There's nothing quite like being terrified by a nonchalant conversation about nuclear waste.
This happened earlier whilst driving back from my local generic supermarket. Apparently there's enough nuclear waste in the UK to fill four Wembley stadia (because Radio 4 aren't quite pretentious enough not to just say stadium) and a small percent is hugely radioactive still. What fun, eh? I was sitting there and could not help but feel terrified about living in a future where there's millions of tonnes of this glowing shit buried under the earth, no doubt right next to an ancient Indian burial ground. Then the zombie's will come and try to eat us all. But we'll be able to see the glowing undead which will help the revolution.
I don't want to live in a world where there's a potential for my sons to become Radioactive Man. Or Fallout Boy for that matter. Some people have even suggested firing it into the sun. Well, that just creates super villains. I know, I've seen Superman IV and the only thing that I got from that film is that if anything all the copies should should be fired into the methane lakes of Titan. The sun would be too good for them.
As it happens, I've been a bit taken in by the Man of Steel lately. It might have something to do with the fact that the story of the attempt to get Superman back on the big screen in the mid 90's has resurfaced online. It's a fascinating story involving Kevin Smith, (speaker, smoker and occasional film maker) who wrote a great script, which you can read online, and also involved several Hollywood nutters.
One in particular called Jon Peters, demanded that Smith wrote a script in which Superman doesn't fly, doesn't wear his costume and fights a giant robot spider.
Lets face it, nothing ruins a Superman film like one where he wears his costume and flies. I mean, what the fuck were they thinking? The fact that Smith manages to work all that shit in and still make a feasible story is testament to him.
I don't know why I've been getting into the Superman story lately There is, of course, the new Superman film coming out before long so maybe I've been suckered in by the amazing subliminal advertising. It is a possibility, I've been easily led by advertising in the past. Once I was singing to my son to get him to sleep whilst watching TV, and a car advert came on.
I actually sang the words 'Twinkle Twinkle little car' and bought a new Lexus two days later.
But anyway, Superman. I watched Superman Returns the other day and loved it. I fear I may lose any geek points I may have for admitting this, but I did. I thought it was beautifully shot and I thought that Brandon Routh was a brilliant Kal-El. Yeah, Kate Bosworth was miscast as Lois and the kid was a misstep but when Superman was in action it was a joy to behold.
Of course it doesn't help that he wears pants on the outside. It was much worse with Christopher Reeve, the pants were MASSIVE.
They were MASSIVE RED PANTS.
I know it's been the main joke for nearly seventy five years but what the hell is that about? Is that Kryptonian fashion? Why didn't his Dad tell him before he sent him to earth?
I will leave you with an exclusive extract from the original script that was edited for time at the last minute. You can find the full script online.
Live as one of them, Kal-El, to discover where your strength and your power are needed. Always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you... my only son. But you'll have wear massive red granny pants over a powder-blue leotard in order to be their saviour. I saw all the kids outside our local Tesco wearing it, so I'm sure that no-one will question it. But, just in case, I've given you my banana-coloured belt to hold up the massive pants. You can't possibly fail. Make sure you wear the red cape as well, just to finish the look. If anyone questions what your wearing, just punch them into the sun.
Wednesday, 16 January 2013
I rediscovered the apple trailer website the other day and have got slightly obsessed with watching HD trailers.
Previously I'd been using computers that would would take a day and a night to load up so watching any videos would involve a long waiting time or deleting a lot of programmes in order to free up space.
It's not like I ever used Word for anything important...
One of the trailers I watched was for the latest Die Hard film, the fifth, if you're counting. This time, John McClaine is out in Russia to help his son, who, judging by the trailer, is leading the sort of life that seems to scream out 'father abandonment issues'. By that, I mean he's just doing what McClaine Sr did for twenty years, just on an international scale and his soul shouting "LOVE ME DADDY" whilst snapping a terrorist neck. There's one scene at the end of the trailer that just made me laugh and lose all hope for the film.
Basically they take out a helicopter and fall out a window parallel to a helicopter they've just destroyed that is about to hit the deck and explodes ten times on the way down. They fall for what appears to be two minutes. Bill and Ted had a shorter journey to hell.
It's just fucking stupid.
But on one hand its a nice father/son bonding event for the McClaines.
Watching this however did get me thinking. The Boy started school this week and it seems like the time is just flying by. Soon I'll have to start thinking about our own bonding routines (not only for him but the new boy as well) I don't think that we're going to end up in Russia and take down an attack helicopter anytime in the next ten years, but there might be moments when we'll end up doing "male bonding" things.
By man things of course I mean the institutionalized gender stereotypical "man" things including (but not limited to) car maintenance, camping out and not asking for directions when we're so clearly lost and desperately in need of help.
This worries me. As few may know, I'm not the biggest example of Alpha male that has ever graced God's green earth. I haven't got a football team I really support among other things and I don't like the ever-fun pastime of parking a car, opening the bonnet (or hood as the films tell me) and staring at an engine that's not running. Or running. Either way I couldn't give a tiny monkey shit what that piece of welded metal is doing. As long as it can get me back and fore to work I will respect it, I just don't want to stare at it in the hope that it will offer me some sort of sexual gratification, as many petrol heads seem to be thinking whilst gazing into the twinkly tips of their gleaming spark plugs. If indeed spark plugs gleam. Do they just spark? I have no idea. I'm not James May.
I do worry that I will somehow inexplicably find myself stuck in a situation where I have to defeat some other boys' father by throwing something really far, or answer questions about hammers. I worry about letting them down in front of their friends. But then the fun will be finding out if the boys are going to be sporty, geeky, arty or all of the above.
I have a feeling that they're going to like Star Wars, no matter what they turn out like. I'm looking forward to the first time I watch it with them. They're going to want a lightsabre, everyone wants a lightsabre. I already have one.
I know it'll be fine. I just hope they find adequate guidance from me and not expect a dad can kill helicopters and survive a 100 foot fall and have a snappy quip at then end of it.