Category Archives: Pop culture

Posts about, or including, the world of popular culture.

London Above

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I’m experiencing an odd emotional state, at present. I’m, well, I’m proud. To be British. Not simply because we did so amazingly well in the Olympics; it’s because we’re doing so well at embracing our success. We’re happy, as a nation, to be a nation. It’s not something we’re used to, but we’ve gone at it, taken the opportunity to be great, claimed our country as ours. Everyone here belongs to the country, and the country belongs to all of us. Those few athletes who are our representatives, they’ve shown us something of themselves -determination, brilliance – and something of ourselves.

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Backing

I tried to resist, but the thoughts struck me, and some of the words, none of which I used in the end. A poem about the Olympics. About watching it, I guess, because what else I can write about?
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Unjustified

 

Not pictured: Super-ego
Help me. Help me. Help me.

Justin’s House has started on CBeebies and it is proper mental. First of all, it’s clear that the BBC, quite rightly, view Justin Fletcher as a valuable asset and are prepared to give him whatever he wants. More singing in Something Special? Sure. Sketch show with lotsa cross-dressing opportunities? Tranny it up! We love you, Justin. Something Special showed that clowns don’t have to be creepy (though you’re phoning it in for series seven, a bit), you have a facility for voices and vocal FX which mean you’re a natural for work on the wordless animated masterpieces Shaun the Sheep and Timmy Time, Gigglebiz is properly weird and hilarious, you clearly love the work. What do you want to do?
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Goodbye, LA Noire.

Well, it went off the rails a bit. Or, more pertinently, it didn’t. Barely a second of LA Noire was spent in idle pursuit of a personal goal, every moment was funnelling the player to the dénouement. Which is fine, that’s how narrative works in film, and LA Noire did nothing more enthusiastically than cleave to its chosen genre. The problem is… what, then? That games don’t work like that? Yeah, they do. Game designers work hard to get you from A to B, sometimes without noticing but most usually with big fucking neon arrows. Sometimes literally.

So why did I have a problem with Noire pushing me where it wanted to go? I suppose mainly because it cheated. I don’t mind being force-fed narrative in a game which tells me – this is how it goes, you’re this guy, you’re going to have to do this, this and this, we’ll fancy it up with some cutscenes, boom, seeya. But in a game which says – hey, here are some real-looking people, try teasing the information you need out of them, examine these clues, see if you can put them together and go solve the case! – I expect to be able to do that. You know. Crack the case, on my own. Instead, Team Bondi’s rat-run had me pressing each switch in turn, a sequence as set and inflexible as a hardcore rhythm-action game. And woe betide you if you missed even a tiny piece of the puzzle! Fail to pick up and fully examine a clue? Well, you’re not going to have the evidence to back up your accusation of a suspect, you’ve failed the interview, it’s all going WRONG. Get an interview question wrong? Oh dear, no lead for you to follow, oh well, charge this one, you really fucked up this case, two stars, back of the class. No second chances, not here. Shit, even in the old days Mario had three lives. This isn’t a game, it’s a TV show where you’re writing the script based on a hazy knowledge of the characters. And it’s going out live.

There are workarounds, of course. Screw up an interview and all it takes is a quit back to the menu and a restart to give yourself a second chance, but that’s not what Rockstar want for you. They want you to feel the pain of being wrong. Well, excuse me if that isn’t why I play videogames. I don’t want to go on the same emotional journey as Phelps (mainly because he’s a fucking dick). I want to perceive the right way and the wrong way through my actions, not through the script, and I want to be able to take the right way without resorting to what amounts to cheating.

BUT ENOUGH OF THAT, HOW ARE THE GRAPHICS?

They’re great. Five stars.

LA Noire first impressions

Well, this LA Noire is just peachy. Looks amazing – the acid-etched clarity of 40s LA is dazzling. THAT facial animation has to be seen to be believed, an awesome achievement only slightly tempered by the fact that EVERY FUCKER LOOKS THE SAME. Especially the women, of whom there are precisely TWO. Still, early days, and the actual animation is mind-blowing.

The storytelling is sensationally good, as you expect. As everyone is an armchair detective, you’ll have the cases cracked in seconds, and as usual Rockstar are one step ahead of you on this and are counting on it. You know what the story is, and it’s your job to make everyone in the game tell it right. Suspect looking like they’re about to crack? You know they did it, you just need to find the right gap to wedge yourself in and blow their story wide open.

Point and click mechanics have been mentioned time and time again, with Lucasarts being a particular touchstone. Totally true, nailed it everyone. Although I’m reminded more of the Nancy Drew games – mock if you wish, but I’ve spent longer and more enjoyable afternoons chewing through Her Interactive’s breezy puzzles than I have riding a stupid fucking horse around the Mojave desert in Red Dead Redemption. Or whatever desert, I don’t really give a fuck. Still, yes, the gentle questioning, the search of each screen, the connections made opening up further questions… it’s all good, basic puzzling. This is probably Rockstar’s most approachable game since Ping Pong.

I’m only a few missions in. I’ve just unlocked free roaming, which is wonderful – not having to worry about the odd broken wing mirror or dented pedestrian showing up on the end-of-mission report sheet is a liberating experience. On the one hand, I’m enjoying being the good guy, but on the other I miss GTA’s nihilistic amorality, the feeling of being able to do anything and the only consequences are paid out in blood; not nagging from your partner, not being shown a bill for the damage, not being told you’re a failure.

Still, you can’t complain about a game as rich, beautiful and simple as LA Noire. It has your entertainment at heart. It wants to show you everything.

Well, that’s just odd.

Where did the cherries go? I haven’t seen any since. It’s strange that they were in the supermarket one day and one day only, long enough for me to feed them to my daughter.

Who is, I should tell you now, two this month. The end of this month, but still. This month. Two years old.

Better get on with this book then, eh? What a ridiculous amount of time it is taking. It’s all done. The sticking point? The spine. Maybe I should just DO IT and get it over with.

Anyway, gosh. What a long weekend we’ve just had. Royal wedding – don’t get them very often. We watched it… in fact, we watched it twice, the second time with E!’s awesome commentary team of Angela Rippon, Dermot O’Leary, some shiny American woman and someone else. But, yeah, I mean, I would have the royals in a council flat quicker than you can picture it, but I watched the wedding. Of course I did. It’s history, innit? Plus my daughter likes watching soldiers marching.

And if that wasn’t enough, someone only went and killed Osama bin Laden. Killed him! Conspiracy theories are gathering and swirling already, but I really honestly believe that he was killed this weekend. Why not? Odd thing to claim, if he wasn’t. Why not claim it earlier if you’re going to fake it? Why didn’t W do it? No, I think it’s legit, despite the obviously problematic burial at sea.

Well, that’s it. I blogged 9/11, now I’ve blogged the death of its progenitor. Different blog, different host, different blog platform… but still me, still me writing guff on the interspazz.

Spook

I don’t know why, exactly, but all I’m reading of late are ghost stories. MR James, if there are any left, but also Dickens, Hodgson’s Carnacki stories and I’ve just finished the splendidly creepy Dark Matter by Michelle Paver.  I wallow in them, I find them utterly compelling, fascinating and – fuck you, David Mitchell* – satisfying.

It’s probably the season, the long nights, the early dark.  It attracts ghost stories as a way to keep you indoors, huddled round the fire, talking of the things in the dusk.

So, hopefully, immersed as I am, I’ll produce that story I promised.

Meanwhile, here are some things which scare me.

Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad by MR James – you don’t know ghost stories until you know this backwards. Not that you’ll want to read it twice.

The Signal-Man by Charles Dickens – magnificently eerie short from Dickens, whose ghost stories deserve wider recognition than the regular trot-out of A Christmas Carol (as good as that is).

The Moon-Bog by HP Lovecraft – as with a lot of Lovecraft, not exactly spooky, but the atmosphere is unsettling.  His longer stories (The Dunwich Horror, say, or Shadow over Innsmouth) conjure a greater feeling of dread, and there is a sequence in Innsmouth which is genuinely heart-in-mouth terrifying.  But The Moon-Bog has stayed with me, for whatever reason.

The vampire of Croglin Low Hall – supposedly true story that simply scares the bejesus out of me.

*Though that whole article is confused bollocks. The fun is not in finding out what is the cause of the haunting but in following the increasing terror of the protagonist as they discover the cause.

Something of the Night Garden

This is an homage to the awesome Lore Sjoberg’s ratings.

Iggle Piggle

I can’t quite feel anything for Iggle Piggle, much.  I don’t dislike him, but I don’t like him either.  He’s a bit of a blank, isn’t he?  Oh, sure, he likes bridges and dislikes mucky patches, but don’t we all?  He likes Upsy-Daisy, but we never get a sense of how that relationship evolved.  Iggle Piggle lacks depth.  He carries that blanket around as a substitute for a personality, but I’m not fooled. Also his song is a bit of a half-arsed riff on the theme tune. C

Upsy-Daisy

I confess, I wasn’t much of a fan of Upsy-Daisy to begin with.  Too much singing and skirt-inflation, not enough… well, anything else.  But a few episodes recently have changed my mind.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to sing or play with the ball, to ride the Pinky-Ponk or the Ninky-Nonk!  It was a masterful performance, and totally switched me round.  Her song is a pretty solid composition, too, and I frequently find myself singing it to my daughter.  B

The Pontipines/Wottingers

Oh, I really don’t get on with the Pontipines.  They’re kind of difficult.  Wooden, for a start, and so simply animated that it is hard to get any personality from them.  What do we have to go on?  They’re terrible parents and make odd millinery choices.  Mr Pontipine has a large moustache, like a retired colonel, and one can’t help but think the Pontipine children keep running away because he is a terrible authoritarian.  You don’t get that feeling from the Wottingers, who are definitely the happier family.  No moustache clinches it, also Mr Wottinger doesn’t have a hat which looks like a clothes peg.  But you see them about once every fifteen episodes, and those bloody Pontipines turn up all the time C-

The Tombliboos

Now you’re talking.  The Tombliboos live in a hedge, but not in a tramp way.  Their platform-filled, black-as-night house will no doubt be the setting for many a childhood dream, leading some people to wonder if they only dreamed it, did it ever exist?  But, you know, also they lose their trousers.  A lot.  The episode where they kept putting on each other’s trousers, then losing them on the Ninky-Nonk, then having to change behind a rock… I was in tears of laughter.  Genuine comic genius.  Trousers.  And Derek Jacobi’s delivery is perfect – “Tombliboos, are you wearing the right trousers?”  They are also excellent toothbrush advocates/propogandists, with some cracking rhymes (Tombliboos, form a line/Brush your teeth and make them shine)  Okay, not quite a full A because their Pinky-Ponk Juice antics are a bit dull. A-

Makka Pakka

Makka Pakka,
Akka Wakka,
Mikka Makka moo!

Makka Pakka,
Appa yakka,
Ikka akka, ooo

Hum dum,
Agga pang,
Ing, ang, ooo

Makka Pakka,
Akka wakka,
Mikka Makka moo
A+

The Ninky-Nonk/Pinky-Ponk

Clearly, the Ninky-Nonk rules.  The Pinky Ponk is just so slow and ponderous, it takes forever for anything to happen and if the Tombliboos get on they’re just going to arse about with Pinky-Ponk Juice.  I do like the Ponk Alarm, though.  Good to have a safety device that goes parp.  The Ninky-Nonk is anarchic, has a lot of attitude for what is basically a bus shaped like a TARDIS being towed by a banana, and can climb trees.  What’s not to love?  Especially the trippy scale-factors.  Is it knee-high?  Is it truck-sized?  Is it small enough to go along a little branch?  It’s all of this!  Okay, Derek is a bit wary of it (“Oh no!  It’s the Ninky-Nonk!”), but he’s an old man, he’s probably worried about whether it’ll accept his Freedom Pass Oyster. Ninky-Nonk B+/Pinky-Ponk C+