Showing posts with label Superheroes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Superheroes. Show all posts

Saturday, 13 February 2021

EXCITING SPACE ADVENTURE 27: MARVEL CLASSICS EDITION!

 Not every power would be relevant to every challenge. Reed understood this even if Sue didn't. Still, he was glad he'd brought the ropes along. It was nice to have something to do...
 A classic Jack Kirby cover – which my friend Alex Fitch got Stan Lee to sign for my birthday! – and which, decades earlier, I ripped off, from memory – (I hadn't noticed the other eye) – for the front of a Conan spoof I then never got round to drawing.
 

Sunday, 7 February 2021

"Pooper Man" by Simon, aged 6 or 7


 As with yesterday's untitled Jaws parody, I start out with a straight steal, this time from Mad's "Superduperman!" (viewable here, although our paperback version at home was in black and white, making Lois Pain – far right - far more prominent in the opening splash)...
 

 ... and then I wander off. It's possible nevertheless I was at the height of my creative powers here. I would have had to come up with my own solutions to depicting stuff before I was proficient enough to start copying styles, and both the grizzly robot/monster hybrid and the balding, pot-bellied editor are surprisingly elegant, I think, considering – like the ripples yesterday. I'm also reminded of these fish I drew...
 

 I'm not sure I could design anything so simple and effective now.





 The Tarzan's just background, I think. I still don't really understand muscles. Sorry there was so little poop.

Friday, 11 September 2020

Unfinished in '87: SIMON KANE'S HERACLES


 To celebrate the book that actually got me reading again this past fortnight - Natalie Haynes' brilliant Theban novel The Children of Jocasta - here is a classical adaptation of my own from 1987. Consider it an accompaniment to the similarly unfinished super hero comic and bivalve samurai epic from the same year, the year I met my mate Tom in fact. He didn't finish his comic of the Odyssey either. I went for Heracles, the original Greek name of Hercules, and a subject I'd visited before, back when I was eight. Thinking about it, it's surprising I didn't visit him more often; he was big, dumb, super-strong and fought monsters, the perfect subject for a comic book. His newly nobbly nose is proof I was by now healthily into Sergio Aragonés' Groo the Wanderer, a pre-Homer-Simpson comedy barbarian, and I can also spot the influence of airbrush fantasist Rodney Matthews in the thorniness of my monsters. 

 

 In keeping with my previous treatment of this material (particularly here) I have not shied away from the more tragic elements of Heracles' story, although I do now take the piss. And profuse apologies for my depiction of Tiresias; my only reference material for gender studies at the time was Mad Magazine.










... and that's as far as I got. (Why have I made all the sexy women look like Garfield?)

Thursday, 17 September 2009

Mood: None. Related Topics: None

(originally posted on myspace here)

 

Hello. I'm posting this from my phone again, from outside the machine which I think is now complete. I think. It's got bunting and a bell. And I feel I should post this because of course last night we opened, and that's a thing, and we're having a photoshoot, sitting around in towels with nothing better to do. (The costumes arrived yesterday but we're still going with just the towels, apart from Tom who having missed the towels note has shown up covered in clay and feathers with a shaved head. Good old Tom. But also, good old towels.) So how was last night? Well it felt like the first time I'd actually earnt my money, but the show itself, now I think about, reminded me of Zack Snyder's Watchmen: I - ng - liked it, but oo there was a lot missing... missing here not from the original, but from the sum and, when we were lucky, product (maths joke) of the past six months' settling of ideas, decisions and enthusiasms. Whole swathes of theme that it turns out just aren't there now. And what's interesting about that is this was evident last night even though the playing was crisp and the crowd jolly. But now let's see what we've got, less is still probably more. Already today we've axed the steampunk detox and the misunderstanding about the pen. And good. My voice is a three amp fuse right now with thirteen amps of quarrel run through it. Don't kiss me, I taste like a farm.

Ah, I've got to a computer now. Great. So here's a short animation I came across illustrating just some of the themes which didn't make it into last night's show. It's also ideally how I'd like to us to end it (I mean Germaine Greer's coming on Friday. She'd eat this up. Imagine.) Go!

Sunday, 24 May 2009

MUST FLY

(originally posted on myspace here)

 

Photobucket 

Day Two. Pah. This picture was much bigger than it should be because Adobe Imageready has got lost or some- I mean what even is it? - anyway I don't have the thing to make it smaller (Posthumously this may have been corrected). And It's just been intimated to me that "cockgoggles" is not a suitable word for radio 4 at 6:30 in the evening. Sorry, Miklus. Huh. Anyway... I'm a healer, says f*c*b**k, that's my "PURPOSE IN LIFE", and I should get my eyebrow pierced. Thanks. (Sarcasm. And I've remembered the asterisks this time, which is healthy.) I'm also Spider-Man, Footloose and Audrey Hepburn and should marry Cameron Diaz. Not my will, f*c*b**k but thine be done. However these are revelations I have too little time to ponder now, no I just wanted to stick up today's photo of the archaeopteryx... I wonder what interview with Lars Von Trier I am. Ah, "Which Marginalised Disney Gal are you?" Great, I'll take that one. Here meanwhile is a cartoon. X

Wednesday, 4 March 2009

STATUS UPDATES FROM SUSY (for Susy)... or Work continues on The Git


I'd always imagined myself good in a crisis. I'd always thought, "Yes, I'm not the most proactive person I know, but if suddenly called upon to think quickly and get people out of a hole, that's where I'll shine, that's when – as Rob Webb predicted on the night of February the 7th – the sleeper will wake". I now know, however, this is not the case. Woken in the bath later that night, by a room full of smoke, staggering out onto the landing, clutching towels and dressing gown to find smoke again, drawn to my room by the sound of burning, to find my bed on fire and smoke (which may or may not but basically must have had something to do with this), and now rendered numpty by shame, I run down to the kitchen where, uncharacteristically, there is no smoke, and fill a bowl with water.

We have a fire extinguisher. It is in the bathroom.

Running naked back to my room (totally disregarding, as John Finnemore later pointed out in an email entitled "too soon?" Gareth Edwards' countless announcements before every radio recording to run TOWARDS the green lights in the event of a fire, and AWAY from the red flickering lights) I throw what water has not been spilt onto the bed. This doesn't work. If you've seen the film The Dead Zone it is not like that. It is basically just smoke. I run upstairs and go "Guys? Fire?" I don't know who else is in the house.

Well, it transpired Dan was in the house, shouting out of the window for help, which arrived to wake and walk me naked out of the front door and into an ambulance. Then Dan, having saved my life, and also on his way to hospital, called Tom who had a number for my parents in France, who in turn called my sister. At about five in the morning, having been conscious enough to give my date of birth, and permission to pierce my eardrum so I could be wheeled, anesthetized, into something called a hyperbaric chamber (in fact this very one) where work could indeed continue on the git, I regained consciousness a third time, to find myself wearing a plastic hood, and surrounded by my family over from France PDQ. This was very weird and cheering, as was the news that Dan had already been discharged, and that I hadn't killed anyone... and now I'm going to hand over to my sister, who has kept possibly most of you readers up to date via her status updates, notes, and groups on facebook. I'll butt in once or twice, and illustrate it with a few photos of the Nightingale Ward, but I want to put her account up here first.

 
(Felicity Kendall as Laika on life support, 
from a totally unrelated post I meant to blog before, well, this...)

"Feb 8th
11:57am Susy's brother Simon was in a fire and is in intensive care. Facebook status not best way to let you guys know. Please keep yor fingers crossed, thanks.

11:57pm Susy is tired but relieved. Simon still in intensive care but "out of danger" apparently. Even tried to crack a joke. Thank you so much for all the good wishes.x.

Feb 9th
Simon can't take visitors yet, as he's still in ICU. If/when (fingers crossed) he can see you lot I'll let you know asap. Thanks again, so so much xx.


Simon is out of intensive care but still very ill so can't see visitors yet. They've got the last bits of poison out of his body though. Blood tests tomorrow.

Feb 10th
Simon compos mentis, although still with oxygen and a lot of coughing. He'll get there. We all feel so grateful. Si says he feels very rich with such friends."

(the room in which I spent two and a half weeks)

"Feb 12th
Hi everyone.

Apologies if I've tagged you and you barely know Simon - I'm trying to cover everyone who might know him and/or want to know how he's getting on.

Simon knows I've been updating my Facebook status about him, and so has written a note to send to you all:

'Hello Hello Everyone.

Thank you so much for all your support. I am fine. Well, I'm not, I'm wheezy, but I'm getting better and all the carbon monoxide was pumped out of me two days ago in a weird kind of submarine. My burns are superficial and cool and anyway only on my bum. I am in a bed opposite a woman with swollen legs called Robert. It's all good.

Go Mickey Rourke! Go Susy! Cheers. There'll be updates here as and when...

Thanks everyone.

Simon X'

My update:

Simon seems to be stronger today, although he isn't quite out of the woods. He is still needing oxygen and they'll be doing a series of tests tomorrow to work out how damaged his lungs really are and how fast or slowly they're recovering. Fingers crossed he'll be able to cope without the oxygen soon. His progress in these short four days has been miraculous though. He couldn't speak two days ago. He has a voice now.

From my entirely non-scientific perspective he can talk for far longer than yesterday before getting tired, which says to me he's getting stronger. He is coughing almost constantly but that is essential to get the shit up out of his lungs, which he seems to be. His friends Rufus and Ella visited him today which cheered him up no end.


As long as he isn't totally bombarded, and people realise he may get tired (and will cough constantly) he is happy for anyone else who wants to visit him to do so.

He is positive, determined to get better, philosophical, in good humour (he doesn't know any other kind of course) and relieved beyond belief about... everything. He is also moved beyond words and so very grateful for the support both he and my family have been given by you all. As are we.

Special shout out to his housemates, and Tom Brodie (stage name Lyall) in particular, who was still laying out individual drawings, letters, paintings and photos all over his new flat once we'd left him this evening that he had rescued from days of sifting through the - frankly destroyed - room. Many personal and irreplaceable items are damp, charred, but OK and safe purely thanks to Tom, and without him Simon really would have lost everything. If you know him, please give him a hug. Or a manly pint. Or five."

(To which it's only fair to say Tom then added "You're awfully sweet about me but, really, clearing the house has been a group effort and as much and more credit must go to Dan, Seb, Jamie, Wendy, Naomi, Selina, Lucy, Tom F. and other friends, family and neighbours, who have faced up to a truly horrible job with amazing strength and good humour." Back to Susy:)

"As per the last few days (do look back over them if this is all news to you!) I'll keep updating my status on his progress. The recovery curve will be less steep now, as the hardest fight of all - ie not dying - is over and Si's into the long boring slog of recuperating. He's very positive about the future though - he's seeing it as an exciting new start. We also have photos of various stages of the last few days, as macabre as that is - but they're not for the faint hearted so I'll let him post them when he's back on his 'blog'. As you'll see Simon remained hilarious even when smacked out on drugs and his brain was 40% carbon monoxide. Amazing stuff." (LATE POST: Yeah I've now put up one of those photos just before the 9th, me in the hood as a human USB port.) "Thank you all again. I'll keep you posted via my status. Mum and me (Dad's gone back to France to prepare for his heart surgery - brilliant) will be in every day but may miss you... Simon likes grapes. And there is indeed a large woman opposite him called Robert."

(Not true actually. I later learnt Robert was a man. My first night on the ward was weirdly punctuated by him quoting almost verbatim a Dungeon script: 'Can you smell it? Have a whiff! Go on, have a whiff!' On Friday I learn they're going to 'keep me in over the weekend'. Back to Susy:)

"Love and thanks to you all,

Susy xxxx"


"Feb16th
Hi all,

Sorry for not updating sooner. Simon went in for tests today, where they sent a camera and sample taker (I may have made that term up) into his lungs and his throat to have a proper look at the extent of the damage. The good news is his lungs look like there won't be too much lasting damage and will, in time, recover by themselves, which of course is amazing.

The not so great news is he's had a fever now for nearly four days. Simon was forcing himself to cough and cough to try and get the stuff up out of his lungs, which has gone from black to red to green, and is very possibly the reason his lungs look set to eventually repair. But in so doing - and he had been trying to talk too much to us and visitors too - he made his throat red raw and inflamed, or even more so as he had an oxygen tube down there, and now today with the tests further things going down there which hasn't helped.

After the tests today Simon was put on extra strong antibiotics, but he had an allergic reaction which was pretty scary and very 'House' and immediately had to be taken off them. He's very red. He's back on heavy oxygen too to try and open his lungs back up after the tests. After he had recovered from the reaction and the crisis calmed down he looked at my Mum's tear stained face and did manage to croak : 'Well at least it's alleviated the boredom'.

(Hmm, the thing is it genuinely DID alleviate the boredom, at least SOMETHING was happening to my body. I wasn't being brave. And it's not like I flat-lined or anything. No I was clearly having a better time of this than anyone else. Back to Susy:)

"So we sit and wait and hope the fever comes down. Meanwhile we're telling only good bits of news to Dad who is down in France waiting to go in for heart surgery on Monday. We want to keep him calm obviously so if you know him please only mention you hear Si's doing well and his lungs will recover. Mum will have to go down this weekend to look after him so I'll be looking after Si alone after that, and God willing he gets over this fever and gets back on his feet he'll probably stay with me at mine while he reaclimatises to the outside world again, and while Dad recovers we hope back at Mum and Dad's. That's the plan anyway. Fingers crossed/pray it happens, and that you can all come visit and play offensively named card games with the two of us round at mine.

Sorry for the unbouncey tone. Mum and I were far bouncier yesterday. It goes in waves. I'll update with a new note if/when there's changes or more news. For now though any positive vibes sent Si (and my Dad)'s way much appreciated.

Thanks so much again for all your messages of support,

Susy
x"


"Feb 18th
Simon's fever came down today, although he still has the infection (Fungi, apparently, possibly from the carbon monoxide poisoning but also possibly from flowers, grapes or cherries. So no more flowers for now, I'm afraid, although they all look lovely now in the day room.)

So he is a lot more comfortable today, and has started to be able to concentrate a little, enough to read a short article, or write a short TEXT (yes he now has a phone. But no voice. DON'T CALL him! OR email him as he can't concentrate long enough. But you can now text him, which is splendid. Don't overload him though or his brain will melt). But multi-tasking is even more of a no-no for him at present than it was before the fire.

He is still too vulnerable for visitors at present, but as I said he can write texts now - please be frugal at first while he gets his brain in gear - and do bear in mind he is very weak and exhausted, so keep things brief for now if possible. He is, wonderfully, still absolutely Simon though.

One thing he's found is that the Carry On films and Only When I Laugh and the like are big fat liars. Simon always thought being in hospital would mean debonairing it about and holding court like David Niven in A Matter of Life and Death. Apparently it isn't like that at all. It's just shit.

 
They were selling us a LIE.

Simon IS starting to get quite Niven like today though, in my opinion, and the nurses seem to agree. So I've posted these photos me and my Mum took today. We are now thinking of hiring him out.





Much much love to you all and, for now, much momentary relief,

Susy xxx"

(Susy then set up the SIMON KANE IN HOSPITAL group, while I had a psychotic episode.)

"Feb 19th
Simon has asked me to set up this group, so people can talk, post, and he can hopefully take over from me when he is a bit better and out of hospital. Do let people know - it will mean I can be more self-indulgent with my own status updates, and we can liaise about visits/what to do when you're there/not going in when ill/WASHING YOUR HANDS that sort of thing.

Leave messages for Simon here too and I will pass them on (or get in touch personally if your message is more poysonel).

Recent News:
Simon had a wobble today as he is allergic to the steroids they put him on (like he was with the antibiotics two days ago, poor chap). But he's off them now and has calmed back down again. Still weak, still no voice, and must still rest...
He's recorded a video I will try and post up, although it's hard to hear so I may have to transcribe it.
And today he wrote this note for you all:

'Little Note from Simon'
This is incredibly selfish of me - I am still weak and mad off steroids which they have happily stopped - but it would be WONDERFUL to see people. BUT I may not be able to speak.

Have you seen that episode of "Fawlty Towers" where Connie Booth Stuffs cotton wool in her cheeks and Ken Campbell says "What about a choc ice?" It might be as disappointing as that. But seeing friends may keep me from going completely Christian Bale. Check with Sis.

Thankyou everyone. Do come.'


"Feb20th
Hi all.

Sorry about this, but...

This is the situation with Simon's throat. The bacterial (fungal) infection hasn't gone away." (This is because I was shouting a lot because I'd gone mad.) "The series of drugs they have been trying to combat it have all so far had adverse effects, some quite dramatic, and these have set back Simon's progress. There is already a danger of long term scarring on his vocal chords which could in turn lead to lifetime respiratory problems. If Simon's infection doesn't clear up soon this could be much much worse.

BUT... when Simon sees his friends, he wants to talk to them. He was still 'up' from the steroid psychosis today and talked/croaked for a couple of hours to visitors. The Sister is very concerned about this, and although Si doesn't want to worry people, or not have visitors, as his sister I kinda have to do what's best long term for Simon.

SO... if I could please ask the following: before you go in to visit Simon, please call me first. This way I can stagger visits so he doesn't have too much on one day (I'm thinking one to two visits per day for the next crucial three days). The gelling of hands, not going in with any lurgy, and now not bringing in any fruit or flowers or any unpackaged food goes without saying.

But most of all, if/when you do visit him, you MUST insist he hardly speaks, if at all. This is imperative. If possible, have some reason why you can only stay 15/20 minutes mx. This will keep his speaking to a minimum, and will also mean he gets a rest between visits. It's a hell of a trek out there so you may well feel it's not worth it until his infection has gone, or until he's out and staying at mine. In which case you can always write to him, or send him books, mix CDs, audio book CDs etc, or just a card. Or even a text (NO CALLS though, obviously!)

Sorry for being so Nurse Ratchety. The next few days are crucial though. I'll be in every day until our Dad's op so can relay messages and organise visits. Do get in touch with me first though, just for the next three or so days.

Thanks. Sorry. But thanks.

Nursey xxx

(To which Ned added: "He needs drink. He told me in a dream." to which Susy added: "That's reliable enough evidence for me, Neil. I'll leave it to you to smuggle it in.")

 
(I'd get through three of these a day, then gave up replacing them and just emptied the contents down the sink. Said contents always departed as one slow, almost sentient blob.)

"Feb 21st
So Mum's gone back to France now to look after Dad and I am officially Big Mamma now.

The great news today was that they halved the amount of oxygen Simon is dependent on and he is coping with that fine. It's a moral boost for him especially as it's tangible evidence of his improvement. And once he's off the oxygen entirely he'll be able to stray away from one corner of one long ward, which will be brilliant for him. That and getting rid of the infection are the main things keeping him in hospital, so it's a great step forward for now.

He's being very good though at present and whispering instead of trying to talk - if you do visit him do make sure he keeps this up, even if his throat feels a bit better.

The main thing at present though for potential visitors is keeping him CALM. The steroids had an adverse effect and that is still working its way out of his body, so if you overload him with information, talk too animatedly, get him too excited/passionate/angry/amused etc he will start to go a bit manic again. You'll see when it starts to happen."

(I was not aware of this. Or at least I was not aware Susy was aware of this.)

"Try and remember to act very chilled, laid back, and gentle when you see him. He may well be back to normal by tomorrow but his heart rate has been raised and he mustn't get too agitated, which is tricky when he sees his lovely pals. Just talk gently, calm him back down, take the conversation slowly and just be a soothing, warm presence for him. The Dude abides.

I'll be in every day quietly watching films with him so do get in touch. I may not be in til 4 some days though. (visiting hours 2:30 - 7:30). And of course we do need to stagger visits so liaise with me if you can.

Tonight though, Mum is back safely with Dad in France, and Simon was looking good. Blood test/infection results to follow. I'm off for that threesome with Messrs Pinot and Nitol."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(To which Ned added: "That time when they thought I had AIDS but it turned out to be weird pneumonia that escaped my lungs into my skin, I was on steroids for three months. On my first day out of hospital - as soon as my girlfriend had gone to work - I picked up a lump hammer and demolished a ramshackle conservatory. In my pyjamas. Steroids are DIY hulkage." I'm going to write more about this psychotic episode later. My episode. Not Ned's. I took notes.)

(my little morning manga face of pills)

"Simon is on half the oxygen he was on, and finding that fine, and is hoping to be off oxygen entirely pretty soon. This may even coincide with him coming off his (two) antibiotics. Once he's off oxygen he'll be able to leave the ward for a bit and take a stroll, hurrah (there's a small duck pond which is very nice I want to show him), and then if he's doing ok after all that he will soon be able to leave and come to mine to recuperate there for a bit. From my POV he's looking SO so much better. He must still whisper for now though. Thankyou.

Feb 23rd
Hi all. Confused new members, in brief: Simon was in a fire at his house, it was very bad, he's lost all his stuff and he was very very ill, but now he's out of intensive care and has been slowly recovering with a couple of scary setbacks. There. Now you're all up to date. Here's the latest news as of this morning:

Simon saw the doctor today who said his infection is clearing up, according to his recent blood tests, his chest is sounding pretty good and they have halved his oxygen to only one point, which is, obviously, one away from no points, which is none. So if all continues Simon may be out LATER THIS WEEK. Which is brilliant brilliant news.

He'll be staying at mine in Hampstead for a bit once he's out so you'll be forced to liaise with Nursey if you want to visit. My mobile is ------ --- ---. Don't pass that around willy nilly though. I'm not a strumpet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx"

 
(One of two views of Leytonstone afforded by the Nightingale Ward. The other was a car park. Both looked wonderful.)

"Feb 24th
Hello all. Simon has come off the oxygen, and the heavy antibiotics, and is being discharged TOMORROW. HUZZAH!

I have to manically tidy my flat now and set up a room for him, so give him a couple of days to get used to being out of hospital and then perhaps people can pop by if they wish to say hi. Drop us a line.

And for those that know our Dad, he's out of heart surgery and in intensive care, but it went smoothly. Next 24 hours crucial but they're not foreseeing any problems touch wood. So fingers crossed.

Oh, and if anyone wants to take NURSEY out for a drink after all this Kane men shit that would be much appreciated too."


And so yes I'm back on f*c*b**k until my life reboots. Thank you Susy, and thank you everyone, to be continued but while I'm here, here are some answers:
FUN PAGE - My understanding of what an Olympic village should look like in 2012...
FUN PAGE 3.1 - The famous "Montauk Robert Palmer Hoax" which can still be seen lying unswept in the corner of the Instruments Room of the Horniman...
FUN PAGE 3.2 - Rhetorical question.
 
 
(Not Susy and me. But very nearby.)

Friday, 17 October 2008

DEATH RAY WEEK day 1: interesting properties of punched light


Here's a little shot from the far-more-impressive-than-any-evidence-I-could-bring-back set of the "Giant Death Ray" sketch I visited last Wednesday, a military hanger filled with all manner of eccentric machinery from the 1930's... back when machines were REAL machines, and had levers and hand-painted gauges and head-rests. Under that sheet is... well, a spoiler, but certainly something I had never really expected to see undertaken when I first wrote the sketch. In fact the producer asked me to write it out of the last draft entirely (I suppose just in case) and it was only when I bumped into David M beaming at a barbecue that I got the good news: "No - No. NO! The sketch has GOT to have a gxxnt rxbxt scxxxxxn, and it HAS GOT to be HUGE". I can probably show you this though, a detail from the proposed design the director made on the back of a story-board. Yes, story-board. Mwa-ha-ha: 


And did I say how impressed I was by the Doom Melon? I've just tried to relight a cigarette butt and set fire to the hairs on the end of my nose. Right, Mad Scientists... "You'd think you'd know his name," begins one documentary about the early twentieth century inventor Nikola Tesla. Even now, very little is allowed to be known about his work, and a little knowledge being if not a dangerous thing then at least a very creepy thing the usual speculation has accrued... (I'm back from looking up "accrued". Yes, it has accrued). Writes one nut: "The godfather of all modern electrical conviniences. crushed by the zionist devil elite. we could of been like the jettsons or a nice version of 5th element. instead we have been held back probably 500 years by the evil new world order. damn them in hell."


No actually sorry, to call the speculation surrounding Tesla's work "usual" does it an immense disservice. "Researching" him on youtube for what became the Giant Death Ray sketch I found myself flung slack-jawed into a giddy, batty forum of holistic conspiracy theories concerning perpetual motion, time travel, the Philadelphia Experiment and something called a Montauk Chair, which if sat upon will instantly transport you to the surface of Mars. I suppose it's in the provision of access to exactly this kind of "wrong book" lore that the internet comes into its own. And why it takes me so long to write sketches.


But for this week let's not judge a man by his nuts, and focus instead on this genius' influence upon TRASHY OLD SCIENCE FICTION... beginning with the classiest of said trash: the Fleischer Brothers' Superman. He may have a coil named after him, but the teaming of mad scientist and giant laser is, after all, the larger of Tesla's legacies to the public imagination. Unfortunately. For him. And probably us.
 

Punching! That's Superman's answer to everything, isn't it. Beautiful cartoon though. Okay, I'm going to get into that bath I ran an hour ago and see if any of those centimetre-long baby slugs have reappeared around the taps. TOMORROW: SAM BAKER AS HUGO

Tuesday, 8 July 2008

The transparent sheathing of Noys Lambent

I was so excited when I found this Buck Rogers short from 1935. At first. Why not press play and see how long YOUR excitement lasts! Will the future REALLY be this amazing? Doctor Harlan Tarbell, who directs , certainly makes some very interesting choices, I will say that, I'll definitely say that, like not giving anyone a script:



So that was a little treat for us all, to celebrate ONE YEAR OF BLOG! It was a shit treat, as is only appropriate, since it wasn't exactly a FULL year, I keep missing bits out, and actually the anniversary was two weeks ago anyway, but STILL... Buck Rogers sounding like Hank Hill. Pretty cool, huh?

I was supposed to be playing football this evening for the first time in twenty years, a work thing. A team was missing a goalie, which is where I slipped in. I was going to be THE MASKED GOALKEEPER – If you defeat me, you may unmask me – that was how I'd play it. I wanted a kind of Super Barrio look, but could only find the cardboard half-mask of a one-eyed engine driver, which is academic anyway, because the whole thing was rained off, even though it was indoors. It was THAT wet a Monday. Big, fat, tree-felling rain. Actually, I was planning to write about last Monday, which was lovely, and had the dead smart Miss Meikle in (sorry, DOCTOR Meikle as of Friday) but no, bed. I'll log on tomorrow and, as it were, back up.

Of course, last year I missed the football because I was playing Gangs Of Mega City One, which was the first proper post I ever did on this blog, which is what reminded me. I would take a book to bed but... Well, I'm currently reading an Isaac Asimov, and Asimov isn't Dickens, if you get me, his characters aren't the most fleshed out, there's a lot of scope for just imposing your own ideas of what they might be like, if you get me, but that's not the problem. No, the problem is that, going on the limited information provided by the author, I've foolhardily gone and cast in my head, as the object of the narrator's infatuation, Noys Lambent, a woman I now suddenly find I'm sad to be reminded of. Especially in the topless translucent 50's future-wear that Asimov has seen fit to kit out her "gluteal curves" in – the "transparent sheathing with very little else above the waist". It's a pathetic apparition, I know, but the narrator's seeing more and more of this "Noys Lambent" now, and she won't cover up, and I can't get past page 60 without losing my place. And I suspect that, if I give up and move on to another book, my Noys Lambent will just crop up there as well somehow, that's the pisser. So I'm not doing that much reading. And I didn't ever want to feel like this again.
 
Well maybe I sort of did, but... This post is the only evidence that anyone got hurt, that an episode I found important actually happened at all, and that's what winds (as in being winded, not wound {as in... not as in "wounded" anyway}). And it winds for a while, it's a long winding, a gasping that just has to be seen through when you're suddenly beached by the truth: how so much of your world lately has been the happy extrapolation of really not that many facts, it turns out. And how many other facts there actually are, and are going to be. And how stupid they make your one projection look. And how stupid you look waving it about, going "But... I did a graph! I did a graph!"

Well no poppet, you just doodled a curve. Now stop shouting.


Hopefully though, in another year's time, I'll read all this back and have no idea what I'm talking about.

Friday, 19 October 2007

Where was I? (Men In Pants)

Where was I? 
 
Well, a number of places obviously. It's been a while. It's been ages. Rewind to - um, Christ - October 1st: So I took that week off to Write (not this), but then following the giddy brain-wave on Mount Pleasant I don't know, I didn't get as much done as I wanted. Here:

  
And then I was rehearsing Glen Neath's play "Superheroes" as part of the Shunt Lounge's first anniversary celebrations, for which Lizzie had constructed a small reptile house to stick in the ladies' toilets and Suze covered the lengths of the long corridor with projections of turning heads and Becky was translucently pregnant with live goldfish and Heather had done something very excellent with the broken chairs and some gravity in the bar:

  
And rehearsing "Superheroes" was a mild confusion undertaken in excellent company. It was just never clear to me how much Glen's lines were really being helped by our rehearsing them if you see what I mean. My favourite Glen piece has always been "RomCom" in which two completely unrehearsed performers would simply repeat the lines being fed to them in their headphones. I've never seen that not work... Similarly in "Superheroes" four actors wearing masks and spandex and unfamiliar with their lines would be left in an arena to bellow some text scrolling erratically above the audience's heads. Easy. Fun. Except that by the end of the week, of course, we weren't unfamiliar with our lines at all... by the fourth and final night I was even beginning to make some sense of them. Which I felt a little uncomfortable about. But for those who missed it here's the synopsis:
I was Captain Mint. Captain Mint loves The Wisp. The Wisp is in a passive-aggressive relationship with abusive alpha The Vortex. Captain Mint fears the Vortex. The Storm is a hobbyist. The Vortex gives the Storm some ibuprofen to give to Captain Mint. The Wisp returns with some shopping and The Vortex gives The Storm a bottle of beaujolais. The Wisp walks out on The Vortex. The Storm gives Captain Mint the ibuprofen. Captain Mint no longer fears The Vortex. The Wisp returns to The Vortex. The ibuprofen is ineffectual. Captain Mint contents himself with being a hobbyist.
 
And there's just the two media ultimately, innit - Doing some stuff and Leaving stuff behind. The Shunt Lounge is the latter and "Superheroes" was the former and that brings us up to... what... a week ago? Monday?... when I found myself once again standing in my pants before strangers from all nations for money. It's called "Medical Modelling". Students of anaesthetics are handed jelly and ultra-sound doodads to prod in your ribs like a heretic's finger while you lie on a rug on a table in a third-storey Edwardian games room in Portland Place and crane round to see on the screen behind you something that's being pointed out to them as your liver. Easy. Painless. 
 The magazine rack that we'd stationed ourselves by beforehand was full of brochures advertising brightly-coloured plastic clamps, and things like this


for which it seems quite clear to me that nobody has bothered to read the instructions.
Goodnight for now. I'm back. I'm sorry.

Tuesday, 2 October 2007

I suggest you turn your back now Hercules

 So hopefully Sunday night has seen off that recurring dream where I'm about to go onstage as Henry VI but haven't learnt my lines. It's a dream my Dad used to have as well. (Perhaps he still does.) It's not always Henry VI but it is always a play written in verse: I'm staring down at my second-hand copy in the wings when it hits and the lines are always ten syllables long. Now normally the dream ends with me having to go onstage and fake a few cues, then own up and apologize, clamber down into the auditorium and head out the fire exit... not defeated, just disappointed... but on Sunday night it was different.
 
On Sunday night I finally decided to take the play onstage with me and pretend I was reading the bible. (Henry VI is very into the bible. And I also started reading it a few nights ago... Never realized before how many men in Genesis wait 500 years before settling down to have kids... Also interesting to see God was good enough to run up a couple of tunics for Adam and Eve to wear in exile. Bless him... Very artistic temperament: "OH IT'S ALL RUBBISH IT'S ALL GONE WRONG... etc.") Of course the theatrical lighting meant it was very difficult to make out the words and I kept tilting my head and losing my place - In fact the whole thing was a joke. But when I walked offstage it was back into the wings, not the fire exit. And the show would carry on. (It was always going to be rubbish anyway.) 

And this may or may not have had something to do with the fact that Sunday evening had seen me heading out to Mount Pleasant to miss an Indigo Moss gig at the Apple Tree, which was fine, I mean it's fine that I missed it. Better than fine in fact because it meant I could get some walking done: This is the week I have set aside to write - as I mentioned in the last post - so a lot of that day had been spent attempting to... well face up to this fact basically. I didn't, for example, get round to meeting Benet outside the Burmese Embassy to take some photos (and the protest he was hoping to attend had turned into a march anyway so no-one else was there either). I just paced my room listening to Brian Aldiss on Radio 7 and poring over tray-sized compilations of pulp science fiction illustration, getting nowhere...


Because in the end I'm a peripatetic. If I'm going to write, I have to get out and walk. And in looking for the Apple Tree I walked a lot. So that was good. And by the time I found the non-Indigo-Moss, Franco-Irish skiffle group launching into "Ooh La La" within before a happy press of excellent old hippies (you know, "Ooh La La": The Faces, Rod Stewart, I-wish-that-I-knew-what-I-know-now, a sentiment as sacred as Christmas... anyway apparently it's called "Ooh La La") the sad knot of transcribed, amnesiac squabbling that had so far been all I could muster in the name of comedy had blossomed in my head into something a good deal more interesting - something stealthy even - something with mood swings and, at the very least, a middle and an end, if not a beginning. And the beginning's just the bit you end up putting first, I'm sure. 
 
Dumas pere said to Dumas fils: All the talent's in the table, if you put some paper down on it and rub long enough, something's bound to come off. And for me it's the streets... Yeah! The streets!
Word.
 
So, yes, how many interviews does it take to turn a writer into a wanker then. We have our answer. And I should be writing now. And not this rubbish. Here's some more salvaged Heracles instead: "The Twelf Labour - Cerbeus of the Underworld." It's very sad at the end. Brace yourselves.

- Your final task will be to bring back Cerbeus, the 3 headed dog from the underworld where you may not come back.
 
- (At last you can see his face)

- You're a bit heavy for a dead man and if you're not dead I can't take you.

- If you don't take me across you'll be the dead one!

- (Bully!!!)

- Why! I remember you when I with Jason to find the golden fleece.

- I'm hungry & blood's the only thing us ghosts eat.

- I'll kill one of those cattle.

- Hey you want a fight?

- Stop this arguing/ I'm Hades. I know why you've come here and you can have Cerbeus if you tame him
(I can't even make him sit!) 
 
 
- Righteo then

- GRRRRRRRRR

- GAWK

- I've done it.

- Then keep it.

- I suggest you turn your back now Hercules.

Back at Thebes:
- I've completed my tasks but where's Megera

- Didn't you see her in the Underworld. I'm afraid she died with a fever sent by Hera

Very Expressive Well Done!