2018-07-07 12.29.05

© 2018 G.N. Jacobs

“Do you realize what you have done?”

“Yes, I do, I’ve given you back the horrors of war. The Vendikans will assume you’ve broken your agreement and are preparing to wage real war with real weapons. They’ll want to do the same. Only the next attack will do a lot more than count up numbers on a computer. They’ll destroy your cities, devastate your planet. You, of course, will want to retaliate. If I were you, I’d start making bombs. You, Councilor, have a real war on your hands. You can either wage it with real weapons, or you might consider…an alternative. Put an end to it. Make peace.”

And this middle section of a big James T. Kirk speech from TOS: A Taste of Armageddonanswers for me a similar question posed by a Minbari to a human monk on another show – “what is the emotional core of your faith?” Seeing Captain Kirk defend in three blocks the indefensible concept of war, not as a good thing but as something so scary that we never want another. In another similar context, we can also page Captain Willard to chime in – “I wanted a mission and for my sins they gave me one. And when I was done, I would never want another.”

Basically, gets me every time and…yeah, fan for life.

People sometimes remember the speech as being longer. It is. I said it came in three blocks and I do have to minimize the direct quote plagiarism, at least some of the time. The first block covered how long the war between two neighboring plants fighting digitally lasted and built up the tension with Kirk saying – “You’ve made it neat and painless. So neat and painless, you have no reason to stop. And you’ve had it for five hundred years.”

Spock identifies the computer for destruction. Kirk takes aim leading to the second bloc quoted above.

In the third block, the Councilor getting the lecture finally gets in a word edgewise (it is the very prototype of a Kirk morality speech, after all). And the man uses it to assert killing is an instinctual drive. Kirk, who is threatening his own total destruction of the planet, launches into a slightly smaller block anchored by – “we’re not going to kill today.”

What else is so instructive about this speech, beyond presenting a ballsy for the time philosophy that defines a huge part about being a Trekkie? By the way, Trekkie and Trekker are interchangeable…straights still laugh at us and Orange-nistas still reject the philosophical foundations of the show.

For one thing, I’m absolutely certain that there are a few pauses in this speech as spoken by William Shatner that have led to his often spoofed vocal delivery by people playing Kirk in homage. I will transcribe a common version with excessively pregnant pauses – “You…killed…my…man…you…Klingon…bastard!” Or his son, David Marcus, another story for another day.

You’ll notice in the quoted block that I dropped in only one ellipses to indicate the one dramatic pause that actually resolved out of watching the speech block. As I watch the episodes again, I find the basis for the pause heavy delivery busted out by such luminaries as John Belushi – “Captain’s log, stardate June 1969, it has been our five-year mission to seek out new life and intelligence in the galaxy. With the exception of one television network, we have found it.” – almost nonexistent. Yes, Shatner paused a lot, but not to where you get the parody delivery. But, there are a lot more pauses in this speech than most of the others. And so a caricature is born.

The episode about Kirk running around blowing up citizen disintegration booths as part of a philosophical episode about the perils of becoming too comfortable with war has other fun things as well. No redshirts were harmed in the filming of this episode. Yes, Kirk beams up with the same number of crew, including redshirt security officers, as beamed down. How does that happen since Star Trek actually namedthe redshirt trope?

Additionally, the lady in the Little Red Star Trek Dress is allowed to be more competent than usual. Understanding the currents in which the show aired, most of us understand Star Trek as progressive for the time. I should probably put for its timein italics…there.

The lady in the Little Red Dress, a yeoman sent on the landing party to keep the records on the tricorder running on the general setting, almost never got to be more than simply there. Or a damsel in distress. And God forbid she should throw punches…except that one time in The Apple. And she never got hurt, except when in By Any Other Name, the writers faced with wiping out a black redshirt or the yeoman had Rojan crush the lady’s 12-side die of body solids.

This kind of baby steps feminism where the death of the male redshirt implies that the lady was also in danger (the villains simply missed someone with unexpected amounts of Script Immunity also called Plot Armor), I guess counts. No other show of the era would even bring Little Red Dress down to the planet. This trope landed this way because the network thought having women being too strong would kill male fans’ enjoyment of the show and moved Majel Barrett over to play Nurse Chapel.

This episode gave us an in between level of competence from the Asian lady playing the yeoman for this episode, along the lines of give her a disruptor and set her to guard a female prisoner. The actress hammed it up sticking the prop gun in the other character’s ribs as if she’d never get another chance.

But, we can mine this episode for the small reasons for enjoyment, but we always come full circle back to the speech. And the possible missing elements another writer (me) would’ve dropped in to continue driving the nail about being too comfortable with war.

“We fight the real thing, Anon. We eat it up with two spoons as bloody as we can get and…surprise, we haven’t fought in any conflict more extensive than a border skirmish for nearly 100 years.”

Probably too much of a good thing in the sense of William Friedkin resisting the longer The Exorcistcut for years – “those scenes only make the movie longer.”

The one nail I’d really drive is to have Kirk directly enter into the playground fight about whether the Vendikans actually blew up the Enterprise. As a computer simulation, the initial attack was scored as a hit despite the Federation’s incrementally greater technology in shields and engines. And I remembered that time I played Army with a borrowed gun and two different rules for how long and where the “dead” had to count off before resurrecting back into the game; I broke the gun and stormed home on foot.

Now to avoid deception for this part of the discussion, the Enterprise wasn’t at General Quarters and so the imaginary high yield nuke mighthave gotten through. However, the state of Secured From General Quarters (actually Secure from Red Alert) doesn’t always mean a complete relaxation of the watch, either the ship only drops to Yellow Alert or a unnamed lesser state of readiness expected upon arriving at new inhabited planets that includes a sensor watch. If Sulu has his eyes open the imaginary missile dies against the freshly raised shields; an assumption based Kirk knowing and trusting his team.

The imaginary dialogue here – “Anon, you know, I almost wish the Vendikans had fired a real missile at my ship. The hit is predicated on your missiles penetrating my shields…and…the…preparedness…of…the…best…starship…crew…in…the…galaxy. You fire and get a hit when my people got caught with their pants down…fine, I need whiskey and flowers. You fire and my shields eat up the shots, maybe you’ll believe me when I sing ‘missed us, missed us, you dirty back-scratcher!’”

Still probably too much of a good thing, but it would be hilarious to see even outtakes of William Shatner saying those lines.

And there we have it, a lot of different reasons to groove on my favorite most formative Star Trek episode. Ahead Warp Factor One!


2018-06-14 13.25.57© 2018 G.N. Jacobs

Begone, demon Facebook! And some days that just described my whole day as a writer. Except when Amazon Prime has something cool on, then my day includes that too. Other days, hyperbole, Moron, like today where I’m using up my Fourth of July to write without reading my promised pages.

It’s a hot day and my comic book store hang might close early. I have beer growing warmer by the second…and mint cookies. I’m good for a few hours.

So anyway, social media. Leaving aside the political bits of Facebook that I ignore/skim over because until we open our mouths everybody theoretically is a good customer/reader, I still spend too much time here. And, yes, getting into a geek/writer snit is only slightly less of a rabbit hole than the equally available political snits waiting in the wings.

On any given evening, you might find me bloviating on a Babylon 5page. Or a science fiction page of which I’m in three or four. Occasionally, I might have something to say on thriller pages and a few others. I joined most of them to have a convenient place to plant links when I write one of these blog posts. Some, I either joined the wrong pages, or I just haven’t figured out the local tolerance for WordPress links.

Recently, I saw a post asking about some arcane knowledge in Babylon 5involving a race renowned for genetic manipulation of other races to create telepaths. My answer sparked a snit with another gent who claimed to have done some work with the creator of the show. He cited one episode produced earlier in the series than the one I cited which clearly made my case that the species in question wouldn’t have undergone further manipulation after the other big race on the show killed all the local telepaths.

This went maybe four go arounds where he essentially asserted the earlier episode supersedes the later knowledge of the episode I cited. By this time, it’s 3am and bedtime, I search through to Wikipedia and then click through to an archived database created in the wake of the show’s first airing where I find a purported quote concerning the episode he pointed me at from the creator of the show (I suspect Gene Roddenberry is glad to be dead before the advent of social media) that actually proves my point.

My parting shot of the exchange was to Cut and Paste this quote into the box and go to bed. I don’t know that I won despite appearances of having the last shot with an unchallenged factoid. Why? Stop feeding the beast and ignore the remainder of the exchange is a perfectly viable tactic. I’ve used it myself…frequently.

On other days, I comment on other writer pages. Functionally, it’s same comment…write your words, don’t worry about many things that get in the way, almost a polite F-O to some of these jokers. There’s another gentthat might just like feeding the fish lots of chum. Or he really is an anti-Free Expression douchebag pining for morals committees and censorship. A writer that doesn’t like Free Expression…yeah, not just bait, but chum.

Other times, some newbie will post a completely ridiculous half-hearted attempt at an author photo. Two of them, actually. And nearly everybody else in the group lands on this poor guy with both feet. At first, I just said my opinion of the uninspired selfie photography on offer.

But, peer pressure being still occasionally a thing even for kids who are only chronologically middle aged, I couldn’t resist taking the slightly better photo and dropping in a shark head, a katana and copious amounts of blood, all from the same FX app. My caption referenced a pretty cool beer commercial – “I don’t always write novels, but when I do I like to behead land sharks in my polo uniform (The Second Most Interesting Man in the World). At least one other person wallowing in Bad Karma Land called it “epic” and wished I had GIF technology.

Bad Karma on the half-shell, but it was kind of funny to gently play with a guy that needed to put in more thought into his headshot.

As you might guess, I do perform other vital tasks than join the Moron Brigade. The rest of the time I…

…do actually write. I wake up and eat eggs, bacon and fruit getting intimate with my pot of decaf. I recently switched over because four cups of regular let me with my shirt over my head making fun of Lake Titicaca(extra points if you get my reference). Then I warm up my gear.

In that vein, I type on my Too Cool for My Shirt typewriter keyboard (people do think it’s cool, they said so). Or flop on my couch, finger tapping to the tunes of Beethoven and the rest of the dead guys in wigs. Or plug in the gear into the TV mirroring cable and push some pedals trying to do two things at once, exercise and write, even though these might be mutually exclusive.

Other days, the stir crazy factor builds up and I have to get out of the house. I wind up at a coffeehouse doing pretty much the same thing as at home. Swill coffee in bigger cups, chow down on croissants or muffins and hope that my caffeine buzz outlasts my word flow by no more than about a half hour. Too much buzz and I don’t sleep.

Somewhere along the line, I quit being done for the day except for dinner, exercise, an occasional short second stint of writing, reading (not as much as I’d like) and TV. Currently, that’s the old SF show Andromeda, one of the few shows that seems different the second time doing the Mega Binge (not delving into that bit of perceptual philosophy, I like avoiding exploding heads). And then I find more things on Facebook baiting me to bloviate.

My days are quite similar each and every day. Good thing, I like my job.


img_3480© 2018 G.N. Jacobs

Microsoft is at it again, doing everything they can to make mobile writing without signing up for the Office 365 service next to impossible. Sometimes I forget when I last bashed Microsoft over their need to convince me to rent the writing equivalent of a screwdriver (where I will rent something big that I’ll use once in ten years, like a tile saw). Bashed it once before the introduction of the new column format (it’s buried deep in the archive site) and commented again once the mobile apps released most of the usability restrictions, maybe two years ago. And now I must bash again…

This time I got a double whammy. The big one came when upgrading to my brand spankin’ shiny new iPad Pro just a few weeks ago. Yes, the app I had  on the old iPad carried over copying all my local files and then they spring a complete shutdown of doing any new work on me. Can’t edit any old works. Can’t start any new works.

I brush the metaphorical dust from my feet and start looking for alternatives for Word and the rest of Office while keeping my apps on my trusty iPhone 6S Plus. I haven’t upgraded my phone because what I have is good enough (especially with the camera) and even using Sprint’s two-year plan option to get the best purchase price the newer phones are ridiculously expensive. The buy more dongles like for a headphone jack design issues didn’t help either.

At this point in answering the how do I write mobile question, the phone versions of my apps are still letting me write the way my patterns say I should. I can still Cut and Paste a chapter into the larger manuscript file after tapping the Page Break button and removing my standard automatic first line indent formatting so the new chapter pastes clean, exactly as I wrote it. I’m not thinking that much about it.

While still only dealing with the iPad issues, I try out Apple’s Pages. I work up a format for blogs and a format for chapters that looks exactly like what I already use (don’t reinvent the wheel). And I get a-tappin’. Very quickly  I find out that many times you get exactly what you pay for with free stuff.

For me the issues with Pages were the little things like the system deciding to guess at centering chapter headers and post titles. And I’ve known for years since the introduction of the software that talking to people on Word needed a serious Cut and Paste and universal translator to work without too much hassle. On the plus side with Pages, you can work mobile if you like Apple’s gear (I do) and you tie in through your iCloud account. I also didn’t notice anything about the typing action to make me go nuts. It will work for somebody with slightly different requirements and less snotty fussiness (I might be legendary in that regard).

The experiment with Pages ends before the second Microsoft whammy. There had been several updates to the mobile app. I’m pretty sure they count on us treating updates as routine and automatic; I’m not sure when they did this, but I woke up one day unable to add a page break for the new chapter. You  guessed it, the message read something like – THAT IS AN ADVANCED FEATURE  REQUIRING AN OFFICE  365 ACCOUNT. And now I’m  angry.

I quickly check out Open Office, something I’ve heard about for years. I have friends that like the software. But, working mobile is still a key part of what I do and these guys will let you download something for PC and Mac, but have no mobile copies for download. Okay, catch you when you do.

I’m also doing searches for the other mobile word processors I used to use before Microsoft briefly won the Internet with their mobile apps. Is Documents to Go still a thing? Couldn’t find them on the App Store. And there was another one that folded into Google Docs. I forget the name.

I’m also looking at what the new apps in the store promise. Some are really typing skins to work with other apps when you want to finger type on your phone or tablet, but waste your time when using a Bluetooth board. I check this and that and still learn that the unnamed app that folded into Google Docs had the right idea.

Google Docs, as it currently exists, has most of my answers. I emailed my four most common templates over to the app: chapter, blog post, radio script and a comic book form. I also sent over my active files that use these templates. Through a small handful of sessions, I’ve learned chapters…Good, blogs…Good and don’t push your luck with that comic book form. I haven’t tried the radio script, yet.

Google Docs seems to like text without very much formatting. My automatic first line indent based on a standard tab chapter template is meant to just type. I do the chapter and then Cut and Paste it into the larger manuscript. Rinse, Repeat. And things have mostly gone well since moving all of my active files and downloading the apps.

But, there are many quirks that might piss off someone as legendarily less patient as I. When typing we’ve been taught to write the word and hit the spacebar, but sometimes when I have a Word file open on it seems on a random basis that hitting the spacebar has a way of pullingthe previous words into their true spacing. Basically, writing becomes a little more of an adventure. But, one reason I still have the Word app on my phone is to use as the final proofread before cutting the text into WordPress, I can still fix any double spacing issues that show up in the transfer.

The single most annoying quirk of Google Docs used on my iPad has got to be the arbitrary decision that the 12-point Roman type I use to write is too large and will be resized as 10-point type. This happens like clockwork approximately every two paragraphs. I think I’ve had to resize my text back at least ten times in this very document. And sometimes the command doesn’t take requiring doing it again until it does.

And I hope that my discovery, today, that the automatic M-dash/N-dash switch that accurately guesses whether you should use the short N-dash or the larger M – dash doesn’t seem to work without switching off your Bluetooth board and entering the punctuation manually. Not making friends, here.

Using Google Docs the original way on your computer also has a few quirks to it as well. Editing a document from your main browser has an automatic Save as Google Doc feature to it. This is, of course, reversible the minute you open up a mobile device to tap Save as Word Doc.

I had to delete my comic book template from Google Docs simply because using the numbered bullet feature common to nearly every version of Word since forever just doesn’t carry over all that well. Numbered bullets are how I handle panels and it just doesn’t look the same in Google Docs as it does in Word.

But on the plus side, I’ve got my page breaks for the Cut and Paste back, especially on the iPad where I do much of my work. I have the ability to continue speaking with regular copies of Word that live on computers. And a decent amount of typing quirks.

One last app that should be spoken of here. Final Draft has always billed itself as being a decent word processor underneath being the center of the Format Nazi phenomenon that is part of screenwriters’ daily lives since the invention of the camera. All versions of Final Draft have a work around for those of us willing to tell Big Bad Microsoft “to take your Office 365 and shove it!” Open up a new screenplay, click General in the element tabs and start typing single-spaced text.

The one hitch, either the writer Cuts and Paste from Final Draft or buys the desktop version of the software to translate the files to the more common Word or a PDF formats. The mobile app that I bought for $10 is now $30 on the App Store (I’m so cool, you may touch me), but the desktop version trades at nearly $300 unless you keep up with the $80 upgrade every couple years route. You may  want something cheaper.

So there it is, as we close out this round of me perpetually taking Microsoft to the woodshed over its assault on customers trying to see what we’ll rent for tools that you really should buy. If Open Office figures out how to go mobile, I’m there if nothing more than to write another pos. Until then, I have Google Docs quirks and all. Happy writing to you!

© 2018 G.N. Jacobs

KA-BLAM! Talk about the lead balloon that gave the classic band Led Zeppelin their name. In my arrogance that wants to believe that my positive write up on Solo: A Star Wars Story would have any effect on how the movie landed with the audience…if only I’d posted this review when it mattered two weeks ago. Yeah, right. Anyway, except for that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play? A fun movie if obviously snake-bit.

Young Han Solo is back. Han Solo steals stuff. Han Solo meets and befriends Chewbacca. Han Solo meets and befriends Lando Calrissian. Together everybody makes the Kessel Run shaving two parsecs off the average distance. Lando’s favorite droid incites a droid/slave riot on Kessel before merging her consciousness with the Millennium Falcon. Han Solo confronts the old girlfriend left behind on Corellia. Han Solo plays sabacc with Lando acquiring the Falcon. Things move and blow up. Oh, Han Solo shoots (Han always shoots first) first killing a mentor, an act that said mentor approves of while dying.

Now that I’ve listed the bullet points of the plot, I can see why some people hated Solo. The simple act of paying attention to the Star Wars universe, even at the remove of Wookieepedia, says everybody knew the above plot points in one form or another were coming and completely unavoidable. And I suppose choosing annoyance over “that was actually sort of fun” probably says more about the commenter than anything about the movie that landed on screen. As in, if you hated the movie you’re probably the kind of person that gets suckered into chowing down a bad breakfast burrito. And if you liked the movie (I’m your huckleberry), maybe you had pancakes that morning.

Anyway, Alden Ehrenreich plays young Han Solo opposite Emilia Clarke as Qi’ra (pronounced Kira for those who care). The young friends, grifters on Corellia with highly visible callbacks to Oliver Twist, are separated. And Han goes to the Imperial Starfighter academy only to land in the infantry.

Thus begins a high-speed rollercoaster for the intrepid rogue in training that’s all about stealing vials of hyper-fuel. Han begins to shine soon to earn the title “best smuggler in the galaxy.” We learn about the many criminal organizations that seem like Emperor Palpatine lets them exist to do business because nothing kills the spirit of a people faster than getting caught between Space Hitler and Space Al Capone (of course if it had been Space Lucky Luciano maybe the galaxy wouldn’t be so bad…read a book to understand).

We find Qi’ra ensconced with the Crimson Dawn mob with constant offscreen references to “a gangster on Tatooine putting together a crew.” There is the romantic tension of the old girlfriend and the – “whose side is she really on?” – question. In the midst of this, Han takes on debts incurred by previous people agreeing to find more coaxium proposing the Kessel Run probably because Crimson Dawn frontman Dryden Vos (Paul Bettany) is in a kill them all mood.

As good as Mr. Ehrenreich is at playing Han Solo, Donald Glover as young Lando steals every scene he’s in. Especially any scene in which he has a sabacc card dispenser up his sleeve (all the time), or the loving looks given to his droid L3-37 (voiced by Phoebe Waller-Bridge). Or his pain seeing the droid fail at her side mission of freeing the droid slaves on Kessel. Generally, I liked the whole cast and don’t see why the characters that lived can’t come back in other Young Han Solo movies. Stories that wouldn’t be dependent on filling all the obvious backstory squares in favor of awesome heist movies, but no one actually asked me.

I will say that if I hadn’t been the uber-geek that will see a movie twice to give it the fairest chance possible, I might have really hated the movie. The first screening seemed extremely dark to me in the same way that if I’d stopped watching with the 3D version of Rogue One, I would’ve hated that movie. The cause being the same, lots of foggy scenes. Luckily, the second screening happened at another theater where the projectionist seemed to turn up the lamp on the gizmo and we’re good.

Upon the second viewing, I couldn’t find anything overtly wrong with this movie even though the Star Wars franchise has done better. They’ve also done worse (Phantom Menace, anyone?) and I guess I’ll just have to let the movie slightly pancaking hopefully to be rediscovered on home video remain one of those mysteries of, as screenwriter William Goldman put it – “no one knows anything.”

Yes, the imaginary movie where director Ron Howard gets the job from jump as being the sort of artist that actually fits with Star Wars might have been just as entertaining and less expensive. That unfortunately the necessity of firing the first team would cause a feeding frenzy of – “Oh, my God they just fucked up a beloved piece of my childhood” – or worse – “that sea hag left in charge of Lucasfilm has got to go!” Seems to me that the audience had several reasons for punishing Solo for the perceived sins of previous movies and let fly with all their toxic fury. Or it really was too soon to put movies out five months apart. Time will tell.

So anyway, Solo: A Star Wars Story was to this movie fan a good solid movie that could give us really cool Han Solo sequels of the Han Solo tries to steal X while romancing hot space princess Y (not named Leia Organa) and Lando saves the day with cool maneuver Z formula. I think if Lucasfilm doesn’t panic they could get three movies doing just this. Again no one asked. And because I liked this film and might be the only one in the country that did…when’s the disk coming out?

© 2018 G.N. Jacobs

Wow! All the pull quote anyone will ever need. To steal from Yoda, A Quiet Place a great movie is.

A family survives the initial invasion of hostile and hungry aliens that hunt by the slightest change in sound by hunkering down on their farm in upstate New York and tries to hang together with the impending birth of a new baby.

I enjoyed this movie from start to finish mostly because I found the adaptations to the new circumstances fascinating. Good thing it also had good acting and directing, especially on the part of John Krasinski playing Lee Abbott (and director). And the monsters eat people…

We start on an empty small town. The Abbotts follow lines of sand previously laid down to provide noise dampeners on known routes to town to scavenge supplies. They don’t wear shoes.

In the general store the youngest boy, Beau (Cade Woodward), wants a space shuttle toy, the one with the lights and sounds. Dad quickly takes away the toy signing in ASL that it is too loud. Regan Abbott (Millicent Simmonds), the older sister gives the little boy the toy without batteries, but the boy being too young to fully comprehend the danger grabs the batteries on the way out. At the bridge nearer home, the boy puts in the AA cells and turns on the toy and doesn’t live long enough to cry for Mommy.

A year or so later, the world has settled into an awful equilibrium highlighted by newspaper clippings where the government and press finally cooperate to instruct the populace how to survive the monsters. Daddy checks the shortwave radio every day listening for other people; he also climbs to the top of his corn silo to set fires to see if any of his pre-invasion neighbors are still alive. And Evelyn Abbott (Emily Blunt) is noticeably pregnant as in due soon.

While my overall thoughts run to the “great fun Monster in the House movie” variety, whether it’s the cool experimentation in the script where everyone speaks in American Sign Language. Or that nothing about these actors gets in the way of the intended emotional takeaways of a family that could probably be like any of our families. I really felt for Ms. Simmonds as the middle daughter bearing the guilt of the kind of mistake that scars lives for decades in the absence of years of therapy: letting your little brother climb up to the hot stove or, in this case, giving him the toy that kills him right before the family’s eyes.

And Ms. Blunt plays the mother in ways we wish all mothers would be in similar hopefully imaginary circumstances. Especially during the scenes when the birth finally pays off, which we know from everywhere is simply going to be the noisiest thing in that environment where silence is life. She hides in an upstairs bathtub that might provide enough armor to buy time to run out the back door…or lock and load the family shotgun and we see it on her face. Call the Oscar voters…or not.

And I will shout out for the script written by Brian Woods, Scott Beck and Mr. Krasinski, mostly for using a great trick possibly last seen in Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator that when you absolutely need to have silent characters speak they should say the most important words in the movie. Mister Chaplin broke the Fourth Wall and reminded us to be wary of real dictators, some of whom shared his mustache. Here Lee and oldest son Marcus (Noah Jupe) trek to the nearby waterfall where the noise blocks out the monsters’ hearing. Sure enough, Marcus tells his father to actually tell Regan that he loves and forgives her because people make mistakes and that she beats herself up even harder.

My favorite adaptation in this movie has to be the fireworks carefully prepared for the birth. Yes, mothers cry loudly giving their new child his or her life and so will the child. So, anesthetize the child with oxygen and ether or something and fire off a display worthy of the Gruchi family, works for me…mostly.

Now for the questions, Mr. Prime Minister. While I found myself totally engrossed with this story and the cleverness of most of the adaptations shown, I did wonder about certain things. Starting with the no shoes concept. I sometimes go barefoot around the house and down the carpeted hallway, except when there are dead bees to step on (see post).

Now allowing for the fact that the barefoot and those who wear old-timey (pre-1600) soft leather shoes are actually supposed to walk on the balls of their feet to avoid the dangers of the normal heel-to-toe gait instinctively learned when we wear good shoes, does going barefoot over trails of soft sand or concrete powder actually provide more silence than good rubber soled hiking/combat boots or even cross-trainers?

No, I’m not I’m not using the Socratic method like a lawyer having the chapter and verse answer with citations up my sleeve. Other than to say that over thinly carpeted floor on the way to the coin laundry at the end of the hall, I can feel huge vibrations that should make lots of noise meaning my life expectancy might be nil when these monsters show up for dinner.

The Abbotts walk heel-to-toe despite a year and a half of the new reality of the monsters. And perhaps this line of questioning also relies on watching a bit too much Discovery Channel military shows where the soldiers wear good boots that spread out the surface area of the footfall. And they also learn how to walk slowly and carefully, sometimes on the balls of feet despite the hard rubber soles, to avoid twigs and other possible noises that draw snipers, let alone awesome Bug Eyed Monsters. Which is better? Obviously, if the old Mythbusters show were still a thing, I’d send an email…needs testing. And it matters because, yes, Virginia, there is a rusty nail at a key moment in the movie…nuff said.

Another set of related things that just occurred to me about the fireworks display that covers up Mama Abbott’s birthing cries, fireworks are basically black powder explosives optimized for pretty colors and lots of noise, the point of the exercise. But, black powder, nitrocellulose and many other classes of explosive require proper handling and storage because they degrade over time. Depending on when the family scavenged the mortar shells, we have a question about how long they could store the display before replacing them. And this is before we ask the next question about the fact that pre-invasion fireworks are tightly regulated by local governments which might limit their availability when the monsters attack.

All of these are questions for the next time we hang out with movie fans with lots of beer. Fun to discuss and consider while still enjoying a good monster movie where they run here and there avoiding getting killed while discovering how to fight back.

My next concern actually does land a little on the story opposed to the underlying science. I wonder if the screenwriters may have drawn the character of Lee Abbott a little too perfectly for survival in this movie. He is a tinkerer and engineer which allows him to jigger his deaf daughter’s cochlear implant that provides a key element of the movie’s solution where there is a ray of hope at the end. I wonder if we saw a dog eared copy of How Things Work or some other book about technology, carpentry and/or plumbing prominently displayed on his workbench, just to show a man that might have sold insurance before the monsters came and had to learn on the job. As it is, he has the perfect skill set for this story.

However, these questions don’t get in the way of a good family survival story with lots of running, self-sacrifice and emotional cleverness designed to make us think about how we interact with things that make small amounts of noise that we block out on a daily basis. Whether it’s a slow dance to Neil Young on the shared earbuds, or the warm feelings between all of the cast.

In short, when this disk lands on Amazon…I hope I have the cash.

© 2018 G.N. Jacobs

The Merc with a Mouth is back. Hide your sense of propriety…and whatever preconceptions you might have about narrative clichés being bad for your story.

Wade Wilson/Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) has a good life wiping out bad guys and coming home to Vanessa (Morena Baccarin). Naturally, the latest scumbag attacks Deadpool at home and kills the girlfriend right after having a discussion about having a baby. The film chooses to introduce Cable (Josh Brolin) first as an antagonist and then as a gruff ally along with Domino (Zazie Beetz). The mission is to either kill a mutant name Firefist (Julian Dennison) or show him the way back to the Light Side of the Force.

Yes, everything happening in this movie straight up defines cliché for the next hundred years. Kill the girlfriend. The un-killable hero tries to kill himself. Gilgamesh (Deadpool) bonds with Enkidu (Cable) after a great battle because Cable’s wife and child had also been killed. The hero sacrifices himself to save the child from a time traveler bent on revenge. The presence of a time device fixes everything in the end. As promised by Deadpool’s narration, it’s a family film…with a body count and copious amounts of blood.

I should’ve hated this movie for its naked reliance on and wallowing in cliché, but quite frankly this is the one time where worrying about cliché and trite are absolutely irrelevant. Perhaps the movie moves too quickly to care about where you’ve seen these beats before. Certainly, cool set pieces abound rescuing people from a truck convoy or the useless attempt to HALO jump with a team of mutants comprising the comic book team of X-Force who were obviously picked for a level of expendability even greater than DC’s Suicide Squad. They all die splashed in strawberry jam (spoiler: time device).

The main character drives the movie through its paces with his usual need to break the Fourth Wall and drop in jokes of the generally most gruesome and inappropriate kind. However, even more so than the first installment the references in these monologue asides you’ll find a lot of inside baseball for the comic book world and the Marvel MCU films happening in parallel.

There are jokes referring to Cable as Thanos (both played by Josh Brolin). And lots of Frozen jokes. Deadpool says of Cable, “You’re so dark like maybe you’re from the DC Universe.” And my favorite joke was to refer to Cable’s creator, Rob Liefeld, for his infamous presumed inability to draw his various characters’ feet. Hopefully, any viewers to come will look these things up on Wikipedia before buying tickets.

The action also helps the movie into the realm of enjoyable with high-octane set pieces that lead to completely predictable character moments. Swords swing. Bullets fly. Vehicles blow up. Tuesday in Marvel-land. And I really enjoyed Ms. Beetz as Domino, a mutant with the ability to manipulate luck while wise-cracking with the best of them.

Now for the modest pill lurking under this funny movie. Mister Brolin didn’t quite get the same handle on Cable as he gloriously did for Thanos in the other movie. But, he helped things along as a capable straight man for Mr. Reynolds’ Deadpool and as the ally he didn’t need to be on his best game.

Another minor annoyance was that either the sound mix was slightly off or the crowd with whom I saw the show laughed too hard that I think I missed a few references and jokes. I guess these couple/three moments will be revealed when I buy the disk in a few months.

Usually, I don’t write directly about the mid-credits sequences in Marvel/X-Men films, as that would spoil the fun and surprise. But, there is no way I can avoid how hilarious these sequences were, especially the second big one where Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand) and her girlfriend, Yukio (Shioli Kutsuna), fix Cable’s time device and sneak it into Deadpool’s grubby mitts. Deadpool uses this device to save Vanessa and…

Shoot the original version of the Deadpool character from X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Shoot Ryan Reynolds, himself, for even daring to consider the script for Green Lantern. And also save one of the throwaway characters dead in the HALO jump. I laughed hysterically.

Pretty much for a solid fun time watching goofy characters say filthy jokes and not care about cliché, you can’t go far wrong with Deadpool 2.

© 2018 G.N. Jacobs

People have debated 1-percent motorcycle clubs for decades. Misunderstood and easy targets for fascistic police that enforce conformity more than crime the Hells Angels’ spokesman says. Heavily involved in crystal meth, illegal guns, prostitution and doing violent work for other motorcycle challenged outfits the Federal agency spokesman (typically the ATF) rejoins. And nothing about The Wild Angels (1966) really does very much to contribute to either side’s argument, defining ridiculous for six generations.

Peter Fonda is Heavenly Blues, chapter president for the San Pedro Hells Angels chapter. Bruce Dern is Joe “The Loser” Kerns. Nancy Sinatra is Mike, Blues’ old lady (common law wife). And Diane Ladd is Gaysh, Loser’s old lady.

Blues leads the chapter out to Mecca near Palm Springs. They fight Mexicans they believe (confirmed by finding a chrome kick starter lever) stole the Loser’s motorcycle. The California Highway Patrol gives chase. Loser gets separated and steals an officer’s bike. He gets shot in the back. The chapter led by Blues busts Loser out of the hospital whereupon Loser dies because good medical care ceased. The bikers arrange for Loser’s body to go home to Northern California and stage a biker funeral, after trashing the hell out of the local church. The cops come and Blues stays to bury his friend.

The hilarious laughter this movie caused mostly happened because low-budget film demigod Roger Corman really didn’t care, it seems, to go beyond the hype surrounding outlaw bikers during the second half of the 1960s. Unlike nearly everything else he produced and directed, this story lays flat as a speed bump with asphalt burns. Mostly it’s a superficial script that only fed hype and fears about bikers without giving us characters to give a shit about to blame.

Case in point, everything I’ve ever heard about outlaw bikers IRL screams at me that Blues is a weak leader making bad decisions left and right. How about leaving Loser in the hospital and then sending a lawyer? How about laying down the law that Gaysh needs a few days to mourn before recycling into the chapter as either a mama (female servant) or landing as someone else’s old lady?

And then there’s the whole plot grown around the simple concept of a club funeral procession that leads to a rowdy party. The movies love to play up the ‘invading Mongols’ trope of the biker gang come to town to trash things because they can. What little I know about most 1-percent MCs is that the majority of their rowdy parties happen in venues where they’re already welcome (the chapter house, or cycle friendly roadhouse well away from the straights). And yet, starting with this early biker movie here we go off on decades of depicting outlaw bikers as barbarians despite basically knowing that barbarians don’t last long as the kind of entrepreneurs that allegedly sell drugs, women and guns.

What this adds up to is a main character that really wasn’t allowed to be very human except for what Peter Fonda bravely tried to add from what didn’t appear to be on the page. Blues is Loser’s friend, but the good guy that gets the Weekend at Bernie’s treatment (dead body lugged around for the whole movie) didn’t really get a good scene with Blues before getting shot.

The rest of the movie is filled with attempted rape, actual rape, fights, beer, drugs and a big speech that seems to set the tone for how bikers as envisioned by Roger Corman want to live – “We want to be free and party without being hassled by the man!”

Okay, the straights in the theater just asked themselves and the characters on screen – “Free to do what exactly?” And therein is why nothing about the movie rises above the shock value of its premise and Nazi iconography of the bikers riding around in something that only barely qualifies as narrative.

And no, I don’t hate biker movies and shows. Ask me about Sons of Anarchy or Easy Rider and you’ll get a much better response about really fascinating shows. In fact, The Wild Angels truly benefits from being first, my usual dig at not very entertaining books and movies that start genres and trends that lead to other better work down the road. Three years later, Mr. Fonda gets an idea and ropes his friend Dennis Hopper into his madness…Easy Rider results all because Roger Corman put him in a bad biker movie. A positive outcome.