Duty Now For The Future

This should be my last post before the U.S. Election. See you on the other side...

In ancient Rome there was a poem
about a dog
who found two bones
he picked at one
he licked the other
he went in circles
he dropped dead

freedom of choice is what you got
freedom from choice is what you want

- DEVO, "Freedom Of Choice"

Do Ye Ken John Peel?

John Peel is dead, aged 65.

This Blog is officially in mourning.

The Shanghai Gesture

So, Tom informs me that all is going quite well out in China. He even has some photos to prove it, over at his livejournal:

Former Pirate's Journal

"So you See, Captain, We Are Not all Barbarians..."

Found transcribed on the internet, this is one of my favourite comedy sketches of all time. It's also the only funny thing Smith & jones ever did.

[Setting: a Nazi General's fine office. General Gruber is listening to classical music while being fitted for a new suit by a tailor, with a beautiful blond attending.]

[there is a knock on the door]

Gruber: Enter!

Schtum: [entering] Heil Hitler! [salutes] General Gruber?

Gruber: I am General Gruber. As you can see, I am the Nazi general who is always being fitted for a new uniform. I enjoy the company of beautiful women while listening to classical music with my eyes shut. [he does so]

Schtum: I see.

Gruber: I am also the Nazi general who says "You see captain, we are not all barbarians."

Schtum: I am Schtum, the Nazi general with a mean streak to my character. You will find that I am always removing my gloves. [he does] So. I disapprove of other generals being measured for new uniforms. And I am always the one who is winding up the telephone [he does] and saying "Get me the Führer!"

[a knock on the door]

Gruber: Enter!

von Dunkerl: [entering] Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. General von Dunkel. I am the slightly pervy general. And I may also be a little bit GAY. Heil Hitler! [salutes] As you can see I have a twitch. And I am always dabbing my mouth with a handkerchief because I have no lips.

[a knock on the door]

Gruber: Enter!

Kessler: [entering] Good evening gentleman, I am Kessler. I am the easy going general who does not need to salute properly.

All: Heil Hitler!

Kessler: [barely salutes] Ja, ja... You will notice my ludicrous scar, and my obvious limp. I also have spent many happy years in London.

All: [sentimentally] Aaah.

Kessler: The reason for my uniform being a slightly different colour to yours is never explained.

[a knock on the door]

Gruber: Enter!

Matthau: [entering, limping] General. General Matthau. Forgive my late arrival, but as you can see I have a rather obvious-

Kessler: [clearing his throat] No, I am afraid the limp is me, I'm afraid.

Matthau: [stops limping] But of course I am a little bit GAY, and I dab my lips with a -

von Dunkerl: I think you will find that is me, my friend.

Matthau: [throws away handkerchief] In which case I must immediately wind up the telephone and say ...

Schtum: [shouting in the telephone] Get me the Führer!

Matthau: At least I still enjoy the company of beautiful women and listening to the grammophone, classical music [sees Gruber doing so] - ...with your eyes ...*shut*?

Gruber: I'm afraid so.

Matthau: You leave me with no choice! I am the Nazi general who is outwardly calm but subject to sudden and inexplicable *FITS OF TEMPER!!!*

All: Aaaaah!

THE END.

Ha!

In your face, people! I am Berlin-era Bowie!

Which David Bowie are you?

Jacques Derrida Is Dead...

...although, if you applied his theories, you might find that he never actually existed in the first place...

All This Useless Beauty

Over the weekend I went to see Hero, the new film from the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon stable, and which gratuitously bears the name of Quentin Tarantino on the posters. The hype about his film indicated that it was one of the most beautiful films ever made, bringing an art-house aesthetic into action cinema.

So, should you ignore the words of Public Enemy and believe the hype? Well, yes and no. First things first: this film looks stunning, its use of colour and special effects are magical, and I kept thinking that this is what the new Star Wars films really, really should have been like.

Normally I’d get to accuse a film that looks this good of being completely hollow. Hero manages to side step this somewhat by shamelessly borrowing a trick from Kurosawa’s Rashomon - the unfolding of the narrative by multiple versions of events, some of which are not true. This also has the effect of making two of the film’s characters much more three-dimensional and effective than would normally be the case. For all that, there’s still something quite sterile about Hero. Maybe it’s the art-house aesthetic. Maybe it's the complete lack of a sense of humour (although the line "You did not come here for the calligraphy" had me in stitches). Maybe it’s the fact that a subtitled film tends to separate the viewer from the emotions being expressed by the actors. Anyway, that’s how I felt.

Now comes the controversial bit. I understand that there’s been a bit off a fuss over Hero in certain quarters, with some critics accusing the film of having a Fascist outlook. That isn’t really true: Fascism exposes the view that a constant state of war is a desirable thing, as it “ennobles” the participants and prevents them from “degenerating”. Hero suggests that war is a step on the path to peace. Rather than being Fascist, Hero is a piece of Chinese nationalist propaganda, with all that that entails. The Fascist tag probably comes from the fact that the director has almost certainly seen, and borrowed from, Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will.

The moral problem of Hero is that it falls back on the old chestnut of fighting for peace. The king who we are in the end supposed to see as a hero is going to slaughter his way to domination over his enemies, creating a strong unified state and therefore peace (the sound you can hear in the background is George W. Bush fans having a collective orgasm). A caption at the end of the film relates that the king achieved this and then built the Great Wall in order to “protect the Chinese people” (the sound you can hear in the background is Ariel Sharon fans having a collective orgasm). China then enjoyed peace, harmony, and complete respect for human rights until the present day. Didn’t it?

So the real question is, should you go and see Hero. The answer is yes, provided you can overlook some fairly dubious politics. Hell, I think you should go and see it just for The Bit With All The Leaves.

A Proper Student

Well, the University have now registered me, and I get to use the library and computers and everything. This is a good thing. There may even be some employment within the department for me.

The only downside is that I was unable to set my computer username as "Johnny Hellzapopin".

Our Man In Shanghai

Tom informs me that he is now in Shanghai, being a journalist. One can only hope that his stint is every bit as exciting as Tintin's. He also claims to have some photos up on the internet, but this appears to be untrue. Surely he hasn't run afoul of the benevolent People's Police already?

I, of course, am now in Liverpool. On Monday they'll give me my ID card, which will mean that I get to use the library, and everything. My flat consists of me and four Germans (luckily, I have experience of Germans...). They're very nice, but only actually here for six months. This means that stand a good chance of living on my own for six months again. This may be a two-edged sword: living on my own produced "Green Lanes Blues", possibly the best thing I've ever written. As that piece of writing shows, however, it also began to fragment my personality.

This post's gone all gloomy, which isn't really how I'm feeling. I'm really just restless because until they let me in the library, I've nothing to do.

Oooh, Satire!

I see that the pro-hunting protestors have complained about Police brutaility. It isn't that the Police were being cruel, though - they just wanted to keep the numbers down...

Silly Hat Day

On Wednesday UCL made me wear a very silly hat for the purposes of getting my MA. My real reason for going was to see people I haven't seen in ages. Not everyone was there, what with flimsy excuses like "being in America" or "finishing my dissertation and not graduating 'till next year" being bandied about. I did get to see Trudie and Yvette, though, which was reason enough to go.

Thursday saw me taking the parents to bits of London they haven't seen in a while. When they lived in London, Docklands was somewhere no-one came back alive from. Shiny new buildings are quite a change. I also took them to Bloomsbury, not only to see Aliester Crowley's favourite pub, but also to visit the best second-hand book shop in London: "Judd Books" on Marchmont Street.

Flying home was strange. It was, to use the cliche of our age, "the first time I'd flown since September 11". Maybe that was why I was more nervous on the plane than I've been when I've flown before. Maybe at 23 I'm just feeling more mortal. Either way, we returned safely. Now I have to start getting ready to go to Liverpool.

Myself And Yvette At The Reception: Fear The Combined Power Of Our Mortar-Boards!

The Patron Saint Of Quality Footwear

Today I bring to you:

The Glam Rock Name Generator

My Glam Rock name appaers to be "Jupiter Crayons".

“Someone May Have Got A Guitar In The Face. We Apologise For That.”

So, on Thursday night I went to see The 5678s in Manchester. What’s that? You don’t like The 5678s? Then I suggest that you go and rediscover your sense of fun.

They were playing at The Roadhouse, one of the smallest venues in Manchester, and it was packed for this, thanks to Mr. Tarantino. First up, though, were “special guests” The Noise Explosion ("I'll 'noise explosion' you, young man"). Who were crap. Their innate badness was compounded by the fact that they were trying SO HARD to be bona fide rock stars. Too hard. I mean, Pete Townsend’s windmill-arm in the first song? Diving into the audience on the first song? It doesn’t look cool, it looks like you’re trying to distract attention from the music. Mind you, they did produce the evening’s killer line (see above).

Fortunately, The Noise Explosion made for a good opportunity to go to the bar before the main event, when the building was packed out. The 5678s aren’t a great band, but they are a lot of fun. The curious thing is that the act wouldn’t work if they weren’t Japanese. No one wants to see three American women playing rockabilly and surf-pop, but plenty of people want to see three Japanese women doing just that. It might be down to the singing of all their lyrics in that slightly warped English you last heard in Lost In Translation. It’s also that they’ve got that Japanese cut-and-paste approach down pat: at one point, much to my delight, they appeared to be about to do a version of “Prince Charming”. It turned out that they’d just appropriated the bassline, but I was still pleased.

So like I say, not the best band ever, but good fun. If you like Phil Spector (who seems to be turning out for Manchester United these days), The Ramones, The New York Dolls, Adam Ant, or, indeed, the soundtracks to Tarantino films, then go and see them.

Best T-Shirt of the Night: One that said "Save Ferris".
Worst T-Shirt of the Night: One that said "Punk Rock". My, how subversive you are, sir.

Reality/Fiction Interface

I wonder, if you tried hard enough, could you locate the exact point at which reality segues effortlessly into fiction? Leafing through Kenneth Anger’s “Hollywood Babylon II”, a book documenting Hollywood scandal and tragedy through the ages, I came across the following entry:

“GEORGE ZUCCO. This wonderful character actor, the High Priest of Satanic Atlantis, he of the disturbing glassy eyes, and quick, disconcerting gestures and cat-purr voice, ended his days in the lunatic asylum, after he began believing he was the crazed villains Monogram and PRC kept paying him to play. The High Priest of Mu/Egypt/Atlantis was led away by the fellas in the white coats, dressed to the nines in borrowed Monogram bogeyman finery.

George’s faithful wife and daughter moved into the asylum with him, hoping their presence would restore his grasp on reality. Quite the contrary. George Zucco slipped away in the Atlantic fogbanks, finally, one midnight dreary, working himself into a paroxysm of fear and loathing, screaming he was being stalked by the Great God Cthulhu!

George Zucco died in the madhouse, from fright. The following midnight, Mrs. Zucco and daughter, unable to live without their meal ticket, unable to face life in Tinseltown without George, joined him in death.”

Obituaries Are Entertaining

I’ve said this to some of you before, and you’ve looked at me like I’m mad, but here I have proof. From yesterdays Telegraph:

“Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Edge, who has died aged 73, was awarded an MC in 1961 while serving with a United Nations force in the Belgian Congo.

Edge’s company became involved in a fierce gun battle with a force of 600 tribesmen. Early in the fight, which lasted for six hours, Edge was shot in the stomach but despite being severely wounded, he continued to direct operations from the airfield’s control tower.

Bleeding heavily, he was exasperated when a native soldier who was close by his side made no effort to help him. ‘Don’t just stand there,’ Edge yelled. ‘Do something!’ The soldier made his apologies but explained that, for him, it was taboo to touch a dying man.

Nothing daunted, Edge continued to direct his men with the use of a loud-hailer until a cease-fire could be arranged. He was finally evacuated, bleeding badly, to the field hospital at Kamina for emergency surgery. His pilot during the flight was a Swedish count, Carl Gustav von Rosen, who was so impressed by the bravery of his passenger that he named his aircraft Major Edge of Manomo.”

The Myth Of Fingerprints

Korean film Memories of Murder manages somehow to give a new and interesting take on the hoary police-track-serial-killer genre. The action takes place in a small, rural Korean town where the police are corrupt, incompetent, or both. When a killer begins claiming victims, an upright, methodical big city detective arrives from Seoul. Tensions arise between him and the lead local cop.

So far, so like every other police thriller you’ve ever seen. What sets Memories of Murder apart is its take on investigations: there is doubt here as to whether any methodological framework actually works. Is a fortune- teller better than DNA evidence? Or are both useless fictions which are used to mask a more intuitive form of detection? Equally interesting is the film’s decision to move into black comedy every so often, particularly when dealing with police brutality.

In short, this is a wonderfully atmospheric film, taking you to the apocalyptic Korea of 1987, where schoolchildren are drilled in escaping chemical attacks, and police aren’t available to prevent murders because they’re needed to “suppress demonstrations”. This film comes highly recommended.

“He’s A Very Nasty Piece Of Work – You’re Lucky To Have Him”

I’ve just finished reading Piece of Cake, Derek Robinson’s controversial novel about the RAF in 1939 and 1940. Controversial because this is a bleak, cynical, and blackly comic look at flying in wartime. As such, it’s rather like Hornet’s Sting, the same author’s take on First World War flyers. Something about the setting makes this a much punchier effort, though.

The concept of “The Few” in the Battle of Britain is a core part of the British national myth, with the young fighter pilots of the RAF held to be examples of everything good about Britain and the British. Robinson’s view of “The Few” is that it consisted mainly of morally blank undergraduates, with a smattering of swaggering crypto-fascists and cold-eyed psychopaths for good measure. At the heart of the novel is Pilot Officer “Moggy” Cattermole, a sort of Flashman for the Twentieth Century – except that Flashman was always intended to be a loveable rogue, and there’s nothing loveable about Cattermole.

The author’s skill is that even though these pilots are painted in pretty dark colours, they still do things which you’d have to admit are heroic – like getting into an aircraft five times a day in order to take on odds of five-to-one. Does this make up for their deficiencies? Perhaps. As Robinson points out, the fact that the men who won the Second World War were so flawed doesn’t diminish their achievements, it makes them far more impressive.

I Made It All Up, And It All Came True Anyway...

I've just lent my dad From Hell, which many believe to be the greatest graphic novel of all time (Yes I know, Emily, but face it, you're wrong). Really I'm just returning the favour: he started buying me Tintin books when I was about six, after all.

Generally giving my dad something as postmodern as From Hell is a bad idea. I still remember when we watched The Usual Suspects. Things seem to be going quite well, though. We've had several debates about the architecture and alignments of Nicholas Hawksmoor's churches and their possible significance, for example. No, that isn't an unusual conversation for me and my dad.

In the meantime, over at N.A.O.W.F.I.T., another part of my life has been embellished and exploited for the tawdry purposes of fiction.

Let's Put The Future Behind Us

I decided a long time ago that that would be the title if I didn't get AHRB funding - and I didn't. Fortunately for you: if I got it the title was to be "Tomorrow Belongs To Me". Fortunately for me, my parents are better to me than I could ever deserve, so "private funding" will allow me to start the PhD in September.

Thinking about it, I should have used my AHRB application to make veiled threats. Which brings me to the List of Things To Do. Various people have been prodding me to reveal how I'm doing. I've done 5. My visit to Brighton saw me achieve #1 (Visit Brighton), #2 (Hike The South Downs Way), and #32 (Think of Something To Do With A Tainted Feng Shui Statuette). I notice that a local shop has the film "Dagon" on DVD for £3, so maybe that'll be the next thing I do.

Last night, courtesy of BBC1, I watched Hawk The Slayer. Which is rubbish. Watch Krull instead. Or Legend.

Massive Retaliation

Fahrenheit 9/11 is not Michael Moore’s best film. The reasons for this can be found in the opening section of the film, dealing with the dubious circumstances of the 2000 election and the close ties between the Bush and Bin Laden families. Moore insufficiently explores both of these topics, and the conclusions he draws are therefore highly speculative at best. For example, although he does demonstrate some suspicious factors in the Florida recount, he fails to explain precisely why the Democrats were unwilling to more fully contest the decision.

Similarly, although Moore manages to establish the staggering level of contact between the Bush and Bin Laden families, is this really as damaging as he would have us believe? Moore attempts to place George W. Bush and Osama bin Laden close together by claiming that several members of the Bin Laden family attended the wedding of one of Osama’s sons in Afghanistan, despite the family claiming to have cut off all ties. Arab families are vast, and that probably counts double in the case of dynastic families such as the Bin Ladens, keeping track of all of your relatives and what they do must be a near impossible task.

Fahrenheit 9/11 becomes a much stronger piece of work when dealing with the Iraq war and the corporate scandals that surround Bush, because there is more evidence to work with, and so less need to resort to hearsay. Particularly interesting in this section were the clips of interviews with soldiers. Warfare has now gone postmodern: two tank crewmen discussed how they could link a CD player to the communications system of their tank and have a suitable soundtrack to combat. Here are two guys like me, who’ve grown up with Vietnam films where GI’s are pursued thorough the jungle by acid rock. In the 21st Century, you can make your reality like a film.

The later section also sees some of the best comedy of the film, which has always been one of Moore’s strong points. The absurdity of the "War on Terror" is demonstrated by the fact that it is illegal to take five books of matches onto an aircraft. You can only take four. Contrast this with the fact that a stretch of Pacific coastline is guarded by one man. And he’s part-time.

Overall, however, my impression of Fahrenheit 9/11 is one of a sprawling film which lacks the focus of, say, Bowling For Columbine. When Moore does land telling blows they are devastating, but the overall impact is lessened by the poor journalism that characterises other parts of his thesis. I do highly recommend the film though: not only is it the highest grossing documentary of all time, it may yet play an important part in the Presidential election. Fahrenheit 9/11 may not be Moore’s best work, but it could turn out to be his most important.