The art of Jakub Rozalski.
The art of Jakub Rozalski.
Progress report: Forty-five today and feel fat. Please come and get me!
I saw the new Star Wars movie last week; it was a good fun waste of a couple of hours. But now I think it’s time for the whole media circus to move on (at least until the next movie!)
We’ve had the hype machine running full tilt for the last couple of months, we’ve been bombarded with the ads and some of the worst product tie-ins ever. And, now the film is in cinemas, we’re seeing the internet undertaking a collective postmortem: discussing the perceived plot holes, spotting the Easter eggs and the cameo appearances, and hand-wringing over the sexual politics and gender representation. It just seems endless – to the point where we’re not enjoying the franchise as a piece of science fiction escapism any more.
Now, I’m a big time sci-fi fan, but the image above is from my Flipboard ‘Science Fiction’ feed, which has now turned almost exclusively into a ‘Star Wars’ feed.
And I’m sick of it.
Can we please all just take a deep breath and remember that it’s just a movie. And, despite the spectacle, it’s made lots of people undeservedly rich at a time when lots of ‘real’ people struggle to get by.
And yes, I do see the irony in writing about it…
Mrs A insisted on having a crib among this year’s decorations. My younger son, however, has made me reevaluate my feelings.
Dare I say it after my last post, but this is a good use of action figures!
I’ve been looking forward to the new series of Game of Thrones as much as anyone. It just so happens that it’s started as I’m half way through reading Dan Jones’ The Plantagenets and, in comparison, the world of the Seven Kingdoms seems rather a tame place to live.
So there were no dragons flying about 13th century Europe at the time, but everything else is there: court intrigues, battles for succession, warring houses, pitched battles and sieges, and more rape and pillage than HBO would ever dare to show. We all crossed our legs when Theon Greyjoy was gelded in one particular scene in GoT, but this was nothing to the treatment of Simon de Montfort at the battle of Evesham in 1265. After being stabbed through the neck with a lance, the real fun began. According to the chronicle of Arnald FitzThedmar:
“The head of the Earl of Leicester, it is said, was severed from his body, and his testicles cut off and hung on either side of his nose; and in such guise the head was sent to the wife of Sir Roger de Mortimer, at Wiggemor Castle. His hands and feet were also cut off, and sent to divers places to enemies of his, as a great mark of dishonour to the deceased; the trunk of his body however, and that only, was given for burial in the church of Evesham.”
Add into the mix other real-life perils such as periodic eruptions of the plague, bouts of dysentery and various fevers, and terrifying rates of infant mortality and Westeros looks like Disneyland.
Just learned of his sad passing: Terry Pratchett’s death announced in Discworld-esque tweet.
The Cabin Goddess is kindly hosting a short story of mine, The Critic from Hell! (based on Gape), as one of her ‘Fourth Wall Friday‘ pieces.
poetry & prose by Tim Miller
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