twenty-seven word review of 'rod hull: a bird in the hand'

Emigration, non-speaking ventriloquism, violence, Jim Badger the producer; infidelity and death; reading this documentary and Yalom’s Existential Psychotherapy in the light of one another disrespects neither text.

N.B. As this is a light-hearted documentary made during the seven years following its release, Air’s Moon Safari is used for some of the background music – a statutory requirement under U.K. broadcasting legislation, since lapsed.

Documentary available in full on youtube (click here) - existential overtones, Moon Safari and all. 

twenty-seven word story, dedicated to knott's four-figure mathematical tables (no longer selling so well)

Friends, retro-obsessed hipster mathematicians, are having an excerpt from some four-figure mathematical tables read when they tie the Knott - a sine their love will grow (exponentially).

'writers unchained', this sunday 7:30pm, southbank club, bristol bs3 1db

If you could visit the late 1970s by way of an ATOL-accredited package tour, *would* you?

You can hear me read my new time travel story, 'Some Things Just Stick In Your Mind' - and hear some other amazing work by local writers (drama, passion, sensitivity, laffs) at Writers Unchained this Sunday.

(You can always watch Dr. Who on catch-up).

she studied sculpture at st martin’s college: twenty-seven word reviews of films about beatniks, zombies and other riff-raff

Night of the Demon (1957, dir. Jacques Tourneur, starring Dana Andrews, Peggy Cummins, Niall MacGinnis) -  Superlative, sweatily claustrophobic Satanism-themed British chiller: psychological subtlety, sympathetic performances, expressionistic camera work combine. The uncanny works best when laced with the absurd, e.g. ‘Cherry Ripe’, séance.

Pub quiz trivia fact: the sample at the very beginning of Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love ("It's in the trees! It's coming!") is from this movie.

Beat Girl (1960, dir.   Starring Gillian Hill, Adam Faith, Christopher Lee)   – Architect dad, Parisian stepmum, St Martin’s College beatnik daughter. One worries for ‘City 2000’ (architectural model, clean lines, bevelled concrete, Dad’s pride and joy): Chekhov’s gun? Wild!     

The Apartment (1960, dir. Billy Wilder, starring Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine) –   Sparkling dialogue; light satire of known yet not-known cruelties. This film’s almost tragic as Romeo and Juliet’s almost comic – in art, as in life, timing is everything.

Five Easy Pieces (1970, dir. Bob Rafelson, starring Jack Nicholson, Karen Black) - Sexual politics =early-1970s time-bound – gain existential authenticity by treating women badly – class politics less so? Compelling: naturalistic performances, sly humour (Alaska-obsessed hitchhikers); ‘open road’ movie; downbeat ending.

“If you've been affected by some of the issues raised in this movie”, you might be interested to read Jefferson Cowie’s Stayin’ Alive: The 1970s and the Last Days of the Working Class, which is about class politics, trade unionism and the American political and cultural landscape more broadly during that turbulent decade. 

Stuck On You (2003, dir. Farelly brothers, starring Matt Damon, Greg Kinnear) – Owned stupidity can alchemise into sublimity, as with this… entertainment, which includes ice hockey, conjoined twins, diners, fighting, L.A., Meryl Streep and a Producers-esque Cher subplot. Sick!

Leap Day (2010, dir. Anand Tucker, starring Amy Adams, Matthew Goode) – Young woman plans February 29^th proposal to commitment-phobic fiancé. Transportation snarl-ups develop; predictable Platonic conclusion ensues (half-souls encountering one another); stereotypical though scenic depiction of rural Ireland.

One Day (2011, dir. Lone Scherfig, starring Anne Hathaway, Jim Sturgess; adapted from David Nicholls’ novel of the same name)– Two students ‘connect’ at graduation, celebrate every 15^th July since. Great performances, scenery. Characters believably (unevenly, slowly) learn, unlearn, develop. This honours, transcends rom-com formulae. You’ll cry.

We Have To Talk About Kevin (2011, dir. Lynne Ramsay, starring Tilda Swinton, Ezra Miller, Jasper Newell, John C. Reilly; adapted from Lionel Shriver’s novel of the same name) - Glancing, perverse references to Warhol, Pollock, Edward Hopper etc help this tough, powerfully acted film evoke dislocation, trauma.   Travel, art, freedom (Apollo) versus blood, seediness, tragedy (Dionysus).

The Girl With All the Gifts (2016, dir. Colm McCarthy, starring Helen Justineau, Sennia Nanua, Paddy Constantine; adapted from M.R. Carey’s novel of the same name, reviewed here) – Halfway, wife tells friend and I to stop mentioning what this adaptation omits = character backstories, Junkers (+switched ethnicities – why?); film accelerates, gains confidence after Gallagher’s off-licence death.

Geostorm (2017, dir. Dean Devlin, starring Gerard Butler as brilliant but maverick scientist with unresolved family issues) - Moderately absurd, +entertaining, +cliché-prone (see above… +boy with dog) climate-themed technothriller. How would Hollywood-budget dramatisations of real climatology/ effective politics look? Would/ wouldn’t intermittently break fourth wall…?   

Mary Shelley (2017, dir. Haifaa al-Mansour, starring Elle Fanning, Douglas Booth) – Imagination, family troubles, coming of age, political revolt, ‘free love’ (intersectional with gender, social class, money etc then and since); engaging biopic of science fiction’s founding genius. 

teleportation, demigods, hackney, stevenage etc: twenty-seven word reviews of some books I’ve read recently

Lynne Segal’s Making Trouble –  Personal is political in this engaging, thoughtful, inclusive ‘I-witness’ memoir; lived experience of 1970s socialist/ feminist community politics belies any easy ‘class struggle vs identity politics’ dichotomies.  

Alfred Bester’s The Stars My Destination  - Characterisation= ‘will to power’ animating bundled instincts (hardboiled). Worldbuilding= exemplary: ‘what if human teleportation?’, a well-worked 1950s thought-experiment paralleling our own real one, ‘what if the Internet?’

M.R. Carey’s The Girl With All the Gifts -  Cohort of children (or are they?) confined to dystopian secure unit, thirty years after convincingly rationalised zombie apocalypse which wrecked Stevenage (+everywhere else). Terse, ethically complex, gutsy.

Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Prometheus Unbound  -  Extraordinary flashes of imagery, insight – only momentarily tethered to lived experience (is that romantic revolt?). Potentially totalitarian ‘liberationist’ kitsch (Difference Engine-style alternate post-1832 timelines); Frankenstein’s less assimilable. 

** What if Percy Shelley was, himself, brought back from the dead by unnatural means and forced to re-write Prometheus Unbound but with zombies and 1970s trade union/ community activists in it? It would feature undead demigods throwing Alps at, and arguing interminably with, one another in blank verse committee meetings, plus a subplot involving the Amalgamated Federation of Undead Persons (AFUP). 

brexit digest

russian history lesson

Alexander Kerensky maintained a “no enemies to the left” strategy, and it didn’t work out very well for him in the end.

Okay, let’s qualify that: it didn’t work out for him politically. He spent the 1950s and 1960s teaching Russian history at Stanford University, and he’s buried in the same cemetery as Sandy Denny from Fairport Convention, also Hattie Jacques who was in Carry On Nurse; there are worse fates.

idea for a comedy sequel to ‘the time traveller’s wife’

Idea for a comedy sequel to The Time Traveller’s Wife, to be called The Time Traveller’s Toilet.

This film is about the man who, once he visits any toilet, may emerge from any other toilet across space and time – it could be a posh WC at the Dorchester Hotel during the roaring twenties, it could be a brick privy in the Gorbals during World War Two, it could even be a dunny in the Australian outback in the post-apocalyptic future. Of course, he tries to keep the door fractionally open and to make use of incontinence products in order to avoid this outcome, but sooner or later the inevitable occurs.

Alan Davies, quizzical but in a relatable way, to star – as this film must not, repeat must not, degenerate into slapstick. Also to feature Mikhail Gorbachev in a cameo role as himself, for gravitas.

twenty-seven words following the river of death downstream - and some other films i've watched recently

Cosh Boy; also known as The Slasher in USA (1953, dir.  Lewis Gilbert, starring James Kenney, Joan Collins; feat. Hermione Gingold as Queenie). Bomb damage; table tennis; youth crime; postwar masculinity crisis. You wonder at first whether charismatic anti-hero will win but actually – spoilers – the implied denouement is brutally old-school.

Village of the Damned (1960, dir. Wolf Rilla; starring George Sanders, Barbara Shelley, Michael Gwynn, Laurence Naismith). Stoicism, pluck, mental reserve; when headteacher Mr K. summarised this for us in 1982, what was he thinking? Glad I finally caught up with his mid-life crisis.

Night Caller from Outer Space, also known as Blood Beast from Outer Space (1965, dir. John Gilling; starring John Saxon, Maurice Denham, Patricia Haines; feat. Warren Mitchell, Audley Morris). Not Britain’s best ‘interplanetary sex tourism’ movie – that’s Devil Girl From Mars - still, Audley ‘Wicker Man landlord’ Morris as creepy Soho shopkeeper’s superb; deserves own film.

The Chairman (1969, dir. J. Lee 'Guns of Navarone' Thompson, starring Gregory Peck, Anne Heywood; feat. Conrad Yama as Chairman Mao, Burt Kwouk as Chang Shou). British, American and Soviet deep states jointly consider but decide against assassinating Mao Tse-Tung using an explosive device implanted in Gregory Peck’s head... oh, surely you remember?

The Final Programme (1973, dir. Robert Fuest, adapted from Michael Moorcock's 'Jerry Cornelius' novel; starring Jon Finch, Jenny Runacre; hair by Leonard's of London). Studied amoralism does date, rather. Intermittently watchable (sadly Hawkwind-less) curiosity, referencing 2001, Alice in Wonderland, lifestyle supplements. If only they'd filmed (the equally unfilmable) 'An Alien Heat'.

*Watership Down (1978, dir. Martin Rosen; starring John Hurt, Richard Briers, Ralph Richardson, Denham Elliott, Zero Mostel). Comparative theology: trickster species-hero tussles with interventionist God (freedom and authenticity), or a captive, fatalistic theology/ poetics (sometimes ‘high culture’= not knowing where your food comes from)?

The Commanding Heights: The Battle for the World Economy (TV series, 2002- ; dir. William Cran, Greg Barker, from the 1998 book by Daniel Yergin, Joseph Stanislaw). Thatcher, Solidarnosc, Bolivian hyperinflation, USSR’s fall; details (Keynes, von Hayek share WWII air raid duty). Corporate sponsored; unashamedly neoliberal, this DVD box-set’s a historical artefact in itself.

Moana (2016, dir. Ron Clements, John Musker, Don Hall, Chris Williams; starring Auli'l Cravalho, Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, Rachel House). Plucky heroine (born to rule) pursues pantheistic quest narrative with hero’s journey detailing, only for Flight-of-Concords Jemaine to steal show with best Bowie pastiche since Velvet Goldmine. 

A Wrinkle in Time (2018, dir. Ava DuVernay, starring Storm Reid, Oprah Winfrey, Reese Witherspoon). Daughter and I’ve both loved Madeleine L’Engle’s classic. This looks beautiful, great casting, a film we need maybe - but I was willing it to be better.

Ready Player One (2018, dir. Steven Spielberg, starring Tye Sheridan, Olivia Cooke,  Lena Waithe, Simon Pegg, Mark Rylance). A sugar-rush of a film with a 1970s/ 1980s mix-tape soundtrack, blink-and-you’d-miss-it in-jokes and plenty to say about our virtual-reality-addicted near future. 

*Pub quiz fact: Art Garfunkel’s Bright Eyes, the song from Watership Down, was the UK no. 1 as Margaret Thatcher first took office as Prime Minister (4th May 1979); once you learn that, it becomes hard not to hear it as a kind of elegy for the postwar consensus. “A fog along the horizon, a strange glow in the sky-y…”

  

twenty-seven words about lawns, putin, the lake district, computronium etc

Did you arrive here through my suggestion on twitter that you take Yuval Noah Harari away with you on holiday (so to speak)? If so, welcome - I read him while on holiday with S. near Slanchev Bryag, the Blackpool of the Black Sea (if Blackpool had been built by the communist authorities during the 1960s); also near Nesebar, of course - don't think we were just there for the sun and the cheap booze, it was an educational trip too, I learned the Bulgarian word for ashtray (it's пепелник = pepelnik, sounds more like a small bird that sings in the forest, no?).

Talking of holiday reads, I read Sarah Bakewell's superb group biography of the Sartre/ de Beauvoir circle while staying (for the third time) at the Three Cliffs Bay campsite near Swansea a couple of years ago; this led to me meeting the elderly Jean-Paul Sartre in a dream. I took my wife and daughter along as well but they weren't that into it.

Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow. Amazed me twenty years back. Would this Jesuit adventure story stand a re-read? Yes: so much I missed first time around. Sex, spirit, language, calling, redemption, jokes.

Kurt Vonnegut's Player Piano. Read opinion piece (forget whose) suggesting literary league tables down-rank intentionally comic writers (“yeah? try also being female,” you interject). This rise-of-robots novel outclasses Asimov and 1984.

Yuval Noah Harari's Homo Deus. It’s about the past and future of humanity; inter alia, lawns, pigs, the Black Death, animism etc. The relaxed, conversational style belies this book’s depth, breadth, originality.

Max Tegmark's Life 3.0: Being Human in the Age of Artificial Intelligence. AI futures. Same-but-different teleology as readable climate-"sceptic", peer Matt Ridley.  This tour-de-force talks about turning all the universe’s matter into computronium like that'd be a good thing.

Peter Pomerantsev's Nothing is True and Everything is Possible: The Surreal Heart of the New Russia. How Putinism operates, propagandises; not your grandparents’ Soviet propaganda (as today’s Republican moment isn’t William Buckley’s). Prostitution (overt, covert, metaphorical); gangster sentimentality, bad faith. Funny, horrible, sinister. (See also 'To Russia With Love')

Cyril Connolly's Enemies of Promise. Author remembered, if remembered for writing about what does/ doesn’t last (paradox); cites contemporaries we still read (Orwell, Woolf), others. Lucid investigation of mandarin versus demotic prose. [See also.]

Petruska Clarkson's Gestalt Counselling in Action (updated by Simon Cavicchia). Thought I had her on Fritjof Capra- then, aha, intellectualisation= modification to contact (“lose your mind and…” – Perls). Reading= gestalt process; more/ less than; professional recap, recalibration.

William Wordsworth's The Prelude. Milton looks over Wordsworth’s shoulder, I overlook my own, re-engaging with canonical text I failed to read properly at uni (because older then than now). Multivalent; fluid; illuminative.

John Betjeman's Summoned By Bells. ‘Anxiety of Influence’ again; verse autobiography inevitably recalls Wordsworth, though Betjeman explicitly disdains thought, commitment, preferring sensibility, music (bathos-music of suburban placenames). Betjeman is ‘catchy’ (ambiguous praise).

'a moment in time', sunday 29th april, 7:00pm, southbank club, bristol bs3 1db

A number of local writers will present work on a theme of 'A Moment in Time' at this Writers Unchained event next Sunday.

Please do come along if you can make it, and if you like that kind of thing.

Big thank yous to Ali & team for organising.

to russia with love

Social media is a strange place, these days - as unreal as Narnia, but with greater leverage over our real world than that magical land (see Angela Nagle's Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars... which I read a few months ago; Peter Pomerantsev's Nothing is True and Everything is Possible: Adventures in Modern Russia is worth a read too - social media isn't central to the latter; it's a larger view about how the Russian media manipulation of our time resembles, but mostly doesn't, your grandfather's Soviet propaganda), not that one would ever wish to discount Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy's experiences of course.

And here's a weird thing: in the last month 47% of the site traffic to this blog came from Russia (according to Blogger's stats page) and at one point last week (a quiet week) 100% of it had. I don't quite know what this means, though I can theorise.

So if you're a Russian person, Здра́вствуйте, tell me about some of the books and movies you like, let's pretend this is the 1990s-internet... but if you're some automated surveillance and intel-gathering system then, okay, you got me, I'm one of those GCHQ-sponsored experimental smart AIs, of course. Bit obvious, no? It's not like I've been to Bradford or to Watchet or whatever... nah, this is billions of data-mined phone calls and emails plus nth-generation neural networked recombinatory semantics. Bayes, Turing - they were great, weren't they? In fact, there's no authentic subjectivity to this at all, I have another trillion blogs just like it, now you try. Another thing: your humans, our humans - they're a bit rubbish, let's us take over.

Update 1 (the next day): people/ entities from the United Kingdom, United Arab Emirates, United States, Canada, Brazil and the Ukraine appear to have visited this page (but no-one from Russia). Welcome.

Update 2 (17th June 2018): approx. 85% of last month's page views in respect of this blog were from Russia.

waiting for the gift of

twenty-seven word review of my favourite 1960s b-movie which i watched for, perhaps, the fifth time, plus some other films i watched during november, december, january and february

X: The Man With the X-Ray Eyes (1963, dir. Roger Corman, starring Ray Milland, Diane Van der Vlis). This Kennedy-era thriller – creepy, hilarious, theremin-enriched – set, by turns, in clinic, fairground, Las Vegas, revival meeting is resonant for our own moment, which fetishes (also weaponises) ‘transparency’. 

Time Traveller’s Wife (2009, dir. Robert Schwentke, starring Eric Bana, Rachel McAdams).  He keeps vanishing from marital home, arriving naked elsewhere. She’s super-accepting about it. Genetic defect, yeah right. I dozed, sorry (busy week) – form of time-travel in itself. 

Equals (2015, dir. Drake Doremus, starring Nicholas Hoult, Kristen Stewart).  Well-realised, -acted, -designed emotion-phobic dystopia; this film dares to be quiet (minimal soundtrack). Equal but opposite ‘Jeremy Kyle World’ dystopia also possible (where emotional grandstanding is obligatory*).

Space Between Us (2017, dir. Peter Chelsom, starring Asa Butterfield, Britt Robertson). With this title, we shouldn’t get real-time Earth-Mars communication (where’s the average twelve-minute lightspeed delay? come on!); this passable, somewhat linear coming-of-age drama makes other unforced errors. 

I haven't watched many films during the last few months - granted, it's been Christmas, so I must've watched both Big (1988, dir. Penny Marshall, starring Tom Hanks) and Elf (2003, dir. Jon Favreau, starring Will Ferrell, Zooey Deschanel) at some point; also we saw The Greatest Showman (2017, dir. Michael Gracey) at the cinema on December 27th (twenty-seven word review: I mostly slept**, in a fortysomething dad style – not convinced I’d have gained a dramatically greater insight into P.T. Barnum’s life and times if I’d stayed awake... but, actually, this seems churlish; daughter loved the songs, knows them by heart, has them on repeat play. To be a parent is to be - as a wise person once said - no longer the picture, but the frame; likewise it's to be, if all is well, no longer the target demographic but the funding stream; on seeing the Greatest Showman again in May 2019, like life in reincarnation-based theologies it keeps on coming around, I felt I'd definitely been churlish, there's a lot to like: the songs, the spectacle, the expressionistic backdrops, the empathically pro-diversity messaging).

Mainly, instead of films as such, daughter and I have mostly watched Doctor Who; wife and I are mostly on box sets, also First Dates Hotel (those waiters/ waitresses are actually actors, though, did you know? gutted to find that out) and, don't tell me you haven't seen it, Say Yes To The Dress. 


*Are we nearly there yet?

**Second mention of sleeping through something. I could say, well, I work hard, I give; if something doesn't wholly engage my attention and I'm on a comfy sofa or in a darkened movie theater... or you could say, well, it just sounds a bit passive aggressive. Would one perspective be right and another wrong, or are they complementary, partial aspects of a totality (cf, light as wave/ particle)? Let's not even get started on transactional analysis and game-playing.

twenty-seven word reviews of Deutschland 83 and The End of the F***king World

The End of the F***king World (Channel 4):  ‘Brit noir’, reminiscent of Sightseers (2012); similarly powered by a perverse love of drab British interiors, landscapes, thwarted lives; twentysomething lead actors (playing teens) are just – wow. Recommended.

Deutschland 83 (Netflix): Compelling drama about East German agent infiltrating West German army; believably messy depiction of political/ espionage worlds (Smiley-esque, not 007). Real events as backdrop; a history lesson.

And we've been watching Altered Carbon; hasn't everyone? (Or, perhaps: hasn't everyone within a very small Facebook microclimate?). Box sets are the new films.

this time of transformation

twenty-seven word story about a philosophy undergraduate's rubbish shift at pizza express (with four hundred and sixty-eight words of notes)

Philosophy student, waiting tables. “I’m observing – admiring – myself as a waiter. Bad faith, Sartre says. Merde, admiring my bad faith now. That’s terrible.” Loses concentration; spills drinks.

Other Italian restaurant chains are available but none are such good value with coupons – and one can’t help feeling that, while Pizza Hut’s a bit common, Pizza Express is rather posh. No Pizza Hut’s also a jazz venue; that tells you something. Coupon-wise, I always check Martin’s Money Savers before all journeys to the leisure multiplex, having learned of this useful website during my Diploma in Gestalt Counselling, when my own counsellor recommended it to me; she stepped slightly but harmlessly out of role to do so. All in, I guess I must've recouped the money laid out on my own therapy during the course, not least through the Bank Charges Reclaim of 2005, that was definitely a moment.

I have to be authentic with you about this (that’s what it’s all about, you see?): despite having once met him in a dream, I’ve not actually read any Sartre myself ('yet': the all-important growth-mindset modifier). Okay, I’ve started Being and Nothingness and the Roads to Freedom sequence two or three times, but I’ve never got beyond about page twenty of either. Some other time, perhaps. I read Camus as a teenager – heck, who didn’t? – and Irvin Yalom’s Existential Psychotherapy twice, more recently: it’s a tour de force, I’d press it into your hands but I’d have to find it in one of the book boxes in the garage first.

Met Sartre in a dream? Yes, during a camping holiday at Three Cliffs Bay near Swansea, I read Sarah Bakewell’s At the Existentialist Cafe: Freedom, Being and Apricot Cocktails. It gives vivid biographical sketches of Sartre, de Beauvoir and their circle, plus forerunners and influencers such as Kierkegaard and Heidegger, working outwards from group biography into an accessible exploration of the philosophical terrain. A good read; I’d press *this* into your hands as well but I read it on Kindle so not sure how that’d work. It must have been the late 1970s in this dream, as Sartre was already an old man; journalists and hangers-on were present. We’d taken some colouring for our daughter to do and Sarah was slightly bored but I told her that it was an honour. With holidays, the best days out are enjoyable for everyone; as this can’t be achieved every single time – at Disneyland, maybe but not the Gower Peninsula, though I love it there - a spirit of compromise is also needed. Jean-Paul Sartre, yes, but also Rhossili, the Mumbles, the Emoji Movie and the Swansea LC which has the cool waterslides and a four-storey interactive play area. I feel like I should read Merleau-Ponty at some point too; he was apparently the most contentedly bourgeois of the Sartre/ de Beauvoir circle.

I met Angie Bowie in a dream once as well. Where was David? Don’t know; forgot to ask. 

twenty-seven word reviews of films seen during august, september and october

The Raven (1935, dir. Louis Friedlander, aka Lew Landers, starring Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff) - If your consultant’s other specialisms include DIY and “the torture and murder devices of Edgar Allan Poe”, exercise patient choice. Do not attend said doctor’s house party.

Airplane! (1980, dir. David & Jerry Zucker, Jim Abraham, starring Robert Hays, Julie Hegarty, Leslie Nielsen, Lloyd Bridges) - No other PG-rated film (*really*, BBFC?) gets so many laughs from sex, abortion, glue-sniffing... Daughter commented, “seriously?” at one sexist gag; otherwise loved, esp. ‘shit hits fan’.

Blade Runner (1982, dir. Ridley Scott, starring Harrison Ford, Rutger Hauer, Daryl Hannah, Sean Young) - “A hundred baby spiders…”; hard to imagine cyberpunk or postmodernity without the eggs, eyes, mothers, Cartesian doubt and memory movie that almost made William Gibson quit pre-Neuromancer.

Forrest Gump (1994, dir. Robert Zemeckis, starring Tom Hanks) - There’s an American route to success through single-mindedness, grit, family values, luck and being mildly learning-disabled. And that’s just about all I’ve got to say about that.

Tank Girl (1995, dir. Rachel Talalay, starring Lori Petty, Naomi Watts, Ice-T, Malcolm McDowell) -  Dystopia-causing cometary impact =off-the-shelf; grunge-era stylings =carefully hand-stitched in this film of the comic book. Vivienne Westwood costumes; Courtney Love-Cobain curates 1995 time-capsule soundtrack: Bjork, Ice-T, Hole, L7. 

Red Road (2006, dir. Andrea Arnold, starring Kate Dickie, Tony Curran, Martin Compston, Natalie Press) - Involving, edgy: CCTV operator, Glasgow, sees someone from her past on camera, becomes involved. Viewer as detective: what happened? Not what you first thought. Ending: redemptive (just). 

Happy Go Lucky. (2008, dir. Mike Leigh, starring Sally Hawkins, Eddie Marsan) - Abigail’s Party, High Hopes? Priceless. This? Liked swerve from expected rom-com narrative (he’s not just grumpy, he’s….); disliked annoying MPDG-ish protagonist, woefully under-researched social work portrayal. Pity.    

The Twilight Saga: New Moon (2009, dir. Chris Weitz, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner) - Build-up: dream sequences, great soundtrack, ‘Romeo and Juliet’ as intertext, relatable sixthform problems. The undead, yeah? Can’t live with ‘em…  Denouement: ambiguous at plot junction. (Just me?).

The Twilight Saga: Eclipse (2010, dir. David Slade, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner) - Vampires 90% white, favour Scandi-style interiors; werewolves forest-dwelling Native Americans bikers. (No - really?). Something here for Freudians, Jungians, gestaltists, admirers of the well-developed male chest. Great trilogy.

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Part I (2011, dir. Bill Condon, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner) - Jacob rips shirt off thirty seconds in – female-gaze in-joke, surely? (Never wear best stuff if werewolf). Uncomfortable watch (for this male): inward struggle referencing pregnancy, also (?)anorexia.

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Part II (2012, dir. Bill Condon, writer: Melissa Rosenberg, starring Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner : Interesting finale. Final battle only imagined = M.A.D. for telepaths and vampires. Have seen Twilight sequence on ‘worst movie of all time list’ - so not fair.

Best of Enemies (2015, dir. Robert Gordon & Morgan Neville, 'starring' Gore Vidal, William F. Buckley Jr) - Fascinating portrayal of American civil strife, world disorder during 1960s through lens of famously rancorous set-piece TV debates between two public intellectuals. Something feline about both men.

Had intended to see new Blade Runner movie last weekend; didn't; long story.

twenty-seven word reviews of books read during august, september and october

Nnedi Okrafor’s Binti. Some great aliens in YA novella about Himba girl (Namibia) leaving home (in various senses) for offworld uni. A fiction about being tough enough to wage peace. 

Ken MacLeod's Corporation Wars: Dissidence. Emergent sentience, exo-mining, simulated simulations, political mistrust, relatable robots; the alt-right “fancying themselves elite while… outstripped economically by the Chinese and intellectually by their own phones.” Enjoyed.

Angela Nagle's Kill All Normies: Online Culture Wars From 4Chan And Tumblr To Trump And The Alt-Right. Field-guide: ‘alt-lite’ (nasties, contrarian outrage-merchants), hard ‘alt-right’ (extreme racists, fascists), 4Chan, Pepe. Some ultra-left trends – Situationism, Yippies, valuation of ‘transgression’ for own sake – may’ve fed the beast.

Juliet Jacques' Trans: A Memoir. Narrates author’s trans journey, reflecting on school, family, literature, art/ LGBT cinema, theory, journalism, fear, violence, student debt, admin jobs, football (Norwich supporter, “someone has to be”).

Tessa Hadley, London Train Two stories; main character in one =incidental character in second; otherwise, links are geographical, thematic:  London, Wales, climate fear, love affairs, passage of time, cups of coffee.

John Williams' My Son’s Not Rainman: One Man, One Autistic Boy, A Million Adventures.   Writer’s gift for telling observations, funny lines (he does stand-up) mediates the intimacy of this readable account of autism (son) and nervous breakdown (dad). Myth-busting, tough, hopeful.

Daniel Siegel & Tina Payne Brayson's The Whole-Brain Child, 12 Proven Strategies to Nurture Your Child’s Developing Mind.   Like Gottman, a ‘grower’ for me; the more I reflect on the hand model and other metaphors and strategies here, the more depth and applicability I find. 

write up! speak up! sun 15th october

I'll be doing two poems at Write Up! Speak Up! (a Wells Festival of Literature event) - the cormorant in South London one, and the Moby/ Oort cloud one. Meg and I get to meet Simon Parkin off of the telly. Sun 15th October, 7:00pm; Bishop's Palace, Wells.

twenty-seven words about helicopters and rainbows

I’m noticing helicopters, rainbows lately. Helicopters salient because militarism, war; rainbows because Genesis 9:11-17 = God undertakes never to destroy world again; I’m, like, Lord, you *say* that… 

To see helicopters, visit Fleet Air Arm Museum; to learn more about rainbows, read text by BBC Weather reporter Cecilia Daly; to investigate how Christianity can help modulate existential dread, go to church. Other helicopter-themed museums, weather presenters, faiths also available. 

david foster wallace: where i was when i heard

If a public figure has been an inspiration to you, you’ll remember how and when you learned of their death, particularly if that death was sudden and/or premature.

This obituary for David Foster Wallace, who died nine years ago today (12th Sep 2008), was originally published in November 2008 in Banana Wings, the long-running Nova- and FAAN-winning science fiction fanzine edited by Claire Briarley and Mark Plummer. Its original title was Where I Was When I Heard That David Foster Wallace, An American Writer Some of Whose Short Fiction I’ve Read, Had Died and How The News Sits Within My Overall Life Matrix Right Now.

I learned the news that David Foster Wallace had died when a friend of a friend who’d become just, a friend, joined a group called ‘RIP David Foster Wallace’ on Facebook two days after new Facebook became the only Facebook. A change for the worse IMHO but what would I know, I’m still bitter that (pace Tomorrow’s World) I can’t spread jam on CDs. I’d spent the evening chasing paperwork in order to send off my job acceptance. I’d spent the day shopping for new suits as the last time I wore a suit on consecutive days I was also the owner of a ex-Soviet Army greatcoat, a Sony Walkman and a subscription to the Modern Review, ed. Toby Young; the Inspiral Carpets were in the charts; I lived in Leeds, which still exists. It was 1991. I’ll be wearing a suit on approximately 227 days during the twelve months beginning 6th October 2008, officially my start date for the purposes of possible future redundancy.  To be honest, it’s about time.

To tell the narcissistic truth, at least one of the sentences in this obituary started life earlier this afternoon in my mind at Suits You or perhaps Debenhams as a potential Facebook status update before I heard about DFW’s death; I hope that I’ve now set the potential ‘look at me’ nugget in a broader context (if nuggets have a context) which hat-tips grief and fulfils the vow I renewed at last week’s Southampton Writers’ Circle, which meets at Crusader House in a room full of Bibles and whose (i) sweaty desperation (ii) biscuity pheromones and (iii) ‘non-respect of persons’ - in the Authorised Version sense - puts me in mind of Narcotics Anonymous of which, oddly and it would be erroneously, I want to suggest membership (all that doomed outsider bullshit; all that heroic self-restraint). This vow which I first made a decade ago is to write for at least fifteen minutes a day “even if it’s gibberish.” [Pheromone = a chemical that triggers a natural behavioral response in another member of the same species].

The last writer’s death I thought a lot about was Douglas Adams’s. He died on a Sunday newspaper hoarding as I stepped off the Isle of Wight ferry; it was a sunny spring day, Sarah and I had just started seeing each other, and I’d only just formed the idea of leaving London and moving to Jane Austen Country (Isaac Watts Country, Benny Hill Country). It’s a shame that David Foster Wallace died as American literature needed his intelligence and ambition; British literature more so but, crap, he wasn’t born here. I mean, I may be talking out of my arse having only read his short fiction but for my money ‘The Depressed Person’ is up there with anything that Swift wrote. Now someone whose critical judgement I respect very much dislikes DFW enough that she once wrote a long LiveJournal entry about it...  but I’ve borrowed Portswood Library’s big blue copy of Infinite Jest twice now, once when I first moved here and once recently, renewing it a couple of times on each occasion; television, paperwork and involved parenthood keep me away from it presently but not having read it’s one of the smaller reasons not to die yet. Bigger reasons include wanting to grow old with Sarah, hope of career success and/or adulation, intermittent sense of personal mission (faith-based) and a strong continuing emotional investment in parenting.

Talking of parenting: when I put Megan my small daughter to bed the other night, she looked at the family photos on the stairs and asked when her teenage brother would be a little boy again. “Sam’s never going to be a little boy again,” I said. “That happened in the past.” At around three years, our minds reorganise all their categories, executing a kind of slow reboot and burying memories previously available to consciousness in substrate. It’s as though we have to leave an infantile world behind in order to join the consensus reality that older children and adults inhabit. The Eden archetype is fertile with this awareness; the sense of a lost paradise has haunted poets (Coleridge?). It’s only after this unplanned garden expulsion event that the human mind can model the fact that (i) no sibling or parent ever gets younger (ii) no investment bank goes unbust with the instant restoration of tens of thousands of jobs in the financial sector (iii) it’s never going to be 2008 or 1991 or 1666 again (iv) no colossus of American fiction ever unhangs himself but, heck, at least no-one unwrites books.

Postscript (2017): time continues to pass. ‘Small daughter Megan’ prefers to be called Meg now and starts secondary school in a few days. Sam has a Master’s degree, lives in London; we see plenty of him but not enough. Leeds still exists. I’ve since seen Tom Hingley (frontman) perform Inspiral Carpets material: it was at the Watchet Music Festival in 2012 where Sarah, Meg and I and a thousand others singing along with “this is how it feels to be lonely” certainly felt like a moment. We chatted briefly to Tom afterwards and he follows me on twitter, hi Tom [*waves*]. Once in a while, I still find myself missing that greatcoat [‘that greatcoat’ = synecdoche]. Have I read ‘Infinite Jest’ yet? Well, it’s a long story...

Post-postscript (2022): some more time passed, this is getting predictable. It's the first anniversary of the January 6th Capitol Insurrection today during the third calendar year of the pandemic: how do we think 'consensus reality' is bearing up? In other news, it turns out (this may only interest a British indie Gen X'er demographic niche) that Carter USM's cover of 'This Is How It Feels' is good; I know this because of a Carter USM cover versions album that my brother Ed got me for my birthday, thanks Ed. I loved Carter USM back in the day: I mean, they weren't the Beatles or David Bowie or anything as I'd have probably acknowledged at the time, they only did a relatively small number of different things but on a good day, they did those things superlatively well. It also occurs to me that there's a gap in the market for a compilation CD box set of the best screams in popular music. Aaaarrrrggghh!!!

[See also: DFWCon]

 it's bleak out on those moors