~Black Tie Only~

Gavin Hood is a worthless fuckwit. (Can you tell this is a Wolvie review?)

2009-05-05T08:30:00.000-07:00

Yes, friends, I was lucky enough to see the leaked work print of X-Men Origins: Wolverine and I can safely say now that I hope I never again see any of Gavin Hood's films ever again. While I love Ryan Reynolds and Liev Schreiber, and the characters they play in the movie, the rest of the cast made me want to beat my head against the wall. I've all but tuned out Hugh Jackman at this point in my life, so he was a non-issue going in. The man playing Stryker was awful, and I've seen him other places where he has been equally worthy of the viewers' hate. Will.i.am did a pretty decent job, and I wished he was in the movie more, but then, Gavin Hood seems to have derived a science out of not giving me what I want. To that effect: DEADPOOL.

Ryan Reynolds was THE perfect choice for Deadpool, his comic timing and deadpan line delivery being among the best in the business (watch "The Nines" to find out what I'm talking about). The actual Ryan Reynolds-Deadpool was both badass and hilarious for the seven seconds he was on-screen, and then he disappears, and Reynolds is no longer a part of the movie, just like that. When Deadpool reappears later on (by the way, I don't care if I give away spoilers; if you do, tough, because you HAVE seen this movie before in other forms, MANY other forms), he is not Reynolds, he is silent and he has sword-claws. I will reiterate:

DEADPOOL HAS SWORD-CLAWS. CLAWS THAT ARE SWORDS. FUCK. THIS. SHIT. I. QUIT. FOREVER.
The man would not be able to bend his stupid arms when the claws are retracted! If you want the trademark swords to be present, GIVE THE MAN SOME FUCKING SWORDS.

I'm done here. Pray that I live through the night, because I would hate to die of oxygen deprivation to my brain because the memory of this stupid movie clogged and/or burst the blood vessels in my brain. I think I need to lie down.

A very brief update

2009-04-14T06:54:00.000-07:00

It turns out that I was wrong about the release date for Ball Peen Hammer again. It actually comes out this October, for real this time. The comic, now FINALLY titled 6107 is progressing, but I've been so busy I've hardly had time to work on it any more, let alone the blog. I'm also writing a play(for a class), which I'll be posting here. I love the thing, personally. It's called AWESOMEVILLE, which will make sense once you read it, I promise. That's all I got for right now. Have a good day, blogfiends.

And so, friends...

2009-03-14T19:48:00.000-07:00

I have returned from a hectic and amazing week in New Orleans, sampling the local food, culture and rebuilding houses. I'm not one to toot my own horn, but y'know... toot. In all seriousness, I had a fantastic time, blessed as I was to have some great friends going with me and some connections to the city. I got the tour of the levees from a Tulane professor, which helped my understanding of the breaches flesh itself out; also found out that I hate sanding spackle with a flaming passion. It was a truly fucking exhausting week, but overall, I loved every part of it. It was certainly the best trip I've taken since my second excursion to Japan, the exception being that I actually contributed something really useful this time around.

On the comic front, things are progressing as well as can be expected what with all of this traveling and school and whatnot to distract me. In the interim, though, with some helpful bouncing-around of ideas with my good friend Pete, I have some new and weirdly interesting ideas for the series, including a recurring character/running gag that'll kick off issue 2. I really loved this idea and I hate to be so vague, but since I have yet to finish issue 1, there really ain't much point in giving stuff about issue 2 away, now is there?

Last time, I believe I mentioned my friend George O' Connor's new graphic novel "Ball-Peen Hammer" and the fact that it came out some time in February. I was, in fact, somewhat mistaken, it actually releasing somewhere around January 14th or thereabouts. I have yet to see a copy around, but I will continue searching and will release the site where copies can be found. The premise is a damn cool one, and I got to see George do certain pages firsthand, which was a serious trip. If you like dystopia, alternate futures, violence, profanity and creepy, enigmatic dudes wearing welding goggles, I highly recommend Ball-Peen as your next read.

That's all I have for the moment, people, but I promise to be back with something more substantial in the near future. Good night, you filthy blog-crawlers, you.

Because I'm sure you've been having BTO withdrawal...

2009-02-26T08:39:00.000-08:00

My thinly-veiled sarcasm aside, I'm quite pleased with he way things have been going, writing wise. While I haven't had an overabundance of time to write Lab Rat, the first major section of the first issue is done. I'm hoping to eventually get to the point where my abilities as a typist and my creative organization allow me to do 16 pages a day or upwards. Well, I write about 2 pages in 45 minutes, so it's conceivable that I could do it if I had a free day and no distractions. Writing Faraday is still formative, as I haven't exactly found the right mode I want him in, but as a character constantly in transition, maybe that's appropriate. I look forward to writing the Dr. Fader and Mister Reverse characters. Good stuff.

On a more plug-ish note, my good friend George O'Connor (also a follower of this blog) has resurfaced after some time off my respective radar. George is a graphic artist of some serious skill, and his upcoming comic Ball-Peen Hammer goes to press this week. In fact, it may be out now, by the time you read this. George's blog, where he posts art and sketches and other little amusements can be found here: http://geooco.blogspot.com/

My addiction to Twitter has grown steadily ever since I could find my favorite comic people hovering around there. I think it's indicative of how addicted I am that I have Twitteriffic open on my desktop 24 hours a day. If you read this blog and wish to find me on Twitter, my username is JulianRubbish. I'm a Twitterfiend. Lord, I apologize...

Also starring in a play, Daniel Sullivan's Inspecting Carol, the night performances stretching from tonight to Saturday night. I plan to break many legs.

Adios, you slimy bastards.

OHDEARGOD

2009-02-04T10:12:00.000-08:00

I keep saying I'll update on a pretty regular basis, but I really haven't got much done recently, and there's been no degree of regularity whatsoever. I do hope you'll forgive. Technical issues of recent weeks have made it very difficult for me to write much of anything, what with a faithful old laptop dying. A replacement has arrived, however, a very shiny new Macbook Pro, and it is rather glorious. This also means I can do more things, review more things and rant a bit more than usual. This is a plus point. The comic is also actually under way, and it's looking pretty good so far. Faraday and new addition Mister Reverse are going to be a positive joy to write. But I have a review for you.

~Review: Renaissance~
Made in France by visionary Attitude Studios, Renaissance was pretty damn impressive from the main menu alone. Being an independent animated neo-noir of a film, I walked into the experience with a grain of salt at the ready. However, the animation was much better than expected, like a moving graphic novel with a distinct visual style. What also set Renaissance apart from other animated films was its almost complete lack of color, presenting 99.99% of the visuals is stark black and white, with very little soft shadows playing into the scenes. The overall look of the film might weird a few people out, as I was until I realized how well the visuals fit with the story.

Daniel Craig voices the main character, a cop in 2077 Paris named Barthelemy Karas, who is sufficiently conflicted and tortured by his past to make for an interesting protagonist without being a complete douche to listen to. Most other characters also have well-defined backgrounds
that make them accessible to the audience. I really enjoyed the futuristic atmosphere of the film, as well, as there were some seriously cool techno-marvels popping up all over the place, and the whole theme of genetically discovering the secret of immortality was pretty enthralling throughout. I had a veeeeery good time watching Renaissance, and for the animation skeptics out there, this is a really eye-opening film. Good stuff.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some sleep to catch up on.

After a slight hiatus, we're back

2009-01-12T15:35:00.000-08:00

Oh wow, it really has been half a month. Shocking, really, but then again, I've scarcely been able to pull myself away from the shiny, glorious black monolith that is my PS3. Sort of like the Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey, I suppose. But I digress.

As soon as I can beat back the demons Procrastination and Obsession, I'll be starting on the new graphic novel project, now titled "Works Unknown," though I'm still unsure if that will end up being the final title. Characters are slowly evolving in my head to the point where I feel I might be able to write for them the way I want to. It's exciting stuff when I read the thing in my head, it really is.

I have been updating Flickr a bit more often, though the photo dump as it stands is not yet staggering in its volume, but I've had some nice stuff up there recently. I'm also a member of Warren Ellis' Whitechapel forums, so if you happen to be a member, look for me under the name "Julian Rubbish."

Shorter post today. Hope you don't mind. Laters.

Ecks-mas, nonsense, Flickr

2008-12-28T19:10:00.000-08:00

To start, my Christmas break has been stupendous so far. Now, here I sit, listening to Menomena and with not much else to do but make sweet, sweet love to my new PS3. Indeed, said gargantuan machine is most of the reason why I've been putting less effort than usual into ze bloggings.
DIGRESSION
Anyway, I've been thinking more and more about this new comic project I'll be working on, what with my feelings towards Braintrust being someplace in the unexplorable aether. The project is called Antebellum, and has to do with a man with waking dreams, horrific schizophrenia and delusions of grandeur committing various crimes and atrocities in the interest of bettering society. And guess what, it's working. GLEE! It's a strange premise, I admit, and one that may cause people to (rightfully?) question my sanity, but I think that by making it ridiculous, what with lots of violence, weird humor and profanity, the point I'm trying to make about social change might be made better. I'd need an artist, though, so if any of y'all reading this is interested by the idea, PLEASE contact me.

Oh, on a more things-I'm-doing-now note, I just got a Flickr account, for posting neat pictures and so forth, meaning I'm kinda obligated to bring my not-so-good camera everywhere I go, which I can manage. Search "Julian Rubbish" if you happen to be around Flickr to find me. I really don't have anything much up yet, but I plan on changing that within the next few days.

Oh golly gosh, this has been a really personal post, hasn't it? Hmm, it's kinda nice. Search me out, you artists! Nighty night, you bums.

I'm seriously considering a lobotomy, yes I am.

2008-12-19T09:44:00.000-08:00

Has it really been 13 days? Jesus. Well, no fear, my friends, I have things to report. Well, on the comic front, the Braintrust project that I've been working on is kind of shaky, but I'm not really sure. I do have an idea I definitely plan on pursuing, which is under the working title ANTEBELLUM. It'll be a lot of fun. There are chainsaw-rollerskates.

Oh, but you're probably wondering what the headline means. Well, thanks to the astounding skills that Warren Ellis has for rooting around the Interwebs, I have for the last month or so been obsessed with the music of German singer-cum-rapper Peter Fox, formerly of truly gag-worthy ska-reggae-swing band Seeed. I have so far listened to the single "Alles Neu" approximately 100,000 times, so many in fact that I can now rap the entire thing IN GERMAN, much to the amusement of my friends. Hence, I am currently trying to raise money to have my brain removed, or at the very least having a significant portion of my cranial fluid drained and... I don't know, given to underprivileged Icthyo sapiens or something.

And to round out this UBER-post after a couple very turbulent weeks, I have a review of Keanu Reeves' new movie and faceless legionnaire in the army of shitty remakes that have been coming out for the past 3 years, The Day The Earth Stood Still. Now, if you've seen the original film... the remake is nothing like that. There are elements of the original film IN the remake; GORT is back and badder than ever, Klaatu makes a return, and he is ostensibly there to save the earth from humanity. The similarities more or less stop there, though.

TDTESS is possibly the most soulless movie I've ever seen, and never have I been so bored at the fate of humanity than I was sitting in the theater. This could be the fault of the writers, the fault of the producers for insisting on unnecessarily revamping an originally excellent film, or the impossibly wooden Keanu Reeves. Oh, you thought he was bad in the Matrix? For a classically trained actor, he sure has a problem emoting effectively, and when I say "effectively," I mean "at all." TDTESS is also a great example of how talented Jennifer Connelly is, yet how much trouble she has picking good projects. Even the super-talented Jon Hamm is featured in the movie, and is not allowed to ACT. His role extends to nothing more than spouting a couple of poorly-written lines, looking worried a couple times, and pressing a button. That's right, Jon Hamm has been reduced to a f***ing space-monkey.

The Day The... oh screw it, I hated this movie so much I don't even have the interest to finish the title. Save yourself the price of admission and use the $8 to buy some headache medication, or a pillowcase, or a couple boxes of condoms. In other words, USEFUL THINGS. Peace, people.

~On my radar~ DEC0608

2008-12-06T18:51:00.000-08:00

As we all know, there are a ludicrous amount of super-talented artists on deviantART.com. I have a dA account, but I don't count myself among these people. I have a reason for this, because whatever drawings I may think are pretty good by my standards, it'll take only a brief look around my favorite artists' galleries for my feel-good, er, feelings, to come to a shuddering halt. I have a few that I'll be sharing here, with samples of their work.
deathbox-was-taken

Wen-M

Lysol-Jones

RAWR.

~Review: Fallout 3~

2008-12-05T15:33:00.000-08:00

Yes, you heard me right. This is a game review, for whoever is a gamer that follows this blog and through some monumental lapse in judgment has not played Fallout 3. Let me first say that I am always for movies, games, or books that include some sort of science fiction or post-apocalypse, so it should come as no surprise that I've been waiting for Fallout's release and have only recently have been able to get my hands on it. Gaming is a unique genre to review, really; no matter what the merits or problems with the game might be, there always have to be the wingnut minority ejaculating quips like, "Nah man, even if the gameplay doesn't match up to your retarded standards, I swear I'll f***ing kill your family if you say it's a piece of shit!" or "You're a freaking idiot man. Not only are you a total asshole idiot, but you're also wrong!"

I have to deal with people like this in my daily life whenever a big-name new release graces us with its presence, because the news of the world and what's happening with the global economy really need to take a back seat on the roster for discussion. This I am willing to accept, and I'll have to endure it until I, oh, get a house of my own and can shut myself up in it without seeing another living soul until the dreadful day when the magic cupboard fails to restock my supply of Vegemite, Cup Noodles and Bagel Bites. But that day will come in due time; in the meantime, let me dispel a rumor bandied about among conversations between people that haven't yet played Fallout 3 (shitmonkeys, as I like to call them):

V.A.T.S. does not get boring. Ever.

As a less-than-straight-up FPS, in fact being more of a moment-by-moment turn-based shooter, Fallout 3 includes an assisted-targeting mode. As such, there has been considerable worry among the gamer community over whether or not this mode will wear itself thin as one progresses, as the above-mentioned shitmonkeys do. Often. Let me reassure you, reader, that it is indeed V.A.T.S. which brings another level of immersion into the game, not to mention the fact that you get to watch your kills in SLOW-F***ING-MOTION. Let's be frank, gamers are a predictable bunch to whom the prospect of absurd gore barely fazes, nay, instills a sense of primal glee in said gamers. The spectacle of seeing an 8-foot yellow mutant explode into knobbly chunks of meat is not without a certain satisfaction, as I learned upon obtaining my first shotgun and messily blowing the mohawked head off of a Mad Max-like raider.

The gunplay is mainly decided by stats that you increase as you level up, making the standard run-and-gun aspect of the game only for the very brave, very stupid, or very high-level. Odd as it may sound, probability statistics win the day more often than not, but I could harp on about the combat until I've died of starvation. The main gameplay elements more or less work well, although hacking computers is usually more trouble than it's worth. Lockpicking is MUCH easier and intuitive than in The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, which makes the other arduous tasks the player is faced with the main focus rather than "How the hell am I supposed to get any more ammo if I can't pick this motherf***ing lock?!" The character creation mode is easy enough to get the hang of if you've ever played any other open-world game, and, blessedly, Bethesda has made it impossible to create any character too horrific (another problem that cropped up rather more than I would have liked).

Not to drone on for too long, but from what I played of Fallout 3, I thought it was spectacular, even if the learning curve is sometimes a little steep. Don't listen to the shitmonkeys.

I seem to have a love-hate relationship with holidays

2008-11-27T11:58:00.000-08:00

Admittedly the love tends to outweigh the hate, but there is a certain sense of dread I get when I hear the words "Thanksgiving is happening soon," or something to that effect. This isn't to say that I don't love my family, because I do, but I know that any holiday that forces a gathering of anywhere upwards of 9 people means some serious exhaustion for me and for the people around me. The dread seems to sink in because I know I'll have to take some margin of responsibility for the tiny kids of my cousins, a duty to which I am neither particularly well-suited nor exactly happy to do.

I like kids, sure, but I tend to like people more once I can have a cogent conversation with them. The kids which are usually remanded to my oh-so-watchful care are far too young to have a conversation, or even the barest skeleton of a conversation, with, and are guaranteed to drain me of any energy I might have used for something constructive. I wouldn't mind so much if I were simply asked to look after the little ones, but the situation usually revolves around the kids finding me during periods where they are not at all supervised, and then I am obligated to look after them until I can find someone else to take them off my hands.

This may seem like I avoid my duties in watching them, but the period of time which I normally watch them usually stretch on for about an hour, sometimes more. I try to be engaged, really I do, but it's hard to be engaged in something that will only stop me from doing anything worthwhile. Greedy? Probably, but this is the scenario I run time and again during the holidays. God, I'm tired already.

Sorry if the whinge-fest is bothersome. Just needed to say something articulate in the middle of craziness. Review coming later.

Okay, so I'm a terrible malcontent-y liar. Oh, and ~Review: Invincible~

2008-11-25T22:33:00.000-08:00

Alright, so when I said "later," that ended up being over 24 hours later, but what with Thanksgiving preparations occupying most of my time (these preparations are mostly mental, as there will be tiny, screaming children and lots more late nights; but then again, don't we kind of ask for it around the holidays?), I haven't had much inclination to log on lately. Anyway, I'd just like to give y'all a new review, a Werner Herzog film made in 2002, entitled "Invincible."

Now, I've been aware of the name Werner Herzog for quite a while, but since his films are more on the obscure side, it's taken longer for me to get around to seeing them. I have since slapped myself, hard, for not bothering sooner. Invincible is basically the (true) story of a Polish Jew who works with his father as a blacksmith in their cozy village. After gaining the attention of a talent agent from Berlin with his enormous strength, the man, Zishe Breitbart, becomes one of the main acts at the clairvoyant Erich-Jan Hanussen's theater. Now, the story is certainly weird enough to be a Herzog film, and is interesting up until the end, as there are more plot twists than one might expect from a seemingly predictable film.

But one of the things that makes Invincible interesting beyond the story is that tried-and-true Herzogian thing of using actors that aren't really actors in major parts, in this case, real-life German weightlifter Jouko Ahola playing the part of Zishe. Herzog has been known to use anyone from regular civilians to, in one case, idiot savants to play his characters, using moon-man logic that he and Shigeru Miyamoto probably came up with together. Ahola, to his supreme credit, does a better job than I expected, giving some serious depth to his character while still performing, like, legit performing, some real weightlifter-y feats. The rest of the ensemble are mostly played by utter unknowns, which is always nice. In fact, the only "big" names involved are Udo Kier, in a pretty minor police chief role, and Tim Roth, the only English actor in the entire film, playing Hanussen, who was an actual Berlin-based performer in the years preceding World War II, and who became a good friend of major members of the National Socialists (the Nazis, for those not so versed in WWII culture), like Goebbels and Himmler.

The film's screenplay was written in a mind-boggling 10 days by Herzog himself, in his weird dedication to his films, but it's easy to see that a lot of thought went into the writing. The dialogue is all very natural and unlabored, with all of the tense pauses and fluidity that make the actors really bring out their best performances. Another point that makes the viewer really buy into the whole experience is the surgical precision of the direction, and also the exhaustive attention to detail.

This is not to say that Invincible is not without a few bugs. The obscurity of the story is one that really has the potential to both turn people onto or off of the film, but this isn't so much the fault of Mr. Herzog so much as the fault of history books for not recording it. Also, there are a few weaker performances, but one can't always get everything they want, I guess. All in all, Invincible is thoroughly enjoyable and interesting to the right crowd, just approach with caution if you have doubts.

Not the funniest review, but it's really not the funniest movie (the ending is actually pretty tragic). I liked it, so did my parents when I showed it to them. Try it out, maybe you'll like it too. The beauty of Netflix... Ahhhh... Anymoose, I promise the next review I post will be something other than a movie, just in case you're getting tired of 'em (I hope not, but I'm always up for new stuff).

Oh! That's the other thing. If any of you readers have suggestions for reviews, or things that you'd like reviewed before you watch it, play it, read it, whatever, send me an email at bomablack@hotmail.com. Okay, thanks. Have a badass Thanksgiving. More stuff coming during the festivities. Peace.

It's 6:08 PM and I'm trying something out.

2008-11-24T15:08:00.000-08:00

Because I idolize and worship Warren Ellis and anything that comes out of his mouth, I've found myself checking his website/blog/webcomic more and more recently. To be honest, I don't know why I do this to myself, as the very first time I discovered www.warrenellis.com I was sent into a whirlwind of fear and horrible images of the universe-squeezing apocalypse. Not kidding. Really. Google "dark flow" and you'll see exactly what I'm talking about. Once I got over this nervous breakdown, out of which I actually had to be semi-coaxed by a friend and co-worshipper of Mr. Ellis, I laughed at myself for being a neurotic dipshit and then promptly went back to looking at posts about "your doomed world."

At any rate, because I'm not exactly feeling as super-duper original as I should be, given that it is vacation and I do love me some late night fun/writing (though they are not mutually exclusive, as earlier posts here should indicate to you all), I feel like trying something which the sainted Mr. Ellis sometimes does on his site: posting bizarre news for your enjoyment. In this case, the BBC has alerted me to something hilarious, coming out of 1 of my 2 homelands, Italy. I'll let you find out the details yourself, but let's just say that the name Benito might be making a comeback if what these people say is true.

Oh, and a word to the wise, don't play Super Paper Mario (Wii) unless you have a reservoir of patience that would make Mother Theresa feel a bit ashamed of herself. I swear, Shigeru Miyamoto has a mind not so inclined to normal logic so much as moon-man logic.

I'll be posting a new review later. Peace.

~Review: The Host~ (<3)

2008-11-22T22:26:00.000-08:00

This week, I had the time to watch a few of my stockpiled Netflix movies I had lying around, in the wake of finals, and the first order of business for me was to watch South Korean monster extrrrravaganza "The Host," also known as "Monster" in Korean (forgive me, I don't know the actual Korean). First off, I'm not usually one that jumps at the chance to see a monster flick, usually because I hate most of the monster designs I see. I exclude Cloverfield from that category, because the designs there were top-notch, and now I can say that I can add The Host's scaly man-eater to the list.

In a behind-the-scenes respect, the Host immediately had me interested; the monster was designed and animatronicked by the crazy-talented folks at Weta Workshop. Yeah, that Weta Workshop. Also, I'm told that this movie was the single highest-budget film in South Korea's history, and it really shows.

The production values on the Host are easily some of the best I've ever seen in a monster movie; the creature has a really defined and well-animated musculature, making it one of the most realistic I've seen since Cloverfield, probably more so, since it's only about the size of a truck, rather than Cloverfield's skyscraper-matching bastard, which is nice to see, really. Because the monster (God, I'll be using that word a lot in this review, and I apologize; my mental thesaurus tends to shut down around 1:30 AM) isn't a ludicrous size, the scenes where it has a lot of screen time and impact are made that much more engaging. As opposed to focusing on, say a leg or a tail per shot, most of the time the viewer gets to see the whole creature in all it's wonderfully mutated glory.

Now, this mention of mutation brings me to the crux of why I love the Host more than most other monster flicks. First, the story behind why the monster exists at all is really cool and not just a "Well, what a normal day in the city this is... HOLY SHIT A MONSTER! *BOOOOMRAAAAAWR*" but rather a quiet transition from the monster's accidental creation to the introduction of the movie's protagonist family (I say "protangonist family" because really, all of them have a huge part to play in the story, another nice touch) to the implied shit hitting the fan.

Getting to these characters, each and every actor seems perfect for their role, which is really nice to see. Also good is the fact that even though the Host is a highly studio-funded movie, there is not a single actor recognizable to an American audience, although the men playing Gang-du and Hee-bong (the dopey son and caring-badass grandpa) are apparently big-name actors in Korea, but both do a great job of giving some real dimension and empathy to their roles. There are also a few major roles for Americans, but again, no big names here (there's a hilarious character later on in the film played by an actor with some hardcore cross-eyedness, making him even funnier).

I was really surprised to watch the Host and find it both really well-written and, oddly, deeply satirical (almost, but not quite, bordering on anti-American), using terms like "Agent Yellow," a biochemical weapon meant to destroy the monster (sanctioned by American forces stationed in Korea after the appearance of the creature). Even the birth of the monster is due to an American coroner making his employee dump bottles and bottles of formaldehyde into the main river in Seoul. Most of the movie is downright hilarious, another monster-movie first.

Not to drag this out too long, I'd just say that the Host is VERY good in almost all aspects, which is not something I say often (for any of you who are worried about me only reviewing movies I only like or partly dislike, trust me, I'll be writing up some serious bile-spewers later on). I'd recommend anyone with a working brain to rent, download or steal it and enjoy it for yourselves. Guh... 2:00 in the morning makes me sleepy. Night, all, and go see the Host!

The votes are in!

2008-11-22T19:06:00.000-08:00

The display name I'll be using from here on out, unless I have a complete change later on, will be Doctor J. My friend's dad came up with it, which I find funny, but it's awesome to hear. Anyhoo, new posts coming very soon. Tonight, if I can swing it. Peace.

Oh! Also, I've been reading, in terms of graphic novels, 100 Bullets (written by Brian Azzarello and drawn by Eduardo Risso), and I've started the NewUniversal (written by Warren Ellis) and The Invisibles (Grant Morrison) series and I would totally recommend all of them. Once Obama's turn is up, I say Warren Ellis should run for president.

Okay, peace. For real this time.

~New Review: Quantum of Solace~

2008-11-15T10:08:00.000-08:00

O-kay, I may as well get this over with, as there may be some reading this that haven't yet seen the latest Bond film, and I must give such people warnings. Things to look for. Things to deeply, deeply fear. I walked into the theater with a few friends, disappointed that I'd been outvoted in seeing RocknRolla (which everyone conceded was getting excellent reviews, and not just from me). The spy-buff of the group, a tall fellow whom I respect immensely, looked as if he might tear me in half and use my legs as a doorstop when I said I'd rather see RocknRolla than Bond. So, out of fear for the fate of my legs, I allowed myself to buy a ticket.

From a technical standpoint, Quantum of Solace (a name that, even after seeing the entire f***ing movie, is still incomprehensible to me) is very clean and crisp. The production values are excellent, the direction better than I expected, and of course, lots and lots of pretty explosions. These things I come to expect from the new Bond, so it was hardly mind-liquefying to see them, though they are appreciated.

What I found that completely blindsided me was the fact that the story got very twisted in upon itself. Like, on a level I don't think I've seen for years. Not to give too much away, the plot becomes much more about a revenge killing than actually relieving the suffering of the Bolivian people. If I expect anything at all from the Bond franchise, it's that there is a very competent spy fiction writer behind the wheel. In some ways, this is true; there are the appropriate double-crosses, international stories of intrigue and villains masquerading as decent, and sometimes philanthropic, human beings. But despite the title, the word "Quantum" is mentioned only twice that my friends and I could notice, and "Solace" was mentioned a whopping 0. Zero. None. Did the writer take one more Quaalude than he meant to and just fell asleep before he got to explain what the hell it means? I thought from the beginning that "Quantum of Solace" sounds like a method of consoling a grieving widow at warp speed, but it was really surprising to find that the writers dropped such an obvious ball.

In terms of acting, Quantum is everything you remember from Casino Royale. Daniel Craig is at his ruthless best, Dame Judi Dench is as cutting as we remember, and for the most part the cast is made up of lesser-known actors. Thank God. The exception is the (absurdly beautiful and sexy) Olga Kurylenko, who does her level best to make her character both professional and vulnerable. If only the script that the actors were given were a bit more well-constructed.

My last major gripe with the film is that it's, oddly, almost too intense. Each action sequence is so engaging that you hardly realize that the movie has reached a climax. These sequences are awesome to watch, of course, but it's nearly to much. I remember the same spy-buff that wanted to rip my limbs off saying, as the credits rolled, "Really? That's the- Really?" That's the problem right there: come in hungry, leave unsatisfied.

There are definitely great moments; the big one is the "bike-slap," as I like to call it. Just trust me on this one, you'll know it when you see it. My advice to any die-hard fan is, watch it, just don't expect to have your espionage hard-on immediately satisfied.

A play!

2008-11-11T20:24:00.000-08:00

That's right, and it's a long one. 16 pages on Word. Not sure what that translates to, blog-wise, but we'll see. I wrote this for a class and actually *just* finished it. I'm pretty happy with it, especially the ending, for some reason.

~November~
Written by Julian Mundy

Cast of Characters
Osgood November: mid-forties, private detective and paranormal investigator, male. Approx. 5’7”, wiry, has black hair that has begun to go gray in thin streaks, (witch?)hazel eyes, naturally friendly face and personality, impossibly intelligent. Has a rare neurological condition that causes him to forget anything he says immediately after he says it, requiring someone to write down all of his conversations. Cares nothing for the church or the state. Mother died in childbirth and father currently runs a brothel in Shanghai. Thoroughly English, North London accent.

Hildebrand: 27, aide under the employ of November, male. Very tall, bordering on 6’6”, dirty-blonde hair slicked back rigidly, blue eyes, not especially handsome. Self-educated, focusing later in his life on paranormal studies. Alienated by his family for his choice of career, comes from a wealthy family. Is almost as knowledgeable as November about the paranormal. Speaks in a thick Nordic accent.

Rebecca Spanner: 26, aide under the employ of November, female. 5’9”, very attractive despite being ever so slightly on the heavy side, wears her black hair in a thick plait down her back. Classically educated at Eton, used to be a police constable. Responsible for recording all of November’s conversations thanks to her astounding transposition rate. Comes from middle-class background, born in Wales, has a pretty Welsh accent.

Barthelemy Doyle: 33, professional Bantamweight boxer and minor celebrity, male. Arranges jobs for November with wealthy acquaintances. Friend of November and Hildebrand, object of affection for Rebecca. Very accommodating, personable. Speaks in a very North London accent muddled by Stallone-esque mumbling, presumably from many blows to the head and face.

Colonel Samuel Pershings: 64, former Queen’s Army colonel turned Provincial governor of York, male. Intimidated by his son’s intellect, austere. Utterly devoted to the English government. Yorkshire accent.

Torvald Kreskin Pershings: 20, private researcher of the paranormal and metaphysical, male. Worships November, dislikes Hildebrand, lusts after Rebecca. Intellect surpassed only by November’s, always looking for someone to listen to him talk about his research. Speaks with a rough combination of Yorkshire and Eastern European.

The Armadillo: A profoundly unfortunate armadillo whose past and future are as yet shrouded in mystery.

Setting:
(Lights up on Pershings Estate basement, a large stone room set into the very foundation of the manor house; the basement is lit by tabletop candlesticks placed randomly, illuminating the tottering piles of books and sheaves of notes covering all surfaces. In the corner of the room we see 12 stacked wire cages, each only big enough for a rabbit or small dog to live in comfortably; all but 2 of the cages stand open and empty, the last 2 holding an armadillo and a tabby cat. Enter Torvald Kreskin Pershings, Col. Samuel Pershings and Barthelemy Doyle; the three men enter at a leisurely pace and spread around the room according to their own preferences, with Torvald moving around feverishly, checking measurements and figures on a sheet of parchment and speaking excitedly)

Torvald: (still scribbling and pacing) I’m glad you decided to come, Mr. Doyle. It’s good to have someone bear witness to my work who isn’t a pigheaded skeptic.

Col. Pershings: Am I not allowed my opinion, Torvald? I have seen your experiments before and I would describe my feelings afterward as… well, let us say that horror would not be inappropriate.

Doyle: (amused) Torvald, you’ve gone on and on to me about this work you do. I’ve already said that I was int’rested, so you’ve nuffing to prove to me; this ‘ole biz-ness sends me inta a storm of ideas, none of ‘em quite so exciting as yours, of course. The biz-ness I’m in is simple; fist ag’inst fist, man ag’inst man but on the physical plane only! Come, friend, please give us two the specifics!

Col. Pershings: (clearly uneasy, with shaking voice) NO, no, really, that’s not necessary, son, please. I-

Doyle: (interrupting) Nonsense! This is most enthralling, sir! You must learn to approach all things with mind open and eyes wide! Miss nothing, my good colonel!

Torvald: You see, father? There are people in this world not quite so intolerant as you.

Col. Pershings: For the umpteenth time, son, intolerance is not the issue at stake! I am simply scared for my life, for my immortal soul, Torvald!

Torvald: (not listening) If I may begin…

Doyle & Col. Pershings: (Doyle excited, Pershings resigned) The floor is yours.

Torvald: (making a little bow, then straightening to pace the room in an authoritative manner) Thank you, gentlemen. Now, in order to affect the metaphysical through physical means is a labour that has taken countless hours of study and trial and error. By all rights, such a thing should not be possible, but with tireless research into Aztec spirituality, the relation of lunar and solar cycles, Planetary Alignment Theory and Renault Ectogram Compression, as pioneered by Anton Renault himself, I have found a foolproof way of breaching the bulkhead between the world of the body and the world of the sleeping mind. Just think of it, gentlemen! Proving that which the great Renault and Gregory Cullum of the Colonial Americas could not! With a few simple, 100,000 word incantations and a conductive glyph that many believed to be lost forever… (voice rising to a triumphant crescendo) I WILL SWITCH THE WAKING MINDS OF THIS CAT AND THIS ARMADILLO!

(Doyle’s expectant smile falters noticeably; Col. Pershings has placed his hand over his mouth in disbelief)

Torvald: But quickly Father, Mr. Doyle! There is a quickening and we must not waste such an opportunity! (he rushes to the cages and withdraws the armadillo and cat, straps them down and tickles them both beneath their respective chins; both animals mewl and snuffle frantically) There, gentlemen, you see! Both animals are masters of their own individual consciousness, but with the power of the mind… (making a grand gesture) They will NOT BE FOR LONG!

Doyle: (on edge but still vaguely expectant) Oi, Torvald, let’s not do anything we’ll regret, hey? Just calm down and-

Col. Pershings: (finishing the sentence) – and think about what you’re about to do, my son! What you are doing was never meant to be, it’s unnatural, like a trained circus bear riding around on those little bicyc… (trailing off then finding his thread again) Please, my boy, think about the consequences of your actions! Think! You could end up with a tabby-armored catadillo and THEN what’s to be done?!

Torvald: Oh, I have thought about it, father. At great length and I say to you one thing only: How often does one… (laughing in a maniacally) Get to play GOD!!!

(Torvald runs to a crate in the corner U.L. and extracts a freshly killed chicken, which he shoves into Doyle’s hands, and what looks to be a stiched-leather cap with gold television aerials sticking out of it at random places and angles; neither man even attempts to resist at this point and both stand staggered C.R.)

Torvald: Now father, Mr. Doyle, please stand very still while I recite the incantation. Get into a comfortable position, as this is a sodding long one…

(Torvald begins to chant in a strange and unintelligible language for approximately 15 seconds before both Torvald’s voice and the lights fade out; cue card appears from above reading 10 MINUTES LATER… before lights come back up to normal and Torvald’s voice is heard again, slightly more tired; he finishes his chanting and motions to Doyle)

Doyle: (looking down at a patch of featherless skin on the chicken’s back and speaking in a voice that clearly indicates that he is reading something written on it) We summon you O Lord of Dreams, to grant us a boon of power. Let these two bound thus be transposed upon each other, and let their lives be mastered each by the other. This boon we ask that we may feel the wealth of the dreamscape and the true nature of the mind. (shouting) ARABUM ASTOS POLLUX DEFINITUS ARCHAIA!

(Wind kicks up all around the room, blowing notes hither and thither; pops and small explosions erupt from beakers sitting on desks and smoke pours in from an unknown source before the whole thing stops instantly, leaving the three very startled and confused men standing stupidly and looking at the animals on the ground)

Col. Pershings: Is it… Is it over? (alarmed) AM I DEAD?!

Doyle: Did it… Did it work? What’s happened to the animals?

(Torvald runs to the center of the room to check the animals’ status; he prods the cat cautiously but gets no response)

Torvald: The cat appears comatose… (soft humming can be heard from somewhere; all at once all three men realize it is coming from the armadillo, which Torvald releases from the floor and holds up to eye level)

The Armadillo: (hums a tune for a few seconds before exploding, startling all present) THE SKIES WILL RAIN FIRE AND THE RIVERS WILL RUN WITH TAR! THE REIGN APPROACHETH! THE REIGN APPROACHETH AND THE RUINATION OF THE WORLD DAWNS LIKE THE ATMOSPHERE SET ABLAZE! YOU WILL EAT BLOOD PUDDING FROM THE UMBER TABLE BEFORE LO- (Doyle intervenes and clamps a meaty fist around the armadillo’s snout)

Torvald: (horrified) And the armadillo appears to be able to scream damning prophesies. (turning to Col. Pershings) Father, would you like to interject? I feel as though my immense brain isn’t working properly.

Doyle: (equally horrified but attempting to put on a brave face) I know this much: we’re metaphysically buggered. But I think I know what to do…

(Doyle dashes to the phone, which has been knocked over in the uproar, and speaks to the operator)

Doyle: Yes, Operator? Get me Osgood November!

(fade to BLACKOUT; SCENE CHANGE)

(Lights up on Pershings Estate Parlour; décor is very much in keeping with a state official seeming much more wealthy than he is, with ornate chairs, a desk and assorted rare-looking plants placed uniformly around the room; grand staircase placed center, leading to upper floors and bedrooms, doors placed off-stage R, leading to the vestibule, L, leading down to the basement, & U.L. and U.R, leading into what might be presumed to be the dining room, kitchen, living room, etc. Voices heard offstage)

Doyle: (off) Ah, Osgood! So glad you hear you could come on such short notice, guv’nor!

November: (off, casual) Not at all, Barthelemy. Good to see you well after so long.

Doyle: (off) You as well, guv’!

November: (off) “You as well” what? What was I saying?

Doyle: (off) Er… Nevermind then, guv’. Come in, you all. It’s bloody freezin’ out there.

(Enter Doyle, Osgood November, Hildebrand and Rebecca Spanner; each character moves around the room and settles according to their preference; the general formation is a loose cluster around Doyle, who is just L. of the center staircase)

Hildebrand: So, Barthelemy, what exactly is this problem you have?

Doyle: Oh, the problem ain’t exactly mine. One moment, please. (climbs up three steps and calls upstairs) Colonel! Torvald! The cavalry has arrived!

(Enter Col. Pershings and Torvald from down the main staircase)

Doyle: Guv’, this is the hon’rable Colonel Samuel Pershings, and his es-teemed son, Torvald Kreskin Pershings.

Col. Pershings: Ah, at last! Mr. November, what an honor to finally meet you! What a relief, I can hardly-

Torvald: (interrupting) Mr. November! You are Osgood November? THE Osgood November?!

November: (politely surprised) I suppose I’m AN Osgood November…. I’m sorry, young man, I’ve neglected to introduce myself, my name is Osgood November. What are you looking so excited about, if I may ask?

(Col. Pershings and Torvald seem at a loss for words at November’s behaviour, Doyle’s face looks as though he just remembered something unpleasant; Rebecca intervenes)

Rebecca: I apologize for any confusion, sirs. Mr. Osgood has, though his intellect is still honed as it ever was, he has from birth been the unfortunate host of a disorder that has disabled his ability to remember his own speech. In other words, he forgets what he says immediately after he says it.

Hildebrand: A more unfortunate affliction is hard to find, you must admit.

November: I try not to let it bother me.

Rebecca: I apologize for the lack of warning, sirs.

Col. Pershings: (still a little shaken) Oh, no no no, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It- Well, I-I just hope that you’re…

Torvald: Functional?

Col. Pershings: Well?

November: Well, I’m not a depressive, and that, I believe, is the first step toward leading a… well, as you say, a functional existence. (smiles; Torvald and the Colonel seem unnerved)

(Seeing that the Pershings’ reaction, Doyle interjects immediately)

Doyle: Now, this armadillo of yours, Torvald. Well, go on, son, there’s work to be done!

Hildebrand: Armadillo? You wouldn’t happen to have an infestation of Peruvian Cabalist Armadillos, because we haven’t the cloves or the ether necessary to-

Torvald: No, no, nothing like that, whatever that is. No, rather the armadillo is, well, screaming. And yes I know how that sounds.

Rebecca: Well, obviously.

Torvald: Well, obv- I’m sorry, dear lady; I don’t follow you at all.

Rebecca: Well, if you’ve heard the beast scream, then you obviously know how it sounds.

Torvald: Er, quite, yes… Well, er, I- Nevermind. That’s not important right now, if you’ll excuse me. No, what is important is how the incident started.

Col. Pershings: (to November, with a visible shudder) I can hardly bear to remember, sir.

Torvald: Yes, yes Father, very nice. But getting straight to the point… The whole incident was the result of a groundbreaking experiment I was conducting.

Doyle: (to November, embarrassed) Not to put too fine a point on it, guv’, but the proceedin’s went, well, pear-shaped, beggin’ yer pardon.

November: And what sort of “experiment” could possibly go so pear-shaped as to enable a marsupial to shriek?

Torvald: To be perfectly honest, sir, I was attempting my greatest project to date: to switch the minds of a housecat and an armadillo. I was quite confident in the project’s success, but clearly- (he is interrupted as November rushes over and grabs his hand and shakes it hard)

November: But my boy, what a wonderful idea! I’ve heard that Cullum tried to switch two minds years ago but failed miserably, but I wonder what you must’ve thought of it. What did you think about Cullum’s attempt? You know that I heard Gregory Cullum tried an experiment just like that 7 years ago, with no success whatsoever.

Rebecca: (seeing that November is repeating himself) Chief, don’t you think we ought to see to the armadillo? Speaking of, where is the wee thing?

November: Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right, Ms. Spanner. Yes, of course, Ms. Spanner. Lead on!

Hildebrand: Right as always, Rebecca. (Rebecca has been carrying a suitcase with her but has left it on the floor during the conversation; she motions to grab it again, but Hildebrand makes a motion to stop her) No, no, I’ll take it down, my dear, I insist.

(Rebecca smiles politely and puts a hand on November’s shoulder, the two of them following Doyle and Col. Pershings, with Hildebrand, a suitcase under each arm, trailing slightly behind; Torvald has not moved and is glowering down at his shoes)

Col. Pershings: (as he exits) Tread carefully now, gentlemen and lady! Some parts of this house are old as those peculiar trees in Jordon!

(Col. Pershings, Doyle, November and Rebecca exit into the basement; Hildebrand makes for the exit but is stopped by Torvald’s hand on his chest; the scene is peculiar, as Hildebrand towers over Torvald; Torvald’s voice is laced with barely-concealed jealousy and contempt)

Hildebrand: I’m sorry, young sir, but I must follow Mister November and Miss Spanner. The instruments they’ll need to test the cellar with are all in this-

Torvald: Don’t you think you can fool me, you overgrown lummox!

Hildebrand: Well, there’s no need for that sort of talk, young sir, and what do you mean by “fool you?” I haven’t done something to offend you, have I? (checks to make sure he hasn’t stepped in something)

Torvald: (growing more and more incensed) Where do you find the gall, you Viking stooge?! I can see through that veneer of manners as though it were wax paper!

Hildebrand: What are you going on about, young sir? What have I done?

Torvald: You have it in your mind to woo Miss Spanner!

Hildebrand: (genuinely confused) I… What? I’m sorry, young sir, “no hablo Loony.”

Torvald: Don’t think you can play dumb with me, sir. My intellect is such that I could see through walls, so your feeble mask of innocence has no hope whatsoever of deceiving me! I won’t have it, sir!

Hildebrand: Young sir, I haven’t the slightest clue what you are talking about. Miss Rebecca and I have known each other for years, since Mister November so graciously employed us. I rather think of her as a sister than a potential-

Torvald: Ah! But how the mind twists and perverts! You think of wooing someone who you used to value as a sibling! For shame, sir… (Torvald smirks evilly)

Hildebrand: For the last time, young sir, I have no thought in my mind of pursuing a relationship with Miss Rebecca, and if you know what’s good for you, you had best put the thought out of yours!

Torvald: Ah, now I see! If you could not make dear Rebecca yours, no one else should have her, eh? Well, I deplore your selfishness, sir!

Hildebrand: (growing increasingly frustrated; in an icy tone) Now see here, young Torvald, do away with this nonsense before-

Rebecca: (off) Hildebrand, get down here! We need the Echo-Spectrograph!

Col. Pershings: (off) Torvald? What are you doing up there, boy? There is no time to dawdle!

Hildebrand: (calling to offstage) Coming, I’m coming! Wait a moment! (refocusing on Torvald) –before I lose my temper and make you sorry for slandering me. Do we understand each other?

Torvald: (slightly cowed, but trying to remain firm) I will desist, but only because we are both needed elsewhere. Only, remember this, Viking… I’ll have my eye on you.

(Hildebrand and Torvald glower at each other for a moment before simultaneously breaking the gaze and exiting into the basement)

(BLACK OUT & SCENE CHANGE)

(Lights up on Pershings Estate basement; Torvald and Hildebrand enter from staircase U.R. to find that Rebecca and November are already rifling through sheaves of parchment and thick manuscripts, presumably looking for clues; Doyle and Col. Pershings stand watching L; Hildebrand reaches the center of the room, where he places the larger of his two cases on the floor, opens it, and extracts a pair of goggles, mottled with a number of dials, switches, and different lenses)
Hildebrand: (handing the goggles to Rebecca, who grabs them, delighted) The Echo-Spectrograph.

Rebecca: Magnificent! Now let’s have a look at this marsupial of yours, Colonel. Oh, Barty… (she indicates Doyle, her voice as sultry as she can manage) Would you please get the armadillo for me, darling?

(Doyle hesitates for a moment, then, with a face one makes before swallowing unpleasant-tasting medicine, he moves D. L. to an open crate, from which he removes the armadillo, which has since its last appearance had a belt fastened snugly around its snout. Doyle holds the creature at arm’s length, looking very unnerved at just touching it)

November: Marvelous little bugger…

Hildebrand: What a peculiar creature.

Rebecca: Right then, let’s have a gander, eh? (she holds the goggles to her face and looks intently at the armadillo for a few moments, then recoils) Lord in-! (masters herself) Chief, you’d best see this.

November: (taking the offered goggles, then holding them to his face; there is a pregnant silence for a few seconds) I hate to do this to you, Barthelemy, but… I’ll need to hear the poor marsupial speak.

Col. Pershings: (to no one in particular) If only he knew how bizarre that sounded…

(Slowly, Doyle removes the belt; the Armadillo says nothing for a moment before exploding)

The Armadillo: YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF WHAT HORRORS AWAIT YOU, PUNY FLESHLINGS! YOU ARE ALL AS THE DEAD, IN BUT A SHORT TIME YOU SHALL ALL FEED THE WORMS OF THE EARTH AND MAKE A BOUNTY FOR THOSE CREATURES THAT CHEW ON THE BONES OF THE DAMNED! HE WILL MAKE THE UNIVERSE AS A BAUBLE TO TURN IN HIS HAND AND ALL THE BEINGS IN IT HIS SWEETMEATS! HE DRAWS EVER NEARER IN HIS MIGHTY FURY AND-

(Doyle has once again clamped his hand over the armadillo’s snout and proceeds to fasten the belt yet again around it; November sits on a nearby stool and wears an expression of deep thought on his face, his lips moving silently; all others in the room seem both concerned and puzzled; it is Doyle that breaks the silence)

Doyle: Not to, uh, intrude on your brainwork, guv’, but… Wha’ever did the little blighter mean by all tha’? Might as well ‘ave stuck it’s ‘ead in a fishbowl and let it scream, for all the good it did.

November: Nonsense, Barthelemy! I’d rather think not, Barthelemy!

Torvald: What do you mean by that, sir? Surely you couldn’t have understood that gobbledegook, the little thing isn’t in its right mind. We can’t even be sure of what mind it is in!

Col. Pershings: Unfortunately, my son is right. I know my boy as well as anyone, and if his staggering intellect can’t decipher that yammering, I don’t see how you could, begging your pardon. What did it mean by “HE” anyhow? And why is HE going to kill everyone? I can’t die yet! There isn’t a war on!

Hildebrand: Colonel, your speech simply reveals how little you know of Mister November. Have faith, sir. If you haven’t any now, you will have very shortly.

Rebecca: I’m sure the Chief will be able to give you all the particulars of his deductive process, but I believe it’s drawing up on lunchtime. It does no good for the mind to operate without fuel, after all.

(Rebecca takes the armadillo from Doyle’s arms and places it carefully back in the crate, while the others look at each other and nod appreciatively; all move to the staircase, having a conversation in indistinct voices, with the occasional discernable remark about food; as the last foot disappears up the staircase, lights dim and spotlight focuses on the crate, from which we can hear what sounds like the muffled cries of the armadillo; the sounds continue until…)

(BLACKOUT & SCENE CHANGE)

(Lights up on Pershings Estate, patio; the floor is tiled stone, with low stone walls surrounding and a pair of stone planters flanking the door to the house itself; we see that there is a table covered in food, which the assembled party is gathered around, plates in hand, from which each eats various finger-food fit for a rich man; the group is generally gathered around November, and all stand in silent attentiveness. November is speaking, with Rebecca writing down everything with a pad of paper held slightly below his eye level, so that he may stay on the same deductive track)

November: -which allows the user to see the souls of the departed! A marvelous device, if I may say so. So beautifully simple, yet so staggeringly effective!

Col. Pershings: So you mean to say, sir, that this… device of yours allows a man to see the dead? Ghosts and things? What nonsense…

Torvald: Oh hush, father! You haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.

Col. Pershings: Oh, you just wait and see, my lad. This is a load of stuff and nonsense and you’ve all gone funny in the head! You’ll see!

(While the Colonel speaks, November holds the goggles to his face and looks up and offstage, then after a moment’s pause, lowers them and speaks)

November: I beg your pardon, Colonel, but you seem to have a spirit haunting your upstairs toilet. Been there quite some time, by the looks of things…

Col. Pershings: (rushing over to November and snatching the goggles away, then holding them to his face) I what?! You must be out of your tr- AAAAAAAAH! (he recoils and hides behind Hildebrand for cover)

Rebecca: Oh, do calm yourself, sir. It’s only a wee ghost. Probably a dead relative who came to visit, or perhaps the former owner of the house. You know, more dead people snuff it on the toilet than anyone seems to realize.

Hildebrand: She’s quite right. You’re quite right indeed, Rebecca. Shame no one thinks of these things until they have ceased to be useful, damn shame.

Doyle: (with marked distaste) ‘Ow dreadful!

(Torvald has become steadily gloomier as the conversation has progressed, and finally interrupts, barely concealing frigid anger)

Torvald: Excuse me, Father, everyone, but I must have a word with Mister Hildebrand here. (Hildebrand already looks as though he is preparing for a fight) Mister Hildebrand, if you would, please…

Hildebrand: Of course, young sir. Lead on.

(Torvald and Hildebrand move D.L. and leave the rest to a conversation which the audience cannot hear; the sounds of eating, laughing and excited muttering are barely audible)

Torvald: Sir, this is the last time I shall be so polite, but I must ask you to cease this foolishness. For the final time, Rebecca’s heart belongs to me!

Hildebrand: I think that’s rather up to her, now isn’t it, little one?

Torvald: Ha! Please, sir, stop your joking. How could she resist such a specimen as myself? I have the body of a god (he admires himself for a moment) and the brain of a… well, something with a very large brain! Even one so choice as Miss Spanner could hardly think of rejecting a man like myself.

Hildebrand: Tell me, youngling, do they keep a special cell in Bodkin’s Asylum open, just in case you happen to pop in for a nap and a mental breakdown?

Torvald: Your insults mean nothing to me, worthless Viking pig!
Hildebrand: (in cold fury) I have warned you time and again, little fool, and still you poke and prod at me and my honor. Well, now you leave me with no choice, as I must teach you a lesson your father evidently failed to.

Torvald: (with a sneer) And what lesson might that be, headmaster? Hehehehe…

Hildebrand: I will teach you respect! I will teach you humility! I will teach you fear! And above all, I will instill in you forever that you do not always get what you desire! I will win Rebecca’s heart, and I will let you live with the horrible knowledge that you lost fairly! I will let that lesson sink into you and crush your spirit. I derive no pleasure from it, but if I must spite you thus, then I shall spite you thus.

Torvald: Ha! I think the Viking has had too much of his mead this afternoon!

Hildebrand: As you say, little one, we shall see whom (making air quotes) fortune favors.

November: Hildebrand! Young sir! Come here quickly! We believe we have an answer to our armadillo problem! We’re going to use the Soul Kiln!

(BLACKOUT & SCENE CHANGE)

(Lights up on Basement; everyone is gathered around a peculiar stone pot sitting C.; the pot is covered in strange symbols and dials and a sickly green light radiates from it)

Col. Pershings: So… Explain this again, please. I simply can’t grasp it. This little vase does what, precisely?

(Rebecca moves C. to fiddle with the dials as November explains how the Kiln works, but Hildebrand stops her gently)

Hildebrand: No, no, please, my dear, let me. Mister November might need you for dictation. (Rebecca resumes her position and begins to write as November speaks, letting him see the pad after each sentence)

November: Now, Torvald, much of this is directed at you, because you will likely understand the gist of what it all means. The Soul Kiln is a device which extracts and solidifies the soul of a creature through the Palladion Cycle, which is the reason for all of the markings on its exterior.

Torvald: So the Kiln focuses the soul through a leypoint created inside the pot, if Palladion’s Fourth Tenet is observed. I see.

November: Precisely! Now, in a normal creature, the soul solidifies into a sphere, which, when digested by the empty shell of the creature, will restore the soul. The problem that I believe we are having with the armadillo is the result of a fusion of two souls, of two mental energies, if you will. One interferes with the other, causing a struggle for dominance and giving the armadillo qualities it was previously without, in this case, speech. If we are to restore the rightful soul of the armadillo while disposing of the intruding soul, the situation should resolve itself fairly swiftly.

Col. Pershings: Well let’s switch on the bleeding thing, dump the armored allegretto inside and deal with this business once and for all!

November: Very well, Colonel. No point in dragging this affair on any longer than necessary. Hildebrand, if you would be so kind. (Hildebrand turns a dial, prompting the Soul Kiln to hum tunelessly) Rebecca, the specimen, please. (Rebecca removes the armadillo and walks it over to the Kiln; removes the Kiln’s top and gingerly places the little creature in the strange pot)

Doyle: Well? Now wha’, guv’?

November: Now, dear Barthelemy, we wait. Wait and pray, Barthelemy. Wait and see, my friend.

(A few seconds pass without anything happening until two small *clinks* are heard from within the Kiln; Hildebrand moves to the device and switches it off)

Hildebrand: Now let’s see, shall we? (he dumps out the contents of the Kiln, which happen to be two milky-white marble-sized stones and an inert, soulless armadillo) Ah ha! Chief, you were right all along! Two souls!

November: Yes, yes, very nice, Hildebrand, but we must see to the other soul’s disposal. One moment… (holds the Echo-Spectrograph up to his face and looks over both stones) There, the one on the right, that’s the intruder’s soul! Quickly, we must dispose of it!

(Torvald steps forward, eager to prove himself in November’s eyes)

Torvald: Not to worry sir! I’ll see to it, but first let’s give the little thing its soul back. I feel so guilty over starting this whole mess; I must set it right! (he picks up the stone lying R. and feeds it to the soulless body of the armadillo, causing November, Hildebrand and Rebecca to dash forward, but too late; the armadillo has already swallowed the soulstone)

November: No! NO! You’ve no idea what you’re doing, Torvald!

(Hildebrand and Rebecca tackle Torvald to the floor, but seeing that the armadillo has already ingested the stone, they focus instead on what is happening to their precious subject, transfixed by the marsupial)

Col. Pershings: (very worried) Well, what is it? What’s going to happen now it’s got the wrong soul in-
(The Colonel is cut of by a low bellow, soon revealed to be coming from the armadillo; all present but Torvald, whose arms are still pinned to the floor, smack their foreheads in exasperation)

The Armadillo: AT LONG LAST I AM COME UPON THIS WORLD! BEHOLD, FOR I AM THE END OF ALL THINGS REAL, AND LET ALL THINGS BE AS DREAMS!

(There is a pause in which the assembled group clusters around the armadillo, now immobile on the table; all come to the same realization)

Doyle: ‘Old on now… I don’t think the little fella kin so much as move ‘is little paw. Why’s ‘at, then, guv’?

The Armadillo: CURSE YOUR FEEBLE MOTHERS! RAAAAAGH! I AM NOT YET USED TO THIS BODY! BUT MARK ME, ONCE I AM, YOU WILL ALL BE MY FIRST SACRIFICES! YOUR BONES BELONG TO THE LORD OF DREAMS!

Torvald: Did he- it, just say “Lord of Dreams?” That can’t be possible… That would mean that the Dreamscape exists. The Dreamscape EXISTS?!

November: So it would seem, young man. Now you there, er, Lord of Dreams, would, erm… you please tell us why you are- oh hold on. (looks as though he’s come to a sudden realization and shakes head ironically)

The Armadillo: THIS WORLD WILL BE MINE!

Rebecca: Not by the looks of that poor little armadillo body of yours, lord.

The Armadillo: AAAAARGH! FINE! I WILL MAKE YOU A DEAL, LITTLE HUMANS. I CHALLENGE THE WISEST OF YOU TO A BATTLE OF WITS TO END ALL BATTLES! THE STAKES ARE THE FATE OF THIS WORLD!

November: So we are to assume that if you win, my lord, that you will take the world as your prize? So the world will be yours if you win, my lord, but what if the human defeats you?

The Armadillo: RRRRRRGH… IF YOU WIN, HUMAN, I SHALL… SENTENCE MYSELF TO ANOTHER ETERNITY IN THAT CURSED PRISON. SO WHICH OF YOU WILL STAND AGAINST ME IN MENTAL COMBAT?!

(The group parts and all point as one at November, who looks embarrassed but steps forward)

November: Very well. Very well, Lord, you may ask the first question.

The Armadillo: QUAKE WITH FEAR AT THE MIGHTYNESS OF MY WORDS, MORTAL INSECT! HERE: I AM SO FAST YOU CANNOT SEE ME, YET ALL SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME. I DO NOT STOP UNTILL THE DAY YOU DIE. WHAT AM I? (a sign drops from the ceiling with the question written in large, black letters, then rises back up into ceiling after 5 seconds)

November: (without a moment’s hesitation) The blinking of an eye.

The Armadillo: …CORRECT. (oohs and aahs from the group) RRRRGH. NOW I MUST ANSWER YOUR QUESTION… BUT REMEMBER, IF I ANSWER CORRECTLY, THERE SHALL BE A SECOND ROUND, AND A THIRD, UNTIL ONE OF US IS VICTORIOUS!

November: A woman was horrified to find a fly in her tea. The waiter took her tea into the kitchen and returned with a fresh one. The woman shouted, “You’ve brought me the same tea!” How did she know?

The Armadillo: (quite sure of itself) THE TEA CONTAINED ANOTHER BUG, BUT A DIFFERENT ONE THAN THE FIRST TIME!

(A pregnant silence)

November: …I’m sorry, Lord, but no. Bye bye now.

The Armadillo: WAIT, NO! YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- (the voice of the Lord of Dreams trails away as another wind kicks up in the basement; there is uproarious applause)

Col. Pershings: Stupendous! I can’t believe that actually worked, Mister November! I don’t know how to thank you!

Doyle: Hahaha! Bit of a crap deity tha’ wos, eh? Hahaha!

November: Oh, it wasn’t anything special, really. Just a little riddle my father taught me…

(November, Col. Pershings and Doyle exit up the staircase; Hildebrand, Torvald and Rebecca remain where they are; Rebecca looks very satisfied with the situation, both Hildebrand and Torvald look uneasy; the silence is broken by the men, speaking almost simultaneously)

Hildebrand: You know, Rebecca, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time…

Torvald: Dear Rebecca, I feel as though I must say this before it eats away any more at my soul…
Hildebrand: Ever since we first met three years, I’ve felt an ache in my heart that I’ve never until now found the words to describe…

Torvald: At the first moment I saw you walk through those doors, I knew this from the depths of my soul…

Hildebrand & Torvald: Rebecca, I love you!

(There is a short pause, where Rebecca seems to be thinking, but soon her face twists into a look of deep amusement, and she exits laughing heartily, leaving the two men looking stupidly at each other.)

FIN

~Braintrust Project: Roster, Technical Drawing~ (Ooo!)

2008-11-09T19:16:00.000-08:00

I'll not keep you in suspense too long about this. I've recently been thinking about a new graphic novel project and I came up with the Braintrust, an extralegal team of psychics that deal with unexplained and unexplainable villains and phenomena across the globe. Sure, it may sound a bit like the X-Men, but I hope to bring something new to the table with this project. Anyways, here's a rundown of the main good guys that you'll see in the series.

~Braintrust Roster~

The first major character we meet is also the one who introduces us to the Braintrust team, and that character is Carolina “Carrie” Deckard, age 25 and a latent psychokinetic until just before her introduction to the Braintrust. Carrie works as a vet before her life with the team, and this is one of the reasons why Romulus so rapidly warms up to her. Carrie is very attractive, of slightly taller height (somewhere around 6’) and, though her style of dress is more or less unassuming, she does have a penchant for wearing clothes or accessories of acid-intense colors. As stated before, Carrie is psychokinetic, which means that she has at least marginal control of many different psychic abilities, though her grasp of telepathy is much weaker than other members of the team, due to how intricate the process is. Count on Carrie assuming more control over her blossoming powers as the series progresses, but this will take quite some time. Once Carrie is fully integrated into the Braintrust family, her inquisitive nature leads her to constantly explore her boundaries and ask questions of the others, most often Romulus due to his expertise regarding psychics. Her growth will be one of the major plot points throughout, and her failures a mix of tragedy and outrageous comedy.

At “numero uno” for the Braintrust team, we have Romulus, full name Romulus Alexander Miller, essentially a Professor X-type character sans wheelchair and with very different powers. His appearance is that of something resembling a lightly bearded and darker-haired Alan Tudyk, aged 44, and ever-dressed in dress slacks and heavy sweaters, although he may very well be seen on certain occasions wearing very colorful Hawaiian shirts. Oddly, he usually chooses to walk around barefoot. Romulus has a certain affinity for animals; as a bestiapath, (an individual who can converse telepathically with animals) it seems only natural, and Romulus is known amongst his superiors for keeping an inordinate amount of animals present with him at all times. However, Romulus is not usually called upon to exercise his abilities for combat purposes, for his main area of expertise lies in his extraordinary wealth of knowledge into the abilities of the human mind. Romulus is a very accommodating man, always open to questions from Carrie and acting almost as a psychiatrist to the rest of the team in times of uncertainty, although he makes a point never to offer such help. Interactions between Romulus’ animals and the rest of the team will make for a great deal of comedy when the team is not on assignment. Romulus himself tends to laugh his way through most situations, from the genuinely funny to, sometimes, the gravely serious or even tragic.

Next we have the Braintrust’s field leader, a tall man from Mozambique named Fray, whose full name is never given because he was never really given one. All that he cares to mention about his past is that he used to be a child soldier before being discovered by the Braintrust, he is 27, and he was educated personally by Romulus, who himself graduated from Eton. His appearance should be reminiscent of Djimon Hounsou, with the addition of a lower-lip ring toward the right side of his mouth. Fray is gifted both with “intuitive aptitude,” which allows him to immediately know how to operate such things as machinery or alien weapons without prior training, and pyrokinesis, the meaning of which should be obvious to anyone who’s read X-Men in the last 20 years or has seen either of the Hellboy films. Fray is a man who takes very easily to the position of field leader, thanks to previous experience in battle, both as a child soldier and an operative of the Braintrust, and to the strength of character Romulus instilled him with during their time as tutor and pupil. Fray is also one of the few members of the Braintrust to use a weapon on a regular basis, that being a machete he has had with him since childhood and has miraculously survived throughout his years in the Braintrust. Fray commonly wears simple white linens (emblazoned on the upper arms by the mark of the Braintrust), possibly the mark of a man who has never quite adjusted to the life of privilege afforded him after his discovery, possibly a showing of reverence for his African ancestry, or maybe he just likes the way the cloth breathes. Fray has never made the distinction known to anyone thus far.

Our fourth member is a young man who answers to the moniker Mars, although his birth name is Terry Marsden. Mars bears a striking resemblance to Matt Bellamy (artist note: look at Muse’s music video “Sunburn” for hair and clothing help), and his usual style of dress is very, well… dressy. Mars prefers to wear mostly black or navy blue clothing of a notably formal style, which to an outsider might look a little odd for someone so young. Mars is fairly young, only 18, but his former career as an Olympic gymnast has helped to age him considerably. Mars’ power is a unique one among the group, as so few psychics in comics focus on the workings of the mind itself. Mars is what he refers to as an “electrician for the mind,” meaning he has the ability to manipulate electrical signals within the brain, meaning he can plant suggestions in a person’s head, make them forget bits of information, even have the targeted individual go into neurokinetic shock for short periods of time. Although Mars has only a partial understanding of how his powers work and the extent of how potent they can be, the mastery he does have can be used in devastating ways. While sometimes snide and sarcastic with other members of the Braintrust, Mars is surprisingly perceptive of others’ needs and feelings, though this may be his abilities helping him. Since Mars is high-school-senior age, he tends to connect with Carrie easier than the others, since she is fairly close in age and has been through college more recently than other team members, who are either younger or much older than he is. Tends to joke around with and confide in Carrie slightly more than in others.

Fifth on the roster is the youngest member of the Braintrust, a 16-year-old girl by the name of Willow, and just Willow. When the girl’s psychic abilities manifested, they were slightly too much for her brain to handle all at once without at least partial damage. When asked about her name, especially whether she has a surname, she will usually change the subject with something nonsensical. The reason for this is because Willow’s powers manifested all at once, allowing her to use 11% of her brain as opposed to the normal human 5%. The result is that she can now speak to the dead, as well as the added peculiarity of having random objects will themselves into being of their own accord at any time, although these objects (i.e. birds, plants, fountains of whiskey) often will themselves out of existence in quick succession. Willow is described by Romulus as unnaturally cheery for a spirit medium, saying that she’s had conversations with all sorts of interesting people and historical figures (Abe Lincoln, for instance). While rare, Willow does sometimes have moments of lucidity, explaining simply with “The music isn’t there ALL the time.” Regarding her appearance, Willow seems to dress in whatever is available at the moment, as she often wears things that are much too small or much too big; much to masculine or much to not-really-clothes. She will often be seen with a sweater stolen from Romulus wrapped around her neck as a cape or wearing a combination of Fray’s linens and Mars’ dressy clothes. Willow has a wardrobe of her own, consisting of anything imaginable, as some of her clothing simply willed itself into being and forgot to will itself away. Willow herself is about 5’5”, has hair that dyes itself strange colors at random although it is naturally black, has a cute face and two crooked scars running a little way down her forehead from her scalp just above her left eye. Willow will have a large part to play in Carrie’s acclimation into the Braintrust, and often present her with little willed-gifts (often to Carrie’s dismay, depending on the gift.)

Last we have the abnormally gifted Iris Halford, aged 24, and another recent recruit to the Briantrust. About 5’9”, with auburn hair and a Welsh accent, pretty, if a little skinnier than is healthy. Iris is what Romulus calls an “isolator,” a psychic who can isolate and manipulate individual elements inside physical objects. She can alter them, remove them, mix them; the possibilities are nearly endless. Iris has a very selfless personality, never wanting to get in anyone’s way and always hoping to do the right thing for her teammates, but her aptitude for using her power with so little training sometimes forces her into he spotlight more than she would like. Iris by no means indulges herself in high fashion, and as such wears pretty standard street clothes, though she does wear a navy-blue jacket emblazoned with the Braintrust coat of arms. Iris tends to get along fairly well with everyone, though she seems to enjoy spending more time with Fray and Carrie than any of the others, as they are closest in age. (Note: possible romance btw. Fray and Iris? We shall see!)

WELCOME TO THE BRAINTRUST

Also, I was watching Heat with a friend a couple weeks ago, and just for a laugh, I decided to draw an assault rifle of my own. For anyone who knows me personally and sees this, I'm not going to snap and kill people, I swear. Really. Honest.

~Review: RocknRolla~

2008-11-09T13:58:00.000-08:00

It should be noted that it is very, very rare that I feel compelled to write a review of something less than 20 minutes after I see it, but I'm so glad that I feel this way after watching Guy Ritchie's new "Norf Lon-don" gangster flick, RocknRolla. I was pleasantly surprised to leave the theater with a broad grin on my face, and thinking that the rest of my soon-to-be extremely busy night would be less of a pain in the arse because I'd just seen the best movie I had in a long time (probably the best action flick since The Dark Knight, actually). To be perfectly honest, I'd rate RocknRolla a bit higher than the latest Batman epic, and please, before you show up on my doorstep to lynch me for witchcraft and heresy, I will be explaining my reasoning.

The first thing I noticed about RocknRolla, which I actually noticed during the opening credits, was that the film has an undeniable sense of "cool;" a really fun and visceral sense of style that I found impossible to dislike. All of the lines are very sharp, the light glaring, but in a good way. The whole experience felt like a very dressed-up pulp comic, and I do mean that in the very best possible way. The film's look is a very jarring in that it gives the viewer a lot to see without confusing them, but forcing them to pay very close attention to the scene. Even the colors found in each scene were used to great effect, as they are pretty vivid without being gaudy or oversaturated. What also adds to the great look of the film is the outstanding direction; I have been a long-time follower of Mr. Ritchie's films, and over the years, he has made a lot of strange directorial choices, but RocknRolla was refreshing for a fan like myself because it makes it clear that the director has absolutely matured in his sensibilities and style.

One point I'd like to emphasize about this film is that the acting is pitch-perfect, basically across the board. I'm one of those people who has an inexplicable memory for actors, and I was pleased to see a good balance of big names (talented big names, mind you) and unknowns. Gerard Butler, Idris Elba, Tom Wilkinson, and Mark Strong stand out as a few of these, but the actor I was really fascinated by was Toby Kebbell, playing the titular whacked-out, cracked-out "rock n' rolla" Johnny Quid. Now, I was amused by the soundbites I heard from Mr. Kebbell on the film's trailer, but when I saw the film in full, I was amazed to see not simply a goofy comedy-relief character from him, but a deeply interesting and empathetic one. The humor is undeniably there, but when listening to Kebbell/Quid soliloquize about the dual nature of a human personality in terms of a pack of cigarettes, I was amazed in that I was so drawn in by the character. This would be hard to do with any other actor, as the scene itself was intercut with a completely different scene, but it happened nonetheless. It is these interesting characters that make up a lot of the cast of RocknRolla, with the exception of a few of the more minor characters (Roman and Mickey, played by the wonderful Jeremy Piven and Chris "Ludacris" Bridges) and Lenny Cole's (Wilkinson's) band of merry thugs. The one main character I was put off by immediately was that of Stella, played by Thandie Newton, who has as much ability to empathize, and if not empathize then at least become interesting to, with the audience as a cardboard box. The character, who by all rights should have had at least one redeeming quality, is utterly one-dimensional and uninteresting, though whether this is the fault of bad writing or bad acting is at this point anyone's guess.

Now the writing, as is to be expected from Mr. Ritchie, is compelling, funny, and full of North London slang. There are a few spots where the writing falters, sure, but these are hardly noticed, as the film is so hard-charging and dynamic that one hardly has time to notice or care. It's that instance of "Oh, well that was a bit weak, now wasn't- Ooo! What's happening now?" that comes up from time to time in Mr. Ritchie's films, but from a writer's perspective, a fairly strong job all around.

All in all, RocknRolla is a very clean, efficient and well-oiled machine, both highly entertaining and perversely affecting. Don't listen to what Roger Ebert says, the prick; just because you've seen every movie there is doesn't mean you know the first thing about them. This latest product of Guy Ritchie's imagination is a hard bastard, but a winner, and don't let yourself go too long without seeing it. You won't be disappointed. Promise.

Grand(?) Opening

2008-11-08T21:48:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Black Tie Only, a blog dedicated to reviews of all kinds, news, thoughts on news, creative writing, general thoughts, and inspiration.

A myriad, if you will.

My name is Julian, although I'll be operating under the name Jumundy for the time being. I am an aspiring graphic novellist, play- and screenwriter, and as such, I'll be posting a lot of my own creative writing. My absolute favorite figures in the world of comics, if you were at all curious, are Warren Ellis, George O' Connor, Grant Morrison, Alan Moore, Mike Mignola, Brian Azzarello, Frank Miller, Mark Millar and Brain Michael Bendis. I have the greatest respect for these men, and it is chiefly because of them that I'm pursuing the career I am. I've had the distinct pleasure and privilege of being taught by George O' Connor at one point, and I have to say that I've learned more about comics from him than any other person in my life, for which I am truly grateful. But enough about me.

I'll be posting a veritable bazillion things, if all goes well, though time may not exactly work my way at some points, but I'll try to maintain some degree of regularity over however long I keep this blog. Anyway, I hope you enjoy what I have to say, and I'll have my first real post up very soon. At the tone, it will be 3:08. Peace.