COMIC BOOK ARTISTS : THE COUNTDOWN

Time for a list.

Sometimes only a list will fill the void of creative ennui, so here's one that places my favourite comic book artists into some sort of rough order.

Hope you enjoy/agree/disagree whatever takes your fancy.

1. Eduardo Risso- Everything he touches is dynamically subtle

2. Jack Kirby -put simply; The King

3. Barry Windsor-Smith - The Pre-Raphaelite of the comic world 

4. Jaime Hernandez-Master of controlled panel story telling

5. Frank Quitely- Detailed observations and composition from the quiet Scot

6. Paul Gulacy-Master of Spys, guns and girls

7. Frank Miller-On his day the most innovative artist since Moebius

8. John Buscema-The Mr Reliable of action

9. John Byrne - The most scanable artist in the buisness

10. Uderzo / Hergé - Hard to separate these masters of story telling, but they both played a key part in my love of reading and sequential art

Honourable mention- Has to be Steve Ditko, a reclusive character with a unique vision.

Of Course there are many more that I could have mentioned, Wally Wood, Jim Steranko, John Byrne, John Bolton, Joe Kubert, Alfredo Alcala, Jim Lee, Bill Sienkiewicz, Frank Frazetta, Neal Adams, Dave Gibbons, Alex Nino, John Romita, Kurt Swan, the list is endless but I've restricted it to my 10 favourites...today.

LET'S COOK

Dear reader, there is no easy way to say this so I will just come out with it;  think I may be addicted to Masterchef.

Yes the culinary challenge broadcast weekday evenings on the BBC has got its hooks in me and is basting me in its light entertainment juices. 

I find myself saying 'let's cook" at the drop of a hat. I exclaim "happy with that?" at the slightest of excuses and the phrase "a good plate of food" leaves my lips at every mealtime.

I now know that rack of lamb is the TV cook's nemesis, that the wobble is the most important part of a successful panna cotta and that soil is not just for gardeners but is is a legitimate part of plate presentation.

I've now grown accustomed to Greg Wallace's egg shaped noggin and John Torodes' squirrel like cheeks as they devour and critique plate after plate of signature dishes and bold experiments.

I have learnt to enjoy the triumphs and disasters with equal measure. Who can forget Scott on 'Master Chef The professionals'? His signature  dessert of choux buns imploded and his  crepe suzette, which was his speciality on the cruise ship where he spent many months, was a disaster to rank alongside the Nazi's attempt to take Stalingrad. 

I now hang on the words of the critics as they munch through their plates of contestant's dreams. Grace Dent; the thinking man's Hylda Ogden with her Northern analogise. The Raffish Jay Rayner; the cookery version of Lawrence Llewelyn Bowen with his acerbic quips, and that other royal bloke. 

The master Chef glossary has seeped into my everyday life. Jus, Sous vide, Crumb, Ceviche, foam, infusion and deconstruction are now words utilised out of context in everyday discourse.

I'm even watching The Great British Menu as a snack between meals of Master Chef.

Maybe one day I will be able to ween myself off the need for MC. Perhaps I can just save myself for the professionals and possibly restrict viewing to the later stages. 

Who am I kidding? I've got Master Chef Mania  and I like it! There I've said it! Cloak me with a Master Chef apron and anoint my head with a Red wine and confit duck reduction. 

THAT WAS THE YEAR THAT WAS

 

So a year, 365 days under the shadow of Covid-19. It's amazing how adaptable humans are and this period has highlighted that adaptability. Of course there have been those that have refused to take precautions under the guise of personal freedom and those that use ignorance as a crutch, but the majority have managed the minor inconvenience of wearing a mask (properly). Social distancing is a bit vague and it depends on which part of the city you are in to an extent but agin, most are aware of the need to observe the practice. 

Yes, there have been illegal gatherings and rule flaunting but this applies to the minority of the public.

Life under lockdown and the broader sense of restriction has been a challenge, not least for our mental health and this is where perhaps the biggest challenge has been. When routines change so do motivations, when habits are altered the comfort of regularity is disrupted. There was always going to be a limit to sour dough baking, Netflix series, Zoom meetings, arts and crafts and enthusiasm for daily exercise which left many with feelings of ennui but we rallied didn't we?

I'm running out of gas it has to be said and the slow crawl to what we would consider normality seems inexorable, but it's about keeping going.

Not seeing friends and family will have helped us see the true value of those relationships and the hope of a warm summer and getting together is a candle to gaze into.

A year, 365 days that have changed so many things. It's a period in history that will be looked back on by historians as one where we, by and large, galvanised and girded our loins. I await the future with optimism and a little uncertainty and that in itself is normality.

TWILIGHT OF THE GOBS

 

There was a time when Benny Hill, Miss World, Mind Your Language and the Black and White Minstrels were prime time regulars but those days are rightfully gone. It seems that time is up for the prime time pomposity of a generation of big mouths. The likes of Keys & Gray are now on a foreign streaming service, Clarkson is now neutered and hosts a game show, Piers Morgan is out on his ear and Gordon Ramsey hosts an anaemic flop of a TV quiz. 

Is it that we just got tired of their bombast and out-dated mind set or is it that their type of badinage had worn so thin that it snapped?

The insipid replacements seem to be a cross between Paddy McGuinness and Tim Lovejoy; an unthreatening, albeit irritating, presence across all networks. We’ve traded in smug bombast for insouciance.

The TV personality is a strange creature. Their main skill is being able to read an autocue and hold a series of segments together and for a long time that ability was allied to having a pseudo controversial style and delivery and many revelled in this rage against the PC. But it was always going to fizzle out, it was always going to quietly deflate; pop rather than explode.

Like the dinosaurs before them they have been obliterated by a meteor of disinterest. They've been deprived of positive bad press, just bored press

The thing is that you can fool the public quite easily but the worst thing you can do is become predictable and stale and that’s what happened with these stalwarts of the caramac Slip on and boot cut jean.

PEOPLE WILL THINK

"I am the publisher of the Enquirer. As such, it is my duty - I'll let you in on a little secret, it is also my pleasure - to see to it that decent, hard-working people of this city are

not robbed blind by a group of money mad pirates because, God help them, they have no one to look after their interests! I'll let you in on another little secret, Mr. Thatcher. I think

I'm the man to do it. You see, I have money and property -If I don't defend the interests of

the underprivileged, somebody else will - maybe somebody without any money or any property and that would be too bad." Charles Foster Kane

Why do the tabloid press thrive on negativity? It has to be because it sells papers. Money, that's their bottom line. But why do people like to read negative stories, hear about bad things and get gratification from controversy?

If sales didn't boom with their stories of bile they wouldn't publish them.

I personally don't care what celebrity A says about celebrity B. I'm not invested in a bloke that had seven children by the age of 19. I'm not interested in what a professional royal watcher (and what sort of a job is that anyway?) speculates about what one of the Windsors thinks about something.

But, what is important is the way in which the tabloid press use the unique platform they have to deliver the truth, expose corruption and inform the public fairly and impartially. This was once the default position of the press; a noble pursuit of the truth.

Charles Foster Kane : Now look, Mr. Carter, here's a front-page story in the Chronicle about a Mrs. Harry Silverstone in Brooklyn who's missing. Now, she's probably murdered. Here's a picture of her in the Chronicle. Why isn't there something about it in the Inquirer?

Mr Carter: Because we are running a newspaper...

Mr Carter: There's no proof that that woman is murdered, or even that she's dead...It's not our function to report the gossip. If we were interested in that kind of thing, Mr. Kane, we could fill the paper twice over daily.

Charles Foster Kane: Mr. Carter, that's the kind of thing we are going to be interested in, from now on.

What tabloidism has wrought is the exploitation of the very worst in people. The beady eye of the envious neighbour peeping through the net curtains with scant regard of the consequences to the subject of scrutiny.

Disparaging articles based on Race and Class shift units and the thinly veiled 'subtlety' with which these stories are constructed is a national disgrace, but still those stories are lapped up.

Once The Sun was the prime mover in the print media of hate but this style has been adopted across the board with the Daily Mail at the pseudo respectable forefront of gotcha journalism.

Is it the case that demand feeds the tabloids or the tabloids create demand? What's clear is that there are dark forces at work and once a subject is targeted they don't let go. Recent  events show clearly that a sustained attack can take place for no reason other than prejudices and preconceptions.

I don't read, much less buy, tabloids but unfortunately a hell of a lot of people do and as long as this is the case demonisation of difference will continue to be legitimised.

The institution of a free press based on values has been replaced with an Orwellian media that instructs people in how to fear difference and exploit suffering. The best intentions of genuine newspaper men and women has been superseded by trenchant manipulation that, rather than being met with disdain and outrage is embraced by many.

“- Emily Monroe Norton Kane: Charles, people will think...

-Charles Foster Kane: What I tell them to think.”

A POST HIBERNATION POST

As the lockdown evolves and changes are on the horizon here's a handy guide of what to look for in the coming weeks and months as our forced hibernations come to an end and we the seeds of normality begin to sprout

The first man to have a drink after lockdown. We will see a news feature about the first man to haver a pint after the pubs reopen. His name will be Tony and he'll sup his landmark pint of John Smith's at a Wetherspoons in St Albans at 8.00am 

He'll be wearing a fisherman's waistcoat with a pair of glasses on a string around his neck. he'll also be sporting a beard and combat trousers.

An increase in discarded Nitrous Oxide Canisters. A return to the days of lockdown 1 will see the return of these used silver capsules clogging the inside lane of roads throughout the country as users emerge blinking from their bedrooms for a bit of communal happy gas ingestion.

Crowded commuter trains. Social distancing will go out of the window at the first opportunity as short memories kick into action. The need to get back to work will be offset by the need to cram, sardine like into the carriages of a dismal rail service.

The daytime drinking boom. As people reconnect in pub gardens there will be a surge in drink orders as the public gorge themselves on ice cold pints, refreshing shorts and crisp Pinot Grigios. For those still on furlough this offers the opportunity to get paralytic by 4.00 pm before realising that drinks are considerably cheaper when bought from the supermarket.

Moaning about being too busy. After months of inactivity and boredom there will be a new era of complaining about being back at work. The sound of "Christ! I wish I was back at home on the sofa watching Ready Steady Cook" will be heard the length and breadth of Britain's workplaces. The exclamation of "I really need a holiday" will also ring out loud and clear.

A crazy June. With the proposed return to 'normality' in June coinciding with The European Championships its quite simply going to be the greatest excuse for complete mayhem since VE day. Late night kebab consumption, back seats of  Ubers covered in vomit, fast food emporium stabbings and night bus rampages lay ahead as the United Kingdom raises it's collective skirt and does a celebratory jig that lasts all month.

All this and more awaits us in the brave new world of post Covid Britain. Hooray!

BEHIND HER EYES BEHIND THE HYPE

 

Behind Her Eyes initially seems to be a cross between a  midweek ITV drama about middle class relationships and those old Nescafé Gold Blend adverts but turns into something else, something that aspires to Lynchian in it's dream sequences (you can tell a lot about a show by the quality of its dream sequences)

Set in my stomping ground, Islington it has all the ingredients of the love triangle drama that we have become accustomed too. Enigmatic wife, conflicted mistress and mysteriously deep husband are al there along with middle class guilt and the obligatory hidden depths. So far so Sunday supplement. But things start to get a little strange as it heads towards Black Mirror territory.

The trick is that it manages to retain an air of superficiality to go along with the mannered performances, while it asks more of the viewer.  It’s a programme that many will hate as it’s last act is, shall we say, bonkers.

I dare say it would not be broadcast on ITV on a Wednesday evening, nor would it fit into BBC1's flagship Sunday night slot. Possibly BBC 4 or Channel 4 would give it a go but Netflix suits it and often challenging fare is championed on on this platform.

Don't get me wrong; in terms of challenging it's hardly Twin Peaks but its, well, odd.

I’m still digesting it, and for me it’s on the cusp of absolute nonsense masquerading as art and art masquerading as audio visual wallpaper. it's certainly being discussed by many and the consensus on it is that there is no consensus on it.

But, in this day and age where conformity rules, that’s not a bad thing

SHOW ME THE FUNNY

 

 I was feeling a little jaded today and a funny quote popped into my head, its from Jerry Lewis' the Nutty Professor;

Gym Attendant: "Are you hurt?"

Professor Julius Kelp: "Well, if a man with an ulcer and a splinter in his finger and a nail in his foot was then struck by lightning, if you could say that man was not hurt then yes you could say I'm not hurt”-The Nutty Professor 

With funny quotes from some of my favourite films in mind, here are some funny quotes from some of my favourite films. enjoy

Dr Hirsch:“I’ve survived Rommel so I’m sure I can survive another excruciating evening with Rodger Matheson”-An American Werewolf In London

RUNNING RIOT

There was a time when the only adults you saw running were those chasing after a Routemaster bus with the intention of leaping onto the rear platform, then catching their breath while delving into their pocket to give their fare to the expectant conductor. Or alternatively, if you saw adults running it was generally associated with a fracas of some sort.

We now have parks, open spaces and pavements to use for our daily exercise while the current lockdown inexorably marches on. A brisk walk or a leisurely stroll  does wonders for one's mental health as well as general health and a visit to the park, heath or field is particularly invigorating, involving as it does, a bit of nature and fresh air.

However there is one group of people that interfere with headspace, disrupt quiet time, interfere with tranquility and barge into benign thought. That group are runners.

I'm not talking about joggers, those that calmly pass by at a non intimidating pace, I'm talking about runners. 

They hurtle towards the pedestrian at breakneck speed, gasping and spluttering with furrowed eyebrow and glare of eyes. Their expectation that the walker, who has the audacity to not be doing an impression of Usain Bolt, leap aside to give right of way.

The runner has the pompous air of superiority and lack of awareness of personal space of a Russian oligarch on a shopping spree in Harvey Nicholls.

The Runner, you see, is focussed, so focussed that children, the aged and those with hot drinks are merely obstacles standing in the way of their pursuit of perfection.

They don't need to use the footpath if they want to beat their personal bests over 200 metres, after all, surely it's better for them not to have to confront elderly couples enjoying some fresh air when they are in the zone. It feels like wilful confrontation and can of course lead to the most unmellowing of mellows.

Run if you like, run as fast as you can, but do it where there is space, and there is so much empty space to race in London without imposing your whirling olympian limbs on an unsuspecting public out and about.

If the pedestrian world was a road users world the runner would be a cross between a Gold Range Rover Sport owner and a White Van Driver.

COUNTDOWN CONUNDRUM

Now that we've been told of the countdown to take us out of lockdown are we any the wiser as to what the longer term holds? For most the immediate impact of the governments road map is the prospect of seeing friends and family again, getting heads around returning to work, getting back to the Pub, Bar and Cinema. 

Is the handshake a thing of the past? will masks still be evident as a matter of choice? will social distancing be an entrenched habit? nobody knows as this situation has never been faced before. However, there are probably some things that the government haven't factored into their round to recovery

March 8th-Sees the return to the High street of discarded yellow chicken shop boxes as children return to the corners of the High street between 3.00-5.00 as they dawdle towards home with a deep fried piece of avian matter clutched in their ravenous maw.

April 12th-Sees an upswing in undesirables asking for 'spare' cigarettes and 'spare' change from those supping a well deserved drink at a table outside their local hostelry. 

May 17th-Sees the reintroduction of wedding reception punch-ups at overcrowded community halls up and down the country.

June 21st-Sees the Omaha beach scenario as a staple of Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights in town and city centres throughout the land as everyone gets totally of their nuts on cheap alcohol and Bolivian marching powder.

Throughout this crisis Boris has spoken about the common sense of the British Public, and that's the conundrum; do you trust people or do you assume that people are idiots? Lets hope that he has made adequate provision for the possibility that common sense may very well go out of the window in the next few months.

POWER CORRUPTION AND LIES

What attributes does a politician need to have? What skill set? Self sacrifice, public service, honour, and integrity, honesty a good grasp of constitutional law and an understanding of the issues facing their constituency as well as the country as a whole. A desire to empower and inspire and a passion for leadership. Those qualities, if upheld, should not make that politician immune from scrutiny and scrutiny is fine when one has no need to hide.

Unfortunately what we have at the moment, a time of global and domestic crisis, are politicians at the helm whose default position is to go against all semblance of the qualities needed to lead and more to the point, seem immune from any semblance of accountability.

Lies, deception and a flagrant disregard for the rules they themselves impose would seem dishonest at best and downright corrupt at worst. It’s the downright temerity that grates; the lack of shame for such overtly scandalous behaviour. But who needs shame when you have hubris?

Ah hubris, that great leveller of god and man. When, in May of last year, we saw a dishevelled Dominic Cummings amble into his press conference, late and with his shirt hanging out, to explain his lockdown breaking trip what we saw was hubris, arrogance and hubris. 

Now in February 2021 Hancock steps up into the hubristic spotlight. The difference this time around is that Hancock’s misdemeanours are buried beneath tabloid outrage at Prince Harry and his African American wife and he perception that they have turned their backs on the Royal family. I find nothing strange in their choice, particularly as neither of them are related to the queen or Philip.

When the media overlook the blatant inappropriate behaviour of those entrusted with the destiny of our country it gives permission for that behaviour. A hubristic leadership normalises lying, cheating and brown envelopes, jobs for the boys and a nudge-nudge wink-wink culture, but when our bastions of truth are in cahoots with that behaviour there is little hope of seeing our appointed leaders through anything other than the prism of distrust. It seems that, for those in parliament, those wax wings are flame proof.