I Got It Today: 6

£24.00 handling charges and £17.35 VAT on 3 items from Amazon.com from Customs.

Bastards.

DVD: Yongary/Konga reviewed

It's surprising how much I remembered about Konga given that it has to be about 45 years since I've seen it but a shitload of scenes stuck in my memory and yet it's really not a very good film.

(Oh, spoiler warning. Everything remotely interesting is revealed.)

Michael Gough plays the increasingly deranged scientist who brings baby chimp Konga back from the Congo (see, Congo:Konga nothing to do with King Kong at all) along with some seeds as he's experimenting on increased growth. It's not long before he and his mature housekeeper/mistress are feeding meat to rather large carnivorous plants in the greenhouse. He's also injected baby chimp Konga with the serum turning him into a near-adult chimp.

At the college where he lectures we see the setup for the rest of the movie. There's the pretty and studious ingenue he has the hots for (and he's well old enough to be her father), the jealous boyfriend (played by Jess Conrad, a pop star trying to make it as an actor; pity he was rubbish), the dean of the college who doesn't like Michael's more outrageous pronouncements.

Out with the needle, camera goes blurry and Konga has become a man-size man in a cheap gorilla costume. Hypnotised by Gough (and with an extraordinary understanding of English, enough to follow complicated commands), Konga breaks into the dean's study and strangles him. At a soiree a few days later, Gough discovers a rival in the growth serum stakes, a Professor Tagore (not played by an Indian but a swarthy British character actor of the time who often took non-English roles). Gough and Konga follow him home and you know the rest. Jess Conrad gets sick of his professor putting the moves on his girlfriend, loses his temper and tries to strangle him. He comes to his senses and apologises and that evening as he's getting on his scooter to go and see g/f there's a rustling in the bushes and -shock!- it's Konga who does what Konga does to people Gough dislikes.

Gough shows the girl his extremely large carnivorous plants which keep opening and closing their mouths/fangs/traps(?). Now he really puts the moves on the girl who isn't too happy about it. Even less happy is the housekeeper/mistress who's looking through the window. It's one thing for her to tolerate him killing people -he's agreed to marry her if she keeps quiet- but trying to snog a student is a step too far.

She rushes to the basement, hypnotises Konga to obey only her -sure, we all know that's going to work- and rams home the needle. Finally, what we've been waiting about 75 minutes for happens. Konga gets really big, smashes the laboratory, picks up the housekeeper/mistress who has quickly turned into a doll and throws her into the flames. Still growing he bursts through the house and looks into the greenhouse.

Gough, intent on having his wicked way, hasn't heard a giant gorilla smash out of his house which is, oh, all of ten yards away. Konga smashes the glass, grabs Gough, the girl get her arm shoved into the maw of a salivating giant venus fly trap (and as we never see her being rescued, she could still be there, or in hospital minus half an arm). The police and a fire engine arrive but no-one at first notices a 30 feet tall gorilla on the other side of a wall. Fed up with being ignored, Konga decides to go into town in search of some action, growing all the time.

Michael Gough rather unwisely keeps telling Konga to put him down. Given that Konga is about a hundred feet tall by now this isn't a good idea. By the time they arrive at Big Ben, Konga gets fed up with Gough's whining and does as he's told. The crowd, who are politely lined up along the pavement watching, gasp. Konga does nothing. The army finally get their guns in position and start firing. Konga obligingly stays where he is and some of them still manage to miss a 100 feet tall gorilla from about 20 yards. Konga gets bored to death and falls down.

Then he turns into a baby chimpanzee again. On this tearful and poignant note, the film ends. For some reason I don't get a lump in my throat as I have been known to do at the end of the original King Kong.

Yongary's print is much better than the copy on my 12-pack giant monsters DVD but the film's still crap.

I've said good things about the Midnite Movie series in the past. Not this time.

I got it today: 5

DVD: Yongary/ Konga (Midnite Movies double feature).

I'm a big fan of the Midnite Movies double feature series as you get two, usually interesting to good, movies from the 50s to the early 70's at a cheap price.

This time it's two giant monster movies. Now I saw Konga when it first came out as part of a double bill back in the early 60's. Even then I knew it was a cheap ripoff of King Kong but it was fun. Yongary I think I've seen on tv many years ago but can't be sure until I watch it again. If it's the one featuring mommy and daddy and bady giant monsters then I have and it's a Korean ripoff of the British giant monster movie Gorgo.

SOFTWARE: PC Tools Desktop Maestro (free from Amazon Vine).

Another of those 'powerful all in one utility suites' which are so pervasive. I've got Tune-up 2008 which seemed okay but is obviously a little out of date so I thought I'd give this one a go.

I'm also about to install Cyberlink Power DVD 2009 Ultra which is another freebie from Amazon Vine. I've got the 2008 version so when this came up on offer I grabbed it. Since then, other reviewers have described all kinds of hell trying to install it and get it to run. So, deep breath, create a restore point, and get stuck in. Update later.

Post Script

I installed both pieces of software and they both work fine. See my reviews on Amazon UK.

I was mixing Yongary up with another movie. I actually have it already on one of those 12 movies DVD packs. Bugger.

HORROR: THE GENRE THAT ISN'T

1. Deconstructing horror.

Horror, as a the concept of a genre, didn't really exist until the late 30's when it became the term to describe a group of films. It's also a misleading term as it's highly inaccurate when applied to the films it purports to describe as, while they might be strange or bizarre, they are hardly horrific.

Of course genres appear all the time. Science Fiction didn't exist as a concept until the 1920's when Hugo Gernsback published Amazing Stories featuring tales of scienti-fiction. But the difference between SF and Horror is that science fiction had been emerging as a genre for some time, beginning with Marie Shelley's Frankenstein in the early 19th century, born out of the Industrial Revolution, Darwinism, and rapidly improving technology and its effects on society. It was a name given to an already existing genre of stories. By and large you can point to something, call it science fiction and generally be correct -always allowing for exceptions (see my entry on The Time Traveller's Wife). Similarly, fantasy.

Horror was a commercial label applied to a group of movies. Once horror existed as a concept for a genre it became natural to look for anything already existing which seemed to fit and stamp the label on it. Ask anyone these days to name a horror writer and they'll say Stephen King, or if they happen to be a little bit knowledgable, H.P. Lovecraft.

Except Lovecraft didn't write horror -he wrote supernatural thrillers or 'romances'. That isn't romance in today's sense but fiction that is elevated somehow out of the norm. Wells' early novels were scientific romances. H Rider Haggard's adventure novels with their elements of SF and magic were also 'romances'. And, although Stephen King is considered a horror novelist, much of his work is Science Fiction. Like my own novel, King uses an SF trope as a metaphor for teenage alienation in Carrie, which is not a horror novel. Neither is The Stand -apocalyptic fantasy with SF elements. It, when the secrets are revealed, is itself revealed as SF.

Let's look at movies which have been claimed for horror but aren't. Alien is pure SF and is inspired by an A.E. van Vogt story from the 50's and the movie It (no relation to S.King). The Silence of the Lambs is essentially crime being about a serial killer. There are countless other examples out there.

Horror is an awful term which is slapped on novels and movies as a commercial label but to their critical detriment. Because of this a popular new subgenre has taken on the term 'paranormal romances' in order to disassociate itself from being tarred with Horror brush. We're talking Laurell Hamilton and her ilk. Unfortunately this new name is awful and also misleading. Paranormal, to me at least, has connotations of SF, Romance (used in the traditional sense is, ironically, accurate but in fact) evokes Mills & Boon, and indicates that the book is aimed at women. While this point may be primarily true, many men, including me, enjoy this type of novel. Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden series is a male equivalent of Anita Blake. But what they are are supernatural thrillers (or 'romances' in the traditional sense,) as are Dracula, Dennis Wheatley's classic The Devil Rides Out, and many more.

But what these stories really are, in fact, are part of a sub-genre of contemporary fantasy. Fantasy itself has become tarnished with the brush of Tolkein's Lord of the Rings, when in fact the genre is infinitely wider than that. Most of the novels and movies labelled as horror are, if not a crime variant or SF, are fantasy or part of a sub-genre of fantasy. Stephen King's The Shining is a ghost story, a sub-genre with its own long history.

Fantasy itself evolved out of, among others, creation myths (see Genesis for one example) and folk tales (the brothers Grimm for another) and, therefore, has a history as old as the human race. Interestingly, SF did not evolve out of fantasy but, as I pointed out earlier, from the impact of science (which may have predated the Industrial Revolution but, as a concept, not by much) and technology on culture.

I could go on adding examples to emphasise my point but I think it's already proven.

Horror, as a genre, does not exist.

So why do I love horror movies so much?

2. Reconstructing Horror.

By and large and when it comes to books, I stand by what I've just written. When it comes to movies, however, well, that's a different matter. It would be ludicrous to assert that Horror Movies don't exist. Of course they do, there just aren't as many as people believe.

They have become a genre. Of course now I have to define exactly what I mean by a horror movie. What does a movie have to possess to be defined as horror (though it can still be defined as something else as well)?

Essentially, it's the frisson. Or, to put it more crudely, the money shot -I hate that phrase because for some reason I associate it with porn (and, no, I'm not remotely a porn hound). A horror movie is created to provide the frisson and/or the money shot. Note that I'm using the singular but the plural is implied as horror movies usually have several of them.

The frisson is the thrill. The moment in the movie, and it may or may not contain overt horror, when the film maker gets the audience to jump out of their seats (hopefully) -the head in the boat in Jaws. The money shot is horror when the audience places their hands over their collective mouths in mock shock and disgust -just about any scene in Tokyo Gore Police which, even though it's undeniably SF, is inarguably horror and horrific in the extreme (see my review on Amazon) as its sole raison d'etre is to shock.

The whole point of the horror movie is scenes like this. They may well have a subtext like Night of the Living Dead but they are undeniably created to be Horror. They want to shock their audiences and if they don't they have failed.

Equally there are horror novels; here the sole point is to get from one gruesome scene to the next. James Herbert started out as a horror writer (The Rats) but as he gained in skill and experience he moved iaway from gore for the sake of it and into contemporary fantasy such as ghost stories.

And that, pretty much, is that. Horror is, with a few exceptions, a misleading label for many movies that are considered as such and completely misleading for most so-called horror novels. I'd like to apply the concept of contemporary fantasy more rigorously as well as the use of more accurate sub-genre terminology such as the 'supernatural thriller', and for sanity's sake, get rid of the paranormal romance.

Post Script.

Now, as for horror comics....

I got it today: 4

DVD: Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla (1974)

What? No! I didn't get all the DVDs today. What kind juvenile saddo do you think I am? No, I got the bottom two before I started this blog.

Okay, all right, yes I am going through a Godzilla phase at the moment. It happens every few years when I forget how bad some of them are and start picking up some I haven't seen before.

The last three movies shown are 1990's Godzilla and form a trilogy linked by a slight actor overlap. They aren't bad at all except for one thing -they feature Godzilla Junior. I share the same attitude towards baby monsters with round goggle eyes as I do towards cute kids in these movies. I WANT GODZILLA TO ROAST THEM WITH HIS RADIOACTIVE BREATH!

But sadly, he never does.

The top one is from around the early 70's but, unlike the amazingly crazy G vs Hedorah, this is crap. Godzilla seems to be barely in it. There is a sequence early on where he takes on Anguirus which is a bit like you tackling a kitten. Anguirus walks on his knees, buries himself a lot, and attacks by rolling himself into a spiky ball. Mechagodzilla appears pretending to be Big G by wearing a Big G suit but this gets damaged so easily you wonder why he bothered. King Caesar is a sort of rubbish furry Godzilla and his method of attack is to body-charge MechaG while it's being held by the real G. It isn't terribly effective. But most of the film is spent with puny humans and aliens who look just like humans until they're killed or damaged whereupon they put on masks which make them look as if they're auditioning for Planet of the Apes.

This is usually the point where I stop buying Godzilla DVDs for a few years.

Post Script (16.24)

But not this time.

I've just ordered the previous three in the mid-period series and I think I'll order the first one -Return of Godzilla- which I saw on video around the time of its release as Godzilla 1985. Anyway, at £5.49 each, post free, from Hong Kong, they're quite cheap and have a higher resale value on Amazon.

MUSIC: The Trashmen "Surfin' Bird"

Back when I was a teenager in the 60's there wasn't much choice of anything. We all watched the same tv programmes and listened to the same radio programmes. One of these radio things was called Two-Way Family Favourites on BBC's Light Programme and broadcast on Sunday lunchtimes. It played pop music requested by people for their loved ones who were serving in the Forces in Germany and vice versa. The announcers were all very BBC middle class.

I was in the middle of my O-level GCE's (1964) at the time when a friend played a joke by requesting a particular record (I forget which) to be played for 'Irene' Williams but gave his own name, and that of the rest of our all-male group. I expected to get the piss taken out of me mercilessly the next day at school but oddly it was generally dismissed as a stupid joke.I say oddly, because I thought it was very funny.

Another time they played Surfin' Bird by The Trashmen. Afterwards, the middle class male announcer said, "Well, they say you get milk from a milkman," thereby dismissing one of the greatest rock 'n' roll/surf music songs ever.

I was reminded of it by the sound effects in Howard Chaykin's American Flagg (see earlier entry) of the somnambutol guns going PAPAPAPAPAPAPAPAP OOOO MOW MOW. The Trashmen were, according to AllMusic Guide, a competent rock 'n' roll/surf music group from the Midwest whose one moment of fame was Surfin' Bird and they disbanded in 1967 and that, apart from a mid-80's reunion, was that.

But it doesn't matter. Their name shall live forever and the song Surfin' Bird will will be transmitted endlessly around the universe, its profundity and eloquence appreciated by all sentient entities with the technology and ears to hear it.

Come on, sing it with me now. Everybody, all together!


SURFIN' BIRD
(Frazier - White - Harris - Wilson)
THE TRASHMEN (GARRETT 4002, 1963)

A-well-a everybody's heard about the bird
B-b-b-bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, well the bird is the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, well the bird is the word
A-well-a bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, well the bird is the word
A-well-a bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a don't you know about the bird?
Well, everybody knows that the bird is the word!
A-well-a bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a...

A-well-a everybody's heard about the bird
Bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a don't you know about the bird?
Well, everybody's talking about the bird!
A-well-a bird, bird, b-bird's the word
A-well-a bird...

Surfin' bird
Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb... [retching noises]... aaah!

Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-
Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow

Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Oom-oom-oom-oom-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-oom-oom-oom
Oom-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-a-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, ooma-mow-mow
Papa-oom-oom-oom-oom-ooma-mow-mow
Oom-oom-oom-oom-ooma-mow-mow
Ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow
Papa-ooma-mow-mow, ooma-mow-mow
Well don't you know about the bird?
Well, everybody knows that the bird is the word!
A-well-a bird, bird, b-bird's the word

Papa-ooma-mow-mow, papa-ooma-mow-mow

(REPEAT)

Graphic Story: Howard Chaykin's American Flagg vols 1 & 2 (Titan Books)

1982, before Watchmen, before the Dark Knight, there was-

American Flagg.

If Watchmen is a symphony, if The Dark Knight Returns is an elegiac funeral march, then American Flagg is in your face, balls against the wall Rock 'n' Roll, loud, exciting, dirty, and sexy. Written and illustrated by Howard Chaykin at the very top of his form and with amazing lettering by Ken Bruzenak which here is utilised as an integrated part of the art, this is a graphic story of the like you have never experienced before.

It's 2031, the environment is in a mess, society has fragmented, the Plex (government) has relocated to the safety of Mars, and fired porn star of Sexus Rangers, Reuben Flagg has joined the Plexus Rangers and is the new guy in violent and corrupt Chicago where the gangs run rampant, the women look like a fetishist's wet dream, there are names like mananacillin, Bob Violence, Jerry Rigg, the guns sound like PAPAPAPAPA OOOOOOO MOW MOW! and there's a talking cat named Raul. Is Reuben the man to sort it all out, if he can keep his pants on long enough that is?

Packed with action and every panel packed, overflowing with sex and violence, delicious in its wit, satire and inventiveness, this is a science fiction comic of the like you have never seen before and it stands comparison with those two mentioned up above. 27 years old and it's still as fresh and funny as it always was. A magnificent achievement.

These two volumes contain the first 14 issues of the ongoing series which stands comparison with the best American comics. As with Swamp Thing, I have all the original issues but I wanted these collected editions which are printed on much better quality paper than the originals. If you can afford it and though these are nice, go for the one volume hardback -I wish I had.

POST SCRIPT

This review, minus a slightly rude three word phrase, has appeared on Amazon for vol.1, and also, to my surprise, for vol.2 and the one volume hardback edition.

I Got It Today: 3.

Graphic Story: Gail Simone, Wonder Woman -Ends of the Earth

Simone is one of my favourite mainstream comic writers. She did a terrific job on DC's superheroine teamup book Birds of Prey and an even better one on Secret Six, her own put-together group of supervillains. When I first heard that she was going to write Wonder Woman my initial thought was that if it was only half as good as Birds of Prey it would be worth reading.

And that's about what I got.

(A fuller review appears on Amazon UK.)

CD: Bruce Springsteen & the E-Street Band Live 1975-85.

This is the second time I've bought this box set and for around the same price. The first time was 23 years ago, not that long after CDs started to become popular and when the real price was significantly higher, and in the extremely large format. I only had it for a year when it got stolen and it's taken me this long to replace one of the greatest live albums ever.

DVD: Devils of Darkness/Witchcraft

Part of the variable but generally good and extremely good value (got it for less than a fiver) Midnite Movies double feature series. Both British horror from 1965 (in colour) and 1964 (b/w), I saw the second one at the cinema at the time of its original release and remember it as a good chiller. The first I haven't seen before (I think).

Graphic Story: Howard Chaykin, American Flagg vols 1 & 2

A collection of one of the greatest American comics ever. Review above.

I Got It Today: 2

Graphic Story: Gilbert Hernandez 'Luba'.
A massive collection of stories about Luba and her family which follows on from the equally massive collection Palomar, itself a landmark in contemporary graphic storytelling. I ordered Luba from Amazon.com rather than the UK because it was considerably cheaper. It also arrived a month earlier than Amazon's estimate. Hopefully this means I'll be receiving the other items I ordered from them in the near future (see earlier entry: The High Cost of Neil Young).

Software: Cyberlink Power DVD 9 Ultra from Amazon Vine for review. I requested this because I already have PowerDVD8 and thought the upgrade would be worth having. However, several other Vine reviewers have already mentioned on our forum that they are having a lot of trouble installing it and getting it to work. Apparently a patch is due so I may wait before trying it out. Pity

Book: Stephen Hunt -Rise of the Iron Moon from Amazon Vine, for review. Third in a fantasy series but I got the impression it was a standalone title and it sounded interesting. I shall let you know.

I was actually out of the house picking up a cat from the vets when the post office van arrived yesterday teatime and Susan wasn't in either so I had to pop round to the collection office this morning after swimming. Wonder if anything else will come on the van today.

Post Script

Nothing did but I did get three orders as an Amazon Marketplace seller, my first orders in a week.

Things I Didn't Expect To Like (But Did): 1

(See also entries for: Lady Gaga, Skins.)

Despite having an enormous tolerance, appetite even, for low culture such as trash horror movies, even I wouldn't have given Michael Bay's first Transformers movie the time of day and for two very good reasons.

I agree with the general critical view of Michael Bay in that he makes loud, stupid, lousy movies. I've only liked one, that being The Rock.

I was way too old for Transformers to barely even register on my radar when they first appeared as a cartoon series and comics which were just cash-ins for the kids toys they originated as. Admittedly I did have a liking for (and one I kept very quiet about) the Thundercats cartoon series, though I probably wouldn't have had if they'd been named Thunderdogs.

The only reason I ever actually watched the Bay movie was when I found a few recently donated DVDs in our charity shop and I picked this one up with a couple of others to borrow. I didn't expect to watch more than about twenty minutes of it but I was at loose end. But, much to my surprise, bugger me, it was fun; it was slick and well-made, had a sense of humour, a pretty girl, and piled on the dumb action.

So why am I mentioning it now? Well, the release of the sequel has given me a hankering to watch it again but, as I took the DVD I did watch back to the shop, I've just had to buy a copy from Amazon Marketplace. It's the double-disc edition for less than a fiver and I can always add it to my seller list if I decide twice is enough or if my initial impression that it was fun, rather than being another big dumb stupid Bay movie, was wrong.

I Got It Today: 1 (aka Recently Acquired: 3)

MP3 Download: Eric Clapton & Steve Winwood Live from Madison Square Garden

Most of the time Amazon's recommendations aren't really very good when it comes to recommending something I'd like but have never heard of or noticed before. But sometimes it comes up trumps and it has today with the live double CD cited above. I checked out the reviews, played the extracts, and bought the download -at £7.99 it was £4.00 cheaper than the CD and even cheaper once I cashed in my Amazon gift certificate for £3.47. Haven't played it yet as I was dragged out shopping while it was still downloading but I don't think I'm going to be disappointed.

POST SCRIPT

Sunday, 21st June.

I wasn't.

Two Things I Am Not Interested In

The Royal Family.
If it was up to me I would Put the Royal Family up against the wall and leave them there. I wouldn't turn my head even so much as a fraction of inch to look out of the window if someone said the Queen was passing. I am so uninterested in the Royal Family that I can't even summon up enough interest to take a republican stance towards them.

Sport.
Sport is something to be done. Participating in sport is great and good for you, and good for you if you participate. Apart from that it bores the shit out of me. I am one of the few people I know who got cable tv to avoid sport. I would sooner watch snails fuck than watch cricket.

If there was nothing but sport and the royal family on tv I would put a brick through it.

I am so uninterested in The Royal Family (and why the hell am I capitalising those words?) and Sport (done it again), I'm not even going to put them down as labels in case anyone thinks I'm writing about them.

Except I have a tiny microscopic so small you can barely see it with an electron microscope interest in the doings of North East football clubs, with an almost visible interest with an ordinary microscope in Sunderland football club, who stayed in the Premiership this season unlike Newcastle (me, gloat, noooo) and Middlesborough.

Maybe if there was a Royal Family of Sunderland.




Naah, I'd totally ignore them as well.

Recently Acquired: 2.

Graphic Story: Captain Britain & MI13 -Hell Comes to Birmingham.
One of Marvel's better superhero titles and written by talented British novelist Paul Cornell. This consists of the second story arc from issues 5-9. The next will be the last as the series has been cancelled as of issue 15. I have fairly similar feelings towards this as I do the cancellation of Primeval (see earlier entry).

DVD/TV: Doctor Who The Complete Fourth Series.
BBC prices for Doctor Who box sets are very high and simply not worth it. I wait until the price comes down on Amazon to something more reasonable like £25.00. Or, in this case, £21.00 (including postage) on Amazon Marketplace for a 'like new' copy. I believe Paul Cornell wrote an episode in an earlier series.

Recently Acquired: 1.

I've no intention of reviewing everything, specifically books CDs and DVDs, that I buy or borrow but it might be fun to list stuff as it arrives, if only to try and shock myself with how self-indulgent I am.

Yes, that will work, I'm sure. So, clutched today in my sweaty stubby paws are:

DVD: Graduation Day/A Nymphoid Barbarian In Dinosaur Hell (a double film DVD pack). Two movies distributed by Troma but not actually made by them and sadly not with the cover above. And they didn't cost me a penny. I was at our charity shop dropping of four bags of stuff donated by an elderly couple when I spotted this in a box of DVDs so I've borrowed it.

And I do mean borrowed. Do you think I want to keep this rubbish? And that was a rhetorical question.

CD: Eric Clapton: Complete Clapton (2-Cd set). Bought from Amazon Marketplace described as 'very good' (which it is -slight wear to case, discs play fine) for £4.21 including postage. Complete it isn't but I checked the track list before buying -no Yardbirds or John Mayall but I was never a Yardbirds fan anyway and I have the seminal Bluesbreakers CD. -the original vinyl album was the first records I ever bought. Of course I have some other stuff from Clapton (Cream, a live Dominoes CD) on a variety of CDs but this is a good 2hrs 30min 36 track collection which will be added to my Ipod as soon as I've finished this.

TV: Primeval. Gone but not forgotten.

Just read that ITV are not renewing Primeval for a fourth season. The reason being not that it isn't popular because it is, very, but the cost. They want to use the money for adult drama.

My humble opinion of those who made that decision is that they are mad. Primeval is a proven ratings winner and it must generate income from overseas sales.

It also happens to be a very enjoyable science fiction monster series that is well made, has good likeable characters, a sense of humour, ongoing plot threads, and a wide cross-generational appeal in the vein of Doctor Who. It will never be remembered as one of the great tv SF series but it is slick and entertaining and goes down nicely before a dose of Casualty on BBC.

All those involved are reportedly extremely disappointed and are hoping to get funding from elsewhere. I wish them luck, if only because there are far too many plot threads unresolved and I want to find out what happens.

DVD: Godzilla vs Hedorah (1971)

This isn't one of the best Godzilla movies but it is one of the most memorable.

We're in the goggle-eyed, round featured, saviour of Japan Godzilla period which means it features a cute kid (though personally I prefer cute kids roasted by Godzilla's breath) with a psychic link to Big G. We have lots of cool young adult kids, dancing to excruciating pop music containing a soupcon of psychedelia, all of whom wear the most hideous movie-cool-kids clothing -thankfully most of them get it from Hedorah while holding a protest on Mount Fuji. We've got cartoon inserts illustrating various parts of the movie -pollution, Hedorah's evolution, etc. And, of course, the message that pollution is bad is not just lain on with a trowel, it is dumped on us viewers with a giant JCB. Pollution is not cool, man.

We also get the wonderful sight and one, as far as I'm aware, never repeated in any other Godilla movie, of Godzilla trying to bend double and then blasting into the air, flying backwards clutching his legs, propelled by his radiation breath. If that doesn't have you collapsing with laughter, I don't know what will.

Hedorah or, as it was known in the UK on its cinema release where I originally saw it, The Smog Monster (though Sludge Monster would be more accurate) is a wonderful creation. See the giant tadpole version smash ships! See the land stage inhaling smoke from a dozen factory chimneys at once -way to get high, man! See the flying version dissolve people and metal with its sulphuric acid farts! See Hedorah drown Godzilla in a mass of poison sludge!

I love this movie. For all the wrong reasons.



POST SCRIPT

This review was submitted to Amazon UK shortly before appearing here. I gave it a 5-star rating.

FLASHBACK 2004: Losing my religion. (It's not faith, stupid, it's stupidity.)

(This was written about 4/5 years ago and, while I wouldn't change much in terms of content -except for perhaps exploring in more detail the Buddhist concept of self- the tone would be more upbeat. My head clearly wasn't in a great place but, as it's as valid a representation of my views on religion as anything else I've written on the subject, I'll let it stand.
Incidentally, I think the cartoon above brilliantly sums up the stupidity of the religious attitude towards evolution.)

Is there a middle ground between the spiritual and the scientific, between reason and mysticism? My own view is that there is not. My own feeling is that I wish there was. However, I must come down on one side or the other and, inevitably, simply by the way I have phrased everything so far, it must be that there is no middle way and thus only science explains everything.

Spirituality and mysticism are lies or, at best, delusions.

There we have it: the conclusion. I don’t need to write anything more, do I? Except for the fact that I keep being drawn to Buddhism, or at least aspects of it.

I’m 56 years old. I have an unspecified number of years left to me. All can know is that they are less in number than those I have lived. Death could come at any time, though I do expect, barring accidents, to live at least into my eighties. (At this point I’m reminded of the old joke: Q. How do you make God laugh? A. Tell him/her/it your plans.)

My childhood spans the 1950’s, my adolescence the 1960’s. Chalk and cheese; unthinking acceptance and ignorance followed by angst and confusion.

If you’re too young to remember the 50’s, be glad; it was a drab black and white decade. My memories are all monochromatic as if seen through the small tv screen on which I watched The Lone Ranger and Quatermass and the Pit. Little of the world impinged on my consciousness – I remember rations but never understood at the time why they so called- and childhood seemed as if it lasted forever. But my memories are fragments, snippets of images, many seem to have no significance whatsoever, but there they are; some, of course, do have significance.

The junior schools (7-11) were streamed, and so it was within the classes, and I was usually the youngest in the class, also usually the last name to be read out (curse that alphabet), neither of which, it seemed to me, were advantages, the former certainly was not. One day, someone in the second top aisle had been naughty and was to be demoted. Who, in the third and fourth aisles, would like his place? Every hand in those two aisles went up, all except mine. I didn’t bother because I wouldn’t be picked. So, of course, I was. What happened after that I’ve no idea. John, one of the kids I did hang around with in that class was the elder brother of the kid who became rock legend Dave Stewart. I remember once punching out a kid smaller than me. Odd, because I avoided fights and I’ve no idea why I did it as we usually got on (just don’t ask me for details because I can’t remember).

Perhaps I should re-title this ‘The Absence of Memory.

Buddhism says that the ‘I’ doesn’t exist. There are times when I can almost grasp that concept and believe it. There is no one self.

I was brought up a Methodist. My family had always been Methodists (‘always’ being, of course, relative). My great-grandfather (a bad-tempered Victorian-type who died when I was seven, hooray, aged 94) played the organ for many years in a different church to the one I went to. I went to the Sunday School at Ewesley Road Methodist Church which was just round the corner. I was also a member of St.Gabriel’s Church of England cubs (and later scouts), because Ewesley Road didn’t have a pack. (The two churches faced each other across a main road and both were –the 50’s, remember- well attended.) Every so often the cubs and scouts had to attend a church parade and I always found the C of E services confusing compared to those of the Methodists.

All it takes is a moment of doubt.

I must have been nearly fourteen, not short of the time when I would exchange Sunday School to become a member of the church’s congregation. It didn’t happen because one Sunday the person giving the main talk to us kids said something that I agreed with.

“Gambling is wrong,” he declaimed.

While I felt the use of the word ‘wrong’ was unduly harsh and perhaps would have substituted ‘stupid’ or ‘pointless’ or whatever, I couldn’t say I disagreed with him to any significant degree. Unfortunately he went too far. After condemning the usual forms, he then went on to state that the Pools and Premium Bonds were wrong.

(For the benefit of non-British readers, I should explain that the Pools was a national pastime of wagering very small sums on which of the Saturday soccer matches which would result in drawn games. Premium Bonds are a government run scheme in which you buy a stake with the chance of winning money. If at any time you wanted your money back you got it, without interest. As far as gambling goes, these barely warrant the name.)

You’ve gone too far, I thought.

There, the seed of doubt and so I began to question. Being an avid reader of science fiction didn’t help. Although crap at science subjects at school I did find science interesting.

By the time I got to college I was very confused. I strongly felt the religious impulse but couldn’t reconcile it with the scientific approach to the universe. I remember (very little) about going to a Christian weekend during my first year and talking to two girls who laughed (pleasantly as they suddenly gained an insight into me) and said I was an intellectual. Which struck me as odd as I didn’t believe I was intelligent enough to be an intellectual. I also went to an evangelical do in Liverpool and came away, as did the woman friend I’d gone with, feeling it was manipulative. I spent several Sundays going to a Pentecostal Church. After the lively meetings, the congregation went to a local hospital with fruit and talked to the patients, not trying to convert but just to provide some company, which I thought was nice. Eventually I had a one to one session with the pastor who tried to bring me across to Jesus.

He failed and that was pretty much it for me and religion.

I’ve stood there, wanting God to speak to me in some way, begging Him/She/It/Whatever. I want to believe, help me. I’m open to you.

Nothing came because there is nothing there. And we are briefly burning flames in the night and what is left of the flame when it is blown out?



That’s right.









POST SCRIPT

Rather ironically, in my online novel All The Worlds At Once (see sidebar), I came up with a quasi-scientific explanation for the existence of a god.

MUSIC: The High Cost of Neil Young

I'm a big fan of Neil Young and have been for 35 years (give or take). For several (indeed several several) years, I and thousands of Young fans have been patiently awaiting the release of the first of Neil's Archive volumes which purportedly contained masses of new unreleased material.

Well, the first one is finally out and while the music is apparently excellent, the lack of new material falls far short of what was expected. Nevertheless I still I wanted a copy. However, the cheapest price I could find was Amazon for around £86.00. Bugger that for a game of soldiers. Nearly ninety quid for eight CDs!

Then I had a brainwave -not unusual for me, I admit, but still... I'd check the Amazon USA price. Aaaand, when I converted dollars to pounds, then, including the postage, it worked out at around £46.00. Sold! It's on its way to me now. And if (unlikely as it seems) I don't like it, then I can always sell it on Amazon Marketplace and still make a small profit. I checked just before writing this and the current cheapest price is £57.00. But the highest-

The highest price is £160.07 and it's available for this tidy sum from -and you are going to love this- CHEAPCDSDVDS!

POST SCRIPT

I've noticed that for expensive items, it's often cheaper to buy from Amazon USA than UK. Also winging their way to me are Gilbert Hernandez' epic graphic story Luba, True Blood the complete first season and it hasn't even aired in the UK yet*, and Woodstock the super duper Blu Ray, enhanced with bucket loads of extras DVD (see Harry Knowles review on Aint it cool news). Come soon, come soon.

* I'm taking a chance here as I've only seen a brief clip but I've read some of the books and the reviews make it sound great.

DVD: Slumdog Millionaire*

Checking out Amazon UK reviews of the movie I noticed that a number of reviewers gave it only one star on the basis of a quote on the cover: "The feel-good film of the decade," wrote Robbie Collin, News of the World, who obviously wanted his name on a DVD box. The one-star reviewers accurately pointed out that, as the movie contained scenes of torture, child abuse, blinding, racial violence, murder, rape (actually offscreen), and sundry other scenes of criminal activity, then what Mr Collin's idea of feel-good doesn't quite match up with theirs.

However, Mr Collin's stupidity doesn't excuse their own stupidity for giving a one-star rating to a film purely on the grounds of what one idiot wrote being quoted on the DVD box. Didn't they notice the 15 rating and the words "Contains strong language and violence"? First word 'Slumdog'. Did they think it was going to be like "Oliver the Musical"? If they considered the movie to be completely without merit and were bored even more stupid than they really are: fair enough. No film or any work of art is going to get universal praise. But to rate a film on...

And I've gone on about that enough.

Right, I'd like to give the usually parochial Oscar voters an Oscar for coming out of their shells and voting for something which isn't American or even British (and yes I know who produced, directed, financed and that Dev... blah blah blah) but is specifically Indian in its concerns. I can understand the movie being popular here with our strong links to India and its culture and Danny Boyle, etc, etc. But America's acceptance of it has amazed me.

8 Oscars! Deserve them? Hell, yes!

I loved the structure; how each question triggers a flashback to a key event in Jamal's life. One Amazon reviewer complained that it didn't feel real causing me to shout at the screen, "It's fiction, you moron!" It's real life that doesn't have structure. Fiction has to have structure and without the structure of this particular film it would have fallen apart. Told in a strictly linear setting without the triggers and with the quiz at the end, it wouldn't have a tenth of the impact. Without structure there is no art.

Dev Patel did the business. Forgot all about his Skins character.
Listen, Dev, mate, I know you're up for Hollywood movies now, but if it goes arse-end upwards,** come home and get yourself a part on a good British soap -Corrie or 'Stenders, like, with the Panto at Christmas. Then, after about five years, get the title role in a new British private eye or maverick cop tv series. Repeat money will keep you going for years.

As a nod to Bollywood, at the beginning of the credits, the entire cast do a dance routine at the station. Loved it.

And Dev, you've got yourself a cracking bird.

** The actual phrase is 'tits up' but that could be deemed sexist and this is a politically correct blog, so there!

*For obvious reasons, this review has not appeared (or even been submitted) on Amazon UK.

POST SCRIPT

But really, this film was rubbish. The two kids who play Jamal's younger self -they aint got sticky out ears like what Jamal has. I mean, it's obviously not the same person. Rubbish, I tell you, rubbish!

MUSIC: Gone Ga-Ga

Going ga-ga, in British English, means going mad; see: loopy, loony, off their trolley, etc.

I would appear to have come down with this condition in relation to Lady Gaga. For my introduction to her music, see the Skins 3 essay elsewhere on this blog. Suffice to say, this (and watching her perform on Ellen DeGeneres show) encouraged me to buy the CD. Have to say it's one of the most consistently good albums I've have heard. 13 out the 14 (ignoring any bonus whathaveyous) tracks are of a very high standard: all different, all memorable, all very enjoyable despite being a kind of music I don't usually listen to. This is just very good stuff which transcends its genre.

If her second album maintains this standard then comparisons to Madonna will seem to be flattering the latter singer. I'm almost looking forward to Ms Germanotta's next effort as much as I am Skins 4. Style and substance: I'm impressed.

MUSIC FLASHBACK 2003: Discovering Reggae

I'm starting to sort stuff out for my trip to Lanzarote in a week's time. No, not clothes, I can do that at the last minute. I'm talking books
and cds.

My friend Ian, who I'm going with, likes long lie-ins whereas I like to get up early. This means my mornings are spent as follows: get up, eat breakfast, perform ablutions, go and sit on the patio till around ten, go for a half hour swim, sit on the patio for another hour until Ian finally emerges. And while I'm sitting on the sunny patio, I drink coffee, read books and listen to music on my discman*.

Books so far selected include a couple of Harlan Cobens, a Jefferson Parker, James Barclay's Dawnthief (which Ottokars were pushing at 99p so I thought I'd give it a try), a Simon R. Green fantasy I read a few years ago, an early Peter Hamilton book (on its 3rd trip to Lanzarote, maybe this time**), a book on Buddhism, and Fool Moon*** (alt.world horror thriller I impulse bought on Amazon) by Jim Butcher. No graphic novels, I read them too quickly to make them worth their weight.

Music taking the trip this time include: The Grateful Dead (which one, which one?), a Lightnin Slim cd (which one which one?), the REM & Zevon best ofs, Lucinda Williams Essence, Fairport Convention The BBC Sessions, a couple of Uncut compilations, maybe a couple of other cds, and the two which arrived from Amazon today.

The first is the Stephen Stills Columbia fillet which is one of those cds of which reviewers can say "if you only have one album by ........ then make it this one". Seven tracks from Stills, eight (i.e. most of) Illegal Stills, six from the third I'd never even heard of and which aren't bad, and a couple of fillers from the 1968 Supersession album with Al Kooper. If you only have one... Ah, been there already.

Oookay.

Last one will come as a surprise to those who know me as it's from a genre I've had little or no apparent interest in -reggae. A few weeks ago a book on reggae arrived in the library with a ten track cd which I took home and copied and rather enjoyed. Recently I came across something the label Proper Records and I checked their catalogue which included stuff from the Trojan label. After digging a bit deeper and seeing it on Amazon for £10.99,**** I ordered the Trojan 2-cd set "Young Gifted & Black: 50 classic reggae hits!". It's a slightly misleading title as it's really 50 classic Ska, Rocksteady, & Reggae hits and spans the period 1960-1978.

And, after only playing the first cd I can say it damn fine, man. What surprised me was the number of tracks I remember from hearing back in the 60's and 70's, and also the number of songs later covered by other (black, white, US and British) artists. Here's a list (and I may be omitting some) of UK hits, cover versions, and covered originals: Oh Carolina, (Shaggy), Madness (do I need to spell it out?*****), My Boy Lollipop (ah 1963), I'm in the mood for love (as I'm in the mood for ska), 007 -a shanty town, Rudy a message to you (Specials), Angel of the morning, Israelites, The Tide is high (Blondie, a close copy & I'm embarrassed to say I thought it was original to them), Many rivers to cross, Rivers of Babylon, Youcan get it if you really want, Love of the common people, Cherry oh baby, Everything I own, Help me make it through the night, Hurt so good,Fatty bum bum (Bad Manners), Uptown top ranking, and finally something I'll be drinking quantities of in Lanzarote, Red red wine.

The booklet has introductions by Don Letts and Robin Campbell and I've just put in bids for a couple of Trojan box sets on Ebay******. Ooo-oh, the Is-raelites, chaka chaka...

* This was before MP3 players became all pervasive. The following year I owned a Zen-something with 30Gb hard disk and played slightly above a whisper at the loudest.

** Not this time either. Still not read it.

*** Fame and a crap tv series lay several years in the future.

**** By now probably available for 5p plus postage.

***** Yes, apparently I do, because years after writing that I can't remember what the song was.

****** Won them and bought another 3/4 Trojan box sets which are in a box somewhere in my garage.

POST SCRIPT.

I did indulge myself for a while and learned I preferred Ska best of all the variants of Jamaican music. But it never became more than a small part of my musical tastes; something I dip into now and again.

What I did Today

4.00 am. Woke up.

5.15. Got up, let 6 cats out, let 2 cats in, fed same, breakfast, watch News 24.

7.30. Swimming at nearby Raich Carter Sports Centre. Because I'm either under 16 or over 60, I'm entitled to free swimming, which I do as often as possible, swim freely and slowly, 20 lengths in 36 minutes, but it's the exercise that matters.


8.20. Post Office to post three parcels. I sell stuff on Amazon Marketplace -basically the type of stuff I write about here but that, for whatever reasons, I don't want to keep.

8.30 Asda superstore to buy cat food for rescued cats.

10.00. Set off in Animal Krackers' van, as passenger, to pick up 6 cats from Carol, the lady who looks after our rescued cats, and where I drop off most of the food. she's over-full at the moment and another cat rescue (which doubles as a professional cattery) has offered to take them. The cattery is in Burnhope, a small village in County Durham, a 40 minute drive away and up in the lush, partly wooded hills.

10.40. We (that is me, Ian and, just to be confusing, Ian the driver. In our shop is another Ian.) arrive at Burnhope, a pleasant if fairly nondescript. The view that greets us as we arrive is shown in the photograph above. It's obviously well-run and the standard of the cat housing is very high and will make a nice, albeit hopefully, temporary accomodation. It's far more spacious than Carol's and there at most only 2 cats to a room (they are too big to be called cages, though that's what they are).
Tracy, the lady who runs it pretty much single-handedly, is a very pleasant woman of forty-something and we immediately bond over our mutual love of cats -we speak the same language. I spend some time looking round, taking photographs and talking to Tracy about the problems (mostly financial) of rescuing, getting veterinary treatment, and rehoming cats.

12.30 pm. Arrive home.
I don't do afternoons.

4.30. Call at the Animal Krackers shop which is only about 250 yards from our house, to pick up the car and keys. I find a dog which they've had handed to them. A stray, it had been hit by a car, and then taken by us (Susan and Andrea) to the vets for treatment. It's an old dog and it can't walk very well. The vet has given it pain killers but can't do anything more for it. One thing most of us in the charity agree on is never to let an animal suffer and sometimes this means having to do the worst thing of all. However, until we've had this dog for a week we can't, by law, make that decision just in case the owner turns up. Frankly we doubt if it will last that long.

4.50. Pick up a cat from Carol's to take to the vet's for a checkup. The young female tortoiseshell is a stray that was found under the bonnet (U.S. 'hood') of a car with burns to its feet. We also had it neutered and a rupture fixed. The vet says it's healing well but to keep an eye on it and bring it back if there's any deterioration.

6.15. Home for tea with Susan -Sunday's leftovers, a great British tradition.

BOOK: The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

The curious case of cultural appropriation of The Time Traveller’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.

(This is/is not a science fiction novel and this is why.)

You’re probably familiar with this book (soon to be a major movie as they say) but I’ll go over its premise anyway. Henry possesses a gene which causes him to time travel involuntarily when placed under stress. He arrives there naked and returns naked. He has no control over where and when he goes. He can not change the past. He may revisit the same scene (such as his mother’s death) numerous times at different ages. Henry is 28 when he meets Clare for the first time. Clare is 20 and she has known Henry all her life.

(There, a science fiction trope, pure and simple. Yet the author has clearly stated she has not written science fiction. The SF community, I’m given to assume, believe that she has.)

From Clare’s viewpoint (the novel changes frequently from hers to his) the narrative is linear. From Henry’s viewpoint it is not. This is made clear by the heading at each change of scene, viz Henry is 40, Clare is 16. The story is narrated by both in the present tense and I notice I have adopted the tone of the narrative in order to describe it. The story is told with great clarity. It is well and sensitively written, the characters (all of them) are interesting. I found myself completely absorbed in it, the ending approaching with a sense of almost unbearable sadness and poignancy. I didn’t think I’d like it but quickly couldn’t bear to put it down.

Now the topic here is actually: what is the nature of SF? Is a novel/story/movie automatically science fiction because it uses science fictional tropes such as time travel. I have noticed a tendency (and I’ve been guilty of it) to claim just about anything as SF whether or not the author agrees. I suspect part of this is SF’s inferiority complex –see SF is literature, you snobbish bastards! Whatever, what it is is cultural appropriation, the desire to enhance the standing of SF by including items from outside the genre.

The view I’ve come to is that it depends on what the individual novel does with the SF tropes. If it uses them in a science fictional sense, then, yes, despite what the author says then they have written SF. For this reason Margaret Atwood’s "Oryx & Crake "is SF no matter how much she claims otherwise.

And for this reason, Audrey Niffenegger is right. The SF element is not even a metaphor, it is a device. She has not written a science fiction novel and to claim it as SF is to misunderstand the nature of this particular novel which is, above all, a love story –a very complicated love story which uses the SF trope to create a heightened sense of realism and view a deep relationship from an unconventional angle.

It works superbly, but it isn’t science fiction.

You may or may not agree with me and I probably haven’t argued my case all that well. But you can’t in all honesty take a point of view on the matter without having read it.

Go on, you won’t be wasting your time.


POST SCRIPT

Don't misunderstand me on one particular point as I want to make it absolutely clear: Science Fiction can also be Literature as well as being SF. And a literary novel can also be SF, but just because it uses SF tropes doesn't automatically mean that it is SF.

Clear?

MUSIC: Johnny Clegg

IN MY AFRICAN DREAM; THE BEST OF JOHNNY CLEGG & SAVUKA (EMI). Or, if you can afford it, the better, wider-ranging, 12 minutes longer, but more expensive and now deleted but available on Amazon, JOHNNY CLEGG: ANTHOLOGY (Connoisseur).

Although born in Rochdale, Lancashire (England), Clegg grew up in South Africa. His family were middle class but, from childhood, he hung around the townships and spoke the Bantu language (Ndebele) as easily as English. In his teens he started playing guitar, jamming with Zulu musicians, palling up and forming a partnership with Sipho Mchunu. Eventually they formed a band.

This was during the darkest days of apartheid, when the ANC were underground and Nelson Mandela was securely locked up. To form a multi-racial band was itself a challenge to authority. Every time they recorded a song, every time they played a gig, they were committing a political act, making the statement that the races could work together in harmony.

Clegg was called ‘the white Zulu’, which could be embarrassing but, in this case, was completely appropriate. Clegg genuinely felt as much at home with black African culture as white, perhaps more so. He was not, and never has been, a cultural imperialist.

Lyrically Clegg is, by turns, romantic and political, often at the same time. Even when tackling historical events or everyday life he remains romantic and political. His songs frequently work on several levels –a love song is also a tribute to the imprisoned Mandela, a song praising the beauty of Africa is about the spirit of the Zulus under apartheid –so much so that it’s easy to see texts in his songs which don’t actually exist.

Musically Clegg writes (oh god, I hate to use this phrase) catchy tunes. Every one of the 16 tracks on this cd are memorable, full of great hooks and rhythms. He electrifies Zulu music and approaches rock from an African angle, just as his songs often mix English and Ndbele, to create something recognisable but original. His voice is expressive but serviceable at best (perhaps I may be being unfair but I'll let it stand), but the harmonies are wonderful.

It’s 66 minutes of music that every rock fan should have in their collection, for ideological reasons, yes, but also because it is simply superb music. In an industry full of posers, pretentious, self-inflated egos hiding minimal talent, Clegg and his fellow musicians are the real thing -talent, integrity, and commitment, who worked in a society that hated everything they stood for.

And they, and people like them, won.

POST SCRIPT

Since writing the above I have just discovered a brief video clip on Clegg's own website of him on stage with Nelson Mandela (yes, Nelson Mandela) dancing (swaying, really) behind him. At the end, the two men walk off with their arms around each other.

And, just so there's no doubt about my feelings, I believe that Nelson Mandela is one of the finest human beings to have ever walked the face of this earth.

GRAPHIC STORY: Alan Moore & Kevin O'Neil: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: 1910.

On the first reading, I reacted pretty much the same as some Amazon reviewers, dashing off a two-sentence synopsis to a friend and telling him not to bother.

On the second reading I began to appreciate it more though, although readable, it's actually less accessible than some of Moore's other works (the first two LOEG volumes for example). I can understand why other reviewers were disappointed because the League appears relatively ineffectual in the story which itself is very separate from the other plot strand until the very end. We expect our heroes to, if not always win, at least have a significant effect. Here they are misled and ineffective.

The other part of the story concerns what happens to Nemo's daughter in London's East End, and not very pretty it is either, told in the manner of Brecht's Threepenny Opera with her as Jenny Diver and Macheath as a returning Jack the Ripper.

Operas tend to have prologues and this LOEG volume is essentially the prologue to the new series. What happens here will resonate in later volumes later in the century so it's certainly unfair to dismiss future parts on the basis of the first. However I can understand people who didn't like The Black Dossier (I do, a lot), not liking this as it's more in keeping with TBD's tone than with the first two books.

I particularly liked the Prisoner of London, trapped in space but not in time.

There seems to be some confusion over the identity of Quartermain Jnr. As far as I am aware he is Allan Quatermain made immortal by going, with Mina Murray, through Ayesha's fire. Oliver Haddo is the equivalent of Aleister Crowley in a W. Somerset Maugham story.

This review has also appeared on Amazon UK.

BOOK: Robert Winder: “Bloody Foreigners: the story of immigration.”

This is one of the most fascinating books I’ve ever read. The main reason being is that it gives weight to my less well-informed opinions on the matter by backing up something I wanted to believe was true to actually be true. The main thrust of Winder’s argument, backed up by ample evidence, is that each wave of immigration into this country has benefited Britain both economically and culturally, usually at the expense of the various countries that either expelled them or made life so difficult they wanted to leave. While not without problems, and the occasional repulsive incident, immigrant groups have been accepted usually with a grudging tolerance by British society at all levels –and if that sounds like damning with faint praise, it’s more than any other country, European or otherwise, did.

Winder also exposes a number of historical myths along way. The Celts, for example, far from being a unified race were simply a bunch of northern European tribes and the name wasn’t even used until 1704. Neither were they the original inhabitants of what (to keep it simple) we’ll call Britain. They moved in and took over from tribes who’d originally come up from Iberia (and that’s ignoring the people who were there before that –the ones who turned round, saw the English Channel and said, “Damn, coulda sworn there was a land bridge there yesterday. Looks like we’re stuck here.”) The Celts (or whoever they were) were driven to the margins by the Romans who were followed by the Angles, Saxons, Brigantes, Danes, Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh’s tribe and all, until the mixed-blood descendants of two lots of Vikings had a punch-up at Hastings.

Not much happened for the next three or four hundred years apart from the traumatic adjustment of the Norman Conquest and the thirteenth century expulsion of the Jews, the one and only time a group of people has been expelled from this country. It took Cromwell to readmit them.

From the period of the Reformation the dominant pattern of immigration took shape. England profited economically and culturally from the intolerance of its European neighbours by usually, but not always, grudgingly taking in refugees. Without the Huguenots, for example, Britain wouldn’t have gotten the head start in the Industrial Revolution which ultimately led to the British Empire. For five hundred years this country was enriched by the stupidity of other governments and the reluctant tolerance of its own –Russian Jews, Germans (often Jews), Italians (not Jews), Poles (some of them Jews). Of course it helped that they were white.

Blacks and Asians, as usual, didn’t get quite so good a deal but it was still better than the deal they usually got elsewhere. It was Britain that played a major role in ending the slave trade. In Victorian Britain, Jews became an accepted part of the establishment when they were usually being persecuted elsewhere, and there were even Asian Members of Parliament (well, two of them, at different times). Also in the Victorian era, there was a noticeable black population. One American writer visiting Liverpool in the 1860’s saw a black man walking leisurely with his white wife to no great concern, something that would have got him severely beaten, if not lynched, in New York.

Jumping ahead to the Second World War, one farmer was quoted as saying that he loved the American soldiers but he wasn’t so keen on the white ones they’d brought with them. Similarly any white soldiers attempting to enforce a colour bar on public transport were told where to get off. After the war, with Britain economically exhausted, it was another story and blacks didn’t get the same welcome. The Windrush, the boat which brought a few hundred Jamaicans who were looking for work to England, became both a symbol and a source of notoriety out of all proportion to the numbers involved.

This, conveniently, happened around the time I was born so I grew up and lived through the post-war waves of immigration, albeit somewhat isolated from most of it up in Sunderland until, that is, relatively recently. This post-war period reveals that nothing has been learned and nothing really changes. The same old patterns occurred. Knee-jerk reactions against, grudging acceptance, economic and social benefits as one group leaves the bottom of the pile to be replaced by another, shameful and noble actions at both government and individual level. The recent wave of asylum seekers (now receding as the economy takes a downturn) is a typical case. At a national level the usual prejudices surface and racist groups try to make gains out of it (and always, if any, of a temporary nature), followed by acceptance on an individual level such as support from individuals (and usually working class individuals who are frequently and unfairly associated with racist attitudes) supporting families who want to stay against the government which wants to deport them.

Trauma, reaction, upheaval, acceptance. History marches on and ultimately, in the UK at least, leaves behind the racists and the Little Englanders. This country has the highest proportion of inter-racial marriages in Europe, by far.

Winder charts the successes and the shame with detail, perception, and humour as he recounts an alternative and usually ignored history of this country.

In my last few years at the City Library I encountered and, I hope, helped a large number of immigrants, asylum seekers, and foreign students. I ordered stock, arranged, and displayed a section within the library on English as a Foreign Language and, next to it, a basic skills section (as the two are quite similar in terms of needs). Through Winder I can see that what I’ve been doing, in its own small way, is part of an historical process of helping the stranger, the immigrant, and in the best traditions of this country.

Am I a nationalist? Hell, no: screw them -the BNP, UKIP, and all those miserable right-wing Little Englanders.

But am I proud to be British? Damn right, I am, but proud in the true spirit of what it means to be British.

A little bit about me

Life, in part, is an intellectual process, a gradual refining of beliefs and ideas which are modified by age and experience and the individual's perception of the world as the world itself changes. What you start out as, as say a teenager when certain values and beliefs are already in place, may not be how you end up. Your beliefs and values may well have changed. Many of mine did.

I was a child in the 1950's when everything was grey. Everyone smoked, it seemed. Women were second class citizens. The 'N' word could be used casually and unthinkingly about black people. Indeed the influx of immigrants from the Caribbean in response to the post-war boom was causing racism to rear its ugly head, though being a child in the North East of England with itstraditionally high unemployment meant that I saw very few people from ethnic minorities and I never even met a Jew until I went to grammar school age 11. I have to say my response to that was simply a puzzlement that Fatty Gordon's family didn't celebrate Christmas and an 'oh well people are strange' shrug. I was aware of the Holocaust (and horrified by it) but simply didn't understand the concept of anti-semitism.

What am I back then? A Christian, believing every word I heard and was taught at the Methodist Sunday school. A boy scout, not a good one, but nevertheless... Following the example of my family, I supported the Conservative Party and believed, again like my family, that I was of the middle classes -we weren't, upper working class at best, just one of the many collective delusions my family held.

For any American readers I'll repeat a joke, of sorts, I heard decades ago. The Republican party is the American equivalent of the Conservatives. And so are the Democrats. (That's it.) Americans tend to strike the British as rather politically naïve (while we are cynical). This did seem to be born out when I watched an elderly American from Maryland describe Obama as a socialist. I nearly laughed my socks off. Your new president is no more a socialist than is David Cameron the leader of the Conservatives. And, yes, like everyone else, I would have voted for him if I could and I watched his inauguration live on tv. Today I've ordered his autobiography from Amazon. Barack Obama has the opportunity to change the way Americans see themselves and how they see the word by opening their minds to alternative ways of thinking. Just as we do, or should do, throughout our lives.

Change is a gradual process built on the measuring of past and present experiences. Everything is built on what has gone before. Darwin, one of the greatest men who ever lived, in part based his work on what had gone before by scientists such as Carl Linnaeus (or so memory tells me, it's been a while). What he did do was the connect the dots in a way that no one else had ever done -such is the mark of genius.

I believe the way that you change is inherently based on your personality. True revelations on the road to Damascus are relatively rare. We are predisposed to certain beliefs, certain ways of thinking. For example, while not of a scientific bent, I was as a child interested in science, in how the world worked so perhaps it was inevitable that, once I started questioning my religion, I became an atheist. I became a librarian and the most satisfaction I got from my work was on the frontline, working with the public, helping them. For all my self-obsession and various character flaws, it is my inclination to help. So it's no surprise that I became strongly opposed to anything which sought to suppress humanity for perceived differences such as being of a different racial or cultural group, being a woman, having alternative sexual preferences, and why I accept political correctness believing it to be merely a form of good manners. It's no surprise too that ended up quite left wing politically (although it took years of gradual change), willing to admit to being a non-dogmatic socialist. My becoming a union steward is another stage in this my personal growth andenlightenment. I'll return to the subject of politics later.

My 20's and 30's were pretty much dominated (and to those who know me, yes this is an oversimplification) by my involvement with science fiction fandom and with writing (not that the two are separate) but I'm not going to go into that here. They ended with me being a chainsmoking borderline alcoholic who'd sold a teenage sf novel.

Then, while attending an Open University Social Sciences foundation course, I met Susan Hardy who changed my life completely and for the better and we got married on 24th August 1988, two months after we started going out and eight months after we first met. And we're still married. Oddly, it wasn't the course that made us click, but our love of animals.

Thus my 40's and 50's were marked by a growing involvement in animal welfare on a local basis. (Again a simplification.) It began with some minor involvement with the local branch of the National Anti-Vivisection Society, Susan and her mother being members. While generally agreeing with this, I did have some reservations about a complete ban, and felt guilty again about having them. Towards the end of the 1990's Susan and I became involved with a couple of local animal rescue groups which ended with us, with others, forming Animal Krackers a charity set up to help local rescue groups but ended up with us becoming one as well. At one point a local government councillor tried to get all the different groups to work together under a new umbrella group. It failed because the chair of the group (me) got sick of doing all the work without the support I needed and it fell apart without really getting anywhere. Animal Krackers has now been going for six years and is well known andrespected in the Sunderland area.

Me, I'm the main cat rescuer/transporter to vets.

DVD: Planet of Dinosaurs (1979)

This came up in my Amazon recommendations. I'd never even heard of this movie and considering I used to fancy myself somewhat knowledgeable on the subject of science fiction movies that's quite a surprise. This would tend to suggest it's total rubbish but, when I checked it out, I learned it featured stop-motion dinosaurs, my weakness.

Well, it's not total rubbish; it is rubbish, of course, but not total.

Starship blows up, handful of survivors crashland on Earth-type world with landscape that seems surprisingly familiar. Had the cast of the original Star Trek visited this world on several occasions? Anyway, they walk around, talk and bicker, get interrupted from time to time by dinosaurs who eat some of them.

And that's pretty much it. The actors are rubbish, the animation is fairly simplistic, there aren't even any matte paintings to suggest an alien landscape.

Yet it's not without a certain charm, a fairly limited charm admittedly, but you take what you can get.

There are also two Willis O'Brien shorts which must be nearly a hundred years old and look it. Pity, clear versions would have been rather interesting.

(This review also appears on Amazon UK.)

Thank You Lisa

Many thanks to Lisa B of Holland for all the time she spent online yesterday patiently explaining to me how to set up this blog.

Lisa, may your kindnesses be returned a thousand fold.

DVDs, Books, Graphic Novels, CDs, MP3's.

Here's an incomplete list, in no particular order, of DVDs, books, graphic novels, and CDs I've acquired (or occasionally borrowed) over the last several months.
An asterisk indicates I've reviewed it on Amazon UK.

DVDs.
Dr. Who seasons 1-3 box sets. Torchwood season 1. The L Word season 5*. Battlestar Galactica season 4. The Comic Strip Presents box set. The Invaders season 1. Babylon 5 the complete box set -5 seasons plus all spin-offs. Doomsday*. Kill Bill 1 &2. Female Prisoner 701 box set. Hatchet. Prom Night 3/Prom Night 4. The Dark Knight. Wall-E. Planet Terror. Beowulf. Stardust. Son of Frankenstein/Ghost of Frankenstein. Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman/House of Frankenstein. 10 Things I Hate About You*. Black Sheep.

(This space is to break up the text, as are the others below.)

Hancock. Iron Man. The Incredible Hulk. Justice League: The New Frontier. Martin Scorsese Presents The Blues box set. Juno. Hollywoodland. Bladerunner 5-disc tin box set. Star Trek DS9 seasons 1-5. My Name Is Bruce*. The Girl Who Leapt Through Time*. Triangle*. Strait Jacket*. Icons of Adventure. Icons of Horror. The Notorious Bettie Page. American Splendor. The Mist. Feast. Forbidden Planet. Rodan/War of the Gargantuas. Wanted. Feast 2. Amrican Splendor. Dark City (director's cut). Skins Seasons 1, 2, 3*. Crank. Lost in Austen. Borat. Sunshine. Slumdog Millionaire.
I confess I am somewhat behind in watching many of these titles.



BOOKS.
Harkaway: The Gone-away World*. Obama: Dreams from my Father. Pratchett: Nation*. Penner: Horror Cinema. Richardson: Poltergeist. Fingeroth: Rough Guide to Graphic Novels*. Kannenberg: 500 Essential Graphic Novels*. Lovecraft: Necronomicon. Howard: Complete Chronicles of Conan*. Rankin: Rebus (the first 3 novels). Crais: several. Coben: several. Hall: The Coroner*. Sayles: Thinking in Pictures. Bell: Stranger & Stranger -The World of Steve Ditko. McLeod: Scent of Blood. Wilce: Flora Segunda (books 1 & 2)*. John Meaney: Bone Song.
And many more, but they aren't all to hand to jog my memory.



GRAPHIC NOVELS.
Robinson: Box Office Poison. Robinson: Tricked. McCloud: Zot the complete black and white collection*. Medley: Castle Waiting. Yang: American-born Chinese. Cruse: Stuck Rubber Baby. Simone: Wonder Woman -The Circle/Birds of Prey -Dead of Winter.* Rucka: The Question -the Books of Blood*. (A different) Robinson: Starman Omnibus vol.1, vol.2. Sheldon: The Complete Furry Freak Brothers*. Smith: Rasl. Whedon: Runaways -Dead End Kids*. Morrison: All-Star Superman/Batman -The Black Glove, Batman R.I.P. Miller: All-Star Batman. Whedon et al: Buffy Season 8 vols 1-4. Hill: Locke & Key.

Cooke: The New Frontier (Absolute edition). Way: The Umbrella Academy. Willingham: Fables 11/ Jack of Fables 5. Vaughan: Y the Last Man 10. Bendis: Ultimate Spiderman 19 & 20. Kirkman: Invincible 9 &10. Miller: Absolute Ronin. Moore: Swamp Thing vol.1* (hardback)/ League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: 1910. Gaiman: Absolute Sandman vol.4. Plus various superhero titles such as Teen Titans, Blue Beetle (3rd version), The Atom* (3rd version), Legion of Superheroes,* Superman & the Legion of Superheroes, Booster Gold, Noble Causes Archives vols 1 & 2.
Again, there are more but enough is enough and I've still got to list the-



CDs.
U2: Best of 1980-90/How to dismantle an atomic bomb/All that you can't leave behind/No line on the horizon/The Joshua Tree (extended 2-disc set)/ remastered 2-disc editions of War, Boy October. Mahavishnu Orchestra: Original album classics. Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes. Lou Reed: NYC Man (the ultimate collection)/Rock n Roll Animal. Girls Aloud: The Sound of Girls Aloud. The Grateful Dead: Egypt 78. Dylan: Tell Tale Signs. Fotheringay:2*. R.E.M: Live. Fela: Live in Amsterdam/Open & Close + Afrodisiac/The Underground Spiritual Game. Luther Allison: Live in Paris. BB King: Live at the BBC.

Zappa: Strictly Commercial. Various Artists: Red Hot & Riot (Tribute to Fela). Various Artists: Nigeria Rock Special/Nigeria Special -Modern highlife, Afro-sounds & Nigeria Blues (yes, that is the title)/Cries from the Midnight Circus -Ladbroke Grove 1967-78/Best of Ska (3-disc set). Lady Gaga: The Fame. Steely Dan: Showbiz Kids the steely dan Story 1972-80. Bat for Lashes: Two Suns. Bob Dylan: Dylan (3-cd best of). Jonathan Richman: Roadrunner Roadrunner -the Beserkley Collection. Johnny Clegg & Savuka: Best of. Joy Division: Best of. Bruce Springsteen: The Essential.





MP3s (full albums).
Leona Lewis: Spirit, the Deluxe Edition. Katie Perry: One of the Boys. The Simpsons: Sing the Blues. Velvet Underground: The Velvet Underground & Nico. Barry Myers Presents Scratchy Sounds (ska, dub, roots & reggae nuggets) -(again, full title). U2: Under a Blood Red Sky. Prefab Sprout: A Life of Surprises. Amadou & Mariam: Welcome to Mali. Bat for Lashes: Fur & Gold.