In this post: a run down of last night's dream; a digression on Robert Holmes: hero of Who; another digression on Jason Foss, future bestselling author; corset shopping with Calypso; and bad news for the new Movie of Dorian Gray.
I wonder if dreams can come true?
Last night, it was me Anne and Jessie, and in a gloruiously mundane detail, we were sitting down in someone's lounge to watch some Doctor Who. Out of the stash of videos, Ribos Operation won - which warmed the cockles of my heart. It's more or less The Sting in space, but I love that episode, it's fantastic - good old Saint Holmes - because you actually genuinely end up caring for the extras. I cried, CRIED in the last episode. For the bad guys. Saint Holmes, incidentally, stands for Robert Holmes. You get so tired of people telling you he's a genius, you forget he really is a genius - he invented the Master, the Sontarans, the Valeyard; while he didn't invent it, he redefined Gallifrey as corrupt and sneaky, and is responsible for phrases like "Eye of Harmony", "Chancellery Guard", "Castellan", "Panopticon", "Prydonian" and "Matrix" which we all use like second nature nowadays. If that wasn't enough, he really knows how to write an episode - they're always rich in background detail (one of the things I loved about Ribos Operation was how real Ribos felt. Throwaway comments gave it an economy, religion, history - all backed up by the lovely set, of course), his extras are always interesting (a valuable skill for a Doctor Who writer; Moffat has this perhaps even better, making them loveable in a line or less e.g. "Proper Dave" and "Other Dave") and his plots, while often nothing new, are so well executed they become the ultimate in that story. As if to prove it, Caves of Androzani and Talons of Weng Chiang always battle it out for the top spot in Doctor Who polls, along with the indomitable Genesis of the Daleks (written by Someone Else).
For the second half of the dream, my mind kind of forgot that it was about "Anne and Jessie" - when I next found them, it was Lauren and Jessie - which obviously makes sense at the time, though now awake I feel guilty my subconscious mind has done what teachers have done for years. The part you will enjoy, however, was I was at a post-book launch party for my dad, Jason Foss - who's a soontobe famous author.
Now my dad isn't quite up to the standard of Saint Holmes yet. He's written, broadly speaking, airport novels - only nobody buys them, presumably on the basis that they're far too well written. In other words, good books, but crap airport novels. The first set - Shadow in the Corn (the New Age one), Byron's Shadow (the Greek one) , Lady in the Lake (The Arthurian one) and Shadesmoor (my memories of this are hazier) - are about Jeffrey Flint, archeologist come private detective. In other words, they're murder mysteries with a historical twist - but the characters are solid, the observations great, and a total absence of cliche. If that's your kind of thing, give them a look up - they can be got all over the internet, although ignore the nutter on Alibris trying to flog his Shadesmoor for £47. It's good, but not that good. Off the top of my head, Lady in the Lake is the one I recommend - but only because the twist regarding the sword is great; and perhaps it would be best to start with Shadow in the Corn, as it's first.
Then there's my two favourites - Blood and Sandles, which in broadly the same template as the former stories, is about a female archaeologist who becomes a historical consultant on a Hollywood epic, and unwitting private detective when there is attempted murder. Now, though I miss Jeffrey Flint - Maddy Crowe is nowhere near as adorable - the movie background obviously appeals to me even more than the historical one does. And the central idea is genius - after a botched assassination at a dinner party, not only has Maddy to work out the killer's identity, she needs to work out who he was trying to kill as well, which gives the whole thing a great paranoid atmosphere after one character after another becomes either suspect or victim. My other favourite, probably harder to aquire, is Islands that Never Were - a collection of short stories about the Channel Islands. They start in the stone age, with a mythic creation story; move towards the present day via Romans, Witches, Nazis and Fund Administrators, and then into the distant future, in a story that once again takes on a feeling of the mythic. They are all based in some sort of reality - i.e. There really are supposedly copies of Grande Albert and Petit Albert, Guernsey's most famous grimores, in the Guille Alles Library. Bits I really like: "Bring me the Head of Victor Hugo", about an assassin sent over Guernsey's most famous literary denzin (though naturally, soon to be overtaken by my pa...), "The Conquered" about a crashed Nazi pilot who is held prisoner in an abandoned mine during the Occupation, "Rendezvous", probably a ghost story but pretty regardless, "Colours" because of the sick twist, and the first story about the creation of the islands. Bits I don't like: the fact no one bought it, and therefore he will never actually write the sequel Islands in the Mist - we've never seen eye to eye on this, because if I had another book I wanted to write I'd sit down and put it on paper; whereas he doesn't bother, recognising in advance that no one will publish it. Shame, because I really want to read it, never mind anyone else.
Incidentally, Oscar Wilde says it is the first duty of a father to write stories for his children. And I suppose the "Emily and Alice" stories were that - Alice is my sister. They were great in their own way, aimed at the 8-year-old me. The plot was always broadly the same: Mum, who must represent the rational and safe world, was out or away, and we two plus Dad would get into some vaguely supernatural scrape: Aliens on Liberation day, kitchen antics on Pancake Day (and a sequel, I think with Christmas Puddings), and one about how we saved Christmas. Hmm, I really fancy digging those out again now...
He's just finished his new one, which is still a murder mystery, but the detective is a young boy and there's a supernatural twist. Being set where he grew up, it's also probably a bit more autobiographical than he lets on. I was particularly fond of that one, if for no other reason that his previous six books have got through his sisters, parents and wife, and that this one would be my turn for a dedication. No luck with publishers though.
I've been reading drafts, and I keep being asked how it could be better - the answer is, of course, it couldn't be. I'd sugarcoat any criticisms anyway - but the fact is, writing a good book is the last way to get published, as demonstrated by the amount of crud on the shelves. It's an impossible, frustrating industry. Currently, he's revamping the sci-fi murder mystery, which he wrote in the early 90s and in which he inadvertantly invented the internet. Is it going to be good? Of course. Is it going to be published? Watch this space.
In any case, this was the launch party - and there I was, in a fantastic outfit, mingling with stars I didn't recognise in a brilliantly decorated room like the inside of a gold jewellery box. So there you are, pa. Maybe it's a premonition.
If for no other reason, I was pleased about not dreaming From Hell, which I mentioned yesterday as Alan Moore does Jack the Ripper. It all got fantastically violent last night - every time there's a murder, of course, there's a few panels of gore, but there's time to catch your breath afterwards. The final one, however, went on, and on, and on, five pages, six pages in increasing detail. It was brilliantly effective in spelling out the horror of the situation, especially in contrast with how quickly the former ones were dealt with. It reminded me of a similar sequence in Watchmen, where page after page is...well, I won't spoil it. But you can actually HEAR the silence, and in a comic book that's pretty impressive.
What's happened since I last posted? The main important bits are that Calypso is a BAD INFLUENCE, and if a large amount of cash suddenly vanishes from my account (it'll hurt, but I can probably just about manage it) it's ALL HER FAULT for taking me corset shopping - this is the best collection of pictures which look not-too-whory:
http://www.fairygothmother.co.uk/corsets_with_straps.htm
Naturally, it's all about how you wear it - and there are indeed many ways to add corsetry to your image, without resembling a Victorian brothel ma'am; and during the sale, they've been reduced to ONLY £90 or so.
Hurts, doesn't it? I'm aware that we live in an age where unnecessary things are the only necessities, but I truly cannot justify getting one. They're still lovely to ogle, however (I was also very tempted by this Cylon Number 6 dress, but I don't think I could get away with "red dress" look, at least not in a group who knew me: http://www.fairygothmother.co.uk/ch-20.htm)
While talking Wilde, I couldn't help but think of his wife - who was heavily involved in a woman's group for Victorian costume reform. Every month, they'd put out a paper about women whose ribs had been crushed by tight corsets, or whose skirts had caused them to catch on fire or break bones when they were caught in the wind.
And while talking Wilde, I also got a bunch of white roses for my room. I'm pretending they look great.
Finally, talking Wilde - and parents or people with a sensitive disposition might want to look the other way for this bit - I came across a piece of news which made me shout lots of naughty words, very loud, in the middle of Oxford Street.
I've long been a little rattled by the new Dorian Gray movie on the way, particularly by the inadequate casting of Ben Barnes hearthrob as the titular hero. Granted, he's nice to look at - but his beauty is too 50s American Diner Boy. Nowhere near cruel enough. And I know the conceit is he looks innocent while he's rotten inside, but I mean cruelly good looking, gorgeous in a way that spites the rest of the world for being so dull compared. It should be otherworldly, not like any guy you could meet - no matter how lovely. In comparison, the hair colour change matters less to me. This has grated a little, but in the back of my mind I have always thought "maybe he'll be OK". But he seems like the dream compared to a new piece of information someone unwittingly spilled on Oxford Street.
Lord Henry Wotton. Colin Firth.
I'll pause for that to sink in, not to mention calm myself so I don't say something filthy. What infuriates me most is that I want to make this film, as I see it - heavy with decadance, overwhelmed with colours and experience, a bit like Marie Antoinette only with substance to back up the style - yet with such safe casting as Ben Barnes and Colin Firth, I know it's going to be a staid literary adaptation, not a well directed, edgy piece of intriguing cinema. The story is so detatched from contemporary morality and worldview, that to do it in an OTT, surreal way is the only way. Hyper-real, actually - Dorian's romance with Sybil doesn't work in real world terms. And I'd want to keep the "horrible Jew" line, which is naturally an inconcieveable way to speak for modern viewers; hence, you would have to immerse it in Victoriana. And when drugs, blood and sex got involved, it would be as lurid as a penny dreadful, and as corruptingly OTT as a Social Education video in which but picking up a spliff sends you incurably insane.
What I mean to say about Mr Firth is that you cannot have a dubious, dangerous part like Colin Firth played by someone your mother fancies. And I don't just mean my mother, I mean all mothers. Lord Henry has some great lines, but he's so much more than a quote machine a la Lord Goring, Lord Illingworth or Algy. All three of those are just dandy posers - Lord Goring in particular betrays his genuine depth of feeling for his friend. Lord Henry is more 3D - the pose is part of his personality, not just something to air at dinner parties.
Have a look at this gallery - while I'm getting used to Mr Barnes, Colin Firth's expression is the same smile I've seen him pull a thousand times:
http://benbarnesonline.net/gallery/displayimage.php?album=205&pos=1. Those posters look like the crap as well - blue? Surely sepia...
Oliver Parker, director, certainly looks like he should know what he's doing - he made Importance of Being Earnest and Ideal Husband, both of which Friend 4 hated. I actually liked the former, though it's hardly a great pedigree.
It's not like I'm a change freak - it's quite an uncinematic book, and the climax rolls out in a whole chapter of Dorian thinking to himself. But naturally, I don't care who this Emily Wotton character is and while I maybe understand why she was felt necessary to give the second half of the book some structure, it does not nor can it come to any good. So to not "reveal the ending", the actress tells us Dorian finds her "somewhere she shouldn't". So what you mean is, she finds her way up into the attic at the end then? Presumably after he has genuinely fallen in love with her (she probably takes on an equivalent role to Hetty Merton) and has to do something unpleasant.
Why not at least have made it Gwendolyn, Harry's sister, whose children are not allowed to ride with her any more - she does at least feature in the book. Instead of this, presumed, daughter.
No - the only way to do this is like Marie Antoinette, the Sofia Coppola version. All sights and sounds and senses, with a traditional plot on a backburner. Oh! If only you could see the Dorian Gray I would make...
I wonder if dreams can come true?
Last night, it was me Anne and Jessie, and in a gloruiously mundane detail, we were sitting down in someone's lounge to watch some Doctor Who. Out of the stash of videos, Ribos Operation won - which warmed the cockles of my heart. It's more or less The Sting in space, but I love that episode, it's fantastic - good old Saint Holmes - because you actually genuinely end up caring for the extras. I cried, CRIED in the last episode. For the bad guys. Saint Holmes, incidentally, stands for Robert Holmes. You get so tired of people telling you he's a genius, you forget he really is a genius - he invented the Master, the Sontarans, the Valeyard; while he didn't invent it, he redefined Gallifrey as corrupt and sneaky, and is responsible for phrases like "Eye of Harmony", "Chancellery Guard", "Castellan", "Panopticon", "Prydonian" and "Matrix" which we all use like second nature nowadays. If that wasn't enough, he really knows how to write an episode - they're always rich in background detail (one of the things I loved about Ribos Operation was how real Ribos felt. Throwaway comments gave it an economy, religion, history - all backed up by the lovely set, of course), his extras are always interesting (a valuable skill for a Doctor Who writer; Moffat has this perhaps even better, making them loveable in a line or less e.g. "Proper Dave" and "Other Dave") and his plots, while often nothing new, are so well executed they become the ultimate in that story. As if to prove it, Caves of Androzani and Talons of Weng Chiang always battle it out for the top spot in Doctor Who polls, along with the indomitable Genesis of the Daleks (written by Someone Else).
For the second half of the dream, my mind kind of forgot that it was about "Anne and Jessie" - when I next found them, it was Lauren and Jessie - which obviously makes sense at the time, though now awake I feel guilty my subconscious mind has done what teachers have done for years. The part you will enjoy, however, was I was at a post-book launch party for my dad, Jason Foss - who's a soontobe famous author.
Now my dad isn't quite up to the standard of Saint Holmes yet. He's written, broadly speaking, airport novels - only nobody buys them, presumably on the basis that they're far too well written. In other words, good books, but crap airport novels. The first set - Shadow in the Corn (the New Age one), Byron's Shadow (the Greek one) , Lady in the Lake (The Arthurian one) and Shadesmoor (my memories of this are hazier) - are about Jeffrey Flint, archeologist come private detective. In other words, they're murder mysteries with a historical twist - but the characters are solid, the observations great, and a total absence of cliche. If that's your kind of thing, give them a look up - they can be got all over the internet, although ignore the nutter on Alibris trying to flog his Shadesmoor for £47. It's good, but not that good. Off the top of my head, Lady in the Lake is the one I recommend - but only because the twist regarding the sword is great; and perhaps it would be best to start with Shadow in the Corn, as it's first.
Then there's my two favourites - Blood and Sandles, which in broadly the same template as the former stories, is about a female archaeologist who becomes a historical consultant on a Hollywood epic, and unwitting private detective when there is attempted murder. Now, though I miss Jeffrey Flint - Maddy Crowe is nowhere near as adorable - the movie background obviously appeals to me even more than the historical one does. And the central idea is genius - after a botched assassination at a dinner party, not only has Maddy to work out the killer's identity, she needs to work out who he was trying to kill as well, which gives the whole thing a great paranoid atmosphere after one character after another becomes either suspect or victim. My other favourite, probably harder to aquire, is Islands that Never Were - a collection of short stories about the Channel Islands. They start in the stone age, with a mythic creation story; move towards the present day via Romans, Witches, Nazis and Fund Administrators, and then into the distant future, in a story that once again takes on a feeling of the mythic. They are all based in some sort of reality - i.e. There really are supposedly copies of Grande Albert and Petit Albert, Guernsey's most famous grimores, in the Guille Alles Library. Bits I really like: "Bring me the Head of Victor Hugo", about an assassin sent over Guernsey's most famous literary denzin (though naturally, soon to be overtaken by my pa...), "The Conquered" about a crashed Nazi pilot who is held prisoner in an abandoned mine during the Occupation, "Rendezvous", probably a ghost story but pretty regardless, "Colours" because of the sick twist, and the first story about the creation of the islands. Bits I don't like: the fact no one bought it, and therefore he will never actually write the sequel Islands in the Mist - we've never seen eye to eye on this, because if I had another book I wanted to write I'd sit down and put it on paper; whereas he doesn't bother, recognising in advance that no one will publish it. Shame, because I really want to read it, never mind anyone else.
Incidentally, Oscar Wilde says it is the first duty of a father to write stories for his children. And I suppose the "Emily and Alice" stories were that - Alice is my sister. They were great in their own way, aimed at the 8-year-old me. The plot was always broadly the same: Mum, who must represent the rational and safe world, was out or away, and we two plus Dad would get into some vaguely supernatural scrape: Aliens on Liberation day, kitchen antics on Pancake Day (and a sequel, I think with Christmas Puddings), and one about how we saved Christmas. Hmm, I really fancy digging those out again now...
He's just finished his new one, which is still a murder mystery, but the detective is a young boy and there's a supernatural twist. Being set where he grew up, it's also probably a bit more autobiographical than he lets on. I was particularly fond of that one, if for no other reason that his previous six books have got through his sisters, parents and wife, and that this one would be my turn for a dedication. No luck with publishers though.
I've been reading drafts, and I keep being asked how it could be better - the answer is, of course, it couldn't be. I'd sugarcoat any criticisms anyway - but the fact is, writing a good book is the last way to get published, as demonstrated by the amount of crud on the shelves. It's an impossible, frustrating industry. Currently, he's revamping the sci-fi murder mystery, which he wrote in the early 90s and in which he inadvertantly invented the internet. Is it going to be good? Of course. Is it going to be published? Watch this space.
In any case, this was the launch party - and there I was, in a fantastic outfit, mingling with stars I didn't recognise in a brilliantly decorated room like the inside of a gold jewellery box. So there you are, pa. Maybe it's a premonition.
If for no other reason, I was pleased about not dreaming From Hell, which I mentioned yesterday as Alan Moore does Jack the Ripper. It all got fantastically violent last night - every time there's a murder, of course, there's a few panels of gore, but there's time to catch your breath afterwards. The final one, however, went on, and on, and on, five pages, six pages in increasing detail. It was brilliantly effective in spelling out the horror of the situation, especially in contrast with how quickly the former ones were dealt with. It reminded me of a similar sequence in Watchmen, where page after page is...well, I won't spoil it. But you can actually HEAR the silence, and in a comic book that's pretty impressive.
What's happened since I last posted? The main important bits are that Calypso is a BAD INFLUENCE, and if a large amount of cash suddenly vanishes from my account (it'll hurt, but I can probably just about manage it) it's ALL HER FAULT for taking me corset shopping - this is the best collection of pictures which look not-too-whory:
http://www.fairygothmother.co.uk/corsets_with_straps.htm
Naturally, it's all about how you wear it - and there are indeed many ways to add corsetry to your image, without resembling a Victorian brothel ma'am; and during the sale, they've been reduced to ONLY £90 or so.
Hurts, doesn't it? I'm aware that we live in an age where unnecessary things are the only necessities, but I truly cannot justify getting one. They're still lovely to ogle, however (I was also very tempted by this Cylon Number 6 dress, but I don't think I could get away with "red dress" look, at least not in a group who knew me: http://www.fairygothmother.co.uk/ch-20.htm)
While talking Wilde, I couldn't help but think of his wife - who was heavily involved in a woman's group for Victorian costume reform. Every month, they'd put out a paper about women whose ribs had been crushed by tight corsets, or whose skirts had caused them to catch on fire or break bones when they were caught in the wind.
And while talking Wilde, I also got a bunch of white roses for my room. I'm pretending they look great.
Finally, talking Wilde - and parents or people with a sensitive disposition might want to look the other way for this bit - I came across a piece of news which made me shout lots of naughty words, very loud, in the middle of Oxford Street.
I've long been a little rattled by the new Dorian Gray movie on the way, particularly by the inadequate casting of Ben Barnes hearthrob as the titular hero. Granted, he's nice to look at - but his beauty is too 50s American Diner Boy. Nowhere near cruel enough. And I know the conceit is he looks innocent while he's rotten inside, but I mean cruelly good looking, gorgeous in a way that spites the rest of the world for being so dull compared. It should be otherworldly, not like any guy you could meet - no matter how lovely. In comparison, the hair colour change matters less to me. This has grated a little, but in the back of my mind I have always thought "maybe he'll be OK". But he seems like the dream compared to a new piece of information someone unwittingly spilled on Oxford Street.
Lord Henry Wotton. Colin Firth.
I'll pause for that to sink in, not to mention calm myself so I don't say something filthy. What infuriates me most is that I want to make this film, as I see it - heavy with decadance, overwhelmed with colours and experience, a bit like Marie Antoinette only with substance to back up the style - yet with such safe casting as Ben Barnes and Colin Firth, I know it's going to be a staid literary adaptation, not a well directed, edgy piece of intriguing cinema. The story is so detatched from contemporary morality and worldview, that to do it in an OTT, surreal way is the only way. Hyper-real, actually - Dorian's romance with Sybil doesn't work in real world terms. And I'd want to keep the "horrible Jew" line, which is naturally an inconcieveable way to speak for modern viewers; hence, you would have to immerse it in Victoriana. And when drugs, blood and sex got involved, it would be as lurid as a penny dreadful, and as corruptingly OTT as a Social Education video in which but picking up a spliff sends you incurably insane.
What I mean to say about Mr Firth is that you cannot have a dubious, dangerous part like Colin Firth played by someone your mother fancies. And I don't just mean my mother, I mean all mothers. Lord Henry has some great lines, but he's so much more than a quote machine a la Lord Goring, Lord Illingworth or Algy. All three of those are just dandy posers - Lord Goring in particular betrays his genuine depth of feeling for his friend. Lord Henry is more 3D - the pose is part of his personality, not just something to air at dinner parties.
Have a look at this gallery - while I'm getting used to Mr Barnes, Colin Firth's expression is the same smile I've seen him pull a thousand times:
http://benbarnesonline.net/gallery/displayimage.php?album=205&pos=1. Those posters look like the crap as well - blue? Surely sepia...
Oliver Parker, director, certainly looks like he should know what he's doing - he made Importance of Being Earnest and Ideal Husband, both of which Friend 4 hated. I actually liked the former, though it's hardly a great pedigree.
It's not like I'm a change freak - it's quite an uncinematic book, and the climax rolls out in a whole chapter of Dorian thinking to himself. But naturally, I don't care who this Emily Wotton character is and while I maybe understand why she was felt necessary to give the second half of the book some structure, it does not nor can it come to any good. So to not "reveal the ending", the actress tells us Dorian finds her "somewhere she shouldn't". So what you mean is, she finds her way up into the attic at the end then? Presumably after he has genuinely fallen in love with her (she probably takes on an equivalent role to Hetty Merton) and has to do something unpleasant.
Why not at least have made it Gwendolyn, Harry's sister, whose children are not allowed to ride with her any more - she does at least feature in the book. Instead of this, presumed, daughter.
No - the only way to do this is like Marie Antoinette, the Sofia Coppola version. All sights and sounds and senses, with a traditional plot on a backburner. Oh! If only you could see the Dorian Gray I would make...
03:47 |
Category:
Doctor Who rambles,
dreaming,
literary pretension,
Oscar Wilde,
shopping
|
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