can trust anything I actually put up here, my answer to which is this: I'm a writer of fiction. It's my job to lie to you consistently and effectively. It's probably best not to look too deeply into it.

Can Predators wash away the bad taste of the AvP films?

2010-07-15T11:54:00.003+01:00

In short to the above question, yes. It doesn't just wash away the taste, it rips out their spine and puts on a nice pedestal in the cabinet.

Yes, the outer-space fox hunters are back. The Predator itself has always been a brilliant concept. An alien that hunts humans for sport, with wrist blades, spears, nets... and a cloaking device and auto-aiming shoulder laser. Yeah actually, that bit has always seemed a bit unsporting.

Predators is of course the sequel to the brilliant 1987 horror/action flick. Unlike the previous two films, the predators this time do not come to Earth. Instead, a hapless group of humans find themselves parachuting down into a dense jungle, one that it becomes quickly apparent does not exist on our world. They are themselves soldiers, criminals, killers, predators. They are the best of humanity at hunting, and the aliens want to chop them into itty bitty pieces.

So as you can see, the set up itself is simple, much like the original film. In the end, this is Predators greatest strength: It doesn't over complicate things, and it doesn't take long for events to kick into action. From there, it gleefully throws its cast into worse and worse situation. Any attempt for a character to do something a usual stupid-horror-movie-characterTM would do is greeted with the characters immediately dismissing it as stupid. You never feel that the characters are doing anything less than their very best in surviving. The fact that they aren't just proves how utterly screwed they are.

Neither does the film muck about with ambiguity of its villains. It's called Predators, we know their identity. Like Aliens this film completely inverts the "less is more" horror approach of its predecessor and quickly shifts into action. Lots of brutal, gory action, something this film does very, very well. The various skirmishes with the predators are brilliantly shot, making for a fast and tense film. The lack of CGI for the most part also helps - this film makes a good case for why you shouldn't always rely on special effects, as the drawn out fight becomes pretty damn believable.

The cast themselves fit their roles perfectly, despite the out of type casting of Adrien Brody and Topher Grace. Like the film itself, Brody's character, Royce, is an inversion on the original film, playing a direct opposite to Arnie's character. Royce is wiry compared to Arnie's massive body-builder, and doesn't really give a crap about protecting anyone. He simply wants to survive, and he's rather good at it. Lawrence Fishburne deserves a hell of a lot of praise for his performance as Nolan too. It's a complete curve-ball of an act, and you won't see it coming.

If the film has any flaws, its that the ending becomes a bit predictable in the final stretch. Also, the trailers that have been released are being very naughty. Anyone who's seen the characters covered in laser targeted spots and is expecting a gigantic Predator battle-royal is going to be extremely disappointed.

All in all, Predators isn't trying to be a genre-busting film. It wears its B-movie status with pride. But it is incredibly polished, and very enjoyable, especially for fans of the franchise. A franchise that after the dire past few years, is now taking a definite step in the right direction.

Oceanfest, sunburn and these damn kids...

2010-06-26T14:25:00.003+01:00

So, I'm back in the land of the internet. I've spent basically a week completely off the radar, which had been nice to be honest. I've come back to find the nation on the brink of mass heart attacks over the fate of the world cup, a stroke-inducing cliffhanger for Doctor Who (though I get like this every year. I'm a tad excitable.) and the frankly amusing news that Apple might have botched the iphone 4 up. While evidently its not as bad as some anti-Apple enthusiasts would have you believe, releasing a mobile phone that can lose signal when held is tantamount to selling a kettle you can't open. Or a toilet you can't sit on, which yes I know exist, but come on people. It's the 21st century, we no longer have to squat.

But anyway, back to being off the radar. I was at the Golden Coast Oceanfest in Croyde. Basically its down in Devon, so instead of being in the middle of nowhere you're pretty much on the edge of it. This did have its drawbacks: After spending hours driving down to the edge of the country, its not that fun having to then search around for nonexistent supermarkets. Maybe I've just become completely soft by having a Tescos three minutes down the road but after two hours of riding around, fiddling with phones and calling for help I was developing a rather attractive twitch. We eventually saw a Lidl and stocked up there. You always know its good when you can get cartons of quality "Apple Drink" for about 20p.

It was all worth it though, as once we got settled in the clouds buggered off and the sun came out - for the entire time we were there. I can't think of any holiday I've ever been on where the weather has been this perfect. This meant naturally I managed to burn myself a bit, in a strange pattern, as if I were a homosexual leopard. Not as badly as my friend though, who had to be ritually applied with aftersun for the entire time. Of course its still pretty damn hot here at home, except with no coastal breeze to cool me down. I have responded by moaning like an old man and hiding in the shade, lest I explode into flames. But honestly, I can't recommend Croyde enough. It's quiet, peaceful and the coast is beautiful. Also helped out by the fantastic company of friends, old and new. I'm going to avoid putting up pictures for three reasons:

1) The slightly dodgy rules of having pictures of other people on your blog,
B) The fact I look like a nonce in most of the ones I've found,
iii) The deadly consequences of me uploading anything with bikini in it.

The festival itself was also fantastic. No big names, but lots of really good acoustic acts. To search down are: Joe Brooks, Jim Jones and The Quails for sure. Also The Magic Numbers, but I'm sure you've all probably heard of them. There was a really good laid back atmosphere to the whole affair, you could go down to the beach and still listen to the music happening on stage, whilst you swam, sunbathed (to my peril) or watched the beach sport tournaments, which we did not take part in. Maybe next time Croyde will be wowed by my amazing volleyball skills.

The only strange thing about it was the massive age range there. Its obviously a very popular local festival as well as dragging in tourists, and the fact that its kid friendly definitely helps. This would be a better solution for parents wanting to attend festivals, far better than what I saw at Reading last year: Two children walking around in fluorescent jackets painted with their parents phone numbers and the slogan "THEIR DAD WILL BUY YOU A PINT." The thing is, I was the youngest person in the group at this festival, but when we got near the stage at certain points and were surrounded by excitable kids, probably at their first proper festival/gig... well God, we felt old. Very, very old. Adulthood is just round the corner, I can feel it coming. It aches.

But anyway, now I'm back and life shows no signs of slowing down, coming up is the university reunion in Cardiff (YAY!) for Rory's birthday (double YAY!) and the last minute decision to go to London Comic con again. Yes there are some truly strange people there, but there's also some really cool ones. Cool by my standards people, its a subjective word. I must force myself under a budget this time, or I'll return with stacks of comic books. Ho hum.

Gonna be popping up a story on here once its finished, maybe later today. And then I will simply leave you with the news Justin Beiber is going on tour and his management has put up a page allowing for people to vote what countries he is to visit. Number one on this list is Israel, and catching up fast in number two is North Korea.

Its times like this I'm oh so proud to be part of the internet generation.

Confounding Technology!

2010-05-31T17:49:00.005+01:00

Well it finally happened. I have joined the legion of others smote down by the dreaded red ring of death. I returned home to be given the news by my friend, the shock of its sudden death only made worse by the fact I wasn't there to see it go.

How delightfully appropriate.

Of course actually it wasn't particularly surprising. The RROD has reached to such infamy that its simply part of the risk of buying an Xbox, along with the need for batteries and an ability to block out loud fan noises. This is in no way meant as a backslap against Microsoft and the Xbox: There's a reason I bought an Xbox, and will try and fix or replace it, and that's not to do with this blog post.

The fact is, it wasn't surprising because technology just dies, and it seems to do it a hell of a lot more now than it used to. Of all the people I know with game consoles, over half have had problems with them. Most of this is tied to the PS3 and the Xbox, which means Nintendo either make more reliant hardware or less people have them... or at least they are used less. Actually no bugger it, I've never had any problem with Nintendo hardware. The old Game Boys were so hardy the military should have looked into finding a use for them.

But it isn't just game consoles. Mobiles, laptops, everything now comes with a warranty that almost guarantees at some point it will die and become unusable. Admittedly, some items are more in a danger zone then others. Yes, it is unsurprising that your mobile no longer works after being dropped into a double vodka and coke, bad luck. But other than the obvious, I've just become use to the extremely vulnerable mortality of anything that eats up electricity and does cool stuff, it's just the way it is.

The thing is, should it be like this? We all expect it of our gadgets and gizmos and I can't remember the last time anyone actually showed genuine annoyance at their electronics breaking. But older items, like watched, ancient clocks - they go forever. Now it could be argued that a watch has to do a little bit less then the full multimedia computing power required for your average laptop, but the point stands: Why do we put up with technology that breaks without any outside help, usually subconsciously just outside the time the warranty ends?

Of course this has the worrying problem that to tackle this we would all have to turn into the shop crazy. You know the sort: Those people yelling at the poor clueless teenager behind the counter, demanding to see the manager. Avert thou eyes, roll them skyward and move to another part of the shop to avoid the embarrassing event. I don't think I could quite reach that point at any rate, conflict is bad enough, loud and very public conflict more so.

Then again, it could just be me. I am beginning to suspect I simply emit an EMP like aura that eventually destroys all shiny things in my presence. Not all of it has succumbed yet, otherwise there would be no blog post, and I'm going to touch major wood that my remaining lovely gadgets remain working. No, not that kind of wood. Pervert.

Until then, I need to see if Microsoft will take my Xbox to their console hospital and fix him up lovely. And if not, I have been fortunate enough to meet the wonderful breed that is computer scientist at this University. I'll give it to them, and then I'll have a games console that lights up all funny, works on voice recognition and makes tea. Always a silver lining eh?

How and how not to end your mysterious TV series

2010-05-14T14:56:00.017+01:00

A TV series finale is a hard job to pull off in any circumstance. You've got to wrap up all the characters and give resolution to the plot, which is certainly made trickier when you've built up said TV series on mysterious clues and unanswered questions. Sure, the show's the talk of the water cooler every week, but now push has come to shove and the audience wants it all to come together. Make the years of wondering and clueless (sometimes bizarre) speculation worth it.

Recently, two such TV series came to an end. One was Ashes to Ashes the sequel (Come on, it was more than a spin-off) to the widely popular Life on Mars. The other was Lost. You may have heard of it.

By the way, SPOILER ALERT. Obviously. If you watch these shows and haven't seen the end yet, don't read more. If you're thinking about watching these shows don't spoil yourself, as they're honestly very worth watching.

Life on Mars was never big on answers. Two series, and we got an ending that was very centered around Sam Tyler. He was in a coma, got out of it and then made the decision to return to the 70's, in the process probably putting him in a far, far shorter more pancake-shaped coma. Other than that, very few answers are given. Even if he was in a coma, did he time-travel? Was it the real 70's, or a world based upon it?

You'd look this sad if you'd been in and out of comas as much as this fella.

Move on to the 80's and its poor old Alex Drake's turn to have a near death experience. In a daring attempt to out-do poor Mr. Tyler, she gets shot in the head... On the way to her daughters birthday party. Alex joins Gene's team in the same way as Sam does, and for the most part Ashes to Ashes followed the same route as its predecessor: Drop hints, give clues, but stick largely to a "crime of the week" format. However, considering what has already been learned, Alex has always been a more playful character in terms of dealing with the world - after all, she knows someone has been here before, and managed to get out. She happily walks into the office proclaiming the non-existence of the people around her ("Good morning constructs!") and states how she's going to be able to leave soon. The big-kicker then, is that by this final series it doesn't matter if they are real or not: Alex cares about them, and so do we. And the final series brings this sharply into focus by finally explaining the nature of the world we've been watching.

The third series has been a bit of a shake-up all over the place really. Firstly, the introduction of the brilliant Daniel Mays as Jim Keats. Considering he only had eight episodes to develop such a mysterious character, Mays does a fantastic job. Throughout the series he transforms a sympathetic charade into the most utterly evil performance I can remember on television in a long time; it's honestly chilling, as someone without any make-up or special effects totally gives the impression of something distinctly not human. Other than that, the series gave way a bit on its standalone episode structure, giving a bit more each week on Alex's growing obsession with what happened to Sam Tyler. On top of that, more to clues to what the world the characters inhabited actually was were given, and from the second episode it becomes clear the "side" characters of Chris, Shaz and Ray were in fact not that at all. All in all, in working up to the end the writers redefined the series, set out even more questions, and then answered them all, giving a fitting end to the characters and settling a story that's gone on for five years.

Now then. Lost. Some of you may be aware that this series (Sorry, season) has been Lost's FINAL series. It's being screamed at you from everywhere - trailers adorn my television screaming: "LOST!!! THE FINAL SEASON! LOST!! THE FINALE EVENT!" Sadly, it seems Lost has failed to live to its own hype. The series began with another twist: An alternate reality, in which Oceanic flight 815 never crashed, and the Losties never got a chance to improve their tans and meet polar bears. In fact in this reality, the island apparently got blown to hell and went Atlantis style. Now this is fine - we've had flashbacks, flashforwards and time travel on Lost, the idea of an alternate reality is a doddle. So as the series progress we're given details of continuing life in the "real" world, then this new "sideways" reality. Along the way it becomes clear that this was created as a result of the hydrogen bomb going off at the end of series 5, although its unclear about how the two realities may converge. Clues are dropped and theories aired, the finale comes... and it turns out to be complete baloney. It's actually purgatory, or something. Maybe. Now that would be fine, but not when you spend an entire series giving hints completely to the contrary, resulting it now only this resolution not making sense, but leaving us all with the fact that we've been taken for a complete ride. It's sloppy, sloppy writing. It's like leaving a breadcrumb trail for someone, then beating them to death with a croissant before they reach the end. Well its not, but it makes about as much sodding sense.

Now that's not to say there wasn't some very good moments in the finale - Some great character moments in there, particularly Sawyer and Julliet finding each other in the purgatory world, and seeing Charlie again is always good. Everyone reuniting in death to pass on is a lovely thought, but it shouldn't have had half a series squandered on it. Worse, the fact that the writers did the aforementioned red herring maneuver meant that the actual plot of this series, made very, very little sense. So Desmond flashed between realities, and this somehow made him realise what he had to do in the heart of the island, with no explanation. And he was bought to the island by Jacob... to what? Destroy the island, even though this is what the man in black eventually seemed to want? The events of the entire series have been orchestrated by a man whose methods make no damn sense - if the man in black wanted off the island, why did he help defend it against Widmore back in series 4, when he could have let lots of heavily armed marines trot onto his turf and kill all these pesky candidates for him? The series lapsed too much into metaphor, and as good as a metaphor is, it can't just be thrown in to cover the fact that the writers couldn't figure out solutions to their own mysteries - Lost actually outplayed itself. Impressive, at any rate.

Now some people would say that this doesn't matter, that Lost is about its characters. That's fine and all, but give them a send-off that makes sense. Ashes to Ashes managed this rather handily - A quickie crime of the week resolved straight away to let the bombs drop. Every revelation here was tied deeply to the characters, helped along by the fact the actors were bloody fantastic. The sequence where the coppers find out they are indeed dead, watching videos of their meaningless demise was completely heartbreaking. And then it boils down to whether you trust your leader, a metaphor that works beautifully in a quick last action sequence. Over on the island, someone took a rock out of a pond... and put a rock into a pond.

Both shows here have been doing a lot in common. Both an ambiguous villain for instance: Jim Keats in Ashes to Ashes and the man in black in Lost. Or more accurately, the man in black, impersonating John Locke. Or Flocke. Or just Smokey, whatever, because it turns out he's him as well. There are two reasons that one worked and the other didn't - At the end of the day, Gene Hunt wasn't going to be the bad guy. By midway through the series at any rate, the general foreboding tone that Mays so well bought about as Keats was hint enough. Smokey however, spent most of his series flip-flopping around and being deceptive, except the audience didn't have enough information to realise it was actual deception, and as such Smokey sounded logical for quite a lot of the time. Plus, he's fighting against Jacob, who's plans make about as much sense as a box of coked up frogs. It's fair to say it's hard to realise where you stand. The other problem is in execution. When Keats reveals his true colours, it's in a terrifying physical performance. In seventeen episodes, it took up until just before Lost's penultimate episode to reveal Smokey was in fact, definitely bad. And even then, his plan got changed and mucked around with so much it was hard to see him as threatening. Even worse was the sudden cheap way of making him kill-able again, presumably taking away all his powers... therefore not making it a problem if he got off the island in the fist place. All just so Kate could get in an action movie style pun at his expense. Fake Locke will not be going down on any "most memorable villains" list. The whole shebang was over complicated, and it killed it dead.

What it boiled down to in the end was whether or not you actually gave a damn. In Ashes to Ashes you have the revelation of a coppers purgatory, a place where people who have lost their lives protecting others for little thanks go. It didn't take any prisoners: Alex did not get a happy ending, and provided a brilliant performance on the pain of leaving somebody behind when you don't have a choice. And then there's Gene, able to fight the devil-like Keats and remain to help more people move through. It's beautiful, and perfectly paced. On Lost we learn that... if you get stranded on a crazy island with people for a long time then you care about them a lot. Or something. Or that its a bad idea to mess with glowing special light. Hmm.

So it isn't already obvious, the Gene Genie wins. I've been pretty damn harsh on Lost in this article, and I'll admit freely I'm exaggerating the faults of the finale. There were good bits. It was... ok. But a show with this pedigree shouldn't settle for ok. It definitely shouldn't settle for the lazy cop-out writing that we were served up in the end. And Ashes to Ashes, a show that I honestly thought was going to completely cop out in the end, actually served up one of the most moving hours of television in recent history. It's a table turner, and I didn't predict it. But TV writers, learn from this. Keep in mind that you're one day going to have to explain the complex mysteries you enjoy setting down. Don't treat your audience like fools, especially an audience thats been following you for six years.

Of course, all of this could just be because I'm bitter Kate didn't die, even though she got shot. Close, so close.

A quick politics rant

2010-04-15T17:48:00.006+01:00

First off, take a look at this:

That's bloody stunning, and a little bit scary when you look at enough pictures of it. It's also quite amusing how the entire country has come to complete standstill panic about it - anything that goes wrong today can and will be blamed on the big ash cloud of doom. My money for the blame is on the aliens, and its about bloody time they turned up.

And speaking of portents of doom, today is a historical day for Britain. For the first time, the leaders of the political parties will take part in a live-TV debate, in order to sway voters for the election. There has been a LOT of ho-hah over this, mainly beause its so... American. This is undeniable, its an American thing. We're being given three blokes on a pedestal to choose for leader of our country. The problem here is that we're not meant to be choosing a bloke. We're meant to be choosing a party, a cabinet, a government. At least, thats what we're supposed to be doing. The fact of the matter is the role of Prime Minister has been becoming increasingly Presidential since the Thatcher years, and we might as well roll along with it.

Don't worry, I'll keep this brief. I'm sure everyone has had enough of these three in the past few weeks anyway.

So is a live-TV debate a good idea? Well, yeah it is. The entire way in which we look at these three men is probably going to change quite a bit after this, and some are predicting that the election will be won on their performances. Brown has to make sure not to loose his temper and make a fool of himself, Cameron has to not seem like a smug posh git, and Clegg... well actually it can't really go badly for Clegg either way. He stands to win most out of this debate, if only because attention for the Liberal Democrats can only go up, and frankly he's not going to win the election anyway. Sorry Cleggy.

The sad thing is that while I and many others will be watching, this isn't going to change the general apathy across the country for this election. There is no golden choice here, its a dire situation of choose your own preference of less-evil. Democracy in action eh?

So at the end of the day, for Britain in 2010 we have these three outcomes:

- We get Cameron, and we don't like him.
- We keep Brown, and we still don't like him.
- We get Clegg, and the ash cloud comes back with the aliens and enslaves us all.

I'd like to be proved wrong, (and in the case of Clegg, right. Just so I can say I told you so.) but this is pretty much the status quo for British politics at the moment. Maybe I'm still pissed off about the expenses and the digital economy bill and all the other shining examples of duty our elected have shown to their voters, but I don't see a government that does what its supposed to coming round the corner.

Turning it up to Eleven...

2010-04-08T17:23:00.011+01:00

Ahaahaha. See what I did there? If a pun is good enough for Steven Moffat, it's good enough for me.

You've gotta feel a bit sorry for Matt Smith. On Saturday night, the eyes of the nation literally shifted on to him, as Doctor Who came rushing back to our screens with "The Eleventh Hour". Any actor taking on the role of the Doctor has got to be a bit nervous, what with its devoted fan base. Any actor taking the role in the new series should be even more nervous, it being the most popular drama on British TV.

And if that isn't enough, poor old (young) Matt Smith has to follow David Tennant. Possibly the most popular Doctor in the shows history. Say what you want about Tom Baker, I'm pretty sure he didn't have hordes of squealing fangirls, though I'm sure he would have loved it. So, does Smith pull it off? Is he the Doctor?

Well, yeah. He performs magnificently. Playing up the regeneration to allow little shots of both Eccleston and Tennant to shine through as he goes, he managed to assert a whole new personality in the episode. A more aloof Doctor, a little bit excitable, but not as hyperactive as his previous incarnation. Smith's most impressive ability really, is that he really seems like he is over 900 years old, despite being the youngest actor ever to play the part. It's in his voice and his mannerisms, but he's alien and it really works.

Kudos to Steven Moffat here as well, as he knows the main focus of this episode had to be on the new blood, and he truly gives them a chance to shine. The writing for both Amy and the Doctor crackles, with some truly funny lines. Karen Gillian looks set to be a companion to remember, as she makes her introduction proper by knocking the Doctor out with a cricket bat. She's also truly charismatic and feisty, with a Scottish accent to die for. She more than makes a match for the Doctor straight off the bat. (Hah! I'm on a roll.) The chemistry between the two is unbelievable, and in a move thats sure to annoy a vocal amount of fans, by the end they are really flirting.

Sadly, as the episode itself concentrates on their relationship, the plot itself is a bit weak. The actual circumstances of how the Doctor and Amy meet are great (12 years!!) and of course completely appropriate from the writer that bought us "Wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey." Prisoner Zero and the Atraxi however, were a bit weak. Olivia Colman was fantastically creepy in her turn as the monster at the end, but by that point it was a case of too little too late. It's also a bit hard to believe that the entirety of Earth was sitting on their hands while this was going on, leaving it to be solved by a few people on a web conference. Lead by Patrick Moore. Two other niggles; the Atraxi looked a wee bit naff. The idea of gigantic space-eyeballs is brilliant, it just wasn't very well executed. Also, the new theme tune. It doesn't seem like much of an improvement of the previous one, it frankly seems more like a slightly poor remix done by a music student. New intro effects are lovely though.

At the end of the day, these niggles aside, the episode did exactly what it had to do - proved the new guys had the chops, and it did that brilliantly. By the point that Smith walks through the hologram of his previous selves and makes a battle-fleet leg it by simply introducing himself and saying "Run", its safe to say the Doctor is back. The passion that has made the show so successful for the past five years is clearly still there, it pours out from it. Bring on the rest of the series.

Also, come on, Look at that! New TARDIS! New screwdriver, new companion, new Doctor, nearly a new show. But only nearly...

Go and see Kick-Ass already!

2010-04-08T13:16:00.006+01:00

"Okay you cunts... Let's see what you can do now!"

With this phrase, one of the most memorable film characters in recent years bursts onto the screen. More accurately, she pirouettes, rolls, flips and dismembers her way through a gang of drug dealers. To the Banana Splits.

Kick-Ass is not your average super-hero flick. It's the most genre-savvy film since Galaxy Quest, its got the sharpest script you could hope for, both funny and in places quite touching. It's the funnest film I've seen in ages, and its going to make the average Daily Mail reader's head explode all over the wall.

The film stars Aaron Johnson as lovable nerd Dave Lizewiski, who after being on the wrong end of petty crime for too long wonders why no-one has ever tried to be superhero. Ordering a brightly coloured diving suit online, he dons it and sets out to make a difference, and is promptly stabbed.

Not giving up, he carries on and becomes an internet sensation. There's a brilliant comment on general Western Culture here: The masses are unwilling to do anything about the dire state of affairs, but if when something does get done by God we will watch it. It's like the video of the happy slappers who don't realise their target is a professional kick-boxer. Eventually, the vigilantes do start to make a difference; Dozens more "Superheros" start to take up the mantle, inspired by the characters. The plot is a bit unlikely and scoots along on quite a lot of luck but at the end of the day when the experience is so fun you've got to give in to it.

Matthew Vaughn directs brilliantly - in particular the use of bright primary colours throughout the film give it a tone of ink, it purposefully goes towards an almost cartoony look, as opposed to the recent surge of Superhero films that try to make their characters as realistic as possible. This is exemplified by the large amount of blood, make no mistake: This is a gory film. It's clever about it though, never gratuitous without having a good reason to be, usually for the purpose of ridiculous exaggeration and comedy.

It's also filled to be brim with nerd references. In explaining his reasons for becoming a hero, Dave crosses off all the stereotypical superhero origin stories. One of the defining quotes of the film is the so-cringe-worthy-its-good "With no power comes no responsibility". And Nic Cage's Big Daddy isn't just a nod to Batman in his costume - whenever he's in costume in public he does a pitch-perfect Adam West impression.

Whilst Cage is fantastic in his best role in... a very, very long time, It's Chloë Moretz as Hit-Girl who steals the show. The foul-mouthed, violent and deadly child manages to be frighteningly psychopathic and amazingly cool, while at the same time Moretz brings across the terrible sadness at the loss of innocence in such a young girl. It's an amazing performance. Mark Strong also deserves a mention for his brilliant villain Frank D'Amico, although at this point congratulating Mark Strong for playing magnificent bastard villains perfectly seems pointless. I'm almost sure Mark Strong is actually a mob leader / supervillain, and he just does this in his spare time for kicks.

Johnson provides a very good lead, even if he is overshadowed by the pure awesomeness of his co-stars characters. Christopher Mintz-Plasse manages to do a damn good job as Red Mist, just about escaping from his "McLovin" tag. Considering the cliff-hanger at the end of the film, It will be interesting to see how he handles the sequel...

So, as you may have guessed from the title of this post, I liked the film. It's just... good! It's fun. It's controversial. It's a definitely a contender for best film of 2010. It's basically unmissable. I'll have the sequel now please.

So, I'm back.

2010-04-05T18:50:00.004+01:00

And thus continues my usual pattern of blogging - I'll write loads for a few weeks, then stop and completely forget about it. My bad, admittedly. I have been quite busy, doing lots of writing and actual academic work in the run up to my exams. Well actually, my exam. I only have one, and then my first year of University is over, which is quite daunting. The other scary thing is its a month today, and I'm not at all prepared. I should probably do something about that actually. On the other hand, I'm going to have a ridiculous amount of time free. God knows what I'll actually do with it!

Ah yes, probably a good amount of that.

Truth be told, I'm extremely lucky to have such a good friends, both at University and back on the home front. Further truths being told, they're all stopping me from getting lots of busywork done. You know who you are, you lovely bastards.

In terms of coursework, my main creative piece is done. Or at least I keep finishing it to a point and saying its done, then going back to it. I think I might have to lock the bugger away so I'll just stop tinkering. I wonder if I'll ever stop doing that actually - do all writers reach a point when they know something is done as it will ever be, or does everyone look back and wonder? Maybe I'll have an answer for that someday, at the moment I'm far too busy fiddling with this one sentence. Bad sentence, driving me nuts. Bah.

Other things keeping me busy... well we've reached the point of the year when, for lack of a better term, all the cool shit comes out. Saw Kick Ass last week, which was fantastic, Iron Man 2 is on the way... and on the TV side LOST continues to chug along and mess with my mind. A group of us watch it together, and at the end we just look confused and pained. It's like a mild torture addiction. Ashes to Ashes is back, and so is SGU, though I haven't managed to watch that yet. I'm optimistic about this one, as I muddled through the first part of the series and all its highs and lows. Oh yeah, and Doctor Who is back, but that's too awesome a tangent to contain in one blog post. Stuff on that coming shortly.

So, I'm back, and this time I'll try to hang around for longer. Don't hold me to it though.

A bit late to the party that is Shadow Complex

2009-12-22T17:55:00.006Z

Well bloody hell, THIS is a find.

Let's get the boring stuff out the way: Shadow Complex is an Xbox live arcade game made by EPIC studios (them lot of Unreal and Gears fame) on the unreal engine. Its also deal of the week currently, and you can grab it for 800 MS points. THIS IS A STEAL.

The best thing about the game however is its style. Its part of the long lost Castlevania-Metroid genre, and its fantastic. Its fully 3D but the character can only move in two dimensions. Then its basically Metroid, but with guns and set in (kinda) modern day rather than in space. The main character, Jason something, is also far more talky then Samus - he's voiced by Nolan North, the bloke who does Drakes voice in Uncharted. He's video game gold, and his sarcastic comments throughout make the game even more fun. He's basically playing Drake if Drake was infiltrating a shadowy evil complex. This isn't really a bad thing.

So like in Metroid, you unlock bits of map, you navigate around areas with a surprising amount of grace, and you kill things. This is where Shadow Complex might out do its inspirations. Its weapons have a lovely feel to them, which is rather impressive on a side scroller - you feel like you've got some dangerous weaponry, something even some FPS games can't even get right.

Also its a definitely a contender for the "game that has pulled me in fastest" award. Admittedly, its not the catchiest name for an award, but pah! In about the first two minutes you've shot some fools and bought down a helicopter - the game was on trial at that point, and it offered that if I unlocked and bought the full product, I would get the achievement for my Die Hard style helicopter killing moves. This is as evil as it is clever, and I succumbed immediately, losing my afternoon to it in the process. Luckily the game continues to be fantastic, but wow, its commercialism bought to a scary new level. I don't know whether to be mortified or impressed.

Another realization this game has bought to me is that this "Metroid" genre might just be one of my favorite types of game, I just hadn't realized it. At first I simply thought I just loved Metroid, but hey Metroid Prime is awesome. And so is Castlevania. And so is Batman: Arkham Asylum, which uses the same map system and new items to progress system of those games. In fact, Arkham is probably my game of the year for 2009, carefully beating out Dragon Age, which I am convinced is trying to steal my soul. Every time I play, its like time outside speeds up, and I wake up a few hours later. Its witchcraft I tell ye, but I lack the will to break its hold over me. Also playing Brutal Legend... Really not quite sure on that one. The world is brilliant, the script funny and the voice acting brilliant. The gameplay at the moment however is lacking a bit. Tim Schafer hasn't let me down before, but I suppose nobody is perfect. I remain hopeful it will improve however.

Bloody hell, that was a bit of a tangent. Anyway, Shadow Complex. It's good, definitely a worthy investment. At some point before Christmas I should probably do a festive blog, full of yuletide cheer and love. Bah. Maybe.

Much love blogosphere!

A cold night, and a standing ovation for an atheist in a church...

2009-12-20T00:18:00.005Z

How to even begin a description of my evening is difficult. To try and describe it all feels somewhat like it would cheapen the subject itself, suffice to say I doubt I will experience music like this again for a very long time.

Before I explain, I will quickly mention I saw Them Crooked Vultures the night before last. They were very, very good, in particular the mixture of Dave Ghrol and John Paul Jones contributing to a pulverizing rhythm section. These guys could move houses with their riffs. A fantastic gig, but not the subject of this entry. Here we go...

I first heard of Frank Turner through my friend Tom, someone who has always been a source of music for me. He will very often point me towards fantastic acts, but when he told me about this particular musician, it was as if he had undergone a religious conversion. I was going to be listening to this music whether I liked it or not, so its pretty fortunate I thought it was so bloody good. The songs hit a chord, as they have with a huge amount of people, and most of my friends. I was all set to go to the flowerpot and see him - then due to other circumstances (Women! Bah!) I couldn't go. I was gutted. Sitting at home on the dreary evening, my phone goes off, its Tom at the gig. Brilliant, I think, just what I need. I get to hear what I'm missing out on. Tom's excited voice comes down the phone. He says someone wants to talk to me, then Frank is speaking to me saying he's gutted I couldn't make it. He's never met me, and he dedicated "Worse Things Happen at Sea" to me, just because I had an awful day. I still have the shitty recording someone took, and whoever that is, I owe you a beer at some point. This guy is not only a bonafide fine musician, he's also probably the nicest man in the world. No exaggeration, honestly.

When I first saw Frank Turner, it was in Tom's living room. He was filming a music video for his song "The Road", and this involved twenty four gigs in twenty four hours. We were two in the afternoon, and he still turned up all shattered and charming and played for us. We're in the video, I'm standing right next to him in a white shirt. Look for the only part that has the crowd singing along, with a crowd surfer. (Tom, obviously.) I also force a cut at one point because I forget the words, as I am a dick. I went on to see him at Reading, and on his own tour, he continues to be bloody brilliant.
Frank Turner is very good at what he does, and last night he played a special gig at the Union Chapel.

For those not in the know, the Union Chapel in Islington is a church. This contributed in a big way to what made the evening so special. It's beautiful inside, the lights on the stage contrasting with the stain glass feature above it. Intimate is an understatement. Everyone sits in pews, as you would at a church, and the acoustics of the place are like nothing else. I was lucky enough to be sitting right up front, and when people were playing you couldn't hear anything else, the whole building just vibrates with sound. Me and my friend got in late, hurrying in from the ridiculous outside cold - not as bad as back home mind. No snow in London, which was slightly sad. Coming out of the church into the snowy capital of England might have been an idyllic overload. Anyway, we got in and up on stage is a little chap called Ben Marwood. He was rather good actually, a contagious mix of nerves and hyperactive charisma. We got right into the front and just sat and listened. I will be making sure to look this guy up, even if we only caught the last bit of his act.

After him was Emily Barker and the Red Clay Halo. Now this was something completely different. The lovely ladies filled up the stage and got out a cello, a violin and an accordion. Again, we all just sat and listened. There was something particularly festive about this act, an almost romantic vibe. It should be noted that Frank hadn't actually arrived yet. The poor sod had been stuck in France and was still trying to get to the actual gig - by this point however it was clear we'd still get our moneys worth out of the night. One of the joys of going to gigs is discovering artists you'd never even heard of, and this one was a goldmine. It looks like I'm going to be spending my day searching myspaces and so on to find more stuff from these guys.

Ten minutes after that (ridiculously fast turnover of acts) Chris T-T comes on stage and plays a beautiful piano piece. For a minute I was expecting simply instrumental piano the entire way through, but then he stood up and came to the front of the stage. "All of the people here are really friendly", he said, "I've never been given a blowjob in a church before." This man is bloody funny, and his sadly short act was... quirky. Completely brilliant, but I describing it would probably do it a disservice. Go and look him up. Now. He's got a new single coming out soon called "Nintendo", its rather good. Go find it, the blog will still be here when you get back.

So we all waited for Frank Turner. In the end, he was about ten minutes late, walked in and straight onto the stage holding a bottle of wine. He promises that tonight's going to be a little bit different, this was an understatement. He played a brilliant selection of songs, with his ever talented band at the ready. Loads of surprises thrown into the mix - "Hold Your Tongue" in particular made me grin, I think its one of his best, but I never thought I'd hear it live. The new arrangement of "Father's Day", with Chris on piano was pitch perfect, one of the most emotional performances I've ever seen. All the previous acts came on stage to perform "Last Christmas" on stage. The grandeur of the surroundings wasn't lost on Turner, at one point he stated although he was a stringent atheist, he felt a bit weird swearing in a church. He did anyway, and it was fantastic. Frank always plays with an intensity that can charge up an audience but in these surroundings, at this time of year, with these people, these songs, this crowd: it was electric, preaching to the masses.

Frank Turner always managed to deliver the goods, whether it be in someones living room, a festival stage, a huge London venue or even a Church. Last night he gathered a supremely talented group of people and put on the kind of show that everyone attending is going to remember for a very long time. At the end of the show, the band leaves Turner on stage and he apologies that they don't have time for the entire set list. He plays his staple last song, "The Ballad of Me and My Friends". The entire congregation stands, claps and chants along with him. An atheist at the pulpit, a crowd in the pews, singing away at the last gig of the decade. Remarkable, unforgettable and special. The poster for the event I bought will be framed, and it was worth every penny.

If you haven't seen Frank Turner before, go and see him. If you get a chance to see any gig in the Union Chapel, go to it. This is the first gig that caused me to beging writing about it the second I got home, and I shouldn't be surprised - Frank Turner never disappoints.

In the last two days I saw a media proclaimed "superband", in the gigantic Hammersmith Apollo, and a folk singer for the fourth time this year in a little church in London. He still managed to blow everything else out of the water. As we were all chanting last night: "We're definitely going to hell, but we'll have all the best stories to tell". This would be one of them.

Festive Halflings, and the television wasteland...

2009-12-17T16:50:00.002Z

I've just got back from university and am now faced with illness, and the strange sensation of loneliness. Not that I'm actually lonely, but when you've become accustomed to wandering out of your room and chatting to people immediately it feels a bit strange. Also, this room is cold. Oh so very cold, even my hairy feet cannot withstand its chilly evil. I left my slippers in Egham (Yes I'm 18, and I wear slippers. They are comfy, and they have the Superman logo on them.) and so now my duvet has become a strange kind of foot blanket. I feel like I should be in a retirement home.
Speaking of feet however, I settled into a bit of a Christmas ritual yesterday. I sat downstairs, popped on the surround sound, let it snow (SNOW!! IN DECEMBER! THE END OF DAYS COMMETH!) outside and watched Fellowship of the Ring. Now, the Lord of the Rings films have a very special place in my heart. This is not because I am obsessed with the books, or the lore, its just that they are good. Really, really good. Better than the books in my own humble opinion, enjoyable on multiple over multiple viewing and something my whole family enjoys. Put one of these babies on (extended edition, of course) and the family will gather around to watch. Well, everyone except my sister, but she will learn. The first film was released in 2001, and I remember going with my parents. I found it a bit boring to be honest. Then I watched it again and loved it, and they came out each year, each one being almost faultless pieces of entertainment: the only criticism I can level at the entire trilogy is that Return of the King has a bit of too many endings syndrome. It drags a bit. But I even have grown to love that bit. The scripts are fantastic - condensing the source material into a exciting narrative with a better flow than the actual books and giving the characters more space to breathe and develop. The characters themselves are also fantastic, every actor perfect for their role, no matter how small the part and each giving performances that will forever define them for me. Even Orlando Bloom. The music is brilliant, giving Mr Williams a run for his money, and that doesn't happen often. I distinctly remember seeing Return of the King in the cinema with some friends, and as the sequence of the lighting of the beacons kicked in, my friend went to the toilet. He came back and said: "I could hear that in the loo's. It was epic." Epic sums up that bit perfectly, in both music and image, talking of which I don't think I can add anything that hasn't already been said about the fantastic photography and direction of the films as a whole. It's a continuous "wow" moment, and probably the main reason I come back to watching these so often, at least twice a year - like no other films these pull you into a living, fantastic world. If Avatar can match this, I will be a happy man. Some fun nerdy facts about these films: Originally, Sylvester Mcoy, the seventh Doctor, nearly played Bilbo. Nicolas Cage was nearly Aragorn (this didn't happen, and is proof there is in fact a God.) Patrick Stewart was also offered the role of Gandalf before Mckellen was. He rejected it because he didn't like the script - I contest this is not in fact true. He rejected it because to then have been Picard, Xavier and Gandalf could have basically caused the universe of fandom and geek culture to implode on itself. He was simply doing everyone a favor.
Another reason I have resorted to these films is that there is simply nothing on. TV has become its usual pre-Christmas dirge. There isn't even anything good happening stateside, as everything has stopped into mid-season breaks. I've stayed with Stargate: Universe, despite it being a bumpy ride so far. It's had its highs, and then some lows, in particular the episode Time which was a fantastic example of where the series should be headed, and then the episode that followed it Life, which was an example of everything completely wrong with the show. The cliffhanger ending has again seen a return to form, and its been given a second season so probably worth keeping with it I think. House is, and will always be, fantastic. Nothing more to say there. Scrubs has returned with its new format... and actually isn't too terrible. But the sooner they send J.D off on a bus the better. A few more episodes and he actually leaves, and hopefully the show can try and flourish in its new self. Until that, there is nothing. Until Christmas day that is... and the Doctor Who big finale. Doctor Who has already taken a place as part of my Christmas every year, but this time round it is dominating it. By new years day, I may be a lunatic. If anyone speaks, death shalt be swift.
And that should pretty much be enough for this blog post... I've got a load of articles and pieces to actually upload onto this blog, but I'm lazy. The new Nonstandard website is coming along lovely for a Christmas Eve release date, and I'm already writing some stuff for that. Tomorrow its off to see Them Crooked Vultures, which should be fantastic, and day after that is the ever reliable Frank Turner. Not a bad way to round of the year gig-wise, especially a year that's included the Reading festival and U2. That reminds me in fact, I must now depart to go and listen to War remastered on my new massive speakers. I can make the house shake if I turn it up enough...

Some Creative Writing Pieces

2009-10-19T23:30:00.003+01:00

Oh dear I've been ever so lazy and haven't actually added anything to the blog for a while. Sadly I've been ever so busy, writing essays and reading books. And not at all going out and getting completely wazzered. Anyway, to make up for it, I'm putting up two pieces from my introduction to creative writing seminars. Both of these pieces are born from the same exercise - our seminar tutor simply tells us to write for a certain amount of time on a one word subject. The two subjects given were "Autumn" and "Statues". They produced two very different pieces of work, although I find it interesting that they were both quite dark in nature - I find myself much more intrigued by dark stories at the moment. Maybe its simply a regression into fantasy from all the novels I'm having to read for my English course, or maybe its just because I've got into the Halloween spirit. Who knows?

Before I get into them, I should also note I've got a radio show! But more on that later...

The first piece was the "Autumn" topic and is called "The Carnival". In the actual class, we were given just two minutes to write what we could on the topic. Like the rest of the class, my work was basically a scribbled down poem, or it could be if I could write poetry. Instead it came out in prose form but in a much more poetic flavor. This seemed to happen to everyone - a want to write a poem perhaps born out of the short time limit, and the jumbled result as either a further result of that time shortage, or poetic ineptitude like myself. Apart from one girl in the class who continues to completely astound me with her ability to write poems and limericks - she's lightning fast, and I'm in awe at it.
Anyway, we were told to take it away and spend only an hour on writing it up. This is important to note, the piece I have put here was written in exactly an hour. I have not tampered with it beyond that, unlike my second piece which has been endlessly meddled with. As such I am unsure if this one's quality... it was the kind of thing I found myself writing having lots of cool little ideas but no idea where it was going. The luxury of it being an hour time limit meant that in the end it didn't matter where it was going, I could leave it unfinished if I wanted.
Anyway, the first post I put onto this blog was about the steam-fair. When I sat down to write this story, I found myself completely inspired by that, as the first paragraph of the story will most likely attest to. The images in my head warped until everything was distinctly Tim Burton-ey. I might come back to this story at some point, should I ever have a burst of inspiration related to it. As it stands I think its very flawed, but also completely different from anything I have ever written.

The second story is called "Statues in the Country". Occasionally I have massive trouble actually coming up with a name for a story and this is one of those times. It possibly would have been better to leave it simply as "Statues". But I digress... unlike the previous effort, in class we were given a whole ten minutes for this and so I immediately jumped into short story mode. I was also very lucky that the actual plot of the story appeared in my head almost fully formed. It's very nice when this happens. Also as anyone can see, I was very influenced by the Doctor Who episode "Blink". I don't say this as a rip off - I say this as that episode was so bloody well done that I now can't even look at a statue without thinking of it coming to kill me. When I was told to write about statues, they were going to be evil. It was a foregone conclusion.
I must say, the thing I enjoyed most about writing this story was the child perspective. I was having such fun with it in fact, I had to kick myself in the backside to actually keep it as a short little piece and keep the plot moving and relevant, to try and not lose the tension. Reading it now, I feel the ending may be a bit rushed, but ah well. Either way, I like it as a short little piece, even if I can't think of a good name for the damned thing.

So there we are. Two very different stories. Please read them, enjoy, and tell me what you think.

The Carnival

In the darkness, between the trees, there is a tent. Around this tent are many smaller tents, and wooden stands, trucks, and machines that billow out steam. Small, dim lights hang from tent to tent and stand to stand, wired to anything that will hold them in the air. On their own, a single bulb emits a low, sad glow. But together, strung around the place in their hundreds, the light is fantastically bright. It spreads out into the trees. Its glow ensures that the leaves are always golden, yet never fall. The air is always crisp here, and the many fires around the camp ensure that the heavy smell of bonfire smoke is constant. This place is the carnival, and nobody ever leaves.

Effy wakes up in a tent, woken by the noises surrounding her. Her vision is blurry at first, all she can see is blurred, and all that can be made out is a large shape bustling around the cramped interior, wearing a deep maroon, it almost looks like a hot air balloon shaking in the wind. It must be a man, Effy realises, making out a large, black bushy beard that blends in with the long dark hair. She tries to move, but moving is as impaired as her sight, her arms weak and shaky. Hearing her, the shape turns around, and what is surprising is not that Effy’s vision begins to return to her, but that the voice that comes from the huge man is not a man’s voice.
“Oh! You’re awake! How wonderful!” squeals the enormous figure. The voice booms out like a repressed opera singer, and now with her sight returned Effy see’s that it is indeed a woman, a massive bust threatening to knock everything in the room as she swings around. The only disconcerting thing is the beard. This isn’t the kind of thing where you’re confronted by a woman with a slight moustache, this is face fur that would put Father Christmas to shame. She finally settles herself down onto a stool that seemed to defy known laws of physics by holding her upright and picks two small irons, which she proceeds to straighten out her beard with.
“You’ve been asleep for days, we were all beginning to get quite worried,” she says, rattling out the words at a lightning pace. She notices Effy staring at the beard and giggles, what can be seen of her generous cheeks blush red, “Oh you know how it is! Got to look you’re best!” She giggles again. Effy really doesn’t know what she means, but it’s probably best to nod. The woman keeps gabbling on for a while, completely oblivious to whether she holds Effy’s attention at all. Eventually, Effy pulls herself up, noticing for the first time the colourful quilt that covers her. So colourful in fact, it almost hurts her still delicate eyes.
“Where am I?” Effy asks, butting through the woman’s conversation with nobody. She is almost physically knocked back by this, as if the idea of a conversation being conducted with assistance of someone else was a great departure from the norm.
“My dear, don’t you know?” She eventually stammers back.
The silence answers for Effy.
“Well... you’re at the carnival darling. We’ve all been waiting for you.”
This statement pulls the plug in Effy’s stomach. A deep sinking feeling begins to overtake her. People waiting for you is fine, but you should know these people, and preferably a meeting place should have been agreed on. Beyond this people waiting for you is a very bad thing. It goes into James Bond territory, with bald men stroking ugly cats on swivel chairs. Effy tries to remember how she came to be here, but she can summon nothing. The last thing that comes to her is that she went to bed one night, and now she has woken up in a very strange place.
“Please, if you could I’d like some water.” Effy coughs out, her throat feels dry and again her head feels light.
“Well, there’s no water in here”, replies the bearded lady, “Only mulled wine.” Effy grabs it and drinks it down, the warm sticky liquid dripping down her chin. A warmth fills her, as if she had just gotten in to a warm bath after being out in the rain. Her head is on fire, and a welcome dizziness overtakes her. Over the next hour she is fed toffee apples, nougat, rock, candy and other tasty treats, to the point that Effy is sure she would be physically sick if she even saw a grain of sugar again. Eventually, with a movement deceptively fast for someone of such size, the bearded lady whisks the quilt away from her. Effy covers herself instinctively, wearing only her underwear. The lady laughs jovially.
“Come on dear, it’s time to come meet everyone! I’ve got some clothes ready for you, just pop them on and then we can get everything started. The Ringleader is so looking forward to making your acquaintance!” The clothes the lady is holding are not exactly flattering, but with lack of anything else Effy puts on the bright jumper and polka-dotted skirt. She is given a pair of huge fluffy boots to wear, and led outside.

The tent flaps open, and a huge crowd erupts into roars of approval and thunderous applause. Fireworks shoot into the sky, and a large band starts to play. A group of small acrobats jump over each other, forming a tower that the last member springs off into the air. As far as Effy can tell, he doesn’t come down. The bearded lady seems to have gotten quite emotional, blowing her nose and sobbing slightly, her massive bosom rising and falling with each booming cry. A small muscular man wearing nothing but a loincloth swallows a torch, and spits flame into the night, much to the delight of the midgets that cartwheel themselves around his waist. Through the massive throng of people, a tall, spindly man makes his way through. He wears nothing but stripes, they cover his huge height, culminating in a large stripy garish top hat, that reaches to the top of the surrounding tents. A huge moustache curls itself of his upper lip, its tips almost touching the tiny half moon blacked out glasses that cover his eyes. A huge smile covers his face, showing the yellow teeth. He comes right up to Effy, over double her height, and clicks his long fingers. The crowd immediately comes to attention, silenced. He bends himself over, reaching down to look Effy in the face. The smile begins to get wider and wider, threatening to crack his face.
“I’m so glad you are away my darling girl. We’ve all been waiting for so long to get things started,” he states the words simply, but his voice carries everywhere. He seems to pause for effect.
“Now at last... the party can begin!” He throws his arms into the air, and the applause explodes again, tenfold what it was before. Effy feels suddenly faint, as if the wine is getting to her. The crowd, the tents, the fireworks, the slow burning glowing light all begins to spin around her, until all that is left is a constant circle of dim light bulbs, burning into her retinas. Then she’s on the ground, looking up into the dark, clear night sky, at the moon. It stares back at her, winks, then bursts into cruel laughter.

Statues in the Country

Albie was nervous. He clutched onto his frayed teddy bear as the rough road threw him around the back seat of the old Volvo. This was the day that had been threatening to come for the last few months: Moving day. Albie found it impossible to fathom the reasons his parents had decided to go to all this trouble when their old house seemed fine. All his friends were there. His school was there; his entire life was back in London. And now parts of his life had been packed into boxes and shoved into a truck, others simply left behind. The old house was home and after all there’s no place like it. This place was something new, undefined. The only thing left was his bear, so he continued to clutch to it desperately for the rest of the journey, until the car eventually pulled into a large courtyard.

The house itself was big, much larger than their cosy flat. Bits of it were falling apart, chipped paint all across the window panes; long ivy winded its way up the walls and over the roof. It was as if the structure was being overwhelmed by a tide of green, plants grew out of control everywhere, weeds fighting a long campaign to cover all in sight. Albie was not impressed. It took a good ten minutes until his parents managed to goad him out of the car. They all walked around the decrepit front garden of the house, with his father commenting repetitively on the “bracing” country air, not that Albie was taking any notice. He began to wander around on his own until he realised that he was being watched. Not by someone, but something. A statue. An old lady whose condition matched the house. She sat on a tall, straight chair, her hair tied up into a bun. The stone itself was chipped, the face uneven, worn away and weathered. But the eyes themselves seemed unaffected. They were cold, grey and completely smooth. They followed him and seemed to stare directly into his eyes, despite being still. He instinctively reached out for his mother’s hand, and found it. She rushed him inside quickly and made him dinner, then tucked him into bed. Albie lay awake for what felt like hours, listening to the creaking of the old house and the howling of the wind on the shutters. It hadn’t been like this back home, back home it had felt safe and warm at night, he was protected. Here the night-time was wild and uncontrollable, even if he could hear his parents talking downstairs, their voices raised. Like it does to every child however, tiredness eventually caught up with him and he fell to sleep, his bear clutched close to his chest.

It is a fact that every child will wake up early in the morning, and Albie was no different. He awoke as the sun was just beginning to slip through the blind into his room and he got out of bed quickly, moving across the floor as fast as he could in his pyjamas, rushing to his slippers that would shield his feet from the freezing wood. Slippers were another change that had been forced upon him – no longer could he happily walk across the warm carpet, feeling the soft material reach up between his toes. Now he had to wear footwear at all times, lest he catch frostbite and loose his foot, or worse, splinters. He was yet to figure out what he could actually do with his morning. His toys were all still packed into boxes, as was everything of any interest. There was no television. It was unimaginable to Albie what could actually be done with these early fresh hours, when the rest of the world slept. He held his bear close and slowly walked down the stairs, more cold wood. He couldn’t ride down these on his bottom, giggling like he used to at home. These were slippery and hard and he had been explicitly told that to do it would be dangerous. It was yet another loss of the move. He at last reached the bottom, the undiscovered country that was his new house. Immediately he froze in his tracks. There was something else there, something that shouldn’t be. By the front door, there was an outstretched stone hand on the floor. Crumbled pieces of chipped rock lay around its rough jagged wrist. It took what felt like an eternity for Albie to walk over to it, almost not blinking lest it leapt of the floor for his throat. He eventually reached it, where it remained completely still, dead. It was not alive, he told himself. His was heart beating so loudly Albie was surprised that his parents didn’t come running down the stairs to find out what had woken them. He picked it up slowly, although it was heavy, cold and difficult to hold in his hands, especially as to put down his bear would be to lose a comrade and in all honestly, Albie had to admit his willpower would most likely break. So carefully, having to almost crouch to keep himself from dropping his dangerous cargo, Albie managed to open the door and head outside. He turned to the statue, and the bear and the hand hit the floor almost immediately, barely missing Albie’s foot. The Old lady stood, the chair gone, her right arm outstretched as if pointing directly at Albie’s head. It would have been pointing had it not been broken off at the wrist, it’s accusing hand lying at Albie’s feet. He did what any other child would do at this point: He screamed at the top of his voice and ran, stopping of course to grab the bear. He fled back into the house and up the stairs as fast as he could, finding his way to his parents room and burying himself into the warm area between their two bodies in the covers, tears streaming down his face. They awoke to this, and after much comforting finally got a reason out of him. Albie’s father put on his dressing gown and wandered down the stairs while he stayed in the safety of his mother’s arms, crying his eyes out. Minutes later, his father returned wearing a face that he knew all too well, one that displayed disappointment and annoyance. With a lot of effort, his parents managed to get the boy outside again, to show him the old lady, sitting on her chair as she had been. Albie felt anger, confusion and humiliation. It was impossible, wasn’t it? So he threw tantrums, and kicked and screamed, and didn’t talk to his parents, and sat in his room, and made noise. And for day’s and day’s this continued, until the punishments wore him down, and weeks passed and soon it was all forgotten to the child’s mind. It had all been part of his imagination.

***

Two years later, a new car pulled into the courtyard outside the house. As two adults walked inside, two children slowly got out of the car, a boy and a girl. The girl was the eldest and as every eldest child does, she took charge, taking the boy’s hand in hers and leading forward to explore. The first thing the children noticed, and what they found strange was the three statues, all closely placed together. A man and a woman, both sitting on chairs and staring forwards with a dead stare. But then a small tiny statue, of a small boy holding a bear.

Stargate Universe First Impressions

2009-10-05T20:20:00.003+01:00

So last Friday saw the premier of the new "edgier" iteration of the extremely long running Stargate franchise. Magically, the first episode (technically the first two, in a double feature effect) magically appeared on my hard drive. Amazing I know, how these things turn out.

Before I start explaining my opinion of this show, I think its probably important to note I have never ever seen an episode of any of the previous god knows how many years of Stargate. I know there have been two TV-series, but that's about as far as it goes. The general concept as I understand it, is there are nice cool looking portals that allow travel across space. Beyond this, I am clueless to its universe and back story.

I must also admit I wasn't expecting SG:U to be as good as it actually was.

For a start, the show really ticks the boxes with casting and writing. Whilst it would be a complete lie to say that every character was interesting, it definitely passed the test. As the first episode, it does a far better job then say, Lost ever did. In particular, a few characters really shine. At the head of this is Robert Carlyle, as Dr, Nicolas Rush. He's played superbly by the excellent Carlyle, and the makers of the show seem to realise just how lucky they are to have the actor. He exactly where he needs to be in each scene, never overtaking it but always a complex presence. That said, at some points the show could feel a little bit... obvious. At the beginning of the episode, people fall through an open Stargate, flying out of it, injuring themselves, trying to figure out where they are. Its a fantastic opening, completely grabbing the attention, but do we really need Dr Rush in the middle of this to observe from above, with a foreboding smile? Carlyle is a good actor; He could have got this across without such a stunt easily. That said, Rush is indeed the best thing about this new show - that's not to say that the other actors are inferior, just that Carlyle is on a whole different level.

Eli Wallace is another character worth mentioning - played brilliantly by David Blue, Eli is our eyes into the episode. And frankly, if you even like sci-fi a little bit you can't help but love Eli. A genius who figures out a near impossible puzzle on a video game, actually put there by Dr Rush, he is contacted by the Stargate programme, and then beamed on to a space ship... from his bedroom. Its a brilliant piece of fantasy-playing escapism, and throughout Eli gets the wittiest lines. Nicely, he's not just used as comic relief. He's the only other person on board who can match Rush's scientific knowledge, and as such is thrust into a position of great importance and power. It's very well done and only serves to make the character more interesting.

The other character that this pilot seems to concentrate on is Matthew Scott. Played by Brian. J Smith, this Lt. is put in charge once the catastrophe takes place and the crew are stranded on the ship. He's played well, but the writing always feels a little flat. Its not bad, and possibly its just in comparison to Eli and Rush, but the character just isn't as interesting at the moment. The rest of the cast all perform brilliantly, but no other characters are really given much time in the limelight. It is only a pilot however, and it will be interesting to see the other characters come to the forefront in subsequent episodes.

The writing and the direction was spot on, perfectly capturing the mystery of the ship and the danger of the situation. I'm keen to see how much the ship will come to feel like home - at the moment it feels very much like the characters are in enemy territory, say compared to the feeling of the Enterprise and its crew.

So we've got these great characters, and a ship millions of light-years away from home. Its a good concept, so lets hope its used well. Next episode will be up for magical acquirement tomorrow...

Steamfair nostalgia Trip

2009-10-04T15:05:00.003+01:00

Rather than re-start my blog with anecdotes of the beginnings of my life at University (to sum it all up - awesome) I thought I could start with something a bit more interesting. Last night, me and my friends decided to brave the increasingly cold weather to visit a local funfair on Englefield Green. If you don't know the area I'm living in, its simply like old countryside England. There is a green with cricketers, and a pub overlooking it. I'm sure if I got up early enough I could go out there in the morning and find merry old people cycling past on flimsy bicylces, wishing everyone a good morrow. Anyway, suffice to say it is extremely idyllic.

So to then find tucked into the green, a lit up tiny funfair, pretty much explodes the stereotype-o-meter. For it to get even better is beyond expectations. And yet...

It was a Steam-Fair.

This means that rather than the usual rickety dangerous looking rides, countless stalls full of greasy undefined meat and squealing children, we are instead greeted with rickety, really dangerous looking rides, covered in paint and decoration, heavy oiled steel chugging out plumes of steam to keep it going. Colourful stalls full of undefined meat and sweets. It was fantastic. Even the squealing children were bearable. Everything is put into such proximity together, everything is covered in a glow, the slightly dull and warm yellow of old gas lamps and light bulbs. Old music blared out from unseen crackly speakers. The effect was such that it felt as if you had just walked calmly through time into another age. My sense of direction was shot to hell within seconds, as far as I was concerned there was nothing outside of this bubble of nostalgia. We bought tokens to use on machines that must be over double our own ages, not to win anything but instead for the sheer novelty. I fished for a duck, and in turn won a penguin named Albert. Or Alfred. It doesn't really matter, I got a bloody penguin.

The friendliness around the carnival was infectious, except for one situation. My friend, on losing the fishing duck game, tried to fish for another duck. The man literally leaped over the fencing, grabbed the rod out of my friends hands and yelled "ONE DUCK ONLY!" into his face. We took the tiny rubbish frog and moved on. Quite clearly my friend had broken a cardinal carnie rule, and probably deserved what he got. I don't care, I won a penguin.

The other wondrous thing was seeing the small aforementioned squealing children. The looks of complete joy on their face bought a stark realisation that what they were experiencing would form the memories that would make it such a special experience when they returned at my age. I'm almost jealous that my memories were not of such a brilliant, surreal standard.

We stepped outside of our Victorian paradise only slightly, to view the fireworks. Me and my girlfriend then left and headed back to the halls, as it started to lightly drizzle with rain. The glow from the fair seemed to follow us all the way back, because now as I remember it, everything last night had that sepia-yellow tinge of warmth.

If the reason of coming to university is to prepare for the real world, I can't help feeling I have missed the point utterly.