Why? Haven’t you heard…Clash of the Titans is coming soon to a theatre near you! Why plunge into the depths of Tim Burton-land when I can look forward to re-living some classic childhood cheesiness.

At least…I certainly HOPE it has just enough of the old cheesiness. If it doesn’t have a stop-motion metal owl, and if Liam Neeson doesn’t channel his slumming-for-the money-like-Brando-in-Superman predecessor (the dear departed Laurence Olivier) then I’m going to demand my money back…

(2) Apparently Christian missionaries from the United States have had a hand in firing up Ugandans into supporting an “execute those demonic gays and lesbians” law. I watched the disgusting spectacle tonight on ABC News, and all I could think of was: “Don’t they have enough of a right-wing, whackjob audience in the States to keep them satisfied?”

Apparently not. Perhaps the KKK is contracting out extra work.

Meanwhile, in case anyone feels like a smug & morally superior Canadian, universities across this country have held — or will be holding — a mind-numbingly ridiculous & offensive “Israeli Apartheid Week”.

There are times when I believe that rationalism has taken a permanent holiday from reality. I’d try to apply logic to both of the above situations…but I try not to fight losing battles.

(3) It was reported today that Bill Gates is now the 2nd richest man on the planet. His role as mega-rich-demi-god has been surpassed by Mexican tycoon Carlo Slim Helu.

I’d pause to weep at this titanic shift…but instead, I’ll save my tears for Canada’s Thompson family. They only managed to reach #24 on the list, with $27 billion less than Mr. Microsoft.

(Pause for choked-back sob)

Poor Canada. We never own the podium when it comes to being part of the world’s hoi poloi.

(4) Tomorrow, I’m going to try and teach my Canadian History class how to dance the Charleston!

Hmm…yes…rationality may indeed have taken a hike when I wasn’t looking.

Bad enough that the show was stilted, stiff as a plank, lacking glitz & spark, and so rushed at the end that Tom Hanks had to deliver the best picture verdict in the most perfunctory fashion…

Bad enough that the Academy montage for all those that died was presented in an uncomfortable split-screen fashion that went by far too quickly, and without any of the majesty of previous “in memorium” moments…

…but the worst crime was forgetting Farrah Fawcett! Ms. Fawcett, icon of 70s Hollywood, passed away on the same day as Michael (we didn’t forget him, did we) Jackson…but was NOT included in the annual “goodbye” montage.

WHY?

Everyone from Jane Fonda to Roger Ebert to Perez Hilton noticed it…tweeted it…condemned it. Why did it happen?

Some may use the excuse that Farrah was primarily a TV star, but that’s splitting VERY weak hairs…no doubt the same ones that allowed the inclusion of Michael Jackson, whose only role of note seems to be as the Scarecrow from that god-awful movie version of The Wiz!

In any event, Farrah had more than enough memorable movie moments of her own, including the iconic late 1970s films Logan’s Run & The Cannonball Run.

The Academy’s response? “We can’t include everyone.”

In the words of Roger Ebert: “MAJOR FAIL!”

Thanks a lot, Tinsletown Jerks! As icing on this pathetic cake, let’s hope this year’s ratings herald your extinction as a TV event…

Oh, and by the way…WHERE WAS BEA ARTHUR?!?

UPDATE @ 7:15pm

Hmm…the Academy seems to have screwed up three times: they appear to have forgotten the magnificent RICARDO MONTALBAN. That’s right…KHAN himself! Review his MASSIVE movie career using THIS link.

I shouldn’t have worried. My first three dips into the Torchwood literary universe were suitably rewarding, and I discovered a new star in the process…

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

Written by Guy Adams

The plot and the setting are standard issue Torchwood. A creepy, haunted house with *temporal/extraterrestrial *issues. A painful secret from Jack’s mysterious and slightly sordid past, coming back to bite him in the rear end. Gwen doing her best to sort out the situation, and Ianto doing his best to keep everyone well fed, well watered, well dressed, and well supplied.

In some sense, it’s playing everything very safe - the prime example of what could be the result of a “random Torchwood story generator”. That said, it adds it own tweaks to the standard Torchwood clichés, and manages to rise above the muck to be, by turns, poignant, frightening, shocking, and hilarious…sometimes all at once. If you can sum up a typical Torchwood situation of this kind, look no further than the scene where Ianto is knocked over by an invisible tram car…and ends up wet and frozen in a closet!

It’s a tight little package of Torchwood goodness. The prose flows like a cool stream: the author has each of the characters’ voices down to a reasonably successful degree, the action is fast, the pace is quick, and the story concludes very efficiently. It’s not something that completely knocked my socks off, but it’s the perfect introductory novel for a Torchwood neophyte, and it never outstays its welcome. Frankly, I was surprised by just how much I ended up enjoying the story. In short: a good first choice for a novel from the series.

7

ALMOST PERFECT

Written by James Goss

One of the most outrageous books I’ve read in recent memory. If Almost Perfect proves one thing, it’s that James Goss is a man who DESERVES to write for the television incarnation of Torchwood. Immediately!

Almost Perfect is, in every sense, completely perfect. Goss has captured the characters’ voices, behavious, and mannerisms in a way I didn’t imagine was possible. Jack’s recklessness and bacchanalial instincts, the completely splendid and beautiful marital relationship of Gwen & Rhys, and the courageous yet insecure Ianto, who is completely tossed into the deep end…leaving his friends trying to come to terms with a transformation that boggles the mind. In every conceivable way, Goss makes the Torchwood team leap off the page with a dynamism worthy of the best performances in the best episodes of the series.

Not content to master the characters, Goss also manages to concoct a story that plays games with every conceivable aspect of the Torchwood playground. Where else will you find people turning into dust after a first date? Where else do powerful, reality-warping aliens retire, content to make life better for the gay community of Cardiff? Where else does a moving wall of bodies trap people…and result in ironic, sarcastic arguments about how the hell to escape? Where else does a shopping trip with a gender-transformed Ianto turn into a comedy of errors? Most magnificent of all: the speed-dating class attended by Rhys & Gwen, which is so full of genuine, authentic couples humour & slapstick hilarity that it should be marked down as one of the best passage from ANY book set in the Doctor Who literary universe.

If there is one Torchwood book you must read…if there is only one Torchwood book you will EVER read…it is Almost Perfect. Its title is the understatement of the year.

10

RISK ASSESSMENT

Written by James Goss

Ironically, it’s not as risk-embracing as Almost Perfect, but it sucessfully takes a different path to the previous novel. It takes Goss’ masterful command of the Torchwood cast, and applies it to the past: Torchwood’s murky, fascinating, mysterious history.

With the introduction of the mysterious risk assessor Agnes Havisham, flashback sequences become a fascinating digression from the main plot of the story. We are privy to the thoughts of a dying Queen Victoria, the terrors suffered by Jack & Company’s predecessors, and the buried emotions that result from giving up one’s life to a greater cause. It’s very poignant watching Gwen trying to comprehend the loneliness inherent in Agnes’ position as the last bastion of a Victorian, imperial Torchwood…to say nothing of watching Jack completely transform in her presence. Gone is the jaunty self-confidence and lewdness. In its place comes a quiet, nervous trepidation…and it manages to throw everyone (including the reader) for a loop.

It’s the central mystery of the novel that sits uncomfortably side-by-side with the story of Ms. Havesham and the trips down memory lane. They are both well written and both absorbing, hilarious, and action packed…but they seem to have been bolted together from completely different novels. Now, I’ll be the first to say that they’ve been fused with exceptional skill…but as I read about Jack & Agnes fighting an alien, zombie-like menace, it feels like a distraction from the more fascinating exploration of Torchwood’s melancholy & violent past. I’m also left with a head-scratcher ending that continues to puzzle me. What is Goss trying to imply?

The final verdict? Masterfully written & full of characters that leap off the page…but not quite the gorgeous jewel that was Almost Perfect. Let’s consider it a messy triumph and leave it at that.

8

A massive earthquake in Chile…tsunami warnings across the Pacific…and CNN’s all-seeing Sauron eye directly over Hawaii. Everyone is watching and waiting to see if something…anything will happen…

…and I joined in for about 30 minutes. So far, nothing. Let’s hope it stays that way. BUT…but…

…there’s something so ridiculously intoxicating watching disasters on TV…especially hurricanes and storms. What is it about human nature that compells us to watch and wait for destruction…or even the possibility of destruction? I’m guessing the eruption of Krakatoa in the late 19th century, and the San Francisco earthquake of the early 20th century, would have made for ratings-busting spectacles, had television been around at the time.

Perhaps it’s why we adore disaster movies & epic, Earth-shattering films, no matter how excruciatingly poor they might be: the Earth flexing its immense muscles. We little mortal specks of flesh, in thrall to the firery power of nature, ready to have our arrogant facade of dominion over this planet shoved aside at a stroke. Perhaps we NEED to know that we can be humbled, even if we don’t enjoy admitting it…

Still…I’m fighting nature by throwing in a Doctor Who DVD into the player, and hoping there will be nothing to watch.

(2) BURNING THE CANDLE AT “ONE” END

Well, I won’t light it, but I’ll be holding it, I’m sure, as part of the god-parent portion of the day.

Tomorrow is my niece Micaela’s baptism. It will be a day of wearing the monkey suit (UGH), eating, drinking, conversing, and watching lots of people trying to sneak into my mother’s basement to watch the Canada vs USA gold medal hockey game later in the afternoon.

Makes a change from the usual Sunday…though as most people who know me will tell you, I HATE changing my usual routines…but I suppose I’ll have to lump it. ;-)

(3) 128 DAYS UNTIL I’M BACK IN LONDON

I’m already drooling at the prospect…especially after looking out the living room window, after 3 solid days of heavy wet snow. Summer can’t arrive soon enough, as far as I’m concerned.

Dreaming of a summer in Europe is always preferable. Contemplating all that history and culture puts a warm smile on my face. Contemplating all that Doctor Who goodness within easy reach puts an even BIGGER smile on my face…

…which reminds me…

(4) 34 DAYS UNTIL THE 11th DOCTOR’S PREMIERE

In honour of this, here’s the latest publicity photo…

I should have probably given a little more thought to my choice of follow-up book to Catcher in the Rye. The Bishop’s Man won this year’s Giller Prize, beating out the exquisite Golden Mean by Annabel Lyon. It was about time I turned to it and judged for myself what the judges may have seen in the novel.

What I found was a bleak, depressing story that managed to convey an ocean’s worth of sadness, and package it into a small village.

I found a small-scale follow up to an nightmare epic that rocked churches, police forces, and public perceptions. No novel could ever convey THAT unless it was attempted on a biblical scale (and not many novels aspire successfully to be either Gone With The Wind or The Pillars of the Earth). But The Bishop’s Man is an epilogue, a sequel, and a come-uppance all rolled into one. It deals with consequences too terrible to contemplate…but so very human to understand.

I found a central character that was damaged, broken, cynical, exhausted, weary…evocative in every respect.

I also found a book that irritated me with its flashback structure (which seemed too short and very intrusive at times), its supporting characters (too many of them seemed to be sketched in with overt brevity, and they were difficult to keep track of…), its overt reliance on secrecy and implication, and it’s rather abrupt conclusion.

I found a book that was two-thirds captivating, and one-third “get on with it” - bravery and conviction, tempered by surprising bouts of tentativeness. A solid piece of fiction that showcases a terrible beauty in its command of emotional distress…but I still prefer The Golden Mean by leaps and bounds. The Giller panel and I will simply have to agree to disagree on their 2009 choice.

“Besides, I’m not going to tell you my whole goddamn autobiography or anything. I’ll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me around last Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out here and take it easy.”

I always meant to read The Catcher in the Rye. I seem to be the only one who didn’t read this book in high school. It wasn’t a specific avoidance…the curriculum for this novel never quite matched up with what I studied. It wasn’t for lack of superb books in English class: The Hobbit, The Stone Angel, The Handmaid’s Tale…and many more.

When Salinger died recently, I finally decided to buy the novel and read it for myself. However, Salinger-mania hit the bookstores and I couldn’t find a single copy…until now. This past Saturday, I stat down with a few coffees and read it in three straight hours…and I came to a few conclusion:

(1) The Catcher in the Rye is such a dated piece of fiction, that it has become an astonishing historical artifact in its own right. It’s the literary equivalent of TV’s Mad Men: a snap shot of a remarkable time in pop culture that isn’t showcased and highlighted very often in this day and age. The late-1940s slang, the attitudes & social mores, the rural prep school & swish New York settings…all of it represents a time & place I couldn’t relate to…yet I couldn’t get enough of it. It’s sheer alienness was gripping.

(2) The Catcher in the Rye isn’t about rebellion and teenage angst. Though it would have been racy for the time, this isn’t a book about an unrepentent, sullen youngster on the cusp of manhood. The story of Holden Caulfield is one of hypocrisy…primarily his own. He is full of bitterness towards the phony world around him — he sees nothing but a life filled with fake emotions, films where fakery is glorified, surrounded by acquaintances trapped behind their practiced, brittle facades. He railes against all of it, and all of them…

…yet he ignores his own hypocrisy. He doesn’t want to face his own upbringing, his own snobbish attitudes & pampered lifestyle, his own disastrous attempts to appear grown up, suave and in control…and his own misery & self-hate. When he confronts these feelings, he nearly falls apart…and as a result, this novel is a suprisingly powerful look at depression. So much aching sadness and loneliness…where will it lead him? To a near-total breakdown, it would seem…

In some respects, I appreciate this as a story of epic emotions and dark explorations of the human psyche. But I also believe time has rendered much of this material somewhat muted. In the years since Catcher in the Rye was published, fiction has evolved in quantum leaps, and no subject seems to be taboo in this day & age. Time has pickled this novel into something fascinating…but it has also superceeded its achievements by some distance.

I enjoyed it, and I honour the foundations that it built for the future…but I also recognize that the modern age has come a long way in its exploration of similar themes. The Catcher in the Rye occupies a unique niche…and it should be cherished. But I believe the novels that could claim to be its direct decendants are where true appreciation and satisfaction with Salinger’s work will ultimately be found.

It’s a very odd time. No more Battlestar Galactica to review (Caprica is NOT something I’ve decided to watch, by the way)…still waiting for the new Matt Smith season of Doctor Who (semi-patient sigh)…no movies have been released that demand my attention (though Clash of the Titans might be tempting)…I’m in the middle of a book drought…nothing political is tickling my fancy…I’m currently revisiting a course I haven’t taught in nearly a decade…there are muscle and stress aches galore…my niece’s baptism is coming up…

Is February always so boring and banal?

It’s very strange. There have been times in the past where I’ve told myself I should slow down the posting rate…worried I won’t have anything to say. Yet each and every one of those occasions have turned out to be full of posts about books, movies, TV, geeky rants, random thoughts…

Now…along comes a time when I’m open to inspiring topics…and the eerie sound of chirping crickets is all that greets me. Go figure.

Still, it’s the weekend, and after 6 years of posts, I can afford to be a bit laid back. Let’s see what happens over the next two days…perhaps inspirational verbosity will emerge.

My two highlights: Sarah McLachlan’s performance of Miracle (I do very much adore her & her golden voice), and the entry of the Canadian team into the stadium…which actually managed to make me tingle with excitement and patriotism.

(2) Message to the Vancouver Olympic protesters-nee-thugs: there will always be olympics, expos, and grand schemes that governments will spend billions of dollars on…and they will NEVER spend those amounts on homelessness and poverty. Perhaps changing their minds with something other than breaking store windows and beating up bystanders would be more effective. Then again…such strategies require thought, intelligence, and no need for a bandana to cover up the faces of criminals and retrograde scum.

(3) Alexandre Bilodeau won Canada’s first gold medal at these games…AND our first gold as a host country (3rd time lucky, it seems). He also has the brightest, widest smile I have EVER seen on an Olympic athlete. It sparkled so much I thought my TV screen was going to shatter! His future in endorsements and pin-up magazines is, no doubt, confirmed…

(4) The CBC just reported that the Brits think we’re bad hosts and there is a “moral vacuum” at the heart of our games…going as far as to blame us for the tragic death of Georgian luge competitor Nodar Kumaritashvili, in our selfish “lust” to own the podium.

Then the CBC revealed that this diatribe against us appeared in The Daily Mail — the racist, bigoted, rat-infested right wing rag most likely to be used in the process of wiping your bottom after a case of explosive diarrhoea.

In other words, nothing to see here…move on. Mind you, if you wish to head over to the Daily Fail and tell Martin Samuel where to stick his fecinine excuse for a head…don’t let me stop you.

Hmm…1401 entries to date. That’s a lot of rants, reviews, and odd moments of contemplation. Some very odd moments of contemplation, I grant you, but you have to allow me a few twisted digressions.

That said…so far, so good. After six years, I’m still finding things to say on a variety of topics…and no one seems to be tired of reading these semi-articulate ravings.

If you’re one of my readers, thank you for sticking with me. Let year seven begin…

Directed by The Hughes Brothers

“You can either carry the cross or be the one banging in the nails.”

Why does my 1400th entry in six years have to be about THIS film?

Why does this entry have to be wasted, writing about the worst movie I’ve seen since Cloverfield?

WHY!?!?

Because it’s a WARNING. Under no circumstances should you see this film.

Unless…

…unless you enjoy a watered-down, third-rate Mad Max rip off with the visual style of a second-rate graduate in high school photoshop, where even the extras look like they’re wondering why they signed up for this garbage…don’t see this movie!

…unless you enjoy watching the strangest apology ever for the existence of the Bible, presented in the most trite, insulting, ridiculous & pretentious manner imaginable, don’t see this movie!

…unless you enjoy watching some of the most unemotive, plastic acting ever captured by a camera, some of the most dull action scenes ever committed to film, and an actor of the calibre of Gary Oldman, phoning in a performance from such a long distance, you need a radio telescope in order find him…don’t see this movie!

The Book of Eli is a smoking pile of trash. It’s unmitigated drivel of the highest order, and I’m STILL trying to figure out if I’m ever going to get those two hours of my life back! It’s a thriller without thrills, preaching a hollowness that would meet with the Sarah Palin stamp of approval.

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