Rob Wickings's Blog, page 5
December 7, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 38
I have started getting into the habit of waking well before the morning alarm goes off, think ‘oh well, no point in staying put’ and dragging my sorry ass into the shower. When the alarm is set for half five in the morning this can feel like I’m starting my day in the middle of the night.
On Friday I was going through the usual start-up sequence—20 past 5, Storm Darragh thumping at the windows, just about to fall out from under the duvet, when C rolled over, slung her arm around me and pulled me back. It was entirely subconscious. She doesn’t remember doing it. But it gave me the ten minutes I didn’t know were necessary, drifting sweetly in the warm embrace of my very love. When I finally extricated myself, I felt thoroughly rested, utterly content, ready for what would be a challenging morning at the coal face. Those ten minutes of simple contact gave me the strength I needed.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin. Palace plots, evil royalty, family feuds and the malign influence of household gods. Jemisin cooks up a rich and spicy stew, reinvigorating some old tropes with her signature tweaks to the old fantasy recipe. It reads almost most like far-future SF, a riff on Dune’s inter-clan battles overseen by a supreme Emperor with all the nasty toys at his disposal. A feisty heroine with secret superpowers is a key ingredient. This is delicious stuff. Dig in.
Can you tell I haven’t had any breakfast yet?
Rob is watching…
Moonflowers Murders, the second in the series of Anthony Horowicz’s meta-murder mysteries sees accidental sleuth Susan Ryeland entangled in another knotty case, with the solution hidden in one of the books she edited. Yes, it’s cosy crime, but the shifts in perspective and setting, the blurring of boundaries between fiction and reality give the show a pleasing edge. Very BBC, of course—which is never a problem.
Rob is listening…
Gloriously bonkers. If you’re new to the shredtastic world of the world’s fastest guitarist (other world’s fastest guitarists are available) then give this a try. Nothing succeeds like excess—and this starts big and goes all the way to eleven.
Rob is eating…
Soaked pasta. We pre-soak beans and rice, so why not pasta, especially for a bake? I tried this with a cauliflower-broccoli-Mac and cheese this week and can confirm exceptional levels of both ooey and gooey. A no-risk way to avoid dry lasagnes.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
All I Want For Christmas Is Midi. Listen carefully and you can almost hear the lyrics.
Let’s start with a nose at the burgeoning cult of really good olive oil, which has started to overtake a nice bottle of wine as the go-to gift for a dinner party. I’d never say no to the gift of EEVO, by the way.
This is quite an American-centric list, and there are plenty of obvious omissions—I’m sure you’ll come up with your own list. Nevertheless, it’s a useful compendium of some core recipes and if nothing else, an entertaining trip through twentieth and twenty-first food culture.
25 Recipes That Changed It All
I can’t really do this story any sort of justice in an intro. It’s sweet and filthy all at once. Just go and enjoy it.
Ben Mezrich seems like a bit (ok, a lot) of a chancer, but there’s no denying his method or commitment. One of those writers who finds a niche and techniques, goes in with both feet and a big grin and manages to come up smelling of roses. And a hint of the stuff roses grow in.
Film geekiness, be advised. The heavily modified 35mm cameras which took some extremely iconic photographs are objects worthy of a little attention. As ever when it comes to the innovation and lateral thinking which put man on the moon in the first place, everyone seemed to be making it up as they went along.
The Camera That Went To The Moon
The Wind Phone is a very Japanese artifact—a connection between two worlds built in a culture where the border between the two seems somehow a little thinner. I would not be surprised if there is a film based on this article within two years on release.
I can strongly recommend The Fence—really great storytelling and journalism, brilliant writing and just the right level of snark and toothiness. I recently enjoyed Ian Trueger’s piece on his time at St. JOHN (caps lock is deliberate) which explores the aesthetic and culinary choices which have made the restaurant and co-chefs Ferguson and Margo Henderson into pillars of the British food hierarchy. Fair warning, there’s a lot of offally rich kitchen action on display.
Last up, I am delighted, with thanks to Scott Hines and The Action Cookbook, to share the true story of what really went down on one particular foggy Christmas Eve.
We Outro with the introvert’s Christmas anthem. No notes, see you on the sofa. JOMO 4 LIFE.
Next week contains a birthday and at least two other social events for yer boi, (yes, I’m aware of the irony after I’ve just posted the above song) so I have no idea what’s going to hit your inbox this time next week. If it’s just a picture of my dinner at Hawksmoor, so be it.
See you next Saturday in some form.
November 30, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 37
Pity the December baby. Born in the darkest month, doomed to have their birthday forever superseded by all that Christmas nonsense. It’s impossible to book anywhere for a nice meal out, you end up with a shared birthday/X-Day gift, and there’s the general feel that your special day just isn’t that—well, special. My extended clan of friends and family has many Sagittarians in its ranks, including a Christmas Day and a New Year’s Eve child. Honestly, it sucks. This festive season, spare a thought and a little love for the December babies in your life. They didn’t choose to be born this way.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Pines by Blake Crouch. A fast, frantic bit of pulp nonsense which starts as a procedural mystery, goes a bit Twin Peaks then takes a wild SF-nal turn in the third act. A lot of fun, and Crouch knows how to put his hero through the wringer. Character and dialogue are functional and basic, but it’s a masterclass in how to plot. There’s a TV adaptation of the trilogy, Wayward Pines, if you fancy it.
Rob is watching…
Wolf Hall: The Mirror And The Light. Speaking of masterclasses, this is proper, premium BBC Sunday night viewing. Everyone involved is on their A-game. It’s brilliantly written, fantastically acted (Damian Lewis as the psychopathic Henry VIII is deliciously villainous) and looks gorgeous. This is where your licence fee is going, folks. Worth every penny.
Rob is listening…
to The New York Dolls. The cross-point between glam, punk and 80s metal, the Dolls were and remain incredibly influential. The look. The sound. The hair. Years ahead of their time, still relevant, still loud, proud and out there.
Rob is eating…
Supermarket Christmas Sandwiches. It doesn’t matter where from, I love ‘em all. The brie and cranberry, the turkey and sausage, the pork and stuffing. My favourite bit of Christmas is the Boxing Day sarnie, and everything before that is buildup to that precious moment when I pile a big bap high with gleanings from the table (yes, there are roasties, yes there is gravy) and take that first bite.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
A great David Lebovitz post which instantly sets three new obsessions in place—the bizarre French way with numbers (seventy-five is soixante-quinze, literally sixty-fifteen), the notion of au pif and sauce gribiche, which I had over hake at my favourite new eating place, the refurbed, elegant and delightful Rising Sun in Reading). I plan to adopt two of the three into my daily doings in the future.
Let’s start with a self-care affirmation as we move into a period where we become really bad at looking after ourselves. It really is about attending to our simplest needs. The animals know best.
I was saddened to hear we’d lost James McMahon, a music journalist of rare passion, compassion and talent. I read his newsletter regularly, and was struck by his open, honest approach to the mental health struggles he faced on a daily basis. He went way too early, but still left a giant legacy.
It looks like folks are finally sick of Elmo Muskrat and his bullshit generator, and are flying away from the social media platform he bought and burnt down. I have a presence there and will keep it, but barely check in anymore. You should be able to easily find me on Threads, Mastodon and most frequently Bluesky, which has the most old-school Twitter vibe of the three—as well as the most robust moderation tools. I also recommend using Openvibe, which allows you to view and post to all three services in one big timeline, making the whole experience feel less fragmented.
The cheap, pulpy B-movie, shot for peanuts and not aiming for anything more than an entertaining night out, is rare on the ground nowadays. Terrifier 3 would be an example, except the extreme gore which seems to be its raison d’etre is off-putting to most people, I guess. There is nothing cheap about Gladiator 2, but I agree with the argument raised by Sophie at That Final Scene—it’s not pretending to be great art.
CNN forensically explore our fascination with the UK’s biggest pub chain—Wetherspoons. I’m a regular user, and can confirm you find all human life in Tim Martin’s joints. Students to pensioners, families and friends, all gather under one roof for cheap food and booze and a chance to get together without choking out the bank balance. Always interesting to see an outside view of a national obsession.
Before the smart-asses amongst you stoke up your righteous indignation and activate your ‘well, actually…’ projectors—yes, I’m aware there is an essential voice missing from this piece. But as that voice belongs to one of the most reclusive musicians on the planet, I think we can excuse The Quietus for being unable to tease an opinion for their listicle out of Beth Gibbons. That aside, the following really does give a strong sense of where Portishead’s sound came from.
Portishead’s 13 Favouite Albums
I want one of these. That’s it, that’s the post.
An excellent use of Ninth-art techniques in this exploration of baby-monitoring, and how the hurtful realisation that you can’t be with your darling child all the time is a terrible but essential part of parenthood.
It turns out The Wicker Man was based on a real event. Which makes the film even creepier…
And lastly, more useful resources for the upcoming month of madness. Make sure everything here is built into the schedule.
They’ve released the Christmas Discourse Schedule! Lots to look forward to this year.
— Angus Main (@angusmain.bsky.social) 2024-11-26T07:48:22.547Z
My Insatiable One has been banging around my head for the last fortnight, so it seemed like an obvious choice for the Outro. I found a great version performed by the boys on Jools Holland back in 1993 when it was still an essential music show. I was set and ready to go. Then I spotted this in the YouTube sidebar and, well, all bets were off. A stunning performance of an incredible song. The pomp, glory and battered romance of Suede distilled into a spine-tingling few minutes.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
November 23, 2024
Time, Shepherd’s Pie and more excuses.
This week I’m going to be a bit looser, a bit more personal in my approach to the newsletter. For one thing, I’ve been attempting a social life, so not had much time to trawl for links. For another–well, it’s good to mix things up sometimes. Grab a cuppa and a slice of cake and let me tell you about my week.
C and I both treated ourselves to new phones as early Christmas pressies to each other. My old OnePlus Nord in particular is ready to be taken out back and shot. It hasn’t had a security update in nearly a year, keeps spitting power leads out of its feedhole and was all lag, grumble and whine. Sorry, dude, I’m a busy man, I can’t be doing with this performative nonsense.
There’s always a twitch of nerves when getting a new device working. We take it for granted that the transfer of data from one phone to the other will go smoothly. But what if it doesn’t? What if you lose access to your banking deatils, your music, your photos? It’s unlikely, but all the disasters in the world spin round my head every time the progress bar stalls.
You’ll be relieved, I’m sure to know, nothwithstanding a few hiccups with WhatsApp I am back online, also taking the opportunity to streamline processes and clear out some cruft. It’s a good excuse to play–I’m writing this through Google Docs using a fold-out Bluetooth keyboard which refused to play nice with the Nord. Legacy members of The Readership may recall my penchant for al-fresco writing. With the Pixel 8 Pro and keyboard, I have a solid working solution that’ll go in a jacket pocket. I wouldn’t want to write a novel with it, but for shorter pieces, it’s going to work nicely.
Quick review for you techies on the Pixel–good screen, great camera, excellent battery life, fast, smooth, and easy to use. OK, it’s not the cheapest phone out there, but once you factor in use time (seven years of security updates, four full OS upgrades) versus initial cost, it starts to look like extremely good value for money.
The highlight of the week was a trip to South Street (my first since, crikey, lockdown) for a bit of comedy. Emma Sidi, to be exact, with her show Emma Sidi Is Sue Grey. You may know Emma from the most recent series of Taskmaster, where she made an extremely strong showing against strong competition while dressed like a French detective. At South Street she showed what she’s really capable of, with an hour-long riff on how she imagines enigmatic Downing Street enforcer Sue Grey to really talk and act. It was incredibly inventive, brilliantly written and performed and utterly, utterly hilarious. I can’t really talk about the show without issuing spoilers, but clips are readily available on Insta, so take a look. It was great to go along with film pal Ryan, whose enthusiasm and positivity is always a balm to my withered old soul. Kudos to Readership pals Kelly and Ryan, whose improv skills helped turn the evening into a triumph.
In Reading Writers news, I am delighted and slightly embarrassed to note my victory in our Autumn Competition. That’s two wins in a row—I may need to respectfully withdraw from next year’s activities to give someone else a chance.
An exercise in themed writing, judged blind by ex-Vice Chair of the group, author Julie Cohen, the event was a blast. Fifteen entries was our best show-up yet, forcing a minor restructure of the evening from ‘everyone reads’ to ‘everyone reads a tiny bit and the three winners get to perform their story in full.’ Did I regret writing a story featuring dreadful French accents and parrot squawks? Yes, I did. Did I perform them with gusto anyway? Again, yes. I am such an old ham.
Meanwhile, I see Reading Museum are now properly promoting Art Stories, their exhibition opening the archive and encouraging local writers to respond to the pieces on offer. I urge you all to attend if you can, and look out in particular for a short thing from yours truly. The show runs in the John Majeski Gallery until February.
A shepherd’s pie disaster this week, folks. I thought I had the dish completely nailed, but fumbled the ball badly while cooking for guests. I left the mix waaaay too loose (taking some advice from YouTube cook Poppy O’Toole which was a mistake), resulting in a soupy mass of lamb, potatoes and gravy with a crispy cheese topping. Don’t get me wrong, it was delicious. Seconds were demanded, so it wasn’t the culinary apocalypse I imagined. But there are certain expectations regarding presentation and texture when it comes to shepherd’s pie, and my offering failed that test massively. I should have sold it as an obscure Eastern European stew and offered shots of vodka on the side.
While rootling round my online drives for material to delete as part of the general digital spring-cleaning which goes hand in hand with a new phone purchase, I came across a musing on the nature of time, which I guess was part of an RW writing exercise last year. It’s good enough to share, I reckon. Love to know what you think.
They say there’s no time like the present, despite the fact that there’s no time that is the present. Can you live in the moment? Try it. Pick a moment. Where is it? It’s coming up, it’s round the corner, it’s on you, then it’s gone. Think about a moment, and it’s instantly in the past. There it was.
Awareness of time passing is a sense, and the sense of time passing is a key to awareness. Meditation is the closest you get to being in the moment, I guess, because it’s about losing yourself. Letting go of the baggage that comes with thought and feeling. Letting go one breath at a time and in that breath, feeling the time between the second hand moving.
We are all time travellers. We are all moving through our future, one second at a time, building our past at the same rate. Tick follows tock. Here we come. There we go.
Is time linear, though? We view it as a journey with a set beginning, middle and end, but that’s not really the way it works. We always have the ability to review what’s gone, go over it in excruciating detail, especially if it’s something really really embarrassing. As time goes by, those events can seem more real, closer and truer than the moment we are experiencing as we remember them. The past collides with the present… whatever we mean by that. See? Time travel.
I wrote a story once about a girl who could see every point of her life at once. Time as a line, but one you draw on a piece of paper with a pencil. What must it be like, to see all you are, were and could be? What decisions would you make? How would you treat that people that you love now but hate later, knowing that there is that state-change in the relationship? How would you deal with a life when you knew with absolute certainty how and when it would end?
Let’s end with a song. I figure this Jim Croce classic is appropriate.
That’s it from me. How was your week?
See you next Saturday, when normal service will be resumed.
November 16, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 36
I feel strangely hopeful. Tango Clown has done exactly as expected. He’s filling the most important roles in government with nutcases and incompetants, not realising the slender margins he has in the legislature. There will be chaos in store, but the real harm he could potentially do will be bogged down and choked as the inevitable grandstanding and bloviating turn into internal civil war.
There’s an old Chinese curse—may you gain everything you wish for.
Cheeto Wig is about to reap all he has sown.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
This Is Not A Drill by Paul Carter. The memoir of a globe-trotting oil-rig worker, it’s a typical Bloke Book, but told with a lot of verve and humour. I’ll be frank, some of the writing clenched my toes back to my ankles, but the stories and characters pulled me in and kept me reading. Not the deepest read, but perfectly diverting.
Rob is watching…
events through my fingers. And Strictly.
Rob is listening…
Suede. Dog Man Star. The soundtrack to the new age.
Rob is eating…
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
How the word ‘best’ is pronounced these days, especially in adverts. That odd little emphasis, the push on the B. The posh bloke on TopJaw does it all the time—but then that account is just a stream of listicles anyway. Once you tune in you’ll never be able to unhear it.
Let’s start with a look at the hyper-rich from the only understandable perspective—the people who serve them. As the inequality gap widens into a canyon, it’s useful to understand exactly the type of—I almost hesitate to say person— the 99.9999% of humanity are up against.
Christie Hynde interviews Brian Eno in 1974. High weirdness ensues. This feels like a broadcast from another, freakier plane of existence.
The kitchen at Swipe Towers has had a fresh lick of paint and a good clean but it’s not structurally well-designed. A corridor of a room, the only way to rationalize the layout would involve a tear down of the whole ground floor. That ain’t happening any time soon. But a boy can dream, and the clean efficiency of The Frankfurt Kitchen is something to aspire to.
Reading, delightfully, has a good range of international supermarkets and stores, everything from yer Polski Sklep to Vietnamese, to the mixed media madness of Seoul Plaza. I delight in diving into these places, having a good old browse and a couple of brave purchases. I believe I may be a grocery goblin too.
How to successfully game the Spotify algorithm in one easy lesson.
How could I, a proud and confirmed introvert, not co-sign every word of the following? Especially in the face of a particularly dark winter when all I honestly want to do is roll down the shutters and hibernate for four years?
The Pleasure Of Being Left Alone
I’ll be frank, I have switched off a lot of the usual news feeds over the past last week or so. I’m on the verge of completely deleting Twitter. In the face of so much—noise—can you blame anyone for clapping their hands over their ears and going ‘lalala, I’m not listening’? It’s one way of filtering out the fakery, I suppose. Michael Marshall Smith elaborates.
My favourite cookbooks are the ones with context, with background, with a story. I love Nigel and Nigella for a reason, but new faves like Big Has and Jack Monroe have much more to offer than a simple list of recipes. Food is love, not a process. I bite my thumb at anyone who says otherwise.
We’ll end with a story which, obviously, is not just about terrible ice-cream.
Censorship, done slightly badly, can be incredibly funny. Take Adam Hills’ attempts to bleep out the swears on Amyl And The Sniffer’s incendiary appearance on The Last Leg. Frankly, they’re post-watershed, so there was no need to bleep at all. But it makes the clip for me.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
November 9, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 35
The day after, either through luck or some sort of divine prescience, TLC and I had booked a couple of days off work. It would have been tempting to spend the time staring bleakly at walls or screaming into pillows. Instead, we’d planned to do a bit of decorating. This turned out to be the best decision we could have made. Two days deep-cleaning and painting the kitchen was a mindful, healing activity, taking a room apart and remaking it as a cleaner, nicer place in which to be. It kept us off social media and news feeds, but above all left us feeling much more positive. Change is inevitable, whether for bad or good, and things happen in cycles. Eventually, the kitchen will always need a good clean-down and a fresh lick of paint, and things will feel all the better for it.
Today, we start on the conservatory. The great work continues.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Reactor’s list of the most iconic SF books of the last two decades. I’ve read a lot of them. There are no duds in here. Find yourself a new obsession.
Rob is watching…
Shrinking. TLC picked up on this Apple TV show, and it’s a new favourite. Three LA psychiatrists navigate love, loss and Parkinson’s—sounds like a laugh riot, yeah? However, Shrinking comes from two of the minds behind Ted Lasso, and it has much of the same warm, funny vibe. Harrison Ford is a revelation in role which shows just how subtly hilarious he can be, and Jason Segal, one of the co-creators, is heart-breaking. We cannot recommend this one highly enough.
Rob is listening…
to Laura Marling. The new album, Paterns In Repeat, is, well, on repeat at Swipe Towers. I’ve always liked Laura. She’s flying into orbit here.
Rob is eating…
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
View this post on InstagramA post shared by Hannah Fry (@fryrsquared)
Electrical Audio, the famous Chicago recording studio, was very much based around the personality and talent of its owner, Steve Albini. When he passed earlier this year, the staff were hung on the horns of a dilemma—what next? Could they and the business survive the loss of a primary asset, and the main draw for most of the customers booking time at the studio? When in doubt, look to the source, pick up some of Steve’s grit and tenacity and keep going…
Cartoonist Chris Ware takes a long look at the work of Richard Scarry, whose packed, detailed drawings were part of so many children’s early reading experiences—mine included. The two share common traits, both creating pages you can sit and wallow in, picking up fresh details every time you look at them.
Cars And Trucks And Things That Go
There are many, many ways to tell a story, and many folk who think they know the best and only way to do it. This is patently absurd. It’s always good to find a new twist to the old tropes and formulas. Sometimes, it’s more about the journey than the destination.
The principles of uncertainty have come into focus quite solidly over the last week. The revelation that we can never be entirely certain of seemingly immutable truths seems somehow appropriate. I enjoyed the following link a lot, particularly as every scenario seems to end with the same apocalyptic punchline.
Further exploration of the above, as Mike Sowden shows how things have never been as we thought and the world has always been filled with wonder.
The world’s most successful indie film-maker is not a French auteur or an Eastern European visionary. He’s a Texan animator who has quietly built an astonishing body of work out of simple scribbles. Welcome to the world of Don Hertzfeldt.
A reminder that a certain orange-hued autocrat spent time in the ring. He must have taken some solid lessons back onto the campaign trail with him.
Corvids hold grudges and can be bribed. That’s it. That’s the link. What more could you possibly need?
This November’s writing marathon has started incredibly badly, for understandable reasons. I have been even more restless and unfocused than usual. But that’s OK. It seems dissatisfaction with your own work and the need to jump around projects is a common problem amongst creatives. Once recognised and properly managed, it can be a good thing.
A story to finish us off this week, which again seems to speak to the mood of the time. Whatever happens, you should always keep going.
Today’s bread is eaten, tomorrow’s is yet to be made, and one day there will be sugar.
A long Outro, as The Cure have kindly released the entire live stream of their launch show for the new album, Songs Of A Lost World, online. Go on, have a wallow. I think we all need it.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
November 2, 2024
London Film Festival 2024: a survivors report
In a change to our regular programming, Excuses And Half Truths is delighted to welcome Ryan Morris back to the fold. He brings us a special report on the 2024 London Film Festival, and what it takes to survive the madness of one of the biggest gatherings of film-makers and fans in the world…
It’s 8:20am on a Wednesday morning. I’m sat in Picturehouse Central’s lavish Screen One, matcha latte in hand, blissfully unaware that the first film I’ll be watching at the 2024 London Film Festival will involve a man having his penis cut off and refrigerated. As I stumble out of the cinema some 98 minutes later, still in a daze from the frenetic blast of French cinema I’ve subjected myself to before the clock has even struck ten, I wonder to myself – “Would I rather be at work right now?”
The answer, of course, a resounding “No”. LFF 2024, here I come.
Noemie Merlant’s The Balconettes was the first of thirty films I saw in the cinema over the next eleven days, a whirlwind of fancy red carpets, sleepy early morning trains, movie-induced tears, movie-induced yawns and the occasional mad dash to a cinema on the other side of the Thames. People think of film festivals as something of a static affair in which you spend the whole time sitting down. Tell that to my Fitness app — it clocked an average of 18,500 steps a day.
Having the Press & Industry pass gave me access to screenings away from the public eye, a chance to see the kind of films that’ll never make it to your local multiplex. Apocalyptic musical comedy/drama about the last surviving family on Earth, anyone? These were the bulk of my films this year, based almost entirely at the retro-fitted Picturehouse Central by Piccadilly. It’s a warm and welcoming place, a cinema mostly frequented by the more passionate of film fans and given an even further jolt of energy when filled by a festival crowd.
All of my four-film days – of which there were, aptly, four – were mostly spent here, often with only half an hour to digest a gritty and contemplative Portuguese-Scottish drama about the systemic failings of immigration before sitting down for a gentle comedy about a man being left to single-handedly look after his and all of his friends’ elderly mothers when they jet off to a Pride event without him. These half hour breaks commonly involved a very brisk walk to a Leon around the corner, with their monthly membership giving us five free barista made drinks per day – a lifesaver in every sense of the word. I’m all for supporting the independents, and boy did I find a croissant or two to prove that to myself, but it’s hard to turn down a deal that good. Ryan needs his film fuel.
The other side of the festival is the public screenings, reasonably priced until you step onto the nightly red carpet gala premieres. Star-studded events both on and off the stage (I’ve seen Edgar Wright in the crowd so often at these he feels like a cousin at this point), this is the side of LFF that hits the headlines – and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t my favourite. It feels like a reward for the early starts and the long days, to walk the red carpet with names like Angelina Jolie and Andrew Garfield, and have them introduce their films before they premiere. If the endless barrage of the P&I screenings is a testament to one’s commitment to cinema, the galas feel like a celebration of just how loved cinema truly is.
And then day eight came – the day I hit the wall. It was the fourth and final of my four-film days starting with 7am trains into London, and at the risk of sounding ungrateful for an experience I truly do adore every year, this was when I started to flag. I’d seen fifteen films in the past 72 hours and was facing a five hour gap before sitting down for the sixteenth. Even with a close friend I attend the festival with keeping me company, this next film felt like a chore. It was the Surprise Film, so we didn’t even know what we were in for. The unimaginable threat of the Robbie Williams CGI monkey biopic felt like a guillotine blade quivering over our necks.
But then came the suggestion – ice cream? On a cold October night, ice cream? It’s a mad idea but it might just work. We galloped off to Anita Gelato between Soho and The Strand for a three scoop tub of coconut, almond & white chocolate. And do you know what? The sugar and fat saved the day. Suddenly film sixteen didn’t feel like such a chore. It turned out to be a comedy, too. Thank the Lord.
The last four days are when the festival quietens down. The early trains push back to late morning, and the trips to Leon become leisurely walks rather than breakneck runs. This is probably how days out to the cinema are supposed to be enjoyed, but I’ll be damned if I let that stop me. After thirty films in eleven days, spread between eight screens across three venues, I caught the sleepy last train home from Paddington and revelled in the fact there was nothing new in the cinema I wanted to see that coming week.
I’m writing this a mere nine days after the festival ended, and I now have five cinema tickets saved in my Apple wallet for the next seven days. Time to relaunch that Leon subscription.
Ryan’s prolific review output is available on Letterboxd, which includes his views on the many, many films watched during the LFF.
October 26, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 34
I was out being social like a real live boy this week, something I like to do to persuade you humans I am one of you. The pub we gathered in had, of course, oranged itself up in readiness for next week’s Night Of Spooky. So, my pals and I were quietly enjoying ourselves with refreshing beverages, cheap and cheerful food and a board game (returning also a wave to pal Kelly who can provide further evidence that I do go out on occasion) when a great line of students poured in through the front door. All dressed in some manner of Halloween accoutrement, the line seemed endless and the queue carried on for a good twenty minutes before petering out. Everyone seemed cheerful and there was no sign of ill behaviour. But it seemed strange to me they’d choose the Thursday before All Hallow’s Eve to do a pub crawl. Unless this was just stage one of a much larger, more elaborate ritual which will culminate in mass revels on Broad Street on the night itself. It goes to show how big a deal Spooky Season is now, as a first flare in the run-up to the end of the year. By the next Swipe, the evenings will have properly started to close in, and the darkness will begin to rise. I hope you’re all preparing yourselves.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
I’m doing a speed run through some neglected Kindle sales comics. Last week’s lurgy did a number on my concentration span, but as ever Ninth Art goodness has helped to put me back together. I was especially taken by G. Willow Wilson, Mario Takara and Arif Prianto’s take on Bat-villain Poison Ivy. In recent years she’s become more of a stand-alone figure, in a romance with Harley Quinn, becoming a literal Green Goddess, and, in this volume, an eco-terrorist intent on wiping the world clean of human infestation so it can bloom again. It’s moving, smart, horrific and wildly psychedelic. I can strongly recommend it.
Rob is watching…
Alma’s Not Normal, Sophie Willan’s Bolton-set sitcom which has just returned for a second series. Something this bleak has no right being so funny, but Sophie’s script threads the needle effortlessly and the cast nails the delivery. I’m hooked.
Rob is listening…
to this from Lou Reed. Dark social commentary with a chugging backbeat and nicely dry finish. I’m always happy when this sneaks out into a playlist.
Rob is eating…
Fish curry. The frozen chunks of cod, salmon and prawns most supermarkets sell as fish pie mix is ideal for a run through a fragrant, spicy, cocunutty green sauce. Throw them in as they are and they will thaw and cook quickly while still staying juicy. With rice and a naan, that’s good eating in a hurry.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Crokinole is a Canadian tabletop game, a mix of shove ha-penny and curling. This virtual version gives you a flavour. Check the rules, but it will start to make sense quite quickly. Be warned, I lost a couple of afternoons last week to this deceptively addictive game.
Bouncing back momentarily to green issues in comics, take a look at the reviews for World Without End, an anti-fossil fuel comic which was a huge hit in France, now making inroads onto UK shelves. Comics once again are shown to excel as an educational tool. The Ninth Art does it best!
Author of the Southern Reach books Jeff Vandemeer wrote a hurricane into his latest novel, Annihilation. Then Helene showed up on his doorstep, just to show how little he really knew about the effects of a major weather event.
A lot of my sources have raved this week about Ella Fox-Martens’ account of falling in love during lockdown and flying across the world to follow her heart. I can only add my kudos. It’s probably the loveliest thing you’ll read this week.
Love Is Fundamentally An Act Of Change
A glimpse at how the youngster are picking up film cameras again and not using them in the way they should, godsdammit. I’m reminded of the old Gibson quote about the street finding its own use for things, but some of this seems counter-productive. Why wouldn’t you hang onto your negs?
This is a Japanese site, so you may need to invoke a translation daemon to read it if your browser doesn’t do so automagically.
While on the subject of film, here’s a moving elegy for the end of film as a projected medium. Speaking as someone at the sharp edge of the industry, I would state that things aren’t quite as bad as Aaron Hawke makes out (and I’ve just spotted the article is ten years old, right as film was in the low curve of popularity) but it’s still tremendously evocative of the projectionist’s art and life.
Requiem For The Projected Life
The next link night seem a bit dark, but we’re in the right time of year for it. Dia Del Muerte arrives next week, and our screens are full of death phantasies. We may as well get prepared. The end of it all is, after all, the one true certainty.
What We Think About When We Think About Death
A detective story which uncovers a huge fraud and a worrying trend in the literary world. This is a long read but totally worth it. In a saturated market, it’s getting harder to tell the fiction from the grift.
The Curious Case Of The AI Authors
Lastly, a visit to a long-gone, gilded age as chef Jeremiah Tower shares some memories of the food he had on Atlantic cruises as a boy. It feels like a dispatch from a place we can no longer visit, where privilege was frictionless. You can almost smell the food, and the old menus are priceless.
All at sea with Jeremiah Tower
This week’s Outro came out in 2021, apparently, which can’t be right. Surely, surely I would have known about a collaboration between Metallica and Miley before now. The mutual respect of the two seemingly opposite sets of musicians is very clear, and I feel everyone involved had a blast doing it.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
October 19, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 33
Plague is in the house. TLC caught a nasty bug on one of her days in Oxford last week which has effectively laid her out flat for a week. As we share everything, it was only natural that she passed it onto me. Subsequently, after a morning at work where the numbers in spreadsheets danced a nimble foxtrot before my uncomprehending eyes and I felt my throat closing into a fist clenching acid-coated razor blades, I figured it was time to pay attention to the bleedin’ obvious and hit the eject.
So, today is Friday and I’m having a rare sick day. I’m wrapped in my cosies and bumbling round the house while C does a half-day of remote work. I plan to make a healing soup from leftovers and freezer finds, slump in front of some Star Trek but, more importantly, get a jump on this week’s Swipe.
See, even at my most vulnerable, my thoughts are of you, lovely Readership. I hope you’re grateful. Send hugs.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
Hopeland by Ian McDonald. A wild mix of psychogeography, a theoretical primer on communal living and an urban fantasy featuring a heady mix of romantic tension, sibling rivalry and Tesla coils. It couldn’t be more me, really.
Rob is watching…
The new season of Only Murders In The Building, back on track and funnier than ever. The worrying sojourn to Hollywood is, thankfully, a red herring. The gang are back in the Arconia and working on the death of one of their own—Charles’ stunt double and best friend Sazz Pataki. Fear not, though—for a corpse, she has a way of showing up just when she’s needed. Further digs into the history of New York’s most homicide-prone hotel and a host of guest stars who, for once, don’t feel jammed in for no good reason. Only Murders, even when it’s not firing on all cylinders, is one of the best shows on telly. Season four is top tier.
Rob is listening…
If you can’t get behind three blokes wearing gnome hats serving up a juicy slab of stoner rock in an old greenhouse, then I’m frankly unsure what you’re doing here.
Rob is eating…
The aforementioned soup. Leek, carrot, garlic, pak choi, pancetta, a little tomato, home-made pork stock, beans. A bunch of thyme and a little tarragon. Fry off the aromatics in the bacon, throw in the stock, then the greens, allow to bubble until you can’t stand it any more. A few sourdough croutons on top, maybe a blob of pesto. The doctor is in.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
If you presented this to people from the early 2000s, they would consider it an especially unbelievable slice of speculative fiction. Oh, please, if you’re unaware, be careful searching for the meme source of the goatse religion Nate talks about. Nothing to do with goats. Not safe for life.
I linked to a primer on poetry comics last week. Here’s an example of what can come out of the exercise, using a very good primary source.
We missed Crowded House on their UK tour this time around—the stars simply did not align. Hey, we’ve seen Neil and the boys plenty over the years. The younger Finn brother is always erudite and thoughtful, and interviews with musicians in music (not music journalism) periodicals often give that little hint more into their processes and inspirations. Neil opens up to Guitar Player magazine, and we all benefit from his wisdom.
Of course, music journalism can dig up some insightful stuff, particularly if they invite a pair of songwriters into a safe space and just let them talk to each other about their craft. In Rolling Stone, upcoming folk-rocker Zach Bryan sits down with a hero, some guy from New Jersey you may have heard of.
Charles M. Shultz on how to be a good a citizen. In the season of The Great Pumpkin, it behooves us all to be a little more Sparky.
Look, we’re hopefully all working on our instincts around figuring out fake news from real, clickbait from useful, AI from human. It feels like the truth is slipping away from us, one bare-faced lie at a time. But sometimes a fake, made obvious and with the fib as part of the reason for its existence, can be fun. Reality, given the right circumstances, is over-rated.
This one is perhaps a bit nerdy, but I was drawn to this interview with on-air graphics designer for Saturday Night Live Marlene Weisman. Her tenure on the show came at a particularly interesting time, as digital solutions started to sneak into the mix alongside the Letraset and marker pens. The febrile, manic atmosphere of the show comes across very clearly here, and I’;m now excited for the Jason Reitman movie on the forst episode of the show.
Marlene designed the Wayne’s World logo. That has to pique your interest, right?
The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.
Cinephiles discussing the oeuvre of Michael Mann talk about his crime dramas, his saturated colour palate, his innovative use of digital video. They do not, as a rule, talk about his second movie, psychosexual vampire fever dream The Keep. Mann himself would rather everyone forgot about it. Which is a shame, as a proper director’s cut of the movie would be a real treat. Oh well, we’ll always have the back matter. The book, by the way, is propulsive and pulpy. It’s the good stuff. Dig out a copy as the nights close in and our thoughts turn to the dark side.
Austin Kleon gives us a playlist of songs which sound like October. I can only agree.
As has become traditional, here’s Broken Peach with their latest Halloweenie mashup. Loving the Kiss warpaint.
Keep it spooky. See you in seven, fellow travellers.
October 12, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 32
Sometimes I wish I was a little more organised. I scatter notes and ideas across a broad swathe of notebooks, apps and online writing solutions. I mean, it’s nice to come across the kernel of a story by accident but if I was sensible, I’d have one box for everything. Even Scrivener, my supposed writing application of choice, is a maelstrom of nested folders and projects, often clones of each other, full of half-started scripts and shorts. I came across a stern note to myself in Google Keep written back in January, setting out a perfectly reasonable schedule of works for the year. No prizes for guessing how many of those bullet points have been filled in.
So here I am, bumbling through the maze I built for myself, managing, somehow, to push out a newsletter at the last minute every Saturday, usually in my sleep shorts while TLC dozes upstairs. It must be working, or I wouldn’t do it this way. Right?
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
I’ll share a couple of short stories I enjoyed this week, both set in a post-crash Earth where radical changes have happened to human society. The first, by R.W. W. Green, is the bleaker of the two, but still finds room for a wedding, music, dance and something like a happy ending.
Rob is watching…
Prey. The Dan Tractenberg Predator movie, which took the bold step of relocating the story to Comanche territory in 1715. The film pits everyone’s favourite dread-locked alien against a First Nation girl with a talent for hunting and a thirst for validation—an honour her tribe profoundly refuses her. Prey is fantastic. Everything you want from an action movie in terms of fights, shocks and gore. It has heart and brains, and a stunning, ferocious central performance from Amber Midthunder as the girl with the axe. A real treat.
Rob is listening…
to The I’m Not There soundtrack—originally for a short music quiz with a couple of pals, but I ended up down a Dylan covers rabbit hole. The whole album (and indeed the movie) is surreal and delightful. Cate Blanchett’s version of Ballad Of A Thin Man is a standout for me. Go dig in and find your own favourite.
Rob is eating…
Well, I’m not because I still have a modicum of respect for my lower workings, but I’m still intrigued by the big free steak dinner on offer at The Bix Texan in Amarillo, Texas. Of course, there’s a catch. Michael Sandberg lays it out.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Gordon Bolland’s haircut.
https://twitter.com/robwilliams71/status/1828730091850919939?s=61&t=dnOKjJ8BSZPFo7mgCgUOKQOnce, writer and artist Frank Miller was a true hero of mine. Creator of comics which still resonate in popular culture, his version of Batman is the definitive by which all others are judged. Post 2001, he went into a nosedive, as his art and writing turned ugly. Turns out, a lot of that was down to a crippling alcohol dependency—one which nearly killed him. Now solidly in recovery, he’s revisited a past glory. Ronin Rising picks up the story of his wild bio-tech samurai mash-up from the mid-eighties. It looks like he might have rediscovered his form. I’ll be investing. Everyone deserves a shot at redemption.
I worry at the increasingly puritanical tone of online literary commentary. Sex seems to be an increasingly fraught issue as lobbyists and critics seek to keep it off the page and the shelves of libraries. Of course, the cry of ‘won’t somebody think of the children?’ is nothing new. There’s a difference between sense and censorship, and given the choice between sex and violence I know which one I’d rather pick. Emily Lynell Edwards has more on the war for and against libido.
On a related theme, writer Jaime Lowe found, post-breakup, she was in a place where desire had disappeared. Longing to reconnect to her sensual world, she took a long walk off a short pier. I love the presentation on this one.
Looking For Love In All The Odd Places
I talked a few weeks ago about an excellent poetry session at Reading Writers in which we were led through the process of free-associating verse from a simple outburst of prose. Here’s another technique which tickled my thinking bones. Might give this one a try.
At the last count we subscribe to at least five streaming services at Swipe Towers and barely watch any of them. The problem? Too much choice. Unless you have a very clear idea of what’s on the viewing agenda for the evening, it’s way too easy to lose yourself in the branches of the decision tree. It’s all Netflix’s fault.
Our second story comes from Annaleena Newitz, who spins a yarn set in a post crash society huddled in a canyon. It’s a fine depiction of how anarchy (that is, rule without government) can work in our favour. This is genuinely positive, and positively life-affirming. Oh, and there’s a cat called Irving. Now I’ve got your attention, right?
Ninth Art Nerdery klaxon. It takes a certain sort of person to jump onto a long personal recollection from artist Drew Friedman of comics legend Harvey Kurtzman. A love of seventies funny books and a sense of humour honed through way too many issues of Mad Magazine will be handy. Feel free to skip, but you’ll be missing an evocative picture of a very particular place, time and energy.
Last up, a really fun interview with girl of the decade, Aubrey Plaza, who is frankly killing it in everything she does. Hard to believe she’s just slid into her fourth decade, until you look back at the body of work. Sure, she mostly plays an exaggerated version of herself. But honestly, I could watch that version all day.
I’m gonna Outro with one more tune from the I’m Not There soundtrack. It’s my favourite, presented with an open heart and bright, clear eyes. The tune is a little melancholy perhaps (in the movie it soundtracks a funeral) but somehow suits the timbre of the season.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
October 5, 2024
The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 31
And here we are in Spooky Season. The change is clear and definite, especially if you’re an early riser. The air is cooler, crisper. The light takes on a certain lambent quality, a warmth at odds with the drop in temperature. TLC has reorganised her wardrobe, and the jumpers and big boots are now within reach.
In the garden, the change in season is more obvious. The tomato and cucumber plants have been cleared away, the winter potatoes tucked into the little greenhouse, safe against the threat of frost. There’s prep and clearance to do, as at the end of the month Copse End will undergo another of its regular massive transformations.
Autumn is here, and we’re ready for it.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
The image above is of a desk at William Wordsworth’s schoolhouse in Hawkshead, Cumbria. I did not, despite the evidence to the contrary, add my own distinctiveness to the collective.
Rob is reading…
The This by Adam Roberts. Well, I’ve just started to be honest. His social media satire begins with a dizzying blast through all of human history, life and death speed-blurring into a disorienting flood of imagery. It’s a hell of a statement of intent, and I can’t wait to see what comes next.
Rob is watching…
Ludwig. David Mitchell’s doppelgänger detective story isn’t doing anything innovative (a socially awkward quirk-ridden sleuth who can see patterns no-one else can is hardly reinventing the wheel) but is still perfectly enjoyable telly. Mitchell plays himself—or at least our perception of the irascible nerd he has built around himself—and the whole thing bimbles along in a most diverting fashion. Anna Maxwell Martin holds her own, as you’d expect. We’re having a great time with it.
Rob is listening…
to a regular reminder that the blues was, is and remains number one. Offered in celebration of the imminent delivery of a theremin to Swipe Towers. Yes, really.
Rob is eating…
Take-away curry, which is very rare for us. We noted that a local joint, Caversham Tandoori, has been shortlisted for the National Curry Awards, which piqued our curiosity. The grub was a little cheaper than expected, arrived bang on time and was utterly delicious. Try the Mixed Masala Special, which has bone-in tandoori chicken as part of the mix of proteins. I’ve saved the gravy to cook fish in for tea tonight. Recommended to local readers and worth a try if you want a change from your regular curry house. Use their own website and stop a chunk of profit going to the Deliveroo mafia.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
This hat. More specifically, the processes, craft and artistry which went into the creation of said titfer. But let’s be frank—it is one flippin’ cool hat.
If you read nothing else from The Swipe this week, I urge you to spend time with Rory Sutherland’s piece on how we perceive time and the ensuring social effects. It’s genuinely eye-opening and will certainly change the way I drive during my morning commute.
The most important and useful resource you will come across today. Thank me later.
I love this expanation of film-maker’s trickery, particularly when the magic depends on an understanding that the camera is a point of view, not a truthful depiction of a field of vision. Of course it can lie!
Some real talk with the punk collective behind Crack Cloud, on the decisions they made to build the distinctive marketing, art and videos for their latest album. The DIY aesthetic has a lot to recommend it, and we all have a lot of tools at hand to do our own stuff for cheap. We just need to have faith in our own abilities and view potential failure as a learning experience, not something to be scared of.
Go listen to The Orb’s Little Fluffy Clouds, then come back and read the history of the opening sample. The mystery seems to have continued for longer than seems reasonable.
What Were The Skies Like When You Were Young?
I’m not sure if the following is depressing or ‘challenge accepted’. I can’t say the notion of ‘too much science fiction’ is a sad one. I’m very happy that my favourite genre is so successful. It’s knowing where to start when you’re faced with so much choice though, innit?
Nate Stephenson cuts through all the cant over menswear and delivers the solid truth—buy and wear well-fitting and long-lasting pieces that make you look and feel good. It’s not hard, really. Great to see a shout-out to clothing guru Derek Guy, who is fighting the good fight on the socials.
X&HTeam-mate Clive pointed me at this meander through the streets of Soho, which of course brought back memories of my own back pages. I haven’t been back into the labyrinth in a while (I think the last time was a couple of beers outside Bar Italia back in May. Before then, some time in the doldrums between the two lockdowns) and the article brought on a Proustian tingle. I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.
The breakfast negroni was a bad idea.
Let’s finish by talking about Hollywood endings. The recent remake of Speak No Evil took off all the sharp edges from the original—a film which, based on a quick review from pal Ryan I have no interest in depressing myself with—and sparked this fun Polygon listicle. Frankly, I think we should end every film with a big song-and-dance number.
We Outro with a song which has been living in my head for weeks, waiting for this very moment. Enjoy the spooky grooviness, cats and kittens.
See you in seven, fellow travellers.
