Harvey Korman R.I.P.

Indy Movie.

Yesterday, it was a Bank Holiday Monday, and it was pissing down with rain (as is usual for Bank Holiday Mondays) so my girlfriend and I decided to go and watch the new Indiana Jones movie.
Now, even though most of the people who want to see it have done so, I'll try and keep spoilers to a minimum, but in my opinion, it's not as good as the previous three, but it's a worthy addition to the canon, and it's good to have Dr. Henry Jones Jr. back.
The most notable change (to me, anyway) is the addition of CGI FX, which, for me, made the action sequences less exciting than before. In the previous instalments, every time someone was dragged under a lorry or hung off a tank or something, you were aware that a stuntman actually did do those things, and this adds to the excitement. This time, you're not so sure someone did do it. That's not to say it isn't entertaining, just less so. This is also evident in the 'icky animals' scene, in the previous instalments we had snakes, bugs and rats, which were mostly done for real, but in this one there are some very CGI fire ants, and while the scenes are cool, just not as cool as before.
Also, there's certain scenes featuring monkeys and fridges which stretch credulity just a little bit, but this is an Indiana Jones movie, for heaven's sake!
The cast are mostly excellent. Harrison Ford looks like he's actually enjoying being in a movie for the first time in a long time, Cate Blanchett is cartoonishly evil, and Shia LaBeouf is as good as he's been in everything else I've seen him in.
The English members of the cast fare less well. Ray Winstone and Jim Broadbent are good, but just seem to be there to spout exposition. John Hurt just gibbers like a lunatic, mostly, but, to be fair, he is actually playing a loon, so fair do's.
The climax has come under criticism in a lot of the online reviews I've read for being too unrealistic. So, in the previous instalments we've had an ark full of face-melting ghosts, holy stones that spontaneously combust, and a cup that made someone age rapidly and heal bullet wounds. Hardly gritty realism. The climax isn't faith-based, like the last three, it's more SF, but, in my opinion, this fits the fifties era it's set in. The original trilogy were homages to the old Republic serials of the Thirties, whereas this one is more of an homage to the 'Reds-under-the bed' SF movies of the Fifties.
What sets this movie apart from all the other rehashes we've had lately (Die Hard, Rambo, the Star Wars prequels) is that this feels like it belongs to the franchise that came before it.
So, in summary then, I liked it. It's a big, dumb, enjoyable action movie, pure Spielberg, and I liked it.

My trip to Bristol part four: Sunday.

It's been a while since the last proper instalment of what I got up to in Bristol, and, to be honest, I can barely remember what happened! But, for all you completists out there, I'll try and do a quick recap so this blog can get back to posts about toilets and Aston Villa and Jimmy Saville impressions, because I know you all love that stuff. So here goes:

Sunday:

There had been a few drinks imbibed the night before, but I wasn't feeling that rough. We walked round to the exhibition hall, and the queue wasn't nearly as long as it was on Saturday. In fact, it was a more relaxed day. We didn't sell as many copies on the Sunday, but trade was nice and steady after a slow start. I do remember having to draw a sketch of The Phantom for a very nice young lad who was waiting very patiently for the artist that did promise him a sketch, but wasn't actually there at that time, so I stepped in and did the honours. he seemed to like it, anyway.
As it was a bit quieter, I could actually leave the stall sometimes and have a bit of a mooch around some of the stalls. I bought my daughters some gifts (My eldest got a manga-type skinny fit T-shirt, my youngest got a Gremlins Gizmo back-pack.), but I didn't really buy myself anything, as my flat is slowly becoming overrun with comics-related crap. I did, however, let my girlfriend talk me into going around the people I knew and getting sketches for her.
My girlfriend noticed that the crowd on the Sunday tended to be couples. Saturday was mostly blokes on their own, or cosplaying girls in groups, but not very many couples. What this says about the married or attached geek is beyond me, so I won't pass any comment at all. Strange, I know.
The thing that struck me about this particular Bristol Comic Expo was the atmosphere. There seemed to be more of a buzz this year than there has been in previous years, and it was generally a joy to be present to experience it.
Anyway, Andy and I stuck around until about half-four, and by then, it was dying off, so Heather and I bade our farewells and, seeing as our trains weren't due until six, headed to the local pub (The Reckless Engineer) for a bit of the hair of the dog. In fact, I'd had so much hair of the dog that weekend I was beginning to cough up hairballs! The thing I've noticed about that particular boozer on Comic Expo weekends is that every time I go in there, no matter what time of the day it is, Simon Bisley is in there. Without fail.
Anyway, after a slow pint, I carried my extremely heavy bag up to Temple Meads, kissed goodbye to my girlfriend and got on a train with some very pissed rugby fans (who luckily buggered off to another coach) and headed back to Brum, weary but happy, because it had been a fantastic weekend. Thanks to all the folks I spent time with there for making it such a great time.

Right, normal business will resume soon, I promise!

My trip to Bristol part 3: Socks.

Hiya. I was going to write the last part of the Bristol trilogy, but I've just got back from 'that London' where I've been for the last couple of days as part of my 'birthday week' celebrations, so I'm totally shagged out and therfore can't be arsed to type anything substantial (I suppose it cold be argued that I never write anything substantial!), but I did find a video on YouTube of those Scottish socks that I referred to in my last post. You can see the Moonface stand at the very beginning, and if you watch carefully you can see me disappearing off sharpish for my tactical fag. (I checked, it's about 14 seconds in at the far left of the picture) You can also see Hattie Jacques wearing a Superman T-shirt in the bottom right of the screen at about 36 seconds in. You can see now how ludicrous the whole thing was,and why I wanted no part of it whatsoever!

My trip to Bristol part two: Saturday

The weather had sorted itself out by Saturday morning and it was an extremely sunny day. I got to the Commonwealth rooms (where the con was being held) about half-nine and already the queue was all the way down to the bottom of the street. None of that queueing for me, as I was an exhibitor, so I joined the much smaller queue of other exhibitors and waited to get my pass. In the queue I met Hunt Emerson and Tony Bennett (from Knockabout Press) and shot the breeze with them as we waited to get our passes. This was organised very haphazardly, and I ended up with a pass that just said 'Temporary Pass' written on it in biro.(Actually, it just said 'Tempy Pass') But, I got in, and met up with Andy Winter and got ready to launch our book Septic Isle. Our table was directly opposite the Forbidden Planet stall/toyshop, and we were at the end of the aisle, and it was a fantastic spot.

We had a good day. Septic Isle was selling very well, Andy and I were signing books all day, and I've never been asked for so many sketches before. I think, over the weekend, I did a couple of Marley (Our book's hero, as it were), a Sontaran from Doctor Who, The Phantom, Conan, Judge Dredd, Superman, and a few more I can't remember. I do remember how stained my hands were because of the inks from the pens I was using, though! A tip for budding artists out there; Don't buy those 99p black felt tips from WH Smith. they lose their point after about five minutes and they leak all over your fingers!

Andy and I at the Moonface Press table. Note the Aston Villa wristband, which, apparently, is a fashion faux-pas according to my girlfriend. A fashion faux-pas? At a comics convention?! Strange, I know!

The hall was hotter and sweatier than Lucifer's balls, and though it was just about bearable by where we were (we were by a door) at the back of the hall it was roasting, and there was a lot of sweating, judging by the funky aroma at the rear of the hall. We were kept hydrated by my lovely lady, who kept bringing us water, bless her! And I know this doesn't sound like me, pessimistic sod that I am, but everyone I met at the table were really nice, including the four really nice Muslim girls who each bought a copy of Septic Isle because of its anti-Nazi/BNP stance, but then me and Andy started worrying that the sex scenes, swearing and extreme violence might offend them, and we'd forgotten to warn them about it. oops!

Heather had devised an excellent escape plan for herself by inviting her friend Jane down to a)meet me and b) rescue her for lunch for an hour or so. I wish I'd thought of something similar but I've not got any friends! I did manage to escape for a bit and had a drink (hair of the dog; still a bit rough from our rainy drinking session the night before) with my girlfriend and her mate. This drew stares of astonishment from most of the punters because it was weird that a bloke emerging from that hall actually knows some women.

Also, as usual at these things, the costumed types turned up. There was a garrison of Star Wars stormtroopers accompanied by a Boba Fett, a Snowtrooper, a Death Star Gunner, and a big Biker Scout. They were a very game bunch, posing for photos and raising money for charity and they must've been sweating buckets under all that armour. Then there were the Cosplayers, mostly teenage girls (though there were some lads doing it too) dressed up as their favourite manga/anime character. I found some of the costumes a bit inappropriate for fourteen year-olds to be wearing, I'd never let my daughter wear that kind of gear, but then that's me probably being out of step with what kids are like these days. Also, I must mention the one girl (I think it was a girl, anyway) dressed as a polar bear, or a snow-wolf or whatever (just imagine a big white furry animal thing with a big head) it shows dedication to walk around in the oven that was Bristol Commonwealth Rooms covered in fur. Especially when most people looking at you don't even know what you're supposed to be dressed as. There weren't many people dressed as actual superheroes. There was an Elektra hanging with the Cosplayers, but that was about it. Actually, at one point Kev Sutherland accosted three of these Cosplayers by our table, there was Elektra, a girl dressed as what appeared to be a giant Warhammery tank thing with knives for fingers, and another general Japanesey type costume and asked them if they wanted to take part in a video he was making. He set up the camera on our table, put on a Benny Hawkins-style woolly hat and two sock puppets on his hands to become his alter-ego 'The Scottish Falsetto Sock-Puppet Theatre' then he explained to the girls that he would sing 'my name is...' and that they had to shout out who they were dressed as. Then he said(in a decidedly Sid James kinda way) 'I'll take you one at a time'. So then he proceeds to play out this patently ridiculous act three times in a row, while me and Andy look on wondering how weirder the day was going to get. I was worried I might get roped in, so I buggered off for a tactical fag. I had a T-shirt on that had the 70s Batman comics logo on it. So, while I was outside smoking and waiting for the ridiculousness to end, a lady photojournalist said to me 'Excuse me, Batman? Do you have a light?' This is the first time I've ever been accused of being a superhero, but I made some shitty joke about telling her not to call me that name in public, and I lit her ciggie for her before I went back in. Luckily, Elektra, General Japanesy, Warhammery Tank and the Jock Socks had all done one by the time I got back. Phew.

A good thing about these conventions is the fact that you get to meet and catch up with friends that, for one reason or another, you only see at these things. Great folk like Keith Burns (Blood Psi), Declan Shalvey (Hero Killers), Dave Evans(Futurequake) and Steve Tillotson (Banal Pig). Plus you meet and make new friends too. I met Jamie, who is a frequent commenter on this very blog, and his lovely wife Theresa, for the first time and we got along like a house on fire. (Probably a bit too well-see picture!)

Keith, Andy, Declan, Jamie and I all arranged to meet up and go for dinner at the end of the day's festivities, and so we did, after I went back to my hotel and changed my by-now stinky Batman T-shirt for a Kirby Hulk one (my cache of nerdy T-shirts is almost bottomless!) whilst watching the generally disappointing 'Doctor's Daughter' episode of Doctor Who. We went to a pub/restaurant called The Hole In The Wall where it took ages to get served because the poor lad serving us all had a broken arm. I asked him whether they forced him back to work, but he told me he volunteered to come back because he was bored. Jamie then replied something along the lines of 'I understand, well, you can't have a wank, can you?'

The meal was a good laugh, conversation basically consisted of us slagging off each other's favourite movies. well, except for Declan and Heather who agreed on almost everything. We also found out that, in the case of The Shawshank Redemption, Andy was 'on the side of the guards'. We all had to leave when Declan remembered he should've been at the Eagle awards because he was up for a gong for 'best newcomer artist'. We tried to convince him it would be cool and a bit rock n'roll not to turn up, but dec was having none of it, so we all headed to the nearby Ramada hotel where the awards ceremony was being held.

To Declan's relief, we got to the ceremony just as it started, and the rest of the group who weren't nominated for anything stayed at the rear of the hall, by the bar, and watched the ceremony and generally tutted at the announcement of most of the winners. All the people I knew that were nominated for awards came away empty handed. Pity. I think that the Eagles should celebrate British creators more, maybe have a couple of 'international' categories, because most of the time the awards were given to people who weren't there, because they're in the USA, and probably don't even know they've won. Still, it was cool to see legends like Walt Simonson and Dave Gibbons (who weirdly won 'best letterer'; to my knowledge he only letters his own art) up on stage. After a bit of commiserating with some of the losers, (although I didn't buy any of them a consolation drink as it was nearly FOUR QUID a pint!) we all went into the Ramada bar proper and 'shot the shit' with all the other artists, writers and general geeks I know. Random topics of conversation included Jimmy Saville's sexual proclivities and whether 'Lobster Thermidore' is a viable first name for a girl. After spilling most of last pint down my aforementioned Hulk T-shirt (I wasn't that pissed, I was nudged) Heather and I decided to head back to our hotel while it was relatively early. This was one o'clock in the morning!

Me in the Ramada bar, after the spillage incident. Notice how my coat is done up?

Still, it had been a fantastic day.

My trip to Bristol part one: Friday.

I'm extremely exhausted and trying to rehydrate furiously after the fantastic weekend I've just had at this year's comics convention in Bristol. As there's loads to tell, I'm going to split this up into fairly easy-to-digest bits. So here's what happened on the Friday:


Weirdly enough, my train was on time, and my reserved seat was unoccupied! I was sat amidst a group of French students who were extremely annoying. I'd forgotten to pack anything to read on the train journey, but luckily enough, the passenger who had occupied my seat before me had left a copy of The Times behind for me to have a read of. There wasn't a lot of interest in there, but I read the sports pages, and an interesting article about Bob Dylan and put the paper back down. As soon as I did, the French guy opposite me (I was sat in those seats that have a table, so you end up trying to spend the journey avoiding eye contact with the passenger opposite, and also trying to avoid kicking them, probably accidentally, under the table) asked me in broken English if he could read the paper. He took the paper and started laughing at the first story he was looking at, which was about Josef Fritzl. Then, he turned the page and saw a picture of a dying Burmese baby. He thought this was hilarious and held up the paper so all his mates could see it, shouted something out in French and all his mates had a good old laugh at the picture. How sweet.

Not long after, it was time for me to get up and wrestle my (very heavy indeed) bag out of the rack, which was not an easy task as my new Gallic friends had dumped all of their luggage on top of mine, and they all sat there watching me, smirking, as I struggled to get my bag out. In the end I just dumped one student's ridiculously large rucksack (it was virtually a bergen) on the floor to get to mine. He got up out of his seat then.

Bristol Temple Meads station is a fantastic-looking place, and it's how I think all railway stations should look. Especially when you consider that I'd just travelled from Birmingham New Street, a place not suffering from 'sick building syndrome', more like 'terminally ill building syndrome'. My girlfriend's train arrived about a quarter of an hour after mine did, so I hung around outside the station in the glorious sunshine topping up my nicotine levels rather than my tan. She duly arrived (bringing far too much stuff in her suitcase, as usual. It was one of them things with wheels that you can drag along like a tartan shopping trolley, which is a lot easier usually, but the area around the convention and the station has its fair share of cobbled and uneven pavements so you end up with vibration white finger after pulling it along for just five minutes!) and we went along to our hotel and checked in.

Now, for the last few comic-cons I always get there a day early so I can spend some time with two of my oldest friends, Mark and his wife Dawn, who don't live far from Bristol. Dawn came to meet us outside our hotel after she finished work and we all got on a bus to Keynsham, which is where she parks her car (it seems a convoluted way of getting to and from work to me, but apparently this saves her a hell of a lot of money in travel costs) and from there we went to a supermarket to get food and beer, survived a minor anti-freeze incident and then we went on to their lovely home in Saltford where Mark and Dawn cooked me and Heather (that's my lovely girlfriend) a fantastic Mexican meal which we ate in their garden, as the weather was glorious (but the clouds were looking ominous). Although they'd been in the house a while now, it was the first time I'd seen it, and Mark proudly showed us around his garden and the variety of crops he was growing. Ah, bless him.

After dinner, the plan was to head into Bath, where Mark was meeting up with some ex-colleagues of his, so we all piled into Dawn's car (she pulled the short straw and was the designated driver) and headed into Aquae Sulis. On the way the heavens opened; a torrential thunderstorm started to batter the south west. There was sheet lightning, heavy rain, and hailstones, and we couldn't park that close to the pub. Romans might've been shit-hot at building roads, but they're shit at providing parking spaces. This meant that we had to leg it to the pub in what seemed to be a monsoon. We turned up looking like drowned rats. However, after I had tried some fucking disgusting strawberry-based beer, we found out that Mark's ex-colleagues weren't coming as they had problems with their car or something, so we decided to head to Mark's local, a charming little tavern, and it was a lot drier there. In fact, they hadn't had any rain at all yet, so we sat outside with the smokers under an awning and watched the lightning from a distance. It all looked very Wuthering Heights. Then it started to rain again. A lot. The awning under which we all huddled started to fill up with water dramatically. We all looked up at the pregnant bulges above us and decided to make our way inside quickly. One of the other smokers wasn't quick enough and didn't make it in time; the awning collapsed and gave the straggler an almighty shower. Not only did it extinguish his cigarette, it also soaked him completely! Everyone who had made it in time was standing in the doorway of the pub pointed at him and laughed loudly. Then we all laughed at the inappropriately dressed teenage girls who were trudging past drenched. Then later, we saw two other young girls wrestling with each other in a big puddle. Strange.

When the rain died off a bit, the four of us headed back into Brizzle and had a few in the Hatchet. This is apparently Bristol's oldest pub and reputedly has a door covered in human skin. Nice. It's now a rock pub, and when I went there last year Mark and I were accosted by a woman obsessed with the SS and her very tall, very-manly looking transsexual mate. Nothing as weird as that happened this time, we had a few drinks, talked a lot of shite as usual and sang along to Flash by Queen whilst thumping the tables in time with the music. Heather, as usual, got invited to have dinner with my friends at some point in the future. (I think I might've been invited, too. It's one of the things I've noticed about Heather is that she gets invited to dinner by a lot of the people I've introduced her to. They ask her, not me!) Anyway, it was a great night, we headed back to our hotel slightly merry and happy and tired and all set for the Comics Convention the next day.

Mark and I (possibly in a refreshed state) in post-'Flash' celebratory huddle.

Bristol bound.

Hiya! It's been a while since I last posted, I know, but this one is a quicky telling all eight of you that I will be at the Bristol Comic Expo this weekend with Andy Winter flogging our magnum opus Septic Isle. If you can, please come along and show your support, and maybe even buy a copy. We'll be at the Commonwealth Rooms, not far from Bristol Temple Meads station. See you there! I'll post a report on the convention when I get back.