Vance, Jack. Dangerous Ways. Subterranean Press, 2011. Ultralimited PC traycased edition, one of an indeterminate number of signed, leatherbound copies beyond the 26 lettered copies.
I don’t often buy traycased editions (I have some for Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Joe R. Lansdale, and some Cheap Street authors, since they regularly did traycase editions for their “Publisher’s States” of books), but a book dealer offered up this Vance traycase as part of a number of Subterrranean Press PC editions for less than the original (long-sold-out) published price, and I snapped it up. It’s a rather imposing traycase (I’m not sure if you can see it in the picture, but the title lettering has a somewhat metallic sheen, like burnished copper), though there are two small oddities about it: 1.) The rounded spine edge of the case looks nice, but it prevents the case from laying flat while it’s open, and 2.) The left-side folds into, rather than outside, the right hand part of the traycase holding the book.
Still a very attractive production. Click to embiggen.
Since trailers for two of the films Howard Waldrop and I will be reviewing for Locus Online have recently dropped, I thought a trailer roundup was in order:
In November we’ll be reviewing Hugo (AKA Hugo Cabaret, based on Brian Selznick’s The Invention of Hugo Cabret), a steampunk children’s fantasy from Martin Scorsese:
Which begs the question: Will Hugo be up for a Hugo?
Next year comes John Carter, AKA John Carter of Mars, AKA A Princess of Mars) directed by Pixar’s Andrew Stanton from a script written by Michael Chabon:
Don Webb alerted me to the existence of Hotel Torgo, a documentary on Manos: The Hands of Fate. It features commentary by El Paso SF fan Richard Brandt (a regular Nova Express reader, back in the day), and memories by cast member Bernie Rosenblum.
Warning: You do have to put up with annoying, intrusive Microsoft ads.
If you’ve read “Gabe’s Globster” or “Bob’s Yeti Problem,” you know that I have an ongoing interest in Cryptozoology. Oddly enough, I’m not really interested in the same boring cryptids that get all the media attention, i.e. Bigfoot and Nessie. I’m into more obscure fauna, like the Mongolian Death Worm or De Loys’ Ape. I guess that makes me a sort of cryptozoological hipster (“It’s a pretty obscure cryptid; you’ve probably never heard of it”), without the appalling fashion sense.
So I’m happy to report that one of America’s more obscure cryptids, The Lizard Man of Scape Ore Swamp, of Lee County, South Carolina, is back in the news.
The first sighting of the Lizard Men was back in 1988, when a 17-year old said he was chased by what he described as a green, scaly, 7-foot figure with glowing red eyes and three-fingered hands. You and I might say “Dude, you are so high.” But the wise people in Lee County immediately thought “Local legend! Ka-ching!” And thus the Lizard Man of Scape Ore Swamp was born.
And now there’s been a new sighting! Well, not a sighting in the sense of “somebody actually saw something.” There’s a been a sighting in the sense of “Dang, somethin’ dun fucked up my car!” Unfortunately, the actual news article is pretty poorly written, burying the lede four paragraphs down and neglecting to provide pictures of “tooth marks [that] went completely through the fender” or metal “just bent it up [like] it was a piece of tissue paper.” Or any reason this might be the work of a lizard man rather than bear or alligator. (There might be a video there, but since I’ve got Brightcove (a really crappy and annoying ad platform) blocked, I guess I’ll never watch it.)
This piece, from 2008, is much better written, and a lot more likely to make you go “hmmmm.” Here’s another piece on that 2008 incident, with much bigger pictures. That’s awful high up on the fender for a gator to go up and gnaw on a car, and those holes look too deep and far apart to have been made by a bear (which gets mentioned as a possibility in the article). Doesn’t rule out the owners faking them, but those holes do look…odd.
Of course, the “Lizard Man’s Car” license plate in this video does nothing to enhance the witness’ credibility:
The video also includes plenty of local Lizard Man Merch. “Moichindising, moichindising! Where the real money from a cryptid is made!”
Another video from CNN:
And the South Carolina Lottery produced a series of painful Lizard Man-themed promo spots:
As for the location, well, it is near some swamp, but it’s not so far out that you would think a lizard man could escape detection for years on end, especially in an era where everyone has camera phones.
And what ever happened to the original victim? The lizard men killed him! That is, assuming the lizard men have guns. “Investigators say Davis was targeted in a drug-related incident.” (See also: The third paragraph of this post.)
Cryptozoology is one of the more interesting disciplines on the fringes of science, mainly because new animal species are being discovered all the time, and every now and then a cryptid turns out to be real. Alas, the idea of lizard men roaming the swamps of South Carolina may be pretty freaking unlikely, though not (quite) physically impossible.
Of course, South Carolina swamp dwellers are pretty far from David Icke’s shape-shifting ruling class. (I gather from the headline that Obama is now counted among the reptoids, but no way am I wading through two hours of Icke to confirm this.) The chances of Icke’s theory being true range from “Dude, listening to Alex Jones is for entertainment purposes only” to “Nurse, more Thorazine.”
The charges said Jacob Cobb strangled his mother on the living room floor. Then he or his brother Andrew put a plastic bag over her head and tightened a belt around her neck. Clemens allegedly drove her body west to South Dakota, then east to Glenwood, Minn., before storing the corpse in a garbage can in a shed for months until the ground thawed enough for the two elder brothers to bury it.
Sounds like the makings of a good Coen Brothers movie. Or a bad Joe Pesci movie…
Your normal moviegoer isn’t going to touch this with a ten-foot pole, so this review is aimed at fellow freak-cinema aficionados, the sort of people who see a trailer for a film about a murderous telekinetic tire, and go “Oh yeah! I have to see that!”
You might want to reconsider.
I am totally down with the idea of a film about a murderous telekinetic tire, but Rubber disappointed me. About half the film, the scenes of the tire itself, its slowly building murderous rampage (it starts out with small animals before going all Scannners on various humans unfortunate enough to cross its path), and it stalking a random hot French chick, work almost as well as I hoped they would. All it needed was some recycled Michael Bay music for the perfect over-dramatic touch.
Hot French chick included. Sadly, it doesn't really help.
Unfortunately, the other half of the film ruins the tire-rampage sections, by imposing an arty-farty, post-modern, metafictional framing device whereby a bunch of slow-witted redshirts are lured into the desert to watch the tire’s rampage through dispensed binoculars as part of some sort of…what? Performance art? These parts serve only to pad out the film (and it’s a bad sign when an 82 minute film feels badly padded), provide a few (far too few) laughs, and heighten the artificial nature of the whole endeavor.
This is the wrong narrative strategy.
The way to make a film like this work is never to wink at the audience. Minoru Kawasaki provides great example of how to do this in The Calamari Wrestler and Executive Koala. The more absurd the actions, the more serious the actors played it. No one pointed out the combat boots sticking out of the giant squid, or the obvious zipper on the back of the koala’s head. Unlike Rubber, nobody comes out and gives a speech at the beginning about why things are done for “no reason.” Or, to pick a domestic example, no one walks on screen during Team America: World Police to point out how all the characters are marionettes.
Some things in the film work. The scene of the tire sitting in the hotel room watching NASCAR really captures the absurdest vibe the director seemed to be aiming for. The opening bit where the car knocks down every single artfully disarrayed breakaway chair almost works as a sort of white trash Jacques Tati cinematic tone poem. It’s got well-executed exploding heads. And you get to see Roxane Mesquida’s very shapely French ass for a few seconds while she takes a shower, which would be a big deal if it wasn’t for, you know, the Internet. (NSFW. You’re welcome.)
About the only way I can recommend seeing this is as part of a viewing party for weird films, especially if you give out a prize for whoever can come up with the most tire-related puns. But even in that context, it’s not remotely as inventive (or interesting) as the far-less-technically-competent Die, You Zombie Bastards!, which delivers steady doses of WTF throughout.
My advice? You shouldn’t see any films about murderous telekinetic tires until a better one rolls along.
Here’s the trailer, which includes most of the best scenes:
It’s clogging up New York state, but mainly I’m posting this as an excuse to post a video of one of my favorite Peter Gabriel-era Genesis songs, “The Return of the Giant Hogweed.”
And no video, but here’s a cleaner-sounding, kick-ass live version from a BBC performance:
Although this is more in Dwight’s line of work, you have to admire the sage efficiency of the advice offered by Sports Illustrated‘s Andy Staples in this handy guide: “Cheating for Dummies: Your guide to smarter NCAA rule-breaking.”
Rule #1: Always Pay Cash. (A lesson that will be repeated further in the piece.)
Rule #6 is to use burner cell phones for any illegal contacts with recruits. I was going to make a reference to The Wire…but Staples already did that too.
Sadly, not everyone can run a program as clean as Mack Brown, but for those who don’t, these simple tips should go a long way toward keeping your program from getting SMU-ed.
Underwritten by Gollancz. I assumed something of the sort was in the works, since I’ve heard the likes of John Clute and David Langford muttering about updated material from time to time, but it’s good to know that the rough beast now has a schedule for its slouching. As mentioned before, the second edition is pretty much essential for anyone with an interest in the field, and I expect the third to be no less essential.
The public has cried out “Stina! We just can’t get enough photos of her! Could you possibly put up a bunch more?” The blue hair fetish crowd has spoken, and who am I to deny the public what it wants? Vox populi, vox dei.
(If you’re wondering whether the phrase “Blue Hair Fetish” bring up a lot of Google hits, I can tell you: Yes. Yes it does. And you shouldn’t test this theory at work. (See also: Rule 34.))
Martha Wells and Troyce Wilson, just back from their awesome private tour of NASA. They even showed them the video feed of the top secret moonbase and the dead alien in the third subbasement freezer…
Three of the four redheads of the apocalypse: Julia Mandala, Rhonda Eudaly, and Linda Donahue.
