Star Score

Hearing John William's music score for Star Wars live "surrounds us, penetrates us and binds the galaxy together"

I may have waited half a year for this birthday gift from my wonderful wife, but it was more than worth it. Saturday, August 3, saw the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra’s live performance of the Star Wars soundtrack in Christchurch, accompanying the film projected on a gigantic screen above them. (Yes, I know Lucasfilm marketing long ago demanded we call the film 'A New Hope', but it was just Star Wars when I first saw it, and forever will be to me.)

A very long and snow-plagued drive saw us arrive too late for a photo opportunity with Lord Vader or Chewbacca at the venue, choosing instead to order much-needed food and a glass of wine. Oh how age and maturity changes one’s priorities in life…

Wookiee and Sith Lord console each other over their missed
chance of a photo opportunity with Rose

Back in 1977 (the year of Star Wars) my greatest Christmas gift ever was the The Story of Star Wars album on audio cassette. Essentially the abridged audio track from the film, with rich, deep linking narration by Roscoe Lee Brown , I literally played this so many times the recording completely wore off the tape. So not only is all the film’s dialogue indelibly imprinted on my nerdy brain - but every musical cue as well. Every nuance, phrase, reprise and theme - and if this live performance varied even the tiniest bit I would notice. 

See - it's not called "The Story of A New Hope" is it?
(thank goodness)

 
Not that I feel in any way entitled to pass judgement on the NZSO, or believe that anyone else should give a Wookiee’s hoot about my opinion - but I just literally wouldn’t be able to help it.

I needn’t have worried. From the opening 20th Century fox fanfare to the last fading note of the end credits theme, the NZSO were outstanding. I might have been able to detect a tiny difference in the sound of some horn sections but otherwise it was utterly perfect. Rose, (who’s had this film inflicted upon her many times), said she could completely forget the music was being played live, and was hearing the original recorded soundtrack. Not being even remotely musical, the sheer genius of coordinating a large orchestra to perform in perfect synchronisation with the live screening of a film just staggers me. 

People forget how genuinely funny, and brave, Threepio was in this film.
He got the biggest laughs of the night, and later offers to 'gladly donate'
his own circuits to save Artoo Detoo. (image: newlyswissed.com)

In terms of the music itself - sure, The Empire Strikes Back has the foot-stomping Imperial March. But Star Wars introduces possibly the world’s most recognisable title music, Luke, Leia and Ben’s themes and the stirring medal ceremony fanfare at the film’s conclusion. It also features my own favourite musical section, the almost staccato ’Tie Fighter Attack’ theme. Swelling from the gently ‘see sawing’ strings as Luke and Han climb into the Falcon’s gun turrets, to the full-blown horns heralding the imperial fighters all-guns-blazing appearance, it is pure musical adrenaline.  And perfectly compliments the frantic cutting and pacing of this sequence, which helped set Star Wars apart from anything ever seen before. (The clip was heavily used in the film’s original promotion). It must be hell to play - and is brilliantly analysed here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOV0KmLoLiQ

The final Death Star battle famously sees composer John Williams repeatedly flick his character motifs back and forth, from Luke, to Ben, to Vader - once again, surely not easy for even a national orchestra. And to actually see the ominously booming kettle drums played live as Tarkin gives his final “You may fire when ready” was yet another special moment for me.

Yes, I may at times have shed silent tears in the dark , like a sad old geek who’s spent too much of his life watching this film. But isn’t that kind of response the measure of any truely great live performance of much-loved music?

Seaside Rock

Darker days are drawing near, so I decided to finish ‘Bay walk’ before even I have to accept summer is gone.

Pohara to Whariwharangi (and back to main road): 27km

A couple of week’s ago I walked the roughly two-thirds of the length of Golden Bay, my aim being to keep strictly to the shoreline, despite inlets, rivers and other obstacles. With the whole of the Bay’s coast being so shallow, this is very do-able if you get your tide times right, so once again the right conjunction of weather and sea level presented itself.

I set off from my previous stopping point, Pohara Beach, at around 9am, needing to be at the last and possibly largest coastal indent, Wainui Bay, at low tide.
It would be a very long detour around the edge if I couldn’t walk straight across this vast stretch of sand flats, so I put on a quick pace.

The road more or less follows the coastline for most of the way, but my brief to stay on the water’s edge saw me clambering over rocky points and wading through tidal pools instead. I was forced to make the briefest of concessions at Port Tarakohe where security fences kept me away from the water's edge, but soon I was getting my feet wet again.

Walking along the road would be easier, but not as much fun?

 
By now it was becoming clear that this would be no leisurely stroll along endless stretches of golden sand as the previous part of the journey from Puponga had been, but constant climbing and wading. Not only harder and riskier work, but it was also taking longer than expected, and made me start to worry about making it to Wainui before the tide started to turn.

A walk along sandy Ligar Bay gave me a chance to get my breath back, before a harder climb around the point to Tata beach. It was going well until half way along, a familiar stench suddenly assailed my nostrils, instantly making the blood drain from my face. Many years ago Rose and I had become trapped on a rocky coastline with no choice but to push ahead, and were attacked by angry seals each time we rounded a corner. These ‘cute’ animals are no joke when territorial and surprised, and sure enough, I got a face full of sharp teeth and roaring fish breath when I cautiously raised my head above the next boulder.

Can you see the seal? 
Don't worry, it won't let itself to go unnoticed for long...

This was all I needed, it was already slow work hanging onto steep and sharp rocks without worrying about enraged sea mammals, which look exactly like boulders until you almost step on them. And no fun for the seals either - this was their ‘hood’, after all.

I’ve never been happier to see the always beautiful Tata beach, as I finally stumbled out of the rocks. I quickly paced its uniquely apricot-tinged sand before starting an even longer climb around to the surely fast-filling Wainui Bay.

I had clambered this particular stretch of rocks before, however, and it gives a unique view of a dramatic stretch of coastline. Only one distant seal and a familiar climb helped me make quick progress, and I arrived at Wainui Bay only half an hour after low tide. This gave me plenty of time to get across to the carpark on the far side, which marks the beginning of the Abel Tasman track and the very last stretch of my walk.

In an hour, you'll need a kayak to get across here.
(Looking towards Tata Point and the ridge I'm about to climb)

I had lunch here and tried to dry out my shoes, before starting a very steep ascent to the ridge above Tata point. Obviously I could hardly say I was staying on the coastline, but this did allow me to reach Whariwharangi beach, which had been decreed the end point of my Golden Bay traverse.

I probably shouldn’t rave too much about this hidden paradise - a sparkling jewel among the many beautiful beaches I’ve been blessed to tread on this very long walk.

Beautiful, deserted Whariwharangi.

After swimming in the surf, warm even at this time of the year, I reluctantly had to head back over the hill. Mid-autumn also means shorter days and cooler evenings.

I’ll definitely come back here and stay the night, maybe even in the purportedly haunted DoC hut. And I’d like to walk to Separation Point, which perhaps truly marks the end of Golden Bay. After that? Who knows - I’ll keep you posted…

The view from the ridge on the Abel Tasman track, looking back towards Tata.
Note that Wainui Bay is filling up fast

Linking Sands

My name is Al, I’m an Aquarius and I like long walks along the beach

We’ve lived in Golden Bay for just over a year and are becoming more aware all the time of how much there is to explore over here. I was gradually realising that most people’s experience of travelling the length of the Bay by car or cycle, and most likely from Takaka to Puponga, actually gives an extremely limited impression of the coastline. In fact, it’s only in the very last stretch, from Pakawau to the top, that the road runs parallel with the beach. Vast stretches of beautiful shore remain largely unseen by visitors, or even new residents.

I had always had my long strolls along one of the Bay’s many ’undiscovered’ coastlines, Rototai beach, cut short by the Waitapu inlet, a wide incursion of the sea leading to Takaka’s historic, but no longer functional, wharf. And beyond that, the mouth of the Takaka river itself. But I knew that if I timed it correctly I could theoretically get across at low tide and carry on following the shoreline, maybe as far as Collingwood.

Having announced this intention, my wonderful wife started procuring dry bags (to keep precious items safe from seawater during scary inlet crossings) and a long-needed ground mat for camping, and I began to feel a heavy obligation to stop just talking about it and actually walk this walk…

So I balanced weather forecasts, tide tables and work deadlines, until finally the very end of March emerged as the optimum time for me to go, but by now the scope of the plan had increased a little. I was going to walk the entire sweep of Golden Bay, from just below Farewell Spit in the West to as close as I could get to Separation point in the East. By treading every stretch of shore in Golden Bay that I possibly could, crossing rivers, inlets and rocky points, would allow me to experience this beautiful and remote arc of coastline in its entirety.

Having made this bold assertion, I’ll quickly add that this would only be ‘Phase 1’. Logistically, time and tide would only allow me to get from Puponga to home over the following three days. The eastern arm of Golden Bay would have to wait for the next conjunction of weather, water and work commitments.

There's surely dinosaurs in them thar hills -
the primevially-jagged Mount Burnett from  Ruataniwha Inlet

Day One: Puponga to Collingwood (approx 29.6km)

Rose dropped me off at Puponga at first light on Thursday 28th, making a round trip of over an hour and a half before her long day’s work, just to indulge my latest folly. I know I am a very lucky man.

Despite Puponga’s undeniable natural beauty, the shore itself is rocky and marshy, and only levels out into the more typical stretches of golden sand as you approach the community of Pakawau. The sun was hot by this point and I took my first break, already noting that the back-pack-sized dry bag I was carrying my tent, sleeping bag and everything else in was definitely made to be water proof rather than comfortable. It was essential for the submerging crossings I had lying ahead though.

By now I was able to kick off my shoes and tread the cool, foaming edge of surf as it disappeared into the distance towards Collingwood. I was aware that the beach was going to diverge from the road and lead me on what might be a very long and pointless detour, along a narrow spit of land to the northern head of the Ruataniwha inlet. I’d been assured that wading straight across from this point to Collingwood is theoretically possible, but lowest tide had passed and the impression of open sea between me and my destination convinced me to play it safe. Instead I turned back inland, walking 2.6 km across the empty inlet towards the road, warm mud squirming between my bare toes for most of the way.

The shoreline around this area known as ‘Ferntown’ is essentially a delta of the Aorere river, extremely marshy and probably impassable. I had no desire to vanish into quicksand, so admitted defeat and followed the road for the final 6km to Collingwood.

I had walked almost 30km, mostly on sand with a poorly-fitted load on my back, and my legs and shoulders were letting me know it. But I’m always happy to return to the place that started my love of Golden Bay during a family holiday almost five decades ago. As is the way with this frontier town, the Collingwood holiday park is almost completely unchanged in all that time, the cabin we inhabited in the mid-70s looking almost exactly the same!

Leaving another derelict wharf, at Collingwood

Day Two: Collingwood to Paton’s Rock (approx 14km)

Walking half yesterday’s distance was balanced by the fact that I would begin by crossing what I assumed would be my biggest obstacle - the Parapara inlet at Milnthorpe. My many walks along the 2km of Collingwood beach had always been cut short by this wide expanse of water, so despite arriving at early morning low tide I had sealed up my dry back-pack and contents tight in preparation for a swim. I decided to keep the smaller dry bag containing my phone and other essentials separate, and held it high above my head as I began to wade across.Upon reaching the other side with the sea having barely reached my waist, I couldn’t decide whether I should feel silly, or not. I’m sure I had looked silly, but am well used to that and was just elated at overcoming what had become a Quixotic ‘impassable stream’ in my imagination.

And here's another - at Washbourn

The map told me I still had another crossing ahead, the Washbourn inlet, so hurried on to exploit the remaining low tide. Unfortunately this meant that I didn’t take in beautiful Parapara beach, one of the shorelines completely new to me, as much as I’d have liked to. Unlike yesterday, the day was an autumnal grey, but the varied, muted shades of sky, sea and sand was strikingly beautiful in a completely different way. I needn’t have hurried; although having been intimidated by the impressive expanse of Washbourn at high tide, today I was able to wade across at knee-height. The skeletal remains of yet another disused wharf dominates this area, testifying to Golden Bay’s briefly bustling distant past.

My destination was complete contrast to yesterday’s hardships. Instead of a freeze-dried meal and a chilly night under canvas, tonight was a beautiful meal and flowing wine with friends at their hilltop home in Paton’s rock, Rose joining me to stay the night in a very comfortable spare bed.

Is that a seal, or a wave? Actually, it's both

Day Three: Paton’s Rock to Pohara (approx 13km)

With low tide at occurring around midday, it was a very relaxed start this morning, sans the backpack containing tent and sleeping bag which were no longer required. With an infinitely lighter step, I leisurely followed the more rocky stretch of shore between Paton’s rock and the Rangihaeata headland. Still not quite lowest tide, I had to scramble across rocks at the outermost point, pausing to watch a seal happily drifting around the rocks with its flipper raised languidly in the air. Beyond here the Takaka River forms its own delta as it reaches the sea with three main tributaries to cross - the first being not at all pleasant. For whatever reason, perhaps run-off from the steep Rangihaeata cliffs, the seabed is extremely muddy here. Deep grey ooze almost trapped me halfway across the first time I attempted it, and as I sank past my knees I couldn’t help nervously speculating what might be in there with me. But once again my luck held, and I was able to wade across at armpit level (arms again aloft to keep cellphone out of the brine) without encountering excessively deep mud. The next crossing was very different. Just as deep, but being the most directly flowing from the Takaka river, it was also very cold and carried a noticeable current. The final waterway at the Waitapu inlet was more typically still and warm, (making me inwardly shudder at the thought of stepping on languishing stingrays when I could no longer see the bottom).

Crossing the chilly Takaka River

Setting foot on Rototai beach, a mere hour from home was a good feeling, but the sun had come out and the tide was perfect so I decided to keep going. I wanted to walk the length of Rototai, cross the Motupipi River (which flows past our house) at its mouth, and finish on Pohara Beach. I reasoned not starting with this crossing on the future second part of this walk would give me greater time flexibility - and I somehow didn’t want to stop.

Despite the tide beginning to turn (sections of beach were already disappearing), the mighty Motupipi was traversed with relative ease and the rare sight (to me) of other people greeted me as I set off down the ever-popular Pohara Beach.

Picked up by Rose and whisked off to a late cafe lunch, I was definitely safely back in the arms of civilisation.

Looking back from Pohara beach across the Motupipi River
and towards distant Puponga, where I began my stroll 3 days ago

Walking almost 57 kilometres, alone and mostly barefoot, has the perfect way to appreciate Golden Bay’s diverse and beautiful shoreline. It might have been very self-indulgent, but sometimes we all need to walk away for a while. Health-wise, I’m acutely flat-footed, so the aches inflicted on my leg muscles by walking on shifting sand is balanced by the good it’s done my arch-less soles - and soul. I’m looking forward to the final Pohara to Whariwharangi Bay stretch of this circumnavigation, and hope time and tide will align again for me soon.

Hammer Thrown

Hang the garlic - horror from beyond the ‘tome’ is heading your way…

Dracula's hand look a bit weird? Well, yes, my own was the model, dislocated pinky and all...

On the 30th September, 2016, I sent out a poorly-written and probably very naive book proposal to a number of publishers around the world.

Despite my lack of experience, Telos Publishing in Britain expressed some interest a few days later. And looking back, I see that they actually responded on my mother’s birthday, which is surprisingly appropriate.
Mum passed away in 2009, but more than anyone encouraged my young interest in science fiction, fantasy and horror - and the films of Hammer.

A month short of two years in the making, Infogothic: An Unauthorised Graphic Guide to Hammer Horror is now finished. A celebrity introduction from a busy and much-loved actress was a long time in coming, but once it arrived (and the wait was well worth it) things began moving very quickly indeed.

I’ve written about the book’s long gestation here:
http://fasmatodea.blogspot.com/2017/03/getting-hammered.html

http://fasmatodea.blogspot.com/2017/08/getting-hammered-pt-2.html

and felt it appropriate to round off with this conclusion. A 'Karnstein trilogy', if you like.

Infogothic is due for release this Halloween (set back a full year after the lengthy fact-checking and proofing found us with no time left in 2017), but is available for pre-order now.

Some wonderful friends have even signed up already - and I am busy gratefully building shrines to them now.
Forgive me if you’ve already seen me 'pimping' my book everywhere, after so much work I can’t sit back just yet.

Like a shonky Hammer bat, my unholy progeny has just flapped shakily out of the castle window, and is now unleashed upon the world. I hope it finds happy roosts in other Hammer fans bookshelves.

https://telos.co.uk/shop/film/infogothic-hammer-horror/

"More than sixty years ago, Hammer Horror first exploded onto screens in a splash of vivid colour. Over the following two decades, the studio redefined horror cinema and crafted an often-interconnected world of gothic fantasy. The many graphics, diagrams, illustrations and maps within these pages will take you on a journey through the ‘Hammer-verse’ (most likely by horse-drawn coach). Pursue Count Dracula through the centuries, reconcile the many versions of the careers of Frankenstein and Quatermass, translate the curses of ancient Egypt and explore ‘Hammer time’ from doe-skinned prehistory to plastic-clad future.

Everything you ever wanted to know about Hammer’s horror films is contained in this incredible graphic guide. Charts, templates, diagrams and illustration take you through all the facts and figures. From the relative heights of Frankenstein’s Monster, to the actors to have played Dracula … no stone is left unturned in this compelling and fascinating look at the films which redefined ‘Horror’ for a generation.

“Truly original and wonderfully illustrated” – from the Introduction by Caroline Munro

96pp. 11 x 8 paperback book in full colour.
ISBN: 978-1-84583-124-0
Published 31 October 2018"

Winter Chills - Part Four: Scream and Scream Again (1970)

I’ve been left on my own for five-and-a-half weeks...
What to do, what to do?  Well, for a start: I’m going to watch all those horror/fantasy/sci-fi films I’ve always been meaning to get to
… and write about them here!

From the sublime: last time's Cat People, to the ridiculous. I knew what to expect this time as I had seen it before when I was very young, with my favourite horror film fan: my Mum.

I think the violence disturbed me a little then, and to be honest, it still does. Many of the perpetrators are essentially synthetic which both nullifies the brutality a little - but also makes the acts even colder.

But lets not get too serious - this has Uncle Vinny, Sir Chris and The Cush all in the same Amicus film! That's got to be fun, right?

Well it might be if they shared more scenes. Lee really only pops in at the beginning, middle and end for some exposition, and Cushing is a mere cameo which appears to be a very early audition for Grand Moff Tarkin.

Needless to say, any bit of screen-time these gentlemen have is brilliant, but kudos must go to comedian Alfred Marks who crashes through the film as the most intentionally hilarious Bull-in-a-China-shop London Copper I've ever seen.

The main leads are the films' definite strengths - but the script seems to be three completely separate stories until they finally collide messily at the very end  - where various characters disappear into the same vat of acid.

Elsewhere, an endless chase involving what seems to be a superhuman Mick Jagger in a purple pirate shirt will test most people's patience, but now that I've written about this film I realise that I probably had a better time watching than it felt at the time.

I still can't decide what is the most disturbing thing about the random jogger, though: what happens to him in Price's hospital, or the length of his shorts and bewilderingly effeminate running style...

Winter Chills- Part Three: Cat People (1942)

I’ve been left on my own for five-and-a-half weeks...
What to do, what to do?  Well, for a start: I’m going to watch all those horror/fantasy/sci-fi films I’ve always been meaning to get to
… and write about them here!

Long before David Bowie was 'putting out the fire - with gasoliiiine', a man called Val Lewton was tasked with producing horror films for RKO pictures on literally a fraction of what studios like Universal were spending.

A sensitive intellectual, as Martin Scorsese says in his documentary on Lewton, he was "lacking the temperament for the film industry but had the perfect temperament for film". Lewton took a drop in income to take on this challenge and his first film for RKO became Cat People. Sady, I can still barely claim to have seen it because the quality of the You Tube upload I endured is awful. But despite the cropped picture and constantly dropping-out audio, I can see this is a masterpiece.

Like The Damned this is the second time in a week I've wished more films were still made in black and white - the photography is exquisite and the direction flawless.

It's for good reason that the two stand-out scenes: the infamous 'Lewton bus' (a far more sophisticated fore-runner to the modern 'jump scare'), and the night-time swimming pool stalking are mainstay clips in almost every documentary about horror cinema.

But it's the sequences I hadn't seen before which really got to me, including the wedding dinner in the Serbian restaurant where a mysterious cat-like woman stops conversation by fixing a terrified Irena with her gaze and addressing her as "my sister?".  

Well aware of his budget constraints, Lewton turns it to his advantage - everything is subtle shapes in the shadows, hints and implication. Even the beginnings of Irena's transformation are terrifying in their subtlety - her darkening face and hardening stare seen over Dr Judd's shoulder as she suddenly drops out of view and he screams.

From my far-from reliable research, this was the film which kicked off New Zealand's very long running Sunday Horrors, back in 1981, although I missed it then (it was probably passed my bedtime on a Sunday night).

I've also never seen the 1982 remake but don't doubt I'll be repulsed by its apparent reversal of everything which is merely suggested in this beautiful film. 

I don't just want to see this original version again - I want to own it, in 'pin-sharp crikey-vision'. This one's a keeper!

Winter Chills - Part Two: The Creeping Flesh (1973)

I’ve been left on my own for five-and-a-half weeks...
What to do, what to do?  Well, for a start: I’m going to watch all those horror/fantasy/sci-fi films I’ve always been meaning to get to
… and write about them here!

A Cushing and Lee team up which I hadn’t seen yet!  Neither Hammer nor Amicus, this is Tigon Production’s The Creeping Flesh.

And it almost does what it says on the tin. The giant inhuman skeleton Cushing brings back from New Guinea is not something any sane person would ever want in their house - and it’s much more terrifying than a Gremlin when it comes into contact with water.

Meanwhile Lee plays one of his most genuinely hate-able characters ever - and given his back catalogue that’s really saying something.

There’s a lot of genuinely good stuff here - particularly Freddie Jones’ direction - particularly in a very spooky sequence when the cloaked thing from New Guinea throws a huge Shadow across the house it is implacably approaching. 

The story elements of diagnosing evil as a pathogen, and the creepy ‘Elder gods’ vibe of the fossil’s origins are both fascinating, and either would flesh out (pun intended) a lesser film on their own. Unfortunately, this film doesn’t really capitalise on these strengths and spends far too much of it’s running time pursuing extras pursuing mentally-disturbed supporting characters through the town set.

Unfulfilled potential is always disappointing, but Cushing and Lee are as solidly dependable as ever here, in slightly different roles than we’re used to seeing them in. And we even get a brilliantly set up twist ending…

OK - if even he's scared it must be bad...

Winter Chills - Part One: The Damned (1962)

I’ve been left on my own for five-and-a-half weeks...
What to do, what to do?  Well, for a start: I’m going to watch all those horror/fantasy/sci-fi films I’ve always been meaning to get to
… and write about them here!

 

The Damned (1962)

Definitely in the ‘what did I just watch?’ category.

A heady mix of Brighton Rock and Village of the Damned, flavoured with Kubrick and Orwell, with the result looking a little like a bleak Avengers episode (an oxymoron if there ever was one).

Whatever memorable elements this film contains - and any scene with Oliver Reed in it is always one of them - everything seems to have been secondary to the director Joseph Losey’s exacting vision.

And so, on his insistence,  the final script was rewritten two weeks before filming began and costs quickly spiralled out of control from there.  Helicopters, a spectacular crash into a river, costly reshoots...

The finished film is undoubtedly great to look at and disturbing to contemplate, but Hammer and Columbia were left with such a difficult-to-define mash-up that no-one knew how to market the finished product.  

The black and white photography makes me wish more films were still made this way, and I enjoyed the performances. It’s hard to know if Hammer were exploiting Reed or whether it was the other way around - as if he was always aware of his talent and simply using them to get his screen ‘flying hours’ up.

Few ever saw this film, but critics recognised that there was cinematic mastery somewhere beneath the surface.

A challenging watch which expects you to keep up as the tone and genre abruptly shifts gear several times, then back again. But also a film which might prove difficult to forget.  Special thanks to Zac and Bill who went to great lengths to procure this for me - well worth the effort!

Star Wars (1977)

The original , you might say. I bought the unspecial-ed version of this 1977 life-changer on disc many years ago, but was always shallowly drawn to the extra bells and whistles of the new release whenever I felt like a rewatch. This time I resisted and I’m so glad I did.

The 1977 version has a rawness and urgency about it, almost a desperation, which smoothed- over (and now hideously outdated) CGI effects only clash with. It’s fascinating to see actors and technicians sometimes working counter to Lucas’s aims (he certainly didn’t have the obsessive control then that he would have in later years) and creating something all the better for it.

I’m not ungrateful for all you’ve done, George, but this is my Star Wars. Han shoots (first) and scores!

Tideland - Part Three: Setting up a mooring

This blog was never intended to be a diary, but a lot has happened recently...

Motupipi River at dusk - the view from our deck

Easter weekend has just passed and we’ve now been living in Golden Bay for over a month - the realisation of a very long term plan. We’re adapting to coastal life and ‘Takaka time’ pretty easily: the constant good weather and friendliness of the people we’ve met has certainly helped.

But actually getting here turned out to be anything but easy.

Our biggest fear at the time, that our three cats would find the move and relocation stressful and unhealthy, actually turned out to be pretty-much unfounded. In fact, it was ultimately one of the easiest issues we had to overcome.

Ed and Monty struggle to adapt to their new deck

The biggest obstacles were physical: the notoriously rough stretch of water separating New Zealand’s two main Islands, and the 791m mountain pass which is modestly referred to as the Takaka ‘Hill’. And the biggest stress was to become our inability to get over either of them.

In hindsight picking the same day to move as the arrival of a tropical cyclone seems like tempting fate to the absolute extreme, but these storms are by their nature very difficult to predict, and our complex plans involving flights, ferry crossings and vehicle hire had been put in place well in advance. 

Wharariki Beach: The 'poster girl' for New Zealand tourist calendars never disappoints

Never-the-less, I flew into Takaka airport in a light plane with three bewildered felines the night before Cyclone Gita arrived, just to play it safe. Arriving at the airstrip we were immediately welcomed with 'Bay' hospitality, and gifted a free hire car to get us to our new home. Regardless of what lay in store for us over the next couple of weeks, this local generosity has remained a constant.

Several hours later, while I huddled in a sleeping bag with restlessly prowling cats in the  corner of our empty new living room, Rose was driving our packed-to-bursting hire truck onto the 2.30am ferry.

If you think this division of labour seems unfair you’re probably right, but I cope with rough seas (and they were) about as well as Rose copes with rough flights and she had no wish to share the cats suffering either in the air on in the car, to and from airports. 

My idea of paradise - beaches for miles, and the sun just won't stop...

Our first mistake was probably to seriously underestimate the time needed to pack properly. Although we’d been stowing belongings in our garage for months, the week was a maelstrom of frantically shoving it all in and out of a truck, car and trailer, (gradually without the benefit of daylight, food or sleep), in mere hours when we should have allowed days. It became clear that moving from the North to South Islands was more like immigrating to another country than we could ever have suspected.

Rose arrived with the truck at around 11am on the rainy morning of February 20th - scant hours before the hill she had just crossed was devastated by Cyclone Gita. Over 20 slips were brought down onto the road, some of them washing whole sections of it away.

We were blissfully unaware of this at the time, our new neighbourhood somehow almost completely sheltered from the force of the storm. The first evidence that other areas hadn’t been so fortunate was a power-cut that afternoon. but in our ignorance, even this was treated lightly. Our first day back on the national grid in six years and we’re without power - that’s got to be funny, hasn’t it? 

Living history - the Langford store, serving the Bainham community since 1928

Our sense of humour was to serve us well over the next fortnight. The road closure meant that we couldn’t return an expensive hire truck for over a week, and after a near-evacuation, a cut-off Takaka began to suffer food shortages and petrol rationing. 

But worse still, our house purchasers defaulted on their settlement payment, leaving us to teeter on the brink of financial ruin as we struggled to afford the mortgage and insurance on two houses.

Without going into specifics, the compassion of the vendor of our new home pretty much saved our bacon, (which was definitely off the menu as we struggled to survive). 

The daily late fee our tardy house buyers tided us over when the whole horrible business was finally concluded, but was little consolation at the time. I could say more here, but am choosing to move on after a brief warning. House sellers beware: the integrity of a contract is only worth the integrity of the person who signs it with you.

Naturally we celebrated once the money finally came through. We’ve dined at the Mussel Inn, picnicked at Wharariki Beach and I’ve cycled everywhere from Collingwood to Pohara. 

Rose posted a request on the local facebook group for firewood, adding that we would come and chainsaw/chop it ourselves. She was bombarded by offers and we’ve met some interesting and generous people while putting in the hard yards to stock up on wood for the winter. 

This was a shapeless pile of metal and plastic when we moved in...

She has also repaired our ramshackle greenhouse and we’ve insulated the entire underfloor of the house. Although autumn has officially been here for a month and daylight saving has just ended - the hot Golden Bay sun shows little sign of abating.

It hasn’t been easy getting here, but so far at least, we’re living the dream...

Who needs a garden bench when you can have a jetty to relax on?

http://fasmatodea.blogspot.co.nz/2015/03/tideland-part-one-coming-in.html

http://fasmatodea.blogspot.co.nz/2015/03/tideland-part-two-going-out.html

The Omega Man

It's funny what you can discover when you're packing up to move house.

I've seen that author's name somewhere before...
no idea what happened to the the illustrator, though

For decades I have carried around two A1 sized boxes stuffed with select work I'd produced at Design School in the mid 1980s, to freelance illustration in Scotland in the early 1990s.

Most of it is horrible and finally needed to be got rid of on a bonfire of inanities. But a few exceptions also exist, a tiny stack of scribblings which, more through accident than design, manage to hold up. By my standards, at least.
Among these are some illustrations I did for an Edinburgh-based magazine called Scottish Field, established in 1903 and despite publishing some of my work in 1993/94 are still going strong today.

These commissions came at a time when I really needed the money, and confidence boost, and were for a series of whimsical short stories about a retired butcher called Bodie who becomes a private investigator.

I'd supply two black and white roughs, then a colour rough for my
own reference, and finally the finished art in watercolour and ink.

I realised that I'd actually kept some copies of the magazine itself, and turning to one of these stories was struck dumb by a realisation twenty-five years after the fact (I can be slow on the uptake, but a quarter of a century for the penny to drop has to be a record).

The author of these stories was a man called Jack Gerson. And this might not have even meant anything to me now, if I hadn't written blog post about a television series and book which I took into my sad little geek heart so many years ago:
http://fasmatodea.blogspot.co.nz/2015/08/the-omg-factor.html

I had been illustrating stories by the writer and creator of The Omega Factor and hadn't even realised it.

It won't mean much to anyone else, as my wife's rather bemused expression conveyed when I shrieked this discovery. But this 'one degree of separation' rather rocks my world, sharing 'journalistic real estate' with a storyteller who's skill fired my imagination as a teenager and still does even now. And made all the more poignant by the fact that I was gormlessly unaware at the time.

But perhaps it's just as well, my Fanboy reaction and inevitable stalking of Mr Gerson might have only earned me a restraining order and termination of contract.

Finding an obituary, I discovered that Gerson passed away six years ago, leaving a huge body of work to the world.
The last writing he did was a radio play called Bodie’s Occupations, featuring, yes, the very same character whose earlier adventures I had illustrated.

The connections don't end there. As anyone who has to listen to me for longer than 5 minutes knows, I am currently writing a book about Hammer films, which has absorbed a huge part of my life recently.
The concept of 'Hammer Horror' really began with a 1957 film called The Curse of Frankenstein, starring Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee in their first film together. Second billing went to a Scottish actor called Robert Urquhart, who played Frankenstein's tutor and eventual accomplice, Paul Krempe.

Urquhart himself had a long and illustrious career, and one of the final things he did before his death in 1995 was a certain radio play by his old friend Jack Gerson, where he took the title role of a private detective called Bodie.

My preliminary sketches for Bodie's appearance and
(inset) actor Robert Urquhart, who eventually played him on radio.

Count Down - Part Ten: Transylvania Jones and the Temple of Doom

The concept of Halloween becoming the ‘Geek Christmas’ was reinforced this year with a very special gift from BBC Radio 4.

Finally returning to this blog has been an interesting experience. Last time I got to revisit, correct and publish something I first posted in 2015, and now I’m returning to a series of posts from the blog’s earliest days, which I had assumed long over.

Count Down was my nine-part look at the Hammer Dracula films, and revisiting them first kindled the spark which led to my upcoming book about that film company (whose release is now postponed until Halloween next year - more on this later)

Given the Count’s unfailing ability to rise from the grave again and again in these films, we shouldn’t have been too surprised when the script for an unmade production was brought to life this Halloween.

The Unquenchable Thirst of Dracula has a long and interesting history. Intended as a follow-up to 1970’s Scars of Dracula, it was written by Anthony Hinds to take advantage of frozen assets which Hammer’s then-finance partner and distributor, Warner Bros, had in India at that time.

According to Hammer historian Marcus Hearn, the story was first titled Dracula High Priest of Vampires, before being dropped in favour of Don Houghton’s script Kali Devil Bride of Dracula in 1974, (to co-star Peter Cushing if the poster artwork is to be believed). Hind’s original script was then returned to 1977, shifted to the 1930s and given the name we know it as today.

Apparently it eventually transpired that Warner’s Indian assets were unavailable after all, the story was never filmed,  was and this was all no doubt yet another nail in the Hammer coffin at the close of the 1970s.

Decades passed until the Mayhem Film Festival mounted a full-cast-live reading of Unquenchable in Nottingham in 2015. Complete with a live sitar player, it was widely praised and lead to the Festival giving another unfilled Hammer script the same treatment this year: Zeppelin v. Pterodactyls. (Presumably without a sitar this time)

And then a few months ago it was announced that celebrity Hammer fan Mark Gatiss was going to adapt it as a radio production. Directed by Gatiss from Hind’s original screenplay, The Unquenchable Thirst of Dracula debuted on BBC Radio 4 at Halloween. Fortunately for those of us in other parts of the world the BBC iplayer did allow us access, and thank goodness, because this is an absolutely brilliant production.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b09bx9fn

Set in Northwest India in 1934, the indigenous characters are all authentically cast, including Jekyll’s Meera Syal in two superb roles. Michael Sheen really brings the gravitas and atmosphere with his narration, and Lewis MacLeod, if not actually impersonating Christopher Lee, at least effectively channels his most famous performance, as Dracula.

But the true, unexpected delight is the story. I’ve half-seriously suggested that this is like listening to ‘Hammer meets Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom’, but this production actually improves on the 1984 Spieberg film in its cultural depiction. Unquenchable may have the requisite light nudity and sadism you’d expect from Hammer, but also none of the racism and sexism that the second Indiana Jones film provided.

We follow a very capable female protagonist, Penny Woods, who drives the action. Although assisted by an Indian father figure and love interest, neither are given time to ‘man-splain’ or patronise as they have their hands full just keeping up with her.

The originality of the setting and story structure achieves what Hammer never really succeeded in doing - injecting new life into their Dracula series. Unquenchable is fresh, exciting and never predictable. I was wrong-footed every time I tried to guess ahead, and that was a treat for someone so steeped in the ways of the house of horror.

However, I can confidently predict that everyone who listens will wish it had been made. More realistically, it’s my wish that Mr Gatiss turns his talents to the many more un-filmed Hammer scripts for Halloweens to come.

The Return of the School Night of the Living Dead

It’s spooky what you can find out when you actually do some research!

Way back in October 2014, I tried to interest the media company I work for in running a short piece about a bygone NZ tradition in late night fright films - The Sunday Horrors. it seemed ideal to me as Halloween was just around the corner, and the period in which they were shown (the 1980s) was a time which most of our readership could easily recall. 

My employers passed, and it became a blog post instead:

http://fasmatodea.blogspot.co.nz/2014/10/school-night-of-living-dead.html

Three years later, with Halloween becoming less a twee splash-back of Americana and more the ‘geek Christmas’ every season, I tried again - and the successful result appears below.

https://www-alpha.stuff.co.nz/entertainment/tv-radio/98255843/school-night-of-the-living-dead-remembering-tv2s-sunday-night-horrors

This time I did some proper research and was dismayed by how badly wrong I’d got certain ‘facts’ from my first version. Admittedly, the 2014 blog post was written from a personal perspective - as usual I had assumed it was all about me, and the Sunday Horrors stopped when I ceased watching.

More Sunday Horrors then you can shake a stake at -
channel's 2 and 3 go head to head with the undead...

In reality something which I had always assumed was a strictly ’80s phenomenon didn’t care that I was living overseas in the early ’90s, and continued in rude health for the entire first half of that decade, too. The Sunday Horrors survived the introduction of TV3, hosting by Count Robula, and the advent of Shortland Street and MMP. It stared down Suzanne Paul, compulsory cycle helmets and the dawn of cafe culture.

Just how many countries can boast a former head of Government
as a TV horror host?  Only one that I know of...

So let the spirits take you - Karen Hay is once again bidding you goodnight and the main feature is about to begin. Settle into your Lazy-Boy and do not adjust your set - the film may actually be in black and white. No tricks - you’re in for a treat. 

Happy Halloween!

Getting Hammered Pt 2

So you want to write a book? Be careful what you wish for…

Hello again dear, neglected blog. It’s probably just you and me listening, but I’m still going to write about how it feels to have got the first draft of Infogothic: An Unauthorised Graphic Guide to Hammer Horror, completed.

I’m sure such people must exist, but off-hand I can’t think of anyone else foolhardy enough to do every aspect of a project like this single-handedly.  In my day job I’ve been fortunate enough to be given opportunities as a published writer, designer and illustrator. I’ve designed books, researched information graphics and wrestled with the myriad technicalities of preparing a complex document for print.

So, why wouldn’t I do it all myself?

To answer to that question - I need to remind myself of the following: 

I have spent the last seven-and-a-half months working every possible spare hour I could find in my day, on this book. Whenever possible, I’ve started my day at 4:30am and worked in a freezing room (hello chilblains) until my day job or a grumbling stomach intervened.
I’m not a night owl but have burned the other end of the candle, too. I found that if I could get past my ’pain threshold’ of 10pm, I would end up having to make myself go to bed in the wee hours of the following morning.

Exercise has fallen by the wayside, as has sometimes even leaving the house. And to myself at least, I definitely look older. 

I’m not looking for sympathy though - I’ve loved every minute of it.

Whatever happens next, I hope that love comes through in this book.  My publishers might demand extensive changes, or lose confidence altogether. Even after it’s published I might end up with a garage full of unsold volumes, gathering dust and cobwebs like a Hammer film set.

But you know what else?  I’m proud of it. I’ve put everything I have into this book - most of my annual leave, every ounce of effort and what might pass for talent that I possess.

But not for a second am I forgetting any of the wonderful people who’ve supported and helped me - I will definitely thank them all properly in due course. But for now, you know who you are.

It’s an unusual product in an already very narrow market, but I know the ‘Monster Kids’ are out there - those of us who grew up adoring our horror films and learning to appreciate them like fine wines as they, and we, age.

I hope Infogothic finds them - and hopefully you - eventually. 

But for now, there is still some way way to go in bringing my very own ‘unholy creation’ to life.