My lips are moving but there's no sound. Someday somebody's going to get run down.

I’ve got nothing to talk about.

Really.

The semantics of it might be there’s nothing I want to talk about, but it’s the same thing.

If you’ve been with me a while you know I can talk about nothing if I want to. Wrap some colourful complaints together under a title and throw in a picture...Bing. Posted and ready.

But I feel so bored by the thought of it. I phoned in the Clubber Lang one. My heart wasn’t in it. I’m cheating you again today by bringing you a blog for the sake of it.

I should have spent all this time doing the West Memphis 3 article I've inteded to write since I started this account. I've not.

I nearly let the Black Dog do the talking today. Just had a big old rant that covered everything from the man I saw two days ago walking towards me with his cock out, tugging on it, to my dismay that a middle-class white couple visiting an old man in Rome generates so much press coverage when really, what the fuck has that got to do with anything? I doubt very much they are the only, or even the most, tragic case in all of the Catholic faith and how exactly does this help them find their daughter? In fact how does any of this circus help? I’ve also felt like having a rant about honour killings and that poor girl who had appealed to the police for help something like five times before she was pointlessly snuffed out by ignorant inhuman fucks. Could have ranted about a gang of idiots boo-hooing over an author’s knighthood because a book they’ve never read might contradict things they’re mistaken about anyway. I could have told you about the lady who came up to me and said “Jesus loves you.” And when I said “No, he does not” stood in the street making the same noise I would to indicate wheel-spin on a toy car, or her rendition of the signal TV sets give out when there’s no TV on them any more.

But I complain too much already, and it’s unattractive. I’m experimenting this year with whether or not I can be attractive, so I’m going to skip the fury. I’ve been reading The Game by Neil Strauss. It’s going to solve everything.

But what else is there? I’m not up to much. I come home from being on the computer with all the numbers and don’t really want to go my computer with all the words. I don’t do anything else worth your while. From the end of May to now I’ve read a bunch of books. I’ve listened to a lot of AC/DC and Deep Purple. I’ve watched films that have either New York or Gangsters in them. Both ideally. I went to a bar in Clapham that wasn’t very good – but I’d go there again just to get out into the world some more. I met the very same celebrity I met a few articles ago, in more or less the same place and had a much more awkward and depressing time of it. World War Hulk has begun. The Master has returned. Amphibious monsters attacked my cabin and I had to go live with the hairy guy in the lighthouse.

I don’t think I’ve retired from the world by design. I don’t think I’ve alienated myself. My Tarot said that I’m in a comfortable point in my life (I’ve got a nice, well paid job. I’m not violently mental) but I’ve entered a period of isolation. An incubation. I’m going to discard an aspect of my personality that doesn’t serve me any more – which will result in me being more of a pleasure-seeker, or less. That bit was vague.

See? I’m talking about nothing. I can do it, but it’s bunk.

Here’s a blog by numbers.


I was looking in one of the big music and DVD retailers (the yellow one. Not the purple one.) a week or so ago. Looking at their sale. And I saw something and I thought I should blog about it.

There was a time when films that were likely to be shit still had awesome painted posters.

I mourn the painted poster. I can’t really determine whether poster art is genuinely in decline. I feel like it is. But there’s been a lot of striking images – mostly from Indie cinema – in the last few years. Or the Teaser poster – which seems to be geekdom’s best bet for iconic posters, before the marketing machine just gives us Tom Cruise in profile on the run up to general release. But the painted poster is definitely on its way out.
God, the DVD covers for the Star Wars prequels, one place you think artwork was inevitable, are horrible photo-composite bollocks. Studios just don’t take the time anymore. Is Ashley Judd in it? Is it a ‘gross out comedy with heart?’ Photoshop a couple of photos together over lunch. Let’s make it happen people. We manufacture dreams. Even the first Matrix, which understandably wasn’t anticipated to be quite the event it was, had a terrible poster. Really shit. I had that poster more than I hate ‘Revolutions’. The Olsen twins get better posters.









Comedy is it? Big fat fucking red letters on a white background I think. That says funny like nothing else.


Where is Jason Biggs even looking in this poster?


When I mourn artwork posters I’m not thinking so much about the Saul Bass graphic design poster. I’m thinking about those lush, almost photo-real, airbrush and oil posters.

Probably the most popular for my generation at least, is going to be Drew Struzan.




Unsurprisingly I have two of his up on my bedroom wall. Back to the Future and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The latter rich with detail, and given this gritty texture effect by a few dirty brushstrokes. He’s prolific to say the least. And if anyone is synonymous with fantasy adventure it’s him, hence why you still see his work on projects like Harry Potter, and on the awesome Hellboy teasers. Studios use him less and less. But there’s often an anniversary portrait, or a Star Wars tie-in that has his name on it. The painted posters you saw for the prequels were his. The photo posters were done by that Geoff guy who works in Lucasfilm’s staff canteen. Throughout the 80s however, his output was mammoth.


He wasn’t the only one rocking in this style. The Raiders poster was actually the work of Richard Amsel, who in the 1970s had put out some distinctive and stylish posters. (sorry it's all so small, I'm trying to keep the memory demand on this thing down. Reduce my carbon footprint. Lower my emissions.)

But he could also switch into the epic 80s mode at a push. I think the Beyond Thunderdome poster is just gorgeous. I'm going to kiss it.






The other guy who’s up on my wall (Saul Bass has Vertigo and then there’s Blow-Up and Batman (Burton) and they don’t really count.) is Bob Peak. I’ve got one of several Apocalypse Now images he was responsible for (I’ve had it up for about 8 years, and mean to replace it with something else but the selection of posters I see in shops is often so uninspiring. Scarface? Really? Fancy that.). I’d brought Bob Peak up in David’s blog about Bill Scwczczwkczmlypzztk, because I think this guy had a really keen eye for design, and his posters often have something comic-booky about them. I guess the weird thing here is I don’t really like painted comic books. 2000AD sometimes had stuff I liked (Kev Walker. Frank Quitely.) but for the most part I prefer the old fashioned pencils, inkers, colourist method (and even then, the colourist is dispensable.)



It’s all glorious stuff. Elegant line-work, That cartoonist’s brilliance for rendering portraits that look just like the star, but are embedded with the artist’s personality.



I suppose no discussion about painted movie posters is going to ignore James Bond. Bob Peak managed one – 1977’s The Spy Who Loved Me poster. A number of artists have worked on the 007 marketing machine, but the most recognised is going to be Robert McGinnis. I don’t strictly think he was the best (I love Daniel J Goozee’s A View To A Kill poster the one with Grace Jones and Roger Moore standing back to back. ‘Has James Bond Finally Met His Match?’ and his Octopussy is also luscious. He’s clearly a leg man. Also Macario Gomez’s seldom seen Dr. No poster is about as sexy as they come ) but his body of work merits attention.

Something weird about seeing James Bond with naked girls. You know what I mean?

He’s also celebrated for his paperback covers. Apparently he painted over 1,100 pulpy covers. And he’s also long established for his paintings of The Wild West. At which point the Blogger Photo Upload thingy starts to crap out on me. You'll have to Google him.




Those covers are from the new Hard Case Crimes prints. A selection of forgotten pulp classics reprinted alongside a few modern attempts by name authors at the same sort of fun. McGinnis and other old-school painters have laid down new covers. It’s an awesome enterprise. My only concern is Robert McGinnis seems to have lent his talent to stories about vengeful girls, which is the kind of story I feel uneasy about; castration complex, you know how it is. Still, Lawrence Block is a master at this stuff, and Kill Now Pay Later’s cover star looks like someone I know. Maybe I’ll fork out for those two and see how it goes.


Blah blah blah. My heart’s not in this. I ran out of food two days ago. I can’t be bothered going out to get some in case I see stuff that just pisses me off more. I thought about going and getting Eggs Benedict from my nearby Gastropub, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk 70 yards down the street even. There’d only be a weird feeling waiting for me when I got there. It’s Friday fucking night. I offend myself.

Still, the French know how to make public awareness posters.

Don't let spiders eat you out, ladies. You'll get AIDS.