My first review, but not what you think

Something a little different. As this blog has become more review-oriented, I thought I would include the first review of something that I can remember writing:

REVIEW OF THE MALE TOILETS IN UNIVERSITY BUILDING (1993)

There are some factors in life that are constant and, as such, become more than a reassurance of the day-to-day existence we go through. They tend to seep into our conscious till we find ourselves needing them, as part of our routine. Such a place (or facility, if you must) is the second floor biology men's toilets.

As a regular user, I felt it my duty to give a review of this anal Xanadu, in an attempt to tell the world of its rightful place in the hall of fame. What appears a drab and ordinary convenience at first glance has, after prolonged exposure, transformed into an infinitely more interesting repository for various excretory products.

As you enter, you notice the almost vestigial coat hooks that serve as an introduction to this netherworld. I ask you; when was the last time that anybody saw a lab coat (or other protective garment) hanging from their taunting appendages? Apart from the fact that nobody wears lab coats, no one is that unhygienic that they would bring their chemical-soiled garment into the clean zone that is the lavvy.

The next thing that hits you is abundance of electric light. It continues to amaze me on my bladder-emptying sojourns on the weekend that somebody has gone to the effort of switching off the source of illumination to the most functional room in the entirety of the building, which has no source of natural light. Why? Who is that petty? Who thinks that they are doing the lab a favour by saving them that much on their electricity bill?

The next most striking fact is the presence of a large mirror, covering a good portion of the far wall. Admittedly, when the male postgrads notice the most recent influx of undergrads, there is a rush to spruce themselves up in order to grab the attentions of an unsuspecting and naive young student. However, did the architects or designer really believe that the young, stalwart men who daily fight the turmoil of boundary-breaking research are such vain airheads? Or was it solely put there for the dalliance of some of the lecturers? It is always kept very clean, has no cracks, and informs you if there is some lurking worker in one of the cubicles when you are about to squeeze that particularly puss-laden pimple that has developed during the work period. It is a good level for self-inspection, when washing your hands, being able to discover the aforementioned zits, look up your nostrils for creeping snot, or simply checking out how incredibly gorgeous you are. There is but one question – why is there a ledge? Just below the mirror is a piece of wood along its length, a reason for it's existence I have yet to discover. (It does, however, hold the supply of spare toilet roll, which is always handy for the poor student who has forgot to go to Sainsbury's and knows that the weekend has a suspiciously hot curry in store for him.) I am not sure; perhaps there are some people who, caught short very suddenly, actually have something in their hands, which they need to place down somewhere before they can use the toilets? I find this hard to believe, seeing how one simply looks forward to the mere expectation of entering there, that one would never burden oneself with luggage or other cumbersome extras. The only item I have ever seen on this ledge is the ‘hyacinth’ can of air-freshener, which, going by the smell of the location, is either never used or just doesn't work very well.

The most commonly used facility is the urinal – we men are extremely lucky in the fact that we can easily facilitate the excretion of urine by simply standing and aiming. It's almost fun, except for the psychology of unwanted eye contact, but that is the source for another discussion. The urinals are functional, if a little on the low side, obviously taking into account the above-average size of the biologist's manhood. Constantly stocked up with those bizarre little blue cubes that remind me of a tuppenny sweet I could obtain from the corner shop as a child, they do not give a lot of splash back, which is a good thing, especially in the summer when wearing shorts, but are very bad at draining, providing entertainment when they full of water – going for a slash then reminds you of urinating at home where you can piss really hard to create lots of bubbles. The four of them are pretty much the same, except for the nearest upon entering, my personal one of choice, which has a slightly different drain hole, making it even worse for the ‘pretending to be at home’ wee.

Under the pretence of civilisation, we then have the option to wash our hands, even though urine is sterile if some did accidentally splash onto our hands. The sinks which, in my opinion, number too many and could have been left aside for more urinals, are kept very clean and provide tepid to lukewarm water upon request. Slight aside – I never have liked the use of green as the colour to indicate cold water on taps. I believe that blue is the international standard, and would recommend the switch to comply with EC regulations. The one real joy of washing one's hands is to be able to use the soap. Not the actual washing itself; the soap is an unpleasant colour, and does absolutely nothing to clean the hands. However, when it is washed off, the colour is such that it makes it look like your hands were completely covered in grime and muck, and that it was a very good idea indeed to wash your hands. Such a psychologically affirming cleansing agent is a wonderful ego boost, and I am glad to keep it such. Even though there are too many sinks to choose from, there are only two towel dispensers. I can't understand the logic behind that, but never mind. They are comfortable enough, with their rough cotton, scrub-your-hands-dry approach, and someone, in their infinite wisdom, has seen fit to fix the one on the left that used to get jammed when one would roll too much out, and you had to use the trick of lifting up and then down and up again in order to get some dry, clean material out.

Question; why is there a bin in a toilet? Never have I seen such an out of place accessory in my life. What is it there for? Is someone supposed to come out of the cubicles, soiled toilet paper in hand, suddenly discover it when going to was his hands, think, ‘How stupid of me, I forgot to flush this’ and instead of putting in the toilet, he decides, ‘Oh, here's a bit of luck, a bin; just what I need’. Somehow, I can't see it myself.

The cubicles. If one ever needed a ‘fortress of solitude’, then here is the ideal location. The three small rooms, provided for the daily evacuation of waste food in comfort, are the place to look for me if one is difficult to locate. They are all serviceable, although my favourite has to be the first one as you enter the room. The middle cubicle has too much light, and the seat is situated in a slightly awkward spot in the confines of the space, making you feel uncomfortable whilst shitting. The one on the end seems old and knackered and has a door that closes with too much of a slam, announcing your intentions to the world. The first has the correct level of illumination to allow meditation and is close to the door so you can hear if someone has just come into the room when you are exerting too much. The seat is comfortable, and the walls are surprisingly devoid of talentless graffiti, usually expositing the size of a previous users genitals, or that a particular football team are great, or that so-and-so is a ‘bender’.

If the statisticians have worked out the amount of hours we spent sleeping, watching the television and eaten, then they should also take into account the amount of time spent taking a dump, as I am sure that I would ruin the averages.

Eat In This Order: Chocolate Memories

(A digression from the norm here on Clandestine Critic – an essay about the physical eating pleasure of chocolate, made more odd by the fact that I can no longer eat chocolate due to it giving me migraines.)

There are various aspects of people’s life that possibly define them in life: Religion; family stability as a child; siblings (or lack thereof); scholastic career; athletic abilities; level of intelligence. But, there is one thing that unites us (and it is not Dr Marten’s boots, whatever Alexei Sayle may have sung) – the way in which we eat chocolate.

The consumption of chocolate plays an enormous part of our lives growing up, and the decisions we make then influence us in our supposed adulthood. The way in which we eat chocolate is such a truism that an entire advert campaign was created solely on this principal. Stand up, Cadbury’s Crème Egg, with ‘How Do You Eat Yours?’ Although this combination of chocolate and fondant is supposed to be a seasonal treat, with it’s connection to the celebration of Easter, when the majority of Catholics are once again allowed to indulge after the six-week abstinence of Lent, it is available year round. (Still, you don’t see adverts until after Christmas, because even Cadbury know they aren’t going to be able to sell eggs then. And they still have Quality Street and Roses to fall back on at that time of year, so don’t feel sorry for them.) And the selling point is that it is an amazingly adaptable confectionery, each method of eating defining what sort of person you are.

There are a variety of different ways to eat a crème egg (eat it whole, bite the top off and scoop out the inside, eat from the larger end and mix both part, or eat all the chocolate off to leave the fondant, to name a few.) But they are not the only chocolate which has multiple ingestion methods, yet these are never mentioned outside of drunken or stoned recollections of students at 3 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

Take the Jaffa cake, for example, which is not strictly speaking a chocolate, but is considered under the broad heading of chocolate, as it wouldn’t be the same if it was covered in nougat or marzipan. Some prefer to eat them whole, to get the lovely combination of chocolate and smashing orangey bit in the middle, while some prefer to nibble round the outside to leave the jaffa magic until the end.

The robust Twix has several combinations. Some take it as a whole and crunch away to sample the delight that is chocolate, caramel and crunchy biscuit. Others prefer to eat away the biscuit to leave the chocolate/caramel combo to be savoured, while some strange people enjoy the immediate removal of the caramel layer to leave the biscuit part at the finish, to contrast the excess of sweetness. (An aside; why bother with Twix if you only like the caramel? Why not just have Caramel? Personally, I think the taste of the Twix caramel is nicer, but perhaps it has to be taken into consideration that the specialised manner of eating plays a part.)

Caramel the bar doesn’t lend itself to the complications of other chocolates, being a straightforward eat, more in common with the caramel treats in Quality Street or Roses, just on a larger scale. The only physical manifestation lies in the attempts to break the segments in the wonderfully visual manner employed in the adverts, where individual chunks break off beautifully from the whole, and that segment is split in half to reveal the rich, sweet, chewy centre. In reality, the segments are usually half broken anyway, never in the symmetrical depiction of the advert, and caramel is oozing out of a badly broken chunk. It’s only then you realise that the advertisers needed about a hundred takes to get the perfect caramel break, and the makers are having a laugh at your expense. No wonder they had to use a cartoon rabbit as the spokesperson (or spokesbunny).

Kit-Kats require you to first crease your finger along the foil, to delineate the individual fingers, before you take the fingers and snap them, again in the manner of the advert, although not with quite the same deafening, kung-fu film soundtrack, wood-snapping noise. But, as they taste horrible, you don’t bother to eat them, so the hands-on aspect is the only excitement.

Double Deckers provide you with a clue in the name – you can eat the top or bottom layer first, depending on your perversion, instead of the mundane eating both at the same time. Curly Wurlys – which are a bit of a cheat as a luxury sweet item as they are about 30 % chocolate, 70 % space – create the choice of eating whole or eating individual curls along the way, but even that doesn’t make them last any longer.

Yorkie is the macho chocolate, where you have to decide to eat the thing whole to prove your manliness, or break your thumbs trying to snap off a chunk so you can pop it in your gob and let it sit there, because it is too big to eat properly. Some chocolates don’t bother enticing eaters with elaborate feeding rituals. Bounty, Milky Way, Crunchie, or any of the bars comprised of nothing but chocolate (Wispa, Dairy Milk, Twirl, Flake, etc.) are simple, old-fashioned, unwrap-and-eat affairs, all delicious in their own way, I’m sure, but purely existing on a comfort food level. However, you are unlikely to hear people eulogising these brand names during a stoner’s feast when a case of the munchies comes on them full force.

A chocolate bar that entwines itself into your memory through the tactile enjoyment of anticipation and consummation is a link to the global union of chocolate love. Chocolate is not very good for us, generally speaking, comprising mostly of sugar and fat. I’m sorry to bring the truth, but it’s true. People may talk about the chemicals that cause a sexual rush for women, and chocolate freaks pretending that chocolate is like a fine wine, and companies using expressions like ‘luxury’ and ‘sensuous’ to describe chocolate, but they are only fooling you. Chocolate, eaten in anything other than moderation, makes you fat, has little nutritional value, and ruins appetites.

Why, then, does everybody know what you are talking about when you admit to your chocolate fetish? The mannerised eating of chocolate is a link with other people, a way to understand another human being, to find out if you can relate to them. If you meet someone new, and want to know if have a common bond, discuss the way you pre-chill your Twix in order to allow the easier separation of the biscuit, leaving a more coherent caramel layer for delayed consumption, and look at the reaction on their face to see if they think you are barmy, or a connoisseur like you.

An (old) attempt at journalism

(What follows is an article I wrote about comic book movies that I was considering sending out to publications. I never felt very happy about it, so it never saw the light of day. However, I thought I should put it on my blog, as an indicator of my writing ability [or, rather, lack of] and as a historical curio – the last paragraph tells you when it was originally written.)

Comic Books Conquer Hollywood

Spider-Man was a throwaway idea from Stan Lee back in 1961. He knew that Amazing Fantasy, a comic being published by Marvel for whom he was editor, was being cancelled so he decided – on a whim – to put in his story of a young boy who, after being bitten by a radioactive spider, becomes imbued with super human powers. In 2002, Spider-Man, the movie, broke box office records in the United States, grossing over $100 million in its opening weekend. Comic books had become hot property.

The symbiosis between Hollywood and comic books wasn't always this cosy. Cinema had dipped into the funny books since the early days. Serials of comic strips such as Flash Gordon were mainstays of complete features, and Superman made an early appearance too. However, comics were seen as 'kid's stuff' and were therefore not considered worthy of the industry. In fact, the biggest success for comic books in the mainstream consciousness was on television in the 1960s, when the camp and kitsch Batman aired regularly on Saturday mornings. The series paved the way for the later attempts at turning the serial storytelling of comics into the weekly schedule of television, with adaptations of the The Incredible Hulk, Wonder Woman and Spider-Man. Taking 'creative' liberties with the source material (the Hulk has a name change, and becomes a wondering soul, while Spider-Man is bafflingly relocated to Los Angeles, notable for its lack of the skyscrapers that populate the skyline of the original New York), they produced several series and imprinted catchphrases ('You wouldn't like me when I'm angry') and theme tunes ('Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can') on a generation.

It was the original super hero, Superman, however, who led the way into Hollywood and the big time. In 1978, people were told that they would believe a man could fly, and believe they did. The story of Hollywood's love affair with comics can be seen as the story of technology. This can be seen with Superman, as special effects were reaching a stage where camera trickery could make a man hanging from string look like a superhuman flying gracefully through the air. Comics don't need special effects to create the same illusion; pencil, paper and imagination are relatively cheap but computers and computer generated imagery require money and a level of sophistication to achieve the same willing suspension of disbelief. Superman spawned three sequels of lessening quality, grounding to a halt after the last one. Batman, in 1989, didn't require much in the way of special effects, being the story of a man who trains himself to the pinnacle of human condition to avenge the murder of his parents when he was a young boy. Staying fairly true to the comics (even if the fans were aghast when Michael Keaton was cast as their hero), the film exploded into the mainstream, with the film, merchandise and the comic books getting some of the action. Everyone was happy. The second film was decent, but the later Joel Schumacher films, particularly Batman and Robin in 1997, were hugely derided, with the emphasis on set design and paying large salaries to stars to play the pun-spouting villains (cough, Arnold Schwarzenegger, cough) and Batman, and comic book films, were cast aside as quickly as they had been embraced.

There had been other comic book adaptations during these years. Howard the Duck, by George Lucas, was about a talking and singing duck. It didn't do well, surprisingly. A version of The Punisher with Dolph Lundgren was similarly awful. A Captain America film was made that wasn't even released theatrically in its home country and there was a Fantastic Four film made by the Corman studio on no budget, which somewhat defeats the purpose. All of these films were adapted from Marvel comic books, who had no idea how to market their properties. Dark Horse, a smaller company, had more success making economically viable films from their books: The Mask, which saw Jim Carrey and Cameron Diaz in early starring roles; Time Cop, with Jean Claude van Damme; Mystery Men, with Ben Stiller and William H. Macy; and Barb Wire, a distaff version of Casablanca, starring Pamela Anderson and her breasts. Another independent book, The Crow, spawned three relatively successful films, although the first one saw the untimely demise of its star, Brandon Lee, son of Bruce. A big success, for an independent comic, was The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, a black and white book, that went on to spawn three silly but successful films; who can forget the sight of four men in turtle costumes doing kung fu, with their giant rat sensei, eating pizza and shouting 'Cowabunga, dudes'?

Things weren't good for comic books films in the 90s. Dick Tracy was colourful but slight. Judge Dredd saw Sylvester Stallone take off the famous helmet just to show his face. Spawn was all special effects and no story, while Steel saw the basketball player, Shaq O'Neal, don a ludicrous metal outfit in his bid for stardom. However, in 1997, one of the most successful adaptations was a film that nobody knew had been a comic book. Men in Black was another small independent book transformed into a science fiction comedy that was an almost perfect cinema experience. In 1998, a supporting character from a cult Marvel comic book, Blade, a vampire hunter, became a box office success, capturing the vampire/martial arts zeitgeist. But 2000 saw comic books as a source of potent franchise material. X-Men was a surprise hit but, more importantly, a good film, tackling the themes and characters (if not the garish costumes) of the book and doing it well. Comic book films were cool again, and film studios wanted the rights to make them for themselves.

A scattershot approach followed in the wake of this success, as expected from a place where 'nobody knows nothing' according to William Goldman. From Hell is a huge, dense, intelligent piece of work dissecting the mythos behind Jack the Ripper. The film was a 'cop on the edge' thriller, with varying degrees of success. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was a delightful comic book series, using characters from Victorian fiction. The film was a noisy, brainless, soulless action film which even Sean Connery couldn't revive. On the other hand, Ghost World was a thoughtful, intelligent and absorbing drama based on the work of Dan Clowes. In the arena of superheroes, Marvel heroes Daredevil and the Hulk made big splashes without overly impressing people in general but it was Spider-Man, a spectacular blockbuster that captures the comic book perfectly while still being a film in its own right, that changed everything for ever. The largest opening weekend of all time told Hollywood that superheroes equal money in the bank. The delays turning Spider-Man into a movie involving legal issues between various studios proved to be fortuitous, as it allowed CGI the time to catch up, enabling the movie makers to have Spider-Man fly through New York landmarks.

The comic book bandwagon kept on rolling. Oscar winner Sam Mendes directed Oscar winners Tom Hanks and Paul Newman in the adaptation of a 'graphic novel' (the acceptable term for a big comic book), Road To Perdition, going on to win an Oscar for director of photography Conrad L. Hall. To balance the scales, Bulletproof Monk was a lamentable film about, well, a bulletproof monk, that failed critically and commercially. The sequel to X-Men, X2, was a critical and commercial success, appropriate for the most successful comic book series in the industry. Seemingly, when a film captures the essence of the comic while transferring it successfully to the medium of cinema, the rewards are manifold. When it doesn't, it deserves the failure.

This year, the sub-genre that is the comic book movie has the Spider-Man sequel, Hellboy, a big-budget version of The Punisher, and Catwoman with Oscar winner Halle Berry. X-Men 3, Blade 3, a new Batman film, a spin-off from Daredevil in the form of Elektra, a big budget Fantastic Four film, Ghost Rider, and Wonder Woman are all in the offing at various stages of production. The future for comic book movies looks bright indeed. There will probably come a time when comic book movies aren't so eagerly anticipated, and big stars will no longer don spandex in the name of entertainment, which is when they don't make any money anymore. But, for now, we can enjoy the thrill and excitement in the cinema that the simple format of the comic book has been providing for over 70 years.