Supa Princesses and a Much-Needed Multi Pass

Supanova was fun, as per usual. Sure it's crowded, and sure you get to queue a few times, but the atmosphere is always incredibly genial and everyone is there to have a good time. I also like that the attendees are of all age groups, with your tiniest tots (there were two cute sisters dressed up as unicorns, and a couple of small Captain Americas with diminutive shields) mingling with happy groups of young gamers and manga fans made up as their favourite characters, right through to veteran oldies. Comics, artwork, books, movies, games, modelling - all aspects of the scene are covered, and it's a place where those just starting out can sell their wares alongside established artists.

And always, there's a parade of costumes to admire, everything from your Wookies to your Doctors, Mulders, Scullies, Leias, Solos, Vikings, robots of different persuasions, samurai, zombies and zombie hunters, one dragon, many unidentifiable (to me) gamer characters, and much Game of Thrones finery, which enthralled many of the small girls present. One particular knee-high admirer just stood in the busy exhibition hall staring up at four female Throners with an air of disbelief, a huge, blissful smile on her face while her dad looked on, and everyone politely moved around the group and made room for her moment. Every year the cavalcade changes. There didn't seem to be any steampunk costumes  this year, no Daleks or Weeping Angels, there was nary a Star Trek officer to be seen, likewise Resident Evil soldiers and girls wearing fluffy cat ears.

But there were princesses. Disney royalty and the aforementioned Game of Thrones ladies were definite hit this year, though some carried it off better than others. At one point, a pink clad figure came schlepping by, her posture stooped, bags hanging criss-cross over her outfit, and she was rather indecorously downing junk food. I felt she was letting the side down. But the others all seemed to keep their princess personas going no matter what, regularly but discretely touched up their make-up and kept an eye on their hair, and were exceedingly gracious to all the little girls (usually in pink dresses themselves) who ran up to them for a close gander, arranging their big dresses and posing with the star struck kiddies for photos.

I bought a few things, of course, including the obligatory, geeky T-shirt (actually, I got three) and a Leeloo Dallas multi pass to  hang on the odds and sods board over my writing desk. It's a bit of a running family joke, and makes me smile when I see it.

We also attended a talk with Gary Lockwood and Keir Dullea from 2001: A Space Odyssey, and heard all about the brilliance of Stanley Kubrick, Arthur C Clarke anecdotes, amusing and serious information about the making of the film, the public reaction afterwards, and much trivia about Hollywood in the 60s. There were plenty of other guests, the stars of shows from the olden days as well as the latest productions, but after a second whizz around the grounds, we called it a day.

Because it's Time to Buy that Annual T-Shirt with a Geeky Message Which I'll Probably Only Wear Whilst Writing.

Plus, this is a family thing. We do it each year.

So, to bed, to bed ASAP, for I'm off to Supanova early in the morning.

I'd better pop the tickets in my bag. Wouldn't want to be halfway to Melbourne and realise I'd forgotten them.

See you there, maybe. There's usually an awful lot of people.  

Space on a Shoestring

I'm excited about how the race to Mars seems to be hotting up. We might just get off this rock yet. And I like this NY Times article with NASA  / Hollywood budget comparisons and much philosophising about what maketh a viable space program. Money? Ingenuity? Poorly paid technicians?:

Just days after the launch of India’s Mangalyaan satellite, NASA sent off its own Mars mission, five years in the making, named Maven. Its cost: $671 million. The budget of India’s Mars mission, by contrast, was just three-quarters of the $100 million that Hollywood spent on last year’s space-based hit, “Gravity.”

“The mission is a triumph of low-cost Indian engineering,” said Roddam Narasimha, an aerospace scientist and a professor at Bangalore’s Jawaharlal Nehru Center for Advanced Scientific Research.

Ever since MIR, I've been a fan of not-so-shiny Soviet technology - I just have this notion that if they ever do get into space and start working there, the Russians will have the type of vehicles you can crash into an asteroid, stick back together with gaffer tape, siphon some vodka into the depleted warp drive, kick into gear, and keep heading for the stars (and watching Solaris decades ago only strengthened this belief.) India seems to agree:

It is a question of philosophy, and each country has its own,” explained Mr. Radhakrishnan. “The Russians, for example, believe in putting large amounts of time and resources into testing so that the systems are robust.”

 And for those who always argue that there are far more pressing problems than space exploration that need money thrown at them, there's this neatly Indian perspective:

Scientists have also said that space exploration and the alleviation of poverty need not be mutually exclusive. “If the Mars mission’s $75 million was distributed equally to every Indian, they would be able to buy a cup of roadside chai once every three years,” said Mr. Narasimha, the aerospace scientist, referring to the tea that many Indians drink.

“My guess is that even the poorest Indians will happily forgo their chai to be able to see their country send a rocket all the way to Mars.”

Of course, said poor people, if given half a chance, might just voice their disagreement. Sometimes, a cup of chai is just what you need to get you through the day.

What I Got for Christmas...

...was a whopping great cold.

Thank you, public transport, and all those caring, sharing, unmannerly individuals who apparently never learnt to cover their mouths whilst coughing up their lungs. I just knew they were out to get me.

This lurgy was sneaking up on me those last days at the Arvo Job, slowed me down the first few days of my holidays but thankfully behaved itself for our family Xmas celebrations, then felled me on the Thursday.

Ah well, the worst of the coughing seems to be over. And books have been read rather rapidly, lots of movies have been watched, pots of tea have been drunk, and copious amounts of ice cream have been consumed, so it's not all bad.

Still, I had plans, other plans, big plans, do-worthy plans, admirable plans...

Tomorrow. It's another day, they say. We'll see.

Setting the Tone for Things to Come

So I made it through the end of the year energy management of the Arvo Job rush, and the attendant hurly-burly of officey festivities and various personal crises around me as people contemplated a brand new year coming up fast whilst wondering where the heck 2013 had gone (where all time goes - into the past), to reach the (cross fingers) peace and  stillness of my Xmas Holidays.

Two. Weeks. Off.

Yay!

I'm all set for a fortnight of resting, catching up on stuff and people, writing, nursing ideas, reading, walking, horse riding, and bike riding. I'm meticulously easing into the right mood. Yesterday, after a nice sleep in, we saw American Hustle (lots of fun, though we had a chat about it with the theatre attendant afterwards because she'd heard it was good, but had also seen a lot of people walk out on it. We decided they'd thought they were going to see something along the lines of Anchorman 2) and did a bit of Xmas shopping. Today, having had another nice sleep in, I shall, in a short while, retire to a comfy chair and spend the afternoon nose deep in Mockingjay.

I have permission to read until I drop. So far, Suzanne Collins has pulled me right into her wonderfully politically aware world, so I might as well schedule time off for a long, unbroken read. I might even finish it - ah, the indulgence of reading from cover to cover in a single day. I saw Catching Fire a few weeks ago, and liked it better than the Hunger Games, which seemed to be a bit coy about committing to the political aspect of the books. Obviously reassured by HG's box-office success, Catching Fire dove right in. I particularly enjoyed the devious part de deux played by stalwarts Donald Sutherland and  Philip Seymour Hoffman. Anyway, I thought it was about time I finished the trilogy, hence today's indulgence.

And for anyone who thinks that Orwell was a tad oversensitive about the evils of mass surveillance and that YA dystopia novels are unnecessarily bleak and unrealistic about the future with their negative 'what ifs', I give you the ridiculousness of this amazingly appropriate tie-in link about two protesters who were prosecuted as terrorists - ah, how insecure authorities looooove to overuse the 'T' word to get their own way:

http://www.vice.com/read/two-environmentalists-were-charged-with-terrorism-hoax-for-too-much-glitter-on-their-banner

When they got to jail, they found out they were being charged with a "terrorism hoax," a state felony punishable by up to ten years in prison.

Their attorney, Doug Parr, has been involved in dozens of protest cases like this one in Oklahoma and Texas. In other arrests, protesters have faced trumped-up charges, but this is a radical escalation. "I've been practicing law since the 1970s. Quite frankly, I've been expecting this," Parr said. "Based upon the historical work I've been involved in, I know that when popular movements that confront the power structure start gaining traction, the government ups the tactics they employ in order to disrupt and take down those movements."

The abuses of power that abound these days by authorities caught with their pants down by various demonised whistle-blowers just goes to show how quickly societies can career down the infamous slippery slope. The righteous and proliferate lack of shame by the doers of outrageously dodgy acts is what astounds me the most. That, and their fragmented logic. We, it seems, should accept surveillance by corporations and governments with a smile because if we're not up to no good, we common folk going about our everyday lives have nothing to fear, yet they feverishly legislate against the release of any information that reveals deplorable abuses perpetrated by the Powers That Be. Surely, if organisations are likewise all decency and good intentions, they too have nothing to fear from transparency. But no, they want a one-way mirror.

Ah well, hopefully history will sort itself out, and hopefully in our favour. For now, I'm off to the Capitol to cheer on Katniss.

    

Because the World Also Needs Little Girls Who Can Lift Horses

Over at io9 there's a post about Pippi Longstocking (or rather, to give her her full name, about Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Mackrelmint Ephraim's Daughter Longstocking, or, in Swedish, Pippilotta Viktualia Rullgardina Krusmynta Efraimsdotter Långstrump). Apparently:

In 1971, animators Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata began preproduction on an adaptation of Astrid Lindgren's Pippi Longstocking books, but in the end, were unable to secure Lindgren's permission. But we can still see Miyazaki's watercolor concept art of the strongest girl in the world.

They provide a link to the Miyazaki and Studio GHIBLI LiveJournal where you can see said concept art.

Whether or not you think Miyazaki would have done a good job of portraying Pippi - and there are many who don't think he would have remained true to the character and would have imposed too much of his own slant on things, which might explain Lindgren's vetoing of the project - it's fun to look at the images and wonder about what might have been.

I love Pippi. She's strong and revels in her strength. Not for her the fluttering ways of hiding her innate talents to make herself less threatening and more acceptable to an unimaginative world. And I think the world needs her more than ever, because not all girls are the same, and not every little girl fits into the sparkly, pink princess box that is getting a tad too prevalent and "must do" popular in a peer pressure way for my comfort, which I've mentioned quite a few times over the years. If you want to get into the pink, sparkly box, fine, but little girls shouldn't have to if they don't want to, and that should be more than okay too.

So yay for Pippilotta, the strongest girl in the world, animal lover, competent cook, courageous adventuress, sailor extraordinaire, the scourge of bullies and most loyal of friends.  

A Brilliant Timey-Wimey Was Had By All.

Bendigo Cinemas seriously underestimated the amount of interest there would be for the nerdy old Dr Who 50th Anniversary Special. First they cautiously scheduled a mere 2 showings, which sold out quickly, then added a third (to which we hastily bought tickets), but by Sunday they had squeezed in 2 more sessions earlier in the day and another after our evening one, so they went from 2 sessions to 6. People arrived early to get good seats and long queues formed, but everyone was cheerful and in high spirits, so there was a lot of street fun going on prior to the movie.

It was a great evening. The theatre attendants were wearing cool fezzes, there were Tom Baker scarves everywhere, young lads with bow-ties and slicked hair did their best Eleventh Doctor impersonations, giggling teenage girls dressed up as Amy Pond skipped about together in groups, and sonic screwdrivers were wielded with impunity. All age groups were represented. Inside, the atmosphere was good-natured, and once the movie got going, and it became apparent there were going to be plenty of in jokes to reward the faithful, and everyone realised it was going to be FUN, the audience bonded and it became a true Event.

You just don't get many of those.

Son of Punjab, Where Are You?

After starting yesterday with a Sunday morning rejection ( I really like this one but...) I headed off to the Melbourne Festival for a day of music, exhibitions, eating and fun, finishing off with an effervescent show constructed around the Australian-born Bollywood siren known as Fearless Nadia and her movie Diamond Queen.

Born Mary Ann Evans in Perth, she was a huge hit in India during the 1930s and 40s - her most famous film was Hunterwali -  and this show sought to pay tribute to her amazing feats of screen dare-devilry (she did all her own stunts) and sense of fun and adventure. It was a hoot. Not only did you have Nadia swinging her fists and leaping about all over the place, but there was also the in house fighting squad from of Wadia Movietone doing all sorts of crazy and comedic action stunts, and some of her regular, faithful, animal characters like the very smart, he'd-give-Silver-a-run-for-his-money wonder horse Punjab ka Beta (Son of Punjab, scion of Punjab, another of Nadia's faithful sidekick equines) and a baby Austin called Rolls Royce ki Beti (Daughter of Rolls Royce), a vehicle with much personality and a very independent mind. Alas, we didn't get to see much of Moti the wonder dog in this cut of the film.

On top of the movie hi jinks, there were live performances in keeping with what was happening on the screen inserted in between - Indian dancing, vaudeville acts, and feats of high-wire, musical daring. All of this and energetic, Indian-Western music that had people jigging in their seats played by master musicians who all seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.

It was a fun evening that I've carried with me all through today at my less glittery and swashbuckling Arvo Job, doing a little Indian dancing here and there whilst daydreaming about Son of Punjab galloping into the office to rescue me. I saw myself swinging into the saddle, raising a defiant fist as Son of Punjab reared, and then we'd be off, the two of us, racing towards some distant adventure full of villains and stout-hearted, supportive friends.

I Wanna Go To Space, And I Wanna Go Now!

I saw Gravity today. Best. Space. Movie. In. Ages. Maybe. Ever.

With not a single alien or phaser in sight, this was the most exciting space adventure I've watched in a long, long time, and it had, more or less, given the needs of storytelling, the added thrill of making the audience feel they were watching a drama that could happen in real life. It was so big, and at the same time so intimate, simultaneously vast and claustrophobic. I also liked the international feel of the movie, with the Earth rotating below, and all the nations of that planet represented with their stations and astronauts working together, each bravely trying to establish themselves on the new frontier. It made me feel warm and fuzzy and optimistic about humanity.

The visuals were heart-achingly stunning. The wannabe astronaut in me was overwhelmed by the beauty of this movie, and the courage and intelligence of the people who get the job done in the harshest of environments. I have to confess, I shed a few tears of yearning simply because this movie so effectively conveys that space is awe-inspiring and so full of potential, and I so want to go there just once in my lifetime, and I very strongly feel that WE AS A SPECIES HAVE TO GO THERE!

I especially noticed three lads in the audience today who gave me great hope. Early teens, popcorn munching, the kind of youths my aged type can often reflexively dismiss as shallow, I was initially rather dubious in a unforgivably superior way that they would enjoy the movie (no aliens!), but every time I glanced their way, the meticulously gelled, identically Bieber-haired trio were silent and spellbound. They too, it seemed, were members of my tribe of wannabe astronauts. Maybe they'll make it. Maybe Gravity will inspire them to go for it. They're young enough. I hope so. After all, who says astronauts can't be fashionably coiffed?

Angels And Gunships

So there was an election over the weekend here in Australia, and this time I was kindly allowed to vote when I turned up at the polling station (as opposed to last time when... oh, let's not go into it. After much mucking around, my vote ended up being deemed invalid. And the Electoral Commission had the gall to send me a $50 fine afterwards!)

Anyway, this time the local proceedings were enlivened by some dedicated soul with much time and passion on their hands who had handwritten lots and lots of signs (they were very neat, clean, large, white cardboard signs, so a certain monetary investment had gone into them as well)  and hung them all around the inner town. The walls across from the polling station were plastered with them too. Unfortunately, I was having a quick walk and vote before dinner so I was travelling light, otherwise I would have snapped a few photos. The signs all said the same thing:

Voting for the Liberals is like voting for the gunships in Avatar.

Whatever your voting persuasion, you have to admit that this concerned citizen had a clear message they wanted to convey and effectively communicated it - as long as the passing readers were sufficiently up on their pop culture, were SF fans or blockbuster movie-goers or the like. It's a vivid image, rather brutal, and one that speaks of much dread and disappointment.

I just hope that person is wrong.

A little more of politicians of all leanings and stripes listening to their better angels and rationally engaging in an informed democracy for the good of the whole country, and a lot fewer automatic gunship attacks on anything that moves or looks different or disagrees with one would be greatly appreciated.

End of the Month Report: August 2013

Submissions: 6
Rejections: 5
Acceptances: 1 (A Moveable Buffet)
Published: 0
Stories out in the wild: 10
New stories completed: 1 (not really new - it's the expanded story, but it has doubled in size from 1k to 2k, so it's sort of a whole different story...)
Mood: It's a gorgeous spring day, lovely for walking and outdoor reading, and my opened up house smells wonderful; I've got a fair deal of Sunday work under my belt to add to an already productive week of writing so I'm happy there; plus I purchased my first Science Fiction magazine for my eReader, which, easy as it is to do, was nevertheless another imaginary hurdle to overcome and I feel confident I'll be ever so up-to-date with the latest publications from now on; also, I did a little housekeeping on my Shadow Awards spread sheets, so that makes me feel efficient and participatory; last but not least, I sold a story this month, and that's always a welcome change. All in all, life is good.

Now to get the ironing done, get the washing in and hastily move a little dust around. It'll be a token effort. Later, I'll settle down to watch one of the movies my brother dropped off today - probably Upside Down. It'll be interesting to see how they handle the very Land and Overland series sounding scenario. I'm not expecting to be blown away like I was with The Ragged Astronauts and The Wooden Spaceships, and it looks like it might heavily lean towards romance, but hopefully they'll attempt to do something a little more inspiringly mind-gamey and truly SFy than most of the lacklustre blockbusters that I've endured this year. One must try to be optimistic about these things.

And They Call It Space Puppy Love

To stave off unfair accusations that this might be a cat-and-chook-and-pony-favouring blog, and to add a little fun and cuteness to your Friday night, pop across to Tor. Com to watch a heart-warming clip from the upcoming, must-see, at least if you're a fan, Riddick 3 movie.

Why? Because there's a big, nasty, ugly as sin, slobbering, potentially puppy-eating alien, and the most adorable, yapping, but (honestly) slightly stupid puppy - make that adorable, yapping, but (honestly) slightly stupid SPACE puppy - that's about to become an alien snack, but Vin Diesel shows his soft side and...

Don't worry, go watch, it's safe - there's not a single cat to be seen. Or chook. Or pony. Promise.

 

  



Make It Fun And They Will Come

http://www.themarysue.com/illinois-department-website-klingon/

Plus, it really works:

The Illinois Department of Employment Security began offering Klingon as one of the languages its website can be viewed in as a way of getting a bit of attention earlier this summer when Star Trek Into Darkness was arriving in theaters. They decided to keep it on afterward when they realized that the novelty of it was drawing more people to their site, which offers information on unemployment benefits, veterans’ benefits, and job searching resources.

The Mist: The Ride

My sister and I went horse riding in Daylesford today, and I managed to stay in the saddle for both the morning and afternoon rides, which isn't bad given it's been 5 months since my last equine outing, and even before that, my track record was reluctantly sporadic due the past 18 months worth of hospital crap. It wasn't a hard all-dayer. Both times, it was just the two of us so we could set the pace according to what I was up for, which was not a lot compared with my derring-do of yore, but any attempt to move faster than a trot was also seriously thwarted by the weather.

The morning was wet and hazy enough - the rolling hills remained obscured by fog for the whole ride - but my sister and I crossed fingers that it would clear up by the afternoon.

Alas, it was not to be, not by a long shot.

When we headed out again after lunch, the mist was thicker and more saturated, and it grew increasingly more so until we were moving through a drizzly, surreal, Stephen King-created, vapour-shrouded landscape of limited vision, stands of spooky, leafless trees vaguely outlined by the white stuff, sky and air and land and lakes merging with each other into dreamlike scenes, and an intense silence broken only by the sounds of horse hooves clopping, wet things dripping, and the plaintive bleats of newborn lambs coming from the unseen fields beyond. It was the kind of thick mist from which tentacles suddenly reach out to pull poor, helpless riders from their horses and drag them back into the murky miasma.

And it was cold, bone chillingly cold - we were mightily glad for our drizzle-repelling drizzabones, with many layers of clothing and downy vests underneath - and the ground was wet and far too soggy for speedy riding unless one desired to take a chance on spending the next few months with various limbs in plaster casts.

But we had a good time, took it easy, made jokes, and enjoyed the unreal atmosphere and strange visual and aural effects created by the uncanny weather. Afterwards - and this is a very important part of the Winter horse riding experience - my sister and I warmed our boots and bums in front of a roaring log fire, drank cups of hot tea, ate steaming leak and potato soup with toast followed by berry strudel, and all was wonderful and well with the world.
  
*satisfied sigh*

But for sure I'll be sore tomorrow...

Woolly Thoughts

Today was my traditional Wednesday R&R day, thank goodness (I missed out last week because of hospital crap) so I really slept in, and really lazed about the house in my dressing gown well beyond the socially acceptable 11am deadline (I made that up - I'm not actually sure what time good etiquette deems is the cut-off point for schlepping around in one's PJs), did a spot of writing (new story, my first children's tale in a long while, a dark fantasy, I'm a few hundred words in and, even though I had a plan for this one going in, a sassy but kindly 1930's character opened her mouth and the story took an interesting turn to the left instead of the right, so I've now ditched an intended main character in favour of the sassy, formerly bit-part actress - she's earned herself a close up), went for a walk, then settled down to read one of the books I bought last week.

Yes, it was time to finally catch up with the rest of the world and read Wool by Hugh Howey, if only so I can have a valid opinion on the subject of this publishing phenomenon next time the topic comes up. And read it before the movie comes out so I can grumble about Hollywood's inadequate script. I haven't finished it yet, but here's my verdict so far:

Qs: Does it live up to the hype?  Are the friends who recommended it to me complete dithering idiots?

A (sort of): Well, as I was reading, I started out thinking Yeah, yeah, hmm, not bad, but I think I see where this is going... WHAT?

Then I moved on to Okay, this is interesting, I'd better read another chapter. And maybe  just one more. Oh, what the heck, I'll read the next one too. Surely one more teensy chapter won't derail my evening. One more for the road? Sure. And maybe just one last chapter before I get up and...

So, make of that what you will.

Legend of the Luminous Last Lines

There was a book sale in town today. I almost bought The Shrinking Man by Richard Matheson but opted for a couple of more modern tomes instead. Coming home tonight and finding out that the great man himself  had just passed away, I wished I had bought it.

Silly me. Tomorrow I'll go back and remedy my mistake. In the shop, leafing through it, I read again that almost last, tragic but full of wonderment, bittersweet-with-a-touch-of-hope line, which always gets me:

"If nature existed on endless levels, so also might intelligence."

Then there's the kicker of a very last line, but I won't spoil it for those who haven't yet dipped into this classic yet.  

He did last lines well. I cannot even begin to guess how many times I read I Am Legend. I loved the entire book (let's politely ignore the movies for now), but I mostly reread it just to relive over and over the full impact of that final prison scene and the very last, now very famous words which, when I first read them as a teenager, completely blew me away:

 ...a new superstition entering the unassailable fortress of forever. I am legend.

 Some writers fudge endings. Not Richard Matheson. Just as you (if you hadn't read his work before) with the last page turned, might have been winding down, he slammed an image or an idea or a possibility right into your brain, and there it stayed put, sending your thoughts skittering off into multiple, deep, dark, moving and twisty philosophical places. All that, and frightening and touching and entertaining too! I loved his books. I loved his Twilight Zone episodes. And who wasn't scared out of their wits by every passing truck for at least a month after watching the movie Duel?

Thank you, Richard, for all those great stories.

Richard Matheson

1926-2013

R.I.P.

Zombies, Zombies Everywhere

NO IMPORTANT SPOILERS, I THINK. I MEAN, IT'S A ZOMBIE MOVIE, FOR GOODNESS SAKE. WHAT'S TO GIVE AWAY?

As, supposedly, the first zombie movie in with a chance to win an Oscar, World War Z is a zombie movie for people who don't like zombie movies. In other words, it's classier than your average zombie movie - possibly even art house zombie?

 There are no scenes of gory evisceration, strewn body parts, intestines being slurped like spaghetti or close-ups of livers and brains being chewed with messy relish. Sure there are splashes of blood tastefully spurting across faces here and there, but that's about it. There are no cheap gross out shots of ripped off limbs being passed around to upset the audience here. No mumbled utterances of 'braaaaains!' either. Even the zombies themselves are quite nice looking. Not as nice looking as the walking dead in Warm Bodies, but they're not missing jaws and cheeks, rotting in horrible places or flaking all over the carpet.

But they're still very scary. They're scary because there are simply so so many of them (I was wondering whether there was an overpopulation subtext tucked away in the movie, but that's probably overthinking the script), they're fast, and they're a monolithic force of unthinking, unrelenting undeadness coming straight at you. You can't even take a rest from their scariness by making fun of their ridiculous shambling gait or making silly groaning noises, because these former guys and gals are silent and swift, agile hunters that bring folk down within seconds of targeting them. They're deadly efficient killing machines designed for the sole purpose of replicating themselves.

Which is why WWZ is really more of an international medical thriller than a zombie movie, sort of Contagion with speedy corpses in lieu of an invisible virus. That said, plagues that move swiftly and have a high rate of attrition are panic-inducing at a primal level - I kept thinking about the Black Death diary entries I read a long time ago which recorded how people woke up feeling fine, had boils by lunchtime, and were dead by the evening. The scenes of mass, blind terror in the face of unbeatable odds are effectively portrayed. I mean, what can your average person do when overwhelmed by a veritable tsunami of undead monsters? One tensely watches the screen and hopes that in  similar situation one would be as cool as Brad Pitt's character, but...hmmm. Zombies or viruses, people are mostly not good at being calm and rational when everyone around them is screaming and scrambling to save their own butts. While still entertaining us, WWZ does good job of showing how quickly society can break down and revert to the rule of gun-power and elite connections. Useful and rich people are saved. Non-skilled folk and the unwashed masses are left behind as zombie bait. A certain amount of the film's scariness comes from acknowledging deep down inside that, come the Zombie Apocalypse, most of us would probably end up tackling the rampaging hordes as best we can all on our own with a pointy stick.

 So yeah, WWZ was deliciously fright-inducing, as any good zombie movie should be, and, ditto, fun to watch, with splatterings of supernatural, Hollywood-style social commentary added to the mix to give it that much desired, mainstream respectability that many genre pieces subconsciously crave.

Boy's Own Universe

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD

I went to see Star Trek Into Darkness yesterday, a movie that has left me feeling strangely conflicted. I went brim full of happy expectations, a carry-over from a Trek loving childhood that still causes me to get tingly all over when I hear the theme music or hear the words to boldly go, and yes, I laughed at the banter, oohed at some of the special effects, cheered on our heroes, was moved by the lets-go-explore-the-universe-rather-than-make-war message, and generally loved it.

And yet...

The first shudder of uneasiness to pull me from the movie was a scene depicting a gathering of senior Starfleet officers. It looks like a modern boardroom, was the most unwelcome, very un-twentythird century thought that popped into my head - mostly blokes and a couple of ladies. I might prove wrong if I go back and freeze frame the scene, but while I was in the theatre, instead of listening to the dialogue, I found myself searching for more than the two women I'd spotted. And to add insult to injury, their sole purpose in the movie turned out to be sprawling in their skirts in the debris and looking more helpless than the trousered blokes when the expected crap hit the fan. It took me a while to get over that.

But the damage was done. My brain split in two, and while the ST fan watched and enjoyed the movie, the disappointed part of me went into analytical mode and noticed that the only two female main characters were mostly defined by being someone's girlfriend (who wanted to talk about personal issues with her boyfriend in the middle of an away mission) or an Important Man's daughter, that one was validated by getting Kirk's 'you're hot' seal of approval when she gratuitously stripped down to her undies, and that worst of all, when Uhura finally got to be a brave Starfleet officer despite Kirk's obvious lack of faith in her, she was made to look afraid and not up to the task. This can be an effective dramatic device - facing a challenge and conquering one's fear to finally triumph and show one's worth, and all the male characters got to run the full gamut of various versions of this personal journey - but Uhura was ultimately denied the opportunity to prove herself. She looked vulnerable and deep in over her head, and just when I was expecting her to master her jitters and strut her stuff (hah! Take that Kirk!), biffo happened and the boys got to have a shoot-up. She was left looking somewhat inept. We'll never know whether or not she really had it in her to take on those Klingons with her professed smarts.

I know how the world works, alas, but 1960's reboot or not, I wish that in 2013 we could at the very least try to imagine the future as something other than the same old wearisome same old with jet packs attached. To me, STID says that starships are for boys. And since I've always wanted a starship of my very own to command with all of my science fiction-loving heart, and I like to believe the future will accommodate my as yet unborn, like-minded sisters, this aspect of the movie made me sad.

Zombie Brainwashing

Warm Bodies is an insidious movie. Do not see it. Do not let your loved ones see it either, but by all means recommend it to your worst enemies. Gentle, amusing, and all warm and fuzzy about the walking dead, this feel good movie full of misinformation, probably propagated by some secret organisation of card-carrying zombie lovers for their own dark reasons, might well bring about the extinction of our species.

Imagine it. The Zombie Apocalypse has arrived. Civilization has collapsed, but you, of course, being a sterling member of the human race, have survived. Cat-like, you're slinking through the debris-strewn streets, all lethal and commando-style in your camo gear. You're good to go with long, pointy knives adorning all parts of your person and the trusty, fully automatic, military assault weapon of your choice at the ready, when you spot a lumbering shape. You peer through the telescopic targeting thingie, your trigger finger a' twitching. You are so ready to blow the decaying head off the decrepit abomination before you.

But inexplicably, you pause. Stirrings of an old movie get in the way of your animal instincts. Scenes from Romeo and Juliet flit through your mind. You take a moment to think. You think things like Maybe there's a really nice person trapped inside that festering corpse fighting to get out and party or perhaps I wonder if this decomposing cadaver has a vinyl version of that Blue Öyster Cult album I've been trying to find for so long. What with the apocalypse having drastically reduced the pool of suitable dating partners, you might even perversely entertain musings such as Apart from all the rips, rot and pus, he/she actually looks quite hot in that murky light. Most dangerously of all, with memories of Warm Bodies flooding your synapses, you might indulge in the lost cause romanticism of Maybe my one, true, long lost love lies embedded beneath all that flaking flesh.

And that's it. The End. You're a goner. With your survival instincts slowed by this entertaining but highly dangerous movie that promulgates the notion that deep down, zombies are people just like us, you'll be pounced upon and felled as you dreamily plan the wedding, and disembowelled and devoured by rancid hordes before you get to your imaginary honeymoon.

So I cannot stress this enough - do not see this amusing piece of zombie propaganda. Your survival, our survival, depends upon it.

Supanova, Sci-Fi and Supasoup

It's been a busy weekend. I'll admit up front that no writing whatsoever got done. Yesterday it was off to Supanova for the day. The crowds were huge, as usual, and the stalls overflowing with every geekish thing your heart could possibly desire (Dalek keyring/plush toy/t-shirt/alarm clock anyone?  Darth Vader keyring/plush toy/t-shirt/alarm clock anyone? Enterprise pizza cutter? A knitted Jayne hat? Or perhaps a blow-up Baloonicorn for the lounge room?) With The Hoff as a guest star, there was plenty of KITT action (little and big boys never seem to tire of standing around staring at glossy, black cars with blinky lights), and with Alec Baldwin*** on the premises there were Serenity lovers a' plenty. Throw Barbara Eden into the mix, you're practically guaranteed lots of pink-clad Jeannies running around, crossing their arms and blinking.

It was very crowded, but fun. The place was chock full of monsters, super heroes, steampunk aviators, manga characters, and medieval warriors buckled into big, furry coats. And most scarily, Weeping Angels walked amongst us (don't blink!).

 Outdoors, the Australian Quidditch Association put on a game for our viewing pleasure, and afterwards, they had a recruitment drive for new players. It looked like they were having a ball, and for a few seconds, I considered signing up, but unfortunately for them, I'm seriously leaning towards joining the local roller derby team to realise my Whip It fantasy, so I'll have to give Quidditch a miss for now ;)

Today it was time for some more sci-fi with a quick pop into town for the movie Oblivion, and then lots of running around here at home getting ready for my upcoming medical crap. What a time waster. It's all the bother of preparing for holidays (find and wash presentable jammies and socks, organise cleaning, bills, house minding etc) but without the prospect of lazing about on the golden sands of a tropical island to compensate for the hassle. Ah well. I'm doing a lot of cooking so as to make life easier on my return. My freezer is now full of a particularly potent super-soup which is guaranteed to hasten my healing and make me feel warm and glowy. It's just like chicken soup, but with lentils.

***D'oh. Amendment. Serious cred malfunction. Too much recent viewing of 30 Rock + late night blogging + not checking = wrong Baldwin. Adam Baldwin, of course. My embarrassed apologies. At least I got the other brother who also starts with an 'A'.