One of my many, many personal Monty Python favourites — the Pope and Michaelangelo:
All text © 2009 Gary William Murning
Movies.
By way of a tribute to John Updike, who died yesterday, an interview from 1995.
All text © 2009 Gary William Murning
Following on from the brawling monks video of a few days ago, a Monty Python clip that I’m fairly sure all of you will be very familiar with. It’s still one of my favourites — makes me laugh every time.
Ah yes. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it, before McCain rolled out the esteemed and intellectually challenged Arnold Schwarzenegger to make up his Rapturous Unholy Trinity? With talk of war heroes and backlashes, he wowed his audience and looked… well… suitably Arnie-ish.
I have no idea how Mr Schwarzenegger’s rhetoric and hyperbole sounds to your average American voter, but I would seriously hope that they find it as unimpressive and hollow as I.
A couple of points that got me shaking my head and sighing:
- Apparently, Mr Obama — with the money he used for television ads — could have bailed out the banks and paid off everyone’s mortgages. This was hyperbole, wasn’t it? He wasn’t really being serious, right? You see, from this side of the pond it’s difficult to be completely certain — but I’m going to assume that he was speaking literally, even though I realise he probably wasn’t, because I can
Obama’s campaign budget was estimated at the beginning of October as being somewhere in the region of $450 million. This was money raised for campaign purposes. The money allocated to television ads would have been a percentage of this. I don’t know the actual figures and it’s irrelevant, anyway. The point is, this money was never intended to be used as an economic crutch — or anything else other than campaign funds. It is preposterous to even suggest (with or without hyperbole) that it could have been used in any other way. Yes, it is rather excessive but, on an interesting side note, back in 2006 Arnold Schwarzenegger’s personal wealth was said to be around the $800 million mark. Hey, Arnie, why don’t you bail out the banks? Jerk. - John McCain was a prisoner of war. D’you know something, I have a deep-seated suspicion of war heroes who use their past exploits in this way. My great-grandfather (who died when I was about eight or nine) fought in the trenches in France during the First World War, and no one in our family knew anything of what he went through during that time — other than the fact that it was so distressing that he chose not to talk about it. Now this isn’t to say, of course, that everyone who talks about what they went through during battle is somehow embroidering the facts. People quite often need to talk, to share, to help others — from friends to historians — understand the reality of the situations in which they found themselves. But to use those memories, the dead colleagues and friends, the suffering… to use them on the campaign trail, to allow fellow campaigners to refer to them, that I’m afraid strikes me as cynical and inherently suspicious. There were many heroes during the Vietnam War, some in the Armed Forces, and some on the steps of the Kent State University. If Mr McCain is a real hero, it may well have served him better to not have used it for possible political gain.
There’s a definite superficiality to McCain’s campaign that seems to be predominating. Whilst I’m no political commentator — and certainly not the obsessive campaign-watcher that some are — it does strike me that this is the fundamental difference between McCain and Obama. Granted, the latter is far from perfect (anyone who chooses to be a politician is by definition imperfect in my book!) but he at least seems to have something like substance.
I may be wrong — but when I hear Schwarzenegger referring to Obama’s “scrawny little arms”, I tend to feel that I’m not.
Hey, Arnie! Another suggestion for you: why don’t you go and beef up your scrawny little brain?
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again:
Jerk.
Okay, I’m not really bitter. I’m actually quite sweet (I’d offer to let you suck me and see, but I’m sure it would be misconstrued by the filthy-minded among us — of which there are many ) I have not a bitter bone in my body. I’m happy for the success of other people, I like to see them get on and make a good life for themselves — and I certainly don’t hate people for succeeding where I have, thus far, failed.
But what in the name of all that’s sacred is this about?!
My own personal impression of this gentleman aside (I think he’s about as funny as a colostomy), this still rubs me up the wrong way. I can’t blame him for biting their hands off, who the hell wouldn’t? And, yes, it’s nothing really new. Publishing has liked celebrity for quite a long time. But as I have said before, these guys probably don’t have longevity where writing (if it can be called that) is concerned. The third book in the three book deal is intended to be “a highly illustrated, lavishly-produced title”, which is probably publisherspeak for “something with which the ‘author’ doesn’t have to be too involved”. This suggests to me quite strongly that they realise this is possibly a short-term scenario, that Mr Pegg is already running out of material.
Which is fine. They’ll make the advance back and possibly a huge chunk of profit to boot, and then move onto the next questionable “big thing”. I don’t really mind except for one thing…
Noncelebrity authors in the current climate — hell, in any climate — seldom command these kind of seven-figure deals. And I don’t just mean first time authors. Many well-established literary figures (and I include genre writers in this) could never dream of demanding such sums, even though they could probably, with the right marketing, achieve equally impressive or even superior sales figures — especially in the long term. They don’t command these figures and, more to the point, the vast majority don’t even come close! I have no solid idea of what the average advance might be, and I certainly don’t want to guess, but I would be surprised if the average, based on writers I know, was even into five figures.
That’s a huge difference. The real “professionals” within the industry, the people who write as a job rather than a sideline, are being well and truly shafted, in my opinion. I don’t think it’s even good enough to say, “Well, yes, but the celebrities guarantee a quick big profit.” It’s true. They do. But let the book prove its worth before throwing ridiculous advances against royalties at celebrity authors. Drop the advances of these books and show a little more commitment to the writers who go down to the coalface every day by upping their advances somewhat.
I mean, for crying out loud, he hasn’t even got a title for his memoir, yet!
It has taken a whole year – but London mayor Boris Johnson has finally got his own back on Arnold Schwarzenegger.
As he was waiting to address last year’s Tory conference via video link, the California Governor seemed highly amused by Mr Johnson’s speaking style.
In a a clip which became a hit on YouTube, he can be heard whispering to aides about Mr Johnson “fumbling”.
But now the London mayor has had the last the laugh, describing “Arnie” as a “monosyllabic Austrian cyborg”.
The perfect way to start a Monday morning. I do, however, think it’s a little early to claim that Boris has had the last laugh. There’s no telling what the monosyllabic Austrian cyborg might do next.
Not to worry, though, I’m sure Boris will be more than a match… as long as it doesn’t get physical…
Death comes to us all. There’s a cheery thought for a Sunday afternoon. The Grim Reaper gives a swing of his sythe and before we know it, that’s that. It’s little use bemoaning or denying the fact, one day — hopefully far into the future — we are all destined to cop it.
So what can we do in the meantime but laugh at the possibility? After all, if you don’t laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, what else is there to do but hope for an afterlife? (And you all know my views on that!)
With this in mind — and in an attempt to lift your spirits after such a depressing opening — I thought I’d share some of my favourite famous last words with you. I’m not sure just how genuine they are and, frankly, I can’t be arsed verifying them (it’s not like they’re going to sue me, now, is it?) So take them with a pinch of salt and bear in mind that I’m sharing them because I believe that if they aren’t true, they bloody well should be!
- “I’ve never felt better.” — Douglas Fairbanks Sr.
- “I’ve had eighteen straight whiskies, I think that’s the record…” — Dylan Thomas.
- “Woe is me. Methinks I’m turning into a god.” — Vespasian, Roman Emperor. (I always find such ambition impressive!)
- “I’d hate to die twice. It’s so boring.” — Richard Feynman. (I couldn’t leave Richard out now, could I?)
- “Damn it . . . Don’t you dare ask God to help me.” — Joan Crawford. (Once a bitch, always a bitch — good luck, God!)
- “I do not have to forgive my enemies. I have had them all shot.” — Ramon Narvaez, 18th-century Spanish politician and general.
- “Tomorrow, I shall no longer be here.” — Nostradamus. (Now why couldn’t he be as clear and concise with the rest of his sodding prophesies!)
And finally…
- “Do you know where I can get any shit?” — Lenny Bruce.
I’m sure it’s nothing new to anyone out there who’s been online for any length of time, but people search for the strangest things. From ways to blow up cars to Elvis Presley reading lights. Today, however, one search term really made me sit up and take notice.
Someone had actually hit my site after searching for…
… “una stubbs upskirt”!
I mean, no disrespect to Una Stubbs, but why would anyone want to look up her skirt? And, perhaps more to the point, who would want to? Cliff Richard reminiscing about the happy times they had whilst filming Summer Holiday, perhaps? Or simply someone with an Aunt Sally fetish?
Whoever it was, they’ll have been disappointed; I’ve searched everywhere and still haven’t been able to find a single upskirt Una Stubbs shot!
I did, however, find a girl called Abby who wanted to sell me her used panties.
I blame the credit crunch.
(And, for the record, no I didn’t!)
Oh, wonderful. Just when villains the world over thought it was safe to go back to the cinema it seems that good old Spidey’s coming back — with the ever-youthful (God, I hate him) Tobey Maguire once again slinging and swinging in the lead role.
Don’t get me wrong. As arachnophobic as I can be, I’m quite fond of Spidey. Okay, so he’s not up there with Batman, and he demands the suspension of a hell of a lot of disbelief (I always feel like I could take him with one hand tied behind my back), but when the boy swings, he really swings — and there’s a lot to be said for that.
Another two films on top of the three that have already been made, though? That just seems to be pushing it, from where I’m sitting. But then, that’s Hollywood. Like a three-year-old that gets a laugh, it continues to do more of the same, only bigger — little guessing that less is more.
That said, I suppose the $2.5 billion grossed by the first three films must make it pretty bloody tempting.
I wonder if they’re looking for a writer…
“Now and Forever comprises two novellas, one new, the other a reworking of old material. Somewhere a Band is Playing, is the first, a fantasy of classic Bradbury hue that begins with a young man arriving by train at a small town. There, beneath the old-fashioned, cosy exterior, something very strange is going on. The tale becomes a meditation on writing, inspiration, ageing and change, all deep themes lightly handled, both elegiac and suspenseful. “Some stories … are written as a result of a single, immediate, clear impulse. Others ricochet off various events over a lifetime and come together much later to make a whole,” Bradbury says in his introduction, and lists his sources: the year he spent as a child in Tucson, Arizona; his admiration for Katharine Hepburn; Jerry Goldsmith’s music for The Wind and the Lion. Interesting, yes, but it does not explain how Bradbury has worked his magic to produce such a strange and lovely story.”
Definitely one that will be going on my list. Bradbury is one of those authors who manages to make prose sound like poetry. Wonderful.
