Suck my diiiiiiick, I’m a shaaaarktopus

Q: What’s badder than the Battle of Tannhäuser and more dangerous than a swimming pool full of thumbtacks and facehuggers?



oh no little man what are you going to do it's a fucking SHARKTOPUS

News of Sharktopus’ imminent approach came to us by way of Karen O’Hara’s Twitter:

Just got off the phone with the legendary Roger Corman who’s doing a new movie for us this year. Yes, it’s the long-rumored SHARKTOPUS! . . . Spent half an hour discussing what a sharktopus should look like, how many mouths it should have and how it should kill.




overdrawn at the irony bank

i⋅ro⋅ny [ahyruh-nee, ahy-er-]
–noun, plural -nies.

  1. the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: the irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend.
  2. a technique of indicating, as through character or plot development, an intention or attitude opposite to that which is actually or ostensibly stated.
  3. pointing out to a heckler who is having a laugh because you’ve seen almost half of the Wikipedia list of films set in the future that not only is the heckler in one of the films set in the future, but that this film was in fact heckled by robots in the even more distant future.

If I am not me, then who the hell am I?

A moment to remember screenwriting legend Dan O’Bannon, who left us yesterday:

Dan O’Bannon, one of the scriptwriters behind such seminal SF flicks as Alien and Total Recall, has passed away in Los Angeles following a bout of ill-health, at the age of 63.

O’Bannon was a lifelong SF enthusiast, and got his first experience of filmmaking when he worked as writer, editor and special effects producer on John Carpenter’s brilliant, cynical debut Dark Star. O’Bannon and Carpenter had studied together at USC prior to the film’s 1974 release.

He went on to do special effects work on the first Star Wars film and was involved in the early stages of comic writer Alejandro Jodorowsky’s unsuccessful attempt to bring Dune to the big screen in the mid-‘70s. But it was when he began to concentrate on writing over production and effects that his career really took off. O’Bannon is credited with writing the original screenplay for Alien (alongside Ronald Shusett), and his influence on that film extended to bringing into the fold a certain Swiss artist called H.R. Geiger, who had also been involved in the failed Dune project.

O’Bannon’s other hits included the gloriously OTT Schwarzenegger vehicle Total Recall, an adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s We Can Remember It For You Wholesale by the O’Bannon-Shusett partnership. He was also involved in a number of cult classics, including Lifeforce, Heavy Metal, and Screamers, while his Moebius-illustrated comic The Long Tomorrow was the inspiration for the art style of Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner.

O’Bannon changed the face of science-fiction (and horror, inventing ‘fast’ zombies in his 1986 directorial debut Return Of The Living Dead), and I’ve been hoping for years that he’d make a return to the big screen (possibly with the perpetually-delayed Silvaticus 3015) to show all these modern ‘sci-fi’ writers what’s what.

A public memorial for Mr. O’Bannon will be held sometime in the next few weeks at my apartment in the form of a movie marathon. Interested parties please reply within.

Promises, promises.

Spent a lot of today lost in my own head. Tried to shake it off and went down to the grand re-opening of the Mayfair Theatre, where the restored 35mm print of Metropolis was playing, with live music for the score.

The lineup was already at the end of the block by the time I got there, and after an hour in the cold we were told that no one else was getting in, they had been at capacity since 6PM or so.

Then everyone else in line left and we got in. (Standing room only, 124 minutes running time.)

Balcony at the Mayfair Theatre

Took a few photos on the way home, none of them really turned out well, sadly.

Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons

Would like to write more, but don’t have the words tonight.


poor kyle reese

Repost from 6 years ago today:

“Within every story featuring time travel there really exists two stories: The one about Marty McFly who went back in time and saved Doc Brown from being killed by terrorists and the (much less contemplated) one about Marty McFly who disappeared forever the night Doc Brown was killed.”

today i am just going to listen to frank zappa until my ears stop working

There are still two stalkers out there. Dynamo and Fireball. Who do you think will make the next kill?
Oh my. That’s a tough one.
Come on, Angus. You can do it. Who do you think?
Alright, I think the next kill will be made by… Ben Richards.
No, no. Angus, Richards is a runner. You have to pick a stalker.
I can pick anyone I choose. And I choose… Ben Richards. That boy is one mean motherfucker.

August 29, 1997 – NYC

In The Terminator, there’s a scene where Sarah Connor is told a speech by John Connor’s father, that John Connor’s father heard from John in the future.

John is born, Sarah tells John the speech, and then John grows up and tells it in the future.

…so who wrote the speech?

I now understand why my father owned a handful of Cadillacs. They are like driving inside a big couch. A big, $70,000 couch with 300hp and power 4-way lumbar controls.

It was worth every penny we paid Hertz. Do you know what it’s like to drive to NYC, and not have your legs or ass hurt when you get there?

I could go on about the car, but I will leave you with this: After crossing the border to the US, we switched the onboard controls from metric to imperial, and promptly forgot that the readout was now in MPH instead of KPH. We went up to about 100-110MPH before we noticed that the cars ahead seemed to be approaching at an alarming rate. The ride is just that smooth.

New York City was very big. Overwhelmingly so.

Even more impressive than the physical scale of the city was the economic scale. Where else in the world can you support a video game store that only sells retro/weird consoles, like $500 Intellivision and Coleco bundles, or Hello Kitty Dreamcasts?

I’m having a hard time writing any of this without sounding like a tourist.

Greenwich Village was blindingly fantastic, and anything else I say on the area would be a massive understatement. The rest of Manhattan was a bit too much for me at times, to be honest. Too much money, too many shiny things. It was like a giant set of <BLINK> tags had encapsulated the borough. I much preferred the architecture (and renegade craps games) of Brooklyn, or the back to back graffiti walls of Harlem.

The Siouxsie show was fantastic. Performing with her were Budgie, Knox Chandler (guitarist/multi-instrumentalist from The Psychedelic Furs and countless other bands), Kris Pooley (keyboardist from Jane’s Addiction), and Leonard Eto (from Kodo, widely considered the world’s preeminent master of Taiko drumming).

Again, anything I say about the performance will be wildly misleading, simply because I don’t have adjectives large enough. Instead, I’ll tell you that someone made the mistake of fucking with Leslie at the show (we got your back, ), and Leslie made the shitheaded sonofabitch cry like a girl.

Didn’t know who they was fuckin with.

Back in town, the show on Tuesday was great, aside from the (surprise!) turnout. Luckily, our expenses for this show were very small. A rental van, some food and spending money, a few dollars, and flyers. It’s hard not to break even, really, given those expenses — but it was close, for a while.

There seems to be a new crowd that is starting to come out to the shows, I didn’t recognize at least half of the crowd, and they all seemed to have a blast. I would very much like to see more of them, they seemed more interested in participating than complaining and sniping.

It’s hard, though, to tell if some of the new people are being friendly because they’re friendly people, or because I’m the complete stranger with blue hair who hangs out in the DJ booth. Anyone who’s ever played a show outside their hometown will know exactly what I mean.

It was great to finally meet Caitlin, after chatting online for the last seven years or so, which is almost long enough ago that meeting people online got you strange looks from your friends.

She is smart, clever, and capable. She’d do very well here, or overseas, or anywhere she chooses to be. Here’s hoping she’ll make the choice.


               INT. LAIR

               Machiba walks into the room, carrying a giant steaming plate
               of spaghetti and garbageballs. He places it on the table in
               front of Robot, and steps away.

                         Delicious. I've been looking
                         forward to this all day. I can't
                         wait to devour it with my MIGHTY
                         ROBOT JAWS.

                         I hope the garbageballs are to your
                         liking. I prepared them from the
                         finest dumpster juice in town.

               Taking a bite, Robot begins spewing heroic amounts of pasta
               in all directions from his mighty robot jaws.

                         AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGH! This garbage is
                         totally disgusting! Thank god I'm
                         not programmed to taste crap!

               We see Machiba's horrified face as Robot continues to spew
               his culinary masterpiece all over the room. His eyes narrow.

                                   MACHIBA (V.O.)
                         For years my blade has tasted
                         garbage in the search to make my
                         metallic master happy. No more.
                         Now, my blade will taste...

                                   ROBOT (CONT'D)
                         What do you want me to do? Wipe my
                         robotic ass with this? If I had
                         emotions I'd totally hate this!
                         Hey, MacArthur! You wanna taste
                         this? It's like ass, but in a pasta

Reaction time is a factor in this, so please pay attention.

Researchers who ‘proved’ that Ecstasy equals Parkinson’s gave monkeys the wrong drug. (Prediction: This announcement will have zero effect on drug policy/propaganda, and substandard research will continue to serve the status quo. It’s a pretty wacky theory, I know….)

Voight-Kampff Test administered to San Francisco mayoral candidates.

Direct-to-DVD Family Guy might happen soon.

White Wolf sues the shit out of Sony for making a crappy movie in the World of Darkness without permission.

Trifid M20 and IC 443.

Who knew?

Two recent things I’ve really, really enjoyed:

Infected Mushroom – Converting Vegetarians

I’ve been listening to Infected Mushroom since 1999, when they released their first full-length album, The Gathering. I’m often bored by four-on-the-floor techno, but this album really caught my attention. You could tell they didn’t take themselves too seriously, and the songs were fun, and well written and produced. Their next album was in the same vein, especially with tracks like Dracul, where an orchestral sample from the score of Dracula turns acapella mid-way through the song.

I had a chance to see them live, and their show was nothing short of incredible. Their last two albums, however, were ‘serious’ trance, and not very interesting at all. And so, I mourned for the loss of yet another electronic act destroyed by a desire to be accessible.

Which brings me to Converting Vegetarians. This is a double-cd release, the first disc consisting of ‘old school’ Infected Mushroom tracks. Very blippy, goofy, and not at all self-involved. Fantastic, but not too interesting unless you’re a fan of the style (which I am). The second cd is mainstream trance, complete with uplifting synth lines, and cheesy female vocals. Chord progression, and all that. Fantastic, but not too interesting unless you’re a fan of the style (which I am not).

Overall, the album is excellently accomplished, and intelligent. Regardless of which style you prefer in your goa-slash-psytrance, there’s at least an hour of music you’ll enjoy. Listen to it.


This is a first film by Kurt Wimmer, who wrote, directed, and kicked my ass. Seriously, this film would have been an instant sci-fi/dystopian classic if Dimension Films had marketed it whatsoever. I had never heard of it before I stumbled across it in a binaries newsgroup, and I thought it’d be a funny Matrix rip-off that’d be worth a few laughs. Instead, I got the ass-kicking.

This is simply one of the best movies I have ever seen. Visually, it’s beautiful. Set in an Orwellian post-war world, the visuals mix imposing real-life architecture (Hitler’s Olympic Stadium) with paintings instead of models, giving the setting a washed-out, surreal feel. The action sequences show the first real innovation in film gunfights since Bullet Time, or when Chow-Yun Fat first jumped onto a dolly with two handguns. All the actors are perfect (really, perfect) in their roles, and the lighting is the best I’ve seen since a Coen film.

Wimmer manages to do more with a ridiculously short shooting window and a tiny budget than most action directors have ever done. No distracting CGI, no wires (really – no wires), and for at least half the action sequences, no choreographer and no rehearsal time. The only thing more impressive than the movie itself is that it came out of production conditions terrible enough to sink most films.

In addition, the movie is brilliant. Obviously drawing from Bradbury, Huxley, P. K. Dick and other great dystopian writers, the world this movie is set in gives me the same chills that I felt the first time I read 1984. The plot is simple, but the narrative is complex, and repeated viewings reveal insight and subtleties into the motivations of the characters.

I’ve seen a dozen reviews that have called it the worst piece of cinema since Battlefield Earth, but I can’t say enough good things about this film. It’s science fiction, it’s dystopian literature, and it’s a fantastic action movie. Rent it. Buy it. If you can’t find it, I’ll give you a copy. Just watch it.