All's well that ends well...?

This is it.  I was never really sure when I started how or when this would end, but I think we're here.  Complex, not complicated.

I haven't written for a long time, really.  Things have gone off the boil recently, not to mention a certain state of emotional volatility that has come from trying to find my place in this Brave New World of Lay-Vicarship.  Turns out that actually, being a Lay-Vicar is almost just exactly but not quite the same as being a choral scholar.  Boozy Friday nights giving out to hung-over Saturdays, the weekly responsorial psalm roulette (altos not included, of course), Sunday nights spiraling wildly out of control and ending (almost inevitably) in the Qdos Karaoke...



The thing is, things have changed.  The tagline at the top, "Love, life, and the poor end of the stall" are no longer really... Appropriate.  Let's deconstruct:

I consider myself formally retired from actively pursuing any sort of love life.  Isn't that sad?  Isn't that dreadful?  What a woeful cry for help!  No.  Sorry.  I know it looks stupid but after how miserable the last break up made me, and how, well...bad I've been at being attracted to people who are either already attached or have no interest in me.  Or seem to but are having some sort of mental crisis... Or even might just be but like to insult me on a continual basis.  Basically...yeah, terrible.  Also, I have no real idea with how to engage with the whole business of successfully showing any sort of romantic interest, and even less with how to successfully interpret it, so I'm out, you guys.  Sometimes I do get dreadfully lonely, and it isn't helped by the feeling that I couldn't actually do anything about it.  This is the no-win situation though, and there isn't a get out, as far as I can see.  Maybe my priorities are all wrong at the moment, witless navel gazing aside.  I do catch myself suddenly caught by the sight of some gorgeous vision... Before remembering that I have no idea what I would actually do.

My life... Well, yes, my life.  I suppose things are going well, actually!  I am pleased to report how well my domestic arrangements have continued to improve, to the point where I naturally refer to the gentleman whose house I lodge in and pay rent to as my house mate, rather than land lord.  Lessons in Verdi, Don't Tell the Bride, tech support and sharing bottles of Budweiser at the start of a weekend have proved far superior to well... Almost everything in fact.  Now a mere 7 minutes away from the outer Crypt door rather than 2, things are very fine in the Georgian terrace I now call home.  I may not have found any permanent work, but bits and bobs here and there keep the wolf from the door, and socially I've been doing much better, hosting a few dinners here and there, including a triumphal roast beef supper for Swedish guests particularly.  But life with the magnificent Dr. N suits me exceptionally well.

And the Stall?  Things could hardly have gone better this year!  Not only have I fulfilled my aim of joining the back row of a Cathedral Choir once again as a full member of the foundation, but I have been accepted by choir, congregation, and most importantly, the Director.  Somehow, my excellent boss seems to have grown to put up with my... Eccentricities, including but not limited to singing all the Christmas descants, and a constant hum of chatter and giggling from the Decani altos.  While I don't get every solo on the books, I don't feel there's anything to complain about, and I've found a real niche being the mainstay of the Alto line - still no days off!  Although I was forty minutes late for rehearsal one Sunday, in a freak occurrence that has both never happened since and left me deeply paranoid about my alarm system.  Thankfully, I was forgiven.  I fit in well with "The Team", I'm sure there are aspects of my game I can pick up on, and the opportunity to develop my skills in a safe environment that I can misbehave in occasionally is nigh-on perfect.


And perhaps this is another reason that writing has gone off the boil - it's like I've ticked it all off.  Basically, the true and original purpose of this blog was to distract me from just how depressed I really was, and thinking back it was certainly one of my darkest hours.  I managed to hide almost everything, but at least I had this to use as a vent when things became particularly overwhelming... Many people have said over the years how admirable a coping method this has been, but let me raise the iron curtain on that one for you folks - I've never been able to cope, and probably never will.  It's all about managing, getting by.  If I can succeed at that then I'm a step ahead really.  Or at least I feel as if I am.

So?  What now?  As the house lights slowly dim, I've already considered that I'd like the show to go on, but on a different stage.  There are a lot of things, personal things, that make me dreadfully angry.  In fact, I tell people that I am almost permanently angry - but mostly with myself; as soon as you understand that, things fall into place a little better.  There are beginnings of long form articles bouncing around in my head, and really the Songman's Rest is no place for a lot of them: video game theory, Historically Informed Performance discussion and that piece I've always wanted to write about Truro Cathedral's Father Willis Organ.  For context, the heading picture is the west end organ of Derby Cathedral, one of the most surprisingly versatile and impressive organs I have had the fortune to serve under.  Short form, be it a weekly bulletin style, or maybe really bad poetry that was scribbled out on some screwed up napkin, or even some thoughts on that film I went to see also don't really belong here... And these are the things that I want to write now!  I also really, really want to get stuck into a thesis on the Orgelbewegung... Actually it's probably for the best that I keep that to myself.

 So, as the curtains finally close, I feel almost close to tears.  Such sentimentality!  Such melodrama!  It's certainly been a journey, and it even looks like my writing has improved, if even a little.  I even managed to crap out at least 1000 words a day last May!  When I set my new page up, I'll post links in the appropriate places.  I do still enjoy writing, after all.

Such fun.

At time of posting, this is the 230th post, and the 163rd to be published, with 13,087 page views  After three years, eight months and twenty days, and a couple of hundred thousand words, it's time to lay this to rest.  Thanks for sticking by me through all the dross and dour sentiment.  

And of course, I'll be back soon enough.  May you be sealed and inscribed for a good year!

Killer isn't Dead?

Coming out of retirement to write about video games.  It feels so cliched... How long has it been?

Recently, I decided to just take the plunge and buy a game brand new off the shelf.  No, it isn't Arkham Origins (which we'll get on to in a minute), but instead the latest and greatest horse from SUDA51's venerable stable, Grasshopper Manufacture, Killer Is Dead.  I followed all the development news and watched all the trailers that I could until its eventual release, which I then promptly missed due to the small matter of going on choir tour to Sweden.  I finally purchased it last week (Friday, I think) and have been spending some quality, early morning hours working through the predictably incomprehensible story.  Now, even though I've still got Flower, Sun and Rain somewhere with me, the last SUDA51 game I actually completed was Killer7, to which I will be making many comparisons, and also comparing with Platinum Games' seminal action comedy brawler, Bayonetta. 

Killer Is Dead is the timeless tale of an amnesiac executioner, who after waking up with a robotic arm falls on his feet by finding employment with a state-funded assassination firm.  The deeper we delve into the plot, the stranger everything becomes, with villains invading dreams, government cloning conspiracies, and the eternal battle between light and dark.  Also, the Moon.  Yes, the Moon has always been a prominent part of the Grasshopper oeuvre, and this game is certainly no different.  In fact, you can't seem to get away from it this time.  The gameplay itself is simplistic hack-and-slash, with a projectile secondary weapon, so no real surprises in store here.  The levels comprise mostly of fighting through corridors of generic enemies who require their own specific strategies to defeat... but this mostly boils down to dodging, entering witch bullet time, and mashing the attack button.  It's certainly more involved than Killer7, anyway.  The protagonist's name in this case (just the one protagonist this time too) is Mondo Zappa, the stoic and duty obsessed, katana expert executioner.  Originally named Mondo Smith (although in Japanese this would have sounded just like Sumio Mondo from Flower, Sun and Rain), his name is doubtlessly inspired by Frank Zappa.  Or possibly Moon Unit Zappa?  Don't forget the Moon.

The graphical style of this game is much like Killer7's, cel-shading with three main colour tones, but improved for a HD generation.  Looking at Mondo stood in a room with Wires (this game's Heaven Smiles) ambling towards you is possibly (and lamentably) as close to a Killer7 remake (or refresh) we're going to get.  As mentioned above, and with most Grasshopper titles, the actual gameplay is a bit... tacked-on.  It's just a means to an end, the end being to prove how utterly insane this all is.  But there's a bit of a problem as well.  It's almost as if this game is saying "Look at me!  Look at me!  I'm from SUDA51, and I'm CRAZY!", before leaping around the room...and not always with any real justification.  Okay, I haven't finished the game yet, but it is sadly less compelling than previous efforts.  It's almost too aware at times, especially when there's a pre-boss cut scene that details that there must be a fight as 'there would be complaints from the gamers' if there wasn't.  Thankfully, in a flash of much more familiar tones, Mondo is riding an elevator as part of a later mission and having a radio conversation with one of the other characters about ethics.  He is asked whether he thinks the game is ethical, to which he replies it isn't his job to worry about that, just to execute the targets given to him.  Don't get me wrong, I'm still enjoying the game very much, but it's exchanges like the former that are much more common than the latter, which doesn't really have much more than pure entertainment value, rather than actually making you think.  Sure, you're controlling a merciless professional assassin killing numberless faceless grunts before the boss (which, tweaked, is every action platforming game ever), but just because you're funded by the state... Does that make it right?  It's certainly not in the "What is a country?" stakes, but it's a shining moment in an otherwise dull scene.  There's more than enough commentary been written about the infamous 'Gigolo Missions', which are a really odd addition to the game, as they serve so little purpose.  Badly scripted portals for teenage-style tittilation, It's a shame something so directionless was included.  The best thing about the whole sequences has to be the banging techno beat that starts once you equip the x-ray glasses.

Speaking of what a country is, let's look at Killer7 for a moment.  2005's insane supernatural future noir psycho-political horror thriller has got to be one of my favourite games ever made.  It's like a book rather than a game, with a control scheme pared down to the very bones, simple logic puzzles and set pieces all designed to do one thing and one thing alone: further the plot.  Part first-person-shooter, part puzzler and part mind-bender, the stupefyingly simple controls actually help draw you in to the scenario.  Rather than having to remember complicated buttons combos, it become almost a reflex to draw your weapon, scan for enemies and then reload.  Also, you have infinite ammo.  Handy, eh?  

It also contains some of the maddest things to ever be included that just seem to work: the pigeon that helps you win a boss battle, a Luchador who headbutts a bullet into submission (that's one thing that has disappointed me about Killer Is Dead, no Lucha Libre references), and of course, the dead man with all the answers from the very start (spoilers! lol), Travis.  Serioulsy, I can't tell you how much I love that guy.  There is so much that defies expectation that you simply have to accept it in order to move on - the suspension of disbelief.  The setting, basically a modern cold war between the United States of American and Japan, is the theatre for conspiracy of the highest order, national identity, orphan trafficking, and of course, an assassin with an identity crisis.  The Moon is featured here, but without explanation as a loading screen.  It's never explained...like much of the game, in fact.  It helps that it isn't an action game (in the conventional sense), that navigating the levels is basically done for you so you can focus on the matter of unraveling what is actually happening behind the scenes (make sure you speak to Travis every time you see him!).  Killer7 is much deeper than your usual offering, 2005 or not, and it feels like Killer Is Dead wants this depth so desperately but just... Misses.  The soundtrack helps, making every different level and area easily recognisable by sound alone, not to mention the bizarre sound effects when you solve puzzles or collect items. 

What I really can't criticise Killer Is Dead for actually, is the audio.  The voice acting is well implemented, even if the script oscillates wildly from overly serious to completely inane, and the actual soundtrack is sufficiently interesting and engaging in parts.  As I said, the script is sometimes mad-cap, and other times takes itself way  too seriously - the bizarre office scenes before and after each mission starring alien Doctors, a musician with no ears and a ghostly artist are just mental.  Mondo's strict recitation of the game title at the start and end of the playable mission serve no purpose to remind you THAT THIS IS A GAME OKAY.  Mondo's sidekick, Mika, is the comic foil to all this terminal seriousness brought about by our central hero, what with what must be the world's most annoying voice and quasi-school uniform.

Anyway.  I want to turn to an action game from a different studio as a kind of...second opinion.  Anybody who's seen Bayonetta in action can confirm how utterly ridiculous  it is, in terms of setting, action, really dreadful casual sexual banter... Bayonetta is a game of extremes, right down to the button-mashing boss fights.  While the fourth wall is far more sacred, its perfectly aware of its existence as a truly ridiculous game, and clutches this to its healthy (but not quite heaving) bosom.  Alongside the main platforming sections, there are motorbike driving levels and even a rail shooter section to complement the high-octane action that's the mainstay.  Having not only read all about, but also experienced the Gigolo Mission of Killer Is Dead, Bayonetta really knows how to play the the titillation game.  Cheesy, sexually suggestive script writing, played for the most groans available, coupled with the scantily clad protagonist (that catsuit is made out of hair, don't forget), it rides a line of acceptability - if you take it too seriously, there's plenty to take issue with, but really, the entire premise is completely ridiculous that this is the level it should be taken on.  The concise but effective combo system (dodge, vertical attack, horizontal attack) has enough timed strikes in it to make it better than your usual mash-a-thon (Killer is Dead, I'm actually looking at you), and worth getting used to for the Boss battles (especially Jeanne's).  By dodging at the last second, you can enter a slo-mo state known as witch time, which of course aids your combos and avoids damage.  Bayonetta straddles a line between embarrassing and enjoyable, but but lives in that space anyway, and triumphs because of it.  Not only does it succeed as an action game, but it also succeeds in presenting an innuendo-charged atmosphere, which is where Killer Is Dead falls down.

Hiatus

I finally finished Killer Is Dead earlier.  I say finally, but the main campaign isn't very long at all.  Assessing it as a pure action game, it falls down compared to Bayonetta and even (or should that be especially?) the Devil May Cry series, the 4th of which I am most familiar with.   As a Grasshopper Manufacture game however, it still holds its own at least.  The reliance of chess symbolism and the centre stage placement of the Moon feels very heavy handed though, and it's more the memory of these elements being mindbending rather than the game presenting events that use these symbols (like the chess scenes from Killer7) where other things are happening that carry you through instead.  As a huge SUDA51 fan, I have enjoyed my first playthrough, and will play more, but I can see why somebody who isn't as great a fan would feel let down by the almost deliberately incomprehensible scenario, the less-than-helpful controls, and quite frankly, the voice of the main character's assistant.  Even then, the lack of luchadors is simply disappointing.

In conclusion, I certainly don't regret my purchase... But only just.  Having lived with both Killer7 and Flower, Sun and Rain, I'm used to the madness and often inhibiting controls.  Maybe though I've been spoiled by the Arkham series, with its seamless combat that makes no demands on the player; 4 button combat has never been better.  
At the end of the day, I have enjoyed my journey to the dark side of the moon and back, and maybe, just maybe, the next game from Grasshopper Manufacture can reclaim that sense of wonder and utter madness of previous titles without having to make compromises.  Hell, even when you boil it all down, Super Meat Boy  was one of the most addictive and rewarding games of the previous generation, the spirit of which was picked up on by Black Knight Sword, which added to the classic platformer recipe with its unique kabuki theatre art setting.  

Oh well.  Until next time... Tomorrow, it could be you.

The Grande Tour part 2

So! This time I'm on the train home. It's gonna be a long trip, I can tell you that: not only is the original arrival time at TRU 20:10, but we're 4 minutes behind. Four minutes?! Maybe we'll make the time back, I dunno.

Friday and Saturday has been a lot packed into two days as well. More organ playing, wandering around Ealing, Cider, Cards Against Humanity, Oafs on tour, and finally, Worcester! Don't worry, I actually took lots of pictures this time, which will all go up in the fullness of time, which might even be after Sweden because of how long messing about with Facebook will take... Anyway, even though I've had an excellent time, it really is all right and good to go home now. I've got a week long tour to Truro's link Diocese to prepare for, and also actually moving out of the Scholary itself yet to come. I'm going to need all the suitcases to pack my clothes up, I just hope my future wardrobe (possibly still in flatpack form at the time of writing) is enough to hold my great variety of suits and shirts. When I actually step back into the house, I hope that Ireland's finest export will be there to greet me, before reporting to the bar for pints of soy sauce.  

Last night's drinking was completely different, finding myself enjoying the taste of a pint of Thatchers Cider in Ealing's fabulous local JD Wetherspoons establishment, the Sir Michael Balcon. There I reposed and finally took the weight of my feet after a long afternoon of traipsing round the Ealing Broadway Centre. Even though there was the sheer novelty of there being a Primark(!), I couldn't find anything that really suited my purpose. Something I've noticed recently is the arrival of the 26” waistline in men's departments (what women's size equates to a 26, I wonder...). It's been a good few years since I was a 26” on the waist, and it's now no use to me at all! Not only could I not find any vests, but all the shorts were far too small. I was distraught (no not really). I also found myself in TK Maxx, which is just about as exciting as you would expect, and almost bought a pair of shorts that had a waxed appearance, which I then rejected as they had no back pockets. Huh! Surprisingly picky.

That was yesterday evening, however. The morning was once again taken up by much Organ playing on the fine T.C Lewis and company instrument that St. Mary's on the Hill is so lucky to have. The devastation provided by the pedal Trombone was excellent: Thursday's Buxtehude and yesterday's Piece d'Orgue were well serviced by the foundational character and sheer power of the pedal, which, in finest Neo-Classical registering tradition, remained uncoupled throughout. Over the past few days having the Grand Piano to practice on and visiting the Church for hours at a time have made me feel much better about the state of my keyboard skills. I might even hazard that I feel confident! The choir Tierce, though distant in comparison to the Great chorus (aided by a hefty mixture), still made its presence felt, that characteristically reedy tang just there in the background. After a lunch composed primarily of the worst pre-packed Stressco's sandwich, with added donuts, the day progressed quietly until I ended up in Ealing Broadway, dealt with previously. Let us progress to the barely remembered night...

Yes, of course there was booze. Quite a lot. As I mentioned earlier, I opened my bidding with the relatively novel taste of apple Cider, Bulmers then Thatchers, before toddling off to meet my chum at the Wheatsheaf. The Wheatsheaf, Ealing, is a fine public house tended to by Fullers, itself none too far away. In the fridge, bottles of Pride, ESB, Honeydew and London Porter; on the taps, Pride, ESB and Chiswick Bitter. Wot, no Guinness? The hell am I paying for Guinness in London. Pints of Pride and ESB set me back £3.65 a piece, and that's more than bloody enough. It's becoming more and more expensive to drink almost everywhere now, sadly. I'm just looking for a chemical barrier between reality and my senses that might end up in irreversible liver damage... Is that too much to ask for? Honestly. Anyway, like I was saying, the Wheatsheaf was a pretty nice place, actually. Critically, it felt like a pub. It didn't have any sort of quirky theme or anything, but it was as rammed as hell. I met my chumrade at the bar, and there the journey to inebriation and beyond began.

We were joined by an ex-scholar of Worcester, and then, at some length by the Chief himself. After his abort on coming down to me last week, it was at long last that we met again, and in such fine surrounding. The party started, we moved on to the main event: Cards Against Humanity. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this game, allow me to describe:

• Each participant takes 10 'answer' cards.
• A 'question' card is drawn, and placed in the centre of proceedings
• From the 10 answers, the funniest and/or most inappropriate is chosen
• A vote is taken (nothing formal, like), and the winner is appointed!
• Continue until you reach a natural end. (Death not necessary)

It became clear that the Chief had the most wicked eye, and won the good majority of the rounds. The only answer card I can remember is “pooping back and forth endlessly”, which even out of context should give you an idea of how ridiculous it is. 10/10, will play again. After wrapping up, we drank even more, and I think we left at closing time, to walk through Ealing back to base. Here, Kebab was both sought and enjoyed, and I made some friends in the shape of two very lovely girls, one of whom was having her very first kebab! I was gifted the name “Mr. Kebab”, and they even took my picture. God knows what they'll do with that though. We three oafish characters, stumbling through the Broadway, made a huge racket singing the opening of the Vierne Messe Sollenelle Kyrie (because obviously it would have to be the Vierne), which appreciably utterly wrecked our voices.

Once morning had broken after a short slumber, we sprang into action and departed in peace from the Ealing Mansion. Making a short detour to pick up our other comrade, elect of the LSE, we began our road trip to Worcester! Hurrah! The Chief's car, an exceptionally comfortable vehicle, served us with speed and stability, as it ferried our loathsome corpses across the country. I became more and more aware of how hungry I was, which alongside the developing headache, proved to be quite a challenge to my patience. My hunger went unsatisfied until about half past two this afternoon, and we must have only left London at around 11am. In those frustrating hours, everything became a problem, and I became remarkably more grumpy than usual. A trip to Phat Nancy's, a top-class sandwich joint solved that thankfully, and I remain convinced that Horseradish Mayonnaise is proof that God exists and he loves us. Of course, no trip to Worcester is complete without visiting the Cathedral, and many pictures were taken: the new organ cases, what's left of the Hope-Jones with its magnificent painted pipes and full length 32's, the choir screen, various tombs and memorials... What a fine place it is! I am of course spoiled by the Neo-Gothic of Truro, and the understated Baroque of Derby, but the Norman fabric made quite an impact with the nave completely devoid of chairs. It is here that my friends will attend the wedding of a University friend of theirs tomorrow. Mazel Tov!

Now, I still have just under three hours left on the rails. In fact, just pulling into Tiverton Parkway right now. I'm aware of being rather worn out, actually, but home isn't that far away! Pulling away from the station at Taunton, Gothic church towers rise from the town, before passing into the mist. In a few short hours, the Three Spires will rise to greet me, as I remind myself that “I can see my house from here”. Only three whole days until the 4am departure for Strangnas once I'm back, and we get to go all over again... But by coach, this time. And then by plane (how exciting). Once that's all done and dusted, the final steps of moving out before I can start the new year in a new place, with a new title.

Not that it's in any way indicative of a “new me” or some other such rubbish. Thank God.

The Grande Tour part I

It's early in the afternoon on a Thursday. I'm sat in the kitchen of my friend's house, slightly aware of the drizzle that's formed outside, accompanied by a pernicious breeze. A typical English summer, and nothing less. Aside form the fact that I'm in Ealing, London... Nothing is too different!

Already, this Grande tour des Londres has been a trip of firsts. Last night I attended my very first concert Henry Wood's Promenade series, or the BBC Proms as they're now ubiquitously known, and earlier that afternoon found myself behind the wheel trying desperately to find the biting point on the clutch of a manual car. What a time to be alive! Suffice to say I will be endeavouring to find myself an automatic when I finally take serious driving lessons (will I even be in this country though?), as the critical lack of spacial awareness that means I can't use the pedalboard correctly also takes a serious toll on my ability to use three pedals in a car. Laugh all you like (as I'm sure many of you do), but I literally have no idea what's going on at the end of my legs. It's ridiculous.

Anyway. The Proms. After queueing for what seemed like less than a half hour, and possibly recognising and being recognised myself (I could be more certain, and their expression seemed to indicate that they'd seen a ghost), we entered the Royal Albert Hall, a building I have never set foot in before. The late Prom last night was the Tallis Scholars, singing a program of motets by Gesualdo, who is remembered as not only an Italian noble and composer, but also an insane murderer, and the Missa Gloria Tibi Trinitas by John Taverner. Gesualdo is most famously known even outside of madrigalist circles as the composer of some of the most chromatic and chaotic pieces in the repertoire; in fact, it would not be a completely ridiculous statement to say that this kind of approach to chromaticism and treatment of harmonic texture was repeated until the early twentieth century. In the late 16^th and early 17^th century in Italy there was an experimental approach to chromaticism and temperament, as can be seen in the works of Claudio Merulo and Girolamo Frescobaldi, most notably in their organ works, where the sustained tone and transparent ripieno chorus was well suited to allowing the shifting nature of the temperament to show its own colours, rather than those developed from the pipes themselves. Anyway, I'm getting away from the point.

Taverner's Missa Gloria Tibi Trinitas (hereafter GTT) is one of the great works of Old England, and I do mean old. Just like his other masses of note, Missa L'homme Arme and “The Westerne Wynde” mass, it is a 'Cantus Firmus' mass, where the melody it is named after forms the core of the points of imitation, a popular technique of his time. For whatever reason, the plainsong melody that begins the 'In Nomine' (in the alto, of course) section of the Benedictus became something on its own, and spawned the In Nomine genre, very specifically English, which lasted itself for around 150 years as an unbroken tradition. The 'In Nomine' melody was set as the point of imitation for polyphonic compositions, called fantasias, both consorted and solo instrumentation. Many of these survive in the Mulliner Book, where the consort fantasies have been transcribed (originally onto one great 12 line stave) for keyboard. Notably, Thomas Tomkins, the 'last Elizabethan', was responsible for many keyboard settings (not only of the In Nomine but also of other plainsong chants that had long fallen out of fashion) alongside his fine consort settings, and John Dowland even set it as a Lute Fantasia, called “Farewell In Nomine”. Orlando Gibbons' infamous piece for viols and voyces in consert, The Cries of London, is also an In Nomine.

On first hearing without a score to follow, the GTT is quite amazing. It sounds very much like the lower voices are more together in their tessitura, but then this terrifyingly high treble part is sat on top. The effect is frankly staggering. I would say that the complexity of the mass itself on the whole is not beyond the average Cathedral Choir, just a matter of treble stamina! This of course reminds me once again of the great pitch standard debates, and having subsequently looked at the score (where the high thirds in the Treble part are in fact F sharps), can't help but wonder at why in God's name they transposed up...

The only real detraction from the effect was that it was performed in the truly cavernous acoustic of the RAH. Say what you like about the size of the acoustic in Lincoln Cathedral (where the GTT would have doubtlessly been sung), I doubt the polyphony and counterpoint would have got quite as lost as last night. I'm sure listeners to the simultaneous broadcast on Radio 3 would have got the most benefit from it. It may not be chamber music, but maybe it should have been a chamber prom. Who am I to criticise, anyway? It was certainly quite an experience,even if I didn't get one of those plush looking seats to park myself in. Oh well. Maybe next time? Will there be a next time?

The greatest problem I actually faced last night was in fact that I had to leave my phone (which of course is camera and media player in one) behind on charge, and thus took no pictures of the night at all. What a shambles.

Hiatus

It is now Thursday evening. The weather has cleared up somewhat, and I'm back at the keys. Today was entirely more sedate than yesterday with its 7am start and four hour journey. This time, we attempted to access the Speech Room of Harrow School, high on the hill (pardon?), but were thwarted once more by locked doors! Instead, we made to to St. Mary's of Harrow (on the hill), a rather nice church with an exceptionally fine organ inside it, a very complete 3 manual and pedal Lewis: Cornet Separe on the choir (also enclosed), 16/8/4 high pressure reeds in the Swell box (but available on the Great), a devastating pedal Trombone, a top notch Great and a pleasing Swell chorus (shame about the lack of 16 in the box though). A crisp and responsive Electro-Pneumatic action, and a Pedalboard that I could at least agree with. Plenty of pictures taken and even a few of me! At present, I'm taking in some fresh air in the Garden, while waiting for a dinner of kebabs and rice, before striking out to a local public house later this evening. The plan today was to go to the Great British Beer Festival, but at £10 for entrance things could have gotten out of hand quickly, and I'm in no position to allow that. I haven't changed any sterling to the mighty Swedish Kroner... There isn't even that long now until the tour, let alone once I get back. I'm looking forward to it, if a little disappointed that there isn't that much to sing: Two services and two concerts. I am however, a noted workaholic as far as choral service is concerned. Remembering the tour to Exeter I took with Derby many years ago, the 8am rehearsals were actually rather enjoyable! I just hope I don't get too bored, with not terribly much singing and that visit to a water park (oy gevalt) that's timetabled.

That's quite enough for now. There's another entire day down here, and then the trip along to Worcester on Saturday...and then the 6 hours on the train back to Truro! Plenty of time to do more things and look back. Just as long as my phone doesn't run out of battery again.

Comfortably Disturbed

“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comforted”.  Discuss.

What a great phrase, huh?  An excellent tent pole for discussion about what art really is, and what its purpose may be.  More and more I feel that art should have the capacity to challenge, an opinion I have discovered not so much by sitting and thinking that it ought to be that way, but more as a retrospective of what art I prefer, and how I engage with it.

My shelves are full of dystopian fiction, be that in print or on film (well, DVD) and I champion the works of George Orwell and Philip K. Dick.  While the latter author may not be strictly dystopian per se, his neatly written and sharply witty science fiction is far more preferable than the reams of ponderous teen-fiction trilogies that are cropping up in response to the sudden boom created by the wild success of the Hunger Games trilogy, itself seeming to borrow heavily from the genre-defining Battle Royale.  In truth, it seems that it’s a case of convergent evolution rather than direct imitation, but for the record I prefer BR.  The premise seems more intriguing to me; rather than being set in some sort of near future post-apocalyptic world where society has been restructured to a kind of neo-feudalism with televised death matches (cf. The Running Man), but where the death game is actually part of a contemporary society (although in an alternate timeline) in 1997.  There are slight cultural barriers (although the fine translations make light work of these), and I suppose that the fact that names in the Hunger Games being in English (if deliberately slightly unfamiliar to heighten the sense of societal breakdown as we know it) makes it easier for the general trilogy reading public to engage with.  Hot on the heels of Hunger Games races the Divergent trilogy, or whatever its series’ name will eventually become, on course for a film adaption of its own (and also another source of my constant gripes about everything having to be a trilogy these days).  Books of this particular genre all continue an underlying theme of current and familiar societal rules and regulations breaking down as we join our cast in the aftermath of the apocalypse.  In all truth and honesty, I’m not particularly excited by this genre.  I know plenty of you are, and God forbid I should express any sort of alternative.  There’s a sort of “identikit” feel to these: not too far in the future, modern democratic practice has ceased as we know it, with teenaged protagonists who are the agents of change.  I doubt that there would have been much to say about this particular style a decade ago: BR is almost 15 years old now, and we’re almost at the stage now (and not then) where these dystopias are becoming believable.

I much prefer the political fables of 1984 and Animal Farm by George Orwell, while we’re still on the subject of dystopias, and I’m sure Philip K. Dick will feature sooner rather than later.  Another issue I take with the previously discussed trilogies and their ilk (although not with BR, but also 1984) is their ‘after-the-fact’ settings.  The revolution has already been and gone, but it still hangs heavy in the air.  Star Trek, even though it is utopian fiction, is set many years into the future after their universe’s revolution, where war ravaged the planet (particularly the Eugenics Wars in the 1990s with my good chum Khan Noonien Singh) before humanity pulled together out of the ashes, the dust having settled.  Here, Orwell differs with Animal Farm, which has the reader follow the action of the ‘revolutionaries’ and the creation and degradation of a new regime.  In fact, when you look at the two together from a slightly side on angle, Animal Farm shows a precursory environment that could indeed lead to a 1984 situation, mostly in the use of propaganda to keep the other farm animals from asking too many questions, and the ‘vaporisation’ of animals within the farm who have become considered dangerous by the Farmer’s dogs as raised by Napoleon. 

Dick’s work, on the other hand, feels much more contemporary.  As I’ve said before, A Scanner Darkly is one of my favourite films, and in comparison to the text is almost page for page just put on screen, a refreshingly excellent production.  The peculiar rotoscoping used gives the film a unique aesthetic.  Perhaps the familiarity is due to it being semi-autobiographical, and relatable to almost anyone who lives in shared accommodation at any time in their lives (although particularly student accommodation in the UK), and the particularly dystopian aspect found in the relationship between “Substance D” and the “New Path” clinics.  Over the course of the narrative, not much is as it seems, and Robert Downey Jnr.’s casting as a substance addict surprising nobody (truly, the world’s greatest method actor) particularly gifted delivery as Barris being a true highlight of the film.  The death of Charles Freck is completely the same in both book and motion picture, which is something that pleased me greatly.  Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said, with a plot too complicated to reduce to a few pithy lines is worth a read.  It encapsulates one of my favourite things about dystopian fiction – a lack of a typically ‘happy’ ending.

Another thing that I enjoy about dystopian fiction that works so well for me is the lack of hope.  On a day to day basis I often genuinely feel that there sometimes... there is no way anything can improve, and having lived through dreadful times where there has been little to no resolution, it’s nice to see that there are fictional characters saddled with much the same yoke as well.  Let’s put another favourite piece of dystopia under the spotlight: V for Vendetta, by Alan Moore and illustrated by David Lloyd.  All we know about the title character is that he dresses up as Guy Fawkes in order to maintain his anonymity, and performs acts that undermine, destabilise and expose the nature of a Government that subjugates the people by fear and brutality, and also having run genetic experiments in concentration camps known as “resettlement camps” after a brief nuclear war.  The themes presented by this work are vast, and are a reflection of the political environment they came from, but the fascist government sets a stage for racial segregation, institutionalised sexual discrimination, the manipulation of populace through media control... You know, the usual sort of dystopian checklist.  As we reach the conclusion of the story, sacrifices are made, allegiances questioned and chaos embraced – not a traditional happy ending by any standard; in fact; the last few frames of the book show just one man walking down a darkened motorway, having turned his back on everything that has gone before.  I don’t want to put any sort of spoilers in, because it’s so bloody good and if you’re remotely interested in reading it (and I do mean reading it, because while the film is good it just doesn’t quite measure up in the same way, even though it is rather good), just do.  The anti-heroic protagonist’s intellectualism and cultural knowledge stands in stark opposition to the fascist Government’s strict control on art and any form of self-expression.  When we reach the end, the country is in total chaos.  Rather than reach a resolution, we witness the next step in the journey.

Finally, the catalyst for all this: Fight Club.  The film adaption of Chuck Palahniuk’s 1997 novel has had all sorts of labels slapped on to it: neo-noir, slumming tragedy, black comedy... It’s even been analysed as what happens when Bill Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes grows up – the comparative points are both very amusing and worryingly believable.  I love Fight Club though.  It’s dark, it’s funny, it’s completely ridiculous, and the final revelation is a real stunner that lets you know just how steeped in madness the whole operation really is.  The unreliable narrator struggles with his own identity in a culture given over more and more to consumerism, surrounded by the deeper issue of masculine identity in the service trade (blue or ‘gray’ collar workers).  Tyler Durden, the dark reflection of, well, almost all of us, pontificates wildly on the subject of what freedom really is in this day and age, where the American Dream became a nightmare, where economic status is the real measure of class and from which people now draw their self-worth.  Conforming to society for the sake of acceptance is completely worthless.  Tyler’s Devil may Cry attitude is something I particularly enjoy – nihilistic yet engaging.  My anarchist tendencies tell me that there is always another way, always, and here is one, portrayed by Brad Pitt.  His continual popping up and witty monologues remind me of another force of cynicism in fiction: Travis Bell.  While Travis’s role in Killer7 is ever so slightly different that Tyler’s, they serve a similar purpose in showing the audience that there is something else happening behind the main players, and both exhibit a keen knowledge of the fourth wall (cf. Tyler’s Cigarette burns and Travis’s intimate knowledge of the Smiths’ abilities).  Tyler also bears resemblance to Travis Touchdown of No More Heroes fame, and although it’s widely publicised that Touchdown’s appearance is based on Johnny Knoxville, you can’t help but feel that SUDA51 is inspired by more things than first thought. 

What really got me about Fight Club was how it relates to one of my more worrying catchphrases, “I only find validation in self-destruction”.  It’s simple.  Direct.  I like to say it to point out the hopelessness of trying to play by the rules of a social environment that doesn’t work out for me.  Why bother seeking group acceptance if the effort makes me feel ill when I can just have a drink?  Maybe some answers are found at the end of a bottle, but you have to ask the right questions.  The original version of one of Tyler’s most Travis-esque statements “Self-improvement is masturbation.  Now, self-destruction...” bears an even more fatal resemblance to my outlook, after a year of trying to fit in and work with attitudes and approaches so violently removed from my own, faced by total ignorance and apathy, manipulation and more commonly, excuses... I mean honestly, “Maybe self-improvement isn’t the answer.  Maybe self-destruction is the answer.”  I can’t help but draw parallels between SUDA51’s ‘Kill the Past’ movement, where the protagonists must leave their pasts behind in order to move forward.  After all, “it’s only after we’ve lost everything are we free to do anything”, right?  Even our identities?  That’s quite enough to leave you with for the weekend, isn’t it?

Oh well.  We’re all mad here, Smith.  Straight up.

Slow News

Looking at the date on my watch, it's been a full 12 13 days since the last time I published anything.  How awful!  I have been alternately depressed and busy over the preceding fortnight, so there's that.  I have been thinking about what I should write about, but not really hitting any bulls eyes:

• I have a new phone now and I have no idea what I'm doing
• How the hell did a Bejeweled clone take over Facebook
• What I'm going to do with The Scholary when everybody else leaves
• How much I hate everything and what that actually means

I think you get the point.  It's been a dry fortnight, shall we say, with very little exciting happening and then DESPAIR and then A NEW PHONE and then back to absolutely nothing again.  And now we're here!

There's little new to report, and that's the problem.  Another week of unsuccessful job applications and aborted attempts at asking people on dates, and then last Thursday I had the closest I've come to a complete breakdown when I lost my wallet and basically just lost it and ended up rocking backwards and forwards in the Cathedral Office and stammering so badly that I legitimately had to reassess my vocabulary and restart sentences so I could avoid whatever syllable I was stuck on it was awful I wanted to die.  I mean honestly, how can one little tiny thing that goes wrong like that upset me so much?  I think I apologised to everybody about ten bloody times after I found the offending item in the interior side of the reclining sofa (who no longer reclines).  Vomit.  I mean seriously...

Okay, but the next day, excitingly enough, I finally sorted out a new mobile telephone.  Instead of upgrading to a Windows 8 handset (which actually I rather fear I should have), I now have a top-of-the-line Android handset, the Sony Xperia Z.  And I almost have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  It's been...what?  5 days already, so I'm blundering my way through, although it is one hell of a fag getting all my contacts over (and I'm sure that there's some that have been missed out anyway).  Of course, the Sony has two things that I really wanted out of a phone and that's a good camera and the option of expandable storage... The only Windows 8 phone with anything approaching both is the expensive and difficult to find Samsung Ativ S.  One thing I've noticed is this insane hardware arms race with phones nowadays, even more so that home videogames consoles - I'm pretty sure my phone now has more RAM than my laptop, the HD touchscreen, 13.1 Megapixel camera blah blah... Of course, there isn't anything that has Windows 8 in it that can come close, hardware-wise, let alone when you get to the whole waterproof thing.  It's early days. 

Maybe Android will grow on me, much like black mold grows on anything left alone for too long in the Scholary Kitchen.  It's a shame I have swapped out really, as Windows Phone is a pretty good mobile OS.  Microsoft really need to get their finger out and actually get the more popular applications like Instagram and more app support across the board generally.  Too many websites have links to iTunes and Google Play alone, without the Windows Marketplace alongside.  As for the hardware race?  One of the things I noticed about the running speeds of my old and new handsets is that I can hardly notice anything at all.  What Windows did was great, press the back arrow enough times and the apps shut down, they're not shuffled to the back like on the Xperia and have to be closed manually, which may well be the cause for Android getting beefier hardware.  The Windows desktop is tiles that rotate, not up to 7 homescreens with widgets that rotate in 3D.  It doesn't need to have huge amounts of power to run, because it's optimised down.  Although at this rate I'll be on course to pick up a Windows Phone 9 handset once this contract is over... I'll be talking about phones again later this week.  I know how exciting that must be.

Something else I've been puzzled with recently is the appearance and the supposed "addictiveness" of 'Candy Crush Saga', a Bejeweled clone that has taken over Facebook, phones, people's lives, taken their children away &c &c... And I just don't get it!  Sure, it's a fine game to burn a half hour on, but other than that I don't really see it.  I am only truly addicted to one game, and I have to be careful when I choose to play it - this year's tour to Sweden will see hours stacked away YES BECAUSE I MEAN TETRIS.  I actually have to limit myself because it's just too easy to get sucked in to beating my score all the time.  I don't go by the string of numbers, I go by line count, and I currently stand at 192.  I swear to God, and you as my witness that by September 2013, I will have broken the 200 barrier.  I may have to sacrifice higher brain function, but whatever, I don't care.  Where was I?  Oh yes, Candy Crush Saga.  Where a cheap story line has been wrapped around some colourful graphics laid over the top of the 12 year old Bejeweled engine.  Okay, maybe it isn't the same on before any sort of copyright action takes place, but the process is exactly the same.  Match three of the same symbols to blast them off the board, BUT WAIT WIKIPEDIA HAS MORE TO SAY ON THE MATTER where in fact this concept comes from a Russian game, Shariki, programmed in 1994.  That's older than this generation of school leavers.  So that's why it's so addictive.  Another great game from the frozen north! 

So, almost 20 years of colour-matching later and it's finally taking over Facebook.  I wonder what message lies therein?  If you want a good game that's simple and eats up your every living second, call Russia, circa 1984 to 1994?  In a world where the hardware war between console generations is reaching simply ridiculous heights of power and realistic, High Definition graphics rendering, it doesn't half amuse me that things like Candy Crush and even Temple Run are so popular and addictive - perhaps a necessary tonic to the sheer power of console and PC gaming.  As for me, I'm playing my way through the Legend Of Zelda: The Wind Waker again, and bar the ridiculous sea journey aspect of it (which is roughly half the game), it's just great fun.  The actual dungeon design and combat improvements over the legendary Ocarina of Time and the brain-bending Majora's Mask are really well done.  Not bad for a game over 10 years old.  It may well be showing its age, but it's still really just a fun game.  It's a Nintendo thing, really.  They got out of the hardware arms race with the launch of the Wii, and have continued on their business plan with the WiiU. 

Maybe I did have a lot to say after all?  Don't worry folks, I still haven't forgotten about how much I hate everything (and what that really means), which will form the core of a future post, probably alongside the fate of The Scholary.  For now though, I shall retire... But not for too long.  Honest.

Are you there God? It's me, Khan.

Okay okay I knew there was something else that I was supposed to complain about last week.  I've just been reminded by happening upon a short review of the new Superman picture, Man of Steel, starring Henry Cavill in the eponymous role.  Another serious, gritty reboot of a franchise that's decades old just as a film series, let alone the original appearance if the character in the 1930s.  Let's get things straight, I haven't seen Man of Steel, but I think I will.  I might even...

...No, I couldn't.  Anyway. 

It hasn't taken me long following a few links to find out that a sequel has already been fast-tracked.  What?  Already?  What the hell you guys.  This is the heart of my final problem with Star Trek Into Darkness, and I'm so glad that I remembered it because I knew that when they killed Kirk...thay couldn't really kill him.  The main cast for the new Trek have signed on for three movies.  Three movies!  Another Trilogy!  This wasn't like the early 80s and the original cast, where tensions between the studio and Leonard Nimoy in particular had grown to a fever pitch.  To begin with, Nimoy wanted an out, which is why they kill Spock off within the first ten minutes of Wrath of Khan.  It survives from an early draft where it was permanent.  Of course, it became the bait-and-switch we know and love and weep over, but really...we could have seen the true 'end' of Spock right there and then.  Nimoy pulled the eternal "I'll come back if you let me do whatever I want" card, took a pay rise and ended up directing the next two films: The Search for Spock and The Journey Home (or Star Trek: Save the Whales).  The relationship between Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner played a big part in all this, which you can find exposited at some length in Shatner's book, Star Trek Movie Memories.  It's the companion piece to Star Trek Memories, the latter of the two detailing his experiences on set in the Original Series, and touching on his acting career before being flung into space.  I really like Bill Shatner anyway, and these informative, amusing and highly illuminating books (alongside Get a Life! and Up til Now, his autobiographies) are firm favourites.  

I'm getting away from the point though.  The final reason why basically Kirk's death in Star Trek Into Darkness is completely empty is because of the widely publicised fact that the cast had signed on for a three picture deal.  They can't kill off the Captain!  Not if he still has another film to star in!  It's a no sweat operation.  As soon as I realised this, sat there like some sort of hot mess, I immediately got what little shit I have together and rationalised that they would find some sort of magic McGuffin to...oh yes there it is KHAN'S BLOOD YOU KNOW THE STUFF THAT RESURRECTED THE TRIBBLE (nice reference to The Trouble with Tribbles, huh?  Almost as good as the DS9 episode where they go back in time and Benjamin Sisko becomes the first black man in space and meets Kirk with some top-notch editing).  This is it, the final key.  Not content with playing the pivotal moment almost beat for beat, we have already been cheated out of the consequences.  When they killed Spock, you had to wait two years for the next film, and even then his character only remembers himself at the very end of the film, none of this ten minutes rubbish.

The whole sequence is bereft of the emotional weight and significance of the original.  Everything will be fine, because if they killed him for keeps what would the third film be?  The Search for Kirk?  It is illuminating, finding vox-pop style quotes from not just William Shatner but also George Takei about the difference between this 'Nu-Trek' and their Star Trek.  It seems that a lot of heart has simply gotten lost.  Of course, things are different now we have the internet and the sheer size of the film industry the world over is much larger than it was in the 80s - the budget for Star Trek II was a mere 11.2 million dollars, comapred to the $190 million for Into Darkness.  This isn't hitting out so much, but merely commenting on how much easier it is to get hold of information about any film these days if you have an internet connection.  I myself used to scour one particular site for news on the Transformers sequels daily for anything I could possibly learn.  The upshot of this was that I had discovered enough clues to piece together enough of the plot to Dark of the Moon, along with the very spoiler-heavy TV spots to basically predict what would happen.

Sorry.  I just get a little animated about how everything gets turned into trilogies at the moment.  Don't think I'm detracting from the performances on screen as well: not only were they highly enjoyable, but critically very convincing and believable.  Once you can get the audience to believe in your performance, of course, they are in the palm of your hand.  The little domestic sequence in the flying Hamburger really zings back and forth, before Spock ends it with what basically amounts to a Holocaust-style reference to the death of Vulcan.  It's tense, and importantly, it's emotional.  I'm getting away from the point again though!  Let's face it though, three is a good number.  Even though I'm a gently lapsing gamer, I can still name a few trilogies off the top of my head - Metroid Prime, Halo (now moving into a second trilogy), the Batman Arkham series, Fallout... Also Sam Raimi's Spiderman trilogy and Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy... And Michael Bay's Transformers (also moving into a second trilogy)!  Having a trilogy is fashionable, it seems.  Of course, the original trilogy is and always will be Star Wars, the epic saga of the Skywalkers, which is itself set to become a trilogy of trilogies (a meta trilogy?), the first new film of which is to be released into the wild in 2015, directed than none other than Mr. Lens Flare himself, J. J. Abrams. 

There's just something inevitable and slightly disappointing now every time I see that a trilogy is planned or optioned or whatever... Like film makers see it as a no-fuss ticket to big bucks.  A license to print money.  I suppose it's also connected to the subject of rebooting film franchises, especially comic book movies: the first film deals with the new interpretation of the origin story, and then a story arc is started, picked up in the second film and concluded in the last of the three.  But sometimes, it seems like a trilogy for the sake of it.  Like The Hobbit!  Yeah.  The fact that that's been spun out into a trilogy is kind of... Well, it almost seems like a waste.  Sure Lord of The Rings (especially the extended cuts) makes a hefty trilogy, where each film is worth two books.  But where three films is one book, especially a book that's much smaller?  Hmm.  I'm almost kind of glad that Hellboy never made it into a third film...

Is this the end of my Wrath of Wrath of Khan?  I doubt it.  I haven't even approached the issue of 'whitewashing' Khan, because that has no real impact on what I have to say.  I'm sure there'll be another one of these posts once I've seen Man of Steel, although from what I've read already it doesn't quite slavishly homage the older films with the inimitable Christopher Reeve.  Don't forget guys that 2006's Superman Returns, as deep into homage territory as it went was also a kind of sequel to the older film series as a whole.  Who knows whether Man of Steel will be spun out into a trilogy, or perhaps the third film of its lineage will be the first act of the Justice League idea that's been floating about even before The Avengers (Jesus there were so many different titles for wherever that film was released I can't even be bothered picking one)? 

To finally conclude, I obviously feel pretty passionately that a huge oppourtunity was missed here.  Rather than go for the 'go-to' sequel idea of the most lauded Star Trek Villian ever, they could have done something completely different.  Heavens, they could have brought V'Ger back instead!  The lack of imagination is... Disappointing.  You know, they could have left Khan out of it until the third film, where the Botany Bay went undiscovered, crash landed on a planet (killing 9 of the augments), leaving Khan and the surviving 72 on board to conquer the planet and be discovered by the Federation in the future - with wildly different consequences.  Oh well.  I suppose I can wait for the next reboot.

...Khan?

Since first seeing it some... Oh I dunno, thee weeks ago, I've gradually been coming to terms with Star Trek Into Darkness.  Of course, this amazing summer movie has been nothing short of an event, whether you liked it or not.  The thing is, I absolutely fucking loved it.  Went to the cinema, saw it in 3D, waved my arms about, probably shouted out loud a few times, and cried at the appropriate moments.  I did say I was going to see it again and take notes on all the 'Old Trek' universe references, but the time has been and gone and it's now no longer on at The Plaza on the cheap night.  What I did do however, was track down the classic 1967 episode of The Original Series Space Seed.  I don't really need to watch Star Trek II Wrath of Khan again (it's not a necessity at least), because various parts of that film are BURNED INTO MY MIND AND WILL NEVER GO AWAY.  Because of being steeped in Trek history, I basically have three major problems with the film:

• The emotional crux of the film is essentially empty
• Not only is it empty, but it becomes a race for the McGuffin
• It is one reference after another and cherry picks elements from the above mentioned Khan stories
  

 Also a really funny thing I came across in one of trawls through the internet is that this film is like the John Harrison Ford action movie Raiders of the Lost Ark, where the film opens with the protagonist being chased by angry natives, and closes with the superweapon being safely locked away... Who says Hollywood has run out of plots?  Anyway.

Are you sitting comfortably?  Are you ready to hate me, possibly yourself and maybe everything you know already?  Let's go then.  Don't worry though!  Because I hate absolutely everything already, so I am way ahead of you.  DID I MENTION I WILL SPOIL LITERALLY EVERYTHING IN THE FILM JESUS CHRIST YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE EVEN READ THE TITLE.
 We open to a brilliantly shot set-piece with Bones and Kirk pegging it through a jungle away from spear-toting natives, cut with Sulu and Uhura in a shuttle, about to dangle Spock (dressed as a disco ball) into a Volcano.  Turns out the Enterprise has been sat in the sea for the best part of two days, on a self-ordained mission to rescue the planet from the cataclysmic eruption of said volcano, by dropping a cold fusion bomb that freezes the eruption.  The one important moment in this section is where we end up with Spock stranded in the volcano READYING HIMSELF TO DIE after the immortal line 

• "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few... Or the one."
  

FORESHADOWING no?  Anyway, it wouldn't be much of a film (seeing as this is an impersonation of Wrath of Khan rather than The Search for Spock) if they killed Spock off before the opening titles, so of course, they raise the leviathan from the waves and rescue the green blooded son of a bitch.  We know that this isn't the only Star Trek sequel that does the old bait-and-switch on Spock dying.  For once we get to see the great and mighty ship in the atmosphere, which is something I really liked!  I remember that they put landing gear on the crate in Voyager, but I only saw the one episode where they landed the big ship?  There may be more, I didn't see every single one.


Okay.  We get introduced to 'John Harrison', the man with the magic blood (remember that).  The ultimate expression of Sherlock Holmes - cold, calculating, intellectually superior, misanthrophic, a gifted tactician and a talented combatant.  Just say if you know any old Star Trek, just say, who else do you know fits all those categories?  No... It can't be him?  Anyway.  He orchestrates the explosion of some super-secret research facility in the basement of London, not a stone's throw from Wren's St. Paul's OF COURSE IT'S STILL THERE Seriously guys they still have red buses.  Sherlock also performs a daring assault on Starfleet high command (only seconds after the comedy block-head Kirk works out why they've all been gathered there on that day ahead of everyone else in Starfleet including Spock) before beaming off to the Klingon Homeworld when Captain First Officer Kirk knackers up his snub-nose starfighter (transworld beaming because Starfleet pinched the transwarp equation without crediting Scotty - some sort of satire on Intellectual Property rights I think), only moments before Kirk swears REVENGE.  The Wrath of Kirk!  After a tense meeting with Admiral Marcus, as portrayed by Robocop (check the desk out for yet more classic references), Kirk gets his Captaincy restored, his Spock returned, the Enterprise given back... and orders to kill 'John Harrison'.  Further to this, the Enterprise is armed with 72 super-secret long range proton photon torpedoes (does that number mean anything?).  When this magic missile payload appears in the engineering section, Scotty won't sign for them!  Not at this address mate!  He's not happy because they won't let him look at the secret ingredients.  The upshot of this is that Scotty gets kicked off the Enterprise, complete with his little wee Ugnaut man.  This frees him up to advance the plot later on after being absent for at least an... hour?  In his place, Eastern European stereotype Chekov stands in.  Alongside the torpedoes arrives Carol Wallace, who occupies the 'fit bird eyecandy' character archetype, that all Sci-Fi must have.  When they reach Qo'noS, holding position miles out with the magic missiles pointing at 'Harrison' Ford, while Kirk, Spock and Uhura (with two redshirts) dress up as smugglers and fly the Kessel Run in a prototype for the Millennium Falcon.  Spock and Uhura have a full on domestic in the flying Hamburger. While all this is happening, Sulu is sat in the captain's chair (Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, anybody?  Sure, it's no Excelsior...)


Another high-speed fight scene gets cut, with the mirror universe Klingons... who look just like their Prime Universe (thankfully.  Right?) counterparts, which starts to get pretty hairy...until Sherlock appears and literally just kills the shit out of everybody who isn't in the principal cast.  He surrenders instantly after a grueling battle once he learns the exact number of torpedoes pointed at him.  Why?  Why would such a furious badass simply yield in a heartbeat like that?  What importance does the number 72 have?  And then Kirk punches him alllllllllllllllllllll day without Holmes even flinching.  They drag him back to the Enterprise where it is finally revealed that yes, Sherlock Holmes IS Peter Guillam!  Ho ho!  Of course, he is Khan Noonien Singh, the most dangerous of all the despotic genetically modified human beings from the Eugenics Wars of the 1990s in the Star Trek Universe (multiverse?).  Remember, the timeline only split when the Kelvin was destroyed at the start of the first film of this franchise.  Literally everything else up until that point was exactly the same - First Contact and even Enterprise is still canon at this point.  I hope you remember the models on the desk?  Not just another nod, for once. After the underplayed reveal, he soothingly rumbles about the torpedoes, what's inside them?  What's inside is a game changer, and explains why the SS Botany Bay  isn't in the film, because we discover that as well as a highly explosive payload, they each contain a cryo-stasis pod with Khan's crew safely tucked away!  Before this we see Carol Marcus Wallace in her underwear.  Phwoar.  It serves no narrative purpose.  Around this time, Khan gives Kirk a space postcode, which moves James Tiberius to call his friend and now free agent... Montgomery Scott!  Who is drinking whisky in a club.  He drives a shuttle craft over and discover a huge shipyard and manages to infiltrate... Dr. McCoy also takes a sample of Khan's blood.  Keep hold of that.

But it seems that this Khan is not a bad Khan?  It transpires that the Botany Bay was found in space, just like it was in the 'real' universe, but this time by Admiral "Robocop" Marcus.  Khan was awoken and used, used I say, to create weapons of mass destruction for space war (this is most unlike Khan Prime) with the Klingons.  Khan's crew are used as leverage by Marcus, and are included in the payload of each and every torpedo that was supplied to the Enterprise.  All of a sudden, loyalties are compromised.  A new ship appears, the USS Vengeance.  The captain is none other than Admiral Marcus, who is hunting down Khan as well.  Marcus orders that Khan be transferred aboard the Vengeance, as he is a war criminal and must be executed.  I've missed out part of the debate here (most of which happened before the torpedoes' cargo was discovered) but basically Kirk, rather than follow the orders of his Admiral, follows Spock's suggestion of bringing Khan to trial on Earth, a deeply legalistically ethical suggestion.  It's what Kant would have done.  Marcus, of course, doesn't like this one bit.  The Enterprise escapes at warp speed... But is chased down and fired upon!  This is a real surprise to see one ship not only caught up on but attacked while in hyperspace at warp.  It's really amazing on screen, make no mistake.  The Vengeance makes a fearsome noise.  Still, it adds up to make this Khan almost a sympathetic enemy at the least - yes, he may be the Khan of the Eugenics Wars, but so far he hasn't seemed to be trying to take control of the Enterprise and his crew are in danger and he has been kept prisoner and taken advantage of.  All things that can be sympathised with. 

Okay, let's relax on the whole plot synopsis here.  There's one point I haven't yet addressed which I'll get to, but I'm sure if you've seen it already you know what's happening, if you haven't seen it but don't mind finding out there are several, less cynical and more detailed synopses, and if you want to see it but haven't WHY THE HELL HAVE YOU GOT THIS FAR.  Let's get to the cut and thrust of this...review?  I dunno, but the climactic death scene.  As I said earlier, this film oscillates between Space Seed and Wrath of Khan, and by now it's definitely swung into the latter.  However, this is the mirror universe so it's not going to play out quite as you expect.  Or quite as you remember.  The Enterprise is wrecked, barely holding together in Earth's upper atmosphere.  The power's out, because the warp core is misaligned due to the preceding battle, and time is running out before the ship crashes and the crew liquidised by the force.  Thing is, Bones is in the Medical Bay, and Spock is strapped into the Captain's chair as per the space jump that Khan and Kirk did in order to infiltrate the USS Vengeance.  Scotty and Kirk are in Engineering.  So the usual "you can't go in it'll kill you!" happens, and Kirk... Punches Scotty out.  That's it.  Sits him in a chair, and puts his seatbelt on... and goes in the reactor chamber.  What.  Seriously.  Kirk goes off to his death.  Let's cut here.



Now, there are three critical things that raise Wrath of Khan above other Star Trek films primarily, and these are as follows:

• Ricardo Montalban straight up OWNING every line (the performance of a God)
• The Enterprise and the Reliant playing Battleships in 3 dimensions
• The death of Spock

Aside from this, the scenario where the crew are beginning to age (Kirk gets reading glasses for his birthday!) and the stirring faux-naval score really help the sort of campy atmosphere.  You will notice that Into Darkness has none of these things.  The 18 year gap between Space Seed and Wrath of Khan is almost exactly mirrored in real time, the episode coming from 1967 and the film from 1982. 

As noted earlier, this Khan does not think in three dimensions.  The superbly played and brilliantly tense final shootout between the Reliant and the Enterprise is at a stalemate...until Kirk remembers that unlike the sea, space operates in three dimensions (with which Khan is not experienced), and uses this to his advantage.  As a final act of bitterness, Khan, shattered and dying, makes one last-ditch attempt to vanquish his enemy by setting off the Genesis device before expiring.  The Enterprise limps away, but can't break into the run that Warp speed is because the warp core is misaligned.  Engineering is cut off due to the inhuman amounts of radiation pouring out of the warp core, and there's no way to get in... Or is there?  Not all of the crew are human, remember.  It is at this point that I start weeping with no sense of regret.  The only crew member who could biologically withstand the radiation is... Mr. Spock. 

Spock's self-sacrifice is the emotional climax of the movie.  It is Spock's Kobayashi Maru test - by his own admission.  He slips off quietly while everyone else is panicking, and gets it done.  Bones tries to stop him, but Spock nerve pinches him and then mind melds.  "Remember".  Of course, he manages to fix the vital component of the reactor in time for the Enterprise to escape, but fatally irradiates himself in the process.  His final breath is so touching not because it's Spock and Kirk, or the fact that they're in space or anything... It's seeing a man watch his best friend of almost twenty years die in front of him, totally unreachable.  The one person he needs, he can rely on is... just slipping away behind the glass.  Just give me a minute you guys.  I'll be okay.

This is where Wrath of Khan pulls ahead, because it's also about the way that their lives have changed through time.  This theme continues through all the original cast films, as the surviving cast of Star Trek TOS have a combined age that is greater than the Rolling Stones.  These guys in the mirror universe haven't even gone on their 5 year mission, they've known each other for all of 5 minutes, so the death of Kirk is deeply unfortunate and still pretty sad - rather than deliberately choose himself, he is the one man who makes the choice.  The emotional hook in this is remembering Spock's death, and, rather than the Captain being trapped inside the planet, it is in fact the mirror Spock who utters the famous scream before chasing Khan down on foot, so that famous Vulcan physiology gets referenced after all... After a fraught punch-up on aerial platform vehicles, Uhura gets beamed down and stuns the living shit out of Khan with a phaser.  They need him alive for (drum roll yes that's right it's McGuffin time) his magic blood!  If it can resurrect a tribble, it can resurrect a Kirk!  I have another problem with this, that I realised even in the cinema was there are 72 frozen supermen on board in Medical who have the same genetically superior blood.  They even turf one of the Botany Bay crew out of their cryo-pod in order to preserve the gradually decaying body of Kirk, so they can pump him full of Khan's blood... Whaaaaaat?  Why can't they use that one?  IT ALWAYS HAS TO BE KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN.

And look at that.  Ten minutes later, (two weeks in the movie time) and we cut to Kirk in bed.  Laid up with a case of the Khans, he has miraculously recovered from being dead (just like that tribble earlier), and Khan himself is safely locked in his chiller cabinet with the rest of the surviving Botany Bay, who knows how long for this time.  The one thing I said I was going to come back to was when Kirk and Khan do their space jump (in which Khan saves Kirk's life no less!), he rings calls Spock Prime on Space Skype in order to ask him about Khan.  Khan is a bad man, and was only defeated "at great cost" (although this cost is not elaborated on).  Spock to Spock, we finally hear what we knew about Mr. Noonien Singh all along, "He is brilliant, ruthless, and he will not hesitate to kill every single one of you".  This brutality was seen on Qo'noS, and also in the corridors of the Vengeance, where Khan, Kirk and Scotty work their way up to the bridge where Khan has his showdown with Admiral Marcus.  During the course of this Mexican stand-off, it is finally revealed that Carol Wallace is in fact Carol Marcus, the Admiral's daughter and another classic Trek reference.  That's not terribly exciting, sorry. 

Even though I found the experience of watching Into Darkness deeply enjoyable and very exciting, I ultimately feel a little disappointed.  A plot jammed with elements from two old stories (one of which is a feature length resolution of the first), laced with top of the line special effects and visual set pieces, then mixed in with more references to classic Star Trek than  you can shake a stick at to keep it all together.  Lens flare does not replace character development.  Disappointed is the wrong term, too strong perhaps.  Underwhelmed?  Now I've had the time to think about it (and write it all out) especially.  I'll definitely watch it again, buy the DVD you know it, but still.  Having split the timeline in 2233, and planet Vulcan being destroyed in 2258, the alternate universe is different enough already, without comparing how much more emotional this particular Spock is: we see him and Uhura conduct a relationship in public, something that Nimoy's Spock would never do.  Chronologically speaking, there was no need to make Khan the villain of the piece, seeing as the film is set 8 years before the Prime crew discover The Botany Bay (or perhaps this is another repercussion of being on an altered timeline?) anyway.  I feel that it was a bit of a cheap shot using the exact same plot device in the shape of the damaged warp core.  Even down to the critical use of the word "friend".  By making Khan's blood the only thing that can save Kirk, they make the baddy into the source of their deus ex machina, and also make sure the other augmented humans are left inhuman by leaving them as the cryo-pods, basically.  However, the memorial presided over by Captain Kirk at the end of the film rededicates Starfleet's purpose: rather than prepare for war either in secret or openly, and the famous five year mission is finally launched.

A reboot like this would always be tough.  Imagine if they rebooted Star Wars like this, where perhaps... I dunno, Qui-Gon Jinn survives the lightsaber duel but Anakin Skywalker still becomes Darth Vader in a series of very strange but similar events?  Maybe it was some sort of attempt on the writers' and director's parts to make a statement that these characters are 'destined' to interact in this sort of way, regardless of where we find them.  Or maybe they wanted to put their spin on an established part of Trek history.  Or... I don't know.  Even though Wrath of Khan's no world beater itself, I think Into Darkness can't even dream of touching it.  Sorry, but Montalban beats Cumberbatch any day.

Oh, Khan.  For Hate's sake, I type my last words at thee.