Cro-Magnon (2010) - audiobook review

I really could kick my teenage-self for not realising our interest in history while he still had the chance to make a lifelong commitment to it. Instead, he was obsessed with movies, to the point that trying to become a big Hollywood film director/screenwriter seemed like a viable option. Sigh. But, now that I’m in my 40s, I’ve finally figured out what I have a workable interest in. To be fair, what with having an intense psychological aversion to obligation, I probably would have messed-up learning history as a proper educational pursuit anyway. I’m enjoying it now because, well, I don’t have to.

My theory is that I enjoy listening to history audiobooks so much because it makes for great escapism. Not just from the hustle and bustle of modern life, as life has always had a hustle and bustle element to it, but because I’m hearing about a time before I was even born. You know, before things got overly-complicated. It’s entertaining because it doesn’t involve me. Specifically, I’ve found antiquity and prehistory particularly compelling. I suppose it’s similar to why westerners find the east so fascinating, and visa versa: because, relatively speaking, it all appears so different to their own lives. The truth is, of course, that life tens of thousands of years ago was just as much a pain in the arse as it is now, but at least there was more of a threat of you dying a physical death back then, rather than a modern psychological death. That’s what I live in fear of the most: having a complete breakdown due to being cornered by our coldly bureaucratic society.

Physical duress brings people together, mental duress tears them apart.

I first came across Professor Brian Fagan through The Great Courses AKA The Teaching Company, with his series of lectures on human prehistory (although he also covers the first civilisations, rather confusingly). On tape, he sounds like what came out nine months later after Brian Blessed and Simon Callow had a wild night together, which is no bad thing. You’re imagining that union now, aren’t you? Yeah! So much hair. Anyway, this fictitious union has given us a gruff, loud, and beguiling orator, who is often so enthusiastic about his subject that he trips over his own words. It’s actually a little annoying at first, but you forgive him after awhile, once you realise it’s probably more of an age-related thing (he has professional anecdotes that reach back to the 1960s).

It happens to the best of us.

But this review isn’t about Fagan’s lectures, it’s about his written word, which I found myself enjoying very much. You know you’re reading a good book when you find yourself on the last chapter without any time seeming to have passed at all. I mean, I only bought this audiobook last week, thinking I’d dip in and out of it occasionally over a year or so, but I’ve just finished it. Marvellous!

I did wonder, before starting, how one goes about filling a whole book about a people who didn’t build lasting structures or governments or write anything down. A people we only know about through the bones, tools, and cave paintings they left behind. Fagan fills some of the page length/audio runtime with fictional accounts of prehistoric life, which feel somewhat presumptuous at times. These passages are written in present tense, so they read like excerpts of a screenplay. Perhaps Fagan has aspirations, as I once did, to work in Hollywood. Who knows. Still, these moments are meant to bring the prehistoric world to life in your mind, and they do just that!

A good third of the book is actually devoted to Neanderthals, a human side-project living alongside Cro-Magnons that tragically went extinct, and an attempt to dispel the common belief that they were merely club-thumping brutes. While there isn’t a great deal of evidence to the contrary, you can’t help but admire Fagan’s attempts. No doubt, had they survived into the modern age, Neanderthals most certainly would have been enslaved by us, so extinction was probably the best outcome for them.

I was relieved that Cro-Magnon doesn’t dwell on survivalism too much, although that is a necessary part of the goings on. Reminding a modern reader/listener of how utterly useless they are is somewhat morale-beating, I must say. But, hey, our survival skills for living in the modern world are fine, just so long as you don’t drop us onto a frozen tundra twenty-thousand years in the past. After all, who’s to say my tasted sourdough slices w/ grated parmesan isn’t as difficult to prepare as wild horse hide?!

I found Fagan does repeat himself a few times, which are moments the editor probably should have caught and bundled together. I guess you could argue that he’s restating facts to help the reader/listener remember better, but I think it’s really just sloppiness. This is, however, a ten hour audiobook about people migrating with deer, making tools to kill and butcher the deer, and fashioning clothes out of the deer, so repeating oneself is inevitable and forgivable. His decision to provide conversion rates for weights and measures gets rather tiresome though (just like my “reader/listener” bits here), and often brings the drive of the narrative to a complete halt. We can figure out the amount of kilometres to the mile ourselves, dear boy, so don’t worry!

I was expecting to get bored of the chapters devoted to French cave paintings, but imagining those prehistoric people huddled together in the dark for warmth was actually quite cosy. Plus, as a devoted nerd, it did all remind me of the Mines of Moria to a certain extent. Enough to keep me interested, that is.

While there are no startling revelations within these pages/minutes, you will be made privy to some fun facts, such as sucking the marrow out of a bone being the prehistoric equivalent to popping into the supermarket for a pack of sandwiches; that the eyed needle was invented so far back; and that ambush/bottleneck tactics were as important as weapons for killing large game. It’s just a shame that, in the last chapter, we are reminded that the human race eventually invented work-work, which would obviously lead to junk mail and gas service inspections and 24-hour news coverage.

A bleak end indeed.

I wonder what would have been my skill, had I been born so long ago. I’m as practical as a potted plant and as physical as a glacier, so I’d have probably just sat in a tree waiting to die. One could say that this is pretty much what I’m doing now, only the tree is a block of flats and the frozen tundra South Yorkshire. I guess I could have been a cave painter, but my nyctalopia would have made that pretty difficult. And my claustrophobia. My agoraphobia would have made carving geoglyphs tricky too.

Good grief.

So, yes, if you want to get away from it all by diving into the rich pool of human history, then give Cro-Magnon a whirl in whatever format suits you best! The reader of this audiobook, James Langton, is an endearingly-gentle listen, reminding me of Simon Vance, although his throat does do this annoying clicking/popping thing which, once you notice it, will drive you mad.

I probably shouldn’t have drawn attention to it.

Sorry.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Intermission

I was going to call it a “hiatus”, but I’m so fed up of hearing that term used by bickering rock bands.

Anyway, due to my anxiety and depression sadly getting the better of me, I and my doctor agreed it’d be a good idea for me to go back on antidepressants (after a year-long break from them). The initial side effects of taking such medication again, along with the new-ish headspace they’ll put me in, means I’m grabbing hold of only cultural stuff that’s familiar to me for comfort, so I’m not experiencing anything worth writing about.

So, yeah, you might not see any new posts for awhile. I’m even about to go up a dose, so that should further affect me for a while. But, hey, who knows! My mental state, on a good day, is as changeable as British weather. That’s why we bitch about it so much.

Never fear, I’m still pottering about and eagerly ready to pounce on any opportunities to write. It’s just that the will, inspiration, motivation, and courage to do so is rather lacking right now.  At least the meds are reducing the length of my harmful drinking binges, which has been very noticeable.

I dunno, there’s a chance I’ll delete this post tomorrow and get cracking on some new articles, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it.

Drama, drama, drama!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!  

[story corner]

SEBASTIAN AND DANIEL

A semi-autobiographical LGBT coming-of-age story about a pair of social outcasts who find peace within each other’s company. May contain uncompromising real-world situations.

CHAPTER THREE

Glaciologists and seismologists now agree, with approximate certainty, that the tsunami approaching the English east coast city of Bradbury Gate had been triggered by the breaching of a mountain range-sized ice dam in Norway. This breach, caused by global warming, allowed a hitherto undiscovered lake, rising thousands of feet above sea level, to spill into the otherwise-calm North Sea.

The author is informing the reader of these events at the outset of this chapter, as, from the perspective of history, the hows and whys of the catastrophe now wane in comparison to those that succeeded it. Looking back, our sensitive protagonist, Sebastian, often wondered what he would have done without the flood, even though he lost everything and everyone in his life up until that point.

The first he and his classmates at Archampton District Secondary School knew of the destructive wave, about to devastate their lives, was the tremor. Perhaps, if they had been closer to the source, they would have experienced an almighty earthquake; but, for the population of the already-struggling school, it just felt like a heavy goods vehicle rolling past the grounds.

The most accurate estimate now, is that the meltwater pulse travelled across from one side of the sea to the other in approximately half-an-hour.

And it was unstoppable.

What eventually collided with the educational building Sebastian sat in, was not so much a wave as a creeping pool of saltwater. It ebbed, at first unnoticed, through the main gate and under the playground fence and the sports ground hedge. Once attention had been drawn to it, everybody just thought a mains pipe or water tank had burst; but, as the flood began entering the main building, showing no signs of stopping, panic broke out.

Students and teachers alike climbed onto their chairs, forgetting previous disputes whilst they aided one another. As the water level rose higher and higher, as did the school population up one level onto their desks and workbenches. Then, with an almighty crash, the windows gave way to the pressure, and sheets of razor-sharp glass sliced into Sebastian’s classroom, cutting his water-treading classmates to bloodied ribbons.

As Sebastian began to drift uncontrollably out of the room, he remembered the boy he had seen studying alone in the room next door. He was an older lad, of about exam-age. An intense sort. Brooding. Pouting. With a fridge of dark-brown hair partially obscuring the right side of his olive-skinned features. He was possibly named “Martin”, but Sebastian had been too shy to ask around for confirmation. It was the same boy who had smiled at Sebastian once, as the two passed in the corridor three weeks, five hours, and twenty-six minutes ago.

Sebastian decided that Martin, if indeed that was his name, would not be allowed to drown.

As the uncertainly-shifting current began to pull Sebastian away from Martin’s room, he reached out and clasped the door handle, pulling it down and opening the door as he pushed away from the opposite wall with his feet. Anxiously surveying the bare room, he spotted Martin in the far corner, pinned against a bookcase by a mass of floating desks and chairs. Sebastian swam through the swamp of textbooks and unmarked schoolwork, receiving numerous paper cuts as he went, until he was able to start pulling furniture away from the other pupil’s body.

As the rescue attempt continued, so did the rising height of the water. Eventually, the window and door frames were almost totally submerged, blocking any easy escape.

Martin reached out and wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s shoulders, a look of terror in his grey eyes. Or were they brown? Sebastian had never gotten a proper look. Regardless, Martin was clearly unable to swim. Sebastian kept hold of him and kicked his own legs until the two boys reached the row of broken windows, but, by then, the water level was too high and the jagged shards of broken glass hanging down from the pane offered an impenetrable and deadly obstacle.

As the ceiling and certain death grimly approached, the two boys suddenly felt a wave of calm acceptance wash over them. They looked into each other’s eyes and, for their last few seconds of life, smiled, knowing they were not about to die alone.

“Do you want to copy mine?” Came a voice from out of sight.

Sebastian found himself unceremoniously pulled back into reality from his routine mathematics lesson daydream.

He turned to the owner of the voice sat next to him, a boy who laughingly referred to himself as Sebastian’s friend, and shook his head.

“No, it’s okay.” Said Sebastian, looking down at his workbook for the first time in five minutes. “I think I’ve got it.”

His “friend”, Gavin, then punched Sebastian hard on the upper arm.

“Stop drifting off, twat-face.” He said, smiling menacingly.

Sebastian had amounted quite a collection of bruises on his arm, thanks to Gavin’s unique style of platonic communication. The boy, donning spiky blond hair and a perpetual smirk, knew where to strike so as not to draw attention to his friendly assaults. Sebastian grimly wondered whether Gavin had learned this trick from a parent.

“I won’t.” Sebastian said, hoping passivity would placate his assailant.

Punch.

“That’s for if you forget.” Said Gavin, turning back to his own maths workbook.

There was a sudden clip-clop of heels, then a shadow fell upon the desk in front of Sebastian.

“Did you wander off again, Finch?!” Said his teacher, Missus Bracken, a woman who always appeared to be shrouded in a monochrome veil of dourness. Her crow-like features were perfectly rounded-off by a cardigan she wore over her shoulders, like one would sport a cape.

“Sorry, miss.” Said Sebastian, shifting his workbook to cover his absentminded doodlings below.

The teacher picked up his workbook and dropped it onto Gavin’s side of the twin desk. With a perplexed grimace, the woman shuffled through Sebastian’s amateurish drawings. The first was of a tree by a river; the next was of a human eye; the third was of a man being crushed by a car, with red pen used to represent a geyser of blood; and the final was apparently Sebastian’s attempt at the poster for a fictitious movie he had titled “Pontoon Railway”, which was “Coming Soon!”. The imagery on this mock-poster featured a great wave about to devour a familiar municipal building.

“They’re for art class.” Said Sebastian, his heart pounding.

Gavin cackled and surreptitiously kicked his desk-mate carefully out of the authoritarian’s vision.

“It’s not, miss!” He said, spitefully shoving Sebastian’s workbook back to where it belonged. “He’s not been working.”

Sebastian’s gaze fell down to his fidgeting hands.

“I’ll show them to your form tutor.” Said Missus Bracken. “And you’ll sit with me for detention at three-fifteen, do you understand?!”

“Yes, miss.” Said Sebastian, compliant as he always felt it best to be.

Missus Bracken stalked back off in direction of the windows, where she would look out at the playground for misbehaving pupils. This was one of her favourite pastimes, as it meant she had the opportunity to shout at somebody.

Punch.

“Ow!” Said Sebastian, tears forming in his eyes.

It had been a particularly vicious strike, that ha dug into an already-blackened patch of skin.

“That’s for wasting Missus Bracken’s time!” Said Gavin, continuing his malevolent cackle.

The surrounding pupils had begun paying attention to the minor drama at the back of the classroom, cooing sarcastically in chorus at Sebastian’s extracurricular sentencing.

Although deep down he knew he would reconsider once a cooler head prevailed, Sebastian decided that this would be his last day of miserable, painful, humiliating attendance.

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Jason X (2001) - film review

What is one to say?

Yes, indeed.

What?!

Critters 4 can be forgiven for being set in outer space, as that series always did have a science fiction bent to it. But Friday the 13th?! I can only imagine fans of the franchise and slasher movies in general were greatly upset with Jason X. But, hey, where else do you go with the “story” of Jason Voorhees? After stalking a small town, stalking a small town, stalking a small town, stalking a small town, stalking a small town, stalking a small town, stalking a small town, stalking a cruise ship, and stalking a small town, the producers at New Line Cinema decided it was time for a change. So, I guess, where else do you go but up?!

Welcome to my review for Jason… in Spaaace!

It was actually a nice treat to end on this one, as I am a confirmed sci-fi movie geek through-and-through. I’m not great with science fiction on the written page, where it tends to be quite dry, but most of my favourite films are to be found in said genre. While I faintly wept for heartbroken horror nerds everywhere, I chuckled wryly to myself as I thoroughly enjoyed this strange cross-between Aliens and Star Trek.

The plot is as predictable as you can imagine, once you’re told the above “Jason in Space” meta-title. The hulking, immortal mass-murderer is cryogenically frozen, after killing a bunch of scientists nobody thought to check up on when they failed to return home at night. Oh well, let’s just ignore that massive plot hole, shall we? Unfrozen in the future, on a massive spaceship, Jason proceeds to, well, do what he’s always done. Only this time… in spaaace!

Good grief.

I’ll be keeping the Jason X disc to one side for future guilty-pleasure viewing, as it is sci-fi action pornography at its most gloriously-average. The cast is trying way harder than they should. The crew is also trying way harder than they should. And the screenwriter… erm… thought they were clever as all hell. You know a film’s dialogue is bad, when you quite reasonably say to yourself: ”Wow, this sounds like the sort of thing I would write!”.

And not in a good way.

But everyone involved seems to be having a blast, so there’s a great spirit to the silly goings on. Characters even get dispatched simply because they frustratingly stop for a casual one-liner. Oh and this means you’ll also find yourself shouting: “Just go!” at the screen quite a few times. It’s like nothing matters and they’re all just glad to be involved. Which is nice. But weird.

On the downside, the law of diminishing returns sets in from the first scene. We know Jason can’t be killed, so why should we be interested in people trying to kill him? He’s just gonna get up and keep going. Over and over and over again. Sigh. I definitely started to glaze over once characters began running around like kids in a fairground haunted house. But, alas, I was charmed by the film’s overall good-naturedness, the genuine camaraderie between our heroes, and the surprisingly-solid production design and set-pieces.

The film also manages to be titillating without resorting to sexual violence, or the threat thereof. Well, unless you count the clever holodeck recreation of Crystal Lake and its topless denizens. I think many cinema goers were relieved once a new generation of screenwriters took over b-movies in general and found better ways to offer up gratuitous nudity. You know, without the actors and viewers and everyone feeling uncomfortable. Saying that, there was one awkward sex scene where a character is called both a “naughty little boy” and “daddy” in the heat of passion. If you’re going to role-play, at least get your fantasy straight!

Just shoddy writing.

I’m sure, to keen-eyed viewers, the special effects are terrible, but they looked fine to me. Thanks to the even sci-fi lighting setups, I was actually able to see some of the kills this time. FYI my favourite was the one where a woman gets her head frozen in carbonite and shattered into a million pieces. If you move things into the future, you better have futuristic deaths! The spunky fembot is a highlight too, as is her upgraded-self’s cocky showdown with Jason.

Jason X provided me with the most fun I’ve had this entire series, which has been something of a miserable slog. This tenth instalment is big, dumb, loud, and lots of fun. It also proves that David Cronenberg is a jolly good sport. Now I can sit back and be glad I’m finally free of Friday the 13th! And, no, I won’t be doing Freddy vs. Jason, which I consider a spin-off, kinda like Alien Resurrection.

I hope y’all have a fun Halloween! I’m not into it myself (what with being dead inside), but I certainly don’t besmirch others for getting involved.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!