Mad Max - Fury Road

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I wasn’t particularly interested when I first heard about Mad Max - Fury Road. I’ve reached that age where every other movie out of Hollywood is a remake or a reboot of something that I remember from my formative years, and almost all of them seem inferior to the originals. But it turns out that Fury Road is the real deal: I don’t remember enjoying a sci-fi/action movie this much since Aliens.

The plot would fit comfortably on a post-it note. I’ve seen a few people on Twitter saying this as if it’s a bad thing. It’s not. Most films have far more plot than they know what to do with. Fury Road has exactly as much as it needs. Which isn’t very much at all, because it’s a demented punk hymn to speed and violence.


Basically, post-apocalyptic warlord Immortan Joe keeps a harem of young wives in his desert citadel, until his war-rig driver Furiosa decides to help them escape: the rest of the film is one long chase sequence. The wives’ predicament, and Furiosa’s growing sympathy for them would fill the opening scenes of a lesser movie, but Fury Road skips all that: we don’t meet the wives until they’ve already escaped, at which point Joe’s discovery of their empty room and a single line of graffiti fill in all the back-story we need. 



A few details of Furiosa’s past are sketched in later, but only in passing. Max himself, the burned-out case who ends up helping the women (although they don't seem to need a lot of help), is even sketchier: is this a sequel or a reboot? We never learn where he has come from, or who the ghosts that haunt him are. There isn’t much dialogue at all. There are certainly no long speeches, and the storyline is so stripped-down that it would work as a silent movie (like Luc Besson’s Le Dernier Combat, another post-apocalyptic punch-up in which one of the things lost in the fall of civilization is the power of speech).  

That said, what dialogue there is is pretty good. In Beyond Thunderdome Max met a gang of kids whose feral upbringing had left them talking in lines from Riddley Walker. It was an interesting idea, and it’s an aspect of that movie which I quite like, but it did feel a bit arch, somehow. In the new movie there’s a similar scuffed and pidgin-y feel to a lot of the lines, especially the ones spoken by Joe’s mob of Warboys, but it works much better. 


The warboys are impressive in other ways, too. A motorcade of maniacs in crusty white face paint, driven by a crackpot religion which promises them entrance to Valhalla if they ‘die historic on the Fury Road’, their main role is as filmic cannon-fodder, to be flung about like broken puppets as their ramshackle pursuit vehicles crash, somersault and explode. But we see one of them, Nux in more detail, and he’s such a goofball, trying so earnestly to do the right thing according to the twisted world-view he’s been lumbered with, that we tend to assume the others are probably like that too. They’re on the wrong side, but they’re not evil, and somehow they’re not just the faceless minions most movie villains send to do their dirty work. Even Immortan Joe himself - a wrong ‘un if ever there was - is understandable; you can see how he’s built his fierce little desert kingdom, and why his boys revere him.*



The costumes and vehicle designs pack in all the detail which has been left out of the script. That religion I mentioned above is basically explained by the way the warboys spray their teeth with chrome paint before they start their kamikaze runs, turning their clenched teeth into radiator grilles. The whole social structure of the Citadel is explained in a couple of shots; Joe above controlling the water supply of the huddled Sebastiao Salgado masses below (some of whom look like tortoises under their bizarre scrap-built sun-shields).

There’s a seam of black humour running through the old Mad Max films. It’s buried deeper here, but it still breaks the surface quite often, mostly in the crazy designs - the hedgehog cars, the bendy-pole men, the bobble-head bird skull thing on the hood of Nux's vehicle. A hatchet-faced character who arrives in a sports car body attached to the top of a small tank, dressed in a judge’s wig and robes made out of bullets, is probably the funniest thing I’ve seen all year. And, of course, Joe’s warband carries its own musicians with it - a battletruck made of amplifiers, crewed by a team of drummers and a heavy metal guitarist with a flame-throwing guitar. I’m sure the film is stuffed with CGI, but the vehicles were real, as far as I could tell, and you could almost smell the oil and hot metal. 



There are only a couple of bits which ring false. When the war rig and its pursuers drive into a monster sandstorm it looks incredible from the outside, like a beige tsunami. Even once they’re in the heart of it there are impressive moments, an episode of Whacky Races reimagined by John Martin. But when cars start to be lifted off the ground, colliding and exploding and spilling their crews, it gets a bit computer-gamey and loses the sense of reality the film has been building. I also thought the final chase/battle was cut a bit too fast. At a point where it becomes important who is in which vehicle and where the vehicles are in relation to each other it all got a bit confusing. And I slightly missed the broad Australian accents which were such a feature of the old films  - this one has a more international cast, and was shot in Namibia rather than the outback. 

But the desert looks great, and so does the blue-filtered swampland where wierdoes shamble about on stilts, looking a bit like those horse-bat creatures at the end of The Dark Crystal. And it reminded me of one of the things I always liked best about the Mad Max movies: there's a complete absence of buildings (unless you count the caverns at the start). Most post-apocalyptic stories take us into the ruins of our cities, but Max is much more hardcore than that - in his future there is only the desert, and the only shelter is in the cabins of speeding vehicles.


*I’m always telling people that I don’t like violent films and TV shows, but I guess what I actually object to is sadistic ones: gorily sadistic ones which linger over gratuitous shots of wounds and suffering, or casually sadistic ones like Raiders of the Lost Ark where the deaths of countless extras are treated as jolly fun for all the family. Fury Road doesn’t keep slipping in grisly details for the sake of it (there’s very little actual gore until the climax, when the big villains start getting their come-uppance, and even then it’s cut quickly away from, just minor details in the broad sweep of battle). And the way it treats the cannon fodder means that the carnage is never too jokey - the cars and the clothes and the exploding spears may be ridiculous, but the warboys’ deaths have weight. 


Frankfurt

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Look! Seawigs have reached Germany! Here are some young rambling isles who we met last week at the European School Rhein Main in Bad Villbel, near Frankfurt.


Dressler, our German publisher, had asked Sarah McIntyre and I to go and visit some international schools to spread the word about Oliver and the Seawigs, or ‘Schwupp und Weg’ as it’s known in those parts. 


Me, Stephanie, McIntyre and Mystery Guest.
Our main host was Stephanie von Selchow who is the librarian at the European School in Frankfurt. She’d arranged for us to do two sessions there, for her own students, and a visiting class from the Textorschule in Sachsenhausen.  A lot of the kids had already read Oliver and the Seawigs, so after we’d talked a bit about it we went on to cakes in Space, which has just been published in Germany as Kekse im Kosmos. Most of the audience spoke good English, and it seemed to go down well - of course, some of the show needs no translation; the bit where Sarah hits me over the head with a mandolin case goes down well in any language. Ow.

That afternoon we had a quick wander around Frankfurt, and tried to draw some of the odd but attractive pollard linden trees which line the riverside. 




Then it was off to the Goldmund Restaurant at the Literaturhaus, where we had dinner with Stephanie and some of her colleagues from ESF and other schools. As you can see, it was very grand, and the food was lovely. 




The next morning we were picked up by Manuela Rossi, who whirled us down the Autobahn to Bad Villbel, where we talked Seawigs and Cakes to some of the students of the European School Rhine Main. Utte, the librarian there, showed us some of the great artwork the children had produced, including this fantastic tower of houses. It looks a bit like a Traction City from my Mortal Engines books.



Best question of the day: "Where did you get those GIGANTIC SHOES?"

Achtung! Gigantischeschuhen!

Then it was back on the Autobahn to yet another international school, Accadis in Bad Homburg



We’d met Samantha Malmberg and Caitlin Wetsch from the school at the previous night’s dinner, so it was good to see them in their natural surroundings, and meet their students, who were VERY EXCITED TO SEE US. Some of the classes had done whole whole projects on Oliver the Seawigs, complete with some great drawings.






Samantha Malmberg with one of the drawings we did at accadis...

...and the seawig Sarah drew for Caitlin.

And after that we had a little bit more time to mooch around Frankfurt, in the guise of Mitteleuropean crime-fighting duo Peek & Cloppenburg.



Strange things were going on in Frankfurt city centre. Nobody seemed to be bothered by the fact that the shopping mall was being devoured by a freak wormhole…



...while a time-loop at the caketastic Café Im Liebeighaus kept generating extra Sarahs...



But we discovered a natty German-style TARDIS and were able to save the day.



And we both found excellent covers for our forthcoming albums, should we ever find time to write and record them. Mine is going to be icy German electronica…



Heaven knows what Sarah’s is going to sound like.



But whatever it is, it will be lovely - because some things are Better Than Perfection.



Thanks to Stephanie, and to all the students, staff and volunteers who helped to make our visit to Frankfurt so enjoyable! We were very sad to leave...








Political Drama

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Election day here in the UK, and I’m saying nothing about which of the dismal and despicable contenders I shall be voting for - if, indeed, any. Alwyn W Turner (whose book about the 1970s I mentioned here recently) sums it all up very eloquently on his excellent blog

But while I’ve been doing my best to ignore British politics, I’ve been very entertained lately by the U.S. variety - or at least by the version of it which appears in various TV dramas. So I thought I’d write about some of them instead. 





We’ve just (finally) started watching The West Wing, that every-day story of White House folk. I know it’s years and years old and a classic and everything, but I caught a bit of it when it was first broadcast and decided that it wasn’t for me. I was wrong, though, and now I’m thoroughly looking forward to watching the whole thing. 

The characters are great, the pace is fast, and the wisecrack-laden dialogue fizzes in a way that reminds me of His Girl Friday. Whenever they aren’t batting one-liners to and fro like tennis pros, the cast sum up the defects of each other’s characters in the sort of set-piece speech which American screenwriters do so well. It’s fabulous. But I can see why I turned up my nose at it all those years ago. There’s a certain amount of cynicism displayed by the aides and press officers who make up most of the cast, but the president, played by Martin Sheen, is presented as a secular saint, and about once an episode it all goes a bit soft focus and stirring music swells on the soundtrack while someone explains that America is a Beautiful Idea, or some such patriotic guff. I know that sort of thing plays well in the U.S, and not just with the right (The West Wing is achingly liberal). Over here, for some reason, we find it a bit embarrassing. It's hard to imagine a British Prime Minister being portrayed with such reverence.



A good example of the British view of politicians is House of Cards (1990).  Based on the novel by Michael Dobbs MP, it tells the story of Francis Urqhart, a loyal Conservative chief whip who, when the new Prime Minister goes back on a promise to make him Foreign Secretary, accepts the snub with apparent good grace, and then calmly and coldly sets about wreaking his revenge. It’s now been remade by Netflix in the US, with the action moved to Capitol Hill and Kevin Spacey in the role made famous by Ian Richardson (he’s called Francis Underwood in the new version). 



The remake is a class act, it really is; Spacey is supremely watchable, and I enjoyed seeing him plot and scheme his way through a Washington DC which seems to have been drained of all its warmer hues, an underlit, almost submarine city of marble and brushed steel, haunted by a wintry soundtrack. But it never achieves the real cruelty of the old BBC version, which was one of the most irredeemably black-hearted TV shows I’ve ever seen. The new House of Cards has more episodes to fill, and an eye on further seasons. It can’t help humanising its anti-hero. 

Also, it’s less theatrical than the original. Spacey keeps up Ian Richardson’s trick of addressing the camera as a co-conspirator, but the story seems to be trying harder to be plausible, and, as a consequence, it’s much less so - the melodramatic plot twists ring false. Added to which, as the second season wore on, I found it harder and harder to keep track of who was plotting to do what to whom, and why, and why I should care. 

Worst of all, somewhere beneath the Apple-advert sheen I think there may lurk the same hope that lights The West Wing - Frank Underwood might be a wrong ‘un, but America is still a Beautiful Idea.  They seem to think his resistible rise is a tragedy, when it should be a black comedy. I’ll keep watching, but I’m not convinced.


The Good Wife is a very different kettle of fish. I bought a box set after seeing people sing its praises on Twitter. For the first few episodes I thought I’d wasted my money - it seemed to be just a bland legal soap, starring that Julianna Margulies off of ER as a Chicago lawyer named Alisha Florrick, who reluctantly stands by her cheating District Attorney husband when he gets sent to prison on trumped-up charges. But it’s far more fun than it sounds. The main characters are all watchable enough, but its real strength lies in its semi-regular secondary characters, a cast of comically eccentric judges, lawyers and in-laws. 

Michael J Fox is in it, playing a wonderful devious scoundrel, as is Alan Cumming, who gives the prissiest performance this side of C3PO as the political advisor fighting to rebuild hubby’s career. Zach Grenier crops up as a sly, reptilian divorce lawyer, the great Stockard Channing arrives in a later season as our heroine’s prodigal mother, and Carrie Preston is a hoot as the ditzy but brilliant Elsbeth Tascione.  Archie Panjabi (from Bend It Like Beckham, another ER alumnus) is cool and charismatic as the law firm’s investigator, but the show doesn’t seem to know quite how to handle her - her storylines keep skittering off into ludicrous melodrama. 

But The Good Wife is good enough to cope with a bit of ludicrous melodrama - there’s so much going on, and you never know whether you’re in for a comic turn, a serious chin-stroking moment about some case clunkingly based on a real-life incident, or total soap opera lunacy. It’s all over the place - the plot doesn’t just twist, it makes U-turns, generally in an effort to avoid colliding with other plots which appear suddenly out of left field - but somehow it just works. I’m including it this round-up because it’s at least partly about politics, with Peter Florrick campaigning to get elected again as DA and then as state governor. I can’t tell if the writers of The Good Wife think America is a Beautiful Idea or not, but their version of American politics is a giddy parade of attack ads, leaked e-mails, sleaze, deviousness, backstabbing, and downright lies. I know I’m not comparing like with like, but it feels far more believable than House of Cards.





A Prix Enfantasie for Oliver & the Seawigs

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Oliver and the Seawigs has won an award in Switzerland! It's the Prix Enfantasie, organised by Payot bookshops and the Swiss Institute for Youth, and Sarah McIntyre and I are very pleased about it! Here's her blog, with all the details. And here's a little video we made since we couldn't get to the award ceremony. Lots of people know McIntyre for her fabulous illustrations, but did you realise she can also throw a book more than 200 miles with pinpoint accuracy?