Coming.

I have not died. This blog shall return. Rest, humble followers, those weary hands. For those of you whose F5 has all but faded, do not fear. Your blost comes back online on the 21st, two weeks from today. Meanwhile, trouble yourself with support for two poor minions, already flagging, foolhardy in their ambitions, resorting to the final Rolo, flailing and thrashing in the depths of misery and waning sympathies. Give what you can. Robert Iddiols is currently reading 2666. You're welcome. If, none the less, you struggle without irregular gurglings from the lubricated and irrupting pits of his conscious "mind" then I can only recommend you listen to this, read this, and buy this.

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.