The Case for the Devastator

Actually, let me come right out and say this will not be a case for Devastator – I was not impressed by the return of the megalithic monster Decepticon. For one, he was not (and his components were not) coloured bright green and purple; nor did he stumble around in a loud, slow, thick voice droning “I am Devastator” and be easily beaten by the Autobots; and finally he sucked – literally.

The rest of the film did not suck so badly. At least, I don’t think it did – there are huge tracts of the time I spent in the movie theatre that I can no longer recall, possibly because I was asleep. To say I found this movie slow is not a good sign, given that Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen should by definition be an action film. It got off to a fairly heart-pumping start, with Megan “the complete” Fox in uber short shorts straddling and waxing her large motorbike in a way inspirational to those who would be attending a different cinema later in the day. But from there, it all continued on with a multitude of lingering slow shots, Michael Bay relieving his attempts at artistry with the occasional big explosions and chase scenes.

The most successful character is Judy “Mom” Witwicky, her hysteria, histrionics and accidental drug taking adding many quick moments of levity to the glacial plot development, though she just has temporary insanity until John Turturro’s ex Federal Agent Simmons shows up to take over the crazy person role. The leads are all fairly dull, including (it has to be said) the Transformers themselves, who don’t actually get to say much – except for the highly annoying “twins” who must have been both voiced by Chris Tucker to be quite that irritating. The Fallen may have a voice deep enough to shake the theatre, but the Decepticons’ Master Plan is actually fairly dumb and poorly executed, and the whole leg hump scene is just disturbing. Rules of time, space, geography and logic are all abandoned in favour of trips for the crew to Egypt, the East and West Coasts of the USA and lots of orange.

On the bright side, the film is big, bold and bright and definite popcorn fodder, great for viewing with friends and not requiring a huge amount of concentration to follow what is going on (one is hard pressed to really call say the film has a “plot”). Not that this has stopped people from lapping it up, considering how popular it has been on release.

I was less impressed by Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen than I thought I would be, but then I remembered that the original Transformers movie seemed shorter and slicker as I had purged all the extraneous subplots and characters that never made it to this film, so perhaps the film is actually on a par.

It will be interesting to see what path number 3 will take: my bet will be that Megatron will avenge his fallen Fallen, first by interrupting Sam’s honeymoon (Megan Fox will of course be in an ultra mini bikini splashing in the Hawaiian waves for the first 30 minutes of the film) and holding him hostage in Angkor Wat, which happens to be an old Decepticon portaloo. After much slow motion soul searching, Optimus Prime will go against the foolish US Administration representatives and lead the brave US soldiers to Asia to rescue Sam, destroying many ancient buildings in the process.

Verdict: More of the same, with a bit less menace, humour and spark, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is less about revenge and more about adding more Transformers to the toy range. Six transformations out of 10.

The Case for Foreign Signage 1

Quiet as I have been the last wee while, I have none the less been very judgemental. Below are some images that struck me on my recent travels:

1. Santiago Aiport: Either very clever or not quite right.

2. Lima: Less white than I remember them


3. Lima: Everybody wants some Bimbo

4. Cuzco: The Golden Arches turn black. Showing their true colours perhaps?


4. Cuzco: Selling everything from shoe polish to fruit.


5. Arequipa: Pregnant limbo dancers first.

6. Nazca: Watched over by Jesus, Mary and Dolly

7. Santiago: A whole new concept of a very old idea.


8. Santiago: How happy is this cat?


9. Santiago: Another war criminal flees to South America.

Verdict: Funny what you see when you travel abroad. And boy how I love it. Nine images out of nine.

The Case for A Bit of a Lull

You my find that I am fairly quiet on the blogging front for the next wee while - I am off out and about, Judging things in other lands.

I shall return...

Verdict: Lame excuse, but it will have to do. No rating.

The Case for Lips

You know what they should do every year? Perhaps even every month? Have a Rocky Horror Picture Show screening at the Embassy. The reason I say that is because I went to a screening at the end of May, and I was absolutely blown away by the number of men and women who like to parade around in town dressed up in suspenders, feather boas, and ridiculous amounts of make up.

I was not so bold myself, as I was really not terribly sure how the whole thing would turn out. So I got dressed up in some Brad Major-esque duds (basically, my normal clothing really), and headed into Wellington to see what other Wellingtonians would make of it.

And what was made was an absolute mess. I was not quite sure how interactive this version would be, considering the beautiful state of the Embassy, but the Embassy staff themselves were selling bags of water pistols, pop corn, toilet paper, noise makers and news paper for those who had forgotten to bring along their own. The only rule: don’t throw things at the screen; and like the good obedient sheep New Zealanders who want this kind of event to be staged again are, this rule was respected.

I sat next to a particularly chatty Rocky Horror veteran of many raucous screenings and with a wardrobe crammed full of character costumes. Her enthusiasm was almost overwhelming, so much did she have to say and so little did I have to prompt her. She had indoctrinated her daughter into the Unconventional Conventionist way of life, and was there with her daughter’s like minded friends. They hooted and howled and stood up and sung – as did everyone really, all with much abandon.

The only thing that let the team down (which was kind of a point in my favour, considering my own rather reserved participation), was the obvious lack of knowledge of the “official” interactive script . Yes, there is at least one (a link to one here), even if during an actual screening and recitation, it is almost impossible to make out the words. I have not memorised the entire script myself, truth be told, but there are certain (fairly simple) smidgeons that I retain. And it was evident that there were others in the audience who knew different tracts than myself, but it was also evident that there were very few of us within the crowd.

And you know what would solve this criminal under-education? More regular Rocky Horror Picture Show screenings! I await in antici…

Verdict: Always heaps of fun if you can let yourself go with the flow. Don’t dream it; be it. 10 sweet transvestites from Transsexual, Transylvania out of 10.

…pation.

The Case for Stomping Grounds

I have to thank my rellies for taking me along to see Stomp 2009. While I was a big fan a few years ago of the show Tao: the art of Japanese drumming, the idea of Stomp, while similarly percussion-based, also felt to be wrapped up in the ugly paper of tap dance.

Yes, I admit that I am prejudiced against tap dancing. I can admire the skill and dedication, the rhythm required and the technicality of the execution, but if I see a single performer going at it for more than five minutes, I tend to end up in a coma. I find it amazingly, incredibly, and tautologically tediously dull.

So I was pleasantly surprised when the incredible performers in Stomp only gave in a couple of times to tap dancing solos. For most of the time, they were dancing collaboratively, or hitting or rubbing or rustling something to make (mostly) loud and inspirational music.

During the performance I did have a Scrubs-like side bar moment, imagining what the casting call must have looked like. The performers on stage were a United Colours of Beneton mix of unbelievably talented dancers and/or musicians, and finding people who would meet those exacting requirements and, in some cases, be willing to act in roles that were defined by their looks must have been an incredibly difficult task.

I was surprised that there was no intermission during the performance, but then the whole thing was choreographed to allow the performers to relax a bit from time to time, but not get too warmed down and thus be unable to perform to their best later. There were the odd mishaps, though nothing so cataclysmic that the show came grinding to a halt.

Overall, the Stomp 2009 was an amazing spectacle. Given the option of seeing this or Tao again… Hmmn, I am not altogether sure which I would prefer. All I know is that I wouldn’t be let down either way.

Verdict: Stomp 2009 banged its way into my affection. An incredible mix of different ethnicities, sexed and body types came together in a smashingly good time. 8 Dr Marten’s boots out of 10.

The Case for Forest Dreaming

It is hard not to like the ComedyFest show Sammy J and the Forest of Dreams, especially when it starts off with a rousing number like F#ck you Disney. The usual unease I felt when encountering supposedly funny shows dispersed as the show quickly started mocking Disney’s purported Nasi-eaque leanings and held out the promise of a gentle and at times brutal mock musical, in the muppet style.

Unfortunately, the extended promise didn’t quite manage to live up to itself for the whole 75 minutes of the show. There were ups and downs, comedic hits and misses, but more hits than misses thankfully. That the performers are incredibly talented, entertaining and amusing, there was no doubt: the muppetry was incredible, if at times disturbing; and the sense of humour, though occasionally wandering into vulgar (and not necessarily funny) realms, spent most of its time in the land of the funny. One apparently improvised exchange brought on by the failure of a sound effect left the entire audience howling with laughter – and the performers seemed amused by the whole thing too.

The story though is what kind of lets the side down. My own perspective on the plot, which centred on the machinations to inspire insurrection in the fabled Forest, was that it seemed in a bit of poor taste – but then, my perspective is influenced by the Great War for Civilisation by Robert Fisk that I am currently reading, thanks to a loan by the Fisherman.

Some slower scenes dragged the pace of the show down so much one could distinctly hear the tumbleweed blowing through the bleachers, though some claim this was just the hideous Wellington weather on the night in question. Whatever the real cause, it was drowned out once the flabbier middle of the show was done and the laughs came thicker and faster. While distinctly Australian in flavour, the show threw in some local references for good measure, and was not afraid to laugh at itself. Most importantly for me though, I found that I could laugh along with them - the ultimate sign of comedic success.

Verdict: All in all, I was not disappointed by this, the only ComedyFest show that I thought worthwhile to see. Sammy J in the Forest of Dreams was a lot of laughs, even in a howling Southerly and late on a Wednesday night. 3.5 fingers out of 5.

The Case for More Book Fair Attendees

To be honest, it was only the link from the Fisherman that reminded me that I had actually started classifying the types of people found at the local bookfairs.

As with all ecosystems, the environment of bookfairs is in a constant state of evolution, with the “Survival of the Most Fit” seeing the emergence of new species of bookfair goers. Some of these may thrive as conditions change and may grow to be the dominant bookfair goer; others may find their time in the sun brief and unfulfilling.

Here, then, I will try and add to the growing list of bookfair folk, categorising them for posterity, should any of these curious species sink into the tarpits extinction.

Amateur Attendees

Openbooks

Most people tend to flick through their prizes. Most people check to make sure the book is in good nick, takes ones fancy, and is what one really wants. Most people will take a quick look at the book where they are, and then take a longer look once they have found a quiet spot where they will not disturb anyone. Whereas Openbooks decide that they are going to read their latest potential acquisition then and there, placing the book back down on the piles and spreading their book open so it covers several rows around them. And not only will their book impede the view of other books, but their own physicality impedes the flow of people around them, their immovable @rses blocking the way. Highly irritating, and in need of eradication.

Hangerson

For a few moments in Johnsonville, the spirit of a deceased Hangerson that must have passed away in a bookfair of years past possessed me. Well, either that, or I have some hangerson genes struggling to express themselves – and now coming to the fore. Hangerson are those vultures of the bookfair world, who follow those support staff charged with bringing out fresh book meat to fill the empty spaces left by the rabid bookfair hordes who have picked the stalls clean. Hungry for fresh carrion, these hyenas, who can actually be very nice and polite and even friendly, are nonetheless a fearsome bunch, with a wild-eyed look, circling the tables and ready to pounce on any newly produced book that looks appetising. Deceptively dangerous.

The Volunteers

SausageSizzlers

Not often seen in urban settings, a Sausagesizzler provides much needed sustenance to those who have spent several hours in close personal combat over books. Whether their wares be extravagant, garnished with tomatoes and mustards and onions, or the plain variety of sausage in bread and butter, they are always a pleasant sight – unless they place themselves in the path of the entrance of course.

Girlguides

Girlguides are rarer sights than Sausagesizzlers, though they tend to be seasonal rather than location specific, mainly showing their youthful plumage at the beginning of the bookfair season. They bring with them delectable treats that they are willing to share with all attendees. If you are tempted by their offerings, store them for the bleak winter months.

Miscellaneii

The Miscellaneii are both location and season-specific attendees. They vary in size, shape and intent. Some offer café-quality coffee, others home made brews of varying quality. They should all be treated carefully and with respect, lest they not wander back in later years and fairs. Unless of course, their stuff is rubbish and they are annoying, in which case they should be hounded off with extreme prejudice.