VAN HELSING BITES!

I can’t even tell you where I originally heard it, possibly whilst I was working at Waterstones Piccadilly (all too briefly) a few years ago. Anyway, this quote goes thus:

The definition of a classic is a book that everyone should read, but doesn’t want to.

And I am especially guilty of this. I’ve read To Kill A Mocking Bird, because it was on the curriculum at school. I’ve also read 1984, because frankly, with the amount of CCTV in London, you’d be mad not to. Aside from this I have read very little on the classics list. Not even that Tolkien geezer. I just about limped through the first book of Gormenghast.

And so I come to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which is absolutely rocking. Not least of all because it breaks conventions of most books and the narrative is delivered by a series of letters, diary entries, telegrams and so on. It all ticks along nicely and despite the fact I can hear Keanu Reeves in my head when I read the Jonathan Harker bits, I am still loving it. I’m loving the Mina bits too, but let’s leave Winona out of this shall we?

Anyway, all is going well until bloody Van Helsing turns up, who, we learn, isn’t Anthony Hopkins at all, but some dude from Amsterdam. Van Helsing is the sort of Johnny foreigner that has devised his own grammatical rules and speech patterns for the English language. As such, he could give Yoda a run for his money. In fact Yoda becomes a leading light for all that is right about the English language when put up against Van Helsing.

It is what I call ‘the Tom Bombadil moment’. It’s the equivalent of having sharp nails dragged down a blackboard, of accidentally picturing Nick Griffin’s smiling face whilst engaged in coitus. It’s so painful you struggle to turn the pages, and so it goes with Van Helsing.

What I will say is that Ben Templesmith’s artwork reaches its usual high standards and IDW have turned out a great book. The hard cover is a nice touch and the weight is pleasing for such a gothic tome. Now if I could just get over my Van Helsing problem.

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong!

My Church

It won’t be ticket prices that drive me out of the cinema. You can spend anywhere from £6-12 on a cinema ticket in London, and the top end of this is excessive, especially considering how much some films make from DVD sales, but everything is expensive in London, it comes with the territory.

What will really drive me out of the cinema is how a lot of people assume the rules (the unspoken rules of common courtesy) don’t apply to them.

When I was kid (there, I said it), people would be quiet for the trailers – all you’d hear would be the rustling of confectionary wrappers and the occasional slurp of a soft drink. I’d been initiated into the Church of Cinema from a young age, my babysitter taking me to see such films as Tron, Superman, Superman II and III, Back to the Future, Labyrinth, Flight of the Navigator and probably more Police Academy films than is strictly good for a small boy.

But the universal rule was, you shut the f*ck up.

Not so now. Whilst in Odeon Covent Garden on a Wednesday night, I noticed the room had a level on noise akin to a pub. Let’s say a Weatherspoon’s pub for sake of argument, as they don’t have jukeboxes. The noise continued through the adverts, no harm there, but diminished only slightly for the trailers. There was of course the usual faffing and fussing with phones – because this is London, and everyone is so goddamn popular it makes your eyes bleed. Or they need to check Twitter for ten thousandth time that day.

So, film certificate screen pops up. Still talking.
First logo. Still talking.
‘This is a BBC pictures film’ talking diminishes.
Another logo. People are still talking.
Title sequence. People are still talking.

Finally, we get some quiet when the dialogue starts. But the five women in the row in front either comment on moments in the film, or made cooing noises when hapless would-be love interest makes a fool of himself.

Just as the film reaches the denouement, the women in front starts dicking around with her phone, shedding a distracting blue light over the top of her seat. If the keypad hadn’t been on silent I’d be writing this from prison, I swear.

In fact, I thought things were going to turn ugly a few months ago when I was trying watch Inglorious Basterds. Not only did I manage to have quite a difference of opinion about cinema etiquette, but also found myself being the dealt the race card, which was more shocking than someone taking offence for being told TO BE QUIET IN A CINEMA.

In the end the moron moved seats.

And kept talking.

It won’t be ticket prices that drive me out of the cinema, it will be the audiences.

My Talented Friends Part 2

As if the sheer awesomeness of getting a birthday card from SL Gallant wasn't enough, my colleague, and collaborator Andrew James knocked up this little (ahem) picture for me. And before you say, 'But Rogue Trooper doesn't have a soul patch', bear in mind it's my likeness.

Heh. Told you it was awesome.

I also received Batman: Arkham Asylum for Xbox 360, and IDW's Bram Stoker's Dracula, with illustrations from Ben Templesmith. Huzzah!