awhile back i put the blogger squeeze (ooh. scary) on Bryan Singer for leaving X-men 3 in the lurch. i made the or-else suggestive statement somewhere along the lines of how the new Superman movie better deliver.
happily, it does. when Bryan Singer pulls out all the stops, he, well, pulls out all the stops.
i was, however, oddly disappointed by Kevin Spacey's Lex Luthor, which, i suspect, never really having read the comics myself, owes more to Gene Hackman than Siegel and Shuster. (at least, that's how it appears from certain episodes of Justice League featuring the too-cool-for-hair archvillain. i may, of course, have it the other way around.) i also suspect my disappointment has more to do with having raised my expectations unreasonably high for the man who was both Keyser Soze and John-Doe-by-choice. after all, Spacey's Lex was still cooler than cool, and definitely still too cool for hair.
Superman Returns, if nothing else, justifies the disappointment that Singer left X-men 3 to become.
*
making films, particularly film adaptations, of anything from books to TV shows to other films, is a particularly dodgy way of making art. particularly with a story and character as iconic as Superman.
when Singer switched villains from Keyser Soze to Magneto, it was difficult to know exactly what to expect.
in the end, for better or worse, Singer made the film versions (the successful film versions) of the X-men distinctly, undeniably, his own.
that he should do something similar with Superman is almost unthinkable, and yet undeniably essential for any true artiste to maintain the much sought after artistic integrity amidst the cheap ubiquity of pop art and culture.
and yet this is where Singer succeeds admirably with Superman. Singer has made a Superman movie through and through, and though some cinematic moments and bits of humor are undoubtedly Signature Singer, they are never intrusive, or out of place.
in the end, for better or worse, Singer made Superman distinctly, undeniably, his own.
*
some of the funnest things for me, when watching film adaptations of comic books, is waiting for the comic book character cliches. it's almost a game screenwriters play, trying to find creative new ways to insert the lines that make comic book characters comic book characters, doing their best to catch the audience off guard. Superman Returns delivers some of the best versions of comic book cliches i've ever seen, from Spacey's understated So long, Superman, to the classic It's a bird, it's a plane, it's...
it's also fun to see the way film-making technology allows film-makers to play around with details that have made their way into the collective subconscious as by-products of the limitations of old film-making technologies... such as watching Daleks climb stairs.
in Superman Returns, all doubts are erased; now we know exactly what would happen if the bad guys shot Superman in the head, rather than wasting ammo on more obviously impervious bits of him. in the eye, no less.
*
Superman is as alien to the modern world as he was when he first crashed in his crystalline crib-escape-pod-ship. Superman pits sincerity against deviousness, taking a direct, brute force approach to Lex's scheming, wheeling and dealing. in the real world, we all know who would win.
but so what? escapism gets a bad rap these days. Superman is escapist on the purest level.
revel in it.
23.6.06
a night of firsts and a mouthful of SPIT
saw SPIT last night. amazingly talented group of people. genuinely smart comedy, yet still brimming with delightfully stupid jokes. absolute loads of fun. possibly not for the terminally anti-fun-and-happiness-i-hate-everyone-type, though i'm pretty sure they got one particularly grumpy hold-out to break into a genuine smile in the end.
they had the full cast on last night, apparently not something that happens every show. so it was a real treat.
i was surprised and delighted to find a familiar face in the cast. Jay Ignacio has always been a funny guy, and it's great to see he's finally gone public.
if you want to catch them, it's your last chance this month next week. they take July off, and may possibly be back in August, unless they tour the South, if anything they say is to be believed.
Mag:net cafe along Katipunan, Thurs, P150 cover with 1 free drink. worth every penny.
*
it was my friend Nikki the Yellow Paperclip Girl (see links) who invited us, sending out text messages just the night before. she'd somehow reserved a table for us, so we got to sit right up front by the stage.
Mabel and i got to the place first, and i honestly had no idea who to expect would be joining us at the table.
oddly enough, we were all connected to within the requisite six degrees, even without going through Nikki. well, ok, i was definitely connected to within the requisite six degrees with a couple of them (the appropriately alliterative pair of Martin and Marielle), but i wouldn't be surprised if the rule held true with everyone else.
Martin Nanawa is the first professional fundraiser i've ever met. a freelancer, he's very passionate about his job, and it really is pretty cool. i rarely meet people who really, honestly love their jobs, and Martin is one of the few. two degrees through being the cousin of one of my closest friends, Paeng, bloke taking up courses in France for a master's degree. i was hoping he'd be in Spore City when i was there, but he'd taken of to take a few units or whatever you call it in the Land of Tasty Onions.
Marielle Nadal does graphic design, and, little opportunist that i am, got her card, hoping to someday get her to illustrate one of my books. it's just one of those things i've always wanted to do, to collaborate with a truly talented artist. two two-degree degrees adding up to a one (these things don't work with proper mathematics) by her sister, who was a batchmate of mine in high school, and her brother, who was a batchmate in medical school.
i didn't get a chance to chat up the lovely Cricket, so for purposes of this entry, she must remain a mystery, connected through an unknown number of degrees (again not counting the Nikki-line). i'm pretty sure i've met her before, or know her from somewhere. if i'm missing something, i would appreciate someone dropping me a clue.
many of the faces on stage were familiar, too. i'm pretty sure i don't know them personally, but have either met them or encountered them in person before.
synchronicity screws up my sense of reality, making people and places feel as if they've all happened (to me) before.
*
lastly, Mabel and i finally got our autographed copy of The Yellow Paperclip from Nikki. it's a book i cannot recommend enough for kids, people who have kids, people who may as well be kids, people who need to be kids.
thanks Nikki! absolutely lovely book, and fantastic call with the SPIT thing.
they had the full cast on last night, apparently not something that happens every show. so it was a real treat.
i was surprised and delighted to find a familiar face in the cast. Jay Ignacio has always been a funny guy, and it's great to see he's finally gone public.
if you want to catch them, it's your last chance this month next week. they take July off, and may possibly be back in August, unless they tour the South, if anything they say is to be believed.
Mag:net cafe along Katipunan, Thurs, P150 cover with 1 free drink. worth every penny.
*
it was my friend Nikki the Yellow Paperclip Girl (see links) who invited us, sending out text messages just the night before. she'd somehow reserved a table for us, so we got to sit right up front by the stage.
Mabel and i got to the place first, and i honestly had no idea who to expect would be joining us at the table.
oddly enough, we were all connected to within the requisite six degrees, even without going through Nikki. well, ok, i was definitely connected to within the requisite six degrees with a couple of them (the appropriately alliterative pair of Martin and Marielle), but i wouldn't be surprised if the rule held true with everyone else.
Martin Nanawa is the first professional fundraiser i've ever met. a freelancer, he's very passionate about his job, and it really is pretty cool. i rarely meet people who really, honestly love their jobs, and Martin is one of the few. two degrees through being the cousin of one of my closest friends, Paeng, bloke taking up courses in France for a master's degree. i was hoping he'd be in Spore City when i was there, but he'd taken of to take a few units or whatever you call it in the Land of Tasty Onions.
Marielle Nadal does graphic design, and, little opportunist that i am, got her card, hoping to someday get her to illustrate one of my books. it's just one of those things i've always wanted to do, to collaborate with a truly talented artist. two two-degree degrees adding up to a one (these things don't work with proper mathematics) by her sister, who was a batchmate of mine in high school, and her brother, who was a batchmate in medical school.
i didn't get a chance to chat up the lovely Cricket, so for purposes of this entry, she must remain a mystery, connected through an unknown number of degrees (again not counting the Nikki-line). i'm pretty sure i've met her before, or know her from somewhere. if i'm missing something, i would appreciate someone dropping me a clue.
many of the faces on stage were familiar, too. i'm pretty sure i don't know them personally, but have either met them or encountered them in person before.
synchronicity screws up my sense of reality, making people and places feel as if they've all happened (to me) before.
*
lastly, Mabel and i finally got our autographed copy of The Yellow Paperclip from Nikki. it's a book i cannot recommend enough for kids, people who have kids, people who may as well be kids, people who need to be kids.
thanks Nikki! absolutely lovely book, and fantastic call with the SPIT thing.
22.6.06
Conceit Part 1
thought i'd give in to my writer's conceit and put something up on my own writing.
any objections?
right. here i go.
music plays a hard to define role in my writing. my need for audible ambience swings from signal to noise and back again. sometimes i can't work unless good tunes are going on around me; other times, i need to turn everything off and let the white noise of my surroundings draw out the poison of my fictions in a strange form of osmosis.
i've rarely ever experienced working in complete silence. being a Citydweller, with an apartment just 5 floors off the ground and a balcony opening up to a main commercial avenue that's never deserted except in the worst possible weather conditions (often not even then), at an intersection that's always causing some form of road rage all along the spectrum and facing an overhead railway line that starts up at around 4 or 5 am and goes on till 11pm, with maintenance cars whoosh-whining back and forth in between, that's practically a given.
sometimes it's the white noise that gets me going. other times, it's definitely the music.
i wrote a story once that underwent spontaneous generation from a tune called "Orpheus" by David Sylvian. more specifically, it sprang from the flugelhorn solo that slides smoothly through the middle of the song, and winds around the melodies and verses and other bits of the song where the flugelhorn is conspicuously absent. the story has absolutely nothing to do with the song, except for that the flugelhorn from the song flows throughout the story, where i let the instrument transmogrify (or whatever the appropriate term is) into a more mundane trumpet, placed in the hands of a gifted musician who may or may not be human.
that was the first and only short story i've ever written that had its bones laid out by hand, all in one sitting. certainly, the skin of it went on when i typed the draft into my laptop, but it already had most of the muscle and grist on top of the bones that would be in the final version.
all my attempts at writing with a pen have failed since then. "Time and the Orpheus" isn't a great story, certainly nowhere near perfect, but i love it nontheless, warts, wonky bits and all.
i feel an affinity for David Sylvian's music, even the pieces i don't get.
His music again provided the backdrop for the opening scene of the book i've been writing these past weeks, with his "All My Mother's Names," collected with several other hauntingly strange, oddly beautiful, mostly instrumental pieces in his Camphor CD. the odd rhythms, haunting melodies and weird noises of it proved the perfect atmosphere for the bar i found could only be named The Mother.
that wasn't, however, going to be the music to put the meat on the book's bones. i stalled on the story for a long time after that opening scene.
then i discovered the Sin City soundtrack, and the whole thing, appropriately enough, blew wide open.
any objections?
right. here i go.
music plays a hard to define role in my writing. my need for audible ambience swings from signal to noise and back again. sometimes i can't work unless good tunes are going on around me; other times, i need to turn everything off and let the white noise of my surroundings draw out the poison of my fictions in a strange form of osmosis.
i've rarely ever experienced working in complete silence. being a Citydweller, with an apartment just 5 floors off the ground and a balcony opening up to a main commercial avenue that's never deserted except in the worst possible weather conditions (often not even then), at an intersection that's always causing some form of road rage all along the spectrum and facing an overhead railway line that starts up at around 4 or 5 am and goes on till 11pm, with maintenance cars whoosh-whining back and forth in between, that's practically a given.
sometimes it's the white noise that gets me going. other times, it's definitely the music.
i wrote a story once that underwent spontaneous generation from a tune called "Orpheus" by David Sylvian. more specifically, it sprang from the flugelhorn solo that slides smoothly through the middle of the song, and winds around the melodies and verses and other bits of the song where the flugelhorn is conspicuously absent. the story has absolutely nothing to do with the song, except for that the flugelhorn from the song flows throughout the story, where i let the instrument transmogrify (or whatever the appropriate term is) into a more mundane trumpet, placed in the hands of a gifted musician who may or may not be human.
that was the first and only short story i've ever written that had its bones laid out by hand, all in one sitting. certainly, the skin of it went on when i typed the draft into my laptop, but it already had most of the muscle and grist on top of the bones that would be in the final version.
all my attempts at writing with a pen have failed since then. "Time and the Orpheus" isn't a great story, certainly nowhere near perfect, but i love it nontheless, warts, wonky bits and all.
i feel an affinity for David Sylvian's music, even the pieces i don't get.
His music again provided the backdrop for the opening scene of the book i've been writing these past weeks, with his "All My Mother's Names," collected with several other hauntingly strange, oddly beautiful, mostly instrumental pieces in his Camphor CD. the odd rhythms, haunting melodies and weird noises of it proved the perfect atmosphere for the bar i found could only be named The Mother.
that wasn't, however, going to be the music to put the meat on the book's bones. i stalled on the story for a long time after that opening scene.
then i discovered the Sin City soundtrack, and the whole thing, appropriately enough, blew wide open.
21.6.06
High Seas
i realize i haven't been maximizing our pirated wireless connection. i haven't been blogging lately, either. so i thought i'd spend a few minutes to remedy the situation.
the good thing about not blogging is that i've been writing a whole lot more lately. not work stuff, though, which isn't a good thing. but no, that has nothing to do with the wireless.
*
Mabel went on a speeddating thing. i know because she told me she would be, even before i left for Spore City, though i'd conveniently forgotten until i got back, and she told me again.
being the broadminded, cool boyfriend that i am (her words), i even drove her and her friends to the place, and picked them up after.
oddly enough, that's when it hit me: my girlfriend was going speeddating. what the hell was that about?
of course, she didn't go looking for anything romantic. she went for a friend of hers who wanted to go (for reasons i'm not privy to, though i can speculate), and for the experience. and, she told me after, for the connections.
one of the spiels they use to sell the speeddating thing is to say it isn't really about getting dates, or potential dates, or even potential life partners. the more entrepreneurially minded say it's for the connections.
right. you tell me how many calling cards you collect when you go speeddating. tell me how many people of the same sex you meet on the thing.
score on both counts from people i know who've been to that sort of thing: zero.
(i hear it's quite a racket, though. sounds like all the elements for a Vince Vaughn/Owen Wilson movie. although when you think about it, Steve Carell already covered that bit in The 40-Year Old Virgin.)
still, though i gave her crap for it that night, i'm happy Mabel enjoyed the experience. plus, according to her, i score way above the blokes she met at the joint, for her anyway, so that's alright. though it leaves me wondering just who goes to these things in the first place.
i'm actually quite proud of her for scoring some calls after the thing, though i haven't told her so, and gave her a disapproving frown, instead, when one of them tried calling her with me in the same room. and i'll be checking on her calls regularly from now on, i'm sure.
i may be broadminded and cool, but i'm not stupid.
right. work.
the good thing about not blogging is that i've been writing a whole lot more lately. not work stuff, though, which isn't a good thing. but no, that has nothing to do with the wireless.
*
Mabel went on a speeddating thing. i know because she told me she would be, even before i left for Spore City, though i'd conveniently forgotten until i got back, and she told me again.
being the broadminded, cool boyfriend that i am (her words), i even drove her and her friends to the place, and picked them up after.
oddly enough, that's when it hit me: my girlfriend was going speeddating. what the hell was that about?
of course, she didn't go looking for anything romantic. she went for a friend of hers who wanted to go (for reasons i'm not privy to, though i can speculate), and for the experience. and, she told me after, for the connections.
one of the spiels they use to sell the speeddating thing is to say it isn't really about getting dates, or potential dates, or even potential life partners. the more entrepreneurially minded say it's for the connections.
right. you tell me how many calling cards you collect when you go speeddating. tell me how many people of the same sex you meet on the thing.
score on both counts from people i know who've been to that sort of thing: zero.
(i hear it's quite a racket, though. sounds like all the elements for a Vince Vaughn/Owen Wilson movie. although when you think about it, Steve Carell already covered that bit in The 40-Year Old Virgin.)
still, though i gave her crap for it that night, i'm happy Mabel enjoyed the experience. plus, according to her, i score way above the blokes she met at the joint, for her anyway, so that's alright. though it leaves me wondering just who goes to these things in the first place.
i'm actually quite proud of her for scoring some calls after the thing, though i haven't told her so, and gave her a disapproving frown, instead, when one of them tried calling her with me in the same room. and i'll be checking on her calls regularly from now on, i'm sure.
i may be broadminded and cool, but i'm not stupid.
right. work.
16.6.06
blurring lines
as i did in Spore City, i'm making a quick post, this time from the office, just because, now that our office desktops have been rigged to tap into a wifi network of unknown origin detected by our publication manager and editor a month or two back, i can. the connection has made the real world here just that little bit closer to cyberspace. and work the same bit harder to get to.
12.6.06
Spore City
a lot of stories to tell, and i do have time to tell them, only i'm working a convention, typing off on a terminal at a free internet station on the convention grounds, and really shouldn't be spending too much time here... just wanted to post something from where i am now, which is Singapore city.
work is still work, but i'm starting to get more of the perks.
of course, the perks also translate into a lot more work when i get back. sigh.
oh well. such is life.
work is still work, but i'm starting to get more of the perks.
of course, the perks also translate into a lot more work when i get back. sigh.
oh well. such is life.
4.6.06
Doctor Number Nine; possibly some spoilers
i've been spending most of my downtime watching the second-to-the-latest incarnation of Doctor Who. i was never much of a fan before, really. i'd seen a few of the Tom Baker episodes, and though i loved the bit of the series that i did see, with the TARDIS and the Daleks and, with my cheezy little kid sensibilities, K-9, and all the other things that made that version of the series what it was, my access was limited by the awful signal and schedule of broadcasts provided by the now defunct Far East Network, and i never really got into it.
i heard they were making a new series with a new incarnation of the Doctor a while back, but it never made much of an imprint. i must have thought or said something like, well, that's interesting, and quickly forgot.
when Neil Gaiman started blogging about watching it with Miss Maddy Gaiman, i thought, well, that's nice, and quickly forgot.
then i found an old edition of Doctor Who and the Android Invasion by Terrance Dicks, with an introduction by Harlan Ellison, and i thought, well, i'm not really into anything right now (i wasn't, at the time. i must have been re-reading something from my "already read but loved it enough for another read" pile at the time). it's got recommendations from Neil Gaiman and Harlan Ellison, and i do feel like something of a romp, so this ought to be interesting. so i picked it up for fifteen bucks, read Mr. Ellison's introduction and a few chapters, dropped it into my "for reading" pile, and, well, quickly forgot.
only not really. my interest was rising. Mabel was in LA at the time, and i thought to ask her if she saw the DVD set out there, and if she did, could she get me a copy.
she didn't. so she couldn't. and, with the copy of Veniss Underground she got me, not to mention the Sin City double disc, i, you guessed it, quickly forgot.
then, just last week, i chanced upon the entire first season of the new series on DVD. suddenly, i was excited.
when i got home, i popped the first disc onto my spinner, then the second, and the third, and soon found i'd gobbled up the first five episodes in one sitting. i'd have watched more if a sense of prudence hadn't set in and i remembered i had to get up for work early the next day.
it's that good.
i totally agree with Mr. Ellison on this one. all you Trekkies and Jedi/Sith/droid/whatever-you-call-yourselves Star Wars junkies must have your heads on the wrong way. it's not that i don't enjoy dipping into those particular franchises, but next to the Doctor, well... they're rubbish.
admittedly, Doctor Who isn't hard SF, but neither, and i may get flamed for this, is Star Trek (no need to even mention Star Wars here, but fans might feel left out). the thing is, unlike Star Trek, it doesn't try to be. the "science" in Doctor Who is all in good fun, and serves the higher purpose of the series: ideas that make a good story.
Doctor Who is all about ideas, and having fun at it as well. and forget Spock, or Data, or Han Solo... the Doctor is the coolest, most interesting character you'll ever find in pop SF.
it was always a bit iffy whether i would like Doctor Number Nine (the Doctor with a closely cropped do and a leather jacket?!?). but then, i grew up, after all, with Tom Baker and all the hair and the wool in my head as the only Doctor. but Christopher Eccleston pulled it off brilliantly. i admit to being a bit ticked off by the gravitas of the Doctor's ninth incarnation; the Doctor was always grey in my head, but never dark. but it makes sense; you don't get off the butt end of a war that exterminates your entire race leaving you the last Time Lord in the universe without it getting you a tad under the weather. and, anyway, he's still funny.
the series picks up right off and starts running at an amazing pace, with just enough touches of compassion and gravitas to keep it groundedly human, despite being thoroughly mental. i actually cried when Rose Tyler, the Doctor's latest assistant, met her father. and i couldn't resist joining the Doctor's hurrah at the end of "The Doctor Dances."
and the season finale was, to steal a word from Vince Vaughn, phenomenal. i admit, it felt a little too much like a Wagnerian opera to fit into my own mental frame for Doctor Who, but i had to cheer when the blue police box started hurtling through space to meet the attack of the 200 warships in orbit around Earth.
about my only gripe about the whole run was the very end. i was hoping for more from the "Bad Wolf" mystery, and i was never much of a deus ex machina sort of guy. then again, it does make some sense, as Russell T. Davies himself says that the TARDIS is a deus ex machina to begin with, and, anyway, it serves a purpose. never before has the Doctor had an "assistant" who was also his equal. incidentally, i prefer the term "companion," myself.
i look forward to the second season, although after Chris Eccleston's performance, David Tennant has some pretty big shoes to fill. and it's hard to imagine how the writers could top their achievements in the first season.
i heard they were making a new series with a new incarnation of the Doctor a while back, but it never made much of an imprint. i must have thought or said something like, well, that's interesting, and quickly forgot.
when Neil Gaiman started blogging about watching it with Miss Maddy Gaiman, i thought, well, that's nice, and quickly forgot.
then i found an old edition of Doctor Who and the Android Invasion by Terrance Dicks, with an introduction by Harlan Ellison, and i thought, well, i'm not really into anything right now (i wasn't, at the time. i must have been re-reading something from my "already read but loved it enough for another read" pile at the time). it's got recommendations from Neil Gaiman and Harlan Ellison, and i do feel like something of a romp, so this ought to be interesting. so i picked it up for fifteen bucks, read Mr. Ellison's introduction and a few chapters, dropped it into my "for reading" pile, and, well, quickly forgot.
only not really. my interest was rising. Mabel was in LA at the time, and i thought to ask her if she saw the DVD set out there, and if she did, could she get me a copy.
she didn't. so she couldn't. and, with the copy of Veniss Underground she got me, not to mention the Sin City double disc, i, you guessed it, quickly forgot.
then, just last week, i chanced upon the entire first season of the new series on DVD. suddenly, i was excited.
when i got home, i popped the first disc onto my spinner, then the second, and the third, and soon found i'd gobbled up the first five episodes in one sitting. i'd have watched more if a sense of prudence hadn't set in and i remembered i had to get up for work early the next day.
it's that good.
i totally agree with Mr. Ellison on this one. all you Trekkies and Jedi/Sith/droid/whatever-you-call-yourselves Star Wars junkies must have your heads on the wrong way. it's not that i don't enjoy dipping into those particular franchises, but next to the Doctor, well... they're rubbish.
admittedly, Doctor Who isn't hard SF, but neither, and i may get flamed for this, is Star Trek (no need to even mention Star Wars here, but fans might feel left out). the thing is, unlike Star Trek, it doesn't try to be. the "science" in Doctor Who is all in good fun, and serves the higher purpose of the series: ideas that make a good story.
Doctor Who is all about ideas, and having fun at it as well. and forget Spock, or Data, or Han Solo... the Doctor is the coolest, most interesting character you'll ever find in pop SF.
it was always a bit iffy whether i would like Doctor Number Nine (the Doctor with a closely cropped do and a leather jacket?!?). but then, i grew up, after all, with Tom Baker and all the hair and the wool in my head as the only Doctor. but Christopher Eccleston pulled it off brilliantly. i admit to being a bit ticked off by the gravitas of the Doctor's ninth incarnation; the Doctor was always grey in my head, but never dark. but it makes sense; you don't get off the butt end of a war that exterminates your entire race leaving you the last Time Lord in the universe without it getting you a tad under the weather. and, anyway, he's still funny.
the series picks up right off and starts running at an amazing pace, with just enough touches of compassion and gravitas to keep it groundedly human, despite being thoroughly mental. i actually cried when Rose Tyler, the Doctor's latest assistant, met her father. and i couldn't resist joining the Doctor's hurrah at the end of "The Doctor Dances."
and the season finale was, to steal a word from Vince Vaughn, phenomenal. i admit, it felt a little too much like a Wagnerian opera to fit into my own mental frame for Doctor Who, but i had to cheer when the blue police box started hurtling through space to meet the attack of the 200 warships in orbit around Earth.
about my only gripe about the whole run was the very end. i was hoping for more from the "Bad Wolf" mystery, and i was never much of a deus ex machina sort of guy. then again, it does make some sense, as Russell T. Davies himself says that the TARDIS is a deus ex machina to begin with, and, anyway, it serves a purpose. never before has the Doctor had an "assistant" who was also his equal. incidentally, i prefer the term "companion," myself.
i look forward to the second season, although after Chris Eccleston's performance, David Tennant has some pretty big shoes to fill. and it's hard to imagine how the writers could top their achievements in the first season.
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