Meanwhile, at the First-World Second-Hand Car Lot

"Gals at school dropoff are totes giving me crap about how little my SUV is."

"Nothing worse."

"Friend of mine will be here in a minute to check you're not ripping me off..."

"Yup. Big decision. The Mitsubishi or the M1 Abrams. Kick the tread while you wait, if you want,"

"Maybe.... hey, I don't want to leave the other car here, can you deliver the new one?"

"Sure. Too easy."

The 80s were a bit frisky with the nooklia weapons. I did my final years of highschool assuming/banking on the fact that I was gonna die before any of it had to matter.

Having dinner with one of my favourites the other night, I asked how he was going with the current administration. He answered, "We are interested in how far we can go, with the crazy."

I have always had a problem with short, to mid-range nukes. It suggests that somehow there's a way to use them in a limited way...

The Empire's New Basin

Mad Max: Blurry Road

Spoilers. (Well, hardly, at this late stage of the game)

It's time I spoke up. For the few. For those of us who are fans but have not been blinded by the nitrous-fuelled hype-machine.

Mad Max: Furry Load, is not as good as “mastermind” George Miller would have us believe. The use of the word mastermind alone should send up warning flares. If the mastermind epithet is accurate of anything, it's the brain behind the marketing juggernaut. Or, maybe the editor. Margaret Sixel famously had to churn through nearly 500 hours of film to distil the final 120 minutes. I don't know if that indicates her remarkable patience or whether Miller has spent so long out of the game, he has forgotten how to say “Cut, that's a wrap.”

Attempting Mad Max again should be undertaken as carefully as, say, attempting Star Wars again. (Bunch of us waiting to have our hearts broken there, is all I can say.) And George, you can't just do away with major characters on a whim.

Here's the top ten list of rides in the Action/Sci-fi film world that are also characters, as voted by Grey Area is Right.

1) Millennium Falcon (Star Wars)

2) The V8 Interceptor (Mad Max)

3) Enterprise (Star Trek - not differentiating which one. We're talking about the spirit, not nerdy detail.)

4) Most Batmobiles, other than ones driven by Clooney or Kilmer.

5) Thunderbird 2 (“Thunderbums are go!”. Oh, how we laughed as 5-years-olds)

6) The Liberator (Blake's 7)

7- 10) Blah, blah, blah. Shan't bore you with the rest but here's something interesting. Coming in way down the list:

48) TARDIS*

Look at number two! Incontrovertible proof that Miller could not take this lightly. The Interceptor is a cultural icon. The only time I've ever cried at a film was when it crashed and burned in MMII. The airy-fairy way in which he dispenses with the V8 is like saying, “Whistler's Mother? She looks good on the floor. I thought the rocking chair was a touch too much.”

It does supply the impetus for a great line from Max, though, and that was almost enough for me.

"First they take my blood. Now they take my car?!"

Pity though. Many of us wanted to see more of ol' Black Beauty.

The film:

Nothing, not a thing, makes sense if you examine it. But you shouldn't.

As silly as it is, and it is plenty silly, it is a gorgeous piece of art.

Charlize Theron is faultless as an action heroin. She had me at Aeon Flux anyway - she does it again.

Quentin Kenihan is inexplicably present, playing what else but a genetic misshap in a wheelchair. (Wow, what a jarring note his sudden appearance was. “Is that...? Could that be...? I thought he was dead. Didn't he sneeze and his head fell off or something? Well. Good on him. Wait, what just happened?”)

Tom Hardy channels Max incredibly well. If I was to criticise anything it's, and this sounds crazy, he's not quite tough enough. I'm no fan of Gibson's personal life but he was absolutely, completely Max. The laconic, whippet thin, brawling survivor. Gibson owned that and Hardy does a magnificent job with action and voice. Voice in particular is uncanny - but he looks too well fed and just not merciless enough. Max's redemption lies in sudden and uncharacteristic moments of selflessness and honour. Hardy looks like he'd lay his leather jacket over a puddle for a damsel to tip-toe across at the slightest provocation. But, let's face it, the jacket could do with the wash. That leads me to some gossip.

A friend of mine, loosely connected to the production, said that Charlize was less than thrilled about working with Tom by about day two, because allegedly he got all 'method' and wouldn't step out of his character or leathers to step into the shower. Good one, Tom. It's important to remain true to the entirely fictional, two dimensional character at the expense of your workmates comfort. That's gritty realism.

The War Boys are disgusting and repellent and fascinating and what you need for a set of minions – and their death-cry, battle-rant, call-and-response is hilarious and feels very Australian for some reason:

We're on the back of a speeding War Rig. A mortally wounded War Boy sees opportunity to go out with Kamikaze style, sprays his mouth and teeth with chrome, turns to his brethren and screams, “Witness meeeeee!”

All the other War Boys within earshot, scream back, “Witnessssssss!”

Mortally wounded War Boy throws himself off the back of the truck holding two explosive spears, into the cockpit of a pursuing, entirely spiked battle-buggy, exploding it, him, neighbours and earth. He has saved his brothers-in-arms with a selfless act of flaming heroism and will be welcomed through the gates of Valhala itself.

All the War Boys who have seen this, scream, “Mediocre!”

Oh, what a lovely day.

So, I guess in conclusion, we were promised something that was going to change the world. It's not going to. It is a cracking, high-paced piece of entertainment where I spent a good amount of time wondering how stuntmen weren't killed. There is a depth to the world that we are to take on trust, but it's not mind-blowing if you're an experienced SF reader or watcher, it's competent.

And, I get that it's a scavenging society, but some detail is distracting and doesn't add depth, it makes you wonder about the wrong things at the wrong time. For instance, I wish the mask fitted over Max's face for half the film, was not so obviously a three-pronged-garden-fork with its handle removed. During an explosive race-to-the-death across a barren wasteland, I kept on thinking about little old ladies and well watered flower beds.

*We'll argue about this another time.

Outside the Lines

A friend of mine wants to do a colouring book for adults. Apparently, it's a good stress reliever. I can understand that. I've entered into a few Easter Bunny Colouring Competitions in my time (I never win. Might have something to do with being honest about my age.) Anyway, she asked me for some ideas for subject matter, so I went blue-sky-mining and here's my preliminary list.

1) Moments before Great Moments in Science, Colouring Book, Featuring:

- Archimedes cleaning the bath

- Newton pulling up a carrot

- Alexander Fleming clearing his throat while hanging out the washing

- Oppenheimer sexually harassing a co-worker

2) Favourite Scenes from 80s Movies Colouring Book

- Ferris Bueller's Bedroom

- The Breakfast Club's detention room

- Sixteen Candles exercise room

- The Princess Bride's Inego Montoya threatening the six fingered man (in a room)

3) Great Transport Disasters in Cubist Style for Easy Block Colouring (By numbers*)

- Hindenburg

- Titanic

- Linnard Skinnard's Plane

*Note, if numbers are followed, they will result in output of varying shades of blue or high gamma

4) Great Newspaper Front Pages from History, Colouring Book (For those who only use lead pencils)

5) The Punch Line Colouring Book, Featuring:

- The chicken on the other side of the road

- A mini with four elephants in it

- An actress speaking to a bishop

- A ute full of pigs honking the horn

- A sheep without legs

- A blond in a BMW

- A light-bulb being changed

- A frog in a blender

- A nun and a vampire

- An Irishman 

6) Great Album Covers Colouring Book (With complimentary CD. Colour as you croon)

7) Crowd Scenes, Protests and Audiences - Animé Style, Colouring Book

8) Exploded Diagrams of Machinery In the Style of Lead-light/Stained-Glass Windows, Colouring Book

9) Old, Inaccurate Political Maps of the Known World, Colouring Book

10) Mythical Beasts Colouring Book (Who's to say you got the colours wrong?)

Aldi Good Things

Occasional, I pull on the bio-hazard suit and go to Aldi. When I do, I make sure to go to the middle section of the shop, the Area of Mystification, just to see what madness they have stacked on the shelves. Sometimes it's not the article on its own that provides the fun, but its proximity to another. I often find the phrases, “... and therein lies a tale”, or “The winter nights just fly by”, spring to mind and I end up giggling my way down the 800 meter checkout conveyor belt.

Purple cello next to under-car-light-kit. (ELO band members getting pissed and confusing which thing to 'hot up'.)

Artists' easels next to motorbike safety leathers. (Because Fauvism.)

A lot of the time, though, something will just sit there and beg all of its own questions.

What kind of day have you had, when you are forced to buy your wheelchair at a discount supermarket?

You are not picking it up from the medical supplier provided by your insurer. You are not being issued with it at the exit of the hospital. Your rehab specialist has not just had it measured and fitted and is going through how lightweight, modern and Jackass it is and how all of the young skate pros will be getting one.

What are the alternatives? You have dragged yourself with your lips through the car park, like you normally do, to get the shopping done but today, the answer to your prayers accidentally turns up in the Aisles of Bafflement? You needed to buy so many cans of suspect dog food that your spine and legs gave way before the checkout, luckily salvation was at hand?

I am a bear of very little brain, but I simply cannot get my head around the set of circumstances in play, where an opportunistic purchase of a discount wheelchair is the antidote. Even the aging couple on the pension, fat of fluid-filled-ankle and mad as a box of hammers (both available in aisles seven and eight) are not going to get there and realise that was what they needed. That happens before then.

Now. Let's talk about Baun tablets and mobile phones...

Bland Designs

"It's already four months into the build and with winter approaching, Rene Magritte has still not moved in. He then suffers a further development application knock-back, because of his windows."

Clint Doesn't Get My Coin

I like to read the book before I see the film. American Psycho Sniper is a difficult one to write a fair review of, particularly as a non-American. As I was reading it I found myself almost laughing at what an unreconstructed plonker the guy was. What I didn't know until the end, was that he was killed recently and the edition of the book I read had the testimonials and memorials from many who knew him, after the main body of the book. While it's not traditional to bad-mouth people in that sort of message, they couldn't say enough how good he was. He evidently touched a lot of people's lives in a positive way.

Now, let's pretend that he's still around so that I get the chance to warn you off this book in an honest fashion, without feeling like I'm speaking ill of the dead.

It is jaw-dropping in its infantile view of the world, the blind patriotism, the one-eyed religious bigotry and the unexamined hypocrisy. It's sort of like Ronald Reagan whispered his fevered fantasies into Donald Rumsfeld's ear, who then in turn dictated them to Captain America's, Down-Syndrome brother.

The guy was far too happy about killing people and dressing it up in patriotism. I understand that soldiers gotta do what they gotta do, but he didn't see any problem with calling in air-strikes that would flatten entire city blocks. There is no way that only combatants were killed. He also mentions that every time he looked through a scope, there were “bad guys” for him to kill. Far more than any other snipers he was working with at the same time. You know what that suggests to me? Yeah. They weren't really all bad guys.

So, he loves killing “savages” to protect Americans and their way of life, but gets on his high horse when not everyone back home agrees with or supports what he and his comrades do. Guess what, psycho - That's one of the major things you're fighting to protect: The right to disagree.

The book is also extremely disappointing in what it doesn't talk about. If you are going to read one of these sorts of books, it's because you want to be a little bit pervy and nerdy and you want to hear what an expert has to say on the hows, whys and wherefores. As an example, he works with the Polish GROM a lot. He respects them but says there were a lot of differences in the way they did things. Then doesn't mention any of them. He's always getting into bar fights. Always. He never mentions any detail. Like I say, if you're reading a book about a SEAL, by a SEAL, you would expect to hear how a professional soldier handles these things. Nup.

He also says extraordinary things such as; the reason he didn't wear a helmet, but preferred a baseball cap on backwards, was because if you want to be cool, you have to look it.

Nup. No. Never. That is almost exactly the opposite of how real cool works.

Even more weird, is that it is just plain dull. I don't know how you achieve that when you are facing daily life-and-death situations but Chris Kyle and fellow writers managed it.

The one shining achievement that stands out for the American military machine, is the effectiveness of their indoctrination.

The delicious, horrible, mortal irony is that he was killed by one of his beloved comrades-in-arms, back home in the US. If it didn't leave a grieving family, you'd almost say it was poetic.

I will not be seeing the film.