Even though I've not written a review of Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors before, and I really need to get around to that in terms of the play itselEven though I've not written a review of Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors before, and I really need to get around to that in terms of the play itself, I am going to skip that here and talk specifically about theArkangel version of the play.
Performed somewhere in the late '90s or early Noughties, Arkangel's The Comedy of Errors is tip to tail an impressive cast (almost all Royal Shakespeare Company folk), including a Doctor Who, the limping member of the Downton Abbey cast, and a Young Doctor Watson. It is complete and unabridged and also a disappointment.
Too reliant on cheesy sound effects and packed with woeful mistiming, Arkangel's The Comedy of Errors somehow makes the funniest (or, at least, the most fun) of Shakespeare's plays a snore. It is all noise, noise, noise, then some more noise punctuated by cheesy noise that somehow only serves to pull you out of the world of the noise to remind you that some idiot thought "BOINGS" and "BUZZES" would make things funny when the actors were failing to generate the laughs.
Yet somehow this performance isn't a complete write off. David Tennant (the aforementioned Who) was able to squeeze out a couple of fun moments, and whoever played Dr. Pinch was a hoot, so not all was lost.
If you've a chance to see this onstage (or better yet get a chance to play in the play) don't pass it up. But if you want to hear it performed for the entertainment of your ear-holes, I encourage you to seek out a different performance. This one is very likely not for you (or almost anyone, although I will probably listen to it again ;) ... I am a sucker for Billy Shakes punishment)....more
The Matheny Manifesto -- a five page letter written to a group of parents who wanted retired baseball veteran Mike Matheny to coach their kids in MissThe Matheny Manifesto -- a five page letter written to a group of parents who wanted retired baseball veteran Mike Matheny to coach their kids in Missouri -- is an interesting take on how to make contemporary sport fun, rewarding and character building by employing old-timey methods.
But everything interesting Matheny had to say was contained in those five pages.
His extended book version of the Manifesto (subtitled A Young Manager's Old-School Views on Success in Sports and Life is a gauzily veiled endeavour in narcissism and evangelism. Matheny uses his Manifesto as the structure to tell us about what an unexceptionally exceptional ballplayer he is, humble bragging about his manliness and moral superiority, his rise from blue collar Ohio to the Major Leagues, and bravely overcoming his career ending concussion injuries to become the manager of the St. Louis Cardinals. He talks about his coaching/managing theories as simply a return to what should be obvious to anyone with a brain, actively downplaying himself as a mere messenger while somehow also implying that he is really kind of amazing for making these realizations and gracing us with his wisdom. And all of this is interwoven with his faith, and how faith makes him all the awesome things he is, and how faith can make the boys and men in his charge better boys and men, and how he doesn't think his faith should be pushed on anyone all while making clear that if he has a chance to share his faith he will. He posits, for instance, that if someone asks him a question in which faith can be (or is) part of the answer, he is duty bound as a Christian man to bring his faith into the open. Because, clearly, this is not pushing his faith on anyone else ... he wouldn't do that, you see.
It is exhausting to listen to the narcissism and evangelism. I wish I'd just read the five page letter rather than listening to nearly 6 hours of filler. I think, then, I would have maintained a much more positive view of the current manager of my Kansas City Royals. ...more
I left comics just before this series began because of a move to another part of the world, so coming back to the Old Man Logan of these graphic novelI left comics just before this series began because of a move to another part of the world, so coming back to the Old Man Logan of these graphic novels is a return without background, without context, and Warzones! is a fucking confusing way to start. I imagine I would have enjoyed it more with context, but I am hoping this zero issue will provide enough context for me to enjoy the future volumes.
What I liked:
Not much, actually, but at least the art was impressive. And I did like the characterization and importance of Emma Frost.
What I didn't like:
The Warzones themselves, all under a Godlike Victor von Doom, just seem overbaked to me. Mjolnirs are everywhere, even War Machine is "a Thor," each zone has its own Warlord, bla, bla, bla. It's an idea that might have been brilliant with all new characters in their own universe outside of Marvel, but feels cheesy as hell in the confines of even a splintered and alternate Marvel Universe....more
The first comic I ever bought was a Prince Namor. I was at the convenience store, long before I became a true comic collector, and found a beaten up NThe first comic I ever bought was a Prince Namor. I was at the convenience store, long before I became a true comic collector, and found a beaten up Namor comic that captured my imagination, making me, forever, a fan of Namor no matter where or when he appears.
I haven't read this sequence of Namor before, coming as it did after my retirment from comics, but now that I am exploring everything I missed, now that I am out of "retirement" as a collector, now that my son and I are geeking out on a regular basis, I couldn't possibly pass up a collection of John Byrne (my nostalgic favourite) scripted and penciled Namors.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #1 -- "Purpose!" This is not an auspicious start to a series. It may actually be the single worst number one I have ever read. It uses two separate epilogues and two separate prologues to deliver the clunkiest and least helpful exposition possible, moving us from classicly mercurial Namor to a kinder, gentler, Namor, who has been suffering from oxygen imbalances throughout his life due to his mixed Atlantean and Human heritage, to a forward thinking Namor, who decides to pursue his "purpose" -- currently undisclosed -- through capitalism, to his Namor's future nemesis, the crazed, sixth richest man in the world, Desmond Marrs. It does, however, still contain John Byrne's killer illustrations, and I find myself very excited to see where all of this poor storytelling is taking us. Strange.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #2 -- "Eagle's Wing and Lion's Claw" Not great but better than the opening issue. This one pits Namor against the Griffin in a battle in the air and water around the Statue of Liberty. Carrie Alexander is the damsel in distress, her Dad was frightened into a coronary by the, Griffin, Namorita, Namor's cousin, is back (quite unceremoniously), Headhunter is taking an interest in the half-naked, wing ankled guy streaking around the New York skyline, and the Marrs' twins are the antagonists at the action's heart. Does any of this matter? Not really. All that matters is that Byrne is busy doing what he does -- action. All that matters here is the fight, and it's a doozy that ends in a cliffhanger ....
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #3 -- "Meeting of the Board" ... But it wasn't much of a cliffhanger because there was no way Namor was going to lose a fight against the Griffin. Instead, Namor turns the Griffin into his flying steed, breaking him in one of the most ridiculous and oddly perfect bronco busting scenes I've ever witnessed, and then he flies his steed to Roxxon, the oil giant he mistakenly (?) blames for the Griffin's attack. He leaves the superbaddy with them, and flies off in a Namor-lite huff. His arrogance is beginning to peak out, but is it only blood poisoning or his natural state? I suppose only time will tell. And in case you're wondering, Caleb Alexander is okay for now. His heart is stable. Just don't get him excited.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #4 -- "Black Water" The plot thickens until Namor finds himself trapped and suffocating in an oil spill, but none of that is important. What is important to me is a an occurrence of about six frames midway through the issue: Namor lounges in his salt water pool, talking to Namorita, then he sinks into the pool, drifting through bubbles, submerging himself. The conversation continues, though, because Namorita just pops her head beneath the water and keeps on chatting. This moment exemplifies what is great about John Byrne. More than any other comic creator of his generation, Byrne's imagination extended to the mundane and morphed the mundane into something exceptional. His artwork in this moment is gorgeous, actually conveying the feeling of specific gravity in water, conveying drift, and Glynis Oliver's colours gloriously match his pencils. His storytelling never reaches the level of the greats like Alan Moore or Chris Claremont, but damn can he do the little things well.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #5 -- "All the Rivers Burning" The big oil spill is ablaze after an eco-Terrorist suicide bombs the slick. Iron Man wastes his time chasing a drone sent out as a diversion. Mr. Fantastic and the Invisible Girl try to contain the spill. Sub-Mariner swims off to an underwater lava vent, bringing back some thermal-eating, giant manta rays, and the day is saved (mostly through the efforts of Namor) even though the heroes do nothing in concert. There is part of me that thinks the disjointed (pseudo-)heroics of the four super beings is something to be appreciated, and I suppose I do, but it is overshadowed by the disjointedness of the story itself. I can't get a handle on anything that Byrne is doing, apart from the overdetermined eco-critcism he's beating me over the head with. Subtle it is not. In other news, Namor is arrested as soon as the day is saved. Not sure why yet, but it's probably due to his uninvited visit to the Roxxon board.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #6 -- "Out of Sight, Out of Mind." The shine of Byrne's art (though there is a super cute drawing of Namorita at one point. One point in how many frames? Too many) has warn off, and all I can muster for this issue is a yawn. The Marrs plot is coming to fruition. Namor has decided to shift his affections from the uninterested Carrie to the very interested Phoebe (although she's only interested as a ruse). Yawn. Scratch, scratch, scratch. And then there is a new villain, the embodiement of humanities offshore garbage dumping. It is a rot creature named Sluj(who happens to look an awful lot like the Swamp Thing). Snort. Sorry, my head bobbed there. I was resting me eyes.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #7 -- "... That I Be Shunned by All..." Where the hell is Mothra when you need it? Not in New York fighting Sluj, that's for sure. That's up to Namor who just happens to hear about a giant beast in the ocean. He just happens to find the monster with no difficulty, then pops into the monster for a swim around, finds a shipload of passengers in a series of digestive cocoons and pulls a pretty girl in a bikini to safety to find out what happened, and he just happens to land -- amidst a thronging crowd -- right beside the scientist responsible for the monster, who just happens to have the antidote, and Namor just happens to be the perfect delivery system, and I just happened to stay awake long enough to see Headhunter swing by the Marrs Penthouse to collect a head. I suppose I will just happen to read the next issue soon too.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #8 -- "Never Bet the Devil Your Head" We have here our first cusp issue where old storylines are closing out (so very unsatisfactorily) and new storylines are starting (some out of time Nazi baddies. Hooray!). At the moment Namor can't fly, a residual effect from his defeat of Sluj, so he's being driven around in the Marrs limousine (where it seems he shags Phoebe Marrs, or so we're led to believe), then winds up in a room of heads. Ten or twelve heads. Human heads. Mounted on the wall like a wild animal trophy room. Apparently the lovely Headhunter collects the heads of New York's best and brightest business men (and, yep, no one seems to have missed them), and her most recent addition is Desmond Marrs. Next up: Namor. So she pulls off her glasses, rolls her hypnotic eyes, and we're off to the next issue.
Namor, The Sub-Mariner #9 -- "Skull Orchard" Thank Poseidon it is over! Blah, blah, blah, the Headhunter never cut off any heads. She simply kept the men alive with their heads poking through the wall, sometimes for years. Yeah, that's believable (what the hell do you mean? It's a comic book, dumb ass. Yeah, I know. But still ....). Some other stuff happens too. So I am finished. I am relieved. I am disappointed. I'll probably read the next one, and I'll complain about that one too, knowing full well what I am getting myself into....more
Fart Day has nothing to do with farts, and only a minor moment when This book was free. I was ripped off.
There is a beginning, but no middle or end.
Fart Day has nothing to do with farts, and only a minor moment when something might smell like a fart, and farts play no role in the action, so the promise of farts was a distraction.
This isn't a story, it is a family anecdote, and only someone from the author's family would find it humorous or worth reading.
The grammar is appalling. Ms. James needs to brush up on her use of commas.
I have read some stinkers on my iPod since I discovered free e-books, but this one is a big, juicy, wet fart.
Too bad what it IS isn't what it was about. It might have been worth reading then. ...more
I am sick of this book. I am going to be pulling my hair out tonight when Scoutie toddles over and says, "Book!" and then clambers up onto my lap and I am sick of this book. I am going to be pulling my hair out tonight when Scoutie toddles over and says, "Book!" and then clambers up onto my lap and I get down to reading it to her.
I love having her on my lap and listening to her try to form the sounds to all the words I read, especially as she struggles with her "s" sound, and I really love the smooches she demands every time she finds one of the clues in Walter Wick's big pictures (and I really dig his photos), so there are some things to like about I Spy A Butterfly
But Jean Marzollo's writing is basically crap. Sometimes she rhymes and sometimes not. Sometimes she nails her meter and sometimes not. And then there are annoying punctuation errors, like her misplaced apostrophes, which drive me mad (and bring out my permanent marker for a bit of homemade editing).
Whatever. My baby girl loves this book, and her love saves this book from the compost. So it's okay. I will read it, and try to keep as much of my hair as possible. ...more
I give up. I can't go on. I couldn't even make it to page one hundred. I slogged through the first 85 pages, which should have been a stand-alone noveI give up. I can't go on. I couldn't even make it to page one hundred. I slogged through the first 85 pages, which should have been a stand-alone novella (had it been a novella, it would have been a vast improvement, and I may have sped through it had I not been daunted and confused by the presence of the 300+ pages that were still to come). For years I've been longing for a book from the Orc perspective. I wanted a story that actually gave us a hint of Orc culture, Orc life, maybe a story about a humble Orc farmer, just trying to make it while providing grain for the Orc army and living in fear of the nasty humans encroaching on his land. Or perhaps the tale of an Orc warrior, living in squalor and fear because he's part of an underfunded army, and a culture that prizes death over anything else. Or the story of an Orc actor, part of a travelling show, moving through the armies of the Orcs, trying to boost morale. Anything original that told us who Orcs are, even if it wasn't my idea of what Orcs can be, would have been appreciated. Thus I went into Grunts with an open mind, ready to love it (bolstered by the fact that I really enjoyed Mary Gentle's Rats and Gargoyles). But there was no hint of that book I'd been hoping for. Instead, it was just a bunch of idiotic, cannibalistic, hyper-violent degenerates. Just more of Orcs being unrepentantly evil and nasty. But wait, Grunts did provide us with a pair of seriously pyschopathic Halflings, a pair of serial killers if truth be told, and that made me excited for a while, but just when that thread would get interesting, the Halflings would disappear. Which reminds me, the pacing in this book was awful, all over the place, I'd get interested, then she'd move onto something else and drain me of interest. But then Grunts had something else I could get behind: (view spoiler)[the Orcs stumble on a cache of USMC Weapons in a Dragon's horde and turn themselves into a Marine Corp fighting machine. Suddenly it seems like Gentle is commenting on the US Military, and I am overjoyed! But then the mechanized weapons are useless against magic, and the Grunts are slaughtered, and I can't help wondering what the fuck she was doing having these weapons appear so soon in a 400+ page book. Or at all because they seem to add absolutely nothing (hide spoiler)] And then I was just pissed off again, and wishing this book was over. So I put the book down, and I tried to muster the interest to come back, but I've given up on that idea. I can see no reason for the book to continue, I can see no reason for me to read on, so I have stopped and given Gentle two stars. The book is okay at best. I hate it because it didn't live up to its amazing potential, but I will say it's okay because I can't comment on the finished product. I'll say it's okay despite my hate. (you're feeling how disjointed and strange this review is, aren't you? how disruptive the pacing? that's what Gentle did in her book. Seriously). Yep, I hate this book. But maybe you won't, though you probably will. ...more
• The cover art by Stephen Youll is killer in a cheesy old movie way. So killer that it made me buy this book against my better judgementThe Coolness—
• The cover art by Stephen Youll is killer in a cheesy old movie way. So killer that it made me buy this book against my better judgement. The Gill-man on the cover, looking like he’s just risen from the swamp, dripping water from his forearms with some aquatic flora hanging loose from his chitinous armour, is a hoot, and coupled with old B-movie, Creature font, it is impossible to resist.
• Cody and Brice are nude. A lot! That’s what happens, I guess, when you’re back in the Devonian with the one that you love and no society is around to tell you to keep your clothes on.
• Zombie Gill-men!
• There’s this kick ass burial ritual for the “civilized” Gill-men where they liquefy their dead and return them to The Mother. I would love to have seen this used better in a different context. But it’s pretty cool nonetheless.
The Meh!-ness—
• You can’t have a good novel without an issue to revolve around, or at least that’s what I imagine Hackosaurid di Filippo’s creative writing teacher telling him. So di Filippo does the responsible thing and throws in some environmentalism for us. The world’s a mess in 2015 because of of our destruction of the environment, so good ol’ boy Brice wants to splice us together with a Gill-man to save our species from the eventual destruction our industrialization has wrought. Don’t worry, though, there’s no crisis or craziness happening when Brice goes back. Just an increase in temperatures and air conditioning. This could have been an excellent addition if it had been handled with some subtlety, but Hackosaurids are not known for their subtlety. They’re more like T-Rexes trying to be stealthy.
• The stupidity of Cody and Brice was sorta funny to begin with, but then it just gets annoying. What a pair of idiots. Still, it’s really easy to buy their stupidity, so they deserve everything they get. But then the super-genius who created the time machine adds his stupidity to the mix, and the Gill-People are just as stupid as all of them, so the stupidity is interminable and painful.
The Crapness—
• There is some really, and I mean REALLY, crappy wish fulfillment going on in this book. Case in point: “You own every part of me now, Brice, whether you ever wanted to or not. Don’t ever forget that.” You see, Cody was almost eaten by a seventy foot, prehistoric shark, but her geeky, marine biologist boyfriend, Brice just happen to nuke it from his kayak with a kick ass automatic rifle, saving her life. Then we get this little vow of personal enslavement, just before a crazy tumble in the bog between the two randy lovers, and all so Brice can daydream about the amazing foreplay that is a near death experience. Gill-man alive!
• AND there is some seriously shitty dialogue. Just consider this gem from Hackosaurid di Filippo when his heroes (and I use the term loosely), lose their iPod time machine and discover they’re stuck in the Devonian: “Brice showed Cody the empty holster on his hip. He tried to be light about their devastating loss. ‘Our ticket home’s been punched already. No mileage left.’” Umm ... need I say more?
• The Gill-folk are telepaths and water shapers and earth shapers and air shapers and aliens! Wow! Don’t you just love sci-fantasy? It’s like the cheesiest X-Men story ever.
• Gill-Folk = Noble Savages = Devonian Utopia. Then the Gill Zombies come and screw it all up. But the “base-line” Gill-People remain so nice and so understanding and soooooo peaceful. Oh joy, oh Devonian bliss. Silly assed foolishness.
• Most of the book. But at least it is better than The Spell of Zalanon. Barely. I better get a good pulpy fix soon our my head is going to explode. Trash is good, but vomit is unacceptable....more
I am so pissed off after reading Therefore Repent that I would love to spoil the hell out of the book for everyone and do it without putting on the spI am so pissed off after reading Therefore Repent that I would love to spoil the hell out of the book for everyone and do it without putting on the spoiler (view spoiler)[nope ... not going to do it (hide spoiler)] concealer.
It has a great concept.
It had beautiful pencils, some of the most beautiful I've seen.
It had cool ideas.
But it blew everything it had going for it by being nothing more than the beginning of a beginning with no middle or end. Too many threads, too many subplots, too much promise teased us into interest and then went nowhere because the book is too short by about 480 pages. Talking dogs, homogenous angels, demons, people regaining magic and on and on and on -- they are all gestating, and they are never given the birth they deserve.
What a disappointing load of crap. And the ending was an amateurish cheat. And it was delivered with an air of "Boy! Aren't we clever?!" which made me livid.
Huge disappointment since I loved the only other thing I've read by Munroe -- Angry Young Spaceman. I think I may have to read that again and see if I was just so damn sick at the time (I was suffering from a brutal case of bronchitis) that I couldn't discern quality.
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