Thursday 11 December 2014
Calendars
OK, I wanna know exactly what is going on with the calendars, because it's starting to get irritating. The requirements I impose for such items are modest: girls, beaches, not too many cloths, oh yeah and some way of reading the date. This is the second year I've blanked while shopping for the new calendar, everything was hunky dunky right up till 2013 then all I see is footballers with their shirts off, bloody kittens and the kind of landscapes they hang on the walls of mental institutions. What happened, the cute girls go on strike or something? If you have a clue, please let me know.
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
Let's talk about grammar--only kidding, I'm not really a grammar fiend, not only am I not qualified to opine with even a modest authority on the subject, I just aint bothered about it that much. Yeah some things do get up my nose, I've just read a newspaper report with a [sic] inserted into a verbal quote, at least it's a fine demonstration of irony I suppose, we don't expect a great deal beyond the supercilious from our newspapers anyway. No, I just wanted to come out as having a bit of a Shakespeare bug and it think it was probably the lines, from act ii, scene ii of Romeo and Juliet that were responsible. George Sewell it was who recited them, not most people's idea of a Romeo type I would imagine but he was using them out of context in an episode of UFO, the 70's sf tv series. It's weird really, that a snippet inserted by a script writer to indicate a character's quaint foible, should spark such an interest. Of course being at rather tender age, nine or ten probably, and in the days before the internet, the efforts expended to track down the source of this quote, where limited to, "Where does this come from dad?". Fortunately, the Secondary Modern, at which my educational prospects were languishing, was transitioning to a Comprehensive. The early days of that social experiment saw the English curriculum elevated from, this is how you use a Biro, to a more aspirational level that encompassed some literary classics, which in my case included Romeo and Juliet.
In case you're not aware, Romeo and Juliet is considered: starter Shakespeare, light enough to be digested by young minds. To a certain degree this is quite apt, it does lack some of the classical references of other works and its rather less convoluted than something like Macbeth, which suffers a bit form being a teensy bit labyrinthine. One reason why Romeo Juliet might be a bit lighter in tone, is that it probably wasn't actually written by Shakespeare. It only appears in quarto and it's more or less universally acknowledged that the first quarto edition is reconstructed from memory, probably by actors who performed it. Later editions do embellish on this, quite a lot as it happens but there's a temptation to be suspicious over the authorship of those embellishments. This doesn't necessarily mean that you should view the work as something inferior to, real Shakespeare, because the text of the work actually benefits in some aspects. There's a quality of consensus about the work, a certain degree of erosion yes, but erosion that has come about through familiarity and the fondness you feel for that old chair, you should have thrown out long ago but it's too comfortable to discard. Yes, it is something of a melodrama but it's not completely without depth and you should remind yourself that it was intended to be light, even comic, depending on interpretation. The text benefits from this levity too, there's more room for some slightly frivolous wordage, a little bit of showing off without too much portent or meaning.
So I have something of an affinity with opening of act ii scene ii, it's probably this affinity that has spawned a certain dissatisfaction with most performances. It's unfortunate really that this scene is such a touchstone for Shakespeare, Romeo's opening words are the prelude, to what's regarded as Juliet's iconic, "...wherefore art thou...". Consequently, actors being actors like to throw their effort into leaving their mark on it. That's not really what should be happening, the previous scene, with its ribald allusion to medlars and graphic references to certain anatomical details (I think it's the 1st quarto edition, that remains un-bowdlerised), begs for contrast. Romeo doesn't have to do much, except look pretty and remember the lines, perhaps a good voice helps too but the words should do most of the work for him.
The other problem with performances of the scene is the opening line, "He jests at scars that never felt a wound". OK I understand it's metaphorical but the meaning is pretty clear, if not explicit, scars that never felt a wound aren't really scars at all are they? Yet there's this is in insistence on interpreting the line as: he jests at scars, yet never felt a wound, which is stupid. Let me explain why it's stupid, the previous scene shows Romeo's kinsman Benvolio and their friend Mercutio, searching for him after he's gone missing from the party they gate crashed. During the search they engage in lots of teasing, as they call out for their missing compatriot, over his infatuation with Rosaline, which unbeknownst to them, he's already moved on from. During the first act, Romeo portrayal as an effete youth indulging in self obsession through his romantic focus on a woman he cannot win approaches dramatic irony, as he mills around thinking he's the first man in the world to suffer an unreciprocated attraction. This narrative introduces a certain tension between Romeo and his peers, who perceive his relationship as the audience might, as a trivial youthful episode and it's this tension that is played out in scene i. So--when Romeo acknowledges his own folly, "...scars that never felt a wound" not only does that indicate a process of maturation, it also indicates an easing of the tensions between them, because he's vindicating their view of his behaviour. In the context of the scene about to unfold, this narrative makes a whole lot more sense than the one presented by the idiot seen petulantly proclaiming his wounds are still smarting.
I can see that, the last paragraph seems a bit of a rant, I don't really feel that I want to prescribe how a scene should be interpreted though, just expressing some incredulity at how some interpretations are arrived at. Anyway, lets have a look at Romeos opening soliloquy from the scene:-
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Some wordy gorgeousness there but it's not just piffle, fodder for Thespians to memorise and impress the ladies with. There's meaning in there, it's not the kind of profound meaning that'll reveal the meaning of life to you, it's meaning within the context of the broader narrative.
The line: "It is my lady, O, it is my love!" is interesting, have a look at the next line, "O, that she knew she were", it's short by five syllables. That short line is out of place in this position, that wouldn't be the case if this line came just before, "Two of the fairest stars..." but here it's a bit of a hiccup. I've speculated that the reason for this is that the previous line has been edited or rather amended, through iteration or a failing memory perhaps and that line should read: "It is my lady, O, that she knew she were!". Incidentally, the first quarto omits this portion of the soliloquy entirely. The themes within this soliloquy are balanced, or thrown into contrast if you prefer that analogy, that's a common Shakespeare trait. Look at the choice of words, arise juxtaposed with kill, vestal livery described as sick and green. Its also balanced in a temporal sense, split into two clearly delineated stanzas, if you'd care to think of it as a poem but I think it's obvious, the dramatic pause follows "...'tis not to me she speaks". After which Romeo bashes out a rather quaint and slightly awkward analogue, drawing comparison between Juliet's beauty and the night sky. I imagine this quaintness is what prompts its omission in some performances: huge mistake, it's this property, the slightly flowery musings of vain youth that marks the start of Romeo's transition and it probably presents a, usually overlooked, opportunity to introduce some levity into the scene.
I tell you what, just for fun, lets have a look at the first quarto edition version of this soliloquy, which runs from page 19-20. This time I'll include the opening line of the scene. The long s is rendered as a lower case f in the copy, as it is here:-
He iefts at fcars that never felt a wound
...
But foft, what light through yonder window breakef?
It is the Eaft and Iuliet is the Sunne.
Arife faire Sunne, and kill the enuious Moone.
That is alreadie ficke and pale with griefe:
That thou her maid, art far more faire than fhe.
Be not her maide, finfe fhe is enuious,
Her veftali livery is but pale and green,
And none but fools doe weare it, caft it off.
She fpeafes but fhe fayes nothing. What of that?
Her Eye difcourfeth, I will anfwer it.
I am to bold, tis not to me fhe fpeakes,
Two of the faireft ftarres in all the skies,
Hauing some bufines, doe entreat her eyes
To twinckle in their fphears till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head,
The Brightnes of her cheekes would fame thofe ftars:
As day-light doth a Lampe, her eyes in heauen
Would through the airie region ftreame fo bright,
That birdes would fing, and think it were not night.
Oh now fhe leanes her cheekes vpon her hand,
I would I were the gloue to that fame hand,
That I might kiff that checke.
It's a little different to the standard text isn't it? My Shakespeare bug is an occasional one, Shakespeare veneration throws up a couple of obstacles for casual interest, he's surrounded by all the huff and puff the pseuds can muster, consequently it's easy for a mortal to be put off by the subject. His familiarity can also pose a problem, I recall after a peformance of A Midsummer Night's Dream in Stratford, which was absolutly brilliant and well appreciated by the audience, I retreated to a pub with my companion. We happened upon a couple approaching retirement age, it became apparent quickly that they were buffs of the bard. Of course we enthused over our night of entertainment at the theatre, Oh how the easy delight of the hoi polloi must have twinkled in our eyes for them. My companion found it hard to reconcile their mildly disparaging commentary as we retreated from their company, quite quickly. I was just a little more tuned into the vibe, I told him that they'd probably been to dozens of plays from all over the place, experts such as them, would be a bit harder to please. "But they haven't even seen it!" he protested, say no more.
In case you're not aware, Romeo and Juliet is considered: starter Shakespeare, light enough to be digested by young minds. To a certain degree this is quite apt, it does lack some of the classical references of other works and its rather less convoluted than something like Macbeth, which suffers a bit form being a teensy bit labyrinthine. One reason why Romeo Juliet might be a bit lighter in tone, is that it probably wasn't actually written by Shakespeare. It only appears in quarto and it's more or less universally acknowledged that the first quarto edition is reconstructed from memory, probably by actors who performed it. Later editions do embellish on this, quite a lot as it happens but there's a temptation to be suspicious over the authorship of those embellishments. This doesn't necessarily mean that you should view the work as something inferior to, real Shakespeare, because the text of the work actually benefits in some aspects. There's a quality of consensus about the work, a certain degree of erosion yes, but erosion that has come about through familiarity and the fondness you feel for that old chair, you should have thrown out long ago but it's too comfortable to discard. Yes, it is something of a melodrama but it's not completely without depth and you should remind yourself that it was intended to be light, even comic, depending on interpretation. The text benefits from this levity too, there's more room for some slightly frivolous wordage, a little bit of showing off without too much portent or meaning.
So I have something of an affinity with opening of act ii scene ii, it's probably this affinity that has spawned a certain dissatisfaction with most performances. It's unfortunate really that this scene is such a touchstone for Shakespeare, Romeo's opening words are the prelude, to what's regarded as Juliet's iconic, "...wherefore art thou...". Consequently, actors being actors like to throw their effort into leaving their mark on it. That's not really what should be happening, the previous scene, with its ribald allusion to medlars and graphic references to certain anatomical details (I think it's the 1st quarto edition, that remains un-bowdlerised), begs for contrast. Romeo doesn't have to do much, except look pretty and remember the lines, perhaps a good voice helps too but the words should do most of the work for him.
The other problem with performances of the scene is the opening line, "He jests at scars that never felt a wound". OK I understand it's metaphorical but the meaning is pretty clear, if not explicit, scars that never felt a wound aren't really scars at all are they? Yet there's this is in insistence on interpreting the line as: he jests at scars, yet never felt a wound, which is stupid. Let me explain why it's stupid, the previous scene shows Romeo's kinsman Benvolio and their friend Mercutio, searching for him after he's gone missing from the party they gate crashed. During the search they engage in lots of teasing, as they call out for their missing compatriot, over his infatuation with Rosaline, which unbeknownst to them, he's already moved on from. During the first act, Romeo portrayal as an effete youth indulging in self obsession through his romantic focus on a woman he cannot win approaches dramatic irony, as he mills around thinking he's the first man in the world to suffer an unreciprocated attraction. This narrative introduces a certain tension between Romeo and his peers, who perceive his relationship as the audience might, as a trivial youthful episode and it's this tension that is played out in scene i. So--when Romeo acknowledges his own folly, "...scars that never felt a wound" not only does that indicate a process of maturation, it also indicates an easing of the tensions between them, because he's vindicating their view of his behaviour. In the context of the scene about to unfold, this narrative makes a whole lot more sense than the one presented by the idiot seen petulantly proclaiming his wounds are still smarting.
I can see that, the last paragraph seems a bit of a rant, I don't really feel that I want to prescribe how a scene should be interpreted though, just expressing some incredulity at how some interpretations are arrived at. Anyway, lets have a look at Romeos opening soliloquy from the scene:-
-*-
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
-*-
Some wordy gorgeousness there but it's not just piffle, fodder for Thespians to memorise and impress the ladies with. There's meaning in there, it's not the kind of profound meaning that'll reveal the meaning of life to you, it's meaning within the context of the broader narrative.
The line: "It is my lady, O, it is my love!" is interesting, have a look at the next line, "O, that she knew she were", it's short by five syllables. That short line is out of place in this position, that wouldn't be the case if this line came just before, "Two of the fairest stars..." but here it's a bit of a hiccup. I've speculated that the reason for this is that the previous line has been edited or rather amended, through iteration or a failing memory perhaps and that line should read: "It is my lady, O, that she knew she were!". Incidentally, the first quarto omits this portion of the soliloquy entirely. The themes within this soliloquy are balanced, or thrown into contrast if you prefer that analogy, that's a common Shakespeare trait. Look at the choice of words, arise juxtaposed with kill, vestal livery described as sick and green. Its also balanced in a temporal sense, split into two clearly delineated stanzas, if you'd care to think of it as a poem but I think it's obvious, the dramatic pause follows "...'tis not to me she speaks". After which Romeo bashes out a rather quaint and slightly awkward analogue, drawing comparison between Juliet's beauty and the night sky. I imagine this quaintness is what prompts its omission in some performances: huge mistake, it's this property, the slightly flowery musings of vain youth that marks the start of Romeo's transition and it probably presents a, usually overlooked, opportunity to introduce some levity into the scene.
I tell you what, just for fun, lets have a look at the first quarto edition version of this soliloquy, which runs from page 19-20. This time I'll include the opening line of the scene. The long s is rendered as a lower case f in the copy, as it is here:-
He iefts at fcars that never felt a wound
...
But foft, what light through yonder window breakef?
It is the Eaft and Iuliet is the Sunne.
Arife faire Sunne, and kill the enuious Moone.
That is alreadie ficke and pale with griefe:
That thou her maid, art far more faire than fhe.
Be not her maide, finfe fhe is enuious,
Her veftali livery is but pale and green,
And none but fools doe weare it, caft it off.
She fpeafes but fhe fayes nothing. What of that?
Her Eye difcourfeth, I will anfwer it.
I am to bold, tis not to me fhe fpeakes,
Two of the faireft ftarres in all the skies,
Hauing some bufines, doe entreat her eyes
To twinckle in their fphears till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head,
The Brightnes of her cheekes would fame thofe ftars:
As day-light doth a Lampe, her eyes in heauen
Would through the airie region ftreame fo bright,
That birdes would fing, and think it were not night.
Oh now fhe leanes her cheekes vpon her hand,
I would I were the gloue to that fame hand,
That I might kiff that checke.
-*-
It's a little different to the standard text isn't it? My Shakespeare bug is an occasional one, Shakespeare veneration throws up a couple of obstacles for casual interest, he's surrounded by all the huff and puff the pseuds can muster, consequently it's easy for a mortal to be put off by the subject. His familiarity can also pose a problem, I recall after a peformance of A Midsummer Night's Dream in Stratford, which was absolutly brilliant and well appreciated by the audience, I retreated to a pub with my companion. We happened upon a couple approaching retirement age, it became apparent quickly that they were buffs of the bard. Of course we enthused over our night of entertainment at the theatre, Oh how the easy delight of the hoi polloi must have twinkled in our eyes for them. My companion found it hard to reconcile their mildly disparaging commentary as we retreated from their company, quite quickly. I was just a little more tuned into the vibe, I told him that they'd probably been to dozens of plays from all over the place, experts such as them, would be a bit harder to please. "But they haven't even seen it!" he protested, say no more.
Sunday 23 November 2014
The wave
The surly depths can conjure up that which we, even in our most concietful imaginings, would baulk at, with our carefully acquired hoard of ridicule and a pittance of spite we labour to, not quite, quell the urgings of doubt. The drama, comedy and tragedy of human life rolls along the well beaten path someone dies, another is born we spend the time lying, stealing--murdering, If I met an honest man I wouldn't know his name but he probably lost it, face down in a ditch. Then something like the wave happens, in this place so dense with miracle and catastrophe, you would've thought we'd learned some lessons regarding the unanticipated. That's not the case it seems, for even with the days that rain meat and kerosene in New York to remind us, the butterflies beat their wings unheeded.
'What was it like before the wave?', she asks, as if it was an ordinary question, what's your favourite colour, how many people are in the world, what is Father Christmas bringing me for Christmas?
Startled, I do my best to satisfy her curiosity, 'It was different--people were different--er no, people were the same, it's just that...'.
'You didn't know about the wave did you?'.
Such candour concerning the wave seems incongruous, I'm embarrassed, it's as if she asked me to explain birds and bees to her while we were under public gaze. 'No--I didn't--but some others... well they didn't exactly know about it, they...'. She's pouting now, the pinkness of her lips turning pale under the pressure of frustration. 'It's hard to explain sweetheart, it's like when you first went to school, you'd never been inside one before had you?'.
'No Daddy, I hadn't'.
'No sweetheart, that's rhetorical, you're not supposed to answer those kind of questions'.
'Sorry daddy'.
'It's not necessary to apologize sweetheart, not for those kind of mistakes'. As she falls silent for a few seconds, I allow myself to believe I've diverted her inquisition but the tension on her brow belies the motion of thought beneath.
'Sometimes... people make very big mistakes--ones they should apologise for--don't they daddy?'. As the light catches her eyes fixed upon mine, I see a hint of heterochromia amongst the the green I once thought as uniform as the deep of the sea. Fugitive splinters of light, the tell tales of horse mackerel evading predators.
'Yes, sweetheart'.
'That's OK daddy--it was rhetorical'.
-*-
'What was it like before the wave?', she asks, as if it was an ordinary question, what's your favourite colour, how many people are in the world, what is Father Christmas bringing me for Christmas?
Startled, I do my best to satisfy her curiosity, 'It was different--people were different--er no, people were the same, it's just that...'.
'You didn't know about the wave did you?'.
Such candour concerning the wave seems incongruous, I'm embarrassed, it's as if she asked me to explain birds and bees to her while we were under public gaze. 'No--I didn't--but some others... well they didn't exactly know about it, they...'. She's pouting now, the pinkness of her lips turning pale under the pressure of frustration. 'It's hard to explain sweetheart, it's like when you first went to school, you'd never been inside one before had you?'.
'No Daddy, I hadn't'.
'No sweetheart, that's rhetorical, you're not supposed to answer those kind of questions'.
'Sorry daddy'.
'It's not necessary to apologize sweetheart, not for those kind of mistakes'. As she falls silent for a few seconds, I allow myself to believe I've diverted her inquisition but the tension on her brow belies the motion of thought beneath.
'Sometimes... people make very big mistakes--ones they should apologise for--don't they daddy?'. As the light catches her eyes fixed upon mine, I see a hint of heterochromia amongst the the green I once thought as uniform as the deep of the sea. Fugitive splinters of light, the tell tales of horse mackerel evading predators.
'Yes, sweetheart'.
'That's OK daddy--it was rhetorical'.
Thursday 20 November 2014
300, film vs book
While browsing the shelves in the local Sally Army shop I spied the 2 DVD edition of 300 the other day, since I hadn't watched it, I thought I'd pick it up for the 50p asking price and give it a spin. It's a pretty faithful vision of the comic so the idea coalesced that I might write a brief comparison. If you haven't read the comic or seen the film, I should warn you there's a few spoilers to follow.
Firstly, did you ever see that fick, U-571, if you don't recall, it was a WWII flick which reference the historical drama regarding German u-boat codes and the capture of the Enigma machine, all highly fictionalised of course. It was subject to some consternation over here at the time of its release because it was seen as an exercise in poaching glory from our own valiant lads, much in the same manner as the notorious Objective Burma, the flick with Errol Flynn. All a bit of a storm in a tea cup really because there was no way the flick represented itself has a fact based drama but that's the press for you, somehow these pointless battles over symbolism and national pride, gain significant portent when that nation is withering on the vine. Well Miller's 300 was subject to the same sort of criticism from some prominent quarters in the comic trade, I think Alan Moore called it "...poorly researched" when his ire had been piqued by a single line referring to Athenian patricians as, boy lovers. Miller's retort actually belied a rather better understanding of the history, as we conventially think of it, than Moore's accusation did but that's beside the point, anyone looking at Miller's 300 and expecting--history is not really playing hopscotch in the same park.
It's not totally devoid of historical interest but it has about as much to do with the conventional interpretation of classical history as an episode of Xena Warrior Princess and it should be appreciated in that light. I quite liked Miller's 300, when I say quite, I mean a lot. Miller's interpretation of the Thermopylae legend was a breath of fresh air, something to cut through the snot that congests the sinuses with most post eighties US comics. You get a good sense of Miller's method with all his artwork, let's just say he's not one to dawdle, not while he's got pen in hand anyway, his layouts are slightly more intricate and his care and skill with cadence is probably matchless amongst contemporary artists working in the medium.
Cadence is an extremely important and often overlooked aspect of writing for comics, I define it as the synthesis of image and word, with the goal of pacing the reading experience. We experience comics differently than we do a narrative conveyed through copy alone, as in a novel, there we take it in at our own pace. There are techniques for tripping up those scanning a page at apace, getting them to stop and smell the roses, so to speak but it's generally a losing battle and it's not something that is in vogue with today's popular authors. When a comic is working well, cadence can be seamless, when they're not working quite so well it can be an awkward encumberment, like reading through the over embellished dialogue that occasionally afflicts action sequences. The cadence in 300 isn't seamless however, in fact it's quite noticeable, if not intrusive, Miller has rendered the prose deliberately punctuated and taciturn, it's a Laconic ode, if that's not an oxymoron. It's a fitting approach considering the subject and it serves to underline the nature and character of the Spartans.
The Laconic ode is my first problem with the film, yes I do have problems with it although I did quite enjoy it. The film makes a fair attempt at emulating the comic's narrative style but it comes across as a bit shouty, more Brian Blessed than I can easily cope with, Gerard Butler being the chief offender, every time he would shout "Spartans!!!!!!" I wanted to wince. There are other problems with the pacing of the film, its makers chose to insert a couple of scenes one of which isn't so bad, it's the Tree bearing blossom, blossom that would attract flies as it should bees and bear only the fruit of such visitors' spawn, that right, it's laden with corpses. It's the kind of thing I could imagine Miller himself using, if the symbolism wasn't quite so familiar, as it is it's a little bit of a cliché and it offends in a manner that Miller was careful to avoid in the comic, in that it characterises the invaders as bad guy stereotypes and it's too heavy a weight in the mythologising of the Spartans as the good guys. Spartans in reality were pretty brutal to their own rustic villagers, an example of such brutality is that, during certain festivals, they were given licence to murder them, that's if you believe the history of course, which was written by Athenians. The other insertion into the narrative of the film is much more of a problem, there are several extra scenes inserted, dedicated to an entire sub plot that is absent from the comic. This would be Leonidas's Queen and the political intrigue than occurs concurrently with the action at Thermopylae. The motive for inserting this episode, which is quite a tedious obstacle to the flow of the narrative and replete with lumpy narrative conformity, is pretty obvious, it's almost laughable in fact. I can imagine the scene as the studio executive are seated around a black granite table pawing over a treatment or draft script, somewhere during the the proceedings a voice would be raised, "Where are the strong women in this film?". So integrity is backed, once again, into a corner, its fate sealed with contrived thrust of a sword into stereotype villain, gawd help us. Well at least it gives some much needed work to some actors but that's the only benefit that flows from this sub plot, which sees the queen of Sparta prostituted, coerced into a tawdry sexual liaison by her lascivious antagonist, only to publicly exact her vengeance upon this ravisher, with his murder. An act that coincidentally, exposes him as a traitor, as the gold he's been bought with spills to the floor, oh please stop it--my sides are hurting.
Beside the probably unnecessary insertions, the film makes several omissions, Stumblios is missing, along with the entire episode of his fall and subsequent events, quite an important omission, in my eyes. Stumblios is the nickname used to refer to Stelios, a seemingly inept lesser member of the ranks, who Leonidas rescues from a beating at the hands of his, over enthusiastic captain. Stelios progresses to the point where he delivers the blow to Xerxes emissary that severs his arm. This would put him in the territory of the right of passage stereotype but Miller is a bit cleverer than that. He uses Stelios to extract humour as he prompts amusement when his comrades dub him Stumblios, I challenge anyone not to laugh at that moment. Then he uses him to offer insight into the character Leonidas, who chastises his men by ordering them to forgo food and drink that night but instead of acting as a supercilious patrician, casually imposing a per capita punishment, on the heads of all for the deeds of a few, he elevates him, when Leonidas includes himself amongst the chastised. Something that elevates him to soldier, a soldier who avows his own culpability as well of that as that of the men under his command. It's an episode that is used effectively to engage the reader and draw empathy towards the Spartans, we laughed with them when we laughed at Stumblios, we feel their contrition as they're chastised. I think Stumblios might've been omitted for fear of offending, he draws on a stereotypical Greek name, which I'm sure is not authentic for the period, so he would offend on two counts. It's something you could get away with in a comic but it would draw out too many pedants and blue noses in a high profile feature film, unfortunate really because those aspects are part of what make him effective.
Ephialtes's tragedy is also affected by omission but it's harder to reconcile the reasoning for this, as he's introduced, twice he exclaims that his parents were right to save him as he endeavours to join the Spartans in their mission. When confronted with Leonides's rejection he throws himself from a cliff, attempting suicide as he shouts, "... you were wrong!". The film omits his endorsement of his parents and his apparent suicide, substituting an elaboration of his seduction by Xerxes in his harem. This throws a slightly different light on his betrayal, where in the comic, there's an an element of rebirth, a casting aside of his old life, the film reduces it to a simple act self interest.
One of the strengths of the book is the portrayal of Xerxes, who conventionally is, somewhat incredulously, portrayed as something of a clown, who it's claimed, was so enthralled by his own chagrin he ordered the waters beaten with whips when his bridge was swept away, uh yeah I'm absolutely sure that's what happened. Miller rightly junks that bilge in favour of that of a charismatic potentate, someone who you could actually believe could harbour ambition to subjugate the world and maybe even achieve that ambition. Xerxes weakness flows from the same source as his strength, the supreme confidence in own his own power, that sees him fashion himself as a god, that makes him a curiously unitary and compelling character. Miller keeps things brief with Xerxes, he's revealed through his influence as much as his presence, a device that allows a certain amount of projection from the reader. The film is faithful to Miller's vision but somewhat more explicit, where Miller hints at Xerxes rage, the film depicts him near apoplexy as he threatens to erase Leonides from history. On the whole, I'm quite impressed with the film's depiction of Xerxes, it's a little more baroque than in the comic but that works and his interaction with Leonides is reasonably well preserved, Rodrigo Santoro deserves recognition for a fine performance.
One aspect of the film's visual feel that does bother me, quite a bit it must be said, is that it's a little antiseptic in it's portrayal of the Spartans, they're all bit too uniform. Yes they're portrayed suffering the privations of war but they've all got neatly oiled pecs and abs as they're doing so and there's this weird bathing suit model feel about them, something that's not helped by the measures taken to preserve their modesty, if you catch my drift. On occasion it looks like they're all wearing swimming trunks, it comes across a bit contrived compared to the occasional depiction of the, tackle out, Spartans of the comic, who when they are covering themselves up, are achieving it with something not much more the size of a handkerchief. I would've prefered something a bit more rough and ready, you know, perhaps not every featured actor needed to have the same purposefully honed physique, a few bellies with some girth to 'em, maybe they should've hired a few cage fighters, I dunno.
So what's the conclusion then? well the film is pretty good fun, it's just a little annoying that it doesn't quite match the comic in subtlety. I wouldn't say that it doesn't do the comic justice, it's probably a pretty fair adaptation, one thing I really like is the studio feel it has to it and the stylised approach to photography, it makes it feel more like a homage to the comic medium. I think if I were Miller, I would be pretty pleased with it and I'm sure the cheque would help in that regard too.
Firstly, did you ever see that fick, U-571, if you don't recall, it was a WWII flick which reference the historical drama regarding German u-boat codes and the capture of the Enigma machine, all highly fictionalised of course. It was subject to some consternation over here at the time of its release because it was seen as an exercise in poaching glory from our own valiant lads, much in the same manner as the notorious Objective Burma, the flick with Errol Flynn. All a bit of a storm in a tea cup really because there was no way the flick represented itself has a fact based drama but that's the press for you, somehow these pointless battles over symbolism and national pride, gain significant portent when that nation is withering on the vine. Well Miller's 300 was subject to the same sort of criticism from some prominent quarters in the comic trade, I think Alan Moore called it "...poorly researched" when his ire had been piqued by a single line referring to Athenian patricians as, boy lovers. Miller's retort actually belied a rather better understanding of the history, as we conventially think of it, than Moore's accusation did but that's beside the point, anyone looking at Miller's 300 and expecting--history is not really playing hopscotch in the same park.
It's not totally devoid of historical interest but it has about as much to do with the conventional interpretation of classical history as an episode of Xena Warrior Princess and it should be appreciated in that light. I quite liked Miller's 300, when I say quite, I mean a lot. Miller's interpretation of the Thermopylae legend was a breath of fresh air, something to cut through the snot that congests the sinuses with most post eighties US comics. You get a good sense of Miller's method with all his artwork, let's just say he's not one to dawdle, not while he's got pen in hand anyway, his layouts are slightly more intricate and his care and skill with cadence is probably matchless amongst contemporary artists working in the medium.
Cadence is an extremely important and often overlooked aspect of writing for comics, I define it as the synthesis of image and word, with the goal of pacing the reading experience. We experience comics differently than we do a narrative conveyed through copy alone, as in a novel, there we take it in at our own pace. There are techniques for tripping up those scanning a page at apace, getting them to stop and smell the roses, so to speak but it's generally a losing battle and it's not something that is in vogue with today's popular authors. When a comic is working well, cadence can be seamless, when they're not working quite so well it can be an awkward encumberment, like reading through the over embellished dialogue that occasionally afflicts action sequences. The cadence in 300 isn't seamless however, in fact it's quite noticeable, if not intrusive, Miller has rendered the prose deliberately punctuated and taciturn, it's a Laconic ode, if that's not an oxymoron. It's a fitting approach considering the subject and it serves to underline the nature and character of the Spartans.
The Laconic ode is my first problem with the film, yes I do have problems with it although I did quite enjoy it. The film makes a fair attempt at emulating the comic's narrative style but it comes across as a bit shouty, more Brian Blessed than I can easily cope with, Gerard Butler being the chief offender, every time he would shout "Spartans!!!!!!" I wanted to wince. There are other problems with the pacing of the film, its makers chose to insert a couple of scenes one of which isn't so bad, it's the Tree bearing blossom, blossom that would attract flies as it should bees and bear only the fruit of such visitors' spawn, that right, it's laden with corpses. It's the kind of thing I could imagine Miller himself using, if the symbolism wasn't quite so familiar, as it is it's a little bit of a cliché and it offends in a manner that Miller was careful to avoid in the comic, in that it characterises the invaders as bad guy stereotypes and it's too heavy a weight in the mythologising of the Spartans as the good guys. Spartans in reality were pretty brutal to their own rustic villagers, an example of such brutality is that, during certain festivals, they were given licence to murder them, that's if you believe the history of course, which was written by Athenians. The other insertion into the narrative of the film is much more of a problem, there are several extra scenes inserted, dedicated to an entire sub plot that is absent from the comic. This would be Leonidas's Queen and the political intrigue than occurs concurrently with the action at Thermopylae. The motive for inserting this episode, which is quite a tedious obstacle to the flow of the narrative and replete with lumpy narrative conformity, is pretty obvious, it's almost laughable in fact. I can imagine the scene as the studio executive are seated around a black granite table pawing over a treatment or draft script, somewhere during the the proceedings a voice would be raised, "Where are the strong women in this film?". So integrity is backed, once again, into a corner, its fate sealed with contrived thrust of a sword into stereotype villain, gawd help us. Well at least it gives some much needed work to some actors but that's the only benefit that flows from this sub plot, which sees the queen of Sparta prostituted, coerced into a tawdry sexual liaison by her lascivious antagonist, only to publicly exact her vengeance upon this ravisher, with his murder. An act that coincidentally, exposes him as a traitor, as the gold he's been bought with spills to the floor, oh please stop it--my sides are hurting.
This particular aspect of main stream culture, represents a probably unprecedented imposition on creators interested in exploiting the main stream to disseminate their narratives. I have hinted on the topic in the past here, when I was still scratching my head to understand what exactly was going on. I'm still not sure I do have proper cognisance for the reasons behind it but it's a trivial matter to see that it is contrived. Imagine an adaptation of Little Women, where studio execs insisted on the insertion of a sub plot, involving bar fights, gun play and the heroic, self sacrificing deeds of some unsung masculine stereotype, be honest now, that's never going to happen is it?
Beside the probably unnecessary insertions, the film makes several omissions, Stumblios is missing, along with the entire episode of his fall and subsequent events, quite an important omission, in my eyes. Stumblios is the nickname used to refer to Stelios, a seemingly inept lesser member of the ranks, who Leonidas rescues from a beating at the hands of his, over enthusiastic captain. Stelios progresses to the point where he delivers the blow to Xerxes emissary that severs his arm. This would put him in the territory of the right of passage stereotype but Miller is a bit cleverer than that. He uses Stelios to extract humour as he prompts amusement when his comrades dub him Stumblios, I challenge anyone not to laugh at that moment. Then he uses him to offer insight into the character Leonidas, who chastises his men by ordering them to forgo food and drink that night but instead of acting as a supercilious patrician, casually imposing a per capita punishment, on the heads of all for the deeds of a few, he elevates him, when Leonidas includes himself amongst the chastised. Something that elevates him to soldier, a soldier who avows his own culpability as well of that as that of the men under his command. It's an episode that is used effectively to engage the reader and draw empathy towards the Spartans, we laughed with them when we laughed at Stumblios, we feel their contrition as they're chastised. I think Stumblios might've been omitted for fear of offending, he draws on a stereotypical Greek name, which I'm sure is not authentic for the period, so he would offend on two counts. It's something you could get away with in a comic but it would draw out too many pedants and blue noses in a high profile feature film, unfortunate really because those aspects are part of what make him effective.
Ephialtes's tragedy is also affected by omission but it's harder to reconcile the reasoning for this, as he's introduced, twice he exclaims that his parents were right to save him as he endeavours to join the Spartans in their mission. When confronted with Leonides's rejection he throws himself from a cliff, attempting suicide as he shouts, "... you were wrong!". The film omits his endorsement of his parents and his apparent suicide, substituting an elaboration of his seduction by Xerxes in his harem. This throws a slightly different light on his betrayal, where in the comic, there's an an element of rebirth, a casting aside of his old life, the film reduces it to a simple act self interest.
One of the strengths of the book is the portrayal of Xerxes, who conventionally is, somewhat incredulously, portrayed as something of a clown, who it's claimed, was so enthralled by his own chagrin he ordered the waters beaten with whips when his bridge was swept away, uh yeah I'm absolutely sure that's what happened. Miller rightly junks that bilge in favour of that of a charismatic potentate, someone who you could actually believe could harbour ambition to subjugate the world and maybe even achieve that ambition. Xerxes weakness flows from the same source as his strength, the supreme confidence in own his own power, that sees him fashion himself as a god, that makes him a curiously unitary and compelling character. Miller keeps things brief with Xerxes, he's revealed through his influence as much as his presence, a device that allows a certain amount of projection from the reader. The film is faithful to Miller's vision but somewhat more explicit, where Miller hints at Xerxes rage, the film depicts him near apoplexy as he threatens to erase Leonides from history. On the whole, I'm quite impressed with the film's depiction of Xerxes, it's a little more baroque than in the comic but that works and his interaction with Leonides is reasonably well preserved, Rodrigo Santoro deserves recognition for a fine performance.
One aspect of the film's visual feel that does bother me, quite a bit it must be said, is that it's a little antiseptic in it's portrayal of the Spartans, they're all bit too uniform. Yes they're portrayed suffering the privations of war but they've all got neatly oiled pecs and abs as they're doing so and there's this weird bathing suit model feel about them, something that's not helped by the measures taken to preserve their modesty, if you catch my drift. On occasion it looks like they're all wearing swimming trunks, it comes across a bit contrived compared to the occasional depiction of the, tackle out, Spartans of the comic, who when they are covering themselves up, are achieving it with something not much more the size of a handkerchief. I would've prefered something a bit more rough and ready, you know, perhaps not every featured actor needed to have the same purposefully honed physique, a few bellies with some girth to 'em, maybe they should've hired a few cage fighters, I dunno.
So what's the conclusion then? well the film is pretty good fun, it's just a little annoying that it doesn't quite match the comic in subtlety. I wouldn't say that it doesn't do the comic justice, it's probably a pretty fair adaptation, one thing I really like is the studio feel it has to it and the stylised approach to photography, it makes it feel more like a homage to the comic medium. I think if I were Miller, I would be pretty pleased with it and I'm sure the cheque would help in that regard too.
Monday 17 November 2014
Superman, True Brit
I've hinted in the past that I'm not keen on most critique, yeah I know it can be amusing, compelling even and on the odd occasion, a brilliant exposition of its authors insight and talents but the overwhelming majority is more than slightly disingenuous. There are several reasons behind this, the tendency to aim critique at a creator, rather than the creation and the herd mentality for which the imperative can be so compelling, it's far from unique to see folk dismissing work that they have absolutely no personal knowledge of. I once witnessed a pundit of no mean repute, offering a withering appraisal of a BBC popular drama serial. Her stream of pithy observations on the acting and narrative techniques were going down quite well amongst her peers, on BBC2's The Late Show when she made the unfortunate error of deriding the choice of incidental music. It was unfortunate because the BBC had chosen to advertise the program with a number of trailers overdubbed with music from On Her Majesty's Secret Service, music that didn't feature in the program itself. When it became apparent that she'd only watched the trailers and not the show itself, her colleague and host interjected hastily, cutting short her diatribe, much to her chagrin I imagine, until he would prompt her on her faux pas later in the hospitality suite.
Even when critique is good it can only ever be a response, true creativity lies with those brave enough to lay their gnads out there and risk getting them stomped on. Even so, every once in a while you encounter a work that instils the urge to berate it and its creator, so powerfully that it's impossible to resist, such a work is True Brit.
True Brit is one of the comics to come from DC's Elseworlds imprint, written by Kim "Howard" Johnson with some contribution ostensibly by John Cleese. The extent of Cleese's creative input is unclear, what is clear, is that his name is seen as important enough a contributor to sales potential, that he's listed as the sole author in certain places, like Amazon for instance. Like all of DC's Elseworld books, True Brit's plot revolves around a what if scenario, in this instance that would be: what if Kal El's spaceship landed in Gloucestershire and the prospective superman adopted by a typical British couple, you know, a bit like Red Son.
Unlike Red Son though, True Brit is played for laughs, of course it is, they wouldn't make such a fuss over Cleese's involvement if it weren't and I imagine the perceptual bias of Britain prevalent in the US would make the consideration of straight treatment impossible. That's OK though, humour needn't be tedious, it can be vital, satirical, offer insight and sidestep taboos--cant' it? Yeah well it can and who knows, maybe if a British author who'd contributed more than just his name to the project had been involved, that might have been the case but True Brit, I'm afraid, offers none of that. I don't think there's too great a risk in speculating that Kim quote Howard unquote Johnson is not a native Englander, nor has he spent a great deal of time in this once sceptred isle, so being somewhat handicapped with a paucity of first hand experience he's had to fall back on the device of recycling familiar stereotype. Alas this reliance on hackneyed material is not Johnson's only shortcoming as regards to humour, his painful attempts at surreal wit and punning are enough to sedate all inclination to laughter, one example being, the revelation of The Batman. Let me give you a clue: The Batman, man, cricket bat, grotesque accident, oh so hilarious juxtaposition--hmmmm.
It's been a long while since any work of fiction has instilled such a feeling of resentment in me, in fact I'm not sure if anything has, possibly the only thing that's come close is when Doctor Who was turned into side kick for the Chuckle Brothers. There's a thread of commonality there, that of an established character, invested with a weighty mythos being butchered before your eyes, that's not the reason for my resentment I think though. It's the utter waste of time and resources, not just my time reading the bloody thing, John Bryne did the artwork for it. Although not one of my personal favourites, he's a flipping legend in the comic world, what the hells he doing on this?
One finally word on the topic, if you were ever interested in comics you probably made some attempt at a strip while you were still in short trousers. I'm telling you honestly that strip, written when you were eleven and drawn in crayon, THAT's a better comic than True Brit, yes it is that bad.
Even when critique is good it can only ever be a response, true creativity lies with those brave enough to lay their gnads out there and risk getting them stomped on. Even so, every once in a while you encounter a work that instils the urge to berate it and its creator, so powerfully that it's impossible to resist, such a work is True Brit.
-*-
True Brit is one of the comics to come from DC's Elseworlds imprint, written by Kim "Howard" Johnson with some contribution ostensibly by John Cleese. The extent of Cleese's creative input is unclear, what is clear, is that his name is seen as important enough a contributor to sales potential, that he's listed as the sole author in certain places, like Amazon for instance. Like all of DC's Elseworld books, True Brit's plot revolves around a what if scenario, in this instance that would be: what if Kal El's spaceship landed in Gloucestershire and the prospective superman adopted by a typical British couple, you know, a bit like Red Son.
Unlike Red Son though, True Brit is played for laughs, of course it is, they wouldn't make such a fuss over Cleese's involvement if it weren't and I imagine the perceptual bias of Britain prevalent in the US would make the consideration of straight treatment impossible. That's OK though, humour needn't be tedious, it can be vital, satirical, offer insight and sidestep taboos--cant' it? Yeah well it can and who knows, maybe if a British author who'd contributed more than just his name to the project had been involved, that might have been the case but True Brit, I'm afraid, offers none of that. I don't think there's too great a risk in speculating that Kim quote Howard unquote Johnson is not a native Englander, nor has he spent a great deal of time in this once sceptred isle, so being somewhat handicapped with a paucity of first hand experience he's had to fall back on the device of recycling familiar stereotype. Alas this reliance on hackneyed material is not Johnson's only shortcoming as regards to humour, his painful attempts at surreal wit and punning are enough to sedate all inclination to laughter, one example being, the revelation of The Batman. Let me give you a clue: The Batman, man, cricket bat, grotesque accident, oh so hilarious juxtaposition--hmmmm.
It's been a long while since any work of fiction has instilled such a feeling of resentment in me, in fact I'm not sure if anything has, possibly the only thing that's come close is when Doctor Who was turned into side kick for the Chuckle Brothers. There's a thread of commonality there, that of an established character, invested with a weighty mythos being butchered before your eyes, that's not the reason for my resentment I think though. It's the utter waste of time and resources, not just my time reading the bloody thing, John Bryne did the artwork for it. Although not one of my personal favourites, he's a flipping legend in the comic world, what the hells he doing on this?
One finally word on the topic, if you were ever interested in comics you probably made some attempt at a strip while you were still in short trousers. I'm telling you honestly that strip, written when you were eleven and drawn in crayon, THAT's a better comic than True Brit, yes it is that bad.
Thursday 18 September 2014
Party Tricks
Here's a neat trick question to pose if the opportunity presents itself, in such circumstances as a genteel gathering with family members, one where such pastimes as charades and word games might be practiced:
Who was the first person to be appointed Prime Minister in the British Parliament?
Make sure you write the question down because Robert Walpole, is the answer that will spring forth from all the smart alecs in the room. Although he's is reasonably considered to be the first Prime Minister, the actual title of such, that is: Prime Minister, didn't become official until much later, the official title being, First Lord of the Treasury. You need to write the question down of course, to quell the dissent and quibbling over your wording, when you, oh so graciously, enlighten your companions with the correct answer, that being: Henry Campbell-Bannerman.
Campbell-Bannerman was Scottish of course, so it seemed rather apt to me, on this auspicious day, to highlight his contributions to political life, which were not at all meagre. Campbell-Bannerman was the sane man in the monkey house when the nation was gripped with war fever and its his opposition to and resolution of, the second Boer War that most resonates with me.
I wonder how history would've played out without his contribution? It's impossible to draw any conclusions of course, other than those born from speculation but it seems to me that his, methods of barbarism, speech is a pivotal point in our history.
Who was the first person to be appointed Prime Minister in the British Parliament?
Make sure you write the question down because Robert Walpole, is the answer that will spring forth from all the smart alecs in the room. Although he's is reasonably considered to be the first Prime Minister, the actual title of such, that is: Prime Minister, didn't become official until much later, the official title being, First Lord of the Treasury. You need to write the question down of course, to quell the dissent and quibbling over your wording, when you, oh so graciously, enlighten your companions with the correct answer, that being: Henry Campbell-Bannerman.
Campbell-Bannerman was Scottish of course, so it seemed rather apt to me, on this auspicious day, to highlight his contributions to political life, which were not at all meagre. Campbell-Bannerman was the sane man in the monkey house when the nation was gripped with war fever and its his opposition to and resolution of, the second Boer War that most resonates with me.
Friday 12 September 2014
Jacques Brel
I've been to Brussels and it's a place that doesn't live to the stereotype, at least in my eyes anyway. It was quite a while ago and I'm sure it's changed a lot since, but I witnessed a city of quite eerie contrasts. I'm told the city was built up substantially from the profits of Belgian colonial exploits and it was interesting to see that, although the northern baroque portion of the city was well tended and restored, the 19th century quarters were left in incongruous state of the decay. Almost as if the city were a living entity trying to leave the past behind, as it chased a future as a modern European hub of commerce, free from the associations of colonialism.
I was there scouting for a project that never took off the ground but it wasn't an altogether fruitless trip, the museum of modern art was well worth the effort alone. Unfortunately though one of the main attractions, Le Théâtre Royal de Toone, Toone's, as we refereed to it on the trip, was inaccessible, being booked solid.
Name a famous Belgian is a game oft spawned when the subject turns to that nation and although I'm no expert on the country, I know enough to disrupt the anticipated hilarity. The person in question would be Jacques Brel, yeah that's right he's not French but Belgian, there's at least a chance though, that you've never heard of him. If that should be the case, then think of some of those embarrassing songs peddled by the balladeers of yesteryear like: If You Go Away--Dusty Springfield, et al and Seasons in the Sun--Jerry Tacks or would that be Terry Jacks? Well it turns out they're rather mawkish translations of Brel's original works, which, in their original form, are rather more--vibrant. Anyway to prove the point, here's Brel performing one of his own works, that happened to be one work of his that wasn't accompanied with a wobbly chin when performed in English by Alex Harvey, of The Sensational Alex Harvey Band.
Monday 1 September 2014
Dirty Helmut
This one's a littler further than a doodle, I even did it on paper. It's for a single page comic strip I've been pondering, I'll probably wont take any further than the pondering, but who knows. If you take a close look at the image you might spot one of the disadvantages inherent with graphite pencils, the metallic sheen that is usually apparent to some degree, it's conspicuous here because I snapped it with a flash.
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| Sind hier sieben Schüsse raus oder nur sechs? |
Monday 25 August 2014
The doodle files 6
Some doodles again, these were all done on the my desk top again, which is becoming quite grimy with the residue from the various pencils I keep scrbbling on its surface with.
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| Just some crazy chick. |
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| Steve Zodiac, a doodle executed while pondering an alternative illustration to Fireball. |
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| This would be a sketch of Robert, again for the Fireball story. |
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| This one is a real crazy chick but her left eye is a bit wonky, cos it's really supposed to be covered up. |
Saturday 12 July 2014
Fireball (fiction)
About this: A very short story, it's could probably be categorised as fan fiction I've included an updated version of that xl5 illustration and should offer a warning it does throw up some fruity language, mostly confined to the start though.
Fireball
'Z'dayak -- Steve Z'dayak!' Steve enunciated firmly into his communications mike, an image of girl a smirking at his contrived pronunciation wormed through his mind as he waited for a response. Sure enough the girl's tone attested to the amusement she's gleaned during the few seconds she'd stolen to, not quite effectively, quell her chuckling.
'Ehem yes Mr. -- Zed - ay - aher -ak! -- we're waiting for your clearance to the enter the outer traffic control zone. If you can hold your present pattern, we'll give you clearance shortly, control out'.
'Bitch!' Steve Zodiac wasn't sure if he closed his mike in time to mask his petulance as he threw his headset at the console, 'it's Captain Zodiac - you fucking cow!'.
'Now now, you know that military designations are optional for civilian flight control, Captain -- Z'dayak,' said Venus as she stepped into the flight deck. Steve didn't have to turn to witness the smirk on his female colleague's face. The fact that she'd caught him out pronouncing the name he'd been baptised with would certainly have accentuated that expression which seemed to be permanently stamped onto her fizog.
'What is it?' he inquired, he kept his face turned towards the flight console with faux attentiveness.
'Oh I've just come to ask Robert if he'd like to watch a movie in the leisure suit, we are holding for flight control -- aren't we?' Venus made it perfectly clear she was aware that Steve's apparent preoccupation with the flight controls was a pantomime.
'MOVIE -- MOVIE!' Robert piped as he sat in the copilot's chair.
'I need the robot here, clearance will be through in a few minutes!'
'Captain, with all due respect...' does anyone use that phrase, thought Steve, when they have an ounce of respect for the person they're addressing, '...according to Space Patrol guidelines, Robert...' she pronounced the name with deliberate emphasis '...should be afforded the same working practices as human crew members, to ensure optimum effectiveness. He's been on the flight deck for four hours, which mean he's due for a twenty minute break'. Yeah twenty minutes with which you do what together, thought Steve, watch a movie? Venus's and Robert's relationship was a source of constant ire to Steve, Robert was a true Robot, a synthetic human of sorts but with a rather limited personality, a limitation imposed by the current state of the art of robotics. The state of that art though, was advanced enough to endow Robert with the full complement of human physical characteristics.
'I've been here six hours!'.
'Yes Captain, I'm aware rank does come with certain commitments,' said Venus 'but I really must insist, we don't want to make an issue out of this -- do we?'.
'ISSUE -- ISSUE, DON'T WANT TO MAKE ISSUE!' Robert bleeped, somehow I don't think that'll be a problem, thought Steve.
Steve festered inwardly at Venus's veiled threat, his reprimand for his conduct with her predecessor had already put a break on his career. He was stuck on this rust bucket XL5, known by the name Fireball by the rest of Space Patrol, an ironic reference to its reputation as being the slowest ship in the fleet. He was going to put his foot down this time though. 'No -- we're not going to make an issue out of this, he's needed on the flight deck. Regulations give me prerogative to override scheduled breaks when there's a clear imperative for a crew member to remain at his station'.
'REMAIN AT STATION!' Steve thought he could detect a hint of disappointment in Robert's metallic synthesized drone, 'REMAIN AT STATION!' Randy bastard.
'Fireball, Fireball, Fireball XL5' the communicator rattled with the voice of the female flight controller, abruptly interrupting the discourse.
Steve fumbled for his headset, 'What?' he barked into his mike a he placed it on his head, then his gathered his composure quickly, 'Er, Xl5, Xl5, Xl5 -- responding, control'.
'Please observe voice communications protocol, Fireball'.
'The call sign's Xl5 control' Steve was eager to reciprocate the supercilious tone.
Undeterred the faceless controller continued, 'We have a delay here -- FIREBALL, you need to hold for another two hours, can you acknowledge?'.
'Roger -- two hours delay,' he said with a grunt that betrayed his exasperation.
'Thank you Fireball, control out'.
'So -- no imperative then, Robert's free to come with me,' Venus smirked.
'FREE TO COME -- FREE TO COME,' yeah I bet you are.
'Yes -- you go, just leave me here' Robert jumped from his his flight seat with something too akin to eagerness for Steve's comfort, then they left the flight deck together. 'Have fun,' he uttered when he felt sure they were out of earshot.
'Two hours,' Steve moaned to himself, 'two hours of staring into bloody blackness, why did they make the observation canopies on these bloody flight decks so huge? what the bloody hell is there to look at. That bloody robot better be back here in twenty minutes,' he said as he checked the chronograph on the flight control panel. He started to absent mindedly strum his fingers on the instrument panel, as he did so he accidentally flipped the cover of the main retro switch, 'Oh bugger!'. He folded his arms and sat silently for a few moments, then lapsed into daydream.
To pass the time on such occasions, Steve had fostered a elaborate but a rather unimaginative fantasy life. He was Colonel Zodiac and no one laughed at his name in his world. Somewhat incongruously for someone of such advanced rank, he was still an acting Space Patrol pilot, an inconsistency he never bothered to reconcile. Instead of exercising his imagination to explore The Lost Planet of Nubile Nymphomaniacs, he'd concern his meandering thoughts with petty revenge on those who frustrated him or drew his envy in reality. Venus was a compliant ingénue, attentive to his every word, Matt his able chief engineer, a myopic scatterbrain, Robert a grotesque android constructed from waste perspex and yoghurt cartons. This time though, the inadequacies that plagued his reality permeated his subconscious and the strings he'd tug to manipulate the characters of his fantasy coalesced into a physical form. His characters turned into marionettes and inside his mind he couldn't stem the transformation, it continued until his entire world was populated exclusively with caricatures hopping around on strings. When he looked into his fantasy world mirror and saw the comically furtive eyes of a puppet staring back at him, his fantasy concluded abruptly.
Startled by this exit from his fantasy world, he tried to think of something to take his mind off the experience and pass the time. Then it occurred to him that he could review the Space Patrol bulletins, the last thing he normally choose to occupy himself, although he was supposed to attend to that task daily. 'Let me see,' he said as he thumbed through the bulletins on his clipboard, 'new procedures for engine maintenance, Oh I'll have to tell Matt about that. Nutritional guidelines, blah blah, Oh what's this -- product warning for XK2ooo robot personnel'. After a few moments reading Steve flipped on the internal communication switch, 'Venus, call the flight deck please'.
Moments later Venus's voiced broke in over the communications system, 'Yes!' she didn't sound too pleased.
'Look, I don't need Robert here for an hour or so, tell him to take an extended break, Oh and by the way, I've released the lockout on the zero g facility for the leisure suite'. Steve knew the prospect of zero g gymnastics would ensure that Venus and Robert availed themselves of that facility, his face broke into a wicked smile.
ITEM 9 PRODUCT WARNING XK2000 ROBOT PERSONNEL
As a result of a notification from the manufacturer, Cyberdrone Systems Inc. The following additional operational parameters for the XK2000 robot have been set:
1. The XK2000 should at no time be operated in zero g environment, doing so can seriously compromise the XK2000's operational effectiveness.
2. Crew members, should refrain from certain: recreational practices in the presence of the XK2000 while there is a risk of encountering a zero g environment.
Note:
Failure to comply with the above will seriously compromise the fabric of the unit's dermal component, causing the chemical bonds of a constituent of that component to break down. Subsequent to component failure the unit's skin will revert to a gelatinous form. While this fault does not represent a hazard to crew members, several units have already failed in this manner and crew members report that the adhesive properties of the consequent gelatinous mass are such that it will adhere to human skin with a bond of indeterminate but substantial strength. This bond can not be safely broken until the skin's decomposition is complete, a process that takes approximately four days. This failure is accompanied by a strong odour, similar to that of decomposing herring.
ITEM 10 XK KIPPER
The following directive has been issued by the Space Patrol working practices committee:
1. The use of the, Term, "XK Kipper" in relation to crew members...
Fireball
'Z'dayak -- Steve Z'dayak!' Steve enunciated firmly into his communications mike, an image of girl a smirking at his contrived pronunciation wormed through his mind as he waited for a response. Sure enough the girl's tone attested to the amusement she's gleaned during the few seconds she'd stolen to, not quite effectively, quell her chuckling.
'Ehem yes Mr. -- Zed - ay - aher -ak! -- we're waiting for your clearance to the enter the outer traffic control zone. If you can hold your present pattern, we'll give you clearance shortly, control out'.
'Bitch!' Steve Zodiac wasn't sure if he closed his mike in time to mask his petulance as he threw his headset at the console, 'it's Captain Zodiac - you fucking cow!'.
'Now now, you know that military designations are optional for civilian flight control, Captain -- Z'dayak,' said Venus as she stepped into the flight deck. Steve didn't have to turn to witness the smirk on his female colleague's face. The fact that she'd caught him out pronouncing the name he'd been baptised with would certainly have accentuated that expression which seemed to be permanently stamped onto her fizog.
'What is it?' he inquired, he kept his face turned towards the flight console with faux attentiveness.
'Oh I've just come to ask Robert if he'd like to watch a movie in the leisure suit, we are holding for flight control -- aren't we?' Venus made it perfectly clear she was aware that Steve's apparent preoccupation with the flight controls was a pantomime.
'MOVIE -- MOVIE!' Robert piped as he sat in the copilot's chair.
'I need the robot here, clearance will be through in a few minutes!'
'Captain, with all due respect...' does anyone use that phrase, thought Steve, when they have an ounce of respect for the person they're addressing, '...according to Space Patrol guidelines, Robert...' she pronounced the name with deliberate emphasis '...should be afforded the same working practices as human crew members, to ensure optimum effectiveness. He's been on the flight deck for four hours, which mean he's due for a twenty minute break'. Yeah twenty minutes with which you do what together, thought Steve, watch a movie? Venus's and Robert's relationship was a source of constant ire to Steve, Robert was a true Robot, a synthetic human of sorts but with a rather limited personality, a limitation imposed by the current state of the art of robotics. The state of that art though, was advanced enough to endow Robert with the full complement of human physical characteristics.
'I've been here six hours!'.
'Yes Captain, I'm aware rank does come with certain commitments,' said Venus 'but I really must insist, we don't want to make an issue out of this -- do we?'.
'ISSUE -- ISSUE, DON'T WANT TO MAKE ISSUE!' Robert bleeped, somehow I don't think that'll be a problem, thought Steve.
Steve festered inwardly at Venus's veiled threat, his reprimand for his conduct with her predecessor had already put a break on his career. He was stuck on this rust bucket XL5, known by the name Fireball by the rest of Space Patrol, an ironic reference to its reputation as being the slowest ship in the fleet. He was going to put his foot down this time though. 'No -- we're not going to make an issue out of this, he's needed on the flight deck. Regulations give me prerogative to override scheduled breaks when there's a clear imperative for a crew member to remain at his station'.
'REMAIN AT STATION!' Steve thought he could detect a hint of disappointment in Robert's metallic synthesized drone, 'REMAIN AT STATION!' Randy bastard.
'Fireball, Fireball, Fireball XL5' the communicator rattled with the voice of the female flight controller, abruptly interrupting the discourse.
Steve fumbled for his headset, 'What?' he barked into his mike a he placed it on his head, then his gathered his composure quickly, 'Er, Xl5, Xl5, Xl5 -- responding, control'.
'Please observe voice communications protocol, Fireball'.
'The call sign's Xl5 control' Steve was eager to reciprocate the supercilious tone.
Undeterred the faceless controller continued, 'We have a delay here -- FIREBALL, you need to hold for another two hours, can you acknowledge?'.
'Roger -- two hours delay,' he said with a grunt that betrayed his exasperation.
'Thank you Fireball, control out'.
'So -- no imperative then, Robert's free to come with me,' Venus smirked.
'FREE TO COME -- FREE TO COME,' yeah I bet you are.
'Yes -- you go, just leave me here' Robert jumped from his his flight seat with something too akin to eagerness for Steve's comfort, then they left the flight deck together. 'Have fun,' he uttered when he felt sure they were out of earshot.
'Two hours,' Steve moaned to himself, 'two hours of staring into bloody blackness, why did they make the observation canopies on these bloody flight decks so huge? what the bloody hell is there to look at. That bloody robot better be back here in twenty minutes,' he said as he checked the chronograph on the flight control panel. He started to absent mindedly strum his fingers on the instrument panel, as he did so he accidentally flipped the cover of the main retro switch, 'Oh bugger!'. He folded his arms and sat silently for a few moments, then lapsed into daydream.
To pass the time on such occasions, Steve had fostered a elaborate but a rather unimaginative fantasy life. He was Colonel Zodiac and no one laughed at his name in his world. Somewhat incongruously for someone of such advanced rank, he was still an acting Space Patrol pilot, an inconsistency he never bothered to reconcile. Instead of exercising his imagination to explore The Lost Planet of Nubile Nymphomaniacs, he'd concern his meandering thoughts with petty revenge on those who frustrated him or drew his envy in reality. Venus was a compliant ingénue, attentive to his every word, Matt his able chief engineer, a myopic scatterbrain, Robert a grotesque android constructed from waste perspex and yoghurt cartons. This time though, the inadequacies that plagued his reality permeated his subconscious and the strings he'd tug to manipulate the characters of his fantasy coalesced into a physical form. His characters turned into marionettes and inside his mind he couldn't stem the transformation, it continued until his entire world was populated exclusively with caricatures hopping around on strings. When he looked into his fantasy world mirror and saw the comically furtive eyes of a puppet staring back at him, his fantasy concluded abruptly.
Startled by this exit from his fantasy world, he tried to think of something to take his mind off the experience and pass the time. Then it occurred to him that he could review the Space Patrol bulletins, the last thing he normally choose to occupy himself, although he was supposed to attend to that task daily. 'Let me see,' he said as he thumbed through the bulletins on his clipboard, 'new procedures for engine maintenance, Oh I'll have to tell Matt about that. Nutritional guidelines, blah blah, Oh what's this -- product warning for XK2ooo robot personnel'. After a few moments reading Steve flipped on the internal communication switch, 'Venus, call the flight deck please'.
Moments later Venus's voiced broke in over the communications system, 'Yes!' she didn't sound too pleased.
'Look, I don't need Robert here for an hour or so, tell him to take an extended break, Oh and by the way, I've released the lockout on the zero g facility for the leisure suite'. Steve knew the prospect of zero g gymnastics would ensure that Venus and Robert availed themselves of that facility, his face broke into a wicked smile.
--*--
ITEM 9 PRODUCT WARNING XK2000 ROBOT PERSONNEL
As a result of a notification from the manufacturer, Cyberdrone Systems Inc. The following additional operational parameters for the XK2000 robot have been set:
1. The XK2000 should at no time be operated in zero g environment, doing so can seriously compromise the XK2000's operational effectiveness.
2. Crew members, should refrain from certain: recreational practices in the presence of the XK2000 while there is a risk of encountering a zero g environment.
Note:
Failure to comply with the above will seriously compromise the fabric of the unit's dermal component, causing the chemical bonds of a constituent of that component to break down. Subsequent to component failure the unit's skin will revert to a gelatinous form. While this fault does not represent a hazard to crew members, several units have already failed in this manner and crew members report that the adhesive properties of the consequent gelatinous mass are such that it will adhere to human skin with a bond of indeterminate but substantial strength. This bond can not be safely broken until the skin's decomposition is complete, a process that takes approximately four days. This failure is accompanied by a strong odour, similar to that of decomposing herring.
ITEM 10 XK KIPPER
The following directive has been issued by the Space Patrol working practices committee:
1. The use of the, Term, "XK Kipper" in relation to crew members...
Sunday 25 May 2014
Good grief
Just spend a couple of days exiled from this blog, Google decided there was some suspicious activity regarding people trying to log in to it, blah blah blah. I got round it eventually but what a pain, imagine the consternation that would cause if this was a worthy blog.
Monday 19 May 2014
Questions that need to be answered, no. 1
Blue Peter, Christopher Trace and Valerie Singleton are the first presenters I recall, somewhere along the line Trace left and the show acquired two more presenters, with some overlap between the first arrival and Trace's leaving. Those presenters were John Noakes and Peter Purves, I think it was Noakes who arrived first, his arrival announced after appearing in a swimming related article but I may have got those events confused. Back in the 60's, when this transition occurred, children's TV presenters were pretty much like their counterparts serving an adult audience, with maybe slightly informal dress, roll necks and monkey boots taking the place of collars, ties and shoes with a shine so perfect you could use them for a shaving mirror. The style of presentation was pretty much the same though, steady diction with clear pronunciation and a gently modulated tone, just like a normal person would speak to any other of the same, providing they'd benefited from elocution lessons or been brought up with received pronunciation, that is.
With the arrival of Noakes however something changed, I think it's fair to say that if you spoke to anyone in everyday life in the manner of Noakes presentation style, you'd find yourself in room with no windows, probably within the week. Yes, Noakes effected this style, where ever sentence was spoken in manner that inflected a vigorous portent, much in the manner of a music hall recitation or The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God. Time passed and Noakes's s style became something of a new standard for children's TV, the Saturday morning schedules became clogged with presenters acting as if they were having a fit. This state of affairs continued for some time and then David Belemy happened, Belemy bridged the gap between children's and adult's TV because he was featured in both. Unfortuantly for the sanity of the nation, he chose to adopt the Noakes manner in both contexts. Time Passed again, guess what happened, uh--yeah adult presenters are now also unnecessarily gesticulating twerps, presenting with a chaotically modulated speech pattern. I don't know any adults who can abide this trend, without the aid of a soporific, so the question is: Why---just bloody WHY?
With the arrival of Noakes however something changed, I think it's fair to say that if you spoke to anyone in everyday life in the manner of Noakes presentation style, you'd find yourself in room with no windows, probably within the week. Yes, Noakes effected this style, where ever sentence was spoken in manner that inflected a vigorous portent, much in the manner of a music hall recitation or The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God. Time passed and Noakes's s style became something of a new standard for children's TV, the Saturday morning schedules became clogged with presenters acting as if they were having a fit. This state of affairs continued for some time and then David Belemy happened, Belemy bridged the gap between children's and adult's TV because he was featured in both. Unfortuantly for the sanity of the nation, he chose to adopt the Noakes manner in both contexts. Time Passed again, guess what happened, uh--yeah adult presenters are now also unnecessarily gesticulating twerps, presenting with a chaotically modulated speech pattern. I don't know any adults who can abide this trend, without the aid of a soporific, so the question is: Why---just bloody WHY?
Saturday 17 May 2014
Disapearing materials
Way back in my studio days, Letraset Line Paper was the prince of ink surfaces, for those in the know that is. Curiously there was this persistent myth surrounding Frisk's CS10, which was a truly awful surface for pens, not too bad for a brush, although its ability to take ink was adversely effected by oily fingerprints, the reason why pads of CS10 were bound on both edges I think. Some hold outs would stick to Bristol board, which is a reasonable surface but generally not too tough, the Letraset surface, on the other hand, was as hard they come and took ink flawlessly from whichever tool you used, I think could dip your shirt sleeve in ink and still come out with decent picture. Unfortuantly it's no longer available, so this pad, might be the very last in the country, I've had a bit of a clear out and found some old materials, that Cotman pad you see behind it was quite good for acrylic, although it's yellowed quite badly, as has my Frisk CS2, which says much about those claims of archival quality.
I opened it up and was greeted by the unexpected sight of an ink drawing, which I must have done quite quickly. It was never used because I think I was just mucking around and the quality of the draughtsmanship is a little mediocre. Anyway I though it was worth a post, for anyone interested, I did a quick adjust on the snap I took, and as you can see, the blacks are preserved reasonably well, even from just a snap taken with a camera, of course it's a bit wonky cos it was laying flat on desk.
 |
| The last pad of Letraset 5000? |
 |
| Woof, woof... |
 |
| ...arf! |
Wednesday 8 January 2014
The Flying Tigers (film)
About this: This gets a little contentious as I explore the morality of propaganda (again), so you might wanna skip it if you find that thing kinda dull. It also get kinda heavy towards the end, so you have been warned.
I seem to be on a second world war kick, well here goes the third in a row. The Flying Tigers with John Wayne, bet you haven't watched it recently. I made a point of digging it out and re watching for the first time since I was about eleven. I was curious about the mock P40 aeroplanes that feature in the film, because it was released in 1942 real aeroplanes were not available for most of the production, being needed elsewhere at the time. The studio built their own non flyable mocks for the scenes that show p40's on the ground either stationary or taxiing, they are so elaborate, they even do a few mock take-off runs. They are quite unconvincing for anyone familiar with the p40 though, they couldn't get things like convincing canopies right, I suppose that's understandble too considering the film made under war time constraints.
Watching The Flying Tigers was an interesting experience, a bit like watching a film from an alien culture, it adheres quite strongly to dramatic conventions that seem quite crude and naive. Stock characters and plot elements abound, there's a troubled, unjustly vilified loner, the loyal compatriot who places himself in jeopardy by disobeying orders, the irreverent conceited ne'er do well, out for his own gain. Of course it was made at quite a charged time, when the US was smarting from the humiliation of Pearl Harbour and there is some strong content for the period, Japanese pilots suffering graphically depicted wounds at the hands of our heroes. Those depictions seem to be inspired by sadism rather than an incentive to realistically portray the perils of war, which actually isn't as bad as it sounds because the film is largely bereft of the kind of demonisation associated with war time propaganda.
As a drama the film has some short comings, it limps through the first act at dire pace that seems be drawn out to an unbearable degree, as if the script is struggling to portray any depth in characterisation under the burden of their stereotypes. Where the script does satisfy, is with dialogue, as you'd expect from this period, there a snappy unselfconscious delivery of well constructed, slightly stylised prose that works well enough to hold your interest through the dull bits. There's also some alarming technical accuracy, when John Wayne's character briefs his men, he's referencing aircraft his Japanese adversaries would actually have been using, this is probably a consequence of the fact members of the real AVG were closely involved in the production as advisers. The real strength of the film are the aerial combat sequences, which despite the fact that studio shots are repeated in the film, work quite well, thanks to the excellent standard miniature photography. The miniature effects are not all up to the same standard but a good deal is really convincing, especially those used for the film's climax. The film's other asset is John Wayne, this was before typecasting eroded the more delicate aspects of his on screen persona and he's a much more convincing screen presence than in some of his later roles, this is a film that really exploits his star quality. It's cause to reflect on the quality of some those later roles and ponder what he could've accomplished if more 'em had reflected the quality of things like The Searchers or Rio Bravo.
The Flying Tigers does turn out to be enjoyable if a little slow to get going but I find the film's message to be morally reprehensible. You might this a little odd since I've excused the sadism expressed with the gruesome depiction of Japanese airmen being killed. and noted the refreshing absence of the demonisation of the enemy beyond those instances necessitated by the plot.
[SPOILIERS AHEAD]
The problem for me occurs the films climax, that one so excellently rendered with special effects, you remember that conceited ne're do well? well he's probably the films best crafted character and the script does a good job of making you hate him. For those familiar with formulaic plot, it will be no surprise to learn that this character turns out to be misunderstood and cements his redemption in the eyes of the audience with a suicidal act of self sacrifice. The message is clear and explicit as we see him destroy a railway bridge by diving into it with an aeroplane loaded with explosives, a chilling and, as I'm sure you're aware, an unnervingly prophetic scene. So prophetic in fact, it's cause to wonder how audiences would react to that scene as the horrors of the war in the pacific unfolded. Our ne'er do well is not the only character to meet such a fate, there are two other notable incidences, both of them involve characters that seem to be carefully drafted to portray social exiles. I found this unselfconscious portrayal of self destruction as virtue particularly indefensible given the context and the cynicism with which the characters are manipulated. A fair portion of the audience would in fact be impressionable young men who did just as the film prompted, got themselves killed. I know this is a contentious opinion, I don't think there's ever been an occasion when I've expressed something like it, when it hasn't been vehemently contested. To be truthful, if someone were in a predicament where there own family were in immediate peril, I could empathise with any action they took to protect that family, that might endanger themselves but to glorify self extinction in the service of an external agenda such as patriotism seems to me to be the ultimate evil, a cynical manipulation of the vulnerable and impressionable. Yeah, I know you're still not convinced but ponder this, The Flying Tigers makes no explicit reference to atrocities inflicted on the Chinese mainland during The Second Sino-Japanese war, who do you think committed those acts perpetrated during such incidents as *The Rape of Nanking? Well I tell you who, the same people who were convinced it's sweet and fitting to die for their country, if you can push someone past the barrier of self preservation, you've essentially created a functional-psychopath, someone capable of anything.
*NB
Despite what you might read in Wikipedia, the 'Rape' in the The Rape of Nanking doesn't refer to mass sexual assault, that's not say incidents of such assault did not occur. It is in fact one of the last occurrences of the use the word in a classical sense, meaning an assault on a community with the consequence of depleting that community's ability to raise children. In this incidence by killing them and their actual or potential mothers.
I seem to be on a second world war kick, well here goes the third in a row. The Flying Tigers with John Wayne, bet you haven't watched it recently. I made a point of digging it out and re watching for the first time since I was about eleven. I was curious about the mock P40 aeroplanes that feature in the film, because it was released in 1942 real aeroplanes were not available for most of the production, being needed elsewhere at the time. The studio built their own non flyable mocks for the scenes that show p40's on the ground either stationary or taxiing, they are so elaborate, they even do a few mock take-off runs. They are quite unconvincing for anyone familiar with the p40 though, they couldn't get things like convincing canopies right, I suppose that's understandble too considering the film made under war time constraints.
Watching The Flying Tigers was an interesting experience, a bit like watching a film from an alien culture, it adheres quite strongly to dramatic conventions that seem quite crude and naive. Stock characters and plot elements abound, there's a troubled, unjustly vilified loner, the loyal compatriot who places himself in jeopardy by disobeying orders, the irreverent conceited ne'er do well, out for his own gain. Of course it was made at quite a charged time, when the US was smarting from the humiliation of Pearl Harbour and there is some strong content for the period, Japanese pilots suffering graphically depicted wounds at the hands of our heroes. Those depictions seem to be inspired by sadism rather than an incentive to realistically portray the perils of war, which actually isn't as bad as it sounds because the film is largely bereft of the kind of demonisation associated with war time propaganda.
As a drama the film has some short comings, it limps through the first act at dire pace that seems be drawn out to an unbearable degree, as if the script is struggling to portray any depth in characterisation under the burden of their stereotypes. Where the script does satisfy, is with dialogue, as you'd expect from this period, there a snappy unselfconscious delivery of well constructed, slightly stylised prose that works well enough to hold your interest through the dull bits. There's also some alarming technical accuracy, when John Wayne's character briefs his men, he's referencing aircraft his Japanese adversaries would actually have been using, this is probably a consequence of the fact members of the real AVG were closely involved in the production as advisers. The real strength of the film are the aerial combat sequences, which despite the fact that studio shots are repeated in the film, work quite well, thanks to the excellent standard miniature photography. The miniature effects are not all up to the same standard but a good deal is really convincing, especially those used for the film's climax. The film's other asset is John Wayne, this was before typecasting eroded the more delicate aspects of his on screen persona and he's a much more convincing screen presence than in some of his later roles, this is a film that really exploits his star quality. It's cause to reflect on the quality of some those later roles and ponder what he could've accomplished if more 'em had reflected the quality of things like The Searchers or Rio Bravo.
The Flying Tigers does turn out to be enjoyable if a little slow to get going but I find the film's message to be morally reprehensible. You might this a little odd since I've excused the sadism expressed with the gruesome depiction of Japanese airmen being killed. and noted the refreshing absence of the demonisation of the enemy beyond those instances necessitated by the plot.
[SPOILIERS AHEAD]
The problem for me occurs the films climax, that one so excellently rendered with special effects, you remember that conceited ne're do well? well he's probably the films best crafted character and the script does a good job of making you hate him. For those familiar with formulaic plot, it will be no surprise to learn that this character turns out to be misunderstood and cements his redemption in the eyes of the audience with a suicidal act of self sacrifice. The message is clear and explicit as we see him destroy a railway bridge by diving into it with an aeroplane loaded with explosives, a chilling and, as I'm sure you're aware, an unnervingly prophetic scene. So prophetic in fact, it's cause to wonder how audiences would react to that scene as the horrors of the war in the pacific unfolded. Our ne'er do well is not the only character to meet such a fate, there are two other notable incidences, both of them involve characters that seem to be carefully drafted to portray social exiles. I found this unselfconscious portrayal of self destruction as virtue particularly indefensible given the context and the cynicism with which the characters are manipulated. A fair portion of the audience would in fact be impressionable young men who did just as the film prompted, got themselves killed. I know this is a contentious opinion, I don't think there's ever been an occasion when I've expressed something like it, when it hasn't been vehemently contested. To be truthful, if someone were in a predicament where there own family were in immediate peril, I could empathise with any action they took to protect that family, that might endanger themselves but to glorify self extinction in the service of an external agenda such as patriotism seems to me to be the ultimate evil, a cynical manipulation of the vulnerable and impressionable. Yeah, I know you're still not convinced but ponder this, The Flying Tigers makes no explicit reference to atrocities inflicted on the Chinese mainland during The Second Sino-Japanese war, who do you think committed those acts perpetrated during such incidents as *The Rape of Nanking? Well I tell you who, the same people who were convinced it's sweet and fitting to die for their country, if you can push someone past the barrier of self preservation, you've essentially created a functional-psychopath, someone capable of anything.
*NB
Despite what you might read in Wikipedia, the 'Rape' in the The Rape of Nanking doesn't refer to mass sexual assault, that's not say incidents of such assault did not occur. It is in fact one of the last occurrences of the use the word in a classical sense, meaning an assault on a community with the consequence of depleting that community's ability to raise children. In this incidence by killing them and their actual or potential mothers.
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