By Roy Mathur, on 2023-04-04, at 23:08:21--23:52:43 BST, for Captain Roy's Rusty Rocket Radio Show, Listen
I changed my mind (again). The off topic content has it's own section (again). You can find it after the SFFH chat (again).
I'm still on the SM7B. I haven't changed my mind about that yet. Give it time.
Winging their way to me are The Doctor Who Programme Guide: Fourth Edition by Jean-Marc Lofficier, Blake's 7 by Trevor Hoyle, Blake's 7: The Programme Guide by Tony Attwood, and Burning Chrome by William Gibson.
This is an appalling 1998 film adaptation of the William Gibson sci-fi short story, originally published in 1984 in Omni, and later read by me in his Burning Chrome anthology. It is about clandestine corporate headhunters trying to score a brilliant Japanese scientist from ruthless Swiss company, Maas Biotech, using a beautiful honeytrap played by Asia Argento.
Cheap production, creaking script, and chronically miscast with good actors; none of whom understand Gibson cadence or style. Though they valiantly persisted, neither of the two male leads, Christopher Walken as Fox the fixer and Willem Dafoe as the point man, looked or behaved as I imagined them in the short story. It played like straight-to-vid crud with some untitillating lesbian exploitation shoehorned in. Though not solely responsible for this travesty, Abel Ferrara directed, which elevates his previous The Driller Killer (1979)---pretty good for a video nasty---to Francoise Truffaut-like heights. Ferrara's professional association with Walken and Dafoe might explain their casting.
I survived about 20 minutes---that's slightly longer than the unrelentingly terrible Absolutely Anything reviewed in 479---due to morbid curiosity, like rubbernecking past a gruesome traffic accident.
The one positive is that it immediately reminded me to restock my library with Gibson. You should do the same, and not just with this, but with all screen adaptations of Gibson's work, which are all repellent. Skip them all and consume the prose.
Idris Elba reprises his role in double meaning titled 2023 Netflix movie continuation of the BBC crime/horror series, written by Neil Cross, about a conflicted copper with a penchant for the dark side.
I've watched and rewatched and enjoyed the schlocky, and really quite nasty, TV series at least twice and now we have the spin off in which serial killing London city boy (Andy Serkis in an awful wig) leaks incriminating documents to land his pursuer, DCI John Luther, in jail. Now he is free to carry on his demented internet horror show, in which he hangs, burns, and tortures all and sundry, until Luther pulls a favour from another maniac, escapes, teams up with his replacement whose daughter has been kidnapped for leverage, and hunts him in the icy Norwegian wastelands.
It's a more polished version of the TV series, but less of a violent whodunnit and more of a maniac cop unleashed. I was also hoping his murderous, brilliant, on/off girlfriend Alice Morgan, a breakout role for actress Ruth Wilson, would return, but alas, she did not. It's okay, but only a little treat for fans who missed Luther because there wasn't enough fanservice. The ending leaves an opening for more, but judging by its average ratings a sequel is doubtful. On the other hand, I really enjoyed seeing the David Bowie loving Luther and his Volvo again, and I'm grateful that superstar Idris Elba put in the effort for us fans.
The Observer (The Guardian on Sunday) used to be my paper of choice, mainly because it was one non-right wing semi-posh paper you only had to buy once a week. Last Sunday I bought it for the first time in years and to celebrate (and to get some value out of the expensive GBP 3.50 rag) here are a digest of articles I found interesting, and, of course, my take.
I panned Joe Biden in the last pod over the Willow Project, now it's Rishi Sunak's turn as he signs off on North Sea oil and gas licences, that the mere exploitation of, not even end use, will blow the UK's carbon budget. Sunak!
Artists I despise, let's call them Giblets and Gorge, had big spreads in both the paper and magazine celebrating their new gallery. These are the same life-long art trolls, who last year proclaimed, "All the museums now are woke...Because at the moment it's all black art, all women art, all this art and that art." (FT, 2021). What I like most is the unintentional putdown made by a Spanish visitor, who said, "I did not know their work before, but I like their colours a lot. I am a big fan of Salvador Dali."
Keir Starmer seems to misunderstand trans rights. Maybe he needs to take unconscious bias training again, like he did after mocking BLM.
Bees have emotions and may be self aware according to What a Bee Knows: Exploring the Thoughts, Memories, and Personalities of Bees by Stephen L. Buchmann. While I'm not an industrial farmer exploiting our furry little friends, I recently read somewhere else about how plants probably too feel a kind of pain. I wouldn't be surprised, but I have more hedge cutting to do and I can do without the guilt.
In Style, bomber jackets for men are in again. The editor's choice is a chap dressed head-to-foot in clothes I already own (only he's a lot younger), including a baggy MA2 knockoff; a look I've been trying to ditch for years.
I rewatched this 2014 film on BBC iPlayer. I'd describe it as Ken Loach doing Saturday Night Fever. It's working class, northern, grity, and sweary, and follows a young man navigating crap schools, crap jobs, grime, sweat, death, and love, with the help of Motown, coverups, record collecting, dancing, and drugs. Ricky Tomlinson looms large, but briefly, as the lovely greyback granddad.
To be a teensy bit reductive, the dialogue is sometimes dry text book exposition on Northern Soul (reflecting creator Elaine Constantine's obsession with the late 60s sub-culture) with teenage angst thrown in. But it's also a deeply nostalgic film, with a kicking soundtrack and energetic dancing; something I can appreciate as a fan of disco; a similarly DJ driven musical genre.
Spam from the crypto bros is hotting up again recently. If you even occasionally talk about tech, you'll end up on some dimwit PR's pitching mailing list. I got an annoying one recently that featured a photo of a very slippery looking grinning wide boy hoping to get cash strapped schools to buy into his scheme. Come on, really?
They just mass mail out these thing hoping... I don't know what exactly. What are they expecting? The very fact that I used to be a techie and a tech journo too makes it twice as unlikely that I'll promote whatever nonsense they are pushing.
I'm a wizard powered by cake, as well as caffeine, and the occasional cider. According to a recent blood test, that isn't good for my blood sugar, and I'm at risk of Type-2 diabetes. Who knew that being a sedentary, unfit, geek cake-o-vore could be deleterious?
I have an appointment with the diabetic nurse, but even before that, it's probably time for me to shape up. (Groan).
This part of the world; the UK and Ireland, is currently run by brown people. Rishi Sunak is the UK Prime Minister, Humza Yousaf is the First Minister of Scotland, and Leo Varadkar is the Taoiseach (Prime Minister) of Ireland.
I have said before, I do not agree with some of their politics; in Sunak's case quite vehemently. Sunak! Your Stop the Boats campaign is a disgustingly racist bloody disgrace. Even so, it is hard to not see these times as anything but historic.
Continuing the theme of mutability at the top of the show, I expect to be changing my mind about many things related to podcasting in the coming weeks.
But the one thing you can rely on, is that this podcast will continue, and it will always be about science fiction, fantasy, and horror.