One less Mountain to climb

Well, here we are again kids! Are you sitting comfortably? Well stop it at once, don't want you drifting off during these important announcements.

Once again, this is not the post it was supposed to be - it originally had the title of "the power of hug", and I will no doubt drift back onto that original, slightly sentimental subject at some point.

Before we get onto what distracted me from my original idea, some things I have learned in the short while since I last posted:

• I needn't have worried about the Doctor's name being revealed. But more importantly, I love the fact he basically agreed with my contention that his name actually is the Doctor, and that, in my blurred fictional/real world view, there are now 1 million Jenna-Louise Colemans out there. That last bit sounds like intelligent design at work to me.
• Of all things, my slightly obscure, unfocussed rant on idents and vanity cards has prompted the most comment. And the most common comment (erm) is that the Thames logo looked like it had a crocodile in it for most viewers.
• The auditions for Wyrd Sisters are set for 2nd and 3rd July. Eeeeeek! In the meantime, Canterbury Players' current production is nearing completion. See the Twitter account, Facebook group, and my blogging Guru Miscriant's post on the rehearsals for the play. And book tickets at once.

So, I woke up this morning at some ungodly hour, ready to go to work and look busy for a few hours, thinking "I miss having hugs on tap, there's a blog post in that", when the radio chirped that it was 60 years of a major event in human exploration. Something to do with this big bit of scenery:

Apparently, a couple of hill walkers turned left, rather than right, at Scarfell Pike 60 years ago and ended up meandering up this second rate Snowdon. Looking at them, they don't look too bright, so I can understand how it happened.....

Okay, so it's 60 years since the summit of Everest was reached. Interestingly, I mentioned this in passing in the office. This was a brave move.

Last week, I had, in passing, acknowledged the 70 year anniversary of the Dambusters. I say in passing. My office is on Kings Hill, which from above looks not unlike this:

However, 70 years ago, it looked like this:

Well, not actually. As a military airfield, there aren't a huge number of easy to access aerial shots of Kings Hill, but you get the point. We work on an airfield which was at least a key part of the Battle of Britain. As a result, we were treated to an afternoon fly-by by one of these beauties in celebration of the anniversary of the Dambusters:

So, when I mentioned why we had the fly-by I was dismayed, amused and slightly concerned that half the people in the office hadn't even heard of the Dambusters. And of those who had, a decent chunk thought of it as just a movie.

Look, I'm a geek, and a historian. Whilst my taste is more medieval, and early medieval at that, it is no surprise that I know what the Dambusters are. But the percentage was horrendous. As any general who has invaded Russia in a fit of overconfidence has found again and again (Charles XII, Napoleon and Hitler, stand up, take a bow, look suitably chastised then sit down and be quiet - this isn't your story), "Those Who Forget Their History Are Doomed to Repeat It." Not knowing about the Dambusters does not mean we are forgetting WWII and the horrors it represents (even now, a group of gents I travel with are planning a visit to Aushwitz on a trip which otherwise will be focussed on drinking and the avoidance of all things serious), but if we are starting to forget the details, then there is a slide occurring. Either that or all the study of the war which the people who didn't know the Dambusters undertook at school was, 'shudder', social history.

Perhaps that particular point is a rant for another time.

Nevertheless, I mentioned Everest being summited (don't complain - this came up on the radio this morning and apparently this is the term used by hill yompers...er, mountain climbers....to describe the act of running out of 'up' in which to travel) with little optimism. Of course, people had heard of it. And perhaps understandably, beyond a couple of names, they knew only three things:

• It was climbed 'because it was there'.
• It was a great moment in British history
• K2 is a higher mountain, so it wasn't reaching the top of the highest mountain.

Good, right? People knew stuff. Only....

• Edmund Hillary never said he climbed Everest 'because it was there'. He is more likely to have said 'Beam me up, Scotty', or 'Elementary, my dear Watson' - neither of which were said in the 'canon' of their own myths either.
• Edmund Hillary was from New Zealand. The first British Kiwi? Hardly.  Oddly enough, Sherpa Tenzing wasn't from Basildon either.
• K2 is not higher. It was a spinach incident all over again, with a mis-measurement of the mountain, probably based on an inconsistent start point, and a misunderstanding of the measurement criteria for mountains. (Popeye eating Spinach to get strong relates to a tenfold increase in the reported iron content of the substance due to a misplaced decimal point, of all things....it is good for iron, but not that good. See, maths lies, but we trust it because it is absolute, pure, infallible. Humans aren't though, and maths is a human creation.)

It is almost a requirement of being a historian that you want to 'peer behind the curtain' and debunk the myths of the world. You want to understand how and why things work, how they happened, and therefore you find yourself digging under the surface of received wisdom and knowledge, and occasionally you leave a trail of worms and ring pulls (work it out....I'll wait....there it is) in pursuing that. The succes of Mythbusters, and more relevantly, QI, shows that a lot of us are like that.

But here's the thing. For me, even if the people in the office thought Dambusters was 'just' a film, and believed the three 'facts' about the climbing of Everest which are untrue, I would rather they believed them than just didn't know about it. The myth comes about for a reason, and has its own currency. Dambusters shows the creativity, loss, sacrifice and bravery of Brits at war - even if people think it is purely fiction, it is a fiction they take something from. Climbing Everest? Even I want to believe that it was only done 'because it was there' - it says so much about the human spirit and reach, and espouses values I want the best of us to have.

Know the truth, value the myth. Both are far more important than just not knowing.

Oh, by the way...

• The climbing of Everest has a very important personal meaning for me. The 50th anniversary, 10 years ago (I'm getting old to be able to say that) was a very significant day in my personal life. It is no underestimation to say that that day was the culmination of over 7 years before it, and then proceeded, one way or another, to shape most of the decade since, one way or another. I won't bore you, or me, with why - but I think that 50th anniversary day will probably float into my mind on the 70th, 80th, 90th, 100th anniversaries, whatever else the next few years bring. It's an odd connection.
• I can't believe that so few people had even heard of the Dambusters. Surely everyone 40 and under danced to this song as kids? It's kind of right there (just under 3 minutes in for those who value their ears)
• It amazes me that the most famous man to have climbed Everest but not reached the summit is a man who is most famous for having a pair of wings:

On which basis we can conclude only that life makes no sense.

What's in a name?

This was not going to be what this post was about.

What you are not reading here is a review of Iron Man 3 and Star Trek: Into Darkness, both of which I saw this last weekend, and enjoyed immensely (oh, it is kind of a review after all).

But then, I realised, I couldn't do a proper review without spoilers. And something else happened. There was a big spoiler somewhere else.

So, before I get started, a question. How many Doctor Who references can you see in my last post? Go on. I'll wait. It isn't many. Not many at all.

1, right? Right up there at the beginning, when talking about the BBC?

No.

Give yourself a pat on the back with a sonic screwdriver if you said 2. Not sure where the second one is? Check the end of this post.

The fact that it was only two is frankly a miracle. Doctor Who remains one of my strongest geek enthusiasms, one which started when my age was in single digits, and grew when I was in my teens, when it wasn't on air. I will no doubt talk more on this, with thoughts on particular Doctors, as these posts grow.

For now, this is just about the episode which is on this Saturday night....rather worryingly called:

The name of the Doctor has been central to the series since day one. Though it has also been answered and deflected for as long. The whole point of the name of the series and the first episode was the mystery of this (seeming) man who lived in a junk yard.

For many years (and again in 2005, until David Tennant asked it be changed when he took over), the lead actor in the series was credited as Doctor Who, not the Doctor.

In (and I can hear every Who fan in the world taking a deep breath to say this along with me now) The War Machines, WOTAN instructs 'Bring me Doctor Who'. He has also rejoiced under Doctor von Wer.

Most famously, and from his time with UNIT onwards most consistently, the Doctor has gone under the sobriquet Doctor John Smith when he needs to have an actual name. That said, he was clearly using the alias long before that:

Once, when asked what his name was, he said "My real name has 17 syllables and is unpronounceable" or words to that effect. The fact that Haiku has 17 syllables is not lost on me.

But then, the Doctor Lies. That's rule 1. Oh, and that's the other reference in my last post, by the way. It seems I did it again, as this isn't the end of the post.

"He has many names" is the simplification used in Battlefield, when the fact he is also known as Merlin is mentioned. He is the Oncoming Storm...and why not, as good a title as any, and a sneaky Gandalf allusion at that. He is, according to various spin offs, the Ka Faraq Gatri.

Technically, he is Mr. President....given the number of times he's ended up in charge of Gallifrey and the liking his people had for adopting titles as names.

He has more names than he has had faces, it seems.

 So, here's the thing. I don't care what his name is. Honestly.

It's a fun bit of frippery about the Doctor that he is called the Doctor and may also have a 'real' name. I enjoy the in joke. I smirked like a smug little fan boy when in the modern series it was described as being a name "written in the sky of the Medusa cascade". I spotted the increase in the old "Doctor who?" joke just before the Silence were described as trying to avoid the answer to the oldest question, and then pointed out that "I told you so" to anyone who would listen when it was revealed that oldest question was indeed "Doctor who?".

But I don't actually want to know the name, I don't think. What would be the point? My reasons are threefold:

• He has been known as the Doctor for far longer than he was known as his supposed real name. Nobody has known his name for aaaaaages. His name actually is the Doctor.
• As I have already mentioned, he has many names. And if the name is comprehensible in our language then it is a translation or an alias. It isn't actually the name or the whole (cracked, inconsistent, but present) logic of the character is blown apart.
• The name can only be an anti climax. Like the unseen characters in sit-coms, or the answer to the mystery of Lost, and the question which leads to the answer 42, it only has value because we don't know it.

Look, the series has outright stated that most races get the meaning of the word Doctor from him, whether it means healer or warrior. The Master sneers that the Doctor chose his name as he wanted to be "The man who makes people better". Why do we want him to be anything else? How can knowing his name cause anything like the disaster predicted?

But, do you know what? I trust the makers of the series. Like me, they are both traditional fans and slight iconoclasts, experienced in the art of making sense of a universe which was never designed to do so. I will accept finding out the Doctor's name if the story requires it, if is presents me with drama, laughter, catharsis. I am looking forward to both the series finale on Saturday and the anniversary special because I know, even if we find out his name, it will have a reason, and will then be moved passed. He will still end up as the Doctor.

And Moffat has previous for misdirecting us. Hell, he told us the Doctor was dead last year. Turns out, it isn't just me and the Doctor that Rule 1 applies to. I have faith he will handle it well.

What I don't want to do is find out via an internet leak. A really rather silly error means the episode is out there early. Fans, casual or otherwise, have been urged not to share the contents, but rather feel smug in getting the information early and retain their power by not revealing what they know (the irony that this is also point three above is not lost on me).

Sadly, at least one, probably more, have ignored this. Wikipedia has apparently been hacked a few times to reveal the name, and nothing else, on the Doctor Who page. I have seen hints of screen grabs, and plot synopses, which I have avoided like the plague.

I don't mind knowing what is going to happen massively - I love watching things even once I know the twist and the content. But I hate spoilers. It is my choice whether I know about a piece of fiction before I consume it. To aggressively share something which has been made such a key part of the fictional world, out of context, and before its time suggests you probably shouldn't be given the right to access fiction - you aren't responsible enough. Spoilers eliminate magic and rob the storyteller of their right to tell you a story. How sad is your life that you don't want magic or stories in it? And for no-one else to have them either?

More relevantly for me, why would I want to hear the name, if it is indeed revealed (come on Moff, don't let me down) out of context? I will accept what I see as a bit of misstep if it is handled well and creates drama and enjoyment. But just to be presented by the fact online is equivalent of the Doctor walking out of TARDIS at the start of the ep wearing a badge like this:

So, I'll be avoiding the net in general this week, only playing in pools I know and trust.

And hopefully, when I find out that my hero is in fact Doctor Cyril Sneer, I will at least be pleased that this allows him to defeat the Silence or whoever somehow and that NO ONE WILL CALL HIM IT AGAIN.

Come of Moffat, apply rule 1. Twist out of it.

Feeling grumpy now (which makes me a true fan). Need something to make me feel better.

I feel better.











PS - Looking for the other Who reference? Oops, looks like I lied. Read the post, lazy person, you might find it there.

Vanity, Vanity, all is Vanity

Time for "Confessions of a geek"!

I've become a bit fond of Vanity Cards - you know, those odd little cards which appear at the end of tv shows? Or before a film starts? They are also often known as idents. But I couldn't make a pun in the post title with that, so Vanity Cards they are.

I don't know why, but for me they are as much part of the tv show as anything, and the little stings of music which go with them are like the smell of roast chicken - they can by association bring back the memory of a tv show or film. Unlike the opening titles, which are a direct memory, the vanity card is often a half remembered subconscious trigger. It's all a bit Proustian.

I may be overthinking this.

For me, it starts, as so many things do, with the BBC. The BBC ident on videos released in the 90s was a short animatic which ended with the logo below, after the colours had merged, with a little sting of music.

To teenage RV, this meant the start of a couple of hours watching Doctor Who, Blake's 7, I Claudius and so many more. The sound and image still does...I actually feel myself breathe deeply and sink into my seat when I dig out an old VHS and that plays.

More recently, the sight and sound of the vanity or ident is something I am more aware of, often specific producers in American tv.

Whether Bellisarius productions:

Which will always make me say 'Oh Boy' like Sam arriving on the latest leap, or Mutant Enemy:

And be honest, if that means anything to you, you just said "Grrr, Argh".

In the X-Files every week, we were told that "I made this" by Ten Thirteen Productions, and David E. Kelley has been calling people a stinker for years, which to me always says Boston Legal:

The idents before films say so much as well - the Universal ident, with that stirring music, suggests a world far bigger than our own is about to be revealed, and the Fox ident...well, honestly, it says Star Wars. If it isn't going to be on the new films, they won't feel quite right, will they? I can't see the Pixar ident without thinking of Randy Newman. Which just looks wrong written down.

The master of the vanity card is Chuck Lorre. His cards have been stream of consciousness rants, pithy comments and outright whimsy which reward the viewer with a pause button or internet browsers. If I'm on my own, I stop the show and read them out, partially as a vocal and sight reading exercise, mainly as they are really designed to be said. They can all be found at his website, but below is a particular example of the art. The bad timing of this card to coincide with Charlie Sheen entering a Manic phase prompted one of the most public meltdowns of recent years...all for a flip smartarse comment at the end of a card on show for only a couple of seconds.

Vanity cards, it seems, aren't only important to me!

Comedy central has lifted this idea and runs station vanity cards in the middle of adverts. The two below are screen grabs from the last few weeks. It is slightly odd how often I find myself agreeing with the content of these.

Vanity cards form part of your life if you are a tv watcher. A geek with a long standing desire to work in the business like me will spot them, absorb them, enjoy them. Everyone else is simply being subliminally programmed, and, as I inferred before, these stings of sound and music probably bring out a more visceral memory of a show then the opening theme. The principle is not dissimilar to the advertising which forms the 'sponsored by' before shows. Giff Gaff means Big Bang, Schwarzkopf is HIMYM, Blackberry Z10 means...Game of Thrones, Blue Bloods - basically Sky Atlantic. Hell, even I can't hear the hum and see the static which makes up the HBO logo without expecting to hear the Sex and the City Music. Vanity Cards get in your head.

No point to this post, just musing.

Oh, and I lied (I do that - rule 1). It wasn't the BBC ident which I first remember. It was this one, which I oddly always thought had a crocodile to one side, rather than Tower Bridge. In your 30s? I challenge you to look at the below without hearing the theme from Rainbow, or similar.

Something wicked this way comes (or, things are about to get Wyrd)

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Fine. Okay. I can do this.

For the last 3 years, I've been acting again. I have, basically, not been away from plays in some way, shape or form since August 2010, when Miscriant took me along to an audition for the Canterbury Players show Dark of the Moon. Even when I've been 'taking a break', which has happened a couple of times, I've been asked to support with technical side either of Players shows, or for our sister company, Ashcan. I shall talk more about my previous productions with the Players and Ashcan on future posts, I would imagine (future RV is a bit flaky, but I'll leave the idea with him to work on).

Before this latest spate as an actor, the trend in my performance work was definitely heading towards director and script editor. I took part in drama and shows from about the age of 5 through to 23. I got my first feel about devising at a set of workshops I did when I was 15, and this moved onto directing for a local competition when I was 17 and 18 (a school's competition, the maximum age of the perfomers was year 11, so 16, and the directors had to be from the 6th form). Won both times too. Through Uni, I directed more often than I performed, including a film of excerpts I made for a practical project in the drama modules of my degree and some new pieces I directed for a friend who had aspirations to be (and already was in my opinion) a successful stage writer.

An incorrigible show off, I tended to end up acting a little bit in most of these as well. When I joined the Players, I immediately started talking in terms of directing - that was what I was. But I knew that I'd need to earn my spurs first - either act in or support with the creation of a couple of productions. I wanted to do that if only to get my eye back in.

I rediscovered a love of acting, of simply being in the theatre. It wasn't supposed to be three years before I directed. But, things got away from me...and here we are.

I am directing the autumn production of the Canterbury Players this year. Wyrd Sisters - the Stephen Briggs adaptation of the early Discworld novel by Terry Pratchett.

As anyone who knows me knows (and those of you meeting me here will come to appreciate), Pratchett's Discworld is one of my biggest fan boy indulgences. Theatre has been a such a dominant part of my life, especially recently, and one of several dream jobs is that of director. So directing a stage production of Pratchett should be massively exciting, right?

It will be. Right now, I'm terrified.

I've take a break from active involvement in the Player's current production ('Tis Pity She's a Whore, on in June), other than a bit of support here and there, in order to plan directing this production.

There is a grand tradition that the Players take a 'summer break'. For practical reasons, little is planned to rehearse during the period from mid July - late August so that people can take summer holidays. The large representation of the teaching profession in our society has influenced this also. Therefore, rehearsals for this show won't begin until the end of August. So why am I panicking now?

In the last couple of years, the autumn production has been cast in the few weeks between the summer production and the unofficial 'close down' for the summer (generally taken to be the AGM). This allows the director to 'strike while the iron is hot' and capture members old and new who have just been involved with, or seen, the latest show, but also, in theory, to allow them to cast and encourage the cast to at least start getting a feel for the lines in the close down period.

So, although the full time work on this production won't start until after the wedding of two close friends and my own summer of events and holidays, today I am thinking about Wyrd Sisters.

I need to plan the blurb for the auditions, the dates for them, and maybe, what I am going to do (though knowing me, the last bit will be done in the 24 hours before the audition).

It has all suddenly become very real. I can feel Granny Weatherwax looking at me.

What if I've forgotten how to direct? What if I cast wrong? How will I let friends, as so many in the Players have become, know that they either haven't got parts, or not the part they wanted, or not as big a part as they wanted? Will I get a crew together? Will people want to work with me? What if it is a complete failure, either commericially or artistically? Even a stint as assisitant director on Teechers in Jan-March hasn't assuaged them - it essentially confirmed to me that I am a great 2-I-C, but not necessarily that I can lead. What if I can't do justice to the genius of Pratchett or to the Gulbenkian theatre, which I love?

All these thoughts, or variations on them, have always run through my head before starting a production as director. I get similar ones when acting. They have been nagging at the edge of my mind for a few weeks now, and planning this has brought them all flooding back.

I've missed them.

Every single time I have had them, it has been followed by a fantastic, enjoyable experience with a product that I have felt proud of. Bring it on.

When shall we three meet again? I can do this November.