Long Bus Journeys

Long road journeys tend to induce a bit of mental woolliness. They're not exactly pleasant while they're in progress but I enjoy them mightily in retrospect as viewed through the brain wool. I don't like to fly, so in the past I've spent incredibly long periods of time - twenty four to thirty six hours per trip - crawling across the face of the Earth to places like Bratislava and Barcelona and it helps fight the time lag.

Some people can travel and adjust really quickly, but I'm not one of them. I even have problems adjusting to daylight savings time! I've said before that living in Hungary was a constant source of timezone lag and my temporal inflexibility is still there. How strange it to be alive, full of quirks that strive.

Of course the magic of long bus journeys is that you appreciate the distances journeyed. Psychologically it allows you to understand you've travelled, and if that doesn't add magic for you then imagine how thirty six hours without sleep will make everything magical! The only things better are long ship voyages and train journeys, both of which are more expensive than buses, with trains being far more involved as an offset against the comfort.

Moving on, it's still amazing to me that the dolphins turned up over Aberystwyth Carnival. It's almost as if it's a sign, a warm goodbye or a sign of grateful acceptance and welcome. The environment gathers up its intangible energies and touches you, as if there's a greater over-soul to it all. Hence there were dolphins and a glorious drizzly early Sunday morning on Constitution Hill with never a soul in sight, where an hour could be soaked up into meditative thought. It was lovely.

On a second unrelated topic, we posted the Film Bin commentary for 'Fish Story' today, completing the cycle that was begun by my stumbling onto the film after Adam Quigley recommended it on the Slashfilmcast, and continued by my blog on the film. The circle is closed. It's an awesome film. There's been enough movie talk now, it's time to get back to books! And Greek learning...

O.

Movie: 'Supergirl (Director's Cut)' (1984)

'Supergirl' was the fourth movie in the first Superman franchise, sandwiched between 'Superman III' and 'Superman IV'. It's almost automatically categorised in with those two inferior sequels but it's actually an odd little beast all its own. Yes it's campy nonsense still, but it's also a very innocent and naive little film, and shares very little creative personnel with the Superman films. The theatrical version is a bit fuzzy in my mind so comparison would be futile but the director's cut is actually a pretty consistent and coherent story. Apart from bizarre magic clothing changes it's quite logical. Or I'm completely insane. It's a pretty tricky decision to make.

The story is the usual 'girl in pocket dimension city loses power source and comes to Earth to find it and save her home' idea, as we see in so many movies. This time the girl is Helen Slater as Kara the eponymous Supergirl and the villain is a witch called Selena who gets boosted by the power source. While you might think that's hokey, it does mean we can skip a lot of the exposition and just have bad things happen because of magic, and Faye Dunaway really doesn't chew up the scenery too much. It's definitely a better choice than the fairly disastrous happenings of 'Superman III', which film's failure apparently stopped 'Supergirl' being theatrically released in the US at all. As a consequence, perhaps, 'Supergirl' has been forever tainted by it's failed predecessor and it's quite unfair especially when the Director's Cut is a vast improvement. At least I hope it is. I wonder if Helen Slater would have got more jobs if it had been released there. I miss Helen Slater; She had a lovely innocent eyes thing going on. I think 'City Slickers' is due a rewatch.

As with 'Real Steel' the value in this movie is in its self-consistency and reasonable targets. Also in common with the other movie is that it's in no way a masterpiece. It's just an enjoyable and silly romp, albeit one with an impressive Jerry Goldsmith score. It doesn't have the dramatic under-story of 'Superman' and 'Superman II' that presumably originated from Mario Puzo's original treatment but it does have a fairly interesting and novel female coming of age tale. There are reasons to suggest this movie be better thought of simply because it's a uniquely female-led superhero movie. There's not really anything else like it anywhere, especially with the atrocity that was 'Catwoman' and the mediocrity of 'Elektra', admittedly neither of which I've seen.

It's strange to have a movie where Faye Dunaway doesn't rub me up the wrong way. Normally I can't stand her but somehow she's unrecognisable here. Perhaps it's the wig that's dulling her powers, allowing her to quite good. She's no Gene Hackman but who could be really? This movie has been roundly criticised for campiness and over-acting but I don't really see it, not even in Peter Cook's role as the mathematician (yes!) turned warlock Nigel. The worst that can be said is that there are stupid jokes. Helen Slater is fairly good if a little vacant as Supergirl, and the supporting cast supports competently. The worst acting performance is the handsome bloke that Selena and Supergirl end up nominally fighting over in addition to the vital power source 'The Omegahedron'. He starts off as really terribly dumb but improves slowly. His improvement may have been due to the precision coconut strike to the head from the clear blue sky, and I really didn't make that up. There are precision coconut strikes in this film.

One of the main questions that pop into my mind is 'Is cuteness and naivete acceptable in movies?' and it's quite divisive. I say yes, it's totally acceptable. You can make movies like 'Real Steel', 'Speed Racer' and 'Supergirl' and it's fine because I enjoy them. To the world at large, though, it doesn't seem to be something that people want any more. There's no time to be innocent any more, which is why Superman is a problematic characer. It's all so cynical and the people who like these things are organised into little cells, resisting the tide of fist fights and rampant and gratuitous destruction and hoping for better times. Rampant destruction just isn't a Superman thing.

Lingering notes: Peter O'Toole is pretty good as Supergirl's oddly unmotivated or badly written uncle Zaltar. The cheapness of the titles is kind of disappointing. The cinematography is midway between the awesomeness of the Donner cuts of the first two movies and the cheapness of the Lester films. The whole thing has a very European movie vibe to it which is interesting. It's such an odd film. The effects are better than I thought they would be.

To summarise, the director's cut of 'Supergirl' is a lot better than people would have you believe, and it's certainly not as bad as 'Superman III' or the lamentable 'Superman IV'. It's coherent and not a complete mess although it does very much depend on your personal taste. I can imagine people hating it for not having fights or gratuitous violence and too many teenage girls wandering about being girly. It's... cute and small-scale. You might like it.

O.

PS I'll take that precision coconut strike to the head please.
PPS For people that care, you do see Comiskey Park from the air in this film.

Movie: 'Real Steel' (2011)

This movie and the director's cut of 'Supergirl' will always be inextricably linked to me as I watched them in succession and liked them both against the expectations of their critical reactions. 'Real Steel' is either a derivative family sports/boxing movie with little original to add or a solid movie about a guy who operates boxing robots, his estranged son and their new bond via a robot called Atom. The reaction and judgement is up to, and depends on how many similar movies you've seen and how cynical you are. I score well both on non-cynicism and not having seen many sports movies and so I rather liked it.

The strange thing with 'Real Steel' is that it very steadily gets better as it goes on. At the beginning it's a bit dull. At halfway it's half-good and at the end it's very good and it's a simple progression. It's not groundbreaking. Of course Atom will defeat the champion somehow and the dad will connect to the kid, but here it's only a moral victory and the kid still goes away to stay with his new adopted parents. Yes, there's a character shift in Hugh Jackman's father figure Charlie as he stops wasting his time trying to keep his old boxing lifestyle alive, but at the end he's still a robot boxer. Or we assume he is.

'Real Steel' does exactly what it says it does on the box. It's a classic example of a simple story told well. It's probably time for the clichéd plot synopsis. Here we go. Charlie is a failing robot boxer guy who used to be a real boxer before the robots wiped out the traditional sport. He's failing because he's not thinking things through or applying his own innate analytical skills to his fights. While on the verge of total financial ruin he learns of the death of his old girlfriend and sells his parental rights in his son Max to Max's aunt and uncle. As part of the deal he has to take custodianship for the summer and from hence it boils down to: Rocky relationship, found robot, Max fights it well, slow battle uphill, corporate champion, upstart challenge, final fight and eventual moral win as well as final reconciliation.

This movie does what it does well. Normally I would not appreciate such a film for its simplicity, but there is an undercurrent of something there, and it builds well to an excellent and emotional and oddly uncynical climax. The bad corporate guys win and presumably aren't ruined. Max doesn't go to live with Charlie. Charlie presumably goes back to his girlfriend Bailey in a more settled state of mind. Pretty much everything goes on as it did before. The performances are all solid. Hugh Jackman takes a long time to find his charisma as Charlie but it does come eventually as the character thaws, so it's probably deliberate but does make the beginning problematic. Dakota Goyo isn't anywhere near as irritating as he could be as little Max and actually grows well through the film in much the same way the Jackman thaws. Keeping those two apart really seems to reinforce the thematic emptiness that underscores the whole thing. Everyone else does a good job, where there is nothing specifically remarkable, but a good ensemble cast still wins the day.

Finally there is one thing more I really appreciate about this movie, and that is the non-overbearing special effects. The robot sequences are well integrated into the movie as a whole and don't go on any longer than you want them to. If they were pandering or overstuffed I would not like this film. The fact that I do like it means something, for I do not readily like violence in films. There's something here. Atom is a battered looking sparring robot who mirrors Charlie's woes, and only really is used successfully when Charlie connects back to his old boxing skills as a tool to fight the ugly brawling tactics of every other robot. It's discipline over indiscipline.

There you go, 'Real Steel'. I really shouldn't like it but I do. That should tell you something.

O.

Carnival!

It was carnival day today in Aberystwyth. There were floats, fancy dress, loud music, too many people cluttering up the place and... dolphins! I spent three years here doing my first degree, and then several weekends and finally six months of working here and I never saw the dolphins. But here and today, there were dolphins, and they didn't even need to be sought out as they were right there off South Beach. I've waited years for those dolphins! The semi-mythical summer donkeys were also out and giving rides. It was all rather festive in a commercial tawdry kind of way.

Aberystwyth is very much a town of two distinct personalities. In university time it is the best student town you could ever find, scenic and upbeat, with a lively culture and lots of facilities for people to keep themselves busy. Outside of term time and in the school summer holidays in particular it's a tourist wasteland and nowhere near so nice. Still, this how the locals stay in business so it's best tolerated. Or you can leave for two months of every year and then sneak back into town as the bulk of tourists slide back home. The combination of hear, noise, people and never having the beach to yourself is really quite the nasty one. It's much nicer in the off-months when you can stand on the beach, throw pebbles into the waves, and hear the sound of silence and feel it quelling your stress, or you can sit on top of Constitution Hill and eat a picnic, basking in the view over the ocean. You can even read and work in a scenic wonderland if you're sick of the office.

However, there is one exception to the summer annoyances, and that's when it rains. It's raining now after the sunniness of the carnival and it is gorgeous. That warm wet smell is really the most gorgeous thing, unless it rains for weeks on end as it used to do frequently. If you deny climate change, then all I can say is that you're mad. The climate has certainly changed here, and the only question is whether it's man-caused or a natural cycle. (Hint: It's man-caused.) It's a wonderful time to be here, and I'm glad to have popped up for the weekend.

Oh, dolphins, you made my day. The parade was nice and all that, but the dolphins were the best. They were only silvery shapes hooping out of the water too far away for my puny camera to capture but they were memorable. Finally, the dolphins made an appearance. This isn't a shadowy backup Earth like that in the 'Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy' but the real deal.

Earth: The real deal. Unless this is a very long dream of course. Or a computer game. Or we're all characters in a book.

O.

Story: The Glove, II

(Part I , III)

Spectators continued to wander over to the Circle. An hour passed without an examiner heaving into view in their regalia and Steffan started to worry. He had heard tales of pipers waiting days for their exams on occasion, as a test of their courage and determination.

Troos remained high in the sky and the circle heated. A jingling was heard from the west as people approached. Steffan barely moved from his ritual waiting stance. Over the last two hours he had become welded to the spot, trapped in an almost meditative state as the world span overhead, mirroring the memories surging up from the bottom of his heart.

Six years ago, his parents had sponsored him for entrance into the Pipers Guild. He hadn't passed the the assessment exam but eventually got in on the third attempt. Something must have happened after that success as he had progressed quickly in his craft. And now, one year ahead of schedule, it was time to pay the pipers with a song.

Long ago, the founders of Burgh had design the Circle as the grandest outdoor arena on their world, and still it was spectacular. The jingling was still there and nearing. The crowd split apart to allow the judges through and closed respectfully behind them once again. The three Masters approached and with them came the peril of failure. As per tradition, one opposing Master in red, one supporting in blue, and one to moderate in mildest grey.

The three Masters came to a halt and saluted Steffan. They took their places against the three Stones of Mastery and indicated the beginning. Steffan raised his pipes, and began to play.

Overhead, Troos continued to turn as the music rolled on and on...


Plan formed, so there shall be more...

Take The Hard Road

I would love to be able to say that I always the high hard road, that my ethics are unbending and that everything is always squeaky clean. Of course I'm human, and none of us can say that we always do the righter thing no matter what. You'll have to trust me when I say I end up bowing to my splendid conscience in the end on almost all occasions. Or you can distrust me, a stranger on the Internet. That might be wiser.

Why write about this? I have no idea, but it could be connected to the fact that I'm currently spending a bit of time learning Greek and it's hard. Teaching yourself a language - and I'm really only barely beginning - is hard. It's a hard road, and to do it successfully you have to take that high and hard road. You have to start off and learn the alphabet, dig deep and read the grammar books and finally just try to write in that language. It's so hard as to be ridiculous but at the same time it's challenging.

It's strange that doing things right is almost always so much harder than doing things the cheating way. You would think that every so often there would be some circumstance that is easier in the short term to do right. Sometimes, somehow, for some reason. If anyone has any examples I would be very pleased to read about them. There must be some! Even my villainous and fictional alter ego 'Clomp von Clomp' occasionally does things the right way, just to insure that the scheme doesn't blow up immediately. It will blow up, though, just after a dramatic pause for the best effect. Oh, I love Clompie, even if he is a sick and twisted omnipotent blue being of dubious poker skills.

I remember what brought on this piece now. Someone accused me - ME! - of having integrity. Of course they're wrong but these kinds of impressions seem to stick, and integrity is several steps on from relentlessly being called 'nice'. Sigh and double sigh. So that's why I started frothing on in such a pretentious way. Pretentious is really the only way to segue nicely from maths mode to reality, and I was deep in Maths mode to begin. It's actually really interesting that second language mode has the same problems as maths mode. Have you ever tried to write a meaningful passage in a second language you're still learning? It's like trying to stretch wood or melt a concept. Impossible! Of course at some point the language becomes familiar enough to make it possible but it takes years.

The hard road often takes years... But the view is awesome...

O.

PS Coming up we have items on: 'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd', 'Real Steel', the problems of a Batman/Superman movie, and the reason why 'Plan 9 From Outer Space' isn't completely terrible.

Epistle

There's something magical about writing a letter, a full paper-based epistle that you seal and address and then put in a little slot to be physically conveyed to its recipient. I used to send lots of letters to a once-girlfriend overseas and it truly helped maintain the connection in a way no other means of communication does. Skype doesn't help, the phone doesn't help, but letters do as they maintain the connection but also allow you to continue your life fairly functionally. Also, and more importantly, the effort is meaningful, far more meaningful than turning up next to a computer. The writer of a letter has sat down somewhere, away from the soul-destroying machine, and has written with a pen and ink thoughtfully. It's a wonderful thing.

However, the rarity of letters in this time period means you have to use them wisely or extravagantly, lest people wonder at your intentions. They are the atom bombs of communication and are best used for devastating effect. For everyday epistles we've shifted onto e-mail, because it's fast and free! I love e-mail, despite the increased chance of imagination throwing a spanner in the works and distorting what you meant to say all along. It's easier to read incorrectly between the lines of an e-mail than a letter, because the spaces are so very uniform and spacious. The very worst media are short messages on Twitter and Facebook. If ever a service was designed to be misleading...

My voracious correspondence takes place mostly in e-mail, with a horde of variously themed and moderately lengthy messages flying out into the world every week, and a horde returning in response for the most part. As they always used to say: "You have to send them to get them." It's true. Contact is something that you must initiate in the most part in the hopes that both participants will then sustain the link. It's easy to be proud and wish that other people would contact you, but it doesn't work that way. Obviously by this principle a small number of people get a massive torrent of e-mails and letters and have a luxury in responding but in the most part you have to send them to get them.

It's probably very noticeable that I write this blog as an open e-mail most of the time, a message to an anonymous and theoretical reader out in the wilderness of outside reality. Hopefully sometimes it connects with someone and causes a spark of happiness or incredulity, as is its secondary purpose. As always the primary purpose is self-expression. If more people wrote blogs and expressed themselves, perhaps the world would be a less stressed place. That's food for thought. Maybe we should all have pen friends?

O.