Ninety minutes of misery

that's how I had determined to classify the concert as the first half wound down to the intermission. My wife tried to persuade my daughter to leave at that point, but daughter wanted to see more David Archuleta. He only did one number during the first half and she knew that he would be doing at least one more song. So we didn't slip away like thieves in the night. That was probably for the best as the second half showed some improvement--in fact, it would have been a nice concert if it had consisted of only the second half. Actually, there was a piano solo that I believe came before the intermission which I thought was great--the piano solo, I mean, not the intermission.

I received some free tickets to a concert (a food donation was required). The concert featured Marie Osmond, David Achuleta, and Alex Boye -- that's all I knew about it. I left the decision about going to wife and daughter. Daughter decided she wanted to go--so we did.

Before I reveal what a horrible person I am by sharing the details about the concert that made it subjectively unpleasant for me, let me say that in addition to the piano solo, there were a few other bright spots, and I think that many of those in attendance enjoyed it in its entirety, or were at least enthusiastic about the show. I'll cover discuss those bright spots at the end.

Seating: My tickets were general admission. Two staff members, young men (late teens or early twenties), responded to my question about where we were allowed to sit with an answer that led me to believe that only the front portion of the floor seating was reserved. I suggested some seats in the back that looked directly forward to the stage. Daughter chose a nice seat on the side that gave her a view of the stage--then we had to move when folks started arriving with reserved seats in that section. I spoke with another staff member. She told me I could sit anywhere in the gray areas. I told her that didn't help me (the reason being that although certain seating sections were marked in gray on her map, the actual seat sections was not marked in gray). She explained that the general admission seating began at section A6. I noted that no one was sitting in that section. I selected seats just beyond A6 that would allow us to watch without turning our heads to the side the entire time. Then my wife saw some seats remaining in the section in which I had first suggested we sit. So we moved again.

The seats were decent. I think some signage or perhaps some staffers who both knew what the seating arrangements were supposed to be and who were equipped to explain that would have been helpful.

Sonic sewage sound system and The Lights of Zetar:

I don't go to many concerts--by which I mean that I don't go to any concerts other than high school choir concerts, and then only when I have to. So maybe I'm not qualified to judge sound systems outside of our local high school (which has really great sound). If I were qualified to judge, I would rate the sound system from this concert as very poor with a frequent distortion and some buzzing--I suspect that most artists wouldn't consider that as an enhancement to their performance. Additionally, many of the lights on the stage would sometimes sweep the audience. I'm pretty sure that was by design. The maneuver did not double my pleasure. At least one of those lights would regularly strike me right in the eyes, momentarily blinding me and leaving me to wonder if aliens were trying to take over my soul.

Crazy clapping choir: The backup choir of a hundred (or fewer) women and girls (maybe there were men too, but I didn't notice any) sounded nice and did not lack for enthusiasm. They liked to raise their arms and clap their hands above their heads. I didn't see the need for that clapping most of the time. They also did a lot of swaying back and forth and raising they hands into the air and looking at them as though they were having their first experience with some mind altering substance. Such activity could be regularly accepted procedure in some religious services but I found it rather disconcerting (disconcerting--yeah, I went there).

The mystifying music: I must say that I had not realized beforehand that the concert was intended to be a religious experience. That proposition did not put me off. I had very high hopes; given the headliners who were doing the show, my expectations groveled not. Therefore, when the arrow of disappointment struck, it struck to the bone (cue the Golden Earring song). Most of the music was performed by Nashville Tribute Band. I had seen these guys on PBS once and had watched for a few minutes before determining that their sound wasn't for me. I'm confident that thousands love them and their music--that's great for them. I'm not a fan. The music was mystifying in the sense that most of it was utterly bewildering or perplexing. I respect people who enjoy that music but for me there was too much demented drumming and vociferous vocals. I saw it as a clash of country and strange rock music in battle for scriptural supremacy. I recognized and enjoyed two vocal selections from the entire concert.

One example I would point to was a song with vocals performed by Daniel Emmet (who I thought was quite good and I would have liked to have heard more from him without the band and sound system interference) and a woman whose name I forget. The song began so sweetly and I was confident that this would be one that I would really enjoy with two nice voices singing in harmony (at one point it made me think of "Endless Love"). Unfortunately, the longer the song went on, the more raucous it became. By the end the music had gone full Ozzy Osbourne off the rails on the crazy train with overpowering drums, words I couldn't make out, and red and black background on the big screen--that's not exactly the direction I'm looking to go for a religious experience.

Wacky woo-hoo lady: At least one person at the concert was having a marvelous time. She sat a row or two behind and to my right. She possessed the enthusiasm that artists love but which the audience about her hates. It must have been a transcendent encounter for her because she was moved all too frequently to articulate praise by screaming, "Woo-hoo!" Occasionally the experience became so overwhelming for her as to rob her of half her eloquence, rendering her capable of screaming only, "Woo!" It's absolutely fabulous that she had a great time. What wasn't fabulous was that her screams fit tightly into that bandwidth of sound which forms an ice pick stabbing against my inner ear. She transformed what was a strange, eerie, even slightly creepy experience into absolute torture for me. Think before you scream--I think that should be a rule; maybe even complete a puzzle and solve some trig and calculus problems, take a walk in the park and grab a bus across town before screaming.

The praiseworthy: On the one hand it was all worthy of praise for the effort expended in an attempt to accomplish something good and uplifting--so that's an "A" for effort. Thousands of pounds of food were also donated for the food bank. Praise for actual accomplishment goes to Marie Osmond. Her solo of "How Great Thou Art" was the best part of the performance in my opinion. The sound system even cooperated. She sounded wonderful. There were no drums, no wild music, no woo-hoos, just the pleasing strains of her voice in a hymn of praise. She was the phial of Galadriel in Shelob's lair. David Archuleta's second half performance of "Glorious" also illuminated the darkness with wondrous flair--flare with flair. Daughter's favorite was Archuleta's lead during the final number of the concert. I put it up there with the piano solo.

***
After the concert, I expected to finish writing Power to Hurt but I saw that Forbidden Planet was on television. I needed to watch it as a follow up to reading Shakespeare's "The Tempest." So the novel will reach the first stage of completion later this week. Then editing can begin. The cover is already done. I'll post it soon.

Have you had an interesting concert experience?

I came across a series of three lighthearted articles I wrote a few years ago when I was in a production of Dial M for Murder at the community theater. The first of those three articles follows after a message from our sponsor and some observations on two things brought to me by the magic of television.

First, I'm pleased to announce that Power to Hurt has passed the 70K word mark. Strive as I might, I may not have it ready for purchase before the end of July because I may need an additional ten-thousand words beyond my original projection to complete it--so I may have another 20K words to write. That also means longer to proof and to edit. However, the end of July remains my target date. **If anyone would like to read and provide feedback on the novel up to this point, let me know.***

Second, I have a few thoughts on two shows: Rogers and Hammerstein's South Pacific, and the more recent Good Omens. One of the very few things these two offerings have in common is that they were both new to me. I finished the last episode of Good Omens on the same day that I saw South Pacific broadcast on public television.

Weighing in at nearly two and one-half hours, released in 1958, South Pacific is a light musical romance. Good Omens, a sort of dark fantasy miniseries based on the book of the same name, is six episodes long; each episode lasts just under an hour. So these two aren't even in the same weight class. The genres are also worlds apart.

The other thing both of these shows have in common is that they both disappointed me a bit. I expected more from each of them. I heard a few songs from SP that I had heard before but didn't know the source. Part of the reason for that is that when it comes to musicals, I'm rather an uncultured cretin. My entire body of knowledge with regard to opera came from Looney Tunes/Merry Melodies. As a kid I soaked up fabulous episodes like "Rabbit of Seville" and "Kill da Wabbit" with the greatest of glee. These two are true masterpieces of animation and music. That was the pinnacle of my musical theater education. When I heard Mitzi Gaynor sing, "I'm Gonna Wash that Man Right out of My Hair" I immediately associated it with the hair color commercial that first taught me the tune. "Some Enchanted Evening" was very nice. I enjoyed that song more than any other from the show. I liked all of the music but there weren't many that stood out. I do remember thinking that I would like to remember a few of the lyrics, but I've forgotten them already. I do remember something about nothing being quite the same as dame, but I don't think that's an accurate rendition of the words. Also, there was "where she's narrow, she should be as narrow as an arrow...where she's broad she should be broad where a broad should be broad," and that may not be an accurate recollection either.

SP featured a young Frances Nuyen whom I first discovered in Star Trek reruns as Elana of Troyius in the episode of the same title and which I have mentioned on this blog before. So it does have a TOS connection going for it. My wife didn't seem impressed when I pointed that out.

What disappointed me about SP? I'm not really sure. Perhaps it was the fact that it went a little long and became entirely predictable by the second half.

As for GO, the music featured heavy doses of Queen, including in the last episode "Bohemian Rhapsody," if I remember correctly, and that was nice. The acting and production were fabulous. The story, a darkly humorous take on Christianity and Armageddon smelled of pablum to please the current pop culture masses. The great acting and memorable characters couldn't save a fundamentally weak story. The story aimed more toward clever wit than depth and struck the bull's eye.

***
The old article from 2015:

An Actor’s View – Dial M for Thunderball

The Weiser Little Theater's production of Frederick Knott's Dial "M" for Murder rolls ever forward like an unstoppable thunderball. I understand that the term "thunderball" originated with soldiers who used it to refer to the rolling mushroom cloud created by a nuclear detonation -- perhaps that's not the image that I wanted to convey.

Speaking of Bond movies, the intrigue in Dial M is top notch. While we weren't able to lure the 1965 incarnation of Martine Beswick, or Jill St. John from 1971's Diamonds Are Forever, we do have our own scorching hot actress who does all of her own stunts. She's as deadly as any Bond girl…don't mess with her while she's on the telephone. (Also, don't try to tell her that she's remembering a scene incorrectly; she will deliver a swift punch to your ego and do the happy dance on the remnants of your self-respect while blinding you with facts. Of course, that's just one perspective. Your mileage may vary).

In typical Bond fashion, Good and Evil are both sharply dressed in Dial M. More importantly, the men are dashing and debonair with classic good looks and diction that is to-die-for. But enough about me. There are other male roles in the play as well.

An unintentionally entertaining part of rehearsals is watching an actor steadfastly attempting to remember and repeat his lines. It's very much like watching a blind man tapping his way across a treacherous ledge in the dark (of course, it's always dark to the blind man, but that detail adds to the utterly false sense of suspense that I'm attempting to create). The lines come forth in tiny, tentative taps, back and forth, repeated until ideas trickle out in the proper wording and sequence. Sure it's as irritating as a root canal without anesthetic, but I've found that people can be so judgmental when you punch a blind man. I mean, it's endearing, really.

While we don't have a one-eyed Emilio Largo, we do have our own figuratively one-eyed man. He has an eye single to detail. Every. Single. Detail. There is no detail too small which, if neglected even for a moment, threatens to become a SPECTRE (see what I did there) that will destroy the entire play. Fortunately, it appears as if a nuclear holocaust will be avoided, thanks to the screw-gun which he wields with no mean skill.

No Bond film would be complete without small-time criminals and ne'er-do-wells. Dial M has an ideal facsimile of just such an incorrigible reprobate…and the character he plays is quite a miscreant as well. But seriously, observations about type-casting aside, the dude is perfect in the role. Nobody, I mean nobody, plays a better sheet-covered corpse. If you don't remember his death scene, which makes Out of Africa seem like a fast-paced action flick by comparison, you'll still be astounded at his dramatics immediately subsequent to the demise. A magnificent method acting success, some would say (I’m not sure who, but someone…maybe).

Although Dial M lacks the lurking sharks of Thunderball, we do have a superb stage crew; they lurk, light the set, and lend assistance to idiots actors who can't remember lines, find their props (or their own body parts without written instructions and a gps); they also keep everything running smoothly. They almost never bite (I would just say never, but…well, there was that one incident).

Finally, the ray of sunshine, our Domino and Moneypenny all rolled into one (and she's not nearly as lumpy as that sounds) is the director. There are no words to describe her (except those commonly used in mental health diagnoses -- but I'm not really qualified to repeat those). However, I think the expression delusionally optimistic would not be out of place.

Seriously, this is a blast!

Earlier this week between writing and working and mowing and etc, I wedged an episode of Combat! into my schedule. I also caught about 22 minutes of The Wrath of Khan. I'm only including a write up on one of those here.

Season 1 Episode 12:”The Prisoner”

Written by Robert Kaufman. Directed by Robert Altman.

The setting around the camp reminds me of a Star Trek Halloween episode (“Catspaw” which also has something else in common with this Combat! episode as you will see below).

Braddock sneaks into camp. He says he lost his watch; that’s why he’s late. Littlejohn reminds Braddock that he sold the watch to him. (I can tell that Braddock is lying about the watch. He’s about to lie some more). Hanley wants Capt. Harper on the radio but Braddock says it doesn’t work; the batteries are dead. There’s a guy I haven’t seen before: Bialos. He’s the runner for Lt. Booker’s 1^st platoon. Why has he come to see Braddock? Because he traded good k-rations for dead batteries and he wants his rations back. When Hanley discovers that Braddock traded the dead batteries for k-rations he has a discussion with Braddock about whether he should go back into the line or continue as his runner.

Braddock at length decides he’s more valuable to the squad as a runner—the conclusion Hanley wanted him to reach. With the platoon unable to move, with no phone lines in yet, and no working batteries in the radio, Hanley needs someone to run back to Harper for orders or information. Braddock sees that he has fallen into Hanley’s trap.

After the intro we see someone belly-crawling through some low mist (see earlier “Catspaw” reference). It’s Saunders with a mouthful of mud and a report on the enemy positions. The Germans are dug in deep. Armor won’t do any good and it’s too soupy for air support. (Here comes what may be the central piece of the episode set up). Maybe the kraut colonel they recently captured can be of use. That colonel hasn’t revealed anything yet. Saunders wonders about pulling back. Hanley indicates the folly in that notion by stating that in their present position the German 88’s can’t reach them, but if they pull back they would be slaughtered. (This all sounds like a distorted and unlikely set of facts to keep the squad or platoon isolated and in need of extracting info from the prisoner). A shell lands nearby as Hanley finishes speaking. It’s the new danger: AA shells are being launched at them. (Which I doubted was possible,but was actually a tactic employed by the Germans).

Cut to Braddock making his way through the mist. He’s called upon by another American for the password. The soldier comes out looking for Braddock who surprises him. It’s Chekov! (Uncredited role for Walter Koenig) I half expected him to speak with a Russian accent. He has been in combat “ever since yesterday.” There’s a little bit about Chekov calling Braddock “sir” and Braddock saying he’s not a sir. (I’m thinking that my initial guess was wrong and this “sir” business is foreshadowing that Braddock is going to be taken prisoner and will be exchanged for the colonel).

Braddock gets in to see Capt. Harper. In Altman fashion the meeting takes place before two candles (in fairness, it may not have been an Altman convention in this case, but the kind of light likely available inside—but then later he does a nice shot with the two candles by the subject’s face—it’s signature Altman). After Braddock reports to Capt. Harper, there’s a call from a colonel who needs a driver who’s familiar with the company positions—Braddock knows the positions because he’s Hanley’s runner. It looks like he’ll be driving the colonel. (Looks like operation Braddock for colonel is starting to take shape).

There are more treats in store. The colonel’s sergeant is played by Richard Bakalyan who I associate with criminal types for his other roles. Colonel Clyde is played by Keenan Wynn and he comes out at his gruff, overheated best—like a freight train with a moustache and a cigar. Nobody does the bluster like Keenan Wynn.

When Braddock introduces himself, he is flustered by the colonel’s bluster and calls himself Sir Braddock. (More foreshadowing?). Braddock is regretting his decision. When the colonel is ready to go, Braddock is still coming from the shower. In the rush, he forgets his dog tags and wallet (Now I’m sure he’s going to be switching places with the colonel at some point). Clyde informs Braddock that he will drive; he says that he used to drive midgets before the war. When asked if he ever drove a midget, Braddock replies, in the best joke of the episode, “They wouldn’t drive with me, sir.”

Braddock starts sneezing. He attributes the sneezing to the draft and Clyde makes him take his coat. (The transformation from private to Colonel continues). Clyde drives like a maniac on speed. He swerves the jeep to miss a cow in the road. Braddock is thrown out. Clyde appears to go into the creek with the jeep. Braddock lies unconscious until a German patrol finds him in the middle of the road wearing a coat with colonel’s eagles on the shoulders—that’s Braddock wearing the coat, not the road; although a road does have shoulders and eagles could land there. He also has the colonel’s helmet. The Germans immediately become deferential. He offers them a cigar from the colonel’s coat pocket but the German instead lights it for him. He protests that he is only a private, but none of them speak English. He is taken to a German officer who speaks English, but doesn’t buy Braddock’s story.
Meanwhile, back at the company HQ, Colonel Clyde is overdue.

 An American patrol has seen that a colonel was taken prisoner by the Germans. They suspect that it’s Colonel Clyde.

Braddock gets the full officer treatment from the Germans and when he meets three other prisoners, they believe he’s a colonel too. When Braddock finds out that the other prisoners haven’t been fed, he goes into full Colonel Clyde bluster to get the Germans to feed them, and to let them ride on the car rather than walk behind.

At German HQ, Braddock learns that the Germans know all about Clyde. He doesn’t take kindly to the German efforts to confirm his identity now that he has embraced being Colonel Clyde.

The Germans see through the façade but want to trade him for their captured colonel anyway. They send one of the prisoners back to Hanley with the proposal. It’s Tom Skerrit.

The prisoner is sent on to HQ. He is convinced that the colonel he saw was Clyde based on Braddock’s impersonation and cigar smoking. The proposal is to trade Clyde and the other 2 GI’s for the German colonel and his aid. At this point Colonel Clyde enters HQ! He’s marked with dirt like Braddock was when he first appeared before Clyde. Clyde puts 2 and 2 together and realizes the Germans have Braddock. He arranges to pull a fast one on the Germans by putting a couple German privates in the uniforms of the German colonel and his aid for the exchange. The exchange goes as planned and the irate Germans attack, falling into Clyde’s trap.

Conclusion:

I was disappointed that there was no French spoken. We saw little of Hanley and we barely saw Saunders. This was pretty much the Shecky Greene show. He did a decent Keenan Wynn impersonation, but I would have preferred more Wynn and less Greene. There wasn’t any machinegun fire that I remember—I expect machinegun fire and some squad-to-squad combat from a show whose very title is a bayonet exclamation point following the word “Combat.” This is a show for and about manly men (and citizen soldiers) caught up in the toothy jaws of—need I say it—combat. Do I make myself clear? This was a decent but predictable lower tier episode without any surprises (except for Walter Koenig’s brief appearance--"Catspaw" was the first episode of Star Trek in which he appeared, although it was not the first with Koenig in it to air as "Catspaw" was held for airing near Halloween). I give it two-point-five-rounded-up-to-three of five bayonets.

***
As for progress on Power to Hurt, I've passed 49K words; many of the characters are in desperate situations and the action will continue to tramp forward to the climactic battle.

I want to do a series of posts on The Wrath of Khan (probably as I watch the movie in 20 or 30 minute increments) and I have a book review of Sanderson's Oathbringer to write. Maybe the latter will have to be a separate bonus post.

James II Stewart, King of Scotland, may be my 13th great grandfather. I'm considering returning to the old country to reclaim the throne. If the records are correct, it would explain many of the impulses I usually refrain from following:
"James broke into a fit of temper and stabbed Douglas 26 times and threw his body out of a window." 

I understand how that could be very satisfying--for James, I mean. I'm pretty sure Douglas enjoyed neither the perforations nor the defenestration--but not being the actual king and all, I'll continue to refrain. It also looks like the link to James II is based on a son I don't see in the official records; perhaps an illegitimate son, a wrong genealogical connection, or a fake person. I'll withhold my claims to the throne at this point.

***
As for writing this week, I passed 42K words, meaning I'm halfway done. I had a sudden impulse (see above) to kill off a character but decided that the death would be meaningless at this point and something short of death would be a great opportunity to add to the development of two characters. The death would have had purpose but the impact upon the reader would have been minimal.

I don't like to kill off characters. I've killed off some in Rude Eye. While those characters had an emotional connection for another character; readers would not have become very invested in them; their deaths were important for how they affected the main character's choices. I killed off a major character in Justice Resurgent because the story called for it--but it wasn't fun to write. 

The good news is that the writing is getting easier as I'm now headed downhill. If I don't have to stop to look up something, I find I'm writing the daily allotment in less than an hour. It's still far from the homestretch but now it's a matter of laying down the scenes in the proper order and leaping from one to the next until the end.  Of course, there will be complications that I have not foreseen.

One fun part of the book is the development of the two magic systems. The major system has been developing from the start. A secondary system is one that I did not foresee when I started the book but it fits in as part of an aspect of a secondary character and has been fun to think about; it's much simpler than the major system in the book but has a lot of potential.

Most of the characters have been hurt in some way at this point--the title is Power to Hurt, so that should be expected.

***
Hank and Brett might wonder:
Could Stretch Armstrong have changed the outcome of Avengers Endgame? 
Would the conclusion of Game of Thrones have been more satisfying if Apollo Creed had danced his way to the throne to the music of James Brown?

I haven't seen either of those so I'm not qualified to speculate, but it makes you wonder.

Stories from the stock photo folder.

It's Twilight Zone meets Mayberry. I don't know who put this picture together but it must have a great story to go with it. 

Mirror Universe Spock is performing a mild meld on Barney Fife. Is this also a MU Barney or has has MU Spock engaged in both time travel and universe hopping?  Perhaps he's extracting from the deputy the location of the one bullet he keeps for his revolver. Maybe Spock desires to know why everyone is avoiding Aunt Bea's pickles. On second thought, it looks like Barney is in the engineering section of the Enterprise. Barney has been transported to the MU. He has traded places with Dr. McCoy and drained the universe of color. 

Here's how it looked before the Barney Rift opened.

I don't know if Barney can get back. Kirk and the rest of the crew are doomed -- maybe they all shifted to Mayberry; unless Scotty can construct a starship or transporter from stone knives and Otis' alcohol saturated corpse Federation law is coming to Mayberry.

I like this next picture better.

The thing you need to understand about this picture is that the kid who's wearing his teammate's cleat between his legs never actually jumped.

Finally, my personal favorite, the cover of my slightly humorous noir detective novel Smoke.

I don't know how this picture ended up in my stock photo's folder. That folder is reserved for strange things I find on the internet--like the two pictures above. This book is my favorite of the novels that I have written thus far. I am enjoying writing the work in progress but Smoke is the book that compelled me to stop in the middle of writing Justice Resurgent and write it instead--the story demanded that I write it. I'm not sure whether it was the first person point of view that I used in most of the book, the post-war 1940s setting, the detective story framework, the literary references, or the memorable women characters who play prominently in the story that makes it so memorable for me. Writing, reviewing, and implementing the editing suggestions eventually drains my cup of enthusiasm for a book--except for this book. If I had to go back and read one of my creations again, I would choose this one. If I pick it up and read a few lines, I'm hooked all over again and have to exert some real self control to put it down and walk away.

I have to admit to some disappointment with the cover. I do love it but had hoped for something better. I shot the picture for the cover in my office with high-end photography equipment. "High-end photography equipment" meaning a medium resolution smart phone camera. My daughter and a lady from the theater who was in a play with me at the time came over to the office and we shot some photos. I wanted to include a feminine hand with pink fingernails. The hand was to hold the cigarette with smoky coils ascending. First, I forgot to have the nice lady put on the pink fingernails that I had purchased for the project. Second, the smoke from the cigarette refused to be effectively captured in the photos. Third, the cigarette was a prop cigarette (generously provided by another theater friend) filled with cocao husks or llama droppings or something and smelled like a fire at the garbage dump (that's the prop cigarette that was filled with...and smelled like... My generous friend did not smell like a fire at the garbage dump). Fourth, I was nervous about having two other people help me with it so I rushed through it to keep from wasting their time. All things considered, it turned out pretty well.

There's a link in the upper right hand corner of this blog to look at and/or purchase the book on Amazon should one so desire. Don't kid yourself; you desire.

The dark, quadrangular oculus* bid me welcome this week and sought to entertain me with stories both dark and fey. I accepted the challenge as reward for my fair to middling (or less) progress on the new novel.

*I know oculus refers to a circular or oval aperture and is therefore inconsistent with quadrangular but I've recently renewed my poetic license and mean to make profligate use thereof.

First up was Orson Welles in Black Magic from 1949. It's based upon Dumas' novel Joseph Balsamo of which I had neither read nor even heard until now. Welles plays Cagliostro, a man with amazing hypnotic powers which he decides (unsurprisingly) to use for personal gain and influence. His good fortune goes sour when he attempts to substitute a ringer for Marie Antoinette. I'm a little foggy on the details because that is about when I fell asleep the first time. I resumed the movie sometime the next day only to succumb to the muse of snooze once again. I did manage to watch the end. There's a trial where Cagliostro uses his power to get a witness to exonerate him--but wait, there's more! Another hypnotist appears and mesmerizes Cagliostro into confessing that this film is a boring dog of an excuse for entertainment. Welles gives a swell performance and the costumes are nice (but they can only be of limited dazzle in black and white), but the rest of it is entirely forgettable--or was I hypnotized during the film to think that, and instead of sleeping I was typing my personal identifiers and credit card information into the dark web database?

Dungeons and Dragons (2000) features Jeremy Irons and some other people who have never been in my kitchen.* The beginning of the film held promise. Irons plays a mage named Profion who has an unquenchable desire for power and a hankering to control dragons. Ridley and Snails are a couple of thieves who decide that it would be a good idea to make a big heist at the local Hogwarts. The idea turns out not to be so great. They get sucked into the imbroglio (which sounds like a word that should be sung by men in small, feathered caps and lederhosen in the Swiss Alps) that is Profion's plan to seize power from the empress. Some mage understudy catches them in their thievery at the same time as the counselor to the empress is being separated from his life by Profion's hench Damodar. Everybody wants something called the Rod of Savrille (I can hear David Lee Roth singing that). Cutting to the chase: An Elf and a Dwarf become part of the adventure party; the rod is found; the rod is lost to Damodar and Profion; Snails dies; Profion is about to succeed when Ridley discovers how to destroy the power of the rod. The ending seems to set it up for a sequel which would have to try really, really hard to be worse than this movie.

The film wasn't as bad as I had imagined. It wasn't very good in the same sense that hitting your thumb with a hammer isn't very good. The characters are shallow stereo-types, and poorly drawn ones at that. The actors weren't bad (Irons was great as always) but the script didn't do them any favors. One character was so annoying that I wasn't sorry to see him go: Snails. The character had potential but the script never allowed him to play more than one or two notes which were about as fun has having someone yank out a wad of your arm hair. If that sounds a little like torture to you, you've understood correctly. The special effects, or course, were something else--being in a class from say, 1984.

*See the Cheers episode where Norm Cliff goes on Jeopardy.

True Grit (2010) featuring Jeff Bridges as John Wayne, Matt Damon as Glen Campbell, Josh Brolin as Plasus Jeff Corey, and Hailee Steinfeld as Kim Darby; I particularly enjoyed Barry Pepper as Robert Duvall. I might have seen this sooner if I had realized that it is almost as fun as the original and is 18 minutes shorter. All of the actors do an excellent job of impersonating the actors that I remember in the roles--except Jeff Bridges. Bridges either couldn't or wouldn't do a good John Wayne; he played Jeff Bridges instead and managed to do it convincingly.

I laughed at least twice during the film--both times when Bridges kicked children; I know that sounds bad but in my defense, it was very funny. The film retains much of the dialogue from the original. The best dialogue in the original, in my opinion, was between Kim Darby and Strother Martin (one of the best character actors ever). Part of that dialogue is retained. Also preserved throughout is the articulate speech pattern that uses complete sentences, few contractions, and superior diction. The writing is what makes this movie soar, the actors embrace it and ascend on its wings; and the directors didn't ruin it.

***

Now for something completely different. I've finished chapter 8 of the new novel, which takes me through part IV of my XII part outline and hits the 40K word mark. That number usually indicates the halfway point but in this case, it is probably only about the one third mark.

If you're a sample reader and want an update to the current progress, let me know.

You can purchase Justice Resurgent for only $0.99; and Justice in Season for only $1.99 for a limited time. The link buttons are at the top of the page. All of my books make great last minute Christmas gifts--but seriously, you don't have to buy them all.

I don't know where I found this, but Halloween time seems like a good time to use it.

I'm not sure if it was a photo taken at a Star Fleet party, or an image from an unaired episode involving the Enterprise returning to earth circa 1800 and Kirk having difficulty remembering the finer points of that Prime Directive thing. 

In addition to writing a very satisfying chunk of the new novel, I caught a couple documentary movies on Prime, and finished a very good book. 

This movie was great if you're into history in general, and the French Revolution in particular. I didn't realize that it is the 2nd part of a two part deal. The movie appears to have been filmed in English--but is in French with English subtitles. It features Jane Seymour as Marie Antoinette, and Sam Neil appears briefly as LaFayette. There are others I recognize but I don't remember their names at the moment. Perhaps the first half provides more explanation; this part begins in the terror with no explanation about who is doing what or what the sides are etc. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it very much. It also reminded me of the "Slice-O" brand guillotine ad that a friend and I did for economics class when I was a sophomore in high school. On a more serious note, I think there are some present day parallels with the events and attitudes depicted. I'll leave you to watch it and draw your own parallels (if you have that sort of artistic ability--I can only draw flies). 

This film is more like a movie and less like a documentary. The Terror is shown is some fairly disturbing detail. The camera cuts away before the terrible contact of the guillotine's blade, the pitchfork's tine, or the skull to the wall--but the sound is still there. On the one hand, Robespierre eventually got what was coming to him; on the other hand, Danton's speech may have been the best part. The link to the movie is at the bottom of the page.

This movie was interesting. It's more documentary and less movie. I highly recommend it. The link to the movie is at the bottom of the page.

Book Review
Young Washington by Peter Stark

General thoughts: I can tell that I have a marked preference for a book when I neglect the other books that I'm reading in order to focus on only one. It's like having a plate full of various fine foods, and finding that you enjoy one of them so much that you consume it entirely and ignore the others. This book took me away from the other books on my current reading plate. I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I have only one criticism. The author does a lot of speculation about how Washington might have been feeling at various times, asking a lot of rhetorical questions and such. That annoyed me intensely. Fortunately, the bulk of the material is factual, historical, well documented, and presented in a manner that is clear and relates an exciting story.

Story in a nutshell: The young future president's commission to take a message to the French to vacate the Ohio River Valley results in a splitting headache for Jumonville that no amount of aspirin can cure. The young officer is forced to surrender to the French and Indians, and sets off a global conflict between the French and British. He whines quite a bit, acts heroically, and whines some more. He seems to be the lone hero of Braddock's debacle, but never could get himself appointed as a Royal Officer. He goes through experiences that undoubtedly helped prepare him to command the Continental Army.

Do I recommend it? Absolutely! Nonfiction is almost always better than fiction, but this history is better than much nonfiction as well. A quarter of the book is made up of bibliography, footnotes, index, and additional notes. The story reveals how busy Washington was; it sheds more light on both his character and his exploits than I was taught in any classes that I ever took. I rate it: Mandatory Meat for the history gourmand. 

The French Revolution: The Years of Terror

LaFayette: The Lost Hero

I don't remember where I found this, but it is my favorite rendition of the Enterprise. This conception screams 1966 Corvette Stingray, or some sleek vehicle of that time frame.

Imagine the series if the Enterprise ran on an internal combustion engine instead of warp drive. Scotty would be doing frequent tune-ups, changing the points and plugs, boring out the cylinders, or perhaps just adjusting the fuel mixture for that extra .02 bump in speed necessary to elude the two big block Ford Klingon Battle Cruisers that were lurking behind the moons of the mysterious green planet R2X7 at the corner of the Galactic Boulevard and the Asphalt Nebula.

I know--there are no gas stations in space.

But enough of that.

The real news is that I've finished writing the sequel to Justice in Season. I still have to proof it myself and then have my special editors provide their feedback and corrections, and then it will soon be available for download. Shortly after that, both the first book, and this new book will be available in paperback as well.

I finished another book (the review follows). I'm also about half through Django Wexler's The Thousand Names. I like it so far. I'm still lazily working through Feval's Le Loup Blanc, and I've started Life Reset by Shemer Kunzits. As for the latter, I question whether I'll finish it. It's of the Litrpg genre--the first I've read of that type. It's not what I expected; I grow weary of the reviewing of the character's new stats every couple pages.

Book Review:
The Ragged Edge of Night by Olivia Hawker

General Thoughts: The was a free book from Prime; that's the only reason that I read it. I like WWII history, and I had hoped that this story would be a pleasing change of pace from my recent reading. On several occasions, I nearly abandoned the book, but I hate to quit on a book if it shows the least amount of promise. This one did--show the least amount. Initially, I was interested in the story and in the characters; I looked beyond the effusive writing style. I mean effusive in the geologic sense: characterized by the nonexplosive outpouring of lava. The words just kept coming like a slow lava flow. I kept expecting something exciting, but there never was an explosion, just more description being extruded, filling up pages between the moments that almost became tense. Many times, something almost happened, but nothing ever did. The book was rather like a scary movie with a good soundtrack that builds to a climactic moment, only to have a scared cat leap out--over and over again. The novel is based on a true story, but what turns out to be the most interesting part of the book, is the fictionalized love story between the two main characters. The development of that relationship is best described as slow, very slow, painfully slow--it was actually more like watching thick paint run than lava flow.

Story in a nutshell: A former friar enters into platonic marriage with a widowed mother of  three (or was it four?) children in a village near Stuttgart, Germany during WWII. He can't get over his past. He tries to find redemption and provide for the family by acting as a courier for an underground German resistance network. Spoiler: A stork gets shot.

Do I recommend it: No. We talk about reading a book. Really, we should talk about experiencing a book. Each person will experience a book differently to some degree; the written story remains the same, but what we bring to it, and what we appreciate and demand from a story may differ greatly. I can only speak to how I experienced the book. This story is well written in the sense that although the writing is effusive, it is not painfully annoying, just rather baroque. It was not the style that bothered me; it was the story. The author wrote the book based upon a family history story. She obviously wanted to protect the memory of the family members; she refused to take liberties that would have made the story more interesting, and yet she seemed to have a deficit of actual facts with which to provide relevant details. Instead, we get lots of irrelevant details--the descriptive extruding. The main characters are of the Catholic faith. As I read the book, I suspected that the author was not Catholic, but wanted to treat that faith with respect. I think she did that, but never fully connected with the religious experience. Finally, about midway through the book, I got the feeling that the author had her own message that she was inserting into this historical novel. The message was inserted with enough subtlety that I wasn't too irked by it; I figured that I could be wrong in my suspicion. I wasn't. In order to make certain that her message wasn't missed, an afterward had been attached. The author explained how the election of 2016 had driven her to write this story NOW. While I found the story disappointing, the afterward rendered it repugnant. I rate this book: Running Paint Dries - the over-applied paint runs at a slow pace, and dries before it reaches the bottom of the wall.

Also - Movie Review:
I re-watched an excellent film on Netflix this week: The African Doctor.

It's in French with English subtitles. The story takes place in the 1970s. A man from Zaire graduates from medical school in France and takes a job as a small town doctor. His wife and children mistakenly believe that the new job is in Paris. Their excitement meets a wet and bitter end when they arrive at the village. They have to deal with racial prejudice and local politics among other problems. The doctor does his best but it all seems for naught. He could lose his family, his job, and his chance at French citizenship. Watching this movie is like trying to swallow a wad of Silly Putty wrapped around a buck's worth of nickels--the lump stays in the back of your throat and refuses to go down. I know that sounds bad, but it's really a terrific movie that is well worth watching.

Before the irregularly scheduled episode of Combat!, a few words from a book I'm reading. Just because I may not agree with the statement, doesn't mean that I don't find it humorous.

L'âge, incapable d'embellir, efface du moins les différences excessives qui séparent la beauté de la laideur. À cinquante ans, ce qui reste d'une femme laide est bien près de ressembler à ce qui reste d'une jolie femme. – Le Loup Blanc. Paul Feval.

Combat!

Season 1 Episode 10: ”I Swear by Apollo”

The wind is blowing fiercely. The squad is headed into some trees. They come (like children through a wardrobe) past the shaggy limbs of a coniferous tree. They escort a Frenchman who is carrying a roll of papers. He’s obviously NPC number one. Saunders tells them that they’ll go in single file, staying in his footsteps, as the area may be mined. They spot some cloister nuns from a nearby convent working in a cemetery. Is it an omen? Saunders says their job is to get the Frenchman back. They move out. Meanwhile, a wagon comes to pick up the working nuns. The Frenchman drops his papers. The wind takes them. He and another soldier, Temple, begin gathering the papers which are being carried along the ground by the wind. A mine explodes about 6 feet from the Frenchman doing d6+2 damage to everyone within a ten foot radius. Everyone goes down. The nuns look over before turning back to their business. Roll the opening credits.

Gunnar Hellstrom is the guest star. The episode is written by Gene Levitt, and directed by Robert Altman.

The report is that the Frenchman is still alive, but the soldier is down and the medic shakes his head. I guess we don’t expect him to survive. 

There’s a nice title shot superimposed over the nuns and a cross in the cemetery. Doc tells Saunders that the Frenchman has shrapnel in his back. The soldier, on the other hand, needs a miracle. I think we’re going to the convent for a miracle and a splash of the religious imagery we see much of in Altman’s episodes. Sure enough, Saunders says they’ll follow the nuns to the convent.

There it is.

And it looks like they’ve caught the nuns getting ready for a game of marbles, or craps…or they could be praying or something.

Saunders and Caje in succession attempt to interrupt the nuns with pleas for aid. Both fail their diplomacy rolls. The nuns refuse to be interrupted in the middle of their craps game duties. Saunders wants to leave Temple with Doc at the convent and leave with the Frenchman. Doc says the Frenchman can’t be moved; he needs a surgeon. Saunders gets Hanley on the radio. Hanley says it’ll be an hour before he can get there with a surgeon.

The Mother Superior agrees to allow them to stay at the convent to wait for help.

Hanley gets a surgeon. We learn that the Frenchman was a surveyor for over 30 years. They leave to begin the rescue. Cut to this shot (which may be my new profile pic):

A nun (all of the nun faces remain in shadow from the dark cowls of their habits—like the Law Givers in Return of the Archons) picks up the skull and candle. She mentions neither Yorick nor her enemies and a drink. Kirby wonders if she’s taking a walk with an old friend. Caje says the nuns meditate over the skull. (Those nuns really know how to have a good time). Saunders has the Frenchman’s papers, but they’re of no use unless the Frenchman remains alive to decipher them.

Meanwhile, Hanley and the surgical crew are on their way. However, the surgeon (NPC number 2) seems winded and slow; he’s dragging his medical bag. Is it going to catch a mine? Apparently he makes his saving throw; he moves the bag to his shoulder, refusing to stop and rest.

Sister Mary Sebastien is presented to the squad. She was a nurse, and understands English. She will be allowed to help with the patients. They can’t see her face, and she won’t speak because of her vow of silence. Doc says there’s nothing for her to do until the surgeon arrives. She leaves. Kirby finds it all “spooky”—I agree.

Back with Hanley and the much awaited surgeon, they find Germans. After the German vehicles pass, Hanley calls to Littlejohn to send the doc across the road. He barely gets across before a German tank barrels past. Hanley tells the doc that’s why they need the surveyor; he can tell them every route capable of carrying tanks. Hanley sends the doc ahead, warning him about the open area that might be mined. The doc refuses to take Hanley’s carbine; he already has enough to carry. Hanley and the men stay to count the passing tanks.

Plot complication! When Hanley and friends have counted the tanks and go to catch up to the doc, they don’t have far to go. They find him sitting against a tree, dead from an apparent heart attack--he must not have been the guest star. What kind of DM sends an NPC whose only purpose is to expire without even soaking up some hps of damage? The players are going to be complaining about that move.

When Hanley arrives at the convent, Saunders wonders where the surgeon is. At first Hanley doesn’t answer. When Saunders persists, Hanley, in his best matter-of-fact tone, tells him the surgeon is waiting at the edge of a clearing waiting for a burial detail, dead. Hanley wants battalion on the radio. He wants some direction and needs to report about the tanks he counted. The Frenchman says he has important info and needs to speak with an intelligence officer.

Saunders suggests getting a French doctor. Unfortunately, the nearby town is lousy with Germans. Littlejohn reports that battalion says that they’re on their own. It will be a couple days before battalion can get a doctor to them. The Mother Superior tells them that there used to be a doctor in the town. Come nightfall, Saunders and Hanley will go try to find a doc in town.

The two heroes sneak into town. From amidst the German tanks they seize a local on a bicycle. With the sort of diplomacy that falls beyond the margins of the Geneva Convention, he has Caje tell the man to inform them where the doctor might be found, if he would be so kind, and that if the man screams, Saunders will break his neck. Weighing his limited options, the local answers the questions put to him. Tiring of Saunders’ embrace, he agrees to lead them to the destination.

Saunders and Caje follow the Frenchman. Once at the destination, Saunders, being all out of roses and carnations, has Caje give the Frenchmen their thanks by telling him that if he says anything, “We’ll hunt him down and kill him.” The Frenchman leaves without insisting on flowers or chocolates. They look through the hospital window and see a man in pale coat. They enter and take the doctor by surprise.

But he is the one who surprises them, removing his coat to reveal a German uniform.

Perhaps he’s the guest star. He must be. He exudes that haughty arrogance that I’ve come to expect of the guest stars playing German officers.

Saunders, nevertheless, still sees the answer to his problem in this guy, who is in fact a doctor—not Doctor Who, but a doctor nonetheless—sans the Time Lord certification. They take him. Back at the convent, the wounded Frenchman babbles again about important information for someone in intelligence. The German doc asks what he has said. Saunders is suspicious; he wants to test the German doc’s French comprehension. Caje asks him in French if it’s serious. The doc replies in French, and realizes that he has been discovered.

The German doc tries to stall, even doing a blood transfusion on Temple. He has excuses why he cannot operate on the Frenchman, but Hanley counters them all. He must operate. Getting enough light by which to operate gives Altman an opportunity to go all out on the candles and cross motif that he often uses.

Just to make sure that the German doc understands the gravity of the operation, Saunders pulls a page from his personal copy of The Fine Art of Diplomacy for Sergeants—based rather loosely on Dale Carnegie’s book; he tells the German, “If this man dies, I’ll kill you.”

The doc, who now has his mind right,

operates, assisted by the nun nurse. He enlists Saunders to take the blood pressure. We get several shots of candles and concerned faces. The Frenchman’s blood pressure drops to 0. It eventually goes back up. He’ll be okay.

Temple expires.

The German doc asks Saunders if he would have gone to such lengths to save the Frenchman if he had not had such valuable information. Saunders replies, “There’s a war going on. I don’t like it, but I do what I have to do.” He then counters with, “If I hadn’t put a gun up to your head, would you have operated, Doctor?” The doc doesn’t answer.

Temple checks into his reserved room at the cemetery; Saunders and company are off. What happened to the German doctor?

He lived to the age of 72.

What do I think of this episode? Writing this conclusion several days after having watched the episode, I can't remember any gun fire--no combat in Combat!--unacceptable. I found the guest star convincingly played. However, the script seemed a little weak to me. Most of the time is spent milling around with silent nuns while Temple expires in slow motion. I think it could be plausible argued that the counting of German tanks and the coercion of a French peasant tie for the most exciting bits of the episode. Saunders and Hanley had some meat to their parts, but not much. I would have liked to have seen a little more difficulty in getting the German doc to the convent. Even better, if somewhat incomprehensible, would have been to have the nuns as a special German unit in disguise; as it was, the nuns were really just that: none, nothing, zilch--they added nothing significant to the story. This will definitely not make my top ten list.

The Craftsman war machine has terminated negotiations. The tips of the tall grass wave jubilantly in the wind, defiant, unyielding, uncut and spitting stinging imprecations with each windy ripple (which sounds like a drink: Windy Ripple, now in your favorite pastel colors with an aftertaste that resurrects memories of treated lumber and burnt hair). Civilization as we know it teeters at the edge of the precipice; the fate of humanity hangs in the balance. What has brought us to this terrible state? What is the cause of this our dismay, this forlorn future, this fantastical fate?

Word is that it is something called an ACR--it's broken. I don't know what the A stands for, but the C and R stand for compression release. Maybe the A is for awful, or ain't working. The internet, which is never wrong--Oh, I know--says that this is a common problem with the Briggs and Stratton 21 hp engine (and others of the B&S make with the overhead valve setup). The progression of part replacement/adjustment is battery, starter, valves, camshaft--with the latter being the only thing that ever needed to be replaced. Having already replaced the battery and starter, and adjusted the valves, I am unhappily awaiting the new camshaft upon which the ACR is found. It's supposed to arrive on Wednesday. Oh, what fun awaits.

I was able to terminate another successor in the line of Claude Roowener, Earl of Clay. I expect to have the lifeless body of the next heir-apparent tomorrow morning.

***

A friend lanced me with a bit of sunshine today. He told me that he started reading Smoke this week; he's half finished with it and is thoroughly enjoying the read. He really liked Justice in Season, but is even more taken by Smoke. It's always great to hear that someone genuinely enjoys reading something that I've written. Nice reviews posted to the sales site and Goodreads are also nice. My wife has started reading Smoke and professed her pleasure with it--but she kind of has to say nice things about it; I'm sure she's sincere, but she's still in the early chapters--she has plenty of time to lose interest or otherwise be disappointed in the book, but she won't.

***

Here is the gratuitous Star Trek picture of the week:

It comes from a fb group devoted to TOS. The episode was "Elaan of Troyius" which was written and directed by John Meredyth Lucas. I consider it one of the finer episodes of the third season. Spoiler Alert: The green man with the bladed accessory protruding from his back actually survived the episode. The picture, which captures Elaan, Kirk, and the ambassador sporting the cutlery, is representative of the fine direction throughout the episode. This is one of the episodes that I like rather more as an adult than I did as a kid--when I didn't particularly notice creative camera angles and that sort of detail. When I saw the picture, I thought Kirk should be saying, "Is this a dagger I see before me?" --but of course, that line isn't from that episode. France Nuyen made a perfect spoiled barbarian brat of a princess. Jay Robinson (who played the spoiled Emperor Caligula early in his career) absolutely sells his role as the slightly effeminate Ambassador Petri who is completely out of his league in trying to deal with the strong-willed Elaan--which point the knife perfectly illustrates. It's a top tier episode in my opinion.

Did I mention that Smoke is available in paperback?