Here’s a cute cartoon: Moral Orel learns about the book of Geniusis. I hadn’t seen this series before, but it’s much, much better than the preachy Davey and Goliath shows I remember seeing all the time as a kid (which I have just learned was of Lutheran origin. Figures. It was so darned bland.)
That was a sigh of contentment. I went off to see the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie with very low expectations—like the last one, I expected an extremely muddled plot, lots of random noise that didn’t carry the story forward, and many places where the movie could have been edited down a bit. I was right! But it also had wonderful naval battles, glorious swashbuckling, and finally, the lady lead acquired a bit of ferocity. I just sank down in my seat and savored the unabashed piratey goodness and didn’t worry about the details, and all was well.
Except for one thing: finding my favorite character washed up dead on a beach in an early scene in the movie was very disappointing. I wiped away a tear and just imagined that she’d left behind a swarm of progeny that were flourishing off-screen.
Dr Joan Bushwell makes a find: Mitch Benn’s rock anthem to Richard Dawkins. It is most excellent party music.
James Kakalios gets to use the latest Spider-Man movie as an excuse to explain the physics of granular materials in the New York Times. Good thing they didn’t ask a biologist about Sandman … all I could think about was that there was no way a loose aggregate of coarse sand would be able to mimic the function of the human brain, which is built upon the sub-micron-scale specific organization of diverse molecules. I would be such a wet blanket.
No, wait, I did think of another thing: could you incapacitate Sandman by dumping your cat’s litterbox on him? I’d think he’d go running off to do some emergency particle segregation right away.
I will say that the Sandman special effects were the best part of the movie. The rest — plot, acting, dialogue — eh, not so much.
Rumor has it that Hammer Films might be coming back—I don’t know if this is good news or not. I love the old movies and have a stack of their DVDs right next to me, but all the money in horror movies seems to be in ghastly 1½ hour extended torture scenes, like the hideous Hostel and unwatchable Saw series. Let’s hope they don’t taint the brand by putting some hack like Rob Zombie to churn out seedy, misogynistic squish-and-splatter flicks.
We have some musical talent among our readers. I was sent lyrics and a link to …
BRAINY PRIMATE BLUES words and music by Bruce Woollatt
Sometimes I wonder why
we ever left Olduvai.
It’s a mystery to me
why we didn’t stay in the trees.
Well a million years ago we should have thought the whole thing through
’cause a million years have gone and we’ve got those Brainy Primate Blues.
Listen to Brainy Primate Blues here.
Remember: tonight, 8 PM EST, it’s Richard Dawkins vs. Bill O’Reilly. It could be a disaster, it could be a triumph, it could be a comedy. I’m hoping I’ll be back at home in time to catch it.
Michael Alan Nelson, writer for the Fall of Cthulhu comics from Boom! Studios, sent me a couple of copies of the comic today, for some dark, mysterious reason. For a little context to this page, the two heroes have just witnessed a horrible suicide, and are going through the dead person’s effects and computer files to try and figure out why he blew his brains out.
Abject fan of the old Hammer Horror movies that I am, I was thrilled to see this bit from the 1959 version of The Mummy. Our hero, John Banning (played by the always wonderful Peter Cushing), has gone to the home of the suspected villain, Mehemet Bey (George Pastell), to see if this recent arrival from Egypt is the person who dispatched the Mummy (Christopher Lee) to kill his father and uncle, and attempt to kill him. The way he chooses to probe for clues is to talk to Bey about … religion. And by golly, he sounds just like me. Bey gives the usual theistic excuses: but people are devoted to him! You just can’t comprehend the god! You don’t know anything about him! And then come the threats. It’s very familiar.
Obviously, the apologist for religion turns out to be the murderous master of the Mummy. The rest of the movie involves a beautiful young woman who is the spittin’ image of the dead Egyptian priestess the Mummy loved, slow motion chases through a swamp (they at least set it up early that the hero is partially lame, so it almost makes sense that the lumbering Lee and limping Cushing are in a fair race), and big guns.
While Cushing’s sneering dismissal of foolish religion does remind me of me, I’m pleased to say that none of my critics have yet managed to reanimate a dead guy and send his plodding corpse my way. They’re welcome to try, and mummies are especially welcome—they never seem to be particularly effective, you know.
