Rob Wickings's Blog
September 6, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 25
The Autumn Switch has finally been flipped. Sweet, blessed rain has anointed the garden, and a late flush of colour and dewy freshness is our reward. A lot of the Crown Prince squashes have fallen off the vine—it seems C was a little too enthusiastic at removing leaves. Oh well, lesson learned for next time and we’ll still have a few for cool-weather soups and stews. The apple tree is slowly being pruned back as it gives up the last of its fruits. One final harvest before we take it up completely. The bed C’s created around it needs a different kind of focus. Tempting to put an espalier tree along the fence, though. Colour, structure and delicious apples? Seems like a winning combo to me.
We can’t rest on our laurels yet. C has a schedule of work drawn up to put us in good stead for the winter—trugs to clear for winter veg, plants to move or take out completely as we get a handle on where the light falls through the day. But we’re both looking forward to the tasks ahead, and the prospect of sitting out at the end of a busy session with a fire-pit crackling, drinks in hand is very appealing.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
18 by Alice Loxton. A fascinating glimpse at famous and influential historical figures, caught at a pivotal moment in their lives—their 18th birthday. Structured around the notion of a time-travelling birthday party, this is a great book to dip in and out of, and Alice focuses on some really interesting characters. C gulped this down in a few days, and I’m doing the same.
Rob is watching…
Here’s a guide to some of the greatest educational shows of all time, archived not as you’d expect on the BBC, but through the world’s new most popular broadcaster—YouTube. From Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation to John Berger’s Way Of Seeing, this is an easy way to thoroughly expand your horizons.
Rob is listening…
to this glorious history of groovy folky funk. Come get far out with me,
Rob is eating…
Trout with lentils, based loosely on Marco Pierre White’s recipe. Why don’t we see more of this local, sustainable fish in the shops? I’d much rather eat trout than salmon.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Why some people think that hanging a cheap Chinese-made flag at half-mast is any kind of expression of national pride. Of course, we all know that’s not what it’s about, so I’m deriving a kind of grim satisfaction at seeing them fade, fray and blow away.
A long, beautiful tribute to Fred Walecki of Westwood Guitars. This is the man who sorted out the perfect instruments for the Laurel Canyon crowd back in the 70s, and must therefore had a little influence on the music which flowed out of that fertile spring. He’s still going, I’m happy to say.
As my San Marzanos finally ripen to a rich, glowing crimson, I have a glow of satisfaction that I raised the tomatoes from seed. It could be the start of a new obsession. This experiment feels a little beyond my current skill-set, though.
The story of how ZZ Top turned a rap on a crack dealer’s hustle into their greatest hit in years. I urge you to listen to both versions and check out the clear pathways between the two.
I’m very happy to see a resurgence in 2D hand-drawn animation in markets that don’t really get reported in the western press. Hollywood studios are, I hope, paying attention. The current tranche of animated movies leave a lot to be desired, and I’ve not seen a Pixar movie since Soul. Let’s get back to the source!
The brain, as I honked about last week, is a remarkable thing. Karen Norberg’s brain, doubly so, for reasons I won’t spoil here.
Some incredible images within, a testament to the value spent in years of waiting to capture that perfect fraction of a second. Cynics could argue that photo-manipulation has been involved. I choose to believe not. The build-up is as important a part of the story as the picture.
People can be hard to deal with sometimes. As a confirmed introvert, my default position when faced with difficulties in relationships is to turn away and hide. That’s not healthy. It’s important to recognise how working through problems can strengthen the bonds between people—or at least show how better to deal with friction next time.
One last thing.
To Outro, A Hüsker Dü classic given extra bite and chew with the addition of a Foo Fighter. One of my favourites, turned up to eleven.
Play loud, obviously.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
August 30, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 24
Apologies to anyone who received a very early draft of today’s Chapter in the emails earlier this week. I had one of those fat-fingered moments, pressing Publish on the WordPress dashboard instead of Save. So, you’ve had some spoilers, obviously, but I hope not enough to ruin the enjoyment of this week’s soaraway Saturday Swipe.
Please, don’t all rush in and tell me you prefer it without my contextual bloviations. That would be heartbreaking.
This week—fancy bread, insights from the Bake Off Tent and a call to action on behalf of Fantagraphics. Who are nothing to do with the fizzy drink.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
True Grit by Charles Portis. Well, I just finished rereading it, actually, as I presented it yesterday for the annual Reading Writers Book Club. This was an honour bestowed as the 2024 Don Louth Award winner, for the member who has made the most progress creatively through the year. I wanted to talk about True Grit as a brilliant example of first-person narrative, and how that voice, done well, can completely change the way you perceive the plot. Mattie Ross is one of a kind, that’s for sure. I can’t recommend it more highly.
Rob is watching…
This incredible lecture from one of my writing heroes, Ray Bradbury, delivered in 2001. It’s chock full of wisdom, advice and sheer heart. Take an hour out of your weekend and bask in a lesson from the master.
Rob is listening…
To The Blue Nile. If you’d like to join me, try these five tracks.
Rob is eating…
Fancy bread.
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Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
John Cena on coffee. Smart, articulate, knowledgeable. Could pull your head clean off your shoulders without breaking a sweat.
I was deeply saddened when Tim Smith of prog-punk mystics The Cardiacs moved to a higher plane a couple of years back. I am deeply joyful to hear they are returning with an album which celebrates his legacy and art. Can’t wait to hear this one.
John Constantine is 40. Here’s a look back at the life and times of (in my opinion) comic’s greatest magic practitioner and tragic hero.
The golden age of cinema was really great at glamourising the habits which time and science have proved are really bad for us. Smoking, murder, drinking strong liquor—man, that stuff looks like a lot of fun!
A gentle reminder that the most important muscle in the human body is the brain, which needs regular exercise as much as any other.
Carrying on from that, some fascinating facts from Mike Sowden at Everything Is Amazing on the extraordinary capabilities of that spongy mass of goop throbbing away on the inside of your skull. You’re incredible, you know that?
I loved this interview with Guy Singh-Watson of Riverford (we used to be subscribers to his excellent box scheme, and can recommend it highly), whose bracing honesty about the state of the farming industry should come as a wake-up call to all of us. We’ve somehow thrown obstacles in our own path and the challenge ahead is principally to remove or at least get round them.
Something To Put Your Arms Around
A call to action. Fantagraphics, a comics company with an amazing roster of talent and an incredible library of beautiful reads, are in trouble. They are essentially being held to ransom by their old distributor. There’s a big risk that Fantagraphics could be pulled under and lost for good. We can’t let that happen. Please help out a little if you can.
Perspective matters, especially when it comes to maps. We have a skewed view of the world because of the way the globe represents the size and relationships between our great land masses. All it could take to change our minds is a simple flip of the script.
Ruby Tandoh, one of our best contemporary food writers, opens up about her time in the Bake Off Tent. GBBO is a show which has helped to redefine Britishness for foreign viewers and launched the careers of some beloved celebrity names. Even in its sunset years, it remains wildly influential.
Advertising copywriter Kathy Hepinstall Parks nails the argument against AI. I need say nothing more.
Let’s Outro. The Geordie Springsteen makes magic with the girl who opened the shows on his recent tour. A gorgeous song becomes even more poignant and powerful when Olivia’s voice is added to the mix. I’ll be honest—this got me misty on first listen.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
August 25, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 24
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Rob is watching…
This introduction to the Chinese space program.
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Rob is listening…
Rob is eating…
Fancy bread.
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Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
John Cena on coffee. Smart, articulate, knowledgeable. Could pull your head clean off your shoulders without breaking a sweat.
Something To Put Your Arms Around
Link
Link
Advertising copywriter Kathy Hepinstall Parks
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
August 23, 2025
Third Quarter Report (Bloom Baby Bloom)
The August Bank Holiday feels like a pivot point for the year. It’s the last public holiday before the end-of year bacchanalia of consumerism and over-consumption that Christmas has become. Only a long weekend, but it feels more weighty. The teetering on the edge of a slope, the last moment before we take off in a hectic career towards closure and renewal.
In Reading, the weekend feels particularly notable as our town doubles in population for the Festival. In 1971 it was a simple rock gig (although the lineup, stuffed with acts like Genesis, van Der Graff Generator and Renaissance, feels a bit darn proggy to me). When I started visiting around 2008, it still had a clear demarcation of themed days—one rock, one indie, one dance. Now the lines have blurred further, and the festival holds a place as the last big blowout for the youngs before heading off to college. The lineup is barely recognisable to me now. You know what? That’s fine. I shouldn’t pretend to be down with the kids. I’m rolling into my third quarter. I haven’t been a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed boy for a very long time.
Speaking of third quarters. This weekend feels like the perfect time to report in to the shareholders, investors and other interested parties of Excuses And Half Truths Plc, LLC, Inc, Corp etc on our progress over the last few months, and our plans, hopes and aspirations moving forward into 2026. No graphs, I promise.
The main focus—a final assault on the troublesome top end of our land-strip garden, the area known as Copse End—has finally come to a pleasing break point. No longer a corridor of brambles, ivy and brown, patchy lawn, TLC and I have worked incredibly hard to make the sunny part of the grounds a place worth spending time in. Beds and borders have been dug out and planted, showing a riot of colour from geums and cosmos. An arch has gone in, with a deliciously fragrant Gertrude Jeckll climbing rose and a jasmine set to clamber all over it next year. This deliberately sets the entrance to Copse End as a break point in the flow of the garden, accentuated with the two trees we’ve owned since moving in (a big acer palmatum bloodgood and a flowering cherry) standing guard on either side. But there’s still a clear view all the way down to the big pergola—Gwen’s Den, in tribute to my beloved nan. Another jasmine and a clematis are softening the edges of that structure, and we put in a Buddha statue as a focal point. A garden guardian, a sentinel you can see from the house. I like to give thanks in front of him in the mornings. Every day down there feels like a blessing now.
Work, of course is not complete. You never finish a garden. C wants a cute potting shed in bright colours awash in bunting, and there’s still a full bed to properly shape and sow out. It’s year one for this new iteration of the End, and tweaks and replacements will need to be made to the planting. Some ideas didn’t work, others didn’t work in the places where they’re currently sited. It’s fine. The shapes are in place.
My veg-growing has been a game of two halves. Like C, I tried growing a lot of food from seed this year. Gherkins have been a wild success, the herb bed has flourished in the sunny spot we finally found for it. A single pot of basil I bought for £3 and split into three plants has kept us in fragrant green flavour all summer. Meanwhile, the San Marzano tomatoes which have slowly, slowly matured all year are now heavy on the vines and ripening up. I’ll do them again next year, keeping them in the greenhouse with the hope for a bigger crop. I’ll get enough fruit for a couple of sun-soaked tomato sauces to see us into the cooler months, and I’m happy with that.
The two raised beds (one which came with the house, one new) in Copse End have also motored along happily, providing plenty of spinach, chard and fennel. The old bed has been the greatest success, as two Crown Prince squash plants, raised from an almost forgotten pack of seeds, romp off and away, up the fence and down the path if we’d let them. Even the last remaining apple tree, knowing I guess that it’s for the chop at the end of the season, has issued one last hurrah—the biggest crop we’ve ever had.
Of the chillies, garlic and cucumelons we will not speak.
Personally and professionally, the year thus far has been roller-coastery. I had my first real pay rise in an embarrassing number of years followed almost immediately after by worries over redundancy. That storm has been weathered, I’m happy to report. Actual film credits for me this year on a big summer tent-pole—the Fantastic Four movie. My work is also on screen in Wes Anderson’s The Phoenician Scheme (no end credit roller there, sadly). There are a few other movies with my name on coming out soon, which I’ll talk about when I can.
Writing has been slow and sporadic. I’ve lacked focus and, frankly, intent. Hopefully as the nights draw in I’ll have more reason to do something with my afternoons instead of sitting out with a beer and a book.
Reading Writers is building up to the new term. Our last summer social, a book club meet hosted by yrs truly, takes place next week, then we’re back into events and workshops. I’ve become involved in a break-out writers room, piecing together the complex jigsaw of a sitcom. This has been an unalloyed delight, working and writing with a very talented bunch of people. I’ve also made a start on resurrecting an old audio project—an interesting challenge as a lot of the resources I used in the past to build it either no longer exist or now charge for their services. This new learning curve has a steep slope to it.
Actually, when I write it all down, I’ve been quite busy.
And then, of course, there’s the thing that gets me up on a Saturday morning—this here newsletter/blog/whatever. As a sustained exercise in weekly writing, Excuses And Half Truths remains the healthiest of creative exercises. It’s lovely to hear positive reports from members of The Readership. A big hug to pals Kim and Kelly who are regular cheerleaders.
Let’s give you a quick example of how good this whole endeavour is for me. Without the links for a Swipe this week, I sat down to a blank screen at half eight this morning. An hour later, I’m over a thousand words in. That’s a good sign, right? Conjuring a piece out of nothing from a view down the garden and a need to unburden, while Millie the House Beast dozes next to me.
Excuses And Half Truths remains, for me—and I hope for you—a good way to start the weekend. It looks like it’s going to be a nice one. Let’s do something special with it, before the merry-go-round whips us into autumn.
See you next Saturday.
August 16, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 23
I was getting into one of those slightly boozy text arguments with a pal, which are about nothing but generate bruises and ill will if you let them. Stupid stuff, growls and pokes which often come from misunderstandings or lack of clarity. I spat out a comment I really didn’t mean. Thinking on it ten minutes later, I realised it was nasty and unearned.
When I picked up my phone to try and minimise the damage, I saw the message hadn’t sent—a passing network error. I erased it, crafted a more reasoned reply, and the evening was back on track.
It’s easy to snap at folks, especially those you love, out of pride or a momentary burst of unexplainable spite. It’s never worth it. The great thing about chatting over text is that you can walk away, think, then say what you mean in the way that you mean it. The universe did me a favour yesterday. I’ll take that lesson with me.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Comics, maybe, or perhaps something entirely new. That’s the joy of The Ninth Art. You can make it in any way you like.
Rob is watching…
Wednesday. I’m not sure the weather is appropriate for the drop of the first half of season 2, but I’m enjoying all the gothy shenanigans nevertheless. Here’s a BTS of the standout sequence of Episode 1—a dose of good ole-fashioned stop-motion animation.
Rob is listening…
To CMAT. Are you listening to CMAT? You should be listening to CMAT. I love the drama, the commitment, the sheer wild glee of her performances, all in the service of some proper pop.
Rob is eating…
The lovely Samin Nusrat revisits her incredible buttermilk-brined chicken recipe. Her tips transformed the way I roast a bird. Try it this weekend if you get the chance and prepare to have the meal of legend.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
This carpet. The skill in making this carpet. The sheer attention to detail involved in making this carpet.
https://www.tumblr.com/preserving-tiktok/790429772418351104Speaking as someone who has spent time in food service and retail, I agree heartily with every line of this. You get a really hard fast lesson in human nature when you’re behind a till or serving food.
Speaking of which, Laurie Penny ran her own version of Squid Game. It provided a few uncomfortable lessons on her own nature, and what that kind of heightened, unreal atmosphere does to people. The Stamford Experiment was no one-off…
The Tiny Awards have locked their shortlist, and it’s now up to us to choose our favourite bit of hand-crafted webby goodness. Good luck choosing—I couldn’t.
This is a tale which highlights the casual callousness which comes when we allow systems to run without appropriate oversight. Granted, the circumstances which underly the story are unusual but even so, it seems bonkers that this could not be an easy fix.
Marie Le Conte takes us lefty types to task for generating the current crisis in policital and social dialogue. I refer you to the situation I found myself in at the top of the page. It’s really easy to poke and bray, without concern for the forward effects. Lord knows, I can be guilty enough of boorish behaviour online, and I’ve paid dearly for it.
This one is very long and very geeky, and certainly not the easy entry guide into jazz which I thought it might be. I’m not sure I’m any the wiser about a way through the undergrowth, but I’ll give Mark Sinker’s picks (when he finally gets to them) a try.
A history of arguably the most contentious word in the English language in the 2020s. Four letters, a thousand different interpretations.
FONT NERDERY AHOY. A dive into the typographical choices made for the first four Black Sabbath albums, released in a wild flurry of metal madness between 1970 and 1972. I love this sort of stuff. The processes used seem so far away now, and yet I was growing up as this work was being done.
Finally, as a corollary to the opening link, Ferhat Dirik of Mangal II, who I’m delighted to see writing again, talks about how guests to modern restaurants seem to have completely forgotten how to behave. It’s a sad and tiring situation, and completely unnecessary. Did Covid do that much of a number on our ability to interact with each other like normal human beings?
One last thought.
https://www.tumblr.com/cryptotheism/791175048956346368/if-i-say-magic-is-real-i-get-a-million-people-inLet’s have a bit of rockabilly thump and bounce to shake off the gloom which comes with consideration of the human condition. This booms and bams in all the right ways. Great to see a wildly incongruous bodhran tumbling the tune along too.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
August 9, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 22
A tweak to my working hours for the foreseeable future means a 5am alarm call, 6am report for duty. Which sounds horrific. But I finish at 2pm, giving a nice fat chunk of the day in daylight, free as a bird to do whatever I choose–or more realistically, chores. Honestly, this is a trade-off I’m very happy with. The commute is easier, I’m able to get in and out of shops more quickly and efficiently. Most importantly, it’s valuable time I can spend with C, in the garden, with a drink.
Postman’s hours ain’t so bad when you look into it.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
This extremely long piece on AI, what it is (and more importantly wot it is not) and how it is likely to change—or change us. I still worry that we’re anthropomorphising a process which cannot think, reason or empathise. Nevertheless, there’s some eerie paradoilia going on. I was strangely spooked by the end.
Rob is watching…
Mandy, Diane Morgan’s greatest comic creation (Philomena Cunk, although magnificent, is not really hers to claim or ours to bestow). Short, sharp, snot-inducingly funny. Take fifteen minutes, watch the first episode of Season 1, and tell me I’m wrong.
Rob is listening…
Come on, sing along, the subtitles are right there.
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Rob is eating…
Vittle’s overview of 75 kid-friendly restaurants in London doesn’t quite say the quiet part out loud, but it’s fairly obvious. The picks in this big list are not your Hungry Horses or TGIs. They’re genuinely nice places to eat which have the service game locked up tight and understand how to look after family groups. Honestly, it’s not that hard.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
I’m never going to be a muscle-car kind of guy. My driving style is much more of a cruise than a race. But I would cheerfully floor the throttle if I ever got the chance to drive a Batmobile, this bad boy in particular.
Michael Chabon makes an unpleasant but very important point about the creative process. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, and some things you’re just going to have to swallow.
A fun look at the medieval tradition of getting cashback after an unfortunate family incident. It might take you a few goes to get past the slavery option, and you’ll probably find you’re worth less than you think.
Jeff Maurer at I Might Be Wrong writes meaningfully on the societal signifiers that come with the sort of character who chooses to sit on a chair backwards. The one who springs to mind for me is Cmdr. William Riker of the Federation Starship Enterprise. His technique for getting out of his seat, involving an insouciant leg-lift, really has to be seen to be believed.
An epic quest from Adam Aaronson to try every cocktail on the International Bartender’s Association list. I admire the commitment. His article is also a handy guide to some very good places to partake of said libations. I really must try Satan’s Whiskers…
First published in 2015, and more relevant by the day. Yest, I know we’re anthropomorphising again but, I mean, come on.
Some gentle sounds to ease you into the weekend. Streaming playlists are all well and fine, but sometimes it’s nice to let someone with a bit of experience take the reins and and let you doze in the back seat.
A tale of companionship, community and growing old gracefully. These girls have got it right.
The Golden Girls Reboot Looks Great
A despatch from a possible American future, which seems a bit close to the bone. Science fiction is always best when it’s talking about the here and now. Laughs aside, The Land Of The Free’s slide into authoritarianism is something we should all be worried about.
One last hint.
I haven’t really mentioned Ozzy Osbourne’s move to a higher plane, breath-takingly graceful and brilliantly timed as it was. My admiration for the man, his legend and his legacy are mine alone. But this mash-up felt too good to go unshared, and I’ll let it serve as my tiny tribute. Rest In Power, sweet Prince Of Darkness.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
August 2, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 21
Rain. Finally. Thank all the heavens. The introduction of a hosepipe ban, one focussed cruelly on a single Caversham postcode—ours—usually heralds wetter weather. But the grumbles of thunder and dramatic skyscapes didn’t seem to give out like they promised. Until Thursday, when over the course of a half hour during drinks-o’clock the lights dimmed and the atmosphere thickened to the texture of a damp sponge. The deluge, when it came, was powerful enough to bounce off the stones.
Now, everything feels fresh and green again. There’s a mackerel sky up there this morning, and the light is limpid and gold. Coming off a week when I deliberately did very little to reset my poor brain, the rain felt like a signal and a kind of blessing. Things can and will be crappy, but nothing lasts forever. Patience and fortitude will finally bring the rain to your garden.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
The Greatest Knight by Elizabeth Chadwick. Her novels on one of my heroes, William Marshall, are a sheer joy. Tracing the adventures of England’s Greatest Knight through his youth, gaining reputation as a fearsome opponent in the tourney circuit of medieval France, through to his huge influence on British royalty and his pivotal role in the signing of the Magna Carta, Marshall is an unsung figure who changed the course of our country’s history. Chadwick’s novels are brilliantly researched but romp along like a destrier at the canter. Hist-fic at its finest. Recommended with a glass of red while sitting in the grounds of Caversham Court Gardens, the home William built and died in.
Rob is watching…
Here We Go. A simple family sitcom written by Tom Basden with a cracking cast of UK comedy heavyweights. The concept—everything the hapless Jessop family do is filmed by their son Sam—is a neat way of doing that Office-style floating camera bit without needing to pretend it’s a documentary. It’s screamingly funny. Series three is showing now with everything on iPlayer. DOORBELL.
Rob is listening…
This was shot in one go with two cameras, live sound and a performance which therefore sounds nothing like the recorded version. Seriously boombastic. Mixmaster, cut faster.
Rob is eating…
Why Reading seems to get all the American burger restaurants but no Wahaca is a source of mystery and frustration to me. Everything the chain does is totally delicious, perfectly spiced, utterly moreish. I’m trying the legendary pork pibil this weekend, marinading then slow-roasting a lump of pork shoulder. Over tacos with a few sides it should be delightful.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Nature can really do your head in sometimes.
A neat takedown of a common Hollywood trope. Guns with silencers don’t make that sweet little ‘pew’ sound when the assassin hits his target. In fact, they’re not even called silencers. Depending on your viewpoint, this is either fascinating or massively disappointing.
An oral history of a landmark LGBTQ movie, which cheerfully skewered the myth that homosexuality is somehow curable. The horror which comes when you realise parents would subject their own children to this sort of treatment is all the more powerful for the gentle presentation.
In yet another example of ‘comics does it best’, let’s take a look at an Argentine cartoon character who represented the hopes and fears of her readers over several turbulent decades. She would be difficult to bring back, but honestly I believe we need more comics with the nous and insight of Mafalda.
A thoroughly disturbing overview of one of the more specialised careers out there. If you think you’re having a tough day at work, imaging trying to process the recovery of kids held to ransom. Applicants with the thickest of skin only need apply, thanks.
We Don’t Pay For Damaged Goods
Content warning for the lead picture on this article from Outside magazine on the business model that sprung up in the early 20th century around the trade in shrunken heads. It’s funny, the things some people will collect. Why not just stick to Funko Pops?
Clare Pollard effortlessly mixes two of my favourite things into one delicious concoction. I could go for a couple of rounds, no problem.
The Prestige is the movie in which Christopher Nolan really set out his artistic approach. Juggling viewpoints, playing with time, keeping back the big reveal until the most effective moment. As Vishal Wagh makes clear in NoFilmSchool, the script of the movie follows the rules of stage magic beat for beat.
Fifty years of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Jeez, the Time Warp was a regular feature of college discos for C and I—at least, up until the acid house crews started to take over. I’m still very fond of this film and am tempted to troll along to a screening.
I Remember Doing The Time Warp
Sign of the times, right?
One last thing.
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I love this song by Clem Snide. The slightly trite lyrics, neatly undercut by the ‘lalala’ chorus—a brutal earworm, I’m afraid—which shows how clearly the singer is in on the joke. The parpy horn section, the push-pull dynamics—oh, this is just great. enjoy this performance on Conan O’Brien’s show in 2002, which really pulls the stops out.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
July 26, 2025
Super-Fantastic
It’s easy to lose faith. As a fan, reader and outspoken advocate for the medium of comics, it can be a struggle to argue your corner when folks will only see the worst parts of your favourite things. Worse, when they confuse the medium with the genre and offer up their gotchas based on prejudice, misinformation or plain ignorance.
When someone tells me how dumb comic book movies are, my teeth start to grind. It’s a problem because, to a certain extent, they’re right. Comic book movies—and let’s for the sake of argument, use the hater’s term for a moment and consider the modern superhero movie—are dumb. They’re predictable, cliched, bloated. Worse, they’re pandering to a very limited sector of the potential audience. Typically, the folks who complain most loudly about comic book movies are comic book fans, and Hollywood has been on the back foot about how to deal with them and their demands for a very long time. Hence, for example, there are four different versions of Zach Snyder’s Justice League film, each longer, more convoluted, worse. Fans still whined, demanding the one true text which would show how a sullen, humourless and underlit approach was the best way to depict their favourite heroes on screen.
Hence my cape fatigue. I’ve ignored the last couple of Marvel movies, and haven’t seen a DC-verse offering since, cripes, I dunno, The Suicide Squad when it popped up on More4 (this was not, I stress, the earlier David Ayer-directed Suicide Squad which had some of the same cast, a very similar plot and you can see why people get confused and just give up, can’t you?).
I was sick of it, to be frank. I had better things to waste my time on. Reading comics, for example. Why bother with a pale imitation of the real thing?
But this week, I had my faith reaffirmed. In the space of three days, I saw the future of comic boo—sorry, superhero movies.
And finally, I saw a reason to smile.
SPOILERS FOR BOTH THE FANTASTIC FOUR: FIRST STEPS AND SUPERMAN LURK BEYOND THIS POINT. STEP CAREFULLY, BOLD TRAVELLER
Over the course of a couple of weeks, we have been gifted with two different takes on classic heroes from different studios and creative teams. Both have a remarkably similar look, mood and tone—lighter and brighter, the angst and nihilism of the previous decade swept away in favour of optimism, of positivity, of hope. It’s as if Marvel and DC both looked at the world outside the studio walls and decided ‘you know what, things are crappy enough without depressing people when they just want a Friday night out’. Of course, the decreasing financial returns of super-cinema is a contributing factor. The need for a new direction was glaringly obvious. Money maketh movies. Go bleak, go broke.
What’s striking about both Matt Shakman’s The Fantastic Four: First Steps and James Gunn’s restart of the Superman franchise is just how far both film-makers have referred to the original source material for this brighter, shinier new age. Shakman goes so far as to depict the front cover of the first FF book in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shot in the dazzling, dizzying introduction to the movie, with the First Family in combat with a creature tearing up through the tarmac of a New York street scene.
Meanwhile, Gunn has been very open in his debt to Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s All-Star Superman. For me, the tone of his film is grabbed from the wildly imaginative, expressionistic Golden Age of the 50s, a time when anything can and often did happen in the course of twenty-two brightly coloured pages. Supes battering a giant lizard-thing around a shiny Metropolis plaza? You got it. And yes, that’s a two-for-two in Kaiju fights in urban settings. Both directors know what their audiences want.
You want a clear example of the new direction? Check out the important part the kid-friendly companions play in both films. H.E.R.B.I.E. in FF:FS (maybe I need to find a less exasperated acronym) is drawn straight from the animated TV show, a replacement for the copyright-unavailable Human Torch, and is very much part of the team. Cook, babysitter, co-pilot, all-round help-meet.
Then there’s Krypto. Superman’s dog has been canonical since 1955, a true friend to Ol’ Big Blue for 70 years. The Last Dog Of Krypton is not just comic relief—he’s pivotal to the plot, saving Supe’s bacon several times through the course of the movie. The love for Krypto has been a pretty big factor in keeping Superman in the public eye—and hey, anything that gets people thinking again about adopting a rescue pupper is alright by me.
The point here is that we have two characters which make you smile every time they’re on screen. They’re deeply toyetic and just lighten the mood. A cute dog counterpart in the Snyderverse would have been brutally killed to give Superdouche something to swear revenge for. This was an era when Jimmy Olsen was shot in the head for shock value, fer chrissakes.
Jimmy Olsen, Superman’s Pal, the character through which comic’s wildest scenarios came to life month by month as the cub reporter was changed into a space turtle or forced into marriage with an alien princess, is one big part of the most successful element of James Gunn’s Superman—the wholescale raid of DC’s back pages to bring together a crazy supporting cast. Sure, Perry, Lois and the Daily Planet crew are there. But we’re also seeing, in the Justice Gang and Lex Luthor’s henches, a broader spectrum of the characters on offer. The worst Green Lantern, Guy Gardner, is a highlight for me, with Nathan Fillion dialing up the obnoxiousness and ego. Isabela Merced’s Hawkgirl is the mean girl of the group, fearless and as at home with a spiked mace as a cutting remark. It’s incredible to see Metamorpho in a mainstream movie, let alone when he’s played with such vulnerability and pathos by Anthony Carrigan. Edi Gathegi as the fighting genius Mr. Terrific may be the break-out star, though. Unflappable, unstoppable, he’s a two-fisted super-scientist who is also ineffably cool.
I mentioned vulnerability, and that’s a watchword for both David Corenswet’s Superman and Pedro Pascal’s Reed Richards. They both have their lives turned upside down, whether by fatherhood in Mr. Fantastic’s case or the discovery that the message by which Kal-El chose his Earthly path was not what he believed. The two have doubts in their abilities, in their place in the world. These are movies in which Superman takes a beating in the very first minute, in which the world’s greatest scientist, the man with all the answers, is forced to say ‘I don’t know.’ These are not just punchy guys in spandex. They have flaws and are all the more relatable and human because of it.
Both men, when it comes down to the wire, can’t do the job on their own. Reed, of course, has the rest of the Four beside him. Clark Kent—Kal-El—is saved by The Justice Gang, by Lois and Perry and Jimmy, by his loony rescue pup. This is the key point to make, I think, and why I believe them to be so successful as reinterpretations of the comics tradition. The two films are both explicitly about family, about finding a place to belong, people with which to share that feeling and a community who will offer support when you’re at your lowest. The Fantasic Four are their own unit, solid as a rock from the very beginning. They fight, sure, but only out of love, and everything is fixed in time for Sunday dinner. Clark has had to build his family from scratch, finding a girl, a pal, powerful super-friends. But he knows they will be there to pull him out of the anti-proton river when he needs them.
I find tremendous comfort in all this. Comics have been a major part of my life since I learned to read—I’d argue they are part of the reason I’m such a book-hog. I’ve found friendship and community in my love of The Ninth Art, an infinitely malleable medium which can do things no other format can. To see those worlds, that experience, brought so vividly to life on the big screen gave me happy chills.
Sure, both The Fantasic Four and Superman may be silly, frivolous, ridiculous. But both Shakman and Gunn know that and lean hard into it, making a virtue out of the foolishness. Sure, the films are stupid. But they ain’t dumb. They deal with big themes with a lightness of touch and a wink. You can’t ask for more than that.
Now, please go and read All-Star Superman and Ryan North’s run on the FF. then you’ll really see how superheroes should be.
See you next Saturday, true believers.
July 19, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 20
It has been another—entertaining week, with existential fear for the future mangled up with some really rather nice moments. I’d elaborate but to be frank it’s probably best to put the whole thing in my rear-view mirror and move on.
I’m writing this on the train to That London for tomorrow’s Diamond League athletics meet at the London Stadium. I’ve booked next week off (pal Ryan sweetly called it a half-term break, which seems about right) and have fun things planned, including two trips to the cinema, a big family birthday and C and I’s 31st weddiversary. Time doth fly—doesn’t seem like more than a couple of months since the last one. The lesson for this week: look ahead and don’t stress about the things you can’t control.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Polostan by Neal Stephenson. The Grand Old Duke of cyberpunk does 20th century espionage. As dense, rich and chewy as you’d expect, but this time round in a handy bite-size portion—well, for Neal at least. Fans are moaning that this, the first part of a trilogy, is ‘only’ 300 pages long. I’ll take that any day, thank you.
Rob is watching…
Bookish, as trailed last week. Mark Gatiss’ post-war detectory really hits the sweet spot between cosy crime and a darker, more noirish approach. In the second episode I loved the visual tributes to certain British films of the late 40s, which really went hard on the deep shadows and Dutch angles. The show’s a treat, go check it out.
Rob is listening…
to Chuck Prophet. I’ve been a fan since his Green On Red days, but the dude has decades of solo music to enjoy. Tell Me Anything is the current obsession, the ear worm I sing under my breath while wandering about at home and work. A heads-up—the clip below contains near-nudity, poorly-depicted violence and really obviously fake gore.
Rob is eating…
Hummus. Watch to the end.
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Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Look at Brendon Flowers’ face all the way through this clip of their encore at Madison Square Garden, and tell me he’s not having the time of his life. I still think Sam’s Town is the best album Bruce never made. Nice to see the band got the note—look busy, The Boss is coming.
My cinema double this week is a hopeful one—that both the DCU and MCU have finally figured out that grimdark is not the approach which works when depicting the delightfully absurd pantheon of modern gods. Gritty and realistic doesn’t really work for me. The nadir was Joker, which mashed up Scorsese and Frank Miller to depressing effect. Still tempted to see the nutso musical sequel.
I’m going large on Superman this week, because I’m so pleased to see James Gunn and his merry band finally got the goofy charm of the material completely right. Ian Dunt on the faux furore around the boy from Krypton’s immigrant status. Some good further reading recommendations at the end, too.
Pete Paphides again, this time on the hard sums everyone involved in the music business has to work through in the 21st century. Yes, I know, links from Pete two weeks in a row. Go subscribe to his Patreon, the guy is doing great work.
A new metric in hi-fi audio testing—whether the music is replicated truthfully enough through the equipment to make you cry. I am happy to report that played through a Sonos Beam soundbar, Tom Waits’ Martha still gets me misty. Then, it always did, whether on vinyl or a cheap Dixon C90 homemade mixtape.
Let us celebrate Reading’s version of the Bayeaux Tapestry, free to view at our lovely red-brick museum. It’s a beautiful example of Victorian craftswomanship. Enjoy the extra pants. Shoutout to pal Kelly who spotted this first.
A fascinating insight from director Danny Boyle and cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle on how they shot 28 Years Later. Some genuinely innovative techniques at play here.
How to make last year’s most iconic snack. Simple, delicious, and the name tells you exactly what you’re gonna get.
In celebration of the return of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, here’s a look at the show’s greatest special effect—the towering construct colloquially known as Pike’s Peak.
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One last thing.
We’ll Outro with ZZ Top, live in Germany in 1980, at the height of their pre-synth glory. The brothers in beard have all the bomp you can yomp, but make sure you save room for a side of southern-fried boogie.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
July 12, 2025
The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 19
It feels to me that any period of hot weather lasting more than a couple of days invites comparisons to the summer of 1976—six weeks of unbroken sunshine, leading to drought so bad that domestic water supplies were restricted and, in some places, people were forced to rely on public standpipes. I was nine, and remember little of the obvious problems. It just seemed like a nice time to hang out in trees and eat ice lollies.
The point about 1976 was how unusual it was, especially for us Brits who see any two-day stretch of sunshine as manna from heaven. That’s already changing. Records for dry and wet weather are broken every year. I hope we don’t see another 1976, but I can’t say I’d be surprised by a summer where we have to queue in the streets with buckets for the morning cup of tea.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Most Secret, a history of Orford Ness by Paddy Heazell. We visited the island, once home to secret research stations and at one point the most powerful radar station in the world, the brilliantly named Cobra Mist, a couple of years back. You can read about that here. It still holds an eerie charge, and the empty blasted landscape gives off strong 70s SF vibes. Paddy’s account of how this tiny isolated bit of Suffolk became an epicentre for atom-age weirdness is absorbing and detailed. Well worth hunting down a copy if ou’re interested in the stranger side of life.
Rob is watching…
Season 2 of The Gold, Neil Forsyth’s brilliant dramatisation of the aftermath of Britain’s biggest robbery—the Brinks-Mat heist. The chase for the other half of the swag sees the focus change from season 1. The gold has gone. Now it’s all about chasing the money it created.
Hugh Bonneville as Boyce, the detective in charge of the hunt, is naturally excellent, matched by Tom Cullen as the manipulative John Palmer. Obviously not a documentary, so events have been ramped up for drama, but C and I were locked into this. On iPlayer now, if you fancy a binge while sheltering from the sun.
Rob is listening…
to Turnstile, the hardcore band it’s trendy to like. This sort of noise is right up my street, and their influence is writ large across the 2025 guitar music scene. A bit more on that later…
Rob is eating…
Lidl steak and chips, obvs.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Advisory: this loops and will be in your head before you know it.
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To start, here’s the original article which inspired the (criminally) still unseen movie. News is hopeful for a release now the rights have been wrested away from Warner Bros. The blend of cool legalese and cartoon violence is so beautifully handled.
My dad gifted us an angel’s trumpet from a glut he’s grown in his garden. It’s an impressive plant displaying a mass of dramatic flowers. It’s also used in the manufacture of a common motion sickness drug—and in criminal enterprises. A lovely plant, but handle with care…
Angel’s Trumpet, Devil’s Breath
Pete Paphides on Oasis. As salty and spicy as you’d expect. Some really interesting insights, but you can tell he’s not a fan.
Should you find yourself in Paris this holiday season, Shelby Chambers has all the insider secrets you need to make the most of your visit. The Swipe is always happy to offer up useful service information to you, o Readership. Fun and value, what more could you want?
A long read on the parlous state of greyhound racing in the US. Of course, it’s understandable that concerns about the health and safety of the dogs has led to a massive decline in the pastime, but I’m still a little sad. Walthamstow Dog Stadium with its iconic neon frontage was a big part of my childhood, and C and I had our sten night there. Once we finally retire and are able to welcome a dog or two into the household, there’s a very good chance they’ll be rescued greyhounds. Cat software on canine hardware.
Very much looking forward to Mark Gatiss’ new adventure in detection, Bookish. I can’t help but think there’s an element of Doctor Who to the whole approach, which I have no problem with whatsoever.
Leland Nally got hold of a copy of Jeffrey Epstein’s black book from the dark web and, as a journalist, saw no problem in calling every single number in there. This is an illuminating and un-nerving read which raises an awful lot of supplementary questions, especially in the wake of The White House’s refusal to release the Epstein Files.
More Than Just A Number In My Little Black Book
Sheer artistry. I cannot get enough of Gregg’s beautiful penmanship.
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One last thing.
Indie music has started to embrace pointy metal guitars, and I couldn’t be happier. Rhian from Wet Leg was rocking a lime-green see-through BC Rich at Glastonbury, and the Turnstile influence is writ large across the landscape. Even pop is going metal. I present Olivia Rodrigo, whose lead guitarist Arianna Powell cites them as an influence and offers a proper face-melting solo on her snow-white Jackson in this version of bad idea, right? In practical terms, these lighter, shorter-scale guitars make a lot of sense for female guitarists, plus their thin necks and flat fretboards just make them easier to play! Hey, if they’re good enough for Eddie Van Halen…
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
