When you hear about a documentary about the world of Competitive Endurance Tickling, that response you just had, yep that one just then, was probably the same as mine. And yet, when you watch David Farrier and Dylan Reeve's film, you see that it is not a film about extreme sports or tickling for that matter, but very much about the state of America, class and the vices of privilege. Tickled, it is needless to say, is a terribly odd and rather scary journey.
A book that is essentially a history of political drinking and the use of various forms of alcohol in politics could turn out to be a wet weekend of nothing more than drunken anecdotes or a dry cautionary tale on the dangers of drinking. Wright, a Political Corespondent for the BBC, walks a fine line and hits the sweet spot between the two brilliantly. Order, Order!, while genuinely hilarious at times, is a sobering look at booze and it's affects on those who attempt to hold onto power.
There is an old Trekker adage that Star Trek movies follow the even formula, as in, all the even numbered Trek films are good, Khan, Voyage Home, Undiscovered Country, First Contact etc. With the new, JJ Abrams inspired “Kelvin Timeline” Star Trek series, the hope was that all the films would be good. But, the even numbered film formula has devolved into the law of diminishing returns; Star Trek Beyond, the 13th Star Trek film, unfortunately lives up to both adages.
Never, well in ages anyways, have I been as transfixed and then as utterly pissed off with a book as I was with Nick Harkaway's The Gone-Away World. Being a completist, a week and change after throwing the damn thing into the dust beyond the bedside table, I picked it up and was saved by the mimes. A blooming wonderful, bloody infuriating, brilliant journey down The Pipe.
A wonderful, lyrical journey through a heartbreaking reality. Green on Blue is a novel that offers an insight into a world we do not often get to see. A world where war has no fixed sides and life's rules are just as circular as the conflict that people caught in middle try so hard to create lives within. Elliot Ackerman's first novel is a very impressive debut.
Look Who's Back is a smart and incredibly timely satire. This is adaptation as it should be, taking a strong source and expanding on it, yet keeping the "soul" of the source material. Look Who's Back really sends a shudder down your spine, while your laughing consistently all the way through. This film is an odd, scary and brilliant combination.
Rowland White's fourth book tells the tale of the development of the first two Space Shuttles, Enterprise and Columbia. Following the crews that would glide Enterprise from the back of a 747 and then blast off atop the loudest rockets ever built, Into The Black is a fascinating tribute to Columbia.
Superheroes are funny old things. I remember when reading a comic would get you ridiculed in the playground and possibly duffed up a bit. Especially if it was one of those American comics, you usually could get away with 2000AD because, well, Dredd. But these days, thanks to the movies and the rise to power of The Geek, comics are cool and Superheroes are big bank. The films and books we get these days try, to a greater or lesser extent, to ground their characters in a sense of reality. Gone are radioactive spider bites or gamma rays, in are gene splicing and good old evolution.
Literary biography can be a tricky thing. An academic writing about another academic, author or poet, can usually result in a book that is worthy and as dry as the sahara. For some, these are wonderful books, for me, I'd rather eat one than wade through it. In a few cases, the author's life is more interesting than their creations. But, very rarely, do they mesh as well as David Cornwell's.
In this new, reasonably regular, series, we’re going to look at some of the photographs that have affected me over the years. The old adage “A picture paints/is worth a thousand words” is going to be our dictum. Over the course of a thousand words, we’ll tell the story of the image, the photographer and the subject and try to add a bit of depth to the image. The first is Sharon Tate by Terry O'Neill
Following the thrilling end to the Austrian Grand Prix where the Mercedes F1 drivers came together on the last lap, team boss Toto Wolff has threatened the use of Team Orders to reign in his two drivers, who are vying for the 2016 World Championship. This is my plea to Herr Wolff to hold off that threat, let the Silver Arrows continue to race freely and delight, thrill and excite us all the way to whichever one of his drivers claims the title come November.
Commuting is one of those modern evils that most of us have to endure each day. For me, my trip to the office involves two trains and a bus, basically the gamut of all the horrors of public transport in South and West London. To while away the anything from the hour to many hours of journey each way (depending on which hell the train companies have chosen to enact on any that day), reading is an escape from the overcrowded nightmare that my need to pay the bills, and book addiction, entails.
When my Grandparents came over for a mammoth visit after we had moved to England, I had an old Canadian TV and VCR to watch the tapes we'd brought with us. My Granma brought me a bunch of old movies, which is what she always did when we spent time together. She introduced me to some of the greatest films I have ever seen and, also, that good movies do not also need to be made in colour. On this trip, knowing me as she did, she brought me a copy of an RKO Picture called Spitfire.
Sunday sees the BBC's take on John Le Carre's The Night Manager. I love this book and to celebrate, I'm giving away a copy signed by the man himself, Le Carre, not the hotelier. Here I talk about the book and how you can win this via the old Twitter machine. A little note, this is one of my favourite of Le Carre's novels.
The wall was red. I remember that vividly. What I could not tell you was how long I’d been staring at it. I knew I hadn’t slept, my legs were hurting and there was a tightness in my chest. I remember asking myself, “Self, why are you staring at a wall?” It took a physical effort to pull myself away. That was the only success of that night. I started pacing about, wired yet exhausted, my brain going ten to the dozen, thinking about everything and nothing at all. I found myself in the kitchen, face to face with my mother, who stalks these halls at that hour, who looked both worried and unimpressed.
Following on from last years Top 7, it is that time of year again to look back at the best cinema I've seen in the calendar year 2015. Usual rules apply, I count the films I've seen that are new but may not yet had a proper release, so things I've seen at festivals etc, and feature length films that went out On Demand so don't count for Academy consideration. I do this because I pay for all this and frankly, I doubt anyone will read it anyway.
We are in the midst of Bond-fever, SPECTRE is printing it's own money and all the initial reviews have been stellar. I've not got round to seeing it yet due to a lack time and, oddly, worry. Skyfall related worry. Skyfall opened in October 2013 to universal relief. Quantum of Solace, in this writers humble opinion, is one the best Bond movies every made. It is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, mostly due to constraints of the writer's strike. I have gone to some lengths on the subject of QoS in a previous blog, so, for now, I'll just get stuck into Skyfall.
Does something that you cannot heft in your hands have less value, physically and emotionally, than something that does? This is something I've been juggling with for a while, especially when it comes to books. Books are my addiction. Having a book in my hand elicits a response that fills me with joy. But, is it the actual papery thing tied up with sting or is it the contents of it that are important? As I sit and write these words, I am surrounded by books. Having a quick count on the walls either side of me, there are about 380 books on the shelves. Hardback, paperback, signed first editions, special editions, some more loved than others, all wonderful and utter dust magnets. Looking at them, they pull memories from my life.
It is a stunning shot. A speeder races across the horizon, a ditched X-Wing and then the Star Destroyer, slowly decaying into the sand. As I see this for the umpteenth time, it suddenly hit me that those crashed spacecraft rather aptly sum up my feelings for this series. Once glorious and majestic, now rotting and sinking into the sands of my youth. This could be completely intentional on the part of the film-makers and if so, I'm very impressed by it. You see, as with everyone my age, Star Wars defined my childhood.