A NineMSN headline tells me that Lady Gaga is givng her hair away. Why should this amaze me when she does the same to her own genitals?
The Australian cricket team really does seem to be managed by Crazy John. Shipping errors would be the easiest way to explain the ludicrous amount of players to debut this year. How ludicrous? Well, these are just the ones I've got on the top of my head...
Obviously my target audience is capable of counting but, hey, that's fifteen dudes! Considering it's eleven men to a side, I find that stat pretty damned incredible. The obvious question to take away from all of this is... fuck, I've lost that train of thought.
I really am not on drugs. Though I feel the need to keep telling people I'm really tired as explanation for my continuing craziness. Just thought I'd set it done on the disposable stone that is the internet, as it would actually explain some shit, like the novel I've started writing (in the loose term of the phrase) that's extended from a short story I attempted ages ago about a guy being the first inter-universal astronaut. It's the kind of thing I'd expect Mad Larry to write. I couldn't be possessed, could I?
Basically, the main character's the ultimate soldier and gets promoted to a position where he ends up killing thousands of his own men through gross incompetence - they discover the disturbing reason why this happened, and why he was so good a soldier in the first place is because he was freakishly born without an imagination, and following on from that struggled with any degree of abstract thought. The problem is, when he goes slowly crazy and begins hallucinating, he is unable to conceive of the idea that things he cannot see could actually not be there or not what they appear to be.
And.. the story goes on from there and he becomes the first inter-universal astronaut. Which becomes increasingly irrelevant due to a terrible war. Trust me, in my head the plot is awesome. Well, I say awesome, I mean quite good. To me. Not for everybody. Maybe I should blame it on Catch-22 and 1984, my most recent reading material?
I woke up at 11 last night and started writing this because I had a scene appear in my head out of nowhere - I consider this a good sign. As TAFE winds down I seem to have caught the writing bug all of a sudden. Maybe I can actually finish some stories? We can only hope..
Also, it seems like something I would have mentioned by now, but there almost certainly won't be much more to this blog this year. Not that I'll get rid of it or anything, but for whatever reason I like the post counts to be round and evenly divisible - and once I press 'submit' on this particular one there will be 4 more until there's 50 posts. I know, way to set my sights low. We can't all be as prolific as Ewen. If you set out to read one post of his blog per day, it would take you A YEAR to get through it.
That said, if you read that slowly I wouldn't want you navigating when I was driving. You'd need an appalling average words-per-minute ratio to average around that mark.
Ahem. What is in store for this blog? Well, if there's 4 posts, DW has it already covered! There's the rest of my Torchwood review, the inevitable "DEAR GOD THIS IS SHIT!!!" hellscream that Waters of Mars will provoke (actually, I'll probably like it. Sometimes I think I can it be predictable) and then my immediate reaction to the David Tennant Fuck Off Special buried in a pile of gay jokes and allusions to Roman orators. The remainder wild card entry could just be a heap of book reviews.
Incidentally, even though I keep myself spoiler-free for Doctor Who - via amazing technique of just not caring until somebody gives me the episodes which nobody else seems to have thought of - there are some things it is hard not to know by now, as everyone assumes that you know them. I'm not sure why people are persistently surprised by this, either - are the Thetans meant to be streaming podcasts full of Matt Smith interviews to the metal plate in my head, for fuck's sake?
Anyway, I know..
The Master's coming back.
Rose is coming back.
Matt Smith looks and sounds like a tit.
The Doctor's new companion is seemingly a stripper acting as a policewoman / vice versa
Donna is probably coming back
Prahfessa Reeever SOHNGArkayyohllojist! is [motherfucking] coming back
The Daleks are coming back.
I'm not sure if I've heard anything specific about that last one but it's one of those inevitabilites that bores me to tears just to think of. Okay, most of you like the Daleks. Spare a thought for the poor fuckers like me who can't stand them. Around a sixth of the first four series have featured the tedious aliens who can't be killed. I ranted to Ashley, a fellow TAFEr of mine about this on a train yesterday, in that now the stories contain no drama but how exactly the Doctor can build a magic Dalek hooever of ambiguous construction in the space of 45 minutes, and occassional issues like where to find the pixie dust to power it or corrupted phelbotium which causes the device to backfire, or something else completely obtuse.
I really feel I should apologise, once again, to mauling Helen Raynor in an earlier review - Daleks in Manhatten, when I look back on it, is the best of a rotten bunch. No offense to Rob Shearman, the long-haired loon.
Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah..
Is it just me or does the future of DW sound a little shite? Really? I've been trying to ignore this disaparate elements but what a fanwank avalanche it's developing into. I'm probably just a grouch but the amount of pointless fucking navel gazing done by the new series is what irritates me. To think people mocked the classical stories' throwback moments...
Also we're winning the cricket!
For an enjoyable evening viewing I highly recommend the Granada Jeremy Brett adaptation Sherlock Holmes and The Six Napoleons. A fruit and ham value meal is the best way to describe it. Such a cast of over-actors has never been assembled.
By this point Brett and Edward Hardwicke as Watson had been playing their parts for a while and had developed their own special degree of campness. Colin Jeavons as Inspector Lestrade seemed keen to catch up with them in these stakes, drawing out the 'o' in his weedly "MISter Hoooolmes" more every time he says the line. The first scene featuring the trio is a textbook example of how to make three fully clothed men sitting around a fire and not looking at one another feel gay as a result of this.
The supporting cast upstage them, though. Eric Sykes is inexplicably the guest of the week as a moaning newspaper actor with oddly theatrical lines and an odd habit of staring in quizzical silence, as if trying to remember what he's meant to say. A John Innman look-a-like appears at the end to show off his excellent bust (ooh-err) of Napoleon to the other gentlemen, a pint-sized antique seller with a ridiculous false moustache cries out that 'Red anarchists!' are out to smash his statues, a bulldog looking man gets to announce "I'm damned glad you caught the scoundrel!", one moustachioed Italian gets a bizarre scene of two minutes of frenzied yelling in his mother tongue while engaging in what appears to be a Cosmo Kramer exercise routine in the streets of London, and his other fellow countryman (looking like the drummer from the Monkees) giggles wildly like a monkey whenever he is arrested (well.. it only happens twice)
Delightfully, the sheer outrageous overracting of the rest of the cast seems to rub off on the usually reliable Vernon Dobtcheff, playing a German master sculptor, whose wandering accents leave you with an impression of a blend between Santa Clause, the thespians from Blackadder III and Yakov Smirnoff, which was presumably not the intention.
This one of the stories that Mrs Hudson gets to sit out. She would have just spoilt the gay old time that was on the cards, no doubt. Fantastic stuff.
Good lord, Vernon Dobtcheff is still acting. 75 years old. And according to IMDB he was born in France. Well I'll be...
I also saw The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus and thought it was a motherfucking master piece. Other people think it's shit, which I find understandable. I could go on about it for ages if I wasn't so close to collapsing on this keyboard that I'm contemplating filing myself as clinically dead, but that is the case so I will not. All I have to offer is my analysis of what actually happens in the film (especially in the end) that I posted on IMDb. There it got no reaction at all after a week. So I put it here, so if nothing else I have a record of it.
Please note: the following is nothing but spoilers
There's quite a bit of talk about this film just being a chaotic mess with no rhyme or reason, but I think it makes quite a bit of sense in the end, though there are certainly loose ends.
I think in the end, the Devil is after a greater power from Parnassus, which has secretly been his agenda throughout the entire film, by presenting him with two choices: to tell him what the symbols on Tony's forehead mean or killing Tony. It's very significant that the choice is offered here - just as the choices are presented to everyone, when their souls are at stake. One is much easier than the other (the low road and the high road) - as others have noted the symbols appear on some of Paranassus' cards, so he probably could have told the devil and then he would have the power of the storytellers.
Paranassus doesn't do this, as he sees through the plot by seeing what should happen in the cards once again and so knows that Tony dying is the right thing. As he does throughout the entire film, he can only present Tony with a choice, as the Imaginarium is driven by his own mind and those of others, rather than that of Parnassus. Because Tony is so cowardly Paranassus has to use trickery to make him choose the right option - Tony needs to actually confront the consequences of his own actions rather than just running away from them again. He does this, unwittingly, by choosing the dummy flute.
I think this is also why the Devil reneges on his deals for the first time in the wake of this, realising that Paranassus will protect his secrets and always take the high rather than low road to escape from him.
Tony's choice could also be seen as him becoming the fifth soul that Parnassus needed to win all along (It's said Valentina doesn't count, albeit by Tony) and so the Devil cannot keep Valentina's soul, and of course earlier in the film we see that he doesn't want her anyway (he's disappointed when she walks through the mirror) That said, she is merely her own woman - the bargain was only that he wouldn't take her, not that Paranassus could keep her, which is why they are separated in the end.
I've only seen it the once, though, so there could be stuff in there to contradict it all.