Tag Archives: Shield

Macho Antidotes to the Royal Wedding – Part 1: Thor 3D at the cinema


If you’re not fed up with the circus yet, you soon will be. Every clowning performer, every newsreader, commentator and gushing crowd member, will be salt rubbed into your severely wounded mood. Gossiping and gawping at two rich strangers is irritating for half an hour, annoying for an evening and soul destroying after days and weeks. Wedding talk is a stressful and pointless nuisance. At the end of this week the womenfolk will be in an unstoppably riotous mood. It will be terrifying.

Your masculinity will be torturously chipped away. The usual refuge, the pub, will be hideously transformed into a paradise of bunting and delicate decoration. When the confetti and the cupcakes and the tiaras get too much, new escape routes will be needed. After the horrors of the day itself, you’ll need to rediscover your true self and chill out as a bloke again.

For the alternatives to the madness, the cures to wedding fever and feral femininity, keep it glued to Flickering Myth. We’ll remind you that there’s good honest entertainment worth living for after a monstrous marriage marathon.

Your first anti-wedding tip then is Kenneth Branagh’s (that’s right the thespian and national treasure, directing a comic book adaptation) eagerly anticipated Marvel epic Thor, in three dimensions courtesy of the now standard issue Elton John specs. After all what could be more manly than a hero with impossibly mahoosive muscles and a badass cape, whose principal superpower is a giant hammer for bashing stuff to bits? He’s a God-like handyman irresistible to women and the envy of lesser men.

I promised myself I wouldn’t resort to atrocious puns to describe the merits and failures of Branagh’s creation, as other reviews have done. But then I thorght, by Odin’s beard there’s no harm in saying that whilst this isn’t quite a thor star film, its plot hammers along with such thunderous gusto that it at least cracks the norse code of decent superhero movies for the most part. The critics are right to muck about with words and have fun with their reviews though; because Thor, whatever its faults, is a fun watch.

Despite the drawbacks of spending much of the running time in the CGI kingdom of Asgard, I found such a different setting mostly refreshing. Gleaming golden palaces, elaborate armour and impossible landscapes are ingredients unavailable to the likes of Batman and Iron Man, no matter how artificial the environment might sometimes seem. Undeniably at times the 3D CGI is visually dazzling and striking. There are even a number of good, thumping action scenes in the eternal realm. As some reviewers have pointed out, setting much of the film in Asgard ensures the audience becomes attached to it, whether they appreciate its over the top beauty or not.

There’s no doubt that the fun factor only truly kicks in when things literally crash down to earth though. There are a good number of gags, nearly all of which are LOL worthy. Thor amusingly thrashes about at the humans he interacts with, struggling to accept he is at the mercy of the mortals. He only really bonds with one of us human plebs, the beautiful and gorgeous (I do not have a crush!) Natalie Portman. She plays a scientist on the verge of some vague but momentous discovery to do with particles and space or something. Thor sees she is clever. And that she’s a woman too. Portman is by no means mesmerising as she is in Black Swan here, but she does the job asked of her by the story, as do Anthony Hopkins and even Chris Hemsworth as Thor, who looked so wooden in the trailer. No I don’t just think she did a good job because she’s hot.

You might like to know the basic thrust of Thor’s plot: Thor heir to throne, Thor seeks revenge on Frost Giants, Thor banished for breaking peace, Thor seeks to find lost hammer, Thor inadvertently falls for hot human scientist, Thor tries to return to save kingdom. I like to think he may have grunted it out bluntly like that. And yes you read that rightly, the bad guys in this are called Frost Giants. They are perhaps Thor’s weakest ingredient; childishly simple foes that are difficult to take seriously. But again they are at least different to standard superhero fare.

The best bits, besides the laughs, following Thor’s fall to earth are two stunning action scenes. The first sees Thor roaring like King Kong as he bashes a bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D agents. He’s trying to get to his beloved magical hammer, which is sealed off by awesome looking white tubes by the guys in suits that will link all Marvel’s superheroes together for the forthcoming Avengers film. The second climatic action scene sees Thor and his warrior friends fleeing from a fire breathing robot despatched by the traitor in Asgard’s camp to kill Thor.

This scene gets the best out of a small and dusty New Mexico town location; by smashing it to pieces with fantastic fiery explosions. The really impressive and surprising thing, especially given all the talk about Thor’s visual style, is the sound the killer robot makes every time it unleashes a fireball; it’s so piercing and deafening that you feel the impact of each blast. My friend violently flinched in surprise at one moment when the thing shaped up to slap something. Then in the aftermath of the destruction the soundtrack and the visuals reach suitably epic proportions for Thor’s big race against time comeback moment.

Thor is of course the God of Thunder, which is fitting given that most superheroes grapple with the stormy consequences of their own God complexes. Needless to say Thor predictably learns his lesson, to put others before yourself is truly heroic blah blah, but in engrossingly epic style. There is just something fun about this film, which makes you reluctant to dwell on its various faults and flaws. Thor ended leaving me wanting more from the character and more from his world, despite the silliness of some of the mythological squabbles. Branagh has not crafted the meaningful art he is accustomed to, but a fun and refreshing thorker of a blockbuster. He may be a prince, but Thor will easily sail your mind away from all things Royal.

Peaceful Protest or Manic March?


And of course, following on from my last post, those that died for our country died to preserve democracy, freedom of speech and the right to peaceful protest.

If you weren’t marching yesterday the impression you will have gained from the national media is one of troublemaking tearaways, descending on London with their purposeless, ignorant views, intent on causing damage and achieving thrilling highs with each frustration filled kick at the establishment, at unprepared police. If you were at the protest, as I was, you would have seen in excess of 50,000 perfectly peaceful but passionate people with a clearly shared general aim. I say “seen” but really you couldn’t see a lot beyond the immediate placards in front and behind you, but you could sense and feel the masses. My friend described it as a “sea of placards”. I went the whole day blissfully unaware that anything truly violent had taken place. The headline of The Times today reads “Thuggish and disgraceful”, in what I view to be a disgraceful piece of reporting. Of course for the media the story of the day was the eruption of rare violence but it is wrong to falsely brand such a vast swathe of respectful young people as “thuggish”. For one thing The Times headline takes out of context a quote from a police officer who had actually praised the majority of those attending the day, whilst condemning the minority his men were consequently surprised by.

Having said that I did not witness any violence all day, I did make it to Conservative Party HQ at Millbank, scene of the carnage, and the tense atmosphere in the air was chilling. Chilling in an exciting way. I was for the most part not fearful at all during my brief stay at Millbank. High-vis wearing organisers made half-hearted attempts to steer us away from the throng at Tory HQ, but having remembered what it was and just past the MI5 offices (which were apparently locked down at some point), I was keen to get a glimpse. I’d say we got about half way in but there was still a sizeable crowd between us and the doors, so later I could not say if glass had already been smashed or violence was already in progress. There was a fire going though, off to our left over more heads. It was fuelled by placards and the crude wooden sticks used to hold them aloft. Later I would see pictures of Cameron dunked into the flames in the papers, at the time I could only see the glimmer of orange reflected on the roof and smell the thick black fumes. Helicopters swirled past the towers overhead. Enthusiastic chanting, full of essentially harmless vitriol, went on with an endless intensity not noticeable elsewhere on the march. And as we left the sickening boom of an explosion close at hand foreshadowed the grisly scenes I would later learn about.

There was admittedly something exciting and inspiring about the atmosphere at Millbank, something I find slightly shameful having seen the damage caused there at some point during the day afterwards. There was an irresistible sense of something being done, of our indignation and righteousness being more adequately expressed. As someone I saw interviewed later on BBC News 24 said, the coalition now had Thatcher’s riots to go with her cuts. I do not in any way condone the violence, as it has undoubtedly smeared the message the ordinary marcher like myself was striving to hammer home, but there was a feeling amongst us that we ought to do something more than just walk and the added venom at Millbank was intoxicating. The country and the politicians needed to be sent a shocking signal, a wake-up call, which forced them to acknowledge the scale of the cuts was real and catastrophic, and as negative and transforming anything Thatcher or those before her dared to enact. But it’s almost certain the majority of the actual perpetrators were not even true to the cause but the moronic fanatics such large scale protests inevitably attract.

Prior to the seductive feel of the siege at Millbank, the march had been an impressive spectacle but an occasionally tedious and tame affair. The only glimpse of genuine revolutionary zeal before the flickering flames and fists pumping in the air at Millbank, was a red-hatted man with a megaphone in Parliament Square. This extraordinary speaker loitered in the area where protesting banners and signs permanently reside opposite Parliament; the sort proclaiming Iraq to be a war crime and Afghanistan a corporate expedition etc. Like a stand-up comedian he playfully bantered with the crowd, which had ground to a halt so that it was slowly trudging past Big Ben and the Commons at best. Groups were beginning a sit-down protest, with Nick Clegg probably still inside after taking over PMQ duty. Girls mounted traffic lights, litter swirled at our feet and drum beats pounded the air in the distance. He flattered us at first, saying what intelligent students we must be. Then he casually slipped in the conspiracy, urging us to use our intelligence and “connect the dots”. Just as I worried he was getting predictable, came his call to arms: “Think about it there aren’t enough police in this city to stop you all. Marching is good but won’t get it done, join me and occupy the city.” Or something to that effect, but more charismatically phrased. I was struck into excited laughter by the audacity of it. We hadn’t come to occupy London, Hitler and Napoleon had spent an awful lot of money and time and expertise trying to accomplish the same thing. Our spontaneous occupation, led by megaphone man, seemed unlikely to succeed therefore, but at the same time, glancing around me, the sheer numbers told me we would have a good go at it if we all stood together. The fantasy, that of a bygone age of socialist revolution, of people power and the possibilities of sudden change, truly motivated me.

Earlier at the march’s official start point on Horse Guards Avenue, speakers had tried to rally the troops. On the ground and in the thick of the towering placards however, the reality was that you could not hear the rhetoric, merely catching snatches of the speech. Each would unmistakeably end with the refrain “NO IFS, NO BUTS, NO EDUCATION CUTS” though. At times I think it may have been just as well for me that I could not hear the speakers, as I heard a glimpse of something about Trident at one point and there was inevitably other overly idealistic or socialist rhetoric I didn’t necessarily support. The striking white buildings on the avenue, dotted with innumerable windows, looming over us on each side, channelled the wind and the noise so that it was both a loud and cold wait for the off. The time was filled with idle talk about the changes being made by the coalition, its worst effects and the need for an alternative to march in support of.

There is undoubtedly a need for a well thought through alternative if opponents of the government’s scheme are to be credible, but the leading article in The Times today is unfairly harsh about the ignorance of students. It claims that the government system is an improvement in some ways, with the rise to £21,000 salary threshold, and it is only fair graduates pay for their education. However it neglects the deterrent such greater debts will act as to ordinary students from ordinary families, it ignores the fact that £21,000 is still an average wage and will often be earned without the burden of debt by those who didn’t attend university and “benefit” from it and most critically of all The Times ignores the key chant of the protest. We were marching against the absurdity of the government cutting funding by 40% (as well as the vital EMA payment, which needed tightening reform, not abolition) and then raising fees to plug that gap, creating a system which the students effectively pay for themselves and which is no better in terms of quality than the current one. British universities will continue to slide in comparison to international competitors, the government’s key claim, that their plan is sustainable, falls flat on its face.

Having said this I did feel absurd at times, marching alongside some with overly optimistic demands. I also felt bad for the unrelenting criticism coming the way of Nick Clegg. Whilst Clegg clearly made a terrible political miscalculation pledging himself and his party against any rise in fees, I still stand by my view of him espoused on this blog as an essentially admirable politician. As head of the junior partner in the coalition this is clearly one of the decisions that is principally Tory in its motivation. If the Lib Dems had total parliamentary control (an almost impossible to imagine scenario) then the spending could have been structured elsewhere to honour a pledge to students. As it was Clegg opted for some influence rather than none and has to bow to Cameron’s party on the bigger issues. The fact that the violence erupted at Tory HQ suggests the demonstrators and activists know who the real villain of the plan is, but there is still understandable anger about the Lib Dem “betrayal”. Clegg also set himself up for a frighteningly fall with his constant talk of honesty and honour in politics. I’d like to think he would still back a progressive alternative should one be found (hurry up Labour!) and I’m sure he’ll hope to return to the issue, perhaps with different allies. As it is though I did feel uplifted to be marching in solidarity with others against cuts to education; that Clegg should not have accepted so lightly and should have done more about.

When we did finally set off it was at a shuffling, rather than marching, pace. Having built up a lot of enthusiasm standing stationary for long periods, I was keen to stride ahead, but had to be content with feeling part of a massive, snaking entity, writhing through London streets, demanding to be heard. The shuffling continued with the occasional more spacious period, past Downing Street and painfully slowly through Parliament Square, all the way to the drama of Millbank. I took far too much pleasure in muttering to myself that David Cameron was miles away in China, as ignorant students directed personally tailored chant after chant at his famous black doorway as we passed Number Ten. I wished for a widescreen HD overview of events, for an action replay as I always did at live football matches in packed stadiums. It would have been nice to truly comprehend the scale of events from beyond my tiny worker ant perspective; to know where best my many, multiple protesting talents were to deployed. Where did they need me I wondered?

Despite the blinkered vision it was wonderful to feel part of history, to feel part of something greater with meaning, even if in reality it would prove politically ineffective. And as usual I loved wandering around London, seeing the Thames from all angles, absorbing that skyline. I’m getting far too used to and seduced by it. On top of it all I managed to share it with friends, as opposed to my usual solitary travels, some of whom I had not seen in a while. I didn’t get long enough in their company and I didn’t plant my flag within the bowels of Parliament, but all in all me and the beard had a good day out on the march.

Pre-Season Crossroads


What was meant to be a glorious summer for English football fell apart as always, crumbling into dust in the corners of history. The signs of disintegration began to show far too soon, making way for the traditional war of words between the believers and the pessimists. The sceptics may have been proven right by England’s capitulation in Bloemfontein but it was not a victory anyone wanted to savour.  With good reason football fans turn expectantly to the approaching juggernaut of the new Premier League Season, wanting to fall in love again with the game, happy to consume the product many say ruins the national side’s chances before a ball has been kicked. The best league in the world stands ready to blast aside the cobwebs of defeat and national humiliation.

Inevitably in this lull before the stormy rebirth of football changes are made, estimations reasoned and expectations adjusted. Every single team has its issues to resolve, its weaknesses, its reasons for optimism and its irreparable limitations. Decisions made in this vital period of preparation are likely to determine whether or not a team embarks on a path of progress or a slide to disappointing underachievement.

The traditional title contenders are examined in particular detail of course. On Sunday the two main protagonists flexed their muscles on the familiar, somewhat pedestrian battlefield of the Community Shield. Manchester United emerged victorious over Chelsea, with a two goal cushion that seemingly sent a defiant message to the new Champions that the trophy shall not be permitted to stay in London for long. And yet the experts and pundits doubt United’s title credentials and the Chelsea fans remain confident despite only modest moves for the likes of Yossi Benayoun in the transfer market.

Those who doubt United and praise Chelsea do so on the evidence of last season. Chelsea will start this campaign with essentially the same strong squad and finally have a consistent, capable manager at the helm, whilst United start the new season with glaring gaps, deficiencies and accidents waiting to happen. It would be wrong, on the basis of Paul Scholes’ dominant display in the Community Shield and Ryan Giggs’ continual class, to say that many of the key cogs in the machinery of the Red Devils are decaying and rusting into ineffective scrap. It is more accurate to describe these Old Trafford legends, preserved from the golden era of the treble in 1999, as priceless antiques capable of the highest quality but only now on rare occasions, due to an increasingly fragility that requires they be handled with the utmost care. And when Scholes and Giggs sit wrapped in protective cotton wool on the sidelines the burden falls all the more heavily on Wayne Rooney. Last season United were reduced to a one man team for long, dangerous spells when Ronaldo’s absence was acutely felt and the likes of Berbatov and Owen continually failed to step up and contribute sufficiently. No one is backing United for the title because the perils of an overreliance on Wayne Rooney’s brilliance were well and truly exposed at the World Cup.

One of the principle architect’s of England’s demise in South Africa was Mezut Ozil, the marauding young German midfielder who carved counter attack after counter attack. I believe that the outcome of Ozil’s future shall reveal a great deal about the true strength of not only United’s title challenge but future success. For recent coverage in the press has made it clear the Fergie is interested in the player and also that his contract issues at Werder Bremen provide a bargain. If United were to fail to sign Ozil, one of Europe’s most exciting prospects and a long term replacement for the creativity of Giggs and Scholes in midfield, it would expose a lack of support from the board and a step backwards in ambition that would not bode well for the future. This time there would be no excuses about wasting money with the sort of prices being discussed for a player of such potential. In the future United will need to replace the likes of Edwin Van Der Sar and Rio Ferdinand and if the Glazers cannot find the funds for a shrewd midfield acquisition now then the club’s finances must truly be in peril and the quality of the squad destined only to deteriorate.

Having said this no one has been foolish enough to discard United from the title mix, perhaps at the expense of big spending local rivals Manchester City. City have brought in high quality players and will have an excellent squad once again. Yaya Toure was once the solution to United’s lack of grit in midfield and David Silva the wing wizard to replace Ryan Giggs, but now both reside in the blue of Eastlands. The doubts remain over whether Mancini is the right man to lead a title charge however and whether he can possibly mould such a glittering squad into a productive starting eleven. United also have some fresh reasons for optimism, in particular the young Mexican Javier Hernandez, which will continue to ensure their presence in the title run-in. Hernandez’s pace will give United the threat of a genuine striker for the first time since Louis Saha left the club and the fans will hope he quickly contributes goals, as he has done in pre-season, to ease the burden on Rooney. The youngster certainly seems set to provide a more reliable threat than Michael Owen’s handful of appearances last season and provides another option for bringing out the best in Dimitar Berbatov, which is still surely yet to come. Overall though the critical consensus seems right to insist that unless United surprisingly strengthen before the end of the transfer window another season of magnificence from Rooney shall be needed for them to prise the title from Chelsea’s grasp.

If progress at Old Trafford has stagnated then things at Villa Park appear to have taken a wrong turn. The resignation of Martin O’Neil has left the club leaderless just days before the new season and groping around at uninspiring alternatives such as the American coach and Sven Goran Eriksson. After achieving a regular sixth place finish and a few impressive cup runs O’Neil leaves with his own reputation intact, perhaps wisely before his team’s limitations begin to show. The imminent sale of James Milner, following the previous saga of Gareth Barry, was understandably the final straw for O’Neil as he sought to take Villa to the next level of European football, despite the ever present obstacles of the Big Four and emerging powers with financial clout such as Spurs and Man City. If O’Neil was ever going to achieve that he needed backing in the transfer market as well as his motivational qualities. Frustratingly for him in the time it took Villa to admit to their lack of ambition exciting challenges like the Liverpool and England jobs slipped away. It remains to be seen if he’ll ever get his big break.

Fabio Capello meanwhile certainly received a big let off. He has admitted that he would have understood had the FA dismissed him following the World Cup debacle and it is difficult to see how he can recover his position. Prior to the tournament he was hailed as a cold disciplinarian with the tactical genius to steer England to glory. Now public admiration has turned to suspicion and derision and his new squad reveals a lack of ideas for reviving the body of English football from a paralysis inflicted courtesy of counter attacking German boots. The international resignations of Paul Robinson and Wes Brown following the squad announcement for this week’s friendly with Hungary have added further lashings of humiliation and embarrassment to Capello’s feast of failure. Whatever happens in this futile friendly fixture, the England players shall be deservedly snubbed in favour of the return of club football and any new hopes shall take much longer to create and younger, visionary squad selection from the Italian in the future.