alexsarll: (crest)
Krod Mandoon's biggest problem is that if you have five lead characters, defining three of them by the key trait 'incompetent' and two by 'slutty', and then relying on gender and race to differentiate further...well, it looks rather lazy, doesn't it? Still, it's being held together admirably by Matt Lucas (a shocking reminder that, before Little Britain got run into the ground, he used to be really funny) and the Thick Of It alumni - even if it looks like we won't be seeing that much of Supermac from here on in.
Mitchell & Webb, on the other hand, was more consistent than ever - they've clearly got into the hang of writing for TV, not adapting from radio. I especially liked the doorbell replacement. And why has it taken this long for any comics to address the trees that smell of come?

Managed to brave the rather ineffectual strike and get down to London Bridge fine on Wednesday night. The first band on were so generically young person's indie that it's not even worth naming and shaming them, but Mr B the Gentleman Rhymer would have justified a considerably more difficult journey. I had faintly feared that the thoroughly-English-chap-does-rap schtick might not sustain a whole gig's worth of interest, but as with Goldie Lookin' Chain, it works because as well as being funny, he's good. Could probably have made it as a 'proper' rapper if, like his old prep school chum Timothy, he were a little less concerned with 'keeping it real'.
Hadn't realised that headliners the Arndales were friends-of-friends, but they were pretty good too; I suspect the Fall might be an influence, but to me they sounded quite reminiscent of Delicatessen, and to the resident young person's ears, the Horrors. Good stage set-up, too - the keyboardist, who looks a bit like the T1000, sits centre stage, not singing but occasionally miming drinks orders to obliging fans.

Went to a party full of babies yesterday. I concluded that my main problem with babies isn't the things themselves - even if a fair proportion do have the cold, dead eyes of a killer. It's the parents. I mean, if I was out walking and I found a herd of wild babies, I probably wouldn't have a problem. But when I'm around the owners, I'm terrified that every hayfever sneeze is going to be taken as evidence that I'm about to infect the little ones with swine flu. OK, these were all nice, calm parents so that didn't happen. But then one of them headbutts my knee and another one starts trying to burrow under my legs and I'm thinking, this doesn't look good, even considering we are in Haringey. Too, too stressful.
alexsarll: (magneto)
In spite of X2 being my favourite superhero film ever, I had an utter absence of plans to go see X-Men Origins: Wolverine - but when a friend invites you along for free, to a cinema that's a pleasant walk away on a nice evening...well, that's a different matter, isn't it? Plus, I was in a position to empathise, given I am currently in the midst of a procedure to bond metal to my skeleton (I have a temporary filling) performed by someone I don't entirely trust (a dentist) and which is likely to affect my memory (she also prescribed me some antibiotics on which I can't drink). And...it's OK. If you want a big dumb action film, or a film with naked Hugh Jackman scenes, I can wholeheartedly recommend it. spoilers )
On the way back, I realised that while I'd walked that route home dozens of times, I wasn't sure I'd ever done it sober. And on my MP3 player I was listening to two new loads, added before the antibiotics were prescribed, but which I realised were both by straight edge artists - The Streets' new stuff, and The Melting Ice Caps. Which, sat by the war memorial listening to 'A Good Night', helped reassure me that this week off liquor isn't a chore, it's a novelty. Because frankly, I am better than Duck Phillips.

I read Alfred Bester's Tiger, Tiger* years ago, and didn't really appreciate it; I suspect I may have been too young. Certainly it would have been before my Babylon 5 phase, so while I appreciated that it was the source of the name for Walter Koenig's sinister psychic, I didn't really grasp *why*. Now I'm finally reading The Demolished Man, in which one man attempts to get away with murder in a world where telepaths are a fact of life, and it makes perfect sense. The whole Babylon 5 treatment of psychics, from the oppressive Psi Corps in which they're all obliged to be members, to their interactions with each other and the rest of humanity - it all comes from here. In terms of predicting the future, well, this does so a lot less well than most of its fellows in the (excellent) Masterworks series. But as an evocation of paranoia, and of what telepathy might feel like both for the gifted and the blind, it's astonishing - and the increasingly outlandish stratagems by a killer and a detective who both know the truth, but can't yet act on it, remind me of nothing so much as Death Note. Less sexually charged, though, in spite of one key scene being set at an orgy.
I think I may have been driven to investigate by Michael Chabon mentioning that Howard Chaykin adapted The Demolished Man in his introduction to Chaykin's own American Flagg!. Which, again, I should really have investigated sooner. Deranged pulp futurology, it's the closest I've ever seen an American come to the early days 2000AD, except unlike 2000AD back then, the 'thrill power' here encompasses sex as well as violence, nihilism and insane technology. Something 2000AD has picked up on since, of course - even down to Nikolai Dante appropriating Reuben Flagg's 'Bojemoi!'

*So my father's edition called it, but the battle of the titles seems, in the intervening years, to have been comprehensively decided in favour of its alternative, The Stars My Destination.

December 2017

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