Off to Canada!
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Rails to Plainville!
For years -- decades -- I've contemplated construction of a model railroad. Now, at last, with right of way and financing arranged, construction has begun on the Plainville Branch of the Ozark Lines Railway.
In the picture to the right, taken from a point somewhere above the future engine servicing area, we see light Mikado #4001 leaving town with a short wayfreight. As you can see, this small town in the great state of Homasota is not much on scenery. Yet.
This photo, taken from the future location of the Plainville depot, gives an HO scale perspective.
The double-door Frisco boxcar is sitting on the team track, or public freight unloading track. This type of boxcar was frequently used to haul new automobiles. The contents are probably destined for the inventory of the local CHevy dealer.
The grain elevator will be built immediately to the left. The grungy brown Rock Island boxcar is spotted at the future site of the feed warehouse. Beyond it will be a lumber shed, a coal shed, and maybe a set of tanks for an oil and gas distributor.
The stock car in the middle distance is at the future location of the stock loading pens. Beyond it, the mainline to Springfield curves away to the left, disappearing beyond a fencerow of trees that haven't grown yet. The diverging tracks to the right will lead to a turntable, roundhouse, and fuel and water facilities for the locomotives that work the branch.
Further construction updates will be posted as tracklaying and world-building continues.
For years -- decades -- I've contemplated construction of a model railroad. Now, at last, with right of way and financing arranged, construction has begun on the Plainville Branch of the Ozark Lines Railway.In the picture to the right, taken from a point somewhere above the future engine servicing area, we see light Mikado #4001 leaving town with a short wayfreight. As you can see, this small town in the great state of Homasota is not much on scenery. Yet.
This photo, taken from the future location of the Plainville depot, gives an HO scale perspective.
The double-door Frisco boxcar is sitting on the team track, or public freight unloading track. This type of boxcar was frequently used to haul new automobiles. The contents are probably destined for the inventory of the local CHevy dealer.
The grain elevator will be built immediately to the left. The grungy brown Rock Island boxcar is spotted at the future site of the feed warehouse. Beyond it will be a lumber shed, a coal shed, and maybe a set of tanks for an oil and gas distributor.
The stock car in the middle distance is at the future location of the stock loading pens. Beyond it, the mainline to Springfield curves away to the left, disappearing beyond a fencerow of trees that haven't grown yet. The diverging tracks to the right will lead to a turntable, roundhouse, and fuel and water facilities for the locomotives that work the branch.
Further construction updates will be posted as tracklaying and world-building continues.
It's picture time!
It's time to clean out the memory card of the digital camera, so here are a few random shots from the last six months worth of travel and trouble.
From Penguicon: Proof that geeks do, in fact, have more fun. Especially when playing with the Chaos Machine, a collection giant-sized structural pieces with tracks and chutes for marbles. Plus gates, switches, conveyors, bells that go *ding*, and all kinds of twiddly bits.
Deep in the belly of the beast, surrounded by the constant, comforting whir and clatter of hundreds of cheerful bright yellow marbles pursuing their individual destinies through the myriad branching paths. Click. Whirrrr. *Bounce!* Ding ding ding. Whirr click. Click.
Yes, I said *bounce*.
Rubber trampolines add interest. They also add some additional chaos to the contraption from time to time. The authoritative *PLONK!* of marbles landing in the plastic bucket at the bottom of the picture added a nice, if irregular, bass beat to the music of the Machine.
It is rumored that some people vanished into the depths of the Machine and were never seen again. I narrowly escaped this fate, but kept being drawn back to it like the proverbial moth to a flame.
My most notable contribution to The Machine, a three-level switchback descending one of the towers by means of hinged, weight-activated drop gates, is pictured below.
On a recent trip to Canada, I spotted the Canadian Leader emerging mysteriously from a fogbank as I crossed the Blue Water Bridge. Traffic on the bridge was slow enough that taking a picture was not a danger. In fact, the massive oreboat churned its way under the bridge, close enough that I could read its nameplate, before I made it across.
Sadly, the vessel to which I referred in an earlier post seems not to be as seaworthy as it first seemed.
Although it's scarcely visible in the picture, that white blob is some kind of giant crane or heron that has taken up residence near Swampview Manor.
Next photoexpedition: Rails to Plainville!
It's time to clean out the memory card of the digital camera, so here are a few random shots from the last six months worth of travel and trouble.
From Penguicon: Proof that geeks do, in fact, have more fun. Especially when playing with the Chaos Machine, a collection giant-sized structural pieces with tracks and chutes for marbles. Plus gates, switches, conveyors, bells that go *ding*, and all kinds of twiddly bits. 
Deep in the belly of the beast, surrounded by the constant, comforting whir and clatter of hundreds of cheerful bright yellow marbles pursuing their individual destinies through the myriad branching paths. Click. Whirrrr. *Bounce!* Ding ding ding. Whirr click. Click.
Yes, I said *bounce*.
Rubber trampolines add interest. They also add some additional chaos to the contraption from time to time. The authoritative *PLONK!* of marbles landing in the plastic bucket at the bottom of the picture added a nice, if irregular, bass beat to the music of the Machine.
It is rumored that some people vanished into the depths of the Machine and were never seen again. I narrowly escaped this fate, but kept being drawn back to it like the proverbial moth to a flame.
My most notable contribution to The Machine, a three-level switchback descending one of the towers by means of hinged, weight-activated drop gates, is pictured below.
On a recent trip to Canada, I spotted the Canadian Leader emerging mysteriously from a fogbank as I crossed the Blue Water Bridge. Traffic on the bridge was slow enough that taking a picture was not a danger. In fact, the massive oreboat churned its way under the bridge, close enough that I could read its nameplate, before I made it across.
Sadly, the vessel to which I referred in an earlier post seems not to be as seaworthy as it first seemed.
Although it's scarcely visible in the picture, that white blob is some kind of giant crane or heron that has taken up residence near Swampview Manor.
Next photoexpedition: Rails to Plainville!
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Taking the train to Springfield?
The former Frisco mainline from St. Louis to Springfield hasn't seen a scheduled passenger train since 1967, but Amtrak and the Missouri Department of Transportation have proposed to correct that by initiating Amtrak service between those two points, according to the Springfield News-Leader. The article states that the location of a passenger facility in Springfield is undecided, but another article indicates that much of the former Frisco (and former KCFS&M) trackage in the downtown area, where the old passenger terminal was located, is to be removed in the near future, leaving the Commercial Street area, where the BNSF has its main freight yard, as the only feasible location for a passenger stop. Perhaps they could use the former Frisco traffic-control building recently used by the Frisco Museum?
Their demand projections are no doubt aided by the fact that there is apparently no direct air service between those two points, according to the same article. (Sounds incredible, but the newspaper's statement is backed up by a quick search for direct flights between those points on Orbitz.)
If this service becomes a reality, I'll have to make a point of using it. It should be a beautiful ride, as well as a more civilized alternative to the bus.
The former Frisco mainline from St. Louis to Springfield hasn't seen a scheduled passenger train since 1967, but Amtrak and the Missouri Department of Transportation have proposed to correct that by initiating Amtrak service between those two points, according to the Springfield News-Leader. The article states that the location of a passenger facility in Springfield is undecided, but another article indicates that much of the former Frisco (and former KCFS&M) trackage in the downtown area, where the old passenger terminal was located, is to be removed in the near future, leaving the Commercial Street area, where the BNSF has its main freight yard, as the only feasible location for a passenger stop. Perhaps they could use the former Frisco traffic-control building recently used by the Frisco Museum?
Their demand projections are no doubt aided by the fact that there is apparently no direct air service between those two points, according to the same article. (Sounds incredible, but the newspaper's statement is backed up by a quick search for direct flights between those points on Orbitz.)
If this service becomes a reality, I'll have to make a point of using it. It should be a beautiful ride, as well as a more civilized alternative to the bus.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Recent reads (in brief)
If I'd Killed Him When I Met Him, The Ballad of Frankie Silver, and The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter, by Sharyn McCrumb.
An enjoyable trio of mysteries set in the rural, isolated Appalachians. I find myself more interested in the setting than in the characters or plots in these books. The isolated rural hill country of Appalachia is similar enough to the Ozarks that I can mentally conflate the two and feel some kind of personal connection. The snippets of old ballads and so forth that McCrumb includes also help.
On Beauty, by Zadie Smith.
This book was recommended to me by a family member. I enjoyed it, but I don't think it's likely to stick in my mind the way that some other books do. Is the reader actually supposed to like Howard Belsey? As nearly as I could tell he's simply an obnoxious, self-centered academic bore -- the kind of person I hope that I am not. His wife and children, and the rival academic with whom he squabbles throughout the course of the novel are moderately interesting, but still not people that I would have any particular desire to meet or know. What stick in my mind are a few minor, enjoyable vignettes, such as the younger son's comically useless effort to start a labor movement at his part-time retail job, and the poetry slam that the daughter's writing class attends.
If I'd Killed Him When I Met Him, The Ballad of Frankie Silver, and The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter, by Sharyn McCrumb.
An enjoyable trio of mysteries set in the rural, isolated Appalachians. I find myself more interested in the setting than in the characters or plots in these books. The isolated rural hill country of Appalachia is similar enough to the Ozarks that I can mentally conflate the two and feel some kind of personal connection. The snippets of old ballads and so forth that McCrumb includes also help.
On Beauty, by Zadie Smith.
This book was recommended to me by a family member. I enjoyed it, but I don't think it's likely to stick in my mind the way that some other books do. Is the reader actually supposed to like Howard Belsey? As nearly as I could tell he's simply an obnoxious, self-centered academic bore -- the kind of person I hope that I am not. His wife and children, and the rival academic with whom he squabbles throughout the course of the novel are moderately interesting, but still not people that I would have any particular desire to meet or know. What stick in my mind are a few minor, enjoyable vignettes, such as the younger son's comically useless effort to start a labor movement at his part-time retail job, and the poetry slam that the daughter's writing class attends.
Recent viewings:
The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny (1998; Salzburg Festival)
This show features some great songs, including most notably the "Alabama Song" ("Show me the way to the next Whisky Bar....") and a very lyrical piece from the character Jenny that I cannot recall the title of. I like the way that Brecht & Weill turn their mythic, abstract reimagining of the American frontier into a parable of corruption and predatory consumerism. This production's portrayal of the the excesses that result from the latter are quite shocking and effective. Still, the third act seems to go on far too long after the death scene of a main character and devolves into rather simplistic socialist agitprop.
Worth seeing for the songs, the cynical humor, and the bitter criticism of the excesses of American consumerism, but don't expect the end of the third act to keep you awake if you watch it late at night.
The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny (1998; Salzburg Festival)
This show features some great songs, including most notably the "Alabama Song" ("Show me the way to the next Whisky Bar....") and a very lyrical piece from the character Jenny that I cannot recall the title of. I like the way that Brecht & Weill turn their mythic, abstract reimagining of the American frontier into a parable of corruption and predatory consumerism. This production's portrayal of the the excesses that result from the latter are quite shocking and effective. Still, the third act seems to go on far too long after the death scene of a main character and devolves into rather simplistic socialist agitprop.
Worth seeing for the songs, the cynical humor, and the bitter criticism of the excesses of American consumerism, but don't expect the end of the third act to keep you awake if you watch it late at night.
Recent viewings
The House That Dripped Blood (1970).
Four short horror vignettes that all take place in the same old house, connected by a framing story involving a detective who's investigating a missing person case. The cast sounds promising (Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Jon Pertwee, Ingrid Pitt), but at least two of the stories fall flat, and the reason why the house (which never actually drips blood, by the way) is connected to all these gruesome tales is never very well explained. The first tale, involving a horror writer and his lovely wife who move in to the house, is not particularly convincing, although the psychological premise could have had some promise in a better production. The second, featuring Peter Cushing as a solitary retiree who becomes strangely drawn to a figure of "Salome" in a nearby waxworks museum, is almost comically silly. The wax museum looks like a rather shabby warehouse of props from B-grade horror movies (hmmmm....), except when it shows up in a dream-sequence with lots of colored lights, bright gauzy curtains, and an obviously plastic skull.
Still, the third sequence, featuring tall-&-gaunt Christopher Lee as the very strict father of a cute little blonde daughter, has a certain creepy frisson. The tutor he hires after moving to The House objects to his draconian restrictions (no toys! no candles! no school!). Creepy complications ensue. The fourth vignette features Jon Pertwee, latterly of Doctor Who fame, as an imperious, swaggering horror-movie actor whose quest for authenticity becomes a bit more cinema verite than he intended. Pertwee is in fine form stalking about the set of a low-budget production, punching his swagger-stick through the cheap scenery, chewing out the director and denouncing the low production standards. (Was the production company commenting on itself here, I wonder? Or perhaps its more famous competitor, Hammer?) When he gets his hands on an "authentic vampire's cape", strange things start to happen. It's rather silly, but it's fun to watch him go from aristocratic arrogance to rubber-faced and googly-eyed terror.
The ending is silly, of course. How could it be otherwise?
A mixed bag.
The House That Dripped Blood (1970).
Four short horror vignettes that all take place in the same old house, connected by a framing story involving a detective who's investigating a missing person case. The cast sounds promising (Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Jon Pertwee, Ingrid Pitt), but at least two of the stories fall flat, and the reason why the house (which never actually drips blood, by the way) is connected to all these gruesome tales is never very well explained. The first tale, involving a horror writer and his lovely wife who move in to the house, is not particularly convincing, although the psychological premise could have had some promise in a better production. The second, featuring Peter Cushing as a solitary retiree who becomes strangely drawn to a figure of "Salome" in a nearby waxworks museum, is almost comically silly. The wax museum looks like a rather shabby warehouse of props from B-grade horror movies (hmmmm....), except when it shows up in a dream-sequence with lots of colored lights, bright gauzy curtains, and an obviously plastic skull.
Still, the third sequence, featuring tall-&-gaunt Christopher Lee as the very strict father of a cute little blonde daughter, has a certain creepy frisson. The tutor he hires after moving to The House objects to his draconian restrictions (no toys! no candles! no school!). Creepy complications ensue. The fourth vignette features Jon Pertwee, latterly of Doctor Who fame, as an imperious, swaggering horror-movie actor whose quest for authenticity becomes a bit more cinema verite than he intended. Pertwee is in fine form stalking about the set of a low-budget production, punching his swagger-stick through the cheap scenery, chewing out the director and denouncing the low production standards. (Was the production company commenting on itself here, I wonder? Or perhaps its more famous competitor, Hammer?) When he gets his hands on an "authentic vampire's cape", strange things start to happen. It's rather silly, but it's fun to watch him go from aristocratic arrogance to rubber-faced and googly-eyed terror.
The ending is silly, of course. How could it be otherwise?
A mixed bag.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
All your records are belong to us
AT&T has reportedly announced a unilateral change in its privacy policy, stating that it owns all customer records and can do whatever it wants with them.
Do you dream of being a reality-show contestant? This might be your chance! Just have some juicy telephone conversations that other people, or political operatives, or advertisers, or voyeurs, might like to hear. Who knows, you might end up getting your voice heard in Washington DC! Or by a legion of adoring fans who pay AT&T for the privilege of listening to your late-night conversations with your girlfriend!
Sweet dreams!
AT&T has reportedly announced a unilateral change in its privacy policy, stating that it owns all customer records and can do whatever it wants with them.
Do you dream of being a reality-show contestant? This might be your chance! Just have some juicy telephone conversations that other people, or political operatives, or advertisers, or voyeurs, might like to hear. Who knows, you might end up getting your voice heard in Washington DC! Or by a legion of adoring fans who pay AT&T for the privilege of listening to your late-night conversations with your girlfriend!
Sweet dreams!
"If the government has avowed pacifists under surveillance, then no one is safe."
The AFSC Sues the U.S. Defense Department for Unlawful Surveillance (from CommonDreams). Thanks to Pablo for the link.
The AFSC Sues the U.S. Defense Department for Unlawful Surveillance (from CommonDreams). Thanks to Pablo for the link.
An imagined conversation with Ann Coulter
Derived from this excerpt from her latest book, which is reportedly selling in large numbers. Fortunately, she seems to have found some way to overcome that bad 'ol Liberal Media conspiracy that totally suppressed such works of conservative genius as John O'Neill's Unfit for Command.
Liberals love to boast that they are not “religious,” which is what one would expect to hear from the state-sanctioned religion.
Oh. Is it? Really? Are you sure?
Of course liberalism is a religion.
Well. I guess that settles that.
It has its own cosmology, its own miracles, its own beliefs in the supernatural, its own churches, its own high priests, its own saints, its own total worldview, and its own explanation of the existence of the universe. In other words, liberalism contains all the attributes of what is generally known as “religion.”
Heavens! How uniquely perfidious! I'm sure glad that no other political groups do anything like that!
Under the guise of not favoring religion, liberals favor one cosmology over another and demand total indoctrination into theirs.
Dang. I guess I missed out on the total-indoctrination camp. I guess it was held in secret underground caverns or something. Probably with neat lava lamps and black lights and a sex orgy or something. Dammit. I always miss out on the fun stuff.
The state religion of liberalism demands obeisance (to the National Organization for Women),...
Whereas you demand only obeisance to your black-clad, imperious self. Ooh, kinky! Do you make that bad boy beg for his falafels?
... tithing (to teachers’ unions),...
Oops. There's another bill I forgot to pay.
... reverence (for abortion),...
I guess I'm not a very good liberal. But I'm sure that's an isolated aberration.
... and formulaic imprecations (“Bush lied, kids died!” “Keep your laws off my body!” “Arms for hostages!”).
I really admire today's entry on your website: "In response to the arguments of my opponents, I say: Waaaaaaaaaah! Boo hoo hoo!.... Wait 'til you get a load of what I say about liberals in the rest of the book! You haven't seen the half of it. For snarling victims, my book is Christmas in July."
See? Clear and cogent refutation, not just formulaic imprecations. Not a single cliche or epithet to be found there, or in anyone except liberals. That's the way to go!
Everyone is taxed to support indoctrination into the state religion through the public schools, where innocent children are taught a specific belief system, rather than, say, math.
Oh, those perfidious liberals! Clearly we need a tax-funded faith-based-initiative to stop their evil plans to establish, uh, tax-funded... er, um....
Hey Ann, I gotta get back to work, but it's been fun. Catch ya later!
Derived from this excerpt from her latest book, which is reportedly selling in large numbers. Fortunately, she seems to have found some way to overcome that bad 'ol Liberal Media conspiracy that totally suppressed such works of conservative genius as John O'Neill's Unfit for Command.
Liberals love to boast that they are not “religious,” which is what one would expect to hear from the state-sanctioned religion.
Oh. Is it? Really? Are you sure?
Of course liberalism is a religion.
Well. I guess that settles that.
It has its own cosmology, its own miracles, its own beliefs in the supernatural, its own churches, its own high priests, its own saints, its own total worldview, and its own explanation of the existence of the universe. In other words, liberalism contains all the attributes of what is generally known as “religion.”
Heavens! How uniquely perfidious! I'm sure glad that no other political groups do anything like that!
Under the guise of not favoring religion, liberals favor one cosmology over another and demand total indoctrination into theirs.
Dang. I guess I missed out on the total-indoctrination camp. I guess it was held in secret underground caverns or something. Probably with neat lava lamps and black lights and a sex orgy or something. Dammit. I always miss out on the fun stuff.
The state religion of liberalism demands obeisance (to the National Organization for Women),...
Whereas you demand only obeisance to your black-clad, imperious self. Ooh, kinky! Do you make that bad boy beg for his falafels?
... tithing (to teachers’ unions),...
Oops. There's another bill I forgot to pay.
... reverence (for abortion),...
I guess I'm not a very good liberal. But I'm sure that's an isolated aberration.
... and formulaic imprecations (“Bush lied, kids died!” “Keep your laws off my body!” “Arms for hostages!”).
I really admire today's entry on your website: "In response to the arguments of my opponents, I say: Waaaaaaaaaah! Boo hoo hoo!.... Wait 'til you get a load of what I say about liberals in the rest of the book! You haven't seen the half of it. For snarling victims, my book is Christmas in July."
See? Clear and cogent refutation, not just formulaic imprecations. Not a single cliche or epithet to be found there, or in anyone except liberals. That's the way to go!
Everyone is taxed to support indoctrination into the state religion through the public schools, where innocent children are taught a specific belief system, rather than, say, math.
Oh, those perfidious liberals! Clearly we need a tax-funded faith-based-initiative to stop their evil plans to establish, uh, tax-funded... er, um....
Hey Ann, I gotta get back to work, but it's been fun. Catch ya later!
"The Dark Side of Chuck Berry"
When I was younger -- much younger -- I liked to listen to Chuck Berry's old recordings. I never got to hear him play live. That's probably a good thing, judging by this story (from CNN).
When I was younger -- much younger -- I liked to listen to Chuck Berry's old recordings. I never got to hear him play live. That's probably a good thing, judging by this story (from CNN).
Recent (partial) reads
Astra and Flondrix, by Seamus Cullen
I heard about this book when the author's recent (apparent) death was reported on a fiction listserv and in the June Ansible.
Despite the old adage against speaking ill of the dead, I have to say that I found it totally unreadable. I struggled through about fifty pages before giving up. It seems like a misbegotten attempt to blend Dunsanian fantasy with hardcore pornography. The author appears to be obsessed with providing non-stop detailed descriptions of scatology, bestiality, and improbable nonhuman sexual acts. All this is to the exclusion of anything resembling an interesting character or plot.
"Bizarrely erotic", says Dave Langford of Ansible. He's half right. It's bizarre, all right.
Not recommended.
Astra and Flondrix, by Seamus Cullen
I heard about this book when the author's recent (apparent) death was reported on a fiction listserv and in the June Ansible.
Despite the old adage against speaking ill of the dead, I have to say that I found it totally unreadable. I struggled through about fifty pages before giving up. It seems like a misbegotten attempt to blend Dunsanian fantasy with hardcore pornography. The author appears to be obsessed with providing non-stop detailed descriptions of scatology, bestiality, and improbable nonhuman sexual acts. All this is to the exclusion of anything resembling an interesting character or plot.
"Bizarrely erotic", says Dave Langford of Ansible. He's half right. It's bizarre, all right.
Not recommended.
Blogs noted and added to sidebar:
University of Nebraska Press Blog. This seems to be connected to their ongoing and much-welcomed effort to reprint classic SF titles, such as Philip Wylie's The Disappearance.
Whatever. The tauntings and mutterings of John Scalzi, SF author and recent guest-of-honor at a couple of Michigan SF conventions.
University of Nebraska Press Blog. This seems to be connected to their ongoing and much-welcomed effort to reprint classic SF titles, such as Philip Wylie's The Disappearance.
Whatever. The tauntings and mutterings of John Scalzi, SF author and recent guest-of-honor at a couple of Michigan SF conventions.
The Hollywood Librarian
I'll grant that librarians' constant obsession over their public image can be a bit tiresome. Even so, this documentary-in-progress sounds like it could be interesting. A "sneak peek" will reportedly be shown at the upcoming ALA conference in New Orleans. Shooting is said to be finished, but post-production editing and processing will cost a substantial amount, which the producer(s) hope to raise partially from donations.
I'll grant that librarians' constant obsession over their public image can be a bit tiresome. Even so, this documentary-in-progress sounds like it could be interesting. A "sneak peek" will reportedly be shown at the upcoming ALA conference in New Orleans. Shooting is said to be finished, but post-production editing and processing will cost a substantial amount, which the producer(s) hope to raise partially from donations.
The story bomb
Author Charles Finlay, in response to complaints that The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction doesn't publish enough female authors, proposes that female authors bombard the magazine's editors with at least 100 story submissions on August 18th of this year.
"Bring it on," says one of the magazine's assistant editors. Others -- to play devils's advocate for a moment -- may consider it a dubious experiment and wonder whether it's a good idea to make the editorial staff, consciously or unconsciously, add awareness of this kind of concerted effort to their selection process.
It'll be interesting to see what happens.
Note: more discussion here, here, here, here.
Author Charles Finlay, in response to complaints that The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction doesn't publish enough female authors, proposes that female authors bombard the magazine's editors with at least 100 story submissions on August 18th of this year.
"Bring it on," says one of the magazine's assistant editors. Others -- to play devils's advocate for a moment -- may consider it a dubious experiment and wonder whether it's a good idea to make the editorial staff, consciously or unconsciously, add awareness of this kind of concerted effort to their selection process.
It'll be interesting to see what happens.
Note: more discussion here, here, here, here.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Recent viewings
The Virgin Spring (1959). An atmospheric black-and-white tale of tragedy, revenge, and redemption, directed by Ingmar Bergman. The medieval Scandinavian setting is believably portrayed. This isn't the fantasy-world of cardboard castles and glittering polyester costumes portrayed by many "medieval" Hollywood movies. It's a harsh world of isolated, fortified log-cabin farmsteads surrounded by untrodden mountains and forests, a world where going to the nearest village, or to church, involves a day-long trek along muddy paths and unbridged streams. It's a world where the harsh pagan religion of Odin vies with the new religion of Christ. A world where strangers with suspicious pasts can make a new life for themselves if they resettle themselves far enough away from the scene of their crimes (but woe betide if they confide in the wrong person!) A world where strangers met in a forest might be intriguing sources of trade, entertainment and news, or murderous brigands. And it's a world where petty family disputes turn all the more bitter because of people's constant close contact with each other.
Where an aggrieved, scorned girl's plea for her god to smite her sister may have unforeseen consequences; and a family's vengeance can be terrible both to its targets and its enactor.
An excellent film. The production values may be a bit clunky next to modern productions, but the great acting, the beautiful visuals, and the palpable atmosphere carry the story.
The Virgin Spring (1959). An atmospheric black-and-white tale of tragedy, revenge, and redemption, directed by Ingmar Bergman. The medieval Scandinavian setting is believably portrayed. This isn't the fantasy-world of cardboard castles and glittering polyester costumes portrayed by many "medieval" Hollywood movies. It's a harsh world of isolated, fortified log-cabin farmsteads surrounded by untrodden mountains and forests, a world where going to the nearest village, or to church, involves a day-long trek along muddy paths and unbridged streams. It's a world where the harsh pagan religion of Odin vies with the new religion of Christ. A world where strangers with suspicious pasts can make a new life for themselves if they resettle themselves far enough away from the scene of their crimes (but woe betide if they confide in the wrong person!) A world where strangers met in a forest might be intriguing sources of trade, entertainment and news, or murderous brigands. And it's a world where petty family disputes turn all the more bitter because of people's constant close contact with each other.
Where an aggrieved, scorned girl's plea for her god to smite her sister may have unforeseen consequences; and a family's vengeance can be terrible both to its targets and its enactor.
An excellent film. The production values may be a bit clunky next to modern productions, but the great acting, the beautiful visuals, and the palpable atmosphere carry the story.
Shadows of a possible future
Liberal blogger blocked from Kentucky state-owned computers (from DailyKos)
If net-neutrality is eradicated, as the telecom lobby wishes, should we expect that internet service providers will act likewise to block websites that are contrary to their political agenda or "corporate message", or that offer competition to their high priced monopolies?
Liberal blogger blocked from Kentucky state-owned computers (from DailyKos)
If net-neutrality is eradicated, as the telecom lobby wishes, should we expect that internet service providers will act likewise to block websites that are contrary to their political agenda or "corporate message", or that offer competition to their high priced monopolies?
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Tim Hildebrandt
The co-creator of many iconic popular images of fantasy and science ficton has reportedly died.
The co-creator of many iconic popular images of fantasy and science ficton has reportedly died.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
News from the world of SF
Jim Baen, "supereditor", has reportedly had a stroke according to Steven Barnes and other sources. Baen Books has recently been instrumental in pioneering things like free, non-DRM'ed downloads of electronic texts.
Jim Baen, "supereditor", has reportedly had a stroke according to Steven Barnes and other sources. Baen Books has recently been instrumental in pioneering things like free, non-DRM'ed downloads of electronic texts.
Good news and bad news for the Texas State Railroad
It may not be flooded out by a new dam:
Dallas area denied water reservoir (Houston Chronicle)
...but will it have any money left for 2007?
Is an icon steaming into sunset? (Ibid)
It may not be flooded out by a new dam:
Dallas area denied water reservoir (Houston Chronicle)
...but will it have any money left for 2007?
Is an icon steaming into sunset? (Ibid)
Recent viewings:
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (1975).
Sometimes, things which one remembers from one's childhood are not as big, or as scary, as one remembers. That's the case with this animated adaptation of a Rudyard Kipling story. I remember seeing it when I was very young, and being quite scared of the two evil cobras and of what they might do to the gallant little mongoose and the people he's protecting. I seem to recall seeing it in a theater. I was surprised, when I picked up a copy of it on VHS, to see that it was only a half-hour long. Where might I have seen it? Would a film only a half-hour long have been shown in a theater? Or did I actually see it on television instead?
It's still above-average as a short animated feature, and I can easily imagine other youngsters of six or seven years old becoming as engrossed in the story as I was in years gone by. The artwork is not as impressive as I remember, but my standards have probably been distorted by the revolution in electronically-assisted animation that has taken place in the last decade or so.
An older person prone to peering into political penumbras might wonder about what such an eminently British family is doing in India, and what the native-born cobras, so intent on killing or expelling the English, might represent. But taken as an animal-fable, it's simply a good adventure story, with lots of danger and derring-do and a sympathetic and energetic four-footed hero.
One thing has not changed since I first saw the film, though. The singing bird is still annoying.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi (1975).
Sometimes, things which one remembers from one's childhood are not as big, or as scary, as one remembers. That's the case with this animated adaptation of a Rudyard Kipling story. I remember seeing it when I was very young, and being quite scared of the two evil cobras and of what they might do to the gallant little mongoose and the people he's protecting. I seem to recall seeing it in a theater. I was surprised, when I picked up a copy of it on VHS, to see that it was only a half-hour long. Where might I have seen it? Would a film only a half-hour long have been shown in a theater? Or did I actually see it on television instead?
It's still above-average as a short animated feature, and I can easily imagine other youngsters of six or seven years old becoming as engrossed in the story as I was in years gone by. The artwork is not as impressive as I remember, but my standards have probably been distorted by the revolution in electronically-assisted animation that has taken place in the last decade or so.
An older person prone to peering into political penumbras might wonder about what such an eminently British family is doing in India, and what the native-born cobras, so intent on killing or expelling the English, might represent. But taken as an animal-fable, it's simply a good adventure story, with lots of danger and derring-do and a sympathetic and energetic four-footed hero.
One thing has not changed since I first saw the film, though. The singing bird is still annoying.
Recent viewings:
The Omega Man (1971). (Discussed previously).
Some people find Charlton Heston scary, I am told. I'd agree that his character in this adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend is rather scary. But then again, he's supposed to be.
Robert Neville is the lone unaffected survivor of a plague that has either killed or radically transformed the rest of the human race. The other survivors of this plague have been transformed into grotesque vampire-like beings. Neville lives alone in a heavily-fortified house, amusing himself with recorded music and a stockpile of liquor at night and going out by day to cruise the deserted city in search of supplies to take home and dormant vampires to kill.
There are some amusing botches in this low-budget production. Most obvious are the mistakes in the opening sequence, an otherwise effective montage of Neville driving a giant 1970s convertible through deserted city streets. Unfortunately, the streets were not as deserted as they should have been. At one point a person can be seen idly strolling down the sidewalk in the background, and at another point I seem to recall seeing other cars moving in the distance. (This is, I suppose, the kind of thing that could be removed with a whisk of a digital eraser nowadays. Things were more difficult in days gone by.) In another sequence, it's rather obvious that the stuntman driving a motorcycle has only a vague resemblance to Heston.
Despite the appalling production standards, the movie does effectively convey the mental and emotional stress that Neville is under. It's believable when a sweaty, snarling Heston grabs a gun and starts blasting away at the "vampires" besieging his fortified house with a ferocious, animalistic glee that suggests that, despite his desperate clinging to classical music and other emblems of civilization, he is no longer a civilized human being. After all, what's the point in being civilized when the only civitas consists of creatures that want to kill you? His only conversational companion other than himself is an ornamental bust of a male head adorned with an incongruous hat. He's not much help. This is a man being pushed over the edge, not just of civilization, but of sanity.
Fortunately for Neville, he eventually encounters another apparently unaffected survivor, a young black woman (Rosalind Cash). You know the old saying "if you were the last man/woman on earth?" Well, not too surprisingly, after surprising each other in a derelict department store and convincing each other that they're not vampires in disguise, these two find solace in each other's company. And Neville seems to regain some of the humanity that he's apparently lost. But, of course, there are complications.
I wonder: when this movie was produced and released, was it seen as daring and progressive to portray a relationship between an icon of Anglo-Saxon masculinity like Heston and an attractive, athletic black woman?
Unfortunately, the movie at this point veers away from Matheson's bleak little masterpiece. Instead of the background and motivation which Matheson supplied for the woman, the movie supplies her with a bevy of other unaffected young survivors who welcome Neville's offer of medical help. Also, apparently for the sake of giving the audience an identifiable individual villain to hate, the movie introduces a head vampire who has turned his altered followers into a parody of a technology-hating, knowledge-hating religious cult. To the best of my knowledge, this is not found in Matheson's original book, in which the chaotic, orgiastic behavior of the transformed humans who besieged his house every night was part of the reason why Neville's revulsion against them and his murderous hunt for their daylight resting places were so understandable.
There are other plot changes which I will refrain from describing for the sake of spoilers. Suffice it to say that instead of Matheson's ending, which leads his Neville to utter the Miltonic last line (and title) of the book, the screenwriters have substituted a more hopeful ending with Neville transformed into a Christ figure whose blood, literally, redeems humanity. This is signalled in a manner so unsubtle that it provokes laughter, rather than reverence or respect. I wish they'd simply left Matheson's story alone to stand on its own merits. No doubt some Hollywood suit decided that he wanted a happy ending. Let's hope that someone, someday, has the guts to film it the way Matheson wrote it.
The Omega Man (1971). (Discussed previously).
Some people find Charlton Heston scary, I am told. I'd agree that his character in this adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend is rather scary. But then again, he's supposed to be.
Robert Neville is the lone unaffected survivor of a plague that has either killed or radically transformed the rest of the human race. The other survivors of this plague have been transformed into grotesque vampire-like beings. Neville lives alone in a heavily-fortified house, amusing himself with recorded music and a stockpile of liquor at night and going out by day to cruise the deserted city in search of supplies to take home and dormant vampires to kill.
There are some amusing botches in this low-budget production. Most obvious are the mistakes in the opening sequence, an otherwise effective montage of Neville driving a giant 1970s convertible through deserted city streets. Unfortunately, the streets were not as deserted as they should have been. At one point a person can be seen idly strolling down the sidewalk in the background, and at another point I seem to recall seeing other cars moving in the distance. (This is, I suppose, the kind of thing that could be removed with a whisk of a digital eraser nowadays. Things were more difficult in days gone by.) In another sequence, it's rather obvious that the stuntman driving a motorcycle has only a vague resemblance to Heston.
Despite the appalling production standards, the movie does effectively convey the mental and emotional stress that Neville is under. It's believable when a sweaty, snarling Heston grabs a gun and starts blasting away at the "vampires" besieging his fortified house with a ferocious, animalistic glee that suggests that, despite his desperate clinging to classical music and other emblems of civilization, he is no longer a civilized human being. After all, what's the point in being civilized when the only civitas consists of creatures that want to kill you? His only conversational companion other than himself is an ornamental bust of a male head adorned with an incongruous hat. He's not much help. This is a man being pushed over the edge, not just of civilization, but of sanity.
Fortunately for Neville, he eventually encounters another apparently unaffected survivor, a young black woman (Rosalind Cash). You know the old saying "if you were the last man/woman on earth?" Well, not too surprisingly, after surprising each other in a derelict department store and convincing each other that they're not vampires in disguise, these two find solace in each other's company. And Neville seems to regain some of the humanity that he's apparently lost. But, of course, there are complications.
I wonder: when this movie was produced and released, was it seen as daring and progressive to portray a relationship between an icon of Anglo-Saxon masculinity like Heston and an attractive, athletic black woman?
Unfortunately, the movie at this point veers away from Matheson's bleak little masterpiece. Instead of the background and motivation which Matheson supplied for the woman, the movie supplies her with a bevy of other unaffected young survivors who welcome Neville's offer of medical help. Also, apparently for the sake of giving the audience an identifiable individual villain to hate, the movie introduces a head vampire who has turned his altered followers into a parody of a technology-hating, knowledge-hating religious cult. To the best of my knowledge, this is not found in Matheson's original book, in which the chaotic, orgiastic behavior of the transformed humans who besieged his house every night was part of the reason why Neville's revulsion against them and his murderous hunt for their daylight resting places were so understandable.
There are other plot changes which I will refrain from describing for the sake of spoilers. Suffice it to say that instead of Matheson's ending, which leads his Neville to utter the Miltonic last line (and title) of the book, the screenwriters have substituted a more hopeful ending with Neville transformed into a Christ figure whose blood, literally, redeems humanity. This is signalled in a manner so unsubtle that it provokes laughter, rather than reverence or respect. I wish they'd simply left Matheson's story alone to stand on its own merits. No doubt some Hollywood suit decided that he wanted a happy ending. Let's hope that someone, someday, has the guts to film it the way Matheson wrote it.
Recent viewings:
Railway Journeys : the Vanishing Age of Steam. Thanks to Fiend for this multiple-DVD birthday present, which supplied me with many enjoyable hours.
As with most sets of documentary DVDs from various sources, it's a mixed bag. Some of the contents are better than others. But even the lackluster parts of the set were intriguing to a foaming ferroequinologist like myself, as cinema-verite glimpses into a vanished world of busy railroads and omnipresent steam power. I found myself wondering, as I watched the grainy black-and-white footage, how that world could possibly be recreated in scale model form. Even given excellent visual and three-dimensional scale models and superb scenery and weathering skills, how could one ever duplicate the fearsomely majestic barrage of coalsmoke from a speeding locomotive, the constant escaping wisps of steam from aging boilers and steam joints, or the occasional wheelslips that bespeak the tremendous forces involved in starting a standing train?
Standout elements are an in-depth look at the operations of the Wabash Railroad in southeastern Michigan and an extensive compilation of railfan videos of the last days of the Denver & Rio Grande's narrow-gauge operations in southwestern Colorado.
Railway Journeys : the Vanishing Age of Steam. Thanks to Fiend for this multiple-DVD birthday present, which supplied me with many enjoyable hours.
As with most sets of documentary DVDs from various sources, it's a mixed bag. Some of the contents are better than others. But even the lackluster parts of the set were intriguing to a foaming ferroequinologist like myself, as cinema-verite glimpses into a vanished world of busy railroads and omnipresent steam power. I found myself wondering, as I watched the grainy black-and-white footage, how that world could possibly be recreated in scale model form. Even given excellent visual and three-dimensional scale models and superb scenery and weathering skills, how could one ever duplicate the fearsomely majestic barrage of coalsmoke from a speeding locomotive, the constant escaping wisps of steam from aging boilers and steam joints, or the occasional wheelslips that bespeak the tremendous forces involved in starting a standing train?
Standout elements are an in-depth look at the operations of the Wabash Railroad in southeastern Michigan and an extensive compilation of railfan videos of the last days of the Denver & Rio Grande's narrow-gauge operations in southwestern Colorado.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Maybe it is just as well
that I did not go to Hell (Part 2)
Raising Hell: '666 Party' turns rowdy
Also from the Press & Argus, a description of a novel new form of outdoor entertainment: Sphere-ing!
Having a ball at Mt. Brighton
that I did not go to Hell (Part 2)
Raising Hell: '666 Party' turns rowdy
Also from the Press & Argus, a description of a novel new form of outdoor entertainment: Sphere-ing!
Having a ball at Mt. Brighton
It's like being a hamster rolling around in an exercise ball in the living room ... except the hamster is you, the exercise ball is a 12-foot diameter bubble, and the living room is a more than 650 foot decline down Mt. Brighton Ski Area.Wheeee!
Speaking of Robert E. Howard...
A recent message from the Fiction-L listserv pointed out that the 2006 World Fantasy Convention in Austin, Texas, on Nov. 2-5, will be devoted largely to REH and his works. Unfortunately, it looks pretty pricy according to this webpage and this flyer. Is anyone interested in going?
A recent message from the Fiction-L listserv pointed out that the 2006 World Fantasy Convention in Austin, Texas, on Nov. 2-5, will be devoted largely to REH and his works. Unfortunately, it looks pretty pricy according to this webpage and this flyer. Is anyone interested in going?
Deceased patron support
From a job ad for a California university:
From a job ad for a California university:
6) Manages deceased patron support;...Fortunately, the rest of the ad clarifies what "deceased patron support" means:
...communicates respectfully with campus departments and/or relatives to retrieve library materials currently charged.I was worried for a moment there.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Howard Days
I just noticed an article from CNN about Cross Plains, Texas, and its most famous (former) resident. Have any of you Texas-type folks ever dropped by for Howard Days in Cross Plains? Or just to visit the old home place of the fellow who created Conan, Solomon Kane, and other heroes of the pulp age?
I just noticed an article from CNN about Cross Plains, Texas, and its most famous (former) resident. Have any of you Texas-type folks ever dropped by for Howard Days in Cross Plains? Or just to visit the old home place of the fellow who created Conan, Solomon Kane, and other heroes of the pulp age?
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Black Books
Some time back I posted a short description of this British comedy series about a cranky bookseller. If you're curious, check here. (From YouTube.)
I particularly appreciate Mr. Black's method of clearing the library... er, bookstore... at closing time.
Nice theme music, too.
Some time back I posted a short description of this British comedy series about a cranky bookseller. If you're curious, check here. (From YouTube.)
I particularly appreciate Mr. Black's method of clearing the library... er, bookstore... at closing time.
Nice theme music, too.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
The View from Swampview Manor
It's not quite the pristine, sky-mirroring Lake View that real estate buyers and sellers in these parts yearn for. But I have become just a little bit fond of the swampy little millpond outside my humble little pied-a-terre. Swans, mallard ducks, Canada geese, and redwinged blackbirds seem to enjoy the pond and its brushy surroundings. I've seen rabbits galore, plus some aquatic mammal that might be either a small beaver or a large water rat. An acquaintance who lived in the same apartment complex in the past claims to have seen a red fox. I can't personally verify the vulpine, but it wouldn't surprise me.
One of these days it would be nice to take a canoe or kayak and go idly paddle about the waters to see what else I might scare up. Late last winter, I came across a bedraggled rowboat that had apparently sunk halfway into the water near a brushy trail through the undergrowth. Someone seems to have reclaimed it this spring. It sits now on the bank near the parking lot, ugly and muddy but apparently quite waterproof, since the rainwater that's accumulated in it shows no sign of leaking out. I've seen folks slowly motorboating their way around the pond with fishing poles in hand. Whether they've caught anything edible I know not.
Meanwhile, I've been occupying myself with small scale vegetative projects, as seen here. Spearmint, chives, rosemary, catnip. Plus dill, because I liked the looks of its feather fronds even though I haven't the foggiest idea how to use it, and coriander because I liked the smell. We'll see how long they manage to survive.
If anyone has any wonderful and foolproof recipes using these herbs, let me know!
It's not quite the pristine, sky-mirroring Lake View that real estate buyers and sellers in these parts yearn for. But I have become just a little bit fond of the swampy little millpond outside my humble little pied-a-terre. Swans, mallard ducks, Canada geese, and redwinged blackbirds seem to enjoy the pond and its brushy surroundings. I've seen rabbits galore, plus some aquatic mammal that might be either a small beaver or a large water rat. An acquaintance who lived in the same apartment complex in the past claims to have seen a red fox. I can't personally verify the vulpine, but it wouldn't surprise me. One of these days it would be nice to take a canoe or kayak and go idly paddle about the waters to see what else I might scare up. Late last winter, I came across a bedraggled rowboat that had apparently sunk halfway into the water near a brushy trail through the undergrowth. Someone seems to have reclaimed it this spring. It sits now on the bank near the parking lot, ugly and muddy but apparently quite waterproof, since the rainwater that's accumulated in it shows no sign of leaking out. I've seen folks slowly motorboating their way around the pond with fishing poles in hand. Whether they've caught anything edible I know not.
Meanwhile, I've been occupying myself with small scale vegetative projects, as seen here. Spearmint, chives, rosemary, catnip. Plus dill, because I liked the looks of its feather fronds even though I haven't the foggiest idea how to use it, and coriander because I liked the smell. We'll see how long they manage to survive.
If anyone has any wonderful and foolproof recipes using these herbs, let me know!
No More Gas
Pursuant to a recent discussion of small vehicles, Fiend sends this link. The "car" described might well be small enough to actually fit in the trunk of a Ford Thunderbird or a Chevy Impala.
Pursuant to a recent discussion of small vehicles, Fiend sends this link. The "car" described might well be small enough to actually fit in the trunk of a Ford Thunderbird or a Chevy Impala.
Recent reads
Bad Business, by Robert B. Parker. Spenser novels are one of my guilty pleasures. The fact that the characters do not "develop" from one book to the next -- or even from one decade to the next -- is almost a deliberate hallmark of the books. As a recent reviewer put it:
Of course, plot is supposed to be central to mystery novels, so I should probably mention that this one involves multiple dysfunctional marriages and a dysfunctional energy-trading company with certain similarities to the recently-deceased but unmourned Enron. There's skulduggery and mischief, deceit and danger galore.
An enjoyable outing, guilty pleasure or no.
Bad Business, by Robert B. Parker. Spenser novels are one of my guilty pleasures. The fact that the characters do not "develop" from one book to the next -- or even from one decade to the next -- is almost a deliberate hallmark of the books. As a recent reviewer put it:
Without waving a flag about it, Parker makes his intention clear in classic he-man style: having achieved the ideal stage of maturity, his courtly knight will not age, wither or forsake his heroic mission. And that's not all. Hawk will always be scary. Susan will always be a beauty. And there will always be a dog named Pearl in the house.Part of the appeal of the books is in the protagonist's deadpan, smart-aleck attitude. It's no exaggeration to say that I read these books more for the rapid-fire dialogue and sardonic internal comments as for the plot.
"Do you do divorce work?" the woman said.What guy with lingering adolescent delusions of lonely intellectual superiority could possibly resist identifying with this narrator?
"I do," I said.
"Are you any good?"
"I am", I said.
"I don't want likelihood," she said. "Or guesswork. I need evidence that will stand up in court."
"That's not up to me," I said. "That's up to the evidence."
She sat quietly in my client chair and thought about that.
"You're telling me you won't manufacture it," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"You won't have to," she said. "The sonovabitch can't keep his dick in his pants for a full day."
"Must make dining out a little awkward," I said.
She ignored me. I was used to it. Mostly I amused myself....
Of course, plot is supposed to be central to mystery novels, so I should probably mention that this one involves multiple dysfunctional marriages and a dysfunctional energy-trading company with certain similarities to the recently-deceased but unmourned Enron. There's skulduggery and mischief, deceit and danger galore.
An enjoyable outing, guilty pleasure or no.
Compassionate Conservatism
So here's what Republican Ann Coulter has to say about the widows of the September 11 victims. Decide for yourself whether her book and her political party deserve your support.
Don't forget -- if you serve in the military and are killed and your mother should happen to miss you and wish you hadn't died, the Republican response will be to call her a whore.
Such nice folks. Such good, Christian folks. Do you feel like voting for them this November?
So here's what Republican Ann Coulter has to say about the widows of the September 11 victims. Decide for yourself whether her book and her political party deserve your support.
Coulter, whose books include the bestseller "How to talk to a Liberal (If You Must)," argues in the new book the women she dubs "the Witches of East Brunswick" wanted to blame President George W. Bush for not preventing the attacks.And no, she's not sorry. Evidently she rather enjoys the attention.
"These broads are millionaires, lionized on TV and in articles about them, reveling in their status as celebrities and stalked by the grief-arazzis," she wrote. "I've never seen people enjoying their husbands' deaths so much."
"By the way, how do we know their husbands weren't planning to divorce these harpies? Now that their shelf life is dwindling, they'd better hurry up and appear in Playboy."
Don't forget -- if you serve in the military and are killed and your mother should happen to miss you and wish you hadn't died, the Republican response will be to call her a whore.
Such nice folks. Such good, Christian folks. Do you feel like voting for them this November?
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Maybe it is just as well
That I did not go to Hell.
Large crowds line up to get into Hell (Livingston County Daily Press and Argus)
That I did not go to Hell.
Large crowds line up to get into Hell (Livingston County Daily Press and Argus)
Recent "reads"
Dead Lines, by Greg Bear (Audiobook). Since I now have a technologically advanced, modern vehicle with a CD player, I decided to experiment with listening to audiobooks on my various commutes and roadtrips. It's rather appropriate that the first one I listened to was a story involving a new means of voice communication.
Dead Lines is an intriguing thriller, but having listened to it as an audiobook, I find that it's hard to comment on it as a book. But here goes.
The protagonist is an aging Hollywood writer, soft-porn photographer and director of Z-grade movies whose career has long since gone the way of the dodo. He's been on the skids ever since the unsolved murder of his daughter and his subsequent divorce. He earns a precarious living by running errands for a reclusive, filthy-rich studio magnate who lives with his trophy wife in one of those extravagantly elaborate overblown Hollywood estates where the husband and wife can have separate his-and-hers mansions, complete with accumulated bricabrac from long-dead celluloid heroes and assorted stories of debauchery and death.
Into this happy scenario arrives a promoter seeking funding for a new kind of telecommunications device. It's an entirely new technology, one which goes "beneath" the known electromagnetic spectrum into a previously unused and unexplored expanse of bandwidth.
As people begin using these new devices, strange events start occurring. And at that point I draw the no-spoiler curtain across any further revelations.
I enjoyed the story. The reader's characterization of different voices for different characters helped both to reinforce their personalities and to indicate which character was speaking. A good listen, although I find it difficult to say whether I would have had the same reaction if I had read it in traditional form.
Dead Lines, by Greg Bear (Audiobook). Since I now have a technologically advanced, modern vehicle with a CD player, I decided to experiment with listening to audiobooks on my various commutes and roadtrips. It's rather appropriate that the first one I listened to was a story involving a new means of voice communication.
Dead Lines is an intriguing thriller, but having listened to it as an audiobook, I find that it's hard to comment on it as a book. But here goes.
The protagonist is an aging Hollywood writer, soft-porn photographer and director of Z-grade movies whose career has long since gone the way of the dodo. He's been on the skids ever since the unsolved murder of his daughter and his subsequent divorce. He earns a precarious living by running errands for a reclusive, filthy-rich studio magnate who lives with his trophy wife in one of those extravagantly elaborate overblown Hollywood estates where the husband and wife can have separate his-and-hers mansions, complete with accumulated bricabrac from long-dead celluloid heroes and assorted stories of debauchery and death.
Into this happy scenario arrives a promoter seeking funding for a new kind of telecommunications device. It's an entirely new technology, one which goes "beneath" the known electromagnetic spectrum into a previously unused and unexplored expanse of bandwidth.
As people begin using these new devices, strange events start occurring. And at that point I draw the no-spoiler curtain across any further revelations.
I enjoyed the story. The reader's characterization of different voices for different characters helped both to reinforce their personalities and to indicate which character was speaking. A good listen, although I find it difficult to say whether I would have had the same reaction if I had read it in traditional form.
Recent viewings:
The Skulls. This movie was savaged by the critics when it came out. It's really not that bad. True, the secret-society antics are silly and implausible. The plot is contrived, and the actions of certain characters are inadequately explained. But it's not nearly as insulting to the viewer's intelligence as, say, Coyote Ugly. There's some pretty photography, especially of the boat race at the beginning of the story; there are some pretty people on screen, and once you've checked your skepticism at the door the plot is sort of entertaining in a tinfoil-hat, conspiracy-theory kind of way.
The basic premise of the movie is that very old and very powerful secret societies at Ivy League colleges exert a tremendous amount of power, have a tremendous amount of money, and do lots of sinister and nefarious stuff in between handing out fancy cars, wads of cash, hired hookers, and social prestige in boatload-sized dollops to their fresh recruits. The protagonist, a poor-but-hardworking athletic-scholarship student at an unnamed Ivy League college that plasters big "Y"s all over its walls and uniforms, is tapped to join "The Skulls", a secret society evidently modelled on someone's perceptions of the "Skull and Bones" society at Yale. (Many people have, of course, noted that George W. Bush, among other political bigwigs, have been part of this group, and the movie's release in 2000 suggests that its producers sought to cash in on the resulting public curiosity.)
Our protagonist's black campus-journalist roommate and his blonde preppie not-quite-girlfriend are taken aback by his sudden and secretive new life. The roommate's instant and inexplicable resentment of his former best friend initiates the plot, such as it is, replete with murder and skulduggery. (Hah!)
As I said, the plot is somewhat entertaining once you check your critical thinking at the door. The only thing truly unsettling was the statement that all members of "The Skulls" were expected to "prove themselves" in WAR. (Yes, the word appears in giant capital letters in the film.) The movie was released in early 2000, well before the 2000 election after which "Dubya" became president. It was three years before George W. Bush launched his pet war in Iraq, and over a year before the September 11 attacks that purportedly provoked that war.
How did they know?
Perhaps someone should check into the background of the screenwriters and find out if they had Secret Knowledge -- or, even more intriguingly, if any of them have suffered mysterious "heart attacks" or been "disappeared" to Guantanamo Bay, or to private, exclusive "mental hospitals" in the past few years.
The Skulls. This movie was savaged by the critics when it came out. It's really not that bad. True, the secret-society antics are silly and implausible. The plot is contrived, and the actions of certain characters are inadequately explained. But it's not nearly as insulting to the viewer's intelligence as, say, Coyote Ugly. There's some pretty photography, especially of the boat race at the beginning of the story; there are some pretty people on screen, and once you've checked your skepticism at the door the plot is sort of entertaining in a tinfoil-hat, conspiracy-theory kind of way.
The basic premise of the movie is that very old and very powerful secret societies at Ivy League colleges exert a tremendous amount of power, have a tremendous amount of money, and do lots of sinister and nefarious stuff in between handing out fancy cars, wads of cash, hired hookers, and social prestige in boatload-sized dollops to their fresh recruits. The protagonist, a poor-but-hardworking athletic-scholarship student at an unnamed Ivy League college that plasters big "Y"s all over its walls and uniforms, is tapped to join "The Skulls", a secret society evidently modelled on someone's perceptions of the "Skull and Bones" society at Yale. (Many people have, of course, noted that George W. Bush, among other political bigwigs, have been part of this group, and the movie's release in 2000 suggests that its producers sought to cash in on the resulting public curiosity.)
Our protagonist's black campus-journalist roommate and his blonde preppie not-quite-girlfriend are taken aback by his sudden and secretive new life. The roommate's instant and inexplicable resentment of his former best friend initiates the plot, such as it is, replete with murder and skulduggery. (Hah!)
As I said, the plot is somewhat entertaining once you check your critical thinking at the door. The only thing truly unsettling was the statement that all members of "The Skulls" were expected to "prove themselves" in WAR. (Yes, the word appears in giant capital letters in the film.) The movie was released in early 2000, well before the 2000 election after which "Dubya" became president. It was three years before George W. Bush launched his pet war in Iraq, and over a year before the September 11 attacks that purportedly provoked that war.
How did they know?
Perhaps someone should check into the background of the screenwriters and find out if they had Secret Knowledge -- or, even more intriguingly, if any of them have suffered mysterious "heart attacks" or been "disappeared" to Guantanamo Bay, or to private, exclusive "mental hospitals" in the past few years.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Job search update
In case anyone's interested.
By an odd coincidence, I just applied for jobs at my two parents' alma maters today.
Looking at the numbers for the last month:
Number of applications sent in during May: 9
Number of applications which were sent in too late for serious consideration: 1
Number of noncommital responses received by mail: (will have to dig through files)
Number of "we hired someone better than you" letters: 1
Number of interviews: 2 (one in person, one by phone)
The place at which I interviewed in person shortly afterward sent a letter explaining, in so many words, that they were re-opening the search to get a better crop of applicants. Haven't heard back from the phone-interview place. Probably never will.
In case anyone's interested.
By an odd coincidence, I just applied for jobs at my two parents' alma maters today.
Looking at the numbers for the last month:
Number of applications sent in during May: 9
Number of applications which were sent in too late for serious consideration: 1
Number of noncommital responses received by mail: (will have to dig through files)
Number of "we hired someone better than you" letters: 1
Number of interviews: 2 (one in person, one by phone)
The place at which I interviewed in person shortly afterward sent a letter explaining, in so many words, that they were re-opening the search to get a better crop of applicants. Haven't heard back from the phone-interview place. Probably never will.
Recent Reads
The Loud Literary Lamas of New York, by Jack Woodford. An entertaining, book-length rant against the chattering classes of the publishing industry, circa 1950. I'm pretty sure it's the only book I've ever read which proudly displays a blurb from Harry Stephen Keeler. (Woodford satirically portrayed Keeler in a 1934 article which is available here. Coincidence? Who knows?) This is, however, balanced out by Woodford's discussion of folks like H.P. Lovecraft, H.L. Mencken and James Branch Cabell. A strange kind of cynosure, indeed, to connect Keeler and Cabell!
A sample of Woodford's opinionated, curmudgeonly style, culled from the prologue:
I find myself wondering what Woodford would think of the internet. It certainly has weakened, if not totally obliterated, the barrier between authors and readers. The following passage, from chapter 12, suggests that he wouldn't be surprised by the nature of much internet content.
An interesting sidelight: although Woodford is described as a pulp fiction writer in Wikipedia and elsewhere, and although he frequently boasts of his fiction sales in LLLofNY, a search of WorldCat indicates that he was far more successful, in the library world at least, as a purveyor of writing advice than as a fiction writer. Strange fate.
The Loud Literary Lamas of New York, by Jack Woodford. An entertaining, book-length rant against the chattering classes of the publishing industry, circa 1950. I'm pretty sure it's the only book I've ever read which proudly displays a blurb from Harry Stephen Keeler. (Woodford satirically portrayed Keeler in a 1934 article which is available here. Coincidence? Who knows?) This is, however, balanced out by Woodford's discussion of folks like H.P. Lovecraft, H.L. Mencken and James Branch Cabell. A strange kind of cynosure, indeed, to connect Keeler and Cabell!
A sample of Woodford's opinionated, curmudgeonly style, culled from the prologue:
There are readers, there are writers, there are printing presses. And there are thousands of weird characters living off the readers the writers, and the printers. Nobody knows why.None too surprisingly, LLLofNY was published by Vantage Press, one of the best known of the subsidy or "vanity press" companies. In the past, I've taken their imprint as a cautionary sign, a warning that what lay between the covers was most likely of interest only to the author's relatives and, perhaps, denizens of his home town. In most cases, I suspect that this is still true, but Woodford's cranky-but-charismatic book does have its appeal. In some ways, his disdain for the middlemen of the publishing industry seems similar to Ayn Rand's scorn for "second-handers".
There are the publishers who turn up five thousand geniuses a year and swear on their book jackets that these will be immortal.
There are the editors who tell the publishers and the public what they ought to publish and what they ought to read -- and the authors what they ought to write.
There are the critics, a portion of whom say this about a book and a portion of whom say that -- none of it important to anybody -- according to how much money a given publisher is yearly accustomed to paying for advertising.
Now the weird parasites have come to an impasse. They have hired so many mental giants to buoy things up for readers and writers that they cannot any longer afford to pay the printers without putting the prices of books so high nobody will buy them.
They can't get rid of the printers and they won't get rid of their expensive masterminds, so they want to take most of the author's royalties away from him on the theory that the author is the only real non-essential in the publishing business. But that isn't the solution. If writers' royalties are lowered they'll quit writing. Most of them don't make a living as it is.
So what is the answer to all this?
Very simple. Bring the reader, the writers and the printer together and eliminate all the weird characters.
The way to do this is obvious and a resounding start has already been made. Self-publication....
I find myself wondering what Woodford would think of the internet. It certainly has weakened, if not totally obliterated, the barrier between authors and readers. The following passage, from chapter 12, suggests that he wouldn't be surprised by the nature of much internet content.
As a matter of fact what the public really wants is comic books full of sadism, masochism, rape and arson, and everything but comedy. The sale of these things makes us all look silly -- all book authors, publishers and editors. The public embraced these abortions because present day publishers bored hell out of them.He goes on to demonstrate that certain ongoing debates in library selection policy -- "give 'em what they want" versus "give them what they need" -- are nothing new.
The publishing confraternity comeback to this would be that they are trying to levitate the public to "better things". Sure. But "better" according to whose viewpoint...From elsewhere in the same chapter:
Fantastically enough it is impossible for the average publisher to envision himself as a gadget attached to a printing press rather than a schoolmarm. When the publisher steps out of his legitimate function as a packager and forwarder, he cures people by the millions of the habit of reading books, just as real schoolmarms make windrows of brats permanently allergic to literature by cracking them over the head with the dullest of it.An entertaining read.
An interesting sidelight: although Woodford is described as a pulp fiction writer in Wikipedia and elsewhere, and although he frequently boasts of his fiction sales in LLLofNY, a search of WorldCat indicates that he was far more successful, in the library world at least, as a purveyor of writing advice than as a fiction writer. Strange fate.
Recent reads
Darker than you think, by Jack Williamson. Will Barbee, newspaper reporter, knew that there was something very strange about the sultry redhead who met him at the airport. Things got even stranger when she became, somehow, involved in the death of an elderly friend who had outre theories about the history of the human race. But he didn't know quite how strange she would turn out to be....
I hate reviews that give away too much of the story. And so I won't say much more than that about the details of the plot. I will suggest that any prospective reader -- unless he already knows the premise of the book -- should avoid reading the recent reprint edition's introduction by Douglas E. Winter, which fails to respect this principle.
Sadly, I didn't, and I suspect that the slight boredom I felt when reading most of the book resulted from that premature knowledge. I read the first few chapters with interest, and then started skimming chapters as the narrator seemed to remain doggedly oblivious to something that the introduction had made blindingly obvious.
The last few chapters, though, regained my interest by positing a dramatic alternate history of the human race. Darker than you think, indeed.
Darker than you think, by Jack Williamson. Will Barbee, newspaper reporter, knew that there was something very strange about the sultry redhead who met him at the airport. Things got even stranger when she became, somehow, involved in the death of an elderly friend who had outre theories about the history of the human race. But he didn't know quite how strange she would turn out to be....
I hate reviews that give away too much of the story. And so I won't say much more than that about the details of the plot. I will suggest that any prospective reader -- unless he already knows the premise of the book -- should avoid reading the recent reprint edition's introduction by Douglas E. Winter, which fails to respect this principle.
Sadly, I didn't, and I suspect that the slight boredom I felt when reading most of the book resulted from that premature knowledge. I read the first few chapters with interest, and then started skimming chapters as the narrator seemed to remain doggedly oblivious to something that the introduction had made blindingly obvious.
The last few chapters, though, regained my interest by positing a dramatic alternate history of the human race. Darker than you think, indeed.
Musical Chairs
The cover of the June 5, 2006 issue of The New Yorker is about as clear and insightful a portrayal of the academic job market as I've ever seen, right down to the sadistic grin on the face of the Academic Lord High Mucketymuck in the foreground. Except, of course, that the proportion of successful to unsuccessful players is far greater than in reality.
Image of the cover available here at Alas (a blog), along with some commentary which tries to tie it to affirmative action or some such.
The cover of the June 5, 2006 issue of The New Yorker is about as clear and insightful a portrayal of the academic job market as I've ever seen, right down to the sadistic grin on the face of the Academic Lord High Mucketymuck in the foreground. Except, of course, that the proportion of successful to unsuccessful players is far greater than in reality.
Image of the cover available here at Alas (a blog), along with some commentary which tries to tie it to affirmative action or some such.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity:
The chance to spend 6-6-06 in Hell. Sadly, I will be at work instead.
Edit, 6-6-06: Another article on this Doomful Day. Thanks for Fiend for the link.
The chance to spend 6-6-06 in Hell. Sadly, I will be at work instead.
Edit, 6-6-06: Another article on this Doomful Day. Thanks for Fiend for the link.
And you thought I was a packrat.
When I start thinking that I'm an irredeemable packrat, I take comfort in the existence of folks like this. And this.
Not to mention bookseller Rhett Moran, who recently posted these photos (1,2,3) of his warehouse of secondhand books that he hasn't yet had time to list on the internet.
When I start thinking that I'm an irredeemable packrat, I take comfort in the existence of folks like this. And this.
Not to mention bookseller Rhett Moran, who recently posted these photos (1,2,3) of his warehouse of secondhand books that he hasn't yet had time to list on the internet.
More on the return of Mrs. Robinson
It seems that the author of The Graduate may have some pressing financial reasons for getting back into the writing game. From The (London) Times.
It seems that the author of The Graduate may have some pressing financial reasons for getting back into the writing game. From The (London) Times.
Noted in the News:
Was the 2004 Election Stolen? (Robert Kennedy in Rolling Stone)
Will Your Vote Count in 2006? (Stephen Levy in Newsweek)
Was the 2004 Election Stolen? (Robert Kennedy in Rolling Stone)
Will Your Vote Count in 2006? (Stephen Levy in Newsweek)
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Recent viewings:
Coyote Ugly. Stupid, stupid, stupid movie. Do not watch this unless someone is holding a gun to your head. If that is the case, try to close your eyes and mentally go somewhere far, far away. You'll be happier that way. Trust me.
Lust for a Vampire. Another very silly movie, but this one is at least attractively filmed and has the modest virtue of being self-consciously, deliberately campy. (From the trailer: "This is one finishing school where they really do... finish you!")
The plot is horribly silly, full of cliches about central-European vampires who wear black-and-red capes and live in rotting castles on top of towering cliffs surrounded by villages full of superstitious peasants with lots of buxom blonde daughters who go tripsing merrily through the woods, tra-la-la-la-la, in their poofy peasant blouses until the Evil Vampires' big black carriage drawn by big black horses pulls up beside them and they mysteriously disappear after getting in one really good corker of a scream. (Strangely, the vampires seem to be unharmed by sunlight but wear hats and hoods and cloaks nonetheless.)
Then of course there's the dashing English traveller who simply must go charging up to the haunted castle just to show the superstitious locals what's what, you know. He finds himself being followed through the ruins by three young women in hooded cloaks, but guess what? They're not vampires -- they're students at an Exclusive Finishing School for Girls that has just suddenly opened up next door to the haunted castle! Imagine that!
This turns out to be a finishing school of very, ahem, advanced ideas for the 1830's. The girls flounce around the campus in gauzy gowns, go through stylized outdoor dance routines while the male teachers watch, and seem to have a predeliction for going topless whenever they're indoors. A good many of them seem to have Sapphic tendencies, especially one rather striking blonde girl who suddenly arrives from nowhere and whose name just happens to be an anagram of Carmilla.
Can you see where this is going?
Well, of course you can. That's beside the point.
Necks get bitten. Lovely ladies (and one or two not-so-lovely male extras) swoon and perish or are otherwise dispatched. Fetching Miss Anagram-of-Carmilla suddenly and inexplicably falls madly in love with the dashing English traveller.
You didn't see that coming, did you? Oh well. You get to see her coming. So to speak.
Did I mention that the plot was very, very silly? Watch it if you enjoy campy horror films with a touch of soft-porn. If not, don't bother.
Trivia note: According to one of the extra features on the DVD, this movie was originally to star Peter Cushing until he backed out. So did the original director. And Yutte Stensgaard, the blonde vampire-girl, was a fill-in for Ingrid Pitt, the star of Hammer Horror's previous lesbian-vampire movie The Vampire Lovers, who reportedly turned down this sequel because she hated the script. It seems that Lust for a Vampire was the high point of Miss Stensgaard's career. I suppose this must mean something.
Additional note: This fellow has a much longer and more entertaining plot synopsis in the unlikely case that anyone's interested.
Coyote Ugly. Stupid, stupid, stupid movie. Do not watch this unless someone is holding a gun to your head. If that is the case, try to close your eyes and mentally go somewhere far, far away. You'll be happier that way. Trust me.
Lust for a Vampire. Another very silly movie, but this one is at least attractively filmed and has the modest virtue of being self-consciously, deliberately campy. (From the trailer: "This is one finishing school where they really do... finish you!")
The plot is horribly silly, full of cliches about central-European vampires who wear black-and-red capes and live in rotting castles on top of towering cliffs surrounded by villages full of superstitious peasants with lots of buxom blonde daughters who go tripsing merrily through the woods, tra-la-la-la-la, in their poofy peasant blouses until the Evil Vampires' big black carriage drawn by big black horses pulls up beside them and they mysteriously disappear after getting in one really good corker of a scream. (Strangely, the vampires seem to be unharmed by sunlight but wear hats and hoods and cloaks nonetheless.)
Then of course there's the dashing English traveller who simply must go charging up to the haunted castle just to show the superstitious locals what's what, you know. He finds himself being followed through the ruins by three young women in hooded cloaks, but guess what? They're not vampires -- they're students at an Exclusive Finishing School for Girls that has just suddenly opened up next door to the haunted castle! Imagine that!
This turns out to be a finishing school of very, ahem, advanced ideas for the 1830's. The girls flounce around the campus in gauzy gowns, go through stylized outdoor dance routines while the male teachers watch, and seem to have a predeliction for going topless whenever they're indoors. A good many of them seem to have Sapphic tendencies, especially one rather striking blonde girl who suddenly arrives from nowhere and whose name just happens to be an anagram of Carmilla.
Can you see where this is going?
Well, of course you can. That's beside the point.
Necks get bitten. Lovely ladies (and one or two not-so-lovely male extras) swoon and perish or are otherwise dispatched. Fetching Miss Anagram-of-Carmilla suddenly and inexplicably falls madly in love with the dashing English traveller.
You didn't see that coming, did you? Oh well. You get to see her coming. So to speak.
Did I mention that the plot was very, very silly? Watch it if you enjoy campy horror films with a touch of soft-porn. If not, don't bother.
Trivia note: According to one of the extra features on the DVD, this movie was originally to star Peter Cushing until he backed out. So did the original director. And Yutte Stensgaard, the blonde vampire-girl, was a fill-in for Ingrid Pitt, the star of Hammer Horror's previous lesbian-vampire movie The Vampire Lovers, who reportedly turned down this sequel because she hated the script. It seems that Lust for a Vampire was the high point of Miss Stensgaard's career. I suppose this must mean something.
Additional note: This fellow has a much longer and more entertaining plot synopsis in the unlikely case that anyone's interested.
More trademark silliness
From Jim Hightower: Grover Norquist, Republican lobbyist and political strategist, seeks to trademark the term "K Street Project" and then prosecute anyone who refers to it as a symbol of Washington corruption.
Next up, I suppose, will be lawsuits prohibiting reference to the Exxon Valdez as a symbol of environmental pollution?
From Jim Hightower: Grover Norquist, Republican lobbyist and political strategist, seeks to trademark the term "K Street Project" and then prosecute anyone who refers to it as a symbol of Washington corruption.
Next up, I suppose, will be lawsuits prohibiting reference to the Exxon Valdez as a symbol of environmental pollution?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Recent viewings:
It Happened Here
The film opens with a short documentary section in which we learn about the Nazi invasion and occupation of Great Britain. It's very convincingly done in the style of a 1940s newsreel. The grainy black-and-white footage of troops and civilians might very well have been lifted from actual wartime footage, and the simplified animations of big white arrows moving across blocky grey maps will look familiar to anyone who has watched Victory At Sea or Frank Capra's classic Why We Fight.
Most of us who grew up in the past few decades have a practically subconscious, deeply ingrained memory of this style of presentation from schools or from televised documentaries that we have learned to intrinsically trust as authoritative and patriotic. The narrator's voice in such documentaries, invariably a fatherly baritone, is the comforting voice of truth. The voice we trust.
We also learn, from this documentary footage, about how the British population adapted to the Nazi occupation. How some collaborated with the occupiers, while others formed bands of partisans to resist them. And therein lies a tale.
We witness a partisan ambush. A group of civilians, caught in the middle of the ambush, flees into the night. Some of them are killed. One, a woman, escapes and makes her way to London. As a single woman cast adrift in a city under military occupation, she must find a way to make a living. Fortunately, as a trained nurse, she has marketable skills. But the only ones hiring are the Nazis and their British sympathisers, who make up the provisional government. What else is there to do but to take whatever job is available, and sign up for whatever additional training is required for that job?
Throughout the film, Brownlow drops in and out of different styles contemporary to the 1940s. The familiar Anglo-American newsreel style of the introductory section gives way to the high-contrast, gritty-looking black-and-white of period dramas. His ability to effortlessly drop into and out of the narrative viewpoint of a wartime propagandist is particularly unsettling. The decisions made by the protagonist, and the attitudes that she adopts, are all too easily understood. After all, how many times have each of us casually adopted some attitude or image, or performed some act of which we would ordinarily disapprove, because of job requirements or social pressure?
The ending is peculiarly understated and ambiguous. Unfortunately that's all I can say without giving away spoilers. But I very impressed and moved by the movie, nonetheless.
It Happened Here
The film opens with a short documentary section in which we learn about the Nazi invasion and occupation of Great Britain. It's very convincingly done in the style of a 1940s newsreel. The grainy black-and-white footage of troops and civilians might very well have been lifted from actual wartime footage, and the simplified animations of big white arrows moving across blocky grey maps will look familiar to anyone who has watched Victory At Sea or Frank Capra's classic Why We Fight.
Most of us who grew up in the past few decades have a practically subconscious, deeply ingrained memory of this style of presentation from schools or from televised documentaries that we have learned to intrinsically trust as authoritative and patriotic. The narrator's voice in such documentaries, invariably a fatherly baritone, is the comforting voice of truth. The voice we trust.
We also learn, from this documentary footage, about how the British population adapted to the Nazi occupation. How some collaborated with the occupiers, while others formed bands of partisans to resist them. And therein lies a tale.
We witness a partisan ambush. A group of civilians, caught in the middle of the ambush, flees into the night. Some of them are killed. One, a woman, escapes and makes her way to London. As a single woman cast adrift in a city under military occupation, she must find a way to make a living. Fortunately, as a trained nurse, she has marketable skills. But the only ones hiring are the Nazis and their British sympathisers, who make up the provisional government. What else is there to do but to take whatever job is available, and sign up for whatever additional training is required for that job?
Throughout the film, Brownlow drops in and out of different styles contemporary to the 1940s. The familiar Anglo-American newsreel style of the introductory section gives way to the high-contrast, gritty-looking black-and-white of period dramas. His ability to effortlessly drop into and out of the narrative viewpoint of a wartime propagandist is particularly unsettling. The decisions made by the protagonist, and the attitudes that she adopts, are all too easily understood. After all, how many times have each of us casually adopted some attitude or image, or performed some act of which we would ordinarily disapprove, because of job requirements or social pressure?
The ending is peculiarly understated and ambiguous. Unfortunately that's all I can say without giving away spoilers. But I very impressed and moved by the movie, nonetheless.
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