Friday, 20 April 2018

Chariot II

So, once the book versions of We Don't Go Back, On a Thousand Walls and Cult Cinema are finished, I'm going to do a second edition of Chariot.

Funny thing about Chariot. I wrote it nearly three years ago now, I crowdfunded it, I laid it out, and I played it with my friends for a while, and then I put it away and did some other stuff. And you do, that's what you do, isn't it? You put it to one side.

And about eighteen months after I last looked at it, I looked at it again. And it's full of typos, which it would be, because no matter how good you are at proofreading, you don't proofread your own work; and some of the art I'm still happy with, in an outsider art sort of way, and some of it I'm less happy with; and some of the rules need to be explained more clearly and given better examples. I came up with a better way to do the card mechanics.

But for all that, I read this, and I thought, by God, this is good.

Thursday, 19 April 2018

Cult Cinema, Appendix: God only knows what you're missing

See the Beginning Stages of... The Polyphonic Spree (2004)

1. So over the last week or two I've written about Tetsuo, Salò, Eyes Without a Face and The Skin I Live In. It's time to have a close watch of something that isn't traumatic, something easier, at least in some ways. Let's find something more affirming.

2. I know that I said I wasn't going to do documentary films in Cult Cinema. And I'm not. But a concert film, that's a slightly different matter, and this concert film in particular, that's different, too. Go with me here.

Monday, 16 April 2018

The Question in Bodies #11: Still Ill, Part Two

The Skin I Live In (La Piel Que Habito) (2011)

(Warnings: discussion of sexual assault, discussion of transphobia. Also, all the spoilers – the twists of this film are profound and strange, and in order to talk about the meaning of this film, I'm giving them all away.)

At the beginning of Les Yeux Sans Visage, Professor Genessier stands before an august assembly in the Paris of 1960 and delivers a lecture where he explains the difficulties facing anyone attempting a face transplant, and the constant danger of rejection, and the inadequacies of the present solutions. At the opening of The Skin I Live In (La Piel Que Habito, and I'm using the English title here because – actually I don't know. I just am), Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) will stand before a similar gathering, now in the Toledo of 2012, and he will talk about the wonders of face transplants, and how he's done three himself, and what the future of the process might be.

Saturday, 14 April 2018

The Question in Bodies #10: Still Ill, Part One

Les Yeux Sans Visage (Eyes Without a Face) (1960)

So after the double of writing about Salò and Tetsuo, I thought I'd go easy on myself, introduce myself to something a bit easier to cope with, a little lighter, safer even. I know, I thought, I'll write about something older, one of the oldest films I have, because a horror film, even a horror film, from nearly sixty years ago can't be that extreme. Right?

I know, I thought, I'll watch Eyes Without a Face (or, if you want to give it its original French title, Les Yeux Sans Visage).

Those of you who are, unlike me at that point, familiar with Georges Franju’s demented opus, will no doubt be laughing at my deluded innocence. To be honest, I'm laughing at my deluded innocence. I mean 1960 was the year Psycho came out too, and it's not like it's a year of cinematic comfort exactly, so you should take this as a cautionary tale.

Still, 85 minutes of knuckle-gnawing later, 85 minutes of, at times, yelling at the screen OH HOLY CRAP NO, here I am.

Wednesday, 11 April 2018

Ways I have been lied to

Ways I have been lied to include but are by no means limited to the following:

Tuesday, 10 April 2018

The Question in Bodies #9: Listen. Listen.

Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975)

And third time in a row, we're back to Salò. I keep coming back to it, like I'm picking a scab. I have to. But I can't do it directly.

Just, take this away: this is the truth.

Monday, 9 April 2018

The Question in Bodies #8: Industrial Penetration

Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989); Tetsuo II: Body Hammer (1992)

(The usual warning: if discussion of extreme sexualised violence and mutilation is likely to disturb you, don't read any further, and don't ever watch Tetsuo.)

Some years ago now, I sat in my friend Jon’s home in East Ham, the now-legendary habitation on Clements Road, where I was staying for a weekend, and we had, as we sometimes do, a film marathon. And on one of those nights, we watched Eraserhead and Salò, back to back. The moments when, while watching Pasolini’s brutal anti-adaptation of 120 Days of Sodom, we began to dry-heave in a sort of grotesque balletic unison are engraved on my memory. At the end we agreed that we'd seen a great piece of art, and that neither of us ever, ever wanted to watch it again.

Then we watched Robocop, as a palate cleanser.

It was a great night.

I was reminded of that night while watching Shinya Tsukamoto’s two original Tetsuo movies, Tetsuo: the Iron Man (1989) and Tetsuo II: Body Hammer (1992). Without the part about watching Robocop afterwards, obviously, although watching Robocop after a really difficult movie is a tactic I will always recommend. Like Salò, I found the Tetsuo films – there's a third instalment, Tetsuo: the Bullet Man (2009), but with the best will in the world, I'm stopping here – an endurance test, pieces of cinematic art that I appreciated but which I really didn’t want to see again. I had seen the original Tetsuo a long time ago, as a teenager, when it had been broadcast on Channel 4, who loved broadcasting things no one else wanted to let people see back then. And I recall it having had an effect, and there were scenes that I remembered – one in particular – pretty perfectly from then.

Saturday, 7 April 2018

We Don't Go Back: A Personal Taxonomy of Folk Horror and Pagan Film

The Gorsedd, Singleton Park, Swansea. 
Towards the end of October 2016, I thought, "I know! I've got this copy of The Witch sitting here and I could spend a few days going through some of the other stuff I never got round to watching and it's years since I had a Halloween movie binge, and hell, why not write about them?" I had a copy of The Wicker Man I'd found in a record sale in 2010 that I'd never watched; a copy of Beasts that cost me 50p at a stall in the Summer. I last watched Simon Magus before I had kids, and now my oldest is 11. I planned my viewing carefully.

It spiralled out of control.

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

The Question in Bodies #7: Annihilation (2018)

Sometimes having read the book first can be fatal for having seen the film version. I'm assuming you've seen it too, by the way. If you haven't this post will ruin it.

Monday, 2 April 2018

In Search of the Miraculous #15: Atlantis and the Brexit Fantasy Novel

This post is also Atlantis (Popular) Rising #5.

Been a while since the Atlantis research has been a thing I've felt like writing about. I have a stack of material and a whole lot of other things to write about too, but every so often something comes up. Still, Atlantis is in my head, in my mind. It's the central myth of my life, the touchstone. So.

I came across Peter Valentine Timlett’s 1974 novel The Seedbearers quite recently, and picked up a cheap paperback copy because I thought it might be fun. It's the first in a trilogy, heavily influenced by old friends like Dion Fortune and the Inner Light group, and others who I'm aware of but less immediately familiar with like Daphne Vigers, the writer of Atlantis Rising, which is a key text in the “Stonehenge was built by people from Atlantis” tradition. Murry Hope’s writing comes from that same branch of the Atlantean family tree.

The Seedbearers is about what happens when the last remnants of the Atlantean landmass, Ruta and Daiteya [sic], as per the Theosophical version of Atlantis, sink beneath the sea, and who escapes, and how; the Seedbearers of the title are the surviving members of the priesthood, tasked with carrying the ancient wisdom of Atlantis to a new home, and planting that seed among other peoples, so it might grow and survive.