Net Futures

“Why are you doing it?

How much better can you eat?

What could you buy that you can't already afford?”

“The future, Mr. Gittes! The future!”

 - Chinatown, 1974

I was just wondering about the future of the internet in this country, the United Kingdom of England Wales Scotland & Northern Ireland, since we do appear to be going through a time of awkward, clumsy, embarrassing change.

My general feelings are, that in order for the government to create its sterile vision of the web, it’ll need to block all social media. That uncouth medium is the government’s real problem. It would really like to try and divide it all, down the middle, between adults and children, but I doubt that’ll be 100% effective (“Hey, dad, I wanna watch porn, can you scan your face for me?” “Sure, son!”). Social media, as worthless for socialising as it is nowadays, will just have to go. Leaving only companies and organisations that the government approves of adding/uploading content.

No regular citizen input whatsoever.

Whilst I am certainly no expert in business or sociology, I believe this may have a knock-on effect of general foreign websites blocking UK users in retaliation. This has already started to happen. It may also mean that UK citizens will have no more need for much of the internet-friendly technology they have become accustomed to. There will just be a basic laptop per household, on which to do the weekly grocery shop and book holidays on. Information technology corporations will not like this whatsoever. Given that corporations have a major influence on who’s in power, this will cause political problems and possibly lead to the UK devolving into an isolated state.

How this will affect our economy, I do not know.

Remember the panic over ID theft years ago? Our “responsible” government told us not to divulge personal details or official documentation to anyone. Now that same government is falling over themselves to instruct us to behave in the opposite way. Nothing has changed, of course, but people are making money from our identities being passed around like the last good spliff at a music festival.

Sell, sell, sell.

One solution could be, that the government turns its back and pretends that the last ten years or so haven’t happened, allowing the internet to return to its early “wild west” days, with little-to-no government moderation. Or it could make major changes to the laws governing social interaction in general. Or it could go down the IT-sterilisation route and annoy and alienate and bore 70 million UK citizens.

I dunno.

I’ve been thinking about all of this in my position as a shy, awkward, lonely nerd. The sort of person who now only finds deeper loneliness within an internet designed to help people like me meet friends, have a casual laugh, and maybe find love. Thanks to easily accessible wifi, smartphones, and monetisation, all the people that social media was invented to get away from have now piled onboard and taken over.

The emptiness is deafening, but here’s the real core of the problem…

…children are not responsible or mature enough to own smartphones. End of story. It’s like putting a loaded gun in their hands. Instead, the government should issue them with a “brick” with numbers on it, that merely sends and receives phone calls and text messages. The government should also have an amnesty for current child-owned smartphones, offering cash compensation. Parents should then face penalties should they sneak smartphones back into their offsprings’ possession, and the government should apologise for not dealing with this growing problem sooner.

Saying all of this, I grimly suspect the whole IT-sterilisation route will continue to be taken, much to our dissatisfaction and suffering.

So, yeah, something for UK citizens to look forward to!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles! 

Subtitles OFF: Dekalog - Jeden i Dwa

PROLOGUE

In the 1990s, Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colours Trilogy was, to film studies students, what William Shakespeare was to secondary school kids. Basically, a big, fucking pain-in-the-arse. Not that those films or Shakespeare are bad, of course, it’s just that they’re things you need to be in the right mood for in order to experience them joyfully, rather than have them be assigned to you as work. Being a contrarian prick, I would declare back then that I preferred Kieslowski’s Dekalog miniseries, even though I’d probably only seen a couple of episodes on television.

If you can believe it, I had the same lack of friends back then as I do now.

Thirty years after maybe seeing some of it, most likely on BBC2 or Channel 4, I’ve bought the boxset, which had to come from the kind people of Germany, and am now sitting down to give it its due. Being from Germany, this copy has no English dub or subtitles, only the original Polish audio track and a German dub. Neither of these languages I can speak, which is why I decided to make this a “Subtitles OFF” post.

So, can a visually impaired idiot (me) figure out what’s going on throughout a 10-episode drama miniseries, using only context, the language of cinema, and human empathy as tools?! Well, let’s take a deep Eastern European breath and find out, two episodes at a time…

JEDEN 

If Shelley Duvall is ever reincarnated as a cute little Polish boy, then surely it would be in the form of Jeden’s “Pavel”. He is simply adorable, and definitely the rival of Cinema Paradiso’s “Toto” for the coveted title of: “Cutest Kid Ever”.

Anyway, I believe Jeden tells the dystopian nightmare of a university professor home schooling his precocious son in relative-isolation, as democracy outside crumbles and threatens to intrude on their peaceful coexistence. I think there’s even a shot of a pile of books burning in the street, which is the ultimate sign that liberty has died in your country. The intelligentsia are rounded up, including little Pavel, so the boy’s father goes on the run, eventually destroying an icon of the new regime.

Right, let’s look up the actual premise and see how well I did…

One second…

Ah, I did not do well at all! This is a debate about logic and theology, questioning what has to happen to an atheist in order for them to turn to religion. There is no breakdown of civil rights, and there is a simple, yet tragic, explanation for Pavel disappearing. Oh well, maybe next time I’ll get it right. Hmm, perhaps I should also write the version of the story I incorrectly perceived. Erm, a legally-distinguishable one, that is.

I did like the brutalist style of the mammoth visuals, with me feeling as though I could literally climb up the screen. See? You don’t need IMAX to create a sense of epic scale. Zbigniew Preisner’s icy score reminds me of Elliot Goldenthal’s work, the latter being one of my favourite film composers. 

I was going to go on a rant about how my own country is fast becoming a digital dystopia itself, with the government now having access to my phones, my face needing to be scanned by robots to prove my identity, and my liberal words here surely soon to be “burned”, but that whole subject is now completely redundant, given that I read Jeden’s story all wrong.

I believe that last paragraph falls under the heading: “Having your cake and eating it”.

Whatever… onwards!

DWA

In a time when smoking in medical institutions was deemed acceptable…

Golly, Mr Kieslowski did not make this easy for me! It’s almost as if watching a dialogue-heavy foreign miniseries without an English translation and attempting to review it is a terrible, terrible, terrible idea. But, hey, I’m in too deep now. And you, patient reader, know too much.

The general vibe I got from Dwa, is that it’s about a doctor, played by the striking Krystyna Janda, who offers to relieve a terminally-ill patient’s agony with a large jar of, I assume, strong anaesthetic.

He chooses not to consume it.

The doctor, “Dorota”, confides in another doctor, possibly also her brother or ex-lover or kung-fu sparring buddy, about the assisted suicide. This second doctor, whom I shall henceforth refer to as: “Polish Sean Connery”, seeks further guidance on the matter. Dorota’s ethical crisis leads to her chain-smoking and drinking heavily, to the point of becoming almost catatonic.

I’ve been there. Except for the chain-smoking. And euthanasia.

Anyway, Polish Sean Connery finds a cure for the terminal-illness at the last minute, leading to the patient’s recovery and extra moral anguish in Dorota. I also wondered initially whether Dorota finds out that she herself has a terminal-illness, possibly cancer due to all the frigging smoking, and questions whether she is strong enough to take her own life, but I’m not so sure about that now.

The film ends with a massive kung-fu battle, where the evil drug baron and his legion of henchmen are defeated forever!

Oh wait…

Right, let us once again look up a proper synopsis and see how well I did.

One second…

Urgh, I got it wrong again! I swear I’m usually better at this. I did get the terminally-ill part right, but it’s her husband who’s dying and she’s wondering whether to abort her extramarital pregnancy if he pulls through. I suppose that means I also did get the ethical conundrum part right. Sort of. At least I know better for my next viewing.

I’m going to blame my incompetence today on the weather, which became dangerously hot over the weekend. All our brains have been scrambled! And some of us have been hitting the bottle hard just to get through it.

Cough.

I don’t have much to say in terms of Dwa’s filmmaking, as this one feels like a lesser of the ten episodes. It’s mostly just dreary point-and-shoot stuff, which you can find in any medical drama. I did find one nice visual moment though, which you should find below.

EPILOGUE

Well, this probably wasn’t the best thing to do on a cheery Sunday morning, but I’ve done it anyway. Only five more of these posts to go! Hopefully, I shall be in greater possession of my faculties for the rest.

The heat has eased-off today, so I shall take advantage of it by, erm, just doing what I’ve been doing whilst it’s been oppressively hot. The government took control of my phone yesterday to warn me of potential wildfires, so perhaps that is what will finally kill me. Or maybe it’ll be the diabetes. Or alcoholism.

Either way, good times!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Pa!

Honour and Glory (1992) - film review

I use the date “1992” very loosely, of course, as this film feels more 80s than an actual film from the 1980s. Big hair and shoulder-pads and corporate sleazebags and everything. It’s glorious!

I’m pretty indifferent towards martial arts movies, but I’ll take a good one any day. Like anime, there’s a whole lot of it, with me preferring to skim the cream off the top. This is either showing a discerning attitude, or a lack of adventurousness. I guess I’ll leave it up to you to praise or criticise me at will.

Just so long as you praise me.

While certainly a beautiful ballet and just a great way to stay in shape, my assumption is that, if someone really wants to hurt you, all the fancy flailing about in the world won’t save you. Just as conservative Americans erroneously believe that arming themselves to the teeth will keep their families safe. It won’t, but it’ll make them feel safe, which is a very different thing entirely.

Moving swiftly along…

My experience of Cynthia Rothrock movies has been, up until this point, zero. More fool me! I have become instantly charmed by the world she creates. Everyone knows martial arts and such fights break out in the street almost at random. It’s also a very sweet world, with the good supporting each other emotionally and physically, while the bad get their inevitable comeuppance. There’s no moral ambiguity here, and sometimes you just need that for your soul.

Well, at least I do.

Rothrock also seems to be a generous producer, wanting to give as much screen-time to her sparring buddies as herself. Not in a “cronyism” sort of way, but just in a nice way. This isn’t your average movie star behaviour! It’s a very cute trait that makes Rothrock even more endearing. Honour and Glory actually stops in its tracks for 10 minutes to explore the life of one of the dozen side characters on display. The film doesn’t need it, nor does your time, but it adds depth and warmth that other action movies surely lack.

I actually want to see more stories following this community of amiable saps, even if it’s just them sitting around a luxurious kitchen island eating brunch.

There’s a very soap opera-ish scene, set in a real restaurant, in which two characters exchange melodramatic exposition. At one point, I found myself beginning to watch the cars in the background out the restaurant’s window. It was nice. Usually, this diversion of the viewers attention would be considered a bad thing, but I was so relaxed and at one with Rothrock’s world that I just wanted to take it all in.

Ahhh. 

Needless to say, the camp factor is pretty high from scene to scene. You will giggle with delight quite a lot. All the time, in fact. Rothrock’s sexless Asian-American male friend is a case in point. His awkward wobbling around and getting himself into trouble is another side quest the film doesn’t need, but we’re better off for it.

John Miller’s irredeemable and greasy “80s Guy”, with his character’s actual name being of little consequence, makes a ridiculously enjoyable moustache-twirling villain. I’m so glad major corporations don’t steamroll over citizens anymore and we don’t have to form legal unions in order to fight back at them.

Oh wait…

There are more subplots than you can shake a stick at, each being as inconsequential as the last. It doesn’t matter though, as this is a live-action cartoon, with something new and mildly-diverting happening every other minute. Just sit back and enjoy how adorable it all is.

How a violent action film can be so cute is a curiosity in itself, and must be seen to be believed. Honour and Glory will certainly remind you of early-John Woo movies, which is no bad thing at all.

And, no, I refuse to use the American spelling of “Honor”, so you’ll need to come to peace with that.

Do stay in touch, sparring buddies.

Toodles!

YOUTUBE RANDOMNESS: River Trash

I thought I’d seen everything when I finally watched Olivia Newton-John’s vanity project “Xanadu”, but this YouTube channel has opened my mind to a whole new way of seeing the world. And society. And desperation.

And, yes, I have so little going on in my own life that I’ve started living vicariously through shameless YouTubers, which is a new low for me.

Basically, it’s a channel devoted to, what I assume is, a gentleman in an Indian country filming citizens hanging out by a major river to fish out bags of garbage. And touching the bags of garbage. Then ripping them open. Then going through their contents excitedly.

WTF?!

At first, I thought maybe they were doing it for environmental reasons. But no. One guy just flings crap he doesn’t approve of back into the river! I find it utterly horrifying, but I guess there are levels of poverty in whatever-country-it-is to necessitate this kind of desperation.

A darker side of me wonders whether some of the very young riverside denizens are rent boys touting for business, which may or may not be lower than routing through items another human being has deemed unworthy of keeping.

I just… I just… I just can’t wrap my mind around it. But it is fascinating, and a look into behaviour that really doesn’t translate into the English-speaking world. You know, where we don’t fish garbage out of the river in the hopes of keeping it.

Good grief.

Perhaps my utterly pathetic existence isn’t as bad as I’ve been thinking.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Framed to Perfection LI (51)

WONDER WOMEN (1973)

Director: Robert Vincent O'Neil

Cinematographer: Ricardo M David

Surely the sleazy 1970s exploitation film that inspired Quentin Tarantino’s whole career, disintegrating celluloid and all.

Who knows what it’s supposed to be about, but it will no doubt offend everyone who encounters it. Even though it predominantly objectifies women, even men should be outraged by the grotesque males that ooze throughout it. We’re not all like this, you know! Some of us are shy, awkward, lonely nerds who respect wonder women.

It stars Ross Hagen, who was to feminism what a speeding bus is to an ant crossing the road. Whether playing good guys or bad guys, he always played a dirtbag who should be killed off by the end of the movie. That he was often the producer too means he usually isn’t.

Sigh.

Filmed for cheap in the Philippines, there’s an epic chase scene that I assume wasn’t simulated. They just placed a bunch of cameras around town and did it, without stunt performers or shooting permits or any respect for the local community. I can’t prove this, of course, but that’s just what it looks and feels like.

The film is utterly disgusting, but lots of fun, with the odd piece of thoughtful filmmaking knocking about to keep cinephiles interested. The above shot, with the dimming natural light being motivated by lamps behind the camera, is a very memorable moment indeed.

Worth a watch, but be sure to keep stocked up on antibiotics so you don’t catch anything from its 70s filth.

WARNING: This film contains a very graphic and sad cock fight sequence, which is as shamefully grotesque as Ross Hagen’s hair. And face. And career.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!