I am titanium

Although not quite fulfilling the line from David Guetta’s song, Titanium, Malala Yousafzai having a plate of the same metal affixed to her skull completes a remarkable turnaround from being shot in the head by a misogynistic thug acting on the orders of other misogynistic thugs, just because she wanted for herself and other girls an education. Hopefully, if another attempt is made on her life, the bullet will ricochet off the plate and back into the would-be assassin’s skull.


The Pakistani Taliban’s reaction to the strong anger of shooting young girls (another girl was hit non-lethally at the same time) was to announce a media blackout in the areas they control and threaten to kill any journalists who reported the story. As the Scottish protagonist in The Last King of Scotland told Idi Amin, “You make out that you’re a father of your people but really you are just a child.” The Pakistani Taliban’s mindset is that, abnormally underdeveloped.

But maybe many of them are victims too, educated/brainwashed in extremist madrasahs to hold such views. Private money from Saudi Arabia insidiously weaves its web from North Africa to the Hindu Kush, setting up these ‘schools’ exporting the fundamentalist and intolerant Wahhabi/Salafist ideology that is responsible for so much misery and destruction. Saudi Arabia is the lodestone for religious murderous nihilism and something has to be done with the USA soon energy self-sufficient.

In the 1920s, when Mecca was absorbed into the Saudi state, it had an amazing heritage. The Wahhabis set about destroying every historic building on the pretext that it would distract from the worship of Allah. The same intolerance was present when the Afghan Taliban dynamited the Buddhist colossi at Bamiyan. It is a little known fact that along with the 2,973 people who died in the East Coast Massacres of 2001, Rembrandts, Picassos and other priceless works of art were obliterated in the destruction of the World Trade Center. Of course, they were in the private collections of rich businesses but art curators knew where they were and could have asked for a loan. 15 of the aeroplane hijackers were from Saudi Arabia. We have seen the monstrous spite of Al-Qaeda in the Maghreb set fire to an ancient and a modern library containing valuable artefacts in Timbuktu as they fled the city like the childish cowards they are (but not before they had destroyed more than 300 Sufi shrines).

This annihilation of art and history is a tragedy for all humanity, but let us not forget that westerners and others can be equally rapacious in their fervour and/or their venality. The First Emperor of China ordered a calamitous burning of much ancient Chinese literature under his harsh rule. The Cultural Revolution more than 2000 years later did incalculable damage to Chinese heritage. The Romans were not above razing Carthage or Jerusalem in quelling opposition to them. The fall of the Roma Empire in the West occasioned much chaos. There was the repeated iconoclasm of the Byzantines and the disaster of the Fourth Crusade to Constantinople’s beauty and the empire’s structure. Henry VIII tumbled down the monasteries with the same vigour as the French did 250 years later. Communist governments in most places smashed up ancient places, especially of worship, in their drive for a Year Zero. The unabashed philistinism of both sides in the fight for Europe in World War Two, led to countless outrages. Complacency about the looting in Baghdad in 2003 was bad enough but the Americans compounded this by building a massive military base near the ruins of ancient Babylon, helicopter rotors whipping dust into the Ishtar gate. In the Arab Spring, museums in Egypt have been raided and the historic souk in Aleppo burnt down. There is much, much more in this pageant of pain throughout history.

This fragility of our past and art continually reinforces in my mind that it is human life and the preservation of that life that is the most important. Just look at the joy of the liberated Malians when free from the tyranny of the Islamic fanatics. Humans can be wiped out with just as much, if not more, ease as monuments and masterpieces but the essence of life means that great things will always be produced in the future and not just in the field of heritage, so much more precious than possessions. First and foremost, though often forgotten by commentators, it is humans that must be cherished and this is why Malala’s recovery is so uplifting. She should be given the Nobel Peace Prize for her courage in both her hospitalisation but also fighting for women’s rights, an act of profound humanity.

Reunion

Well, I needn’t have been as worried as I was. By Monday morning, I had resigned myself to never seeing the wallet again and would start cancelling my loyalty cards, as I had done my bank cards on Saturday, plus buy a wallet with an elastic cord that could be attached to a belt hook or something. And then I got a call from a bus driver (sorry, coach driver, I was once ticked off by one on that) who had seen a notice I had put up at the campus shuttle coach stop (Medway end) appealing for information with my phone number present. He said his colleague had handed in a wallet and I was given the reference number.


I assume that as the coach driver in question finished his shift at 1a.m. when he got back to the depot, the office was locked up. So he found the wallet and took it home with him (the campus-shuttle does not work weekends), to hand it in Monday morning. So when the duty manager on Saturday searched the coach, of course, he found nothing.

I was going to call Kingsferry one last time, to make a request that I search the coach myself, as no action had been taken with the cards, but was pre-empted by this very pleasant news, which happened in part through my pro-activeness at placing the notice (my phone number was not in the wallet and who knows if the connection with Saturday would have been made at the office). I bought the driver a bottle of Merlot (though not too pricey) in expression of my appreciation at his diligence. I walked down to the depot and on quoting the reference number I was reunited with everything, wallet, cards, photos.

I will learn from this now in possession again. Already, I have removed all non-essential cards (and obviously cancelled cards) from the wallet as Altaa advised previously long ago. The wallet is a lot slimmer and looks a little sparse as compared to before, but I really don’t need, for example, my Gillingham library card with me, always and everywhere. Also, I have put my student ID card into one of those holders with a neck cord that delegates at conferences wear, so that I don’t have to consistently retrieve and replace my wallet – it sounds simple but minimising risk will minimise accidents on my part.  I know myself.

Carelessness, not misfortune

I have my wallet stolen once every seven years or so.  Is that good benchmark or does make me a careless idiot?  Or both?  In early 1998, I foolishly agreed to someone’s request to wear my jacket at a club but without removing my wallet (that latter task was done for me).  I was 16 and chalked it up to experience.  In late 2005, while I waited in a bus queue in Romania (on a planned trip to Moldova), two thieves worked in concert – one picked my pocket and the other ran away making it look like he had stolen the wallet.  Memo 2: place wallet in secure pocket.  This third time wasn’t outright theft – I simply didn’t put it back in my breast pocket properly.  It must have fallen out and the person who found it didn’t have the decency to hand it into an authority, even though they would rapidly have discovered it contained no cash.  I can’t give a lesson for this one as I am such a klutz - I kept mislaying my wallet all over the house previously.

But I have my health and my family.  Not to get the wallet back is sad as it has a few favourite photos in there as well as the inconvenience of card cancellation and replacement, but, all things considered, it’s just possessions.  The people that I love are the ones that matter.

Catch-up

Been very busy recently with uni assignment deadlines, not to mention the baby and catching up on sleep that both have deprived of me.  Interesting news stories have come and gone.  There was the Lance Armstrong case, with news that JJ Abhrams wants to make a movie of his rise and fall.  First of all, Lance should apologise to Chuck Norris (when the latter isn't busy involved in Israeli electioneering) for ruining arguably the best film of the Norris oeuvre - Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story.  Admittedly, Norris said nothing but as Vinnie Jones, that latter-day Laurence Olivier, said ahead of Swordfish's release, "acting without speaking is the hardest acting of all."  No doubt in a scene that ended up on the cutting room floor, Stretch (truth) Armstrong will have given Vince Vaughan's character steroid-filled blood transfusions to help to help the plucky underdog give his team the extra edge to win the tournament (no wonder he was so confident in placing that bet).
Then there has been the US presidential inauguration.  Despite what turned out to be quite a comprehensive election win, Obama has been one of the few presidents whose both share of the vote and electoral college votes shrank on re-election.  This is understandable though given that the Democrats reached their zenith in 2008, winning unexpectedly in Indiana, Virginia and North Carolina and inevitably the tide went out partially, plus there were mega-problems inherited and four years is just not long enough to fully turn the ship of state around, especially when for the last two years there have been wilful obstructionist blocking every piece of legislation proposed by the White House.  Though Indiana was 'lost' (thereby depriving a blue swathe over the entire US littoral of the Great Lakes as in 2008) and North Carolina (taken by just a few thousand votes in 2008) as well, astonishly Virginia, which before 2008, had always voted Republican in presidential elections since 1968, was held.  There were no questions about 'pregnant chads' (unless one counts Katy Perry's ballot dress at a Las Vegas election event).  There was much derision over Beyoncé's miming but at least in 2013, as opposed to 2009, the Chief Justice didn't muck it up.
There was David Cameron's speech that finally got an airing after the scheudle kept changing.  He said he would campaign for a 'yes' vote (though half his party probably won't, so Europhobic are they) if he got his demands, but he didn't say if that would still be his position if his gains were meagre or non-existent.  It all brings to mind Kenneth Wlatz's observation about British prime ministers compared to US presidents (of all hues in either case).  He said that British PMs often fail to lead the country as they have to be party managers first and foremost, though it does mean they are adept at getting legislation passed.  US presidents can lead their country but can find it difficult to get legislation passed in Congress.  Cameron has put the interests of his party, as well as safeguarding his own position, above the national interest (most polls find the issue of 'Europe' is low among priorities).
Today, we have a hilarious tale.  After torpedoing Lords reform, Tory MPs are getting arsey about 'unelected' Lords, after the upper house decreed that any legislation on boundary change should come after the next election (around 2018).  Can people be so unconsciously hypocritical or are they just shameless?  Silly question - they are Tory MPs after all!

The Fountainhead (of blood)

This helicopter crash in central London that claimed two lives can be directly attributable to the liberalisation of planning permission for skyscrapers, with protection only for sightlines to St Paul’s Cathedral and the Tower of London.  With more tall buildings, it is becoming increasingly difficult for helicopter pilots to manoeuvre if they have to leave the Thames path (and even the airspace here is becoming crowded).  The crane this helicopter collided with is building a cylindrical monstrosity that is completely incongruous to the Thames skyline.  It should never have been built as it is only willy-waving by the architect ('look how big mine is') and apparently it was opposed by the local community but money talked.

As with budget-busting rail fare increases, this policy is supported by both parties but it was introduced by Ken Livingstone with the lie that more tall buildings would increase social housing for public sector workers.  Instead, these buildings are used for office space and accommodation for the rich (who fill them up like cars quickly fill up new motorways).  London has traditionally had a low-rise skyline, making it distinctive among world cities.  It is not Hong Kong, Dubai or even New York, as it is an ancient city.  There is room for architectural marvels like Swiss Re building (the Gherkin) or the Shard, but too many of these new skyscrapers are ugly and out of place and, as we have seen today, providing increasing risks for those flying by helicopter and those on the ground who get hit from above (one of the deaths was at street level and killed by the falling helicopter).  Livingstone has blood on his hands.

Living up to the promise

President Obama’s speech today on limits to gun ownership today was courageous and inspirational.  He tackled head-on the National Rifle Association (NRA) and the congressmen they fund in a bid to limit high-powered assault rifles and large capacity rounds.  He started off by referring to Sandy Hook (with parents of victims close by) but expanded it to say that 900 Americans in the month afterwards died as a result of a gunshot. 

The response of the NRA was to drag President Obama’s children through an advert saying that he has armed officers guarding his children but is not extending the same courtesy to other children, making him just another out-of-touch elitist.  It was all narrated by a forboding Hollywood trailer-style heavy voice (which is beyond satire anyway).  For a start, it is despicable bringing Obama’s children into the debate when they have no input or right of reply but it is to be expected of an organisation like the NRA for whom scruples play a distant second to their own vested interests.  Secondly, they are the daughters of the president, facing a round-the-clock threat.  Finally, taking the argument to its logical conclusion, the advert is saying that every single child should have their own armed guard.  It is beyond ludicrous but the NRA are hoping that enough Americans are stupid enough to buy into it.

Their proposal for an armed guard in every school has been proven repeatedly to fail.  Columbine High School had that system in place and a massacre was still carried out.  Recently, a school in California which also had an armed guard faced an armed assailant.  Where was the armed guard?  He couldn’t get into work because of bad weather.  What did the staff do?  They talked the gunman (although he was still a kid really) to give up after he had injured one person with his weapons.  If an armed guard started firing, escalation would be instant and a lot more people would have been killed and injured, including probably the gunman themselves.  Plus more guns, even in the hands of registered officers, means more profits for weapons manufacturers.

As for the mental health register, are the NRA going to turn over their membership list to go on it?  I can’t see that happening, even though, joking aside, quite a few would no doubt qualify.  With no pressure of re-election, President Obama is being brave (for this could threaten his second-term legacy) and I commend him for it.  He doesn't even have to ban 'arms' for the second amendment says nothing about ammunition.

No vote

I have been rather indundated with academic coursework the past week as deadlines pop up like jack-in-the-boxes but in a brief lull (til Friday), I will explain my reaction to David Cameron’s plans for a referendum, in a speech that will be completely overshadowed by Barack Obama’s re-inauguration (let’s hope the Chief Justice doesn’t muck it up this time around). I firmly believe that the UK’s place is within the European Union and not in some loose footling way as envisaged by Cameron. As a country, we are faced with two choices for the long-term – either as a partner in the EU or a servant of the USA. I much prefer the greater level of equality found in the 27 member EU (not the lurid behemoth of tabloid tub-thumping), but it was hilarious when lunatic Tories starting frothing when the Assistant Secretary of State for Europe stated it was in the USA’s interests for Britain to be at the heart of Europe. He said the alliance between the two countries would endure irrespective of a referendum but that was just for show – diplomat-speak. Incredible to think that there are elected politicians who wish to make Britain irrelevant and poorer but this is the psychosis that grips Europhobes (an increasingly common phrase as any claims to logic through ‘scepticism’ are abandoned).


I was already going to vote Labour (after voting Lib Dem in 2010) because any other vote is, in effect, for the Tory incumbent. I disagree with a raft of Labour policies but I am now resolved to vote because a referendum could be easily lost, as the Europhobes will come out in force, as they do in Irish referendums.

January Sales

When Chumbawamba soaked John Prescott at the 1998 Brit Awards, they claimed he represented a Labour government that had betrayed its principles, that had sold out.  Many claimed their choice of target was misguided as he was the most Old Labour of New Labour but nevertheless Prescott's evening, where he had gone to watch Fleetwood Mac, was ruined.
Now since the turn of the year (though it might have been going on longer), I hear the one-hit wonder lefto-anarchists signature tune on the the television.  Obviously, being in obscurity has led to poverty as they have allowed their song to go on into advertising.  Now rank hypocrisy does affect the middle-aged quite acutely - Alexei Sayle claimed in his youth that he would never appear in adverts as he was a Marxist.  Thinking of Jay Leno, Bill Hicks excoriated 'good guys who sold out' for whom once the bridge had been crossed, it was burned and there was no way back, though of course Hicks died young.
But Chumbawamba have given consent for their song to appear on a personal injury claim advert (the one Joe Pasquale once voiced - is this what being 'King of the Jungle' means?) - they are associating themselves with ambulance chasers.  These companies manage to limbo under the low moral bar set by high street lending agencies.
Now maybe the song isn't theirs, legally, but that of the record company and they were particularly naive in negotiations over ownership yet I haven't heard any of the group come out and denounce this use of the music (they could even have claimed a fee for their story).  More likely, their principles have given way to their stomachs, though they should feel sick to the bottom of the latter.

On Mansfield Park

The controversy over Liverpool’s narrow win over non-league Mansfield Town continues to swirl because of the figure of Luis Suarez and his handball into The Stags’ net. If that had been Jamie Carragher who had done that, it would be virtually be forgotten by now – one of those things – but because Suarez has done it, another chapter to his litany of onfield crimes is added. This is the viewpoint of Alan Hansen and even Mansfield’s manager Paul Cox was more concerned about the penalty appeals not given in their favour rather than the act of cheating on Suarez’s part.


Having said that, Cox showed far more class – even saying the referee and linesmen’s jobs were the hardest in the world – than Brendan Rogers who has become decidedly prickly since landing the Anfield hotseat and it would have got a lot hotter had he not beaten Mansfield. The most graceful thing would have been to offer Mansfield a replay at Anfield that they deserved. Arsene Wenger did that when he gave Sheffield Utd a replay after far less bad behaviour by his players in 1999 FA Cup (Marc Overmars scored when Arsenal should have handed possession back to The Blades, who had kicked the ball out of play so one of their players could be treated for injury). When Sunderland under Peter Reid were beaten in the FA Cup by a tiny side, it later emerged that, for the last few minutes of the match, this small club had fielded an ineligible player by mistake – something that would have seen them thrown out of the competition but Sunderland magnanimously allowed their defeat to stand as it did not materially affect the result and the lower league club needed the cup run for the money. I doubt Rogers would have felt the same way.

And let us not forget Paulo di Canio plucking the ball out of the air when the opposition goalkeeper lay in a crumpled injured heap on the floor, when the goal was at di Canio’s mercy. There was Andrei Arshavin who protested when awarded a penalty that it really wasn’t one. Finally, who could forget Reds legend Robbie Fowler arguing that he hadn’t been fouled and the referee was wrong to issue a penalty. As with Arshavin, the ref was inflexible and stood by their erroneous decision but the memory of the Corinthian spirit endures.

The alternative nickname for Mansfield is The Yellows but really that is the colour of the Reds, a club who threaten to turn mob rule on to an irritating blogger and post faeces through that blogger’s letterbox. The club that defended the racist remarks of Suarez so foolishly (and then Suarez’s non-handshake with Evra), something that was critical in Kenny Dalglish getting the sack. The club that has been decidedly mediocre for the last three and a half seasons yet still has delusions of grandeur (or at least finishing in the top four). The credibility of Liverpool has gone. And now, by not offering a replay or admitting any wrong had been done, so has the class. Once the neutral’s favourite club – that is long in the past.

Half-centurion

I had been a planning a personal tribute of my own, ahead of the 50^th anniversary of James Bond and the release of Skyfall, by watching all previous Bond films with Altaa in consecutive order of release (strictly the canonical ones), but a mixture of my course, her course and baby, meant that we only reached the end of Roger Moore’s reign of 007 by the time Craig’s latest offering was first released and, after that, most of the conceivable rationale fell away for assiduously watching all the Bonds in as short an order as possible.  Maybe I’ll try again for the official 25^th Bond film.

We’ve had to wait four years for this film to come around after the disastrous Quantum of Solace (though I can never truly find a 007 film dreadful, this has to be the worst of the MGM/UA lot) and financial problems of the studio, eerily reminiscent of the fallout after Die Another Day that in capping Brosnan’s tenure almost cauterised the series (though I don’t think it’s as bad as all that), which also produced a hiatus of four years.  As in keeping with the in-jokes throughout Skyfall, Bond is told “you’re not getting any younger,” but it could equally apply to Craig, who is now in Brosnan territory, when the Irishman deliberately played the secret agent as middle-aged.  There was some fear among Bond aficionados that the 50^th anniversary would be missed, as was the golden marketing opportunity of releasing a Bond in 2007 (only have to wait another thousand years now), but thankfully, finally, they got it right, to go alongside the 15^th, 25^th and 40^th anniversaries.  It does mean though that Craig’s back catalogue now only just exceeds the Timothy Dalton era; given that Bond’s story is brought back to the start for the reboot, Craig has done three films in six years whereas Sean Connery did five in five years.

Altaa and I decided to watch Skyfall on its opening night in our area.  I was most keen as I had been assiduously avoiding spoilers in the run-up (though this account will be full of them), even closing my eyes during any trailers.  I wanted to come to this special anniversary as free from contaminating influences to the narrative as possible.  I’d heard Javier Bardem and Ralph Fiennes had been lined up as villains, that Moneypenny was going to make a comeback after the coy wordplay between Craig and Eva Green in Casino Royale and that M’s flat was once owned by famous Bond composer John Barry.  In some ways, what I did know worked a treat as it was a red herring.  Suspecting Fiennes as a double agent throughout, to see him replace Judi Dench as ‘M’ was a bit of a shock (though entirely appropriate in hindsight).

The soundtrack to the film in general was amazing, recalling Barry at his best.  There were lovely tributes throughout such as the 50-year old whiskey and of course the Aston Martin DB5 makes a return.  This movie was made with love, that is clear to see.  There are funny touches too, as when Craig asks Dench, “Are you going to complain all the way?” and flips the top of the gearstick with the inherent threat, Dench gives straight back “Go on, eject me, see if I care.”  Incidentally, the one time a gadget failed Bond was in Goldfinger when the machine guns behind his headlights could not help against an industrial cul-de-sac.  This is remedied in the final confrontation.

This being the 50^th anniversary, there had to be a unique hook as well – it couldn’t be a standard ‘job complete’.  Ultimately, Bond’s overall mission is to protect ‘M’ and though he kills Rodriguez and prevents the release of identities of any more deep-cover NATO agents, he fails to save ‘M’s life.  I didn’t see that coming.

Sam Mendes makes an assured start(?) in the director’s chair and he might be back for the next instalment (please, no more than two years).  There are smart ideas as when Bond fights the assassin in Shanghai in silhouette and this might be frustrating to try and tell who’s fighting who (notorious in underwater scenes), but the occasional shot being fired in the tussle, illuminates a face with the gun barrel flash.  Genius.

My biggest gripe on a first viewing was that it was the least Bondish of the entire series.  Whereas Quantum of Solace aped the Bourne films (and failed), this was more like the TV series 24, in which many innocent people die, while news cameras are rolling.  Previously, Bond films had been like a close back box, where what happened in them was essentially off-limits to those not in on it.  No matter how ludicrous, whether penetrating a volcano, a space station or a Soviet-run Afghan airbase, it was possible that these things could have happened without us, the ordinary people, knowing about them and so these events could have happened in our world.  That was why I always found it offensive when distant countries were made up in the films, especially when there was rarely need to do so.  However, with plenty of innocent people dying from the off, this Bond could only be located in an alternate universe, as JJ Abrams Star Treks, which kind of dilutes the effectiveness of all that is happening.  Just because the dead are nameless or faceless, they all have families – Austin Powers mocked the mass killing of villainous henchmen who have people waiting for them back home, but Skyfall breaks the fourth window and it is worrying if Austin Powers is more realistic, given the hard-bitten nature of the Craig years.  Again, like 24’s first series, many, many unassuming people die just to save a few VIPs (a criticism that forced 24’s makers to up the threat level in subsequent seasons) and in Bond’s case, he even fails in that.  Bond often gets brickbats for its mass escapism but a clear philosophy did use to run through it that very few, if any, innocent die and the escapades can never be known to us directly.

 A second minor gripe is that the ‘gunbarrel’ sequence is at the end of the film (again) when it’s a critical scene-setter.  I know they allude to this with Craig’s shadowy appearance in a badly lit corridor at the start and that would have been enough.  It’s gratuitous to tag it on to the conclusion as well.

A second viewing with my friend Chris did not deliver the same pleasures either.  It showed that much of Skyfall’s excellence was based on the surprise factor in many instances.  Knowing these in advance, the film had to rely on tried-and-tested methods and didn’t entirely succeed.  I still liked the two waves of commandos attacking the Bond family home, with the Janissary-style shock troops first and then the big guns second. And the chase through Istanbul was thrilling again. But most set-pieces were good though not great.  Casino Royale (Craig’s version), in comparison, bears multiple viewing without any falling away.  Overall, I'd say a 7/10.

A wearisome journey

Peter Jackson has had an interesting career to say the least.  Starting out with humorous and gory low-budget shockers, he hit the big time with Heavenly Creatures and then was elevated to the A-list of must have directors with The Lord of the Rings trilogy followed by the remake of King Kong.  That giant ape beating his chest atop the Empire State Building may have also been a zenith for Jackson as well, as he has rather gone off the boil recently and faster than Steven Spielberg with whom he collaborated on Tin-Tin.  The Lovely Bones was a bit of a step back critically if not commercially and The Adventures of Tin-Tin was careering on the edge of catastrophe but, like its hero, just pulling through in the end.

Maybe Jackson sensed it too, perhaps explaining not only why he returned to J.R.R. Tolkien but also splitting the shortest book of Middle Earth into three instalments, to give it some false trilogy feel.  So we begin with The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.  I have no problem with the tale being trisected (despite a ridiculous literary tie-in that releases a third of a book, maybe patronising the stereotypical short-attention spans of the multiplex masses).  What is inexplicable in terms of quality control is why each segment had to be two and a half hours long, replicating The Lord of the Rings threesome but with considerably less material.  It’s not so much in terms of value for money, rather more in stiffness in the derriere.  

This leads to inevitable padding.  Contrary to most, I didn’t have a problem the presumptuous pre-empting of Tolkien himself with the fable of Erebor - with its impressive CGI-gothic settings and narrative of rise and fall, it was like a mini-movie in itself.  But then they spend far too much time in The Shire, irritating Martin Freeman’s Bilbo Baggins and then meander from one implausible set-piece to another – implausible because despite all the incredible dangers and physical battering they face, the characters emerge with barely a scratch, let alone any one of them dying.  Plus Just-In-Time was more in evidence than in a South Korean industrial plant; the protagonists face almost certain annihilation but, every single time, their coals are pulled out of the fire with seconds to spare like a James Bond parody.  When Hugo Weaving’s elf king says to the band of their arrival at that exact moment ‘fate favours you’ – well, duh!  The pootering around is irritating as well – at several points I was thinking to myself “Just get on with it!”  This is ameliorated in sections with the promotion of New Zealand scenery to send its tourist board into paroxysms of joy.

The late film critic Alexander Walker once said of Star Wars Episode II that the IQ of the movie rose with the appearance of Christopher Lee and so it does here as well as he play Saruman the White before he goes to seed, yet in his talking with Ian McKellen’s Gandalf the Grey, he is given to being rather sinister in his obstructiveness, harking to what we know he will become, rather than heartfelt caution.  It seems Lee has buried the hatchet with Jackson after being left out of the final edit of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, an omission where salt was rubbed in by sweeping the Oscars after two near misses beforehand.

I once read that where a book takes on average eight hours to consume, a film restricts you to two, again on average, but unfortunately Jackson took that too literally.  He doesn’t even use the extra time to give additional characterisation, most of the dwarves resembling an interchangeable, amorphous mass.  By the time we get to the money scene of Andy Serkis’ Gollum, I was too wearied to be intrigued greatly by it.  If there was undeniable positive to be drawn from An Unexpected Journey, it inspired a desire in me to return to the original book (though not the commercial tie-in), a tome I last read when I was nine-years old.  Whether I can find the time is another matter but the film has rekindled an idea of a re-read – I don’t know whether Jackson would find that a dubious accolade or not.  It’s not a terribly bad picture (indeed it was filmed 48 frames per second high-definition) but it’s not terribly good either.  A two-star (out of five) striving for three but not quite getting there and neither will we reach a destination of sorts until late 2014.

Kick-ass craziness and cleverness

The Expendables 2 was a film I managed to fit in around my studies, though I could have caught it later at The Gulbenkian Theatre. It was a major improvement on the first instalment, which set itself up for irony and then promptly forgot it. Sylvester Stallone has heeded the critics.


It also remedies the absence of Jean-Claude van Damme and Chuck Norris that were big misses first time around if one is assembling 80s/90s lunkheads. Having disappointing cameos previously, Arnold Schwarznegger and Bruce Willis get to pump some hot lead while exchanging each other’s quips, though Arnie only says “yippee-kay-ye” without the corollary. As if to account for so much testosterone Mickey Rourke misses out here and Jet Li disappears after 20 minutes, with Nan Yu stepping up to bring some feminine guile. Charisma Carpenter returns but has a dramatically (in all senses) pared-down role.

It’s not all silliness and there are some shockingly brutal moments to indicate the baddies are seriously bad baddies. After a nifty scene set in Nepal against (presumably) Maoist holdouts who haven’t followed their brethren into parliament, thus finding a real-world place that can be shot up without too much criticism, it gets its geography horribly muddled up in Eastern Europe, hoping people won’t notice, though it was smart move to pretend to be in a former Soviet training area that mimicked New York streets – a deserted Big Apple without disaster.

Highlights were Li’s kung-fu in a kitchen; one of the heroes saying in response to heavy gunfire “we need a tank” and, on cue, their opponents bring in their tank; a henchman getting his head obliterated by a spinning helicopter tail blade, as the scene was set up for that; and Norris filling someone with bullets in an airport terminal, with them falling back into a X-ray scanning machine as he continues to fire, setting off the metal alarms. Not a great movie but a satisfying one all the same.

Back and forth

The time for looking back on the year is typically the last day of it, not the first day of the next but I have some unfinished business from 2012 I would like to document, namely the business of documenting it.  It’s mostly films but it does give me a pointer should I ever forget and want a more personal outlook than IMDb can provide.

Looper is the first I wish to chronicle.  I didn’t find the time to catch it in the standard multiplexes as the demands of my Master’s degree course took precedence but on the flip side I did watch it in the University of Canterbury’s specialist Gulbenkian Theatre.  I say specialist because I still remember the days when it doubled as a lecture theatre, when now it is configured purely for cinema use.   In all truth, I didn’t really have the time to watch it this time either, on a Monday night with an absolute deadline looming later that week, but I would say it was worth it (I merely crammed in an all-nighter a day or so later, not sleeping until the assignment was complete).

Looper is set roughly 30 years in the future and is set largely in Kansas and the flipping between realities harks back to that other great Kansas-originated motion picture, The Wizard of Oz.  Did I say ‘other great’?  Yes, because Looper is one of the best sci-fi films I have seen in a long time, ingenious and suspenseful.  Another benefit of setting it mostly in Kansas is a majority of people who see it can’t really gainsay that the countryside and Kansas City will not appear like this in 2044, whereas people could carp about something set in New York or Los Angeles, plus it gives a freshness as Robocop did when being set in rustbelt Detroit.  Kansas City looks like Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan won two terms as president each, consecutively – grinding poverty interspersed with high-end wealth.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt goes from strength to strength in his career: Inception, The Dark Knight Rises and this – blockbusters that aren’t afraid to inject intelligence and theorising into their proceedings.  Bruce Willis continues his recent trajectory of appearing in decent films – most of the time (as Gordon-Levitt exits the G.I. Joe franchise, Willis enters it, when it is eventually released).  Emily Blunt gives a brilliant performance of a mid-Western single mum or ‘mom’, quite a departure from Queen Victoria.  Jeff Daniels gives a charismatic and ruthless display of a world-weary mobster middleman.

Rian Johnson writes and directs with great panache (editing could have been a bit better).  When the criminal gangs of the 2074 future want rid of someone, they send them back 30 years, hooded and thus incognito with silver (and occasionally gold) bars as payment.  Sometimes, they send back the future self of the hitman.  The hitman is supposed to only find out they killed themselves in the future once they open the package.  They then have completed their ‘loop’, get a golden goodbye from the mob and live the hedonistic lifestyle for as long as they have left or their cash lasts.  They can blame no-one but themselves for their death.  Woe betide the looper who lets his target escape, even it be his future self.  One particularly heart-stopping sequence has a man from the future who managed to persuade his looper not to kill him, gradually has bits disappear from him as his present self, having been captured by the mob, is dismembered.

Old Joe (Willis) has other ideas when his wife is killed by agents of The Rainmaker, an all-powerful crimelord who is never seen and so as always his malevolence is the greater in the truly dystopian world of 2074.  Amidst widespread destruction, The Rainmaker is waging a campaign of sending all the loopers back.  Old Joe escapes 2044 Joe and so Joe goes back to recover his silver bars that he had been hoarding behind the back of his underworld bosses (who incidentally are aware of it).  He dies.  Then Joe is back and he kills Old Joe without trouble, gets his golden goodbye and lives it up for 30 years and we see how Joe became Old Joe and gave up his selfish ways because of his wife.  Then after his wife’s death, Joe kills the assassins and sends himself back to confront his earlier self as he had originally done but with the knowledge to avoid what happened before.  As Jeff Daniels’ Abe says “Time travel fries your mind.”

Joe is saved by Old Joe but still wants to kill his older self because not only is he robbed of 30 years of living it up, both of them will be dispatched without compunction.  Old Joe is on a mission to save his wife – before he was sent back, he was told the date and place The Rainmaker was born and plans to destroy the monster while still a child.  A moral dilemma that cuts to the heart of Old Joe – and us – is that three children were born on that date in that hospital and so he has to murder two innocent children.

Present Joe finds the location of one and stakes out, waiting for his older self to arrive, there striking up an initially uneasy relationship with Sara and her Cid, a boy with a volcanic temper enough to make Sara lock herself in a massive safe/panic room.  Eventually present Joe realises that Cid becomes The Rainmaker but, with no wife he’s trying to protect, he can’t shoot Cid and Sara makes him believe that with her love, Cid need not turn out the way he becomes. 

After turning his capture into a Trojan Horse, slaughtering the entire mob headquarters with techniques gained over a lifetime, Old Joe comes after Cid and, in a cornfield, blasts away, catching Cid on the chin – The Rainmaker is alleged (nothing is certain) to have a synthetic jaw.  Sara catches up and manages to put herself between Old Joe and Cid, now in the cornfield itself.  Joe from a distance sees the whole situation armed only with an inaccurate blunderbuss.  He sees the whole catastrophe of the future repeating itself, with Old Joe reluctantly killing Sara to get to Cid for she blocks his path.  Joe became a young punk after hopping a train to escape abusive guardians and he can envisage Cid doing the same.  Thus Old Joe creates The Rainmaker when trying to rid the world of him to save Old Joe’s wife and The Rainmaker inadvertently tries to save Sara by killing all the loopers but by his action creates the setting for Sara dying.  Present Joe realises murdering to stop the deaths of others is counter-productive but with his poor weapon he can’t do anything, so he ends the bad future by doing a true selfless act, turning the weapon on himself before Old Joe can kill Sara.  From the silver bars Old Joe stole after killing everyone at mob headquarters, Sara can have a good life with Cid and, tellingly, after Sara warned about infection earlier, the film concludes with Sara having bandaged Cid’s cheek, rather than the potential future when Cid would have been by himself and left the wound to fester.  This is an indicator that the future has changed for the better.  This film left a deep impression on me in the hours and days ahead.