Vampires, Wizards and Dead Horses

I was recently in charge of a private cinema night for a group of young people. I had set up the drinks and popcorn, and presented them with a choice of DVDs to watch on the big screen. There wasn't a single dissenting voice as the kids all cried out to see 'Twilight'.

I'd never seen it before, and was mesmerised not so much by the film, but by the incredible reaction the young audience displayed. I watched in confusion as this group, made up mainly of teenage girls moaned with longing as Vampiric hero Edward Cullen creeps into Bella Swan's bedroom to 'watch her sleep'. My reaction was "Ewww."

But apparently I was missing the point. Edward was not really a creepy house breaking stalker, he was romantic. Or so I was informed. I struggled in vain afterwards to explain to these impressionable souls that a young men with a penchant for voyeurism and breaking and entering should not really be encouraged to endulge these habits. But this story has crazy power over the minds of teenagers.

After the final credits rolled and ecstatic cheers all around, the kids informed me jubilantly that the books were even better than the film and that I was clearly an idiot for never having read them.

Not wanting to be an idiot, I started listening to the audiobooks.
Oh...my...god.
This is a little disturbing. As Bella yearns to feel Edward's "throbbing venom coursing inside her" I groaned in revulsion, thinking about all the swooning teenagers that were eating up this garbage.

Audiobooks are great for long bus rides, but they do tend to highlight certain problems with the book that might have slipped by you had you not heard it spoken aloud. Stephen Fry's brilliant reading of Harry Potter, can't disguise J.K Rowling's irritating fondness for the word 'Incredulity'. She really can't get enough of it. a Years quota of Incredulous looks and responses seem to come free with every butterbeer.

And like J.K, Stephanie Meyer has her own favourite dead horse that she beats relentlessly. For her it's all about Edward. She simply cannot let it go. The thing is, Edward is good looking. Greek-god-good looking apparently. Ok, Stephanie, message received. But she beats this dead horse until it's just a pulped mash of equine flesh, as Bella constantly marvels and obsessess over him.

I was hoping that whiney Bella would get over this after book one. Surely the author would focus on other elements of the story since her audience had by now go the message. Edward is good looking. But apparently not. The poor horse cannot yet rest in peace. Like an idiot, I'm still listening to the series, hoping that Edward will at least get brutally maimed by a werewolf at some point. But for now, Meyer is still harping on about the smoothness of his marble lips. Urgh. So bored.

Tea with Dr Parnassus. (FILM REVIEW!)

When it comes to cinema beverages, I have been shown the way, and that way is tea! No wait, not just tea. Tea through a straw! Trust me. Coke has been beaten down with ease and the sprite and fanta gods hang their heads in shame! I know it's radical, I know I'm breaking all the rules. But tea sucked through a straw to wash away the taste of M&Ms is the way forward.

So yesterday when Maria and I went to see Terry Gilliam's "Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus", we of course went to the cafe above the Cineworld to get our now customary cups of tea.

And imagine my disappointment when we are presented not with tea, but the components of tea. Just cups of boiling water filled to the very top, with two individually packaged tea bags, a huge jug of milk and some sugar sachets. Dammit man, I didn't ask for the separate ingredients of a brew, I asked for a brew!

We were forced to assemble our own drinks and pile up the detritus on the bare counter as we hadn't been given a dish or a bin in which to throw our tea bags and sugar wrappers. My British sensibilities had been offended by this desecration of the tea ritual. And conversely it was those same sensibilities that prevented me from complaining and pointing out the barrista's folly.

That was partly how I felt about Terry Gilliam's latest offering. It had many of the necessary components of a satisfying cinema experience, but they hadn't been quite assembled in the correct way. The story was simple and showed a battle between a wise man and the Devil as they warred for the souls of mortals who are forced to choose between darkness of Hell and the light of the Imagination. But despite the simplicity of the tale and decent performances from all, the film feels disjointed.

Much of this must be attributed to the sad passing of Heath Ledger whose sudden death disrupted the shooting of the film considerably. Gilliam dealt with this in a typically imaginative way by bringing in Johnny Depp, Colin Farrell and Jude law to play Ledger's role at various parts of the story. This works surprisingly well as the character of Tony is such an enigma and suffers from a serious identity crisis.

These actors make their appearances whenever Tony steps through the looking-glass and crosses over into the Imaginarium, a fantastical world held within the mind of the titular character. It's within this world that the film's main flaws come to light.

The Imaginarium itself is an interesting exploration of the human mind. A young boy with an a penchant for space invaders finds the Imaginarium is full of flying creatures that he can blast out of the sky with a wave of his hand. A violent drinker finds himself up to his waist in empty liquor bottles. These moments are interesting. But sadly, this exploration ended with the mind, and didn't extend to the heart. The characters remained underdeveloped and the most interesting moments are most often derived from the minor character of Anton, Parnassus's love sick assistant who feels unnoticed and unappreciated by Parnassus's daughter.

My other issue with the film comes from my usual gripe about excessive CGI. I was really excited for a moment when we are first introduced to the Imaginarium and the place seems to be made up of two-dimensional cardboard cut out trees! But this quickly dissolved into the usual mind blowing CG fare that although breathtaking on a level, feels shallow and flimsy. Compare this with the very real and gritty world of Brazil and Time Bandits, where colossal sets are used to create Gilliam's vision. If they can use wires to make Jonathan Price soar above a dystopian landscape on angellic wings, surely they can get Jude Law to climb a real ladder up into the clouds?

Still, better than Brothers Grimm. The tea sucked though.

Comics!

I used to have dreams where I was Spiderman. I actually judged my mental state depending on how my nocturnal web slinging activities were going. If I was kicking arse, smacking my enemies around with ease, it was usually a sign that things in real life were going well for me. Then I'd have the occasional dream where I'd be swinging blithely through the city, and my webs would suddenly vanish and I'd plummet and splat on the pavement. Sadly, I no longer have Spiderman dreams.

Spiderman 3 killed them. Bastard Maguire!

Considering my interest in comics, it would be no surprise to know that I've always dreamed of being involved in the making of a superhero movie.

The short film I wrote a while back seemed to be taking me one step closer to that dream. But four years on, the damn thing still hasn't been released. I'm sure it'll be great when it's finally completed, but still...it's frustrating.

The good news is that it's inspired me to take action and start telling my own stories that don't depend a single other soul. No editors, no visual effects guys, no compositors and certainly no actors. I've taken some of my written screenplays and treatments and started transforming them into my own graphic novels. Click the images to enlarge.

The funny thing is that I don’t seem to be working alone at all. I've discovered that the drawings themselves seem to dictate the lines that the characters say. I do cringe a little as I write that as it sounds super lame.

But a certain surly expression that materialises on screen will practically scream a line at me that was never in the original script. Although it's a little spooky to have my own characters telling me what they want to say, I'd rather have them doing that than have to listen to stroppy actors messing with their lines.
Here are a couple of pics from a larger piece called 'The Exile' which I'm developing right now.

It's a semi mystical, urban, kungfu, Chinese magic, gang war story. I love the old Chinese myths about monkey gods and dragon lords, and I just despise the way Hollywood treats these stories, usually by inserting a spunky American teenage time traveller so as not to alienate the US market. Urgh!

You might notice I kind of like drawing rain. It's a Bladerunner thing.

Not expecting multiples!

When I first moved to Edinburgh, there was a day of great wonder...

That day was when I went to the nearby cineworld complex to see Slumdog millionaire. The wonder came not from Danny Boyle's heartwarming and gutwrenching masterpiece, no. Slumdog was sold out that night.

Before the great move up North, a sold out film would have been the end of my evening. Where I grew up, there was one cinema a half hours drive away that had one screen and a consession stand devoid of Ben and Jerry's. So this was a shock. I looked up and saw there were ten screens to choose from that night. Ten! My more cosmopolitan friends looked at me like I was an insane puppy, as I scampered up and down the screens salivating at all the alternatives.

I opted to see Ed Zwick's 'Defiance' that night. The warm glow that I had from the realisation that I would never have to put up with all that single screen bullshit again meant that I could easily overlook Daniel Craig's dodgy slavic accent and the infuriating way they phased back and forth between Russian and English for the whole film. It didn't matter. I had arrived in the blissful land of the multiplex.

I have all sorts of film analogies I could make about this. I could say I was like Luke leaving Tattooine, and suddenly realising that there's a great wide universe out there with jawas and robotic replacement limbs. Or I could say it was like being torn from Kansas by a bloody great twister and winding up in the emerald city. But Lucas has been surgically removed from my heart and relocated to a bile duct, and Dorothy references are always more than a bit gay. But anaolgies aside, you get the idea.

The next day I bought my unlimited pass. £13.99 for as many films as I can cram in one month. Pretty sweet deal. This blog will feature reviews of all the films I see with it.

Here we.....go!