2013-05-22T11:16:54-04:00 Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=tom-cook Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Tom Cook Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.2101970 2012-11-09T12:51:32-05:00 2013-01-09T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
I've always loved Bond, ever since my grandma sent me the entire video collection when I was 7 (giving appropriate presents was never my grandma's forte). I'd watch James Bond movie marathons (each one in succession, none left out). I'd hold James Bond birthday parties. I'd impress and slightly perturb adults with my encyclopedic knowledge of Bond's conquests. I'd spend hours in the bath, directing fight scenes between Bond and a succession of baddies (represented by Power Rangers), around the edge of the evil mastermind's ginormous bowel of deadly acid.

I was enraptured by the movies. I desperately wanted to be the spy. I loved everything about 007; the way he held himself, the way he did what he wanted, took what he wanted when he wanted it, his individuality, his resourcefulness, determination. His versatility to master any skill, escape any danger, overcome any foe. He wrote his own rules. He had the total freedom of someone with unstoppable, irresistible power.

It didn't matter which incarnation, the character remained the same. Connery, Lazenby (underrated), Moore, Dalton, Brosnan. All unapolagetically, to use the psychosocial buzzword, 'alpha-male'.

Suffice it to say, the Bond of 2012, of Skyfall, of Daniel 'Depth' Craig, is a different animal entirely. By contrast he seems almost apologetic of his masculinity, as if he is personally to blame for the global dominance of the white male in the last few thousand years.

In Skyfall, the movie-makers strove to make it crystal clear that everyone is equal to Bond, in every respect. This put a dampener on natural chemistry and banter emerging with his cohorts. Moneypenny is now lady-Bond, matching 007 blow for blow, stunt for stunt. Gone is the time Bond would walk in on a glamorous femme in a suggestive state of undress, now it was the macho Moneypenny walking in on Bond posing half-naked in a towel, before seducing him.

Q's no longer merely gadget man. He's now hacker extraordinaire, potentially more important to HMSS than Bond himself (despite the filmmakers' desperate attempts to emphasise Bond's unreconstructed worth in a digital age). M has now gone from exasperated, mocking superior ("I think you're a sexist, misogynist dinosaur") to supreme commander, a dominant force taking bullets and pesky government interference in her omnipotent stride, treating Bond like a child. Of course M is boss, but there was always the implication that Bond continued to appease his masters only as far as it suited him. Now he looks more and more like a government lackey.

Sam Mendes et al were so desperate to bring the franchise up to speed with modern social mores that there was even a suggestion Bond is bisexual. It's okay guys! Relax! Bond's not perfect and was never meant to be so!

The character was not created to be a saint or even a particularly nice person. Certainly no bastion of progress. Ian Fleming's creation had precious little backstory, he was simply a male window out of the drudgery of 1950's post-war Britain, into a world of exotic locales, glamorous women and expensive luxuries. Nothing more, nothing less. The movies expanded this escapism into a slightly more juvenile boys' fantasy, but Bond remained more a portal than a fully fleshed-out character.

Attempts by recent filmmakers to delve deeper into 007's personality have highlighted his essential shallowness. In three films, the most we've learnt is he's an orphan. And...that's it.

The frustrating thing is Brosnan's Bond actually toed the line between fantasy and progress very neatly. Goldeneye, Tomorrow Never Dies, World is Not Enough and Die Another Day are all filled with strong women who, if not perhaps his equal, could more than hold their own in a battle of wits or a gunfight. A far cry from Goldfinger's buxom masseuse Dink, whose inglorious three minute appearance in the series as piece of mere lady-flesh was capped by her being spanked by Connery and told to leave as it's 'man-talk'.

Brosnan showed enough emotional depth to make him interesting, whilst maintaining a necessary distance. The beach sequence in Goldeneye between him and Natalya ("How can you be so cold?" "It's what keeps me alive". "It's what keeps you alone") is genuinely moving, and showed a glimpse of vulnerability under the superhero exterior. In World Is Not Enough, Bond is seduced and tortured by Sophie Marceau's Electra King, and has to be rescued in a brilliant scene with Robbie Coltrane and an unusual walking stick.

But at no stage did you feel Brosnan's Bond was a victim. He always maintained an overriding authority, the supremely confident presence of a man in control. It's hard to imagine anyone calling Brosnan, or Connery, or Moore, a "little shit", as Albert Finney does to the downtrodden Craig in his recent outing.

Ultimately, I think it might just not be permissible to make an old-school Bond movie in today's social climate. A movie where women are objects of desire, men are either baddies or assistants, and emotions are drowned out by gunfire and martinis. It's sad, because in my eyes Bond is harmless male fantasy, nothing sinister or threatening. I hope the tempering of the franchise's escapist edge is just down to the whim of a certain group of sensitive filmmakers.

But if Bond's neutering is an inevitable by-product of a socially progressive age, where white men are no longer a domineering, oppressive influence, I welcome it.

Godspeed Bond. You've served us well, but maybe it's your time.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1948488 2012-10-08T12:17:44-04:00 2012-12-08T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
The problem with such people is that their confidence is, by its very nature, built on deeply insecure foundations. 'Looks' is such a comparative quality that these people must be on edge all the time, for fear that someone with a slightly stronger jawline or better haircut will come gliding into view and burst their fragile, designer bubble.

Equally, those who get their confidence from status are, at any moment, at serious risk of losing their mojo. You may be the boss, but only as long as the big bosses upstairs say so. You may be popular, but staying popular is a full-time job; one slip, one momentary lapse in concentration and you're behind the trend, you've missed the boat, and now you're paddling furiously in the water, screaming for them to throw down a life-preserver because you're just a nobody who never learnt to swim.

Okay I got a bit lost in my metaphor there, but what I'm trying to say is; people need egos to survive, I understand that. Without them we'd all crumple into a tiny, lifeless ball of self-doubt and despair. And everyones egos are powered by different things, I understand that too. I just wish more people got their confidence from a) being a nice person b) being good at something and working really hard at it to be successful.

That's not such an outlandish wish since we're all (most of us) nice people who fundamentally like other people. And we're all good at something, and we can all work hard when we have to.

I have this dream of a fantastical, alternate universe where people's egos are entirely powered by how nice they are. Not only that but status, wealth and fame are all powered by it too. X-Factor is now K-Factor: contestants are really kind to each other for 35 minutes, at the end of which the judges go "You were all lovely! But who's the loveliest...", and Simon Cowell gives the losers all foot rubs. The series winner is given a million quid and sent out to be extravagantly kind to people all over the world.

Entire industries are based around being nice. Professional good samaritans are paid top wage to be utterly selfless and make others feel good about themselves. Politicians are voted in on the basis of how well they'll treat the less fortunate: "Free... everything for the poor! Weekly visits from a randy supermodel for the unemployed! Marijuana for the elderly! Or their drug of choice!"

Such a world is unobtainable, since it is by its very nature contradictory - egos are concerned with the self, whereas selflessness is obviously concerned with other people. Everyone would be horribly conflicted. Meekly shuffling down the street, pinning yourself against buildings so as not to get in anyone's way, would be swagger. Awkwardly shifting attention away and asking how great you've done recently would be bragging. Quietly helping an old lady cross the road would be showing off.

I'm not trying to change anything by writing this, I think people pretty much remain themselves throughout life, with all their insecurities, prejudices and pride. I guess the most important thing to remember is: no matter who you are, how you are, or why you are, you should find a way to love yourself because you're pretty great. Believe me. (Not sure why you should).]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1916812 2012-09-28T19:00:00-04:00 2012-11-28T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/ Thank Me Later pretty much sounded its death knell, in my eyes.

Virtually everything I once loved about rap music was missing; rhythmically exciting drum patterns, baselines and hooks inspired by 70s soul, and a charismatic MC capable of both street toughness and thoughtfulness. Drake came across as a simpering, emasculated wreck, as if to appeal to a modern and sexually egalitarian society his record company decided to surgically suck out his machismo. I wouldn't be surprised if he carries his testicles around in a dainty testicles purse.

Because that was always part of the fun of hip-hop. The genre is unashamedly masculine. It provided young (middle-class) males a gateway to a fascinating world they dared not tread and were grateful they didn't have to. For three and half minutes you could feel the rush of being a notorious gangster, feared and admired in your ghetto, enjoying the spoils of your ill-gotten wealth. Then with the song over you'd return to your tube train, without having to deal with the repercussions of shooting half your neighbourhood to establish a drugs empire.

I understand the genre's evolved, and mindless street posturing has been replaced by introspection on major themes like the nature of fame, politics, and society's ills, and I think that's a good thing. Nas' 1994 debut album 'Illmatic' was as philosophical as it gets. Krs-One has always challenged his listeners' prejudices and appealed to their intellect. Even whilst signed to Death Row, hip-hop's 'Gangsta Rap' staple, Tupac continued to pen lamentations on desperate, crack-addicted single mothers.

But these rappers all had a good enough understanding of their audience to maintain a balance. The music remained crowd-pleasingly funky, even whilst the lyrics could provide the basis for a thesis. Street kids could bump it in their car (apparently), whilst the detached intelligentsia could hail its 'rawness', 'dexterous wordplay', and 'haunting depictions of a low-income stratosphere trapped in a cycle of poverty'. And this is where much of the new breed (Drake, Kid Cudi, Wale, Kendrick Lamar) fall down. Never mind that modern 'pop rappers' wallow in neurotic self-doubt and desperate yearning for unrequited love, as though they're ghost-written by a particularly self-regarding teenage girl.

I have nothing against softness in rap music, some of my favourite tracks are love songs (see Ghostface Killah's 'Back Like That', LL Cool J's 'Hey Lover'). But hip-hop always needs that edge, both musically and lyrically. In fact, in my opinion any music does. Otherwise it just dissolves into a gooey mess and you sit there, nonplussed, wondering if you prefer broccoli or cauliflower and how long you could slap Bon Iver before he started crying.

Hip-hop's icons are still making music, but most have either stagnated artistically, poorly mimicking their fresh 90s output with uninspired production, or attempted to move with the times and descended into that weirdly bland emotionless electro-synth dance, which is presumably designed to appease our robot masters should Apple products ever gain sentience and rule us through telepathy. The most creative artists have moved on to pastures new, with Kanye West increasingly distancing himself from his soul-sampling 'chipmunk' past by delving into baroque instrumentals and rock collaborations, and Outkast (well, Andre 3000) giving up rapping entirely to sing a garbled mix of blues, folk and funk.

Fortunately, one rap artist has poked his head above the sagging parapet. Last year's Cole World: The Sideline Story was a breath of fresh air: an open window in a room full of farts. It was original and creative; as J Cole produced the album himself, the stale sounds of over-used producers Timberland and Swizz Beats were mercifully avoided. The music had a live, organic feel, with liberal use of piano and clever sprinklings of acoustic guitar, bass, and flute. The drums were forceful and hard-hitting, with J Cole unafraid of a heavy impact snare. If the sensitive Drake was forced to rap over the punchy 'Rise And Shine' he'd be bedridden for a week, shivering and pale-faced, with his mum bringing him hot chocolate and cheese on toast to calm his nerves.

Cole is a versatile MC. His voice has a strength and conviction belying an ego ready to best all challengers, in a rap battle or one of hip-hop's juvenile 'beefs'. There's a toughness about him to suggest he can fight his corner. But his lyrics are considered and self-aware, and never self-indulgent. Songs like 'Breakdown' display an appealing openness and convey empathy and depth of emotion. Cole is equally adept at intricate wordplay, seductive romance, and vivid storytelling.

So it's with great anticipation that I await J Cole's new releases and his second self-produced LP, expected next year. In the meantime I shall be studiously avoiding the respective outputs of Flo Rida, Nicki Minaj and the aforementioned Drake, and attempt to musically freeze myself in 1994 by listening to Notorious BIG's 'Ready To Die' on repeat.

(For a good introduction to the varied talents of J Cole, check out "Who Dat" and the softer "Sideline Story".)]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1906006 2012-09-24T19:00:00-04:00 2012-11-24T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
1. Pep Guardiola

The man most capable of safeguarding Fergie's legacy of consistent success, the Catalan coach may also be the only one able to supplant him. If the ex-Barcelona boss can instill his superior pass and move 'carousels' strategy into the club, tallied with a youth system conveyor belt producing endless technically gifted youngsters, Man Utd's future is assured. Urbane, sophisticated, Guardiola is like AVB except he can grow a beard and didn't learn his man-management skills from a three week seminar at Lisbon University.

2. David Moyes

Everton's fellow Glaswegian has achieved impressive results with a threadbare squad and threadbare-r (?) budget. His transfer market nous is not far off Sir Alex's, and his side plays football with the kind of style and panache more suited to a sexy Spanish coastal town than a suburb in one of Britain's most grimly industrial cities. Plus he has likely developed a burning resentment for Liverpool which will endear him to the fans. How he will deal with the huge pressure of managing a leading club remains to be seen, however.

3. Jose Mourinho

The "Only One" has previously expressed a desire to return to England and his admiration for the Red Devils is well-known. It would be a unique challenge for him, though one I'm not sure is best suited to his talents. The pragmatic Portuguese is unmatched at getting the best out of a squad, playing a functional and direct style using mid-late pros at their absolute peak. However he's yet to prove he can build for the future or regenerate a successful but ageing side with fresh talent. Plus the machine-like efficiency of his tactics may not endear him to supporters used to seeing swashbuckling adventure each week.

4. Martin O'Neill

Tyne and Wear's foremost criminology fanatic is criminally underrated after leading Wycombe from Conference to League Two, Leicester to two League Cups, Celtic to three titles and a UEFA cup final, and Aston Villa to consecutive sixth-placed finishes. The Northern Irishman deserves another stab at a big club. He has the interpersonal skills of a confidence trickster, the ambition of a drug lord, and the assiduousness of a serial killer. His teams play with the structure of the Mafia and the attacking precision of a hitman. Plus, like Fergie, he has the obsession with youth of a... PE teacher. The only problem is the old don is now in his 60's so won't be able to mastermind any kind of legacy.

These are all viable options. However knowing Fergie, his successor will no doubt come entirely out of left-field, e.g. up-and-coming manager of a second-division Polish team. And the cycle of success at United will continue for the next millenia, or until society becomes so virtual that humans evolve a wi-fi router instead of legs and football is redundant.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1896138 2012-09-21T19:00:00-04:00 2012-11-21T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
Shy people reading this probably think of their social inhibition as a disability. Certainly society seems to view it that way, which is what Simonsen (funny guy, YouTube him) was highlighting. 'Outgoing' is seen as a positive trait on a par with 'generous', 'conscientious', and 'protects tiny animals'. Quiet people are seen as by turns lacking in confidence, aloof, and bottling up a murderous hatred of the world. Indeed, quiet people themselves are often highly self-critical of their inability to open up around others.

But I'm here to give shy people the good news: there are perks!

1. People (and by people I mostly mean women, or men depending on who you'd like to impress) will romanticise you as mysterious, a deep thinker. The amount of of times I've heard whispered "Where's he going? So mysterious..." as I painfully extract myself from an awkward group situation, where my only contribution in over an hour was to accidentally cough, bringing mortifying attention to my silent presence, is remarkable.

As I fairly sprint to the sanctuary of my room, where the untold comforts of Escape From Monkey Island (my favourite computer game) and sour cream pringles await, attractive women may well be saying to each other "Gosh, such an enigma. He's probably gone to write some deeply meaningful poetry or a part-time job mentoring teenage delinquents." "Yes", the other agrees, as I punch the air having completed the tricky second level and settle down to more pringles; "I'd love to probe his depths".

2. You're more likely to avoid trouble. Although it may not seem that way from a social perspective (if you want to make an impression, for instance), one of the most useful skills of being a quiet, reserved person is the ability to blend into the background. I very rarely got in trouble at school, and I've never been embroiled in a fight. When I want to, I can disappear in broad daylight. I predict if there was a massive worldwide manhunt for me, I could sit in Hyde Park reading a book and Interpol would be stumped.

3. Shy people are better lovers. It's a scientific fact.

4. You're less easily swayed by the crowd. This is a bit of a generalisation, but people who are reserved and slightly detached tend to be quite deliberate when making their mind up about things, and are more cautious about jumping on bandwagons. They're more likely to chuck a spoke at the bandwagon's wheels.

5. Being comfortable on your own. Many shy people could live quite happily as a hermit, only needing occasional interaction for sex and food. Were there a nuclear holocaust, a lone shy survivor would last much longer than a lone outgoing one, provided he had access to some attractive animals (see above).

So quiet, socially anxious people of the world: step forth with hope in your heart and courage in your faltering, cracking voice!]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1898427 2012-09-21T07:36:03-04:00 2012-11-21T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
Snooker (and pool) have traditionally been the reserve of the athletically-challenged, sports enthusiast kids, like table-tennis and darts. You might not win any races on sports day, but with a little practice you can easily rise to become unofficial parlour games champion of Year 9. Lower years will stare in awe as you pass in the corridor, whispering mythical tales of impossible long pots. Girls will titter excitedly round the table-tennis table, as you forehand smash the Chinese kid with his expensive bat.

Later on, familiarity with the felt proved useful in the pub; helping you win money off mates, impress grizzled old regulars and providing a talking point with girls.

I suppose snooker's long-standing association with drinking houses has harmed its credibility as a serious sport. People think if a game can be played whilst holding a pint it can't be very taxing. Which is fair enough, snooker is not the most physical of sports. It's rare to see players break into a sweat, unless they have a fever or the air-con is broken. They sit on comfy chairs between points, lest the leather on their dinner shoes scuffs. It's the only professional sport played wearing a suit.

And yet I hold the same spectator affection for snooker as I do for football, and tennis. It occupies a unique position in a world of frenzied, fast-paced, instantly gratifying sports, and it should be cherished. Contrast the gladiatorial football stadiums, with its rabid tribal fans baying for blood, wingers leaping five feet into the air to con the referee, defenders tugging shirts and whispering obscenities into strikers' ears, and managers hurling abuse at officials, players and anything that comes into their line of view, with the almost monastic tranquillity of a snooker arena.

Football is a game to arouse emotion but snooker is too, in a different way. There's something hypnotic about its infinite stillness, gently punctuated at intervals by an audience cough, the commentator muttering something about a double kiss, the soft clacking of ball on ball and the satisfying swish as a colour drops lightly into the pocket.

As you slowly become enveloped in its calming embrace, you'll begin to notice who's playing and what the score is, and like any other sport you'll begin to engage with the competition. That's when it's got you.

Because snooker is an exciting, relentlessly unpredictable game when you start to follow it. A player may be striding confidently around the table one minute, having stroked in a lightning break of 52 and seemingly on course for an easy frame, when the next he's missed an straightforward pot and his opponent clears up. Momentum swings back and forth with violent force. At virtually any stage of a match, it's impossible to pick a winner.

There's no question the gameplay takes time to pick up. You soon realise that each pot is part of a bigger strategy; players are thinking three or four moves ahead at all times. Failure to get the white ball into a good position for the next shot can spell disaster for the entire match, even if the coloured ball is successfully potted. Snooker is a game of precision, subtlety, and unwavering nerves.

Snooker has its legends, heroes and villains like any other sport. The tempestuous, prodigiously talented Ronnie O'Sullivan, his unmatched natural gifts tempered by a destructive capacity for self-loathing. The brash upstart Judd Trump, a fearless long-potter from unlikely angles, his youthful impishness married with the mature safety game of a seasoned pro. Steady John Higgins, the consistent champion who perseveres with a cool head when those around him are losing theirs. And the unknown quantities creeping in from China: ruthless break-builders like Ding Junhui and Liang Wenbo, schooled in severe snooker training camps from the age of 3, where failure to apply enough side on a midtable pink results in your identity being wiped and forced exile to a Siberian Yak farm.

Sure, snooker matches tend to last around six hours, many players have the charisma of a root vegetable, and recently it's been mired in continuous match-fixing scandals. It's not a perfect sport certainly. But a lovable one despite its faults.

So please Barry Hearn, have faith in its reclusive, misfit charm. Don't turn it into some bastardised, Americanised corporate farce, where players are forced to enter the arena to the sound of detergent jingles, skate round the table on rollerblades, and sip energy drinks demonstratively between points ("The new Lucozade 'Max Fresh' really seems to have perked up his cue action, John!"). Thank you.

Go watch.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1874444 2012-09-11T13:21:14-04:00 2012-11-11T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
1. Lionel Messi is so damn good because he has cheated fate. He operates outside the structured laws of nature. How? As a child, Messi had growth hormone injections to correct a genetic deficiency and ensure he would grow to the size of an adult human, as opposed to his predestined miniature size. Giving him the speed and close control of an oompa lompa but scaled up. Unfair.
2. Is football evolving, in a not dissimiliar way to the human race?

Okay, so Barca didn't win the Champions League, but Spain strolled the Euros so the question still stands. Are we witnessing the evolution of football?

According to my understanding, evolution of the modern human began with the adoption of language. More generally though, what set us apart from our bigger Neanderthal cousins and Homo Erectus forebears was our cerebral advantage; smaller more delicate bodies housing complex, intuitive minds which used its wits to outlive the competition. We realised that dominance of our competitors came not through individual size and strength but through quick-witted teamwork, the clever fashioning of sharp weapons, and reducing disease by cooking our food.

In some ways, Barcelona (and Spain) are those humans. I'd go so far as to say that when compared, their nearest competitors, Real Madrid, are positively Neanderthal.

Barcelona and Spain operate on a higher cerebral plane than their competitors. They have hit upon the most efficient way to dominate football games; keep the ball with quick, short passing, each player spending minimal time in possession so he can't get closed down. This entails two things: 1. As the opposition barely has the ball attacks on your goal are very rare, thus the likelihood of conceding is rare. 2. The opposition's relentless and seemingly futile chasing of the ball will wear down their stamina, morale and concentration. Inevitably, they will let their guard slip and that's when Barca/Spain strike, opening them up with intricate, mathematically precise through balls.

The style places its entire emphasis on teamwork; no man is ever left isolated in possession, the ball travels round the field being shifted between tight groups of three or four ("Passing carousels", Alex Ferguson called them), and when they lose the ball they immediately hunt it down in a pack to win it back.

Such a style requires midfielders like Iniesta, Xavi, Silva, Messi, Cazorla, Hazard; players with great speed of thought, tricky footwork, intuitive reading of the game, lightning anticipation, and a rational head content to play simple, short balls with the knowledge that they are serving the bigger gameplan of possession dominance. These players with greater cerebral agility tend to be found in a smaller body type (something to do with a more sensitive nervous system perhaps).

By contrast, Neanderthal challengers Madrid utilise a standard gameplan to its maximum effectiveness. Filled with perfect physical specimens such as Ronaldo, Ramos, Pepe and Ozil, Madrid play a powerful and direct game, using wingers and big forwards, which is easily able to adapt into a counter-attacking or possession mode depending on their opponents.

However, led by talisman Ronaldo, Madrid lack the evolved supra-team ethos of Barca/Spain and thus will always be tactically inferior. Madrid are a collection of very strong individuals who are marshalled well into a style designed to maximise their personal talents. Ronaldo is clearly more physical than Messi, Ozil faster than Iniesta, Pepe stronger than Busquets. But the Madridistas retain their primitive egos, their Neanderthal urge to wage their own private battles and so stand a greater chance of losing the ball. Unlike Messi et al, whose egos are subverted within the team's ego.

Of course Barcelona/Spain can be beaten, as Chelsea and Madrid have done on occasion, but usually by being stifled rather than outplayed.

That's not to say the advanced gameplan of relentless possession will immediately take over. Rather, like human evolution, it will be a gradual process whereby tactically simple teams will be be forced into that style to win trophies or fail to adapt and fall by the wayside.

Or:

This is all bull, and we'll soon revert to a 4-4-2 state of nature once more a la after 1970's Holland's Total Futbol.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1859349 2012-09-05T18:01:14-04:00 2012-11-05T05:12:01-05:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
It is while pondering such cheery thoughts that I ate my breakfast cereal this morning. It rather put all my current worries into perspective. So I have no job, no girlfriend, and my housemate is showing increasing signs of being a serial killer. Apparently leaving water on the bathroom floor after a shower is a crime punishable by death, or worse, in Lithuania. She rearranged the sitting room yesterday so that all 6 chairs, TV, table, plants, and books were at geometrically severe 90 degree angles. Her attention to detail is such that I'm sure she could kill me, splattering blood and entrails everywhere, and 30 minutes rigorous cleaning later it would look like a nursing home again.

These troubles were in perspective. I was dealing with more pressing matters. If nothing has to exist at all, how can we find meaning in our lives? What is important? Clearly from a biological perspective we exist because we were born, and our function as a member of our species is to continue that species by propagating. But that's no real comfort. I wanted to work out what was the underlying force of life, what makes each life significant and worth living, how I can be fulfilled as a person.

And I came to a conclusion. One aspect of human life is, I believe, more important, meaningful and fulfilling than anything else. That is; connections.

The connections we share with others underly our lives so totally and unfailingly that we often don't notice them. Many have an awareness of them, but it can take a traumatic severing of an intense, life-giving connection to make you realise how vital they really are. They feed us energy, drive us, and enrich our everyday lives. We live for that moment of eye contact with a new person, the unspoken understanding which is immediately and intuitively formed without words. Being able to follow their train of thought with full confidence you're on the right track (ha).

Connections can be weak or strong. You may be able to share a laugh with one friend, but with another you can share complete silence and still be happy. Connections can be fabricated, people can be duped by charismatic con artists and cult figures who are skilled in creating a mirage of a bond to sway crowds to their whim.

Strong connections can lead humans to perform amazing acts of sacrifice and altruism. They give us worth, make us feel understood and normal. Their power is unbridled.

What I'm saying, I guess, is I need more mates.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1655393 2012-07-06T19:26:06-04:00 2012-09-05T05:12:07-04:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
Time will tell whether Ocean's revelation that his first love as a 19-year-old was a boy will affect his career adversely. The urban music world he inhabits is notoriously macho. A stock phrase for many rap artists is "No homo", as in "Suck a dick, no homo". During the beef between rap juggernauts 50 Cent and Rick Ross, both men traded what they felt were the most insulting insults possible in an attempt to harm the other's career. 50 Cent questioned his Miami competitor's integrity by calling him 'Officer Ricky' in reference to his stint as a prison officer, whilst Ross simply questioned 50 Cent's sexuality, referring to 50 Cent's G-Unit group as 'Gay Unit'. Heterosexual Californian rapper Lil B released an album last year entitled 'I'm Gay', possibly as a marketing attempt to show off his idiosyncrasy ; "I'm not gonna stop and I'm not scared of anybody on earth. That's why I [titled the album I'm Gay] and nobody gonna stop me." He received death threats on Twitter and Facebook.

Hip-hop's aversion to homosexuality is not necessarily homophobic, but rather an aversion to the perceived characteristics of gay men; a lack of toughness, aggressiveness, and a submissive attitude, undesirable qualities to have when growing up on brutal housing projects. Frank Ocean is an RnB singer so his coming out is likely to have less of an effect than a rapper coming out, but it was still a brave thing to do. And the reaction so far has been largely positive, with rap mogul Russell Simmons stating: "I am profoundly moved by the courage and honesty of Frank Ocean". The most encouraging reaction Ocean could get however, is simply - no reaction.

Indifference is surely what every formerly oppressed minority should strive for, as it is the ultimate indicator of acceptance. Anderson Cooper has had few words of encouragement from fellow media personalities, no big displays of support from the public because simply, no-one really cares. Cooper's largely white middle-class audience are relatively unconcerned one way or the other, their sensibilities are affected neither positively or negatively. His being gay does not upset their world view, or disturb their moral code. As his sexuality does not affect his ability as a journalist, the news is largely irrelevant to most. Good for him, now let's get on with our lives.

Frank Ocean must hope his listeners and record company are open-minded enough not to give a stuff. There are signs that hip-hop is moving forward, with rappers Jay-Z, Ice Cube and T.I recently proclaiming their support for gay marriage. Kanye West has described his switch from homophobia to tolerance after he learnt one of his cousins was gay: "And I wanna just come on TV and tell my rappers, tell my friends, 'Yo, stop it (discriminating)." Fellow Odd Future member Tyler the Creator, who has provoked controversy for frequently using the word faggot in his raps, has said he's "proud" of Ocean.

But the New Orleans native would be best served with this response: "And? Lets get some lunch."]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1651020 2012-07-05T10:00:50-04:00 2012-09-04T05:12:15-04:00

Tom Cook http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tom-cook/
In a recent interview, producer of the 'Amazing Spider-man' Matt Tolmach said the movie will bring the franchise up to date with the new generation, as it'd been 10 years since the original Spider-man, directed by Sam Raimi and starring Tobey Maguire, was released: "The world we live in has changed, technology has changed, attitudes towards life has changed." I'm not sure how radically different this generation is from the last. I'm not sure whether the introduction of the iPhone and Tulisa has really changed the youth's perception of the world enough to justify this movie.

But the remake which has really got my goat is the upcoming Total Recall remake. I understand it may be necessary to update movies which have a strong story but have dated terribly in visuals, 1951's the 'Thing' being a good example. John Carpenter's 80's remake was excellent, maintaining the suspense of the original whilst introducing some delicious, gloopy gore. But 1990's Total Recall is a classic of the sci-fi action genre, and was made at a high point of physical special effects, for which it won an Oscar (Special Achievement Award for Visual Effects). It's exactly what you want from a sci-fi actioner; fast-paced, larger-than-life characters, and importantly doesn't take itself too seriously. Paul Verhoeven was a master of balancing tragedy, comedy, and kick-ass gunfights coated in over-blown gore. Arnold Schwarzenegger is always watchable, a great action hero who is relatable despite being an unstoppable force of nature. It also had the usual roll call of scheming 80's villains: the charismatic Michael Ironside, the devious Ronny Cox, femme fatale Sharon Stone.

The story and direction cannot be improved on, so the motivation for making a new version must be to use computer graphics. Admittedly occasional scenes in the 1990 original contain rather obvious special effects, for instance the scene where Arnie (plasticine model) pulls out the homing device through his nose, but would updating it make any difference to our enjoyment of the film? And if you allow one scene to be computerized you've got to expect that every scene which might require a little time and effort to film in the real world will now simply be created in an office. Which utterly takes you out of the moment. When you realise 70% of what you're seeing is SFX it becomes very hard to suspend your disbelief.

In an on-set interview, director of the upcoming Total Recall pointlessity Len Wiseman said his main influence for the movie was the original Philip K Dick short story 'We Can Remember It For You Wholesale': "The impetus to do it was based on picking up the short story, reading it, and saying wow it would be great to do this". Wiseman, of 'Underworld' fame, is noted as a director who sees plot development and coherent dialogue as irritating distractions from relentless SFX fight scenes. I'm glad he inserted the 'reading it' portion into that quote, otherwise I might have assumed he simply picked up the book, said "What the hell is this?!", be informed it was the source for Verhoeven's masterpiece and decide to make his own version featuring his wife and a few plot tweaks, knowing that because the title is recognisable it will sell tickets. Dick wrote 121 short stories! Dig a little deeper Len!

There are reported remakes of Mad Max, Robocop, Lethal Weapon, and Romancing the Stone in the pipeline. Why are the 80's being so mercilessly exploited? Movie studios clearly lack respect for these 30-year-old classics, because there's no word of a Casablanca remake, or the Apartment, or the Great Escape, or the Godfather. No, these are hallowed turf. But apparently the 80's can be ridden roughshod over - "Meh, not bad, but we'll do it better". I beg to differ.]]>