Sense of Adventure » Entertainment

Victor’s Entirely Subjective Super Bowl First Half Commercial Round-Up

Victor — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 01:37:28 +0000

Best: Much as I hate GM, the clear winner (by Victor’s Entirely Subjective Yet Infallible Belly Laugh Test) was the Chevy Mayan Apocalypse ad. The rain of frogs at the end put it over the top. In several senses.

Runner-Up: The Audi Vampires. And not just because they came during the first commercial break, right after the -

Biggest Disappointment Not the Patriots Before Their Last Possession: Bud Light (and Bud.) The very first commercial – probably the mot coveted patch of the most highly-prized, and priced, TV ad space of the year – was as utter a schwa as any commercial I can remember seeing. (If it was blander – well, naturally I wouldn’t remember seeing it, would I?) The follow-up was almost as lame. The Bud one managed to be drab despite featuring both the Budweiser Clydesdales and a biplane. Unless before this you were unaware that Prohibition was a thing, but it ended.

That despite the fact that Bud Light has consistently featured marvelous TV ads since the 1980s – as perceived by someone unlikely ever to consume that product. That billionaire Brazilian dude who bought Anheuser Busch shouldn’t just fire the company that perpetrated this gormless ad campaign, but possibly consider hiring them killed.

The No Doubt Undeserved Yet Altogether Unequivocal Win: Teleflora.. Because ADRIANA LIMA.

And finally, our:

How Cool Is This Internet Thing? (Maybe It’ll Stick Around After All) Moment: How cool is it that I can already link to videos of the aforementioned ads (I refuse to link the Bud ones) on YouTube? Wicked cool!

Wait – is that Cee Lo Green doing the halftime show with the not entirely convincing audioanimatronic homunculus of Madonna?

Anyway, by the second half the ads have usually run out of such steam as they managed to muster – little enough to begin with, so far. And I’ve got a book to finish (no, not that one. Sadly.) Tonight. So – signing off for tonight, most likely. See you soon here, though.

And that’s a promise.

Or a threat.

PS – Oh, and, for the first, and probably last, time in my personal history: Go Pats!

My kind of romantic comedy

Victor — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 03:45:04 +0000

Just caught Red, adapted from the comic book mini-series by Warren Ellis, the mad Brit who writes the wonderful free weekly webcomic FreakAngels, which I follow religiously.

And it totally is.

Helen Mirren: ready for love

A romantic comedy, that is. My kind of rom-com. Meaning: it has boatloads of gunplay and SBU*.

It’s cleverly scripted, the direction is spot-on, and manages to pull off the difficult feat of combining pretty ripping action with some genuinely hilarious bits.

And, yes, romance. (No, seriously. Trust me.)

For once, mirabile dictu, a cast-full of Big Names doesn’t suck (I’d make a The Expendables joke here, except I haven’t yet seen The Expendables.) Bruce Willis plays your pretty standard Bruce Willis wisecracking action hero, and very well, thank you. There aren’t a lot of surprises here: John Malkovich plays the Crazy Guy (see comments on Bruce Willis, above), Morgan Freeman plays the Nice (if lethal) Old Guy, Karl Urban plays the young CIA gun, who’s also a devoted family man with a thoroughly inconvenient conscience.

Playing against type, I’d say (and I don’t count Helen Mirren, above, since if you saw a trailer, you know the gag; and anyway, she’s in a movie about retired government killers who “get the band back together,” so…) are Brian Cox as a surprisingly dashing ex-KGB wheelhorse still in Russian Federation harness; and Richard Dreyfuss playing a character who really seems to relish being the bad guy.

Basically: the name actors are all pros. And they all seem to be having a hell of a lot of fun.

What surprised me was female lead Mary-Louise Parker. I thought she was brilliant as the lonely, bored, romance novel-addicted government-pension call center employee whose harmless flirtation with one of her clients turns out, of course, to be anything but. She brought some really incredible small touches to her portrayal that made the character both sympathetic and real. (It didn’t hurt, for me, that her face and some of her expressions are strikingly reminiscent of my friend Patricia.)

My friend Larry Hays – to whom many thanks for dragging me out to see the movie, since otherwise I probably would’ve put it off too long – appraised the movie thusly as the credits rolled: “Well, that pretty much rocked.” He also said he’d have to get the DVD.

My sentiments exactly.

It’s not the best movie I’ve ever seen, although I’m pretty sure it’s my favorite of what I’ve seen in new release this year. I do have to say that, for what it set out to be – as a piece of craft – it was close to perfect.

Minor quibble plus ***Spoiler Alert***!

Parker’s character winds up as something that drives me nuts: the Female Hostage. By way of redemption:

1) She’s not a Screaming Female Hostage, which is my most hated action-movie cliché of all. In fact, she’s pretty sparky.

2) Mirren’s character, the other prominent female, kicks nothing but ass.

(End Spoilers)

They also – once – whip out my numero uno Movie Firearm Pet Peeve, the “racking the action of a loaded gun” one. To compensate for that, they know what a Swedish K is – plus, if you’ve ever wanted to see an extremely elegant 64-year old Englishwoman fire Ma Deuce, this is the movie for you.

Plus if you want to, you know, watch a wildly fun movie with more than a touch of the spirit of the 1984 classic Romancing the Stone to it…

An enthusiastic Five Bullet rating!

*SBU = Shit Blowing Up. Of course.

World War M

Victor — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 05:45:09 +0000

You may remember how right about a year ago I wrote here about my love for Classics Illustrated Comics, and in particular their version of H. G. Wells’s War of the Worlds. Most of all I loved their take on the Martian war machines:

Bloody tourists.

Yes, it looks a little different from the original. (If you open the earlier blog post in a separate tab, line the images up the same, and then switch back and forth between tabs, you can really see the difference. Also, it’s kind of creepy.)

There’s a reason for that: the image above was done using models and Photoshop by somebody named Frank Daniel.

Here’re two at-least-as-awesome shots of more models based on the Classics Illustrated design, courtesy of one Mike Maynard: a head shot, and a diorama. They all come from a whole page of Martian death machine goodness.

Somebody’s got a lot of time on their hands. And Gods bless ‘em!

Hat tip to Oliver Mellors, better known in these precincts as Meowlin, for turning me onto all these wonderments via Facebook.

In other news: my birthday has duly occurred, as it tends to each year about this time. I had a fine, if quiet one, largely spent perusing the gratifyingly large number of well-wishes on Twitter and Facebook. A big thank you to all who wished me a happy birthday. It worked!

I’m now officially 56, and still refuse to either act or feel my age.

Sadly, I could not (as I always have before) indulge in a nice chocolate cake I made for myself. Thanks to Wendy Jay I was reminded the Candy Lady in Old Town had sugar-free cakes – which I still can’t eat, by reason of starch – and candy, which I can.

Since Emma Dog and I needed a walk I bundled her into the car and off we went. Old Town was surprisingly crowded. Took a couple passes down Romero St. to find a suitable parking spot. On the first go-round, as we were passing between the Plaza and the Basket Shop, an adorable little girl in a long pink dress pointed to Emma and yelled to her Mom, “Look at that cute little doggy!”

Well, as the song says, 2 out of three ain’t bad.

Today started off well, with a good night’s sleep, something which still isn’t a given. Then I let my perfectionism impede my progress on the rewrite, which is not so good.

And most special of all, I got hit with yet another Plumbing Crisis. Which, while it wasn’t as major as the sewage backup, still had to be dealt with. Indeed it still does, despite my best efforts and a trip to Home Despot. I’m too annoyed to talk about it anymore.

Did get a nice, belatedly birthday dinner out at a Chinese buffet – the which works well for me, since I can get my fill of fat, fiber, and protein without paying for (and wasting) starch and sugar I can’t eat. And on the way home on I-40 I got to see a spectacular lightning display to the north. Wonder if the infamous Solar Tsunami could have energized the atmosphere more than usual?

(It strikes me the coronal mass ejection thing kinda/sorta fits in with the whole War of the Worlds theme, since the novel begins with an astronomer observing an anomalous eruption from Mars.)

And this is running on too long, and I need a good night’s sleep tonight, because I’ve gotta lotta rewriting to do tomorrow. Plus plumb.

So – laters.

My favorite Christmas movies

Victor — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 20:58:44 +0000

What’s my favorite Christmas movie of all time? Not a contest.

Oh, the weather outside is balmy/Killing terrorists is all that'll calm me...

Only the very prototype (and pinnacle) of the modern action film. Yes, Die Hard. What else could it be?

The best of the rest:

2. A Christmas Story – also read the book from which it came, In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash.

3. Lethal Weapon – but any Lethal Weapon movie with a numeral is on my least faves list.

4. The Nightmare Before Christmas – my favorite part is the opening “This Is Halloween” number, to the tune of “Here Comes Santa Claus,” no less.

Seems to me there were more, but I draw blank here. I may add some in updates if I recall.

So – what’re your favorite Christmas movies of all time? Drop a comment and let me know!

PS – remember the mouseovers! There’re always mouseovers.

SBU

Victor — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 02:04:32 +0000

Why do we love to watch Shit Blowing Up?

I know I do!

Where did that come from? If you think about it, it seems decidedly counter-survival to be drawn to big, loud, fiery blasts. I mean, for millions of years of evolutions, that pretty much meant lightning strikes, forest fires, and erupting volcanoes. How could we possibly have evolved to run toward those things? Ooh – meet Mr. Lava! And … it’s out of the gene pool for you.

But many if not most humans really love seeing shit blow up. Admit it. The first known use for gunpowder wasn’t killing people. It was fireworks.

The problem comes when filmmakers mistake Big Explosions – and special effects in general – for story. Why bother with a plot, or characters people care about, when you can strap some dynamite to some cans of gasoline and produce enormous orange blasts?

And then the movie critics get to sneer at action movies as mindless series of explosions. Because that’s what lazy “action” moviemakers do.

Good action entertainment requires context. Something has to be at stake. Which means: people we care about, with something to lose.

Otherwise, why not skip the extraneous stuff and just go to a fireworks show? Or just search for “explosions” on YouTube?

Entirely by coincidence, check out the usually reliable James Berardinelli’s review of 2012.

Victor’s Law of SF-Film Adaptation

Victor — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 21:09:14 +0000

The imminent release of the movie Surrogates provides the latest corroboration of Victor’s Law of SF-Film Adaptation:

The best way to get your work adapted into a science fiction or fantasy movie is to:

Do a graphic novel.
Be Philip K. Dick.

Surrogates falls into the former category. As for the latter, I also believe (call it a corollary) that somewhere there exists Federal regulation that mandates that at least fifty percent of all SF movies made must be adaptations from the works of Philip K. Dick. I mean, Jesus von Humperdinck, they’re remaking Total Recall!

(Don’t actually bother clicking that link; it only runs you head-first into imdb‘s attempt to monetize their site by making all their cool news available only on a paid-subscription basis.)

Clearly my work’s cut out for me: it’s either find and ingratiate myself to a mad-talented comic artist (other than the one I already had onboard, who’s sadly dropped off the planet), or reincarnation.

I’m planning to try them in that order. Which you may or may not find felicitous news.

Final, gratuitous thought: when people tell you, “Don’t be a Dick,” it may not be good career advice!

Indeed, it occurred to me, for SEO reasons, to rename this post “Who Says Don’t Be a Dick?” In a rare outbreak of good judgement, or perhaps good taste, I decided to refrain.

Talk like a pirate

Victor — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 22:02:46 +0000

“You dog! You speckled-shirt dog! Why did you not come on board with the boat, you son of a bitch? I will drub you, you dog, within an inch of your life, and that inch too. Ay, you dog, and I will teach you better manners.” – Pirate talk from a real pirate, quoted in The Sea Rover’s Practice: Pirate Tactics and Techniques, 1630-1730

It be a mighty fine read, arrh.

If we’re going to talk like pirates, shouldn’t we be speaking Somali, Malay, or Chinese? Arrh?

Talk Like a Pirate Day gives me a handy excuse for a long-deferred review of a book I vastly enjoyed.

Author Benerson Little is a former Navy SEAL who put his considerable knowledge of seamanship and small-unit naval tactics, along with substantial research skills, to good and mightily entertaining use by writing a history on a a key but seldom seriously discussed area: the actual tactics, as well as weapons and other equipment (such as, say, boats). He even serves up hearty helpings of authentic pirate speech and recipes. Including one for original-style barbecue, which was given to us by the boucaniers - the same people, obviously, who gave us the word buccaneers.

As for pirate tactics, such as finding prey, stalking it, and running it down – not so easy a task, given the wind’s vagaries, and the fact it would allow you to sail only in certain directions – ship-to-ship combat, and boarding actions, we find not so much that Hollywood got it wrong (as of course it often has), but that Hollywood and conventional histories haven’t told us the whole story. One thing, for example, I never knew was the preference of many pirates to attack with one or a number of small craft, such as the piragua, basically a large canoe which could be sailed as well as rowed.

It also fascinated me to learn how popular and prevalent grenades were. Even conventional military histories of the period, primarily the 16^th and 17^th centuries, tend to treat grenades as peripheral curiosities, too unreliable and ineffectual to be of much use.

But judging from the many original sources quoted by Little, they were used enthusiastically and to great effect by pirates, as well as pirate-hunters, and merchants who weren’t ready to turn ships, cargoes, or selves over to the tender mercies of armed robbers of the sea. Grenades took a variety of forms, from firebombs (in everyday quantities, black powder acts a lot like gasoline) to antipersonnel bombs like Claymores, which could be fastened to bulkheads as you dove into cover and locked the hatches behind you, to sweep the decks of boarders with flame, broken glass, shot, and nails.

Take that, Jack Sparrow.

He also presents us, as might be expected, some utterly fascinating characters. Not so much the usual suspects, either, like Blackbeard or Captain Kidd, or even the lesser known but remarkable Bartholomew Roberts. Rather we get the Indiana Jones-esque likes of Captain William Dampier, a naval officer and naturalist as well as privateer and outright pirate, the positively Bondian Jean Doublet, and the frightful L’Ollonois, a SPECTRE-worthy sadistic supervillain who got what he had coming good and hard, courtesy of irate Central American Indians. Then there’s my favorite, Father Jean Baptiste Labat, who was of all things a Dominican priest. Labat, who could only be described as a pirate groupie (or maybe a pirate George Plimpton), not only sailed with freebooters and buccaneers of various nations but on at least one occasion fought alongside them.

And speaking of pirate talk – Labat despaired of the rough language used not just by pirates, but by regular seamen as well. He especially deplored the Spaniards and Portuguese for their favorite blasphemy of swearing on “an entire boatload of hosts.” Which tickled the, um, Hell out of me. (Don’t worry if you don’t get it; it’s a Catholic thing.)

It’s not flawless. In his enthusiasm the author sometimes gets infected by his sources with archaic speech styles that don’t always work. Sometimes that makes him a bit hard to understand. And sometimes he seems to forget to finish paragraphs, leaving us wondering what the Hell he was getting at. (Arrh.)

Also, after quite effectively whetting our appetites, he could have given us fuller biographies of some of his remarkable characters. And I was surprised not to find more detailed examinations of pirate battles, although the book’s thoroughly strewn with snippets of descriptions of them, by way of illustrating his points.

But those are quibbles. Especially, I admit, the points about the characters and battles: he wrote the book he intended to write, not entirely the book I found I wanted him to write.

That’s one of those fine-line author/reader conflicts. As an author it annoys me when people complain I didn’t write the book they wanted. And I see such reviews all the time on Amazon. At the same time, as a reader, sometimes I’m disappointed in that way. But those cases are usually ones in which I felt the author failed to deliver on promises made. As I said, it’s a tight call, and a subjective one.

It also looks as if Little might just have filled those unsatiated appetites of mine by writing other books he wanted to write, given his 2007 release The Buccaneer’s Realm: Pirate Life on the Spanish Main, 1674-1688, plus the forthcoming Pirate Hunting: The Fight Against Pirates, Privateers, and Sea Raiders from Antiquity to the Present. Both of which I strongly suspect I must have. (Hint†.)

Make no mistake: my criticisms are spits in the Seven Seas. I love this book, and recommend it highly. If you’ve any interest in the subject I give it five bullets out of five. If you have no particular interest in the subject (wait, did you read this? Pirates!) it’s still four bullets out of five. Little may go into a bit more technical detail than suits you; just skip those parts. You will find ample awesomeness here.

Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day, me mateys!

“Mort Dieu, les Espagnols me le payeront!” – L’Ollonois (“God’s death, the Spaniards will pay me for this!”)

*I see that Amazon has made it impossible to download a decent-sized cover image. Thanks for making it harder for me to advertise your site! You do a lot of things right, but this time you appear to have erred on the Stupid, Greedy Bastards side of thing. What do you think you are, Google?

And speaking of greedy – but I hope not stupid – remember, you can support this site, my lovable pets Emma, TJ, and Squeak†, and me by clicking through the linked image and buying the book! Buy some for all your friends. Christmas isn’t that far away…

†Shame? None for me, thanks!

A New Mascot for the SyFy Channel

Victor — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 21:58:34 +0000

This is gonna make me rich. I’ve discovered the perfect mascot for the rebranded SyFy Channel.

Like this (Yes, someone really made a spirochete stuffed toy. I'm sorry.) Except 8 feet tall & bipedal.

Meet SyFylis the Spirochete! Can’t miss.

It’s ideal for SciFi’s plan to “Shed Geeky Image With New Name.” I mean, syphilis is a venereal disease. And everybody knows those tacky geeks never get up to anything, uh … venereal. Right? Plus a spirochete is a microbe, and that ties right in with all that science stuff the suits don’t understand, so SyFy won’t utterly lose its tech cred.

I tell you, it’s a guaranteed win. It’s ideal; it totally sums up the spirit and sense behind the name change, doesn’t it? SyFy should pay mega royalties to me and Steve Gould, who inspired me with this Tweet (actually, his editorial comment on a ReTweet.) Or perhaps I should say, “set me off.”

Yes, I am avoiding writing again. And with this I’ve officially run out of excuses, so back I go…

For those of you who’ve been hoping I’d post again soon (I’m sure you exist. Right? Right?) this should get you over that.

And yes, I am the King of lowering the moral and intellectual tone of discourse on Twitter. Somebody had to ruin it. Might as well be me.

Why watch Watchmen?

Victor — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 22:28:12 +0000

Everyone on Earth seems to agree the Watchmen comic book series is the greatest thing since sex. I’m not so sure.

Who, indeed?

Now with the movie coming out – to mixed reviews – the one consensus seems to be the unassailable perfection of the original. So let me be the heretic rebel here and question the Holy Doctrine of received wisdom – while admitting the possibility I might be mistaken.

To clarify: it’s not the series’ status in the comic book world I’m talking about; I don’t know that much about the field as a whole. It’s the overall greatness thing I dare to question.

I’m sure that’s going to get me buried in hate mail. So it goes. (Take deep breath: jump.)

I read it a while ago, and admit my memory may not be perfect; I’ve tried to get the single-volume collection from the library to reread in advance of the movie release, but the waiting list seems liable to outlive the solar system. And I don’t deny the series had a lot of depth or a lot of merit.

My problem concerns the ending – and yes, there be *spoilers*, in case you’re unfamiliar with the story, so pass the jump at your own risk.

So: one of our costumed crimefighters, who happens to be a genius billionaire, stages a phony alien invasion, complete with much collateral damage – which is to say, wide scale murder of innocents – in order to force world unification and world peace. After initially getting huffy about it all, once it all appears the other erstwhile members of his crimefighting club all decide to go along after all. And when the only member of the group who seems to have any integrity, even if it is a murderously crazy kind of integrity, says he’s going to blow the whistle, his pals murder him.

Pretty much The End.

Okay, bluntly: how is that not completely fascist?

I mean, let’s leave aside matters like practicality (the US/Soviet alliance against a common threat sure lasted a long time) and questions of whether ends justify means (they don’t.) Isn’t author Alan Moore trying to sell us on the notion of a self-proclaimed superman ruling the world as his Reich as a good thing? Haven’t we seen this before? And not liked it too much?

We’ve also heard about this scam before. There’s some dispute as to whether war criminal and party animal Henry Kissinger actually asserted that Americans would gladly surrender their liberties to “an outside threat from beyond, whether real or promulgated” (emphasis mine.) There’s not much dispute, though, that Ronald Reagan said something very similar about an “alien threat” in a speech to the UN.

Pretty strange bedfellows for a self-proclaimed leftist anarchist, yes?

So is Moore really telling us that making an annoying rich asshole Führer of the World would be swell (and so’s betraying your friends)? That’s the message I took away. Left a poor taste in my mouth.

Or am I missing the point by 180°, and Moore is really telling us, in line with the whole “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?“ theme, that if we put our faith in heroes, or the powerful in general, that this is the very kind of horrendous shit they’re liable to pull?

I dunno. I’d like to believe the latter. It didn’t seem like it at the time. Which is why I wanted to reread the series.

Help me out, here, please. Really.

Full Disclosure: back in 1988, I, along with the rest of the Wild Cards Consortium, was nominated for a Hugo Award in the “Other Forms” category, in opposition to – guess what? Yes, brilliant: you’re right, it was Watchmen. And guess who won? Right again! One might therefore be forgiven for suspecting me of sour grapes.

Well, I’ll tell you, I’d really like to’ve won the award. Given that the “Other Forms” award was insituted in order to give Watchmen a Hugo, and that it was widely called the “Watchmen Award” in fandom, I figured it was kind of an honor to be nominated to run against it in the first place. And we came in second – a close second, or so I heard. So I don’t think we did so badly.

As for the outcome: I’d've voted for us, yeah. I would again. I don’t think anyone rigged the voting, though. I don’t think the outcome was unjust.

One fairly dark deconstruction of the superhero concept beat out another. That’s it. I don’t think that’s grounds for invidious bitching, and plead not guilty. As always, YMMV.

Now, let the flames begin!

Movie sign!

Victor — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 02:56:19 +0000

First off: looks as if I didn’t get sick after all, so Joe and Larry are off the hook for the whole Mystery Plague thing. That’s a relief. I didn’t look forward to texting them to get used to the idea of wearing their lungs on the outside or anything.

Possible preparation for a future near you.

Now that’s out of the way, what with one thing and another, I neglected to blog about the Milán/Miller Film Festival, Saturday night at the house of John and Gail Miller. Basically, John and I pick a theme, and then he, with some input from me, selects a couple movies to watch. Gail serves as ever-excellent hostess (i.e., does all the real work.) We’ve had festivals on Giant Monster, Alien Invasion, and sundry Asian themes.

Saturday night’s theme was a Robert Tessier Double Feature, featuring a pair of gritty 1970s action flicks. Tessier was an ex-paratrooper turned character actor who played the shaven-headed tough guy in a lot of flicks. He excelled in looking just mean as hell.

This guy.

He was an Algonquin Indian; Saturday I remarked that I could just see him in a Mohawk and buckskin leggings, wielding a tomahawk in some Pennsylvania forest in 1763. Except you really wouldn’t want to see him there. He’s long been kind of a favorite of both John’s and mine.

Also in attendance were Steve “S.M.” Stirling, his wife Jan, Scott Denning and Patricia Rogers (who’s possibly the most widely-beloved person I know.) Pat and Scott brought tasty hummus dips and ice cream. Steve had created another of his astonishing salads (which introduced me to the delights of garlic-stuffed olives.) Gail cooked up a couple of pizzas from Papa Murphy’s. I brought salsa and chips from Mis Amigos, which seems grossly inadequate, somehow, but was what John and Gail requested. It was all great.

Movies – oh, yes, them. Top of the bill was Walter Hill‘s directorial debut, Hard Times, starring Charles Bronson, who at 54 (!) was no softy, as a bare-knuckle fighter; and James Coburn, charismatic as ever as the gambler who promotes him through a series of street fights. Guess who Big Chuck winds up facing?

Guess who wins, too. It was not Bob Tessier’s lot to win many of those climactic cinematic battles. If you wonder why he seldom played the lead, pop another squint at the picture up there. (Reportedly, he was an extremely nice guy in real life. He could afford to be.)

Second feature was The Longest Yard – the 1974 Burt Reynolds original, not the remake.

I have to admit I’m not as enthusiastic about either movie as John is. Hard Times I find pretty good, Longest Yard not bad. Both worthy of a watch, and made for an excellent evening.

Of course it’s hard to go wrong with company like that. Not a dud in that string of firecrackers.

(Hit the picture of Charles Bronson or the title links to buy the movies mentioned through Amazon. Thanks for supporting this site!)