Trailers

Movie trailers these days rarely provide the audience with anything of value. They either include all the best one-liners, or they reveal the entire plot (see the trailer for Quarantine, the remake of the sublime [rec.]). It just so happens that the original trailer for The Dead Zone was a bit of a masterclass of the art, revealing nothing, yet appearing to show everything, while lending a glimmering insight into the thematic discourse: religion, retribution, the problem of evil, etc.. It's also worth noting, and worth it for it's own sake because it contains the extremely powerful and terrifying image of a goldfish bowl at boiling point.

Less Than Dead

You may be wondering why, given that it was released over a week ago, I haven't already posted a five-hundred word review of Bret Easton Ellis' new novel, the sequel to 1985's Less than Zero, Imperial Bedrooms. Well, to tell the truth, it's been quite a while since I read LTZ, and I've since felt that I never really gave it the full due. And so, when I venture back to the old Heimat next week I'm going to take another run at it before picking up the almost disappointingly slender (192 pages) sequel. To quell the withdrawal somewhat I've read through the many author profiles and book reviews that appear on the Extras page of Ellis' revamped website. Jesse Katz, a very old friend of Ellis, transcribes a conversation they shared on the patio of L.A.'s Polo Lounge at the Beverley Hills Hotel. Interestingly, toward the end of the night, four tequilas in, Katz mentions a scene from Imperial Bedrooms that is set in the Polo Lounge:

The Polo Lounge makes its appearance on page 20 of Imperial Bedrooms, the setting for an awkward reunion between Clay and his troubled childhood friend Julian. Their conversation is cryptic, distracted, Clay already anesthetized from an evening of holiday parties. It’s that time of night when I’ve entered the dead zone and I’m not coming out.

Yesterday's film review of The Dead Zone didn't mention the title's signifcance but, as we're pushed, it refers to an unfulfilled premonition, a void where latency remains. Isn't it gratifying when these little coincidences occur? It's nice to think of Ellis' experiencing one of these moments for himself - the point of mild intoxication wherein one must decide whether to stop or take the proverbial plunge. The dead zone. I like that.

The Dead Zone

Expanding my knowledge of the Cronenberg oeuvre yet further, I've just watched The Dead Zone, based on the Stephen King novel by the same name. I can assure you, dear reader, it was absolutely superb, even by the very high standards of Cronenberg's catalogue of work. The plot owes much to Cronenberg's earlier classic, Scanners, which itself owes much to John Wyndham's brilliant novel The Chrysalids, but the film's success is indebted greatest to an engrossing central performance by a young Christopher Walken in the role of Johnny Smith. Looking like an intense James Spader, with windswept hair that was so de rigueur in the early eighties, Walken avoids the temptation to overact a role that many would have fluffed. It's a perfect example of flawless casting, and the love interest with Brooke Adams' character culminates in a wrenching denouement that poignantly and appropriately elevates the themes of forgiveness and retribution, love and tragedy to the forefront of the audience's awareness.

After a sudden car accident Smith is left comatose for five years. He awakes to find he has lost his job, his mobility, and most significantly, his loved one. He has, however, gained a curious psychic intuition. He resents his "gift" and rejects any notion of divine intervention. Indeed, perhaps the film's most powerful undercurrent confronts the Problem of Evil. Religion very delicately lingers in the background for much of the story, and is invoked acutely, though powerfully as Smith psychically witnesses a murder. Recoiling, he tells a police officer:

I was there. I saw him. I stood there. I saw his face. I stood there and watched him kill that girl. God. I did nothing. I stood there and watched him kill that girl. God. I stood there. I did nothing.

Smith appears shocked at his own inaction, his inadequacy when confronted with evil. There's a subtle overlap here. Of course, God's omnipresence should, we intuit, eliminate the potential for evil, yet evil remains. However, surely evil cannot exist, by definition, without it's opposite. One senses that this dichotomy plagues Walken's character as he proceeds to come to terms with his new life. It's a remarkable performance entrusted to a remarkable script, and, as always, Cronenberg stamps his brilliance over every scene.

For those who've heard the glory

For all the Neutral Milk Hotel fans who read this blog (I hope that's a few of you), here's Jeff Mangum in New York earlier this year (!). How on Earth did this pass me by? I'm assuming none of you knew about this; you would have told me, surely. This guy's still got it. Genius. On the one hand, we must concede we're blessed to have this footage, but on the other, it's tragic there isn't a soundboard (sans audience noise), close-up video to immerse oneself in. Know all your enemies. We know who our enemies are...

As Promised

It's unlike me to have a categorically dross meet, but I did have a fair old whack at the 100m Freestyle on the final day, the video of which I've generously posted below for your amusement. Heavily dosed up on home brand caffeine (600mgs), the energy complex provided by green Monster (1200mgs), ZMA and BCAA tabs, and the real possibility of taking the C-Final by storm, I went out like a champ, only to crash and burn in a spectacular explosion of bodily function. In old money, this sort of death is referred to as swimming Stroud-style. It's a great shame that I'm in lane 1, the furthest from the camera, and didn't get a name mention for my early heroics. Also, is it just me or did I have this one in the bag up until the 90 meter mark?

Santa Clara

Your humble blost is in Santa Clara for the weekend, beginning his annual foray into the Summer swimming season. Like last year I may post the odd video if I turn in a good showing, but otherwise you'll have to go without my sharp political voice ringing in your ear for the next few days. Wish me luck!

Into The Thick Of It

Like most sitcoms, The Thick Of It is couched in a naturalistic setting; we have to accept the premises and concept of the thing before we can really find it funny. Of course, political spin (one hopes) is not quite so venal and crass as it's portrayed in the show, but it does demonstrate quite plausibly how personal relationships, vested interests, and common greed and narcissism can disrupt the regular, however punctuated flow of media reportage. As we saw throughout the case of the boarded flotilla on its way to Gaza, political spin skews, corrupts, and in some sense, dampens true and reliable reportage, let alone commentary or analysis. The Thick Of It's creator, Armando Iannucci manages successfully to squeeze a lot of humour out of this basic media trait, and much of the awkwardness and slapstick of the show relies on the irony provided by the viewing audience. The plot construction is largely hyperbolic and tongue-in-cheek, but only because we're aware of it's plausibility. As Michael Totten pointed out in the case of the Mavi Marmara:

While much of the world howls in passionate, cynical, and sinister indignation at Israel for the flotilla incident on the Mediterranean last week, only nineteen percent of Americans blame the Jewish state for what happened. Only 26 percent of Democrats say it's Israel's fault, along with eleven percent of Republicans, making this a fringe position in both political parties.

(Further evidence that the left is losing its way.) What this markedly shows, however, is that the repeated flogging of Israel across western media outlets was, as Totten claims, a "fringe position". Indeed, bearing the wit and wisdom of The Thick Of It in mind, we've been given strong evidence that the media does not reflect reality, but, gladly, nor does reality reflect the media.

On the 'ed

Ahh, the banner, the beautiful banner. TheDutton came good on his promise and exceeded even our highest expectations, surpassing his own standards, and reinforcing his reputation as a perfectionist and all-round hero. I'll throw myself out there and say that, within a few years, his profile may even be afforded a place alongside the likes of Lee and Ellis. Wishful thinking, you say? I wouldn't bet on it.

YouTube Tuesday

Before I follow up on a few things, it's that time again. Sort of. First, England's indifferent performance on Saturday meant that many were despondent, inconsolable, and typically irate as they called in to Five Live's 606. Almost to the point of farce, Alan Green pursued his ongoing campaign of ensuring that his name is never mentioned alongside anything that may appear even slightly contentious. One good thing came out of the spectacle, however, and it was this gem from god-knows-who. Second, my favorite video at the moment, one that I like to enjoy on looped playback, is this. A black reporter working for Fox News in Texas overreacts rather brilliantly to a fly swooping into his mouth. All those painstaking hours of perfecting a semblance to Received Pronunciation are banished, replaced by the choirs of the ghetto. Lastly, here's a video that I posted myself, disappointed that no other uploader had valued the entire exchange. It's from The Thick Of It, a British masterclass in comedy. The context required for this video is that Glenn's son has learning difficulties. Enjoy.

England Fan

Your dearest blost was interviewed on local news the other day alongside my fellow swimmers to discuss the World Cup, something of which we know fairly little. We offered our two cents anyway, and it all got cut down to one cent as you may imagine, which was unfortunate. My bit doesn't really make sense without the preface from Jordan who went on and on about England's tendency to injure itself. I did like how they put my name underneath my face, with the addendum: 'England Fan', as if I'm some kind of skinhead hooligan, tramping the streets with a broken beer bottle in one hand and a bucket of vindaloo in the other (not that Americans know what that is). Here's the link (I think you have to have a Facebook account for now - sorry).

Waiting for the Barbarians

My infatuation for John Coetzee has now been well documented on this blog, and my homage is almost complete. In his third novel, Waiting for the Barbarians he develops the mode of Conrad and draws from his own debut, Dusklands, telling of the horrors of a directionless Imperial station in the middle of the nameless outback. Coetzee opens the first page with yet another example of his emphasis upon the face. Here, however, the face is obscured by some peculiarly unnamed objects.

I have never seen anything like it: two little discs of glass suspended in front of his eyes in loops of wire. Is he blind? I could understand if he wanted to hide blind eyes. But he is not blind. The discs are dark, they look opaque from the outside, but he can see through them.

Coetzee's great regard for the master, Samuel Beckett, is obvious if only through his intense, affectionate, and superb introduction to the fourth Centenary edition of Beckett's complete works. Indeed, the name, Waiting for the Barbarians may even be a slight nod in the direction of Waiting for Godot. The novel captures the absurdity, the cyclicality, the futility, and the horrors of Beckett's classic play. The existential question, also, does not go unnoticed. During a moment of not uncommon personal reflection, the nameless protagonist confronts the real possibility of being hanged for treason:

I truly believe I am not afraid of death. What I shrink from, I believe, is dying as stupid and befuddled as I am.

This concern for dying as though unprogressed becomes a repeated refrain throughout, and it brings to mind the lucid, brilliant, distillation of existential futility courtesy of Beckett. In Godot, Vladimir is heard to say:

Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forceps.

P.S. What a wonderful word: "lingeringly".

Napalm

Always wanting to know what it feels like to be Napalmed, I've just splashed boiling oil all over my lower abdomen (one of my most prized bodily assets). I was squeezing some typically American meat from its plastic tube into my skillet pan, when, with all the gusto of a caged sex-offender, it all came gushing at once. In line with the laws of displacement, the sudden release sent a solid spoonful of searing vegetable oil within five inches of the crown jewels. I think I may have taken this fetish of cooking naked to its outer reaches. I'll be buying myself stockings and a gimp mask next. Now I know why chefs wear those faggy aprons. Still, it's my birthday coming up, and if anyone would like to buy me one of those aprons with a cartoon image of a naked chick on the front I'd be much obliged. In the meantime, I'll keep applying the whetted cloth.

Anti-Zionism

In hindsight I've realized that my railing against the ignorance of Israel's antagonists led to a slip of sorts. You'll recall that I wrote:

The left-wing apologism for Islamic promulgation has expanded to such an extent that not only, we're told, should the Palestinian population in Gaza be granted complete immunity from Israeli interference, but also that Israel represents an oppressive, almost fascistic state.

Given fascism's historical and almost inextricable link to anti-Semitism, that was daft of me, and I'm glad that none of you seemed to pick it up. Speaking of which, someone who did get caught out was this lady, American reporter Helen Thomas. As absurd and reprehensible as her comments were, I can't help but feel that she's being hounded as the scapegoat for all the falsehoods, lazy journalism, and media slant that we're only now realizing demanded closer inspection. The silly old bint probably got caught up in the furore of the whole thing, and thought that her anti-Zionist opinions would finally find a sympathetic audience. Alas, not so.

Gaza

Israel's refusal to host an independent international inquiry is being reported as yet another scandal. Was it not strange the way the boarding of the second ship, the Rachel Corrie, was treated by the media as a similar outrage? How dare the Israelis maintain a blockade! Once again, I recommend paying Michael Totten a visit. His aside about the hatemail he's been receiving is illuminating, yet unsurprising.

Staying with this topic, though changing tack somewhat, I bring you a poem I wrote about a year ago, inspired by the conflict between the Hamas militias and Israeli forces. It began as a simple exercise in controlled metre, written in sonnet form with strict iambic pentameter. As you'll notice, it deviates from the metric structure more and more as the poem progresses, and any future scholars may intone from this whatever they like. For you, on the other hand, have the iambic rhythm in the back of your mind: di-dum di-dum di-dum di-dum di-dum, and see where it takes you. It's called, Gaza.

The Gazans flee their burning homes in rags.
Set off on foot beneath a burning sky.
The evil bodies of afar attacking
The babies, children, mothers: pregnant all.
Hamas stands strong among the flaming rubble.
If only we could see such glee in fear.
Ignite the corneas of our sole foe,
And sing sweetly in the ears of terror.
The wailing echoes back and forth across
The billiard table of desert sands
Betwixt and framed by jagged mountaintops
Of sickly ash and smoldering lava.
The gates of Hell stand not much farther.
We trek the blackened baize of constant threat.

Israel

"Oh my God, he's defending Israel now", sighed satirist Chris Morris during an impromptu debate with Martin Amis in 2007, to which the audience applauded rapturously and en cue, presumably feeling a sense of righteousness with each coming together of their hands. The ongoing rhetorical attacks directed at Israel, as highlighted most recently by the media commentary of the conflict on board the flotilla on its way to the Gaza strip, has become the hallmark of pathetic and sundry quasi-liberalism of the posturing intellectual elite in Britain and America. Like it or not, Israel is an extremely important ally in the Middle East, presenting a democracy with a working parliamentary system amidst surrounding theocracies, dictatorships, and monarchist states. For some reason it has become the object of an ever-increasing and developing campaign of slander throughout the Western media.

Israel unilaterally withdrew all military occupation from the Gaza strip and the West Bank in the Summer of 2005. The Israeli military respond to gunfire, mortar-fire, and rocket-fire from the Gaza strip on an almost daily basis. The elected government of the Gaza strip, Hamas is a proxy for the Muslim Brotherhood, and was founded upon the principles of Islamism and the goal of establishing an Islamic state. The name itself means 'Islamic Resistance Movement', and is recognized by the European Union and the United States as a terrorist organization.

Alarmingly, however, when the news broke that a flotilla supposedly carrying aid to the Gaza strip was boarded and seized by the Israeli military, the event was presented in the media as another example of Israeli aggression, and serious cause for concern among Human Rights activists and for Western governments. The left-wing apologism for Islamic promulgation has expanded to such an extent that not only, we're told, should the Palestinian population in Gaza be granted complete immunity from Israeli interference, but also that Israel represents an oppressive, almost fascistic state that supports the "illegal war" in Iraq and the extinguishing of all Muslim self-rule.

To the contrary, it was the election of Hamas that reinstated a climate of military violence and hostility, and categorically froze all peace talks between Israel and the Palestinian population in the Gaza strip. Why then has Israel become a dirty word in the West, muddied by wayward and lazy accusations of Human Rights abuses, regional expansionism, concealment of their Nuclear weapons arsenal, and various other deviations from what's acceptable?

For those of us who have been following the flotilla fiasco from the start will have noticed the strange and risible turn the media coverage has taken since Monday morning. What began as reports of outrageous Israeli conduct (yet another example thereof) have gradually been exposed as falsehoods. Slowly and painstakingly the truth is coming out. Michael Totten, the master of such situations, has covered this from the beginning and it would be wrong of me to try to condense the invaluable range of reportage that he has drawn from. I urge you to visit his blog, scroll down to the bottom and read you way to the present. You may be struck by the divorce between the media's representation of events and reality. Even from constitutionally non-bias outlets like the BBC the skew on the events is transparent, unpardonable, and very worrisome.