Saturday, 30 June 2012
Friday, 29 June 2012
Thursday, 28 June 2012
Wednesday, 27 June 2012
Tuesday, 26 June 2012
Monday, 25 June 2012
I remember the first time I ever saw a picture of Debbie Linden. I was about 12. The blood rushed from my head so quickly, I nearly passed out.
Debbie died tragically in 1997 at only 36, having got caught up in the dreary and deadly world of hard drugs. Shame.
Sunday, 24 June 2012
|Mask. Eskimo. Alaska.|
|Mask. Baining. New Britain. (Possibly Old Britain too.)|
|Ancestor figure. Mekon. Geelvink Bay, Irian Jaya.|
|Goli mask. Baule. Headhunters. Ivory Coast.|
|Mask. Gimp. Pueblo. New Mexico.|
|Painting. Smut. Aborigine. Australia.|
|Helmet Mask. Pure fucking evil. Witoto. Columbia.|
All captions allegedly approved by the Daily Mirror Bumper Book of Facts.
Saturday, 23 June 2012
Precocious prepubescent smartypants Patrick Bossert wrote You Can Do The Cube at the age of 12 and it proved to be the bestseller of 1981, shifting 1.5 million copies. I read and re-read the book and still couldn't solve the puzzle, except by smashing my cube on the floor like a dunce and reassembling the pieces. This was a somewhat unorthodox method and generally frowned upon by the boffins at school.
I nursed a strange obsession about Bossert for a few years. I knew that he lived somewhere near me was about the same age as me, and always kept a look out for him in town. We even had the same haircut (as did most of my friends). I knew he must be close at hand but never found him, in much the same way the cube solution always eluded me.
Twenty years later he returned to haunt me when my wife revealed that she went to school with him. Small world, innit? I felt some small satisfaction that I had somehow moved a step closer to the man by proxy. Not exactly 'closure' but near enough.
Bossert's follow-up was Micro Games, a selection of dull codings to occupy nerds like me spending hours tapping into our ZX Spectrum/Commodore 64 only to be thoroughly disappointed with the end result. Intended to stimulate the nascent generation of techy whizzkids, all I felt was disillusion and the realisation that I was never going to be the next Clive Sinclair. Brainiac Patrick of course grew up to be a captain of industry and all-round success.
Woo-hoo. Go Patrick (sound of teeth grinding).
Friday, 22 June 2012
Thursday, 21 June 2012
Wednesday, 20 June 2012
Monday, 18 June 2012
After two decidedly crappy David Sullivan productions in as many weeks, it’s good to get back to something halfway decent. Stanley Long isn’t exactly Truffaut, but he is a decent film maker with an eye for a good shot, and he at least tries to be entertaining and, unbelievably for this genre, manages to be interesting and occasionally educational.
‘On The Game’ is a documentary about the long history of prostitution, the oldest profession in the world bar caveman. It demonstrates this immediately by showing us two apes in a ‘2001’ like locale: the male ape has eggs, the female ape wants them, and so she presents herself to the male who gives her one in exchange for breakfast.
|A man pays to throw cakes at this ladies crotch. What a waste of cream.|
From there on in it jumps all over the place, from slutty Roman Empress Messalina to Victorian brothels where well to do ladies get serviced by lusty, rustic men to a WW1 German Field Brothel to the truly enormous fortunes accumulated by the world’s most famous courtesans, including one who inspired Paul Simon by having diamond on the soles of her shoes and one who inspired Art Garfunkel by charging up to a thousand pounds in old money for a blow job.
|'For what I am about to receive...'|
There are lots of still photos, some funny but not crass reconstructions, and a purred, literate commentary from the second best Blofeld, Mr. Charles ‘Mocata’ Gray. It’s all done well and with attention to detail. The Victorian scenes actually try and recreate a Victorian look, for example, rather than simply putting a top hat on a hairy 70’s bloke and hoping for the best. It loses a couple of points by featuring Edith from 'allo, allo' as a dominatrix, but regains these easily with a fantastically creepy sequence about S & M, kept necessarily short so as not to upset the generally lighthearted tone.
Ever aware of the constraints of budget film making, Long recycles parts of his earlier production ‘West End Jungle’ for a view of early 60’s whoredom, but even this is done subtly and sparingly, the footage blended in properly and proportionately. I won’t say ‘On The Game’ is classy necessarily, but it’s a different class to much of the shoddy tat we normally feature here. Nice one, Stan!
|The Mrs Brown's Boys pilot was very different in tone.|