Loncon 3 - Day 3

What do you get when you combine dashed hopes, discussions of identity, and Klingon cheese?

No, it's not a day on a Canadian dairy farm during a constitutional crisis, it's a rough idea of how today went at Loncon 3.

It all started with me trundling into the convention centre about mid-morning, hoping to catch a programming session or two before getting in line for George RR Martin's signing at noon. I'd wanted to take in the "World at Worldcon" panel on Canadian literature (just to see who was talking and how it was being presented to the international audience), and maybe the "Dreaming England" session, but I also knew that there were probably an awful lot of people wanting Martin's autograph, so I figured I'd better see if they were already queuing up. Good thing I did. It wasn't even 10:30 yet, and already they were lined-up down the hallway, out the door, and around the corner. Since I'd lugged three of Martin's books half-way around the world to get signed, I figured I couldn't take any chances, so I ditched the programming sessions, snapped a quick photo of a guy in an awesome Deadpool costume, and got in line. Again, this was a fortunate decision, because that was right about the time the game was changed.

Up until about 5 minutes after I joined the line, the plan the organizers had told everyone (and presumably agreed to in advance with Martin's "people") was that he'd be signing from 12 until 1:30 (or 1:20, if you factored in a slightly early end to let people get to their next programming option), and that everyone was allowed to bring 3 items to be signed (and if you brought more, then after your first 3 you could go to the back of the line and resume waiting in the hope that you'd get to the front again before time was up). Now, unhappy-looking con volunteers had the unenviable duty of going along the line announcing the changes that Martin's people had suddenly made and were insisting on:

• There would be no messages written, your name would not be written (only his own initials), and there would be no photos.
• Fans would only be allowed to have 1 item signed, not three.
• No-one would be allowed to go to the back of the line to have another item signed.
• The signing would now only be until 1, not 1:20.
• Martin would be signing for a maximum of 200 people. No more.

The whole limit on the line thing was so seriously enforced, that one volunteer was assigned to count everybody in the line, and make the cutoff line at the 200th person. I remember him getting as far as me when he suddenly was called away, and he asked me to remember that I was "120", just in case he forgot. No-one was very happy with the 1-item limit, or the bans on names or personal messages, but it was the limit on the number of people and the cutting of a third of the signing time that caused the most annoyed head-shaking down the line, because many people know that Martin usually just signs his initials, "GRRM", and fairly quickly and sloppily, and is thus capable of blitzing through a large crowd with little trouble.

But his holy (or unholy) handlers had spoken, and the poor con volunteers didn't have any choice but to play by their new rules, so we all went along with it (according to another volunteer I spoke with, Martin's handlers had been a real pain with details about the previous day's reading session). At that point, it was a time for tough choices for me: I'd brought my copy of the first Wildcards book, as well as my uncorrected proof/advanced review copy of Wildcards: Suicide Kings (I'd been hoping to get both Martin & Melinda Snodgrass to sign that one), and the Old Mars anthology. While I love the Wildcards series, there's nothing special about my copy of the first book — it's a paperback, and not even a first printing. The review proof of Suicide Kings could be potentially valuable someday with autographs. And Old Mars (a first printing in hard cover) has an opening essay by Martin that really got to me with its longing for a style of storytelling that just isn't done anymore, one that I'm wistful for myself because it formed an important part of my early development of a love for written SF. So the choice was 'Mars or the 'Kings. In the end, emotion won over financial sense, and I went with Old Mars.

Now that the decision was out of the way, I spent the wait getting to know the woman who was waiting in line behind me. And that was one of the best experiences of the con. It's one of the best experiences of any con: those unexpected, impromptu discussions with other fans from wherever, where you can, briefly, form a real bond sharing your thoughts and feelings about science fiction. We talked about her life, growing to love SF as a kid back in Trinidad, then moving to England, and later to Chicago. Then a little about me and life in Canada. When we first read Martin's stuff, and what other sci-fi had an impact on us. It's amazing how fast an hour-and-a-half can disappear.

And then it was time for our audience with the wizard, and there was a quick scribble across the page (the wrong page, as it turns out, in my book, even though I'd marked the proper page with the appropriate posted note supplied by the handler) with a brief glance up from himself and a polite, if terse, "hello", and we were tossed back onto the streets of nerd city with the rest of the unwashed.

At that point, I figured I'd mosey to the back of the line, just to see if there was an off chance any of us would be able to beg for an autograph on a second item. After all, even though the handlers had set the limit at 200, Martin had almost finished everyone in the line, and it was only just turning 12:30 — waaaaaaay ahead of schedule. There were a couple of people there who had the same idea, but not many. But there was also a small crowd of people who'd just arrived, who were somewhat upset about the last-minute rule changes. And it's hard to argue with them: when the game's been changed without notice, when the new deadline is no-where near, and when Martin himself was still going strong because he'd only been scribbling initials, really, there's no reason why an exception couldn't have been made, and these people could have been let in. After all, isn't one of the main rules for con-going "Don't be a dick"? And shouldn't that apply to authors and their handlers, just like it does for the little people who buy their products and keep them fed? I can understand them turning me away, because I'd already had my chance. Fair enough. But they could have let the last bunch in, at least, and the fact that they didn't was disappointing.

Now, to be fair, I don't entirely blame Martin (nor even his handlers... well... somewhat.... but not entirely). After all, as fans, we're not paying him for the service of autographing (although, as a communications professional, I can say that free autographing is a good part of the value-added approach to marketing his products that he relies on us to buy), so he was in no way obliged to do it. And, I get that he's a fanboy himself and that he should be able to take time to hang out at the con if he wants (which he did, as I saw him walk by in the dining boulevard about an hour later), and that writing (even sloppy initials) for that many people can be a strain on the wrists and we sure as hell don't want to do anything that would keep him away from his writing desk. And, it is indisputably true that, as so many have said, George RR Martin is not your bitch. But, today at least, with the way the signing was handled, it certainly felt like we were his.

After that, I met up with my wife (who's really been getting into some of the programming) and hit the room to pick up some t-shirts. There's a guy selling branding shirts that advertise fictional companies and organizations from movies and TV. I picked up shirts for Encom, Flynn's Arcade, Quint's Fishing Charters, and a fourth for my brother (because he's cat-sitting while we're away, and most likely has had to clean up cat lava at least once). From there, it was onto a long, slow, lazy lunch on the concourse (and the Martin sighting), and a brief check-in with a friend who was between sessions.

From there, we headed to "The World at Worldcon: Chinese Diaspora" session, which was really fascinating — and of personal relevance, since my wife is part of the relatively recent wave of said emigration. The three panelists (two Canadian writers and one American, all of Chinese background), had an extensive discussion about identity, and what it meant to be a Chinese-Canadian or Chinese-American (or fill in your own relevant hyphenation). One mentioned the duality and friction of having two cultures, of being Chinese but having to fit in to that of the country a person lives in (or, in some cases, has been born in). Another panelist stated that whatever is written represents the Chinese diaspora, because Chinese diaspora science fiction is the science fiction written by someone from the Chinese diaspora. There was also some discussion about the value of having stories that touch upon the Chinese experience in other countries because that helps to fill in gaps in the history of those countries that might not otherwise mention the contributions of immigrant cultures. Really good stuff, and a lot of excellent reading recommendations.

Then it was off to the "Just Three Cornettos" panel, focussing on a discussion of the Simon Pegg/Nick Frost/Edgar Wright "Cornetto" trilogy (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and The World's End). The panel was initially funny, but then, about mid-way through, some woman came in, sat on the floor nearby, and began cleaning her feet. Which caused an odor to drift over. A cheese-like odor, but so vile, so aggressively rank, as to be unlike any cheese, no matter how strong, on this Earth. It was so violent a stench that it would have to be a Klingon cheese. You certainly could have cut it with a bat'leth. But, and call me species-ist if you like, I want no part of Klingon cheese. And the panel was starting to lose its charm anyway, so we left.

Another trip to the dealers' room to pick up one of the books mentioned in the Chinese Diaspora session, more milling around for a while, an unsastisfactory supper in the food court again, and it was time for the Masquerade. Or hockey.

Earlier in the day, we'd passed the Montreal 2017 bid tent again (I'd been there the day before to throw my support behind their bid, because if Vancouver doesn't have the guts to make a run at a Worldcon, I sure as hell think Montreal should get it once more) and they'd mentioned that they were going to be playing some shinny in the evening, round about the time of the Masquerade. A tough choice, but, while I've never been a jock, I'm like most Canadians and have a tough time passing-up a good pickup game of street hockey. So we went down to the fan hall to see what kind of game they'd organized. Sadly, another disappointment. They only had 4 sticks, and were only able to secure a 7x11 space under a tent indoors. No real ball hockey to be played here. Probably for the best though, as I'm nursing a whole set of blisters (some big enough to be xenomorph eggs that Ripley should be shooting at) from all the walking around on rough pavement this past week, and I probably wouldn't have played well, and most likely would have just hurt myself even more.

So it was over to the Masquerade. Lots of entries, some of them somewhat interesting, such as a minotaur get-up, some retro 70s Doctor Who villains, and a collection of some of Tolkien's Valar, but nothing that really blew me away. I'll give all the participants credit for putting in a solid effort, but if you ask me next week what some of the entries are, I probably won't remember any, whereas I can still tell you about my favourite from the Masquerade in Montreal back in 2009.

Back to the hotel room, then. And now, off to bed. Two days of conning to go.

Loncon - Day 2

It was a day to glimpse into the future. It was a day to hear the history of a made-up past. It was a day to see a Dalek in a hula skirt.

It was Day 2 of Loncon.

Another mid-morning start for me today, but, hey, any day where I can hit the con before noon is a good day. Gotta stay up late and file these meandering reports, right? I began the day at the "Genre and the Great War" panel — a fitting topic for this, the 100th anniversary of the First World War's opening year. As the panelists noted, you don't have to look very deeply to see the effects of the war reflected in the writings of those, like JRR Tolkien, who survived it. As one of the panelists noted, "World War I was responsible for modern fantasy, in that it reintroduced the values of virtue, heroism, and adventure." And yet, they also noted that it left deep scars. One of the panelists pointed out "in children's books written after the war, there are a lot of images of abandoned children — these images do more than just show that many children were orphaned; they're metaphors for how people felt about their state and life in general. Everybody in the 1920s felt like they'd lost something." Another pointed out that these cultural scars were, in some ways, permanent parts of modern science fiction: "Unlike US Civil War, and World War II stories, World War I seems to have no alternative — no alternate history. It seems to be a fixed point that had  to happen in our world." Another agreed, adding "We don't seem to be capable of believing in any other outcome than a World War I happening." This came up again when someone in the audience asked whether Lovecraft and Howard would have been the dominant influencers of modern fantasy (rather than Tolkien) if there hadn't been a First World War, and the panel, after some thought, opined that probably not, because it just didn't seem likely that there wouldn't have been such a conflict that would have ultimately inspired Tolkien or someone like him. A very absorbing discussion, and one that I would have liked to have heard more of, but I had to bail-out about half-way through to get in line for the next item on my agenda.

Which brings me to George RR Martin's reading. The lineup, as I expected, started early. Even though I arrived at the auditorium half an hour early, there were already a couple of hundred people queued-up. No problem: the auditorium looks like it seats upwards of a thousand. I figured, with the popularity of both the Song of Ice and Fire series of books and its HBO show, augmented by those of us who were fans of Martin before they came along, that there would be at least a thousand. Surprisingly, he didn't get that kind of heavy turnout. Not sure why, but I'm certainly not complaining. Better to have a huge auditorium where a couple of hundred can sit comfortably, than be jammed in cheek-by-jowl praying the AC doesn't break down. Anyway, those of us who did show up and wait in line were pretty stoked. The woman in front of me was so stoked, that she actually started hopping up and down with excitement at some point. Seriously. No provocation, no sight of GRRM himself across the lobby, not even a conversation with someone else in line about the awesomeness of the G-meister. She just started hopping, with this big ol' giddy smile on her face. Then she landed after her final hop and suddenly realized that, you know, there were a lot of other people standing around who might have been looking. She turned to me with a sheepish expression on her face, but I just smiled and said "We all feel that way." Because it was true.

So the doors opened, and in we went, and we waited for few minutes until Martin came out, and waited a few more while he waited for the organizers to bring out a table so he would have something to put his papers on as he read through whatever it was he was going to share. And then he shared.

I was hoping for an excerpt from the upcoming installment in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. I was really hoping that if he didn't, he'd bust out something entirely new and different, let us in on his next piece of awesome before the rest of the world knew about it, kinda like waaaaaay back at Worldcon in Winnipeg in '94 when he quietly sat down in front of a small room of about 20 of us and proceeded to read the prologue chapter for A Game of Thrones, when people were expecting an update on the Wildcards series, or a progress report on Doorways, or something. Didn't pan out that way this time though.

Martin shared a Westeros tidbit, but not quite what anyone was expecting. Seems he's been working on what he's calling a coffee table book about the world of the ASOIAF series (and that's probably no secret, because the book's due to hit the shelves sometime this fall), writing all kinds of little sidebar extras to flush-out the world we already know. Turns out, he's written a lot of extra sidebar material. Too much, according to his publisher. So, they've trimmed it down for the purposes of the coffee table book, but Martin says he's holding on to the longer versions of the sidebars because, once ASOIAF is finally complete, he plans to publish an extra book containing all of the extra world-building tidbits, at their full, original length. Sort of like The Silmarillion augmenting The Lord of the Rings. Today's tidbit was a historical text, written by some crusty old maester, detailing the lives of Aegon the Conqueror's sons, Aenys and Maegor, and their children. You don't get dialogue and tension, just an assemblage of facts and historical speculations, but if you're like me, and you love ASOIAF and you want to know everything you can about the world that Martin has built, this stuff is like candy. If someone would have told me beforehand that a supplemental coffee table book was coming out, I probably would have taken a pass, but now, knowing that extras like these are in it, Martin and his publisher have probably roped me in — and I'll probably buy the full book of extras when that comes out in several years too!

I have to hand it to Martin, despite his status and fame, when he comes into a room at a con to do a reading or appearance, he is completely committed to it and to doing right by his fans. The organizers had allotted him an hour for the reading, and he took most of it to go through his material (though not all of it - he still had a big sheaf of pages on the table), but when the end came, he really looked like he would have been quite happy to keep on reading to us. In fact, with only 5 minutes on the clock (which, strictly speaking, meant he should have called it quits, since the audience for the next session was chomping at the bit to take over the room), he opened the floor for questions, and again, gave every impression that he would have been happy to keep taking them, had the next session's attendees not stampeded in.

I've said it before: as a fan himself, George RR Martin knows what it's like to be in the audience listening, and he does right by his fans as much as he can. He's a class act.

Now, as if getting a Targaryen conquest-era history lesson wasn't enough, once the reading let out, I went into the fan gathering hall to meet my wife and get some pictures with/on an Iron Throne replica that was brought in today. Inside, I was hopping up and down with glee.

After lunch, I spent a good chunk of the afternoon just drifting through the dealers' room again. I was able to find a nice souvenir for my little niece at a crafter's table, which means I now only have to find something on this trip to take back for my nephew. Funny. I thought for sure he'd be the one getting something from the con, but so far, nothing's really grabbed me enough to make me think he'd flip for it. Oh well. Maybe somewhere else on our travels across the UK.

For myself, I stopped by a collection of used book tables run by a trio of old guys and found some old paperback copies of Bob Shaw's The Ragged Astronauts and Roger Zelazny's Damnation Alley at a reasonable price to take home. I got to chatting with the gents, and in doing so, caught a glimpse of a possible future. Initially, I'd thought they were genre lovers who had a second-hand book store somewhere. Turns out, they're actually just old fans who, in their final years, are selling their personal book collections. At this, I asked in mock-incredulity: "What? You're telling me it's actually possible for an old dragon to let go of his horde?" (because I can't conceive of it myself) But, as one of them said, they each came to realize that at their age, they weren't going to be rereading anything in their collections again, so there was no point in keeping the old stuff around. He added that none of them had grand-nephews or -nieces who were interested in science fiction, so it seemed best to sell their collections at the con, where at least the books would find good homes. And that's where I saw a possible future. Having no kids of my own, I don't have anyone to leave the entirety of my own dragon's horde of books to. Sure, my brother's trying to raise his kids right, to encourage them to grow up to be sf fans, and it looks like it might be taking, but they're still pretty young, and anything could happen. If not them, then would the collection fall to my paternal cousins (who are fans of sf, thanks to their father, my cool uncle who introduced me to Foundation and Dune) and their kids? Who knows? It could very well be me, in a few decades, chatting up the next generation (or two) of fans, hawking my beloved books.

I needed a laugh after grim thoughts like that. Luckily, I found one, after coming across a hula'd-up Dalek in the display area. Yup, grass skirt, coconuts covering its globes, and a Mai Tai at the end of its sucker appendage. All it needed was a ukelele. Or maybe that's the chosen weapon of the luau Cybermen; I don't know.

Waiting around for a panel a little while later, I got another laugh when some guy went walking through the hall, just as normal as can be, with a buddy at his side — except the buddy was telepresent through a remote-controlled robot (think Sheldon in the Big Bang Theory episode "The Cruciferous Vegetable Amplification", or Holly in the Red Dwarf episode "Queeg") — when he walked through a doorway in a glass wall, and his 'bot-piloting buddy banged into the glass because the camera couldn't pick up on the glass of the window. A couple of dozen people nearby were just howling at this.

What wasn't so funny was when I went into the "Big Anthologies: Bookends or Benchmarks?" session, and the noise from the neighbouring room's sound system was so loud that it was interfering with the sound from our own room's panelists. Apparently, nothing could be done, so I and a few others abandoned it after a couple of minutes.

Instead, I ended up catching the "Classics in Speculative Fiction" session, where a trio of academics read presentations from some of their sf-related papers. I missed the first one, contrasting the experience of speaking to the dead in Percy Jackson versus The Odyssey. But the later presentations on "Ancient Philosophers as Characters in Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction" (Plato in Bernard Beckett's Genesis and Roman emperor Julian the Apostate in Robert Charles Wilson's Julian Comstock), and "A Common Thread: Representations of the Minotaur in London" were very interesting.

After a brief walk away from the convention centre for supper, my wife and I came back for the big symphony performance. No, this wasn't a gaggle of fanboys and fangirls sitting around with kazoos and cheap synthesizers, this was the real deal. Loncon 3's organizers gathered together members of the London Symphony Orchestra, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, the BBC Symphony Orchestra, the BBC Concert Orchestra, the London Philharmonic Orchestra, and the Britten Sinfonia to form an 80-piece orchestra, along with a conductor and a soprano. When the fan community of London tells you they're going to give you a little culture, they are not fucking around. The evening's selection ranged from classics like Gustav Holst's "Mars" to movie themes, such as John Williams' "Superman March", and Gary Lloyd's "The Bridge Redux" (created in memory of Iain Banks). I had to leave half-way through to come back to my hotel room to take a business call, but the performance was phenomenal. Bravo to all involved!

Tomorrow: well, more con stuff, of course.

Loncon 3 - Day 1

There's a point in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (the movie, that is; it's been so long since I've read it, that I don't remember if this is in the book) where the boys have to rescue Trillian from the Vogons, and they encounter a seemingly endless bureaucratic lineup. Arthur Dent steps forward and says something to the effect of "Leave it to me. I'm British. We queue better than anyone."

This is true, as I found out today at Loncon 3.

Today was Day 1 of the con, and when my wife and I arrived this morning to register, the dozens of fellow fanboys and fangirls we'd seen around the Excel campus over the past couple of days had swollen into a couple of thousand. And a couple of hundred of them were lined-up, waiting to register when we came in the door. So we joined them. One of the con volunteers was working the line, keeping everyone in order and making sure we knew the score, and, surprisingly, she said the wait would be about 45 minutes. We had initially figured that, with the number of people in front of us, it would surely be more like a couple of hours. Better still: it only took us about 20 to 30 minutes to progress to the front. Truly, the British are masters of the efficient queue.

How could it get any better? Free candy, that's how! While we were in line, a nice lady from the Helsinki Worldcon bid team was working the crowd, passing out Finnish candy to encourage people to back their group. You can't argue with candy, but really, wouldn't it have been more culturally appropriate for the Fins to set up a sauna and invite everyone in for a relaxing steam — and then some non-relaxing slapping with birch boughs? On second thought, maybe the candy was the right move. (Cue Monty Python's "Finland" song)

So we got our badges in short order and started exploring the Fan Village (or, hall of the bid teams, gamers, kid zone, and all-purpose lounge for everyone). Actually, it wasn't so much of an exploration as a blitz to the area where the con organizers had set up a replica of the TARDIS. Mandatory pictures with said vessel for both of us, of course. Then my wife ditched me to do some more touring around London on her own. Which was okay, because there wasn't much that interested her on today's program, while I, on the other hand, found plenty that was interesting, so we agreed to meet up in the evening by the TARDIS when she returned.

The first panel of the day for me was "The World at Worldcon: Nordic SF/F", where authors from Finland, Sweden, Norway, and Denmark discussed the state of SF in their countries. I'm quite eager to attend as many of these "World at Worldcon" sessions as I can, and give a huge amount of applause to the Loncon organizers for including them in the programming, because I'm fascinated by the science fiction coming out of other countries. In Canada, we have a strong speculative fiction culture of our own, and, of course, we get nearly overwhelming exposure to US product, and to some British writing as well. But beyond that, things get pretty sparse. Once in a while, our bookstores will get anthologies of Australian science fiction, but that's about it. And it's too bad too, because we know there's a lot going on elsewhere in the world, we just need to find what's been translated. Those are voices I'd really like to experience. But getting back to this particular set of voices, it was a good panel, with the group of soft-spoken authors making interesting points about common themes in their native literatures, like the presence or absence of light — something their people are emotionally sensitive to, because of the dark winters — as well as an awareness of nature. It was also interesting to hear about the high level of English language SF they're exposed to, while at the same time, how little the Nordic cultures share amongst themselves (for various cultural, if not linguistic reasons). A comment from one of the panelists that really stood out was "One of the best Nordic SF books is Neil Gaiman's American Gods." It's too bad that during my later perusal of the dealers' room I couldn't find any anthologies of Nordic SF translated into English. It would have been nice to follow-up the panel with a chance to read some of the material they were talking about.

From there, it was on to the book signing by Patrick Rothfuss. A couple of years ago, Rothfuss and his bushy beard (I say that with utmost respect, as someone who can't allow his own beard to get that voluminous) came to VCon not too long after the debut of The Name of the Wind, and, not having read the book yet, I missed the chance to get him to sign it. I didn't want to miss the opportunity this time, so I hiked that damn thing half way around the world, and today stood in line for a few minutes to get a quick autograph. We didn't really have a chance to chat, but Rothfuss is a nice guy — and, in case you haven't read his stuff yet, one hell of a writer. I'm looking forward to seeing his next book.

After that, I went back to broadening my cultural horizons, and took in "The World at Worldcon: German-language SF/F". Unlike the more reserved Nordic authors in the earlier sessions, the panel of Germans was boisterous and funny as hell. Seriously, each of these cats would be awesome to have at a party — lederhosen or no lederhosen. A lot of their talk seemed to centre on science fiction, as literature, as culture, still being very much in the ghetto that it was relegated to in North America until recently (and which, in some cases, it still may be in). As one author on the panel said "Having a novel labeled 'science fiction' does not help. You can have a story on the moon with spaceships, but it's all a metaphor!" Sounds familiar — an awful lot like the "science fiction cooties" that Peter Watts has rightly accused Margaret Atwood of having. Another panelist followed up with "The impression you get is that Germans have a hard time being entertained. Or that fantasy is for children, and science fiction is probably written for very strange old men." The panelists observed that SF "is classed below the academic educational levels." Sound familiar? I recall at least one prof laughing at me when I mentioned SF back when I did my English major. It's too bad German writers and readers still have to contend with a major stigma on sci-fi, but hopefully it'll start to gain the acceptance there that has brought it into the mainstream here. This was another panel where I wished, when it wrapped up, that someone had brought some English-translated anthologies to sell, or that some had been available in the dealers' room. Oh well. Someday.

When that session was over, I tried to get into the interview with Connie Willis and George RR Martin, but that room was packed balls-to-the-walls, so I went next door to listen to Kim Stanley Robinson read an excerpt from a new novel he's developing, about a generation ship. The text is rough, but deliberately so — it all makes sense in the context of what's going on, and promises to smooth-out later. I was able to get enough of a sense off of it that I think I'll probably keep an eye out for it and buy it when it eventually hits the shelves.

Then I decided to scout the dealers' room for a while. A few temptations, to be sure (at least one book I need to complete my Wildcards collection, a couple of cool t-shirts, and something that I think will make a good souvenir for my niece), but I stuck to my self-imposed rule (see my recent post on the 5 Bonus Rules for Con Survival) and didn't buy anything on the first day. The t-shirts and the item for my niece will probably still be there tomorrow, and if the book isn't, then it's not the end of the world. It's always best to step back and take a breather, and avoid what could simply be first day impulse buying.

At that point, I went over to the signing area to get my old copy of A Place so Foreign, and 8 More signed by Cory Doctorow. Doctorow's a really cool guy (and I'm not just saying that because he's a fellow Canadian, although it does substantially add to his coolness) who had a friendly greeting and handshake for everyone, and took the time to chat for a few minutes. Hopefully I'll get a chance to see him when he comes back to the Great White North this fall for the writer's conference in my neck of the woods, but if not, it was good to meet him this time.

More prowling around the dealers' room, and then a look at the art display. A large selection of generally very good art. And luckily, only one artist had submitted paintings of cats. I'm a cat owner, but when fantasy cat paintings are kept to a minimum in a con display room, that's a good thing.

Lastly, I went to the "Tolkien Society Presents: The Unpayable Debt?" session. The authors on the panel started by answering the focus question of what they owed to Tolkien (which included one relationship that ended in happy marriage, and another that resulted in a fortunate split), but eventually started to veer off topic into a discussion of JRRT's influences. It went a little long, so I had to bail early to meet my wife for supper.

Tomorrow: gaining purchase in the dealers' room, and more panels.

The 5 Bonus Rules for Con Survival

If you've ever attended a science fiction, fantasy, or comic convention before, you're probably heard some variation of the 5 Rules for Con Survival:

1. Shower/bathe at least once per day — using soap.
2. Eat at least three times per day and get plenty to drink.
3. Get at least four hours of sleep per day.
4. Ask permission before taking someone's picture.
5. Don't be a dick.

These make so much sense that none of them need to be explained. Just do what they tell you!

But they don't necessarily tell you everything you need to know to help you get through a con. Over the years, I've learned a few other things that make cons easier and more enjoyable, and with Loncon 3/the 72nd Worldcon kicking off tomorrow, I thought I'd pass these tips along.

The 5 BONUS Rules for Con Survival

1. Scout the convention centre/hotel and its surrounding neighbourhood as soon as you arrive. While you can usually find things like the bar, dealers' room, art room, and movie room without too much trouble, it's also good to get to know the layout of the venue so you can find the best routes to get from one place to another. This is especially important at large cons, because you'll find that the hallways get crowded when the panels or major events let out, and if you know the floor plan well enough, you might be able to find some back hallways or outside routes that can get you to your next location quickly and easily, without getting bogged-down by the crowds. You can also use this opportunity to find the least-used washrooms — a real necessity when you're at a big con and the restrooms along the major corridors tend to experience traffic jams and can run into TP and paper towel shortages, and horrifying lapses in cleanliness. If you know where the washrooms are in the quieter areas of the venue, things will be a lot more pleasant for you. Quiet's important too if you're doing podcasting (or even a non-recorded review where you're just scribbling notes) or looking for a place to have a conversation. It's also good to know where to go if you just need some alone time away from the crowd. So get there early and find the spots where it isn't so loud, and where you can have some privacy. Lastly, you want to get a good sense of the neighbourhood around the venue because you'll want to find out where the good restaurants are. Granted, there are some people who are perfectly happy to stay within the embrace of the convention for its entire length and never leave, but for most people, I think the best idea is to get out once in a while. Take a breather. Stick your head up from the soupy morass of nerdity, get some exercise with a short (or even long) walk, and get a bite to eat at a restaurant that's guaranteed to have better food than what you can get in the hotel (and, just as importantly, food that isn't overpriced) among people who aren't desperate to share their personal Gilligan's Planet slashfic with you. Enjoy the con, yes, but also enjoy the other experiences the community has to offer.
2. If hand sanitizer is available at the venue, use it. If not, bring your own and use it. Con Crud is real, folks. I'm not a germaphobe, but there's the simple fact that in every crowd, there's going to be someone who's sick. Maybe they aren't feeling well and they come anyway, maybe they're contagious but haven't become sick yet, or maybe they're a Typhoid Mary type who's just carrying the bug and remains healthy while happily passing it on to others, but there's always someone who's going to sneeze or cough or rub their pestilence all over the place. You don't want to pick it up and come down with a bug and have it cut into your fun at the con, or have it hit you afterward and leave you feeling like garbage and having to take time off of work or school. There's nothing you can do to avoid coming into contact with at least some germs during your con experience, but you don't have to make it easy for them. Use hand sanitizer, and wash your hands before you eat.
3. Don't buy anything in the dealer's room at the first pass. I know, especially at big cons where a lot of vendors turn up with cool merchandise, this is easier said than done. You walk into that huge room for the first time and see that nifty set of Kid Video action figures that you saw years ago but missed-out on, or that pair of hand-knitted Super Harlem Globetrotters earmuffs that you've always wanted, and your eyes light up and it's hard to resist. But trust me, it's a better idea to exercise some self control. This is especially important if you're on a budget.  Sure, take a look on the first day at what the dealers are offering, but hold off for a while. If you wait a day, that impulse may fade, and you may realize that you just don't have room in your home for an 8-foot-tall stuffed Larry from the Robonic Three Stooges. And you may realize that your life would not, in fact, be better if you owned the complete show notes for every episode of Hero High. You can also take this time to see what's out there and then go back and prioritize so that you don't blow all of your money right away on a couple of things that turn out to be mediocre, and then find you don't have anything left to buy that last item hidden under a pile of stuff on a table at the end of the hall that has real emotional and financial value. There's also an outside chance that if you wait until the last day, the vendors might be offering discounts, or might be more amenable to haggling so they don't have to drag all of that merchandise back home. The caveat to all of this, of course, is that if you do see an item that is truly one-of-a-kind, that you know will be snapped-up by someone else if you don't buy it right away because it's so rare and in such high demand, then it's okay to buy on the first pass.
4. Remember to check the handout table for freebies. Whether it's in the dealers' room or in an overlooked end of the hallway outside the registration area, the handouts table is usually just a wasteland of flyers for parties you're probably not going to, and products you could care less about. Once in a while, there might be an interesting bookmark or pin sitting there, but they're usually just shilling something too. That said, once in a while, especially at the end of a con, vendors and others may leave items of real interest and worth (and, admittedly, "worth" is a relative term). At the end of Anticipation (the Montreal Worldcon) a few years ago, there were a number of old anthologies left on the handouts table by publishers who didn't want to drag them home. A couple of them were actually worth reading, and I was glad I had glanced at the table so that I could snag them. I'm not saying this happens all the time, but it's worth looking.
5. Don't soapbox when you're asking questions or making a comment at a panel session. There's nothing worse than having an interesting and entertaining panel discussion slam to a shrieking halt when some jackass puts up his/her hand to ask a question, then proceeds to drone on for 10 or 15 minutes about their own thoughts — sometimes on-topic, sometimes waaaaaaaay out in left field — without realizing (or caring) that no-one else in the audience gives a shit about what they're saying, or that many people in the audience, after the eighth minute or so of this hijacking, want to kill either themselves or the dufus in question. I know, I know, this is the point where the moderator should step in and put the kybosh on the recitation, but nearly every time I've seen this happen, the moderators have been too nice or too hands-off to intervene (maybe it's just a Canadian thing). And yes, I know, some people are wired a little differently, and the best practices of good social discourse and politeness are not understood. But really, everyone, for the love of your bootleg Starlost VHS tape collection, if you're in the audience, and you're going to ask a question or make a comment, please keep it short and sweet. Remember, folks: we're here to listen to the panel, not you. You'll get to meet and enjoy conversations with more fellow con-goers — and panelists too — who like the same things you do and are interested in what you have to say if you don't soapbox. 

So, if you're a veteran of the con scene, what tips do you have to share with newbies (or even other experienced con-goers) to make their experience better?

The British Invasion! ...Or, the Invasion of Britain... or maybe something else

Loncon 3 hasn't even started yet, but my wife and I arrived in London this morning (this afternoon? this waaaaaaaay too smegging late in the overnight? I can't tell anymore after 30+ hours of no sleep) and already connish things are afoot.

I devoted a good portion of the flight over from Vancouver (disappointed that everyone around me closed their windows overnight, so I couldn't see the Supermoon over the Arctic Ocean) watching movies, and, naturally, it turned into a mini-sf fest. The 2014 reboot of Robocop was a tame, unintelligent, feeble shadow of Paul Verhoeven's original masterpiece. 300 - Rise of an Empire was also lame, lacking the relationships that gave its predecessor (a very little) depth, and leaving nothing but sweaty muscle-gore porn. John Favreau's Chef, on the other hand, is not remotely science fiction-y or fantastic, and yet it is a thoroughly fantastic film that I was almost tempted to watch again immediately — and probably should have, given the poor showing by the 'Cop and the not-really-300.

After a long, but surprisingly easy Tube ride from Heathrow to the Docklands complex, we started to notice other travelers coming along in ones, and twos, and fours, who had that air about them of people anticipating a good science fiction convention, and we knew we were among our people. Had a nice chat with a woman from Philadelphia who couldn't wait to start volunteering — seriously, she couldn't wait: she ignored the ranks of hotels and dragged her suitcases straight over to the convention centre so she could start helping with the set-up right away. Now that's the kind of passion that really makes a con kick ass! It bodes well for other gatherings too — seems she's a dedicated volunteer with a couple of the con committees in different US cities, and is touring around trying to bring Worldcon to Washington, DC, and, at some point, Kansas, I think. A real nice lady, and someone who's dedicated to getting things done and making sure others have a lot of fun. I don't know if I'd go to a Worldcon in either of those cities, but I wish her luck.

We finished the day with a refreshing walk along the old dock beside the Excel centre, and met up with our friends Geordie & Maryanne (also Lower Mainlanders who've come out for Loncon) for a ride on the United Arab Emirates gondola, and supper at the O2. Lots of great conversation (frequently touching of sf and everyone's plans for the con) over a satisfying meal, followed by some goofing around on the Greenwich Mean Time pavement lines. ("I'm standing on this side of the line, so I'm in the future!" "No, you're not.") 

All in all, chatting with and hanging out with other con-goers has made today feel kind of like a pre-con event (with the movies being kind of, but not really, a bonus), almost like when college kids get together for drinks before heading out to a party where they will imbibe — more drinks! Buzzed on geekery before the con even begins. Not a bad place to be.

Okay, Loncon 3, London was calling and we came. Time to show us what you've got. Well, in a couple of days, anyway.

But not now. Now is the time for sleep. I'm so exhausted typing this, to quote the great British poets, Queen: "I think I'm a banana tree."

Must sign off now, as wife will be getting me up early tomorrow to go and look at someone's family jewels.

The Crown Jewels in the Tower of London, that is.

More news as it happens...

My Picks on the 2014 Hugo Ballot

Finally got around to casting my ballot for the 2014 Hugo Awards today.

I'll admit I was kinda disappointed when the final ballot was released a few weeks ago, and none of my literary nominations (and almost none of my Long Form Dramatic Presentation nominations) had made it into the running. But, also admittedly, I knew some of them were long-shots. Besides — to paraphrase a thought from the boys at SF Signal's The Three Hoarsemen podcast from a few episodes ago — with so many venues out there now making so much speculative fiction available for readers/viewers in just about every country, you can find yourself nominating a pretty amazing piece of work, only to see it passed over by the final ballot list because just not enough other voters have seen it, and too many other people are voting on too many other works. That said, the final ballot is what it is, and, as a voter, you run with it and vote for what you can.

So, here are my choices (and passes) for this year's final ballot:

Best Novel:

1. The Wheel of Time by Robert Jordon and Brandon Sanderson. I didn't make this nomination last winter because I was only thinking of TWOT in terms of the final book in the series,  A Memory of Light, which had just come out in January. Turns out, the powers-that-be have decided the entire series constitutes a single work, so it's made it to the ballot. Okay. In that case, because it's made enough of an impression on me over the decades of its run, I have no problems voting for TWOT to win the Hugo — especially since none of my nominations for novels made the ballot, and I haven't read any of the other stories that did make it (so I can't vote for them or rank them as alternatives).

Best Novella:

I took a pass on this category. Unfortunately, despite the kindness of the awards committee in sending the nominations for this category along with the voters' packet, I haven't had time to read any of them.

Best Novelette:

Pass. Same as above.

Best Short Story:

I passed on this category too — but for a completely different reason: I did take the time to read all of the submissions in the package, but none of them "wowed" me at all. Each was completely forgettable. If a story doesn't leave some kind of mark on me, it doesn't deserve a vote for the Hugo.

Best Related Work:

Passed on this category because, again, I didn't get around to reading any of the final nominations.

Best Graphic Story:

Passed, for the same reason as above — mostly. While I have read George RR Martin's short story "The Meathouse Man", I haven't seen Raya Golden's graphic novel, so it didn't seem fair to vote for it.

Best Dramatic Presentation — Long Form:

1. Pacific Rim was one of my few nominations that made it through. A completely entertaining, unselfconscious geekfest kaiju-mech brawl of a flick, this was the perfect summer popcorn flick last year, and I'm glad enough of the rest of the nerd community agreed with me to give it the recognition it deserves. Now let's hope it snags a win!

That said, what did not deserve to make it to the ballot was Iron Man 3. Way too many flaws to waste time on in this post. Let's just say it was a disappointment and leave it at that.

I didn't see the other three on the ballot, so no votes for them.

Best Dramatic Presentation — Short Form:

Now this was a section were a bunch of my nominations actually did make it through (woohoo!). Choosing a favourite and ranking the alternatives wasn't easy.

1. Game of Thrones "The Rains of Castermere". The fucking Red Wedding, dudes. 'Nuff said.
2. An Adventure in Space and Time. What a wonderful little biopic about the origins of the Doctor Who series. I'd even recommend this to people who aren't fans of the Doctor or science fiction.
3. Doctor Who "Day of the Doctor". This episode gets solid support from me for its sub-plot about the incarnation of the Doctor who had to bear the terrible burden of putting an end to the Time War, at the cost of destroying his own species as well as the Daleks. As much as Tom Baker was the Doctor who formed an impression on me as a kid (and it was awesome to see him come back for this instalment!), and as much as I loved Tennant's frenetic energy, and as much as I've grown to appreciate Eccleston as the underappreciated genius of the franchise, I think John Hurt might just be my favourite Doctor now. But I could not recommend this episode for first place in the category for two reasons: using the Zygons as the bad guys in the "now" sub-plot, because, looking like giant ambulatory chunks of bloody stool, they've got to be among the worst costumes of the Doctor's modern era; and for the use of Billie Piper as The Moment, because I've never been impressed by her acting.
4. The Fiv(ish) Doctors Reboot. Loved this funny little webisode. Not quite enough to take the top of the list, but it had a lot of heart.
5. Doctor Who "The Name of the Doctor". Overall, this episode was okay, but lacked the punch of other Doctor death episodes. Also, because I wasn't much of a fan of Matt Smith and his giant head, I wasn't really sorry to see him go.
6. — but not really "6". I couldn't be bothered to give Orphan Black an official ranking of "6" on the ballot because I didn't like the series pilot and don't follow the show.

Best Editor — Short Form:

Passed on this section. I'm sure all of the nominees are talented and worthy of recognition, but, unfortunately, I don't recognize any of their names, and if I can't immediately associate a person's name with something, I can't vote for them to receive an award.

Best Editor — Long Form:

Passed. Same as above.

Best Professional Artist:

Passed. Same as above.

Best Semiprozine:

Passed on this section because I don't read any of the 'zines on the ballot.

Best Fanzine:

Passed. Same as above.

Best Fancast:

1. SF Signal podcast — I voted for this one because I've been a fan of the SF Signal site for a long time, as well as a regular follower of their flagship podcast. The 'cast does a good job of assembling interesting teams of pundits who discuss nerdy issues, and has had some solid interviews with various authors. That said, I'm disappointed the site's newest podcast, The Three Hoarsemen, didn't make it to the ballot as well. As good as the primary podcast is, the Hoarsemen, even in their show's infancy, are better. I'm really excited to see where the new podcast goes, and I hope that next year there will be a concerted effort by its fans to get Hugos in the hands of Jeff Patterson, Fred Kiesche, and John Stevens. Hell, I'll lead the charge. For the time being though, I hope that Patrick Hester takes the win for the SF Signal podcast.

I didn't rank the other nominees in this category because I don't have the time to listen to them. (Wish I did!)

Best Fan Writer:

Passed on this one. I can't recall having read any of the nominees.

Best Fan Artist:

Passed on this one too. Can't recall having seen anything from the nominees.

John W Campbell Award:

As with so many of the other categories on the ballot, I didn't vote for any of the nominees for the John W Campbell Award because I didn't have time to read their items included in the voter package. Hopefully, I'll be able to make some time in the future so I can find out what I've been missing and learn the error of my ways.

So, that's it for the 2014 ballot. Best of luck to all of the nominees! I look forward to seeing the results in just a couple of weeks in London at the Hugo ceremony at Loncon3!

I Just Wanna Listen - Is That So Wrong?

The other day, my parents and my brother came over for dinner. I was outside, tending to some beer can chicken the barbecue, when my brother came into the kitchen, looked down at the podcast that was playing on my phone (episode 88 or 89 of Major Spoilers' Critical Hit podcast) and said:

"I can't think of anything sadder than listening to a podcast of someone else playing Dungeons & Dragons."

"I can," I replied, "Having to sit through a real D&D game without the ability to fast-forward."

Now, my brother and I are both D&D players from way back. The seed was planted in our minds as kids in the early 80s when the Dungeons & Dragons cartoon was one of our favourite shows on the Saturday morning lineup. But we actually started playing a few years later, towards the end of elementary school/the beginning of junior high, when I bought a much-thumbed-through old basic rules set (in the red box with the ferocious red dragon on the cover) and a couple of low-level adventure modules from one of the older guys in the neighbourhood at a garage sale (years later, he tracked me down and begged me to sell it back to him). For two or three years, we played on and off with a couple of our friends, almost always playing the store-bought, pre-made adventures, rather than creating our own (unfortunately). We also had a tendency (unfortunately again) to play them like video games: fast and action-heavy, with little focus on dialogue, plot development, or engaging non-player characters (NPCs). It was all about slaying monsters and grabbing treasure, rather than good story-telling. After a couple of years, we sort of fell away from it all. Personal differences between players were getting a bit too annoying, the hacking through foes became routine, and no amount of treasure seemed interesting anymore. That's the point when you know it's time to give up — or find a different gaming group. We just gave up.

Years later, my brother came back to it, playing a little D&D, Rifts, and maybe some other systems in high school and university, but I never did. In university, I drifted to table-top games for a while... Starfleet Battles, Supremecy, and Axis & Allies. But despite the prevalence of role playing games in the gaming rooms at the science fiction conventions I've attended over the years, I've just never gone back to them.

Except, recently I have. Kind of.

Lately I've been listening to the aforementioned Critical Hit podcast from Major Spoilers. It started last year a friend/coworker/fellow nerd recommended the Critical Hit Show (no relation to the podcast - I think) ongoing stage performance in Vancouver. The idea behind the theatre production (or so I was told) is that the cast gathers on a regular basis to play a D&D game on-stage in front of an audience, occasionally interacting with the spectators. Hilarity ensues. It's something my wife and I have wanted to see, but we've never been able to get around to doing it.

However, while checking around to see if some of the shows had been recorded and posted online, I came across the podcast of the same name from the gang at Major Spoilers and decided to give it a try. Months later, I'm still really enjoying it. The podcast is an ongoing role playing game with four characters who (at least, to the point that I've been listening to as I race through back episodes) initially stumble into — and then are divinely dragged further into — a quest to stop the mad gods of the moon from destroying the universe. Adventure (and frequently hilarity) ensues.

It's not a perfect show: there are times I don't agree with the dungeon master's (DM's) calls, or when NPCs who are supposed allies are unforthcoming to the point of being obstructive, or when the characters' or players' personal quirks create awkward and extended pauses (which causes both the former D&D player and the former broadcaster in me to die a little each time this happens). But generally the DM has created a pretty good story, and usually the players (especially Michael as Torq the 3/4 orc) are very entertaining to listen to (and familiar: all of the players' real personalities are similar to ones you've probably met in the geek community over the years, and liked), and when they're not, I give the 'cast a break for a while.

And that's the reason why I think listening to a podcast of someone else playing D&D is (for me, at least) so much better than the real thing. Because if it annoys me, I don't have to put up with it. In a real game, unless you're playing with a perfect group of players (and hey, maybe some of you do, in which case, more power to you), at some point — especially if it's a long-running game — cracks will develop between the participants. At some point, probably at the beginning when you're rolling to create a character, there are going to be disputes over whether a character sheet's scores accurately reflect what someone from that character class and experience level really would or would not be like, or could or could not do. At some point, you're going to get bogged-down in legalistic arguments over alleged bad calls by the DM, or what players can and can't do. At some point, you're going to get suspicion and outright hostility over successions of unnaturally good rolls by another player, especially when your own luck with the dice hasn't been that great. At some point, there could be accusations of the DM playing favourites or being unfairly harsh on individuals. And, at some point, having been sitting confined in a room around a table with the same group of people for hours on end, you're just going to get really annoyed by the person sitting across the table from you. And because you're friends with these people (or friends of friends, or the only geeks in town who have no choice about who you hang out with because no-one else likes this stuff), you have to put up with it, or risk losing friends in the ensuing arguments or angry walkouts.

But with a podcast like Critical Hit, none of this has to happen. Annoyed by a player or the DM? Turn it off for a few hours/days/weeks. Dialogue has become forced or stilted, or the plot has ground down into irrelevance? Fast forward. Technology is awesome that way.

The other advantage is that this stuff is fun to listen to in the car when I'm on a long drive, or stuck in traffic trying to get through the Massey Tunnel at rush hour.

I don't really have any desire to get back into role playing. Not for any particular reason — I just don't feel like it. But I don't begrudge anyone else who does. That said, I still enjoy enough good memories of what it's like to be in well-running games, that I enjoy listening to a podcast devoted to others playing it.

And that's the real sign that Critical Hit is worth listening to: despite the occasional fast-forwards or breaks, the story is engaging enough and the players are entertaining enough that I can and do keep coming back to it. And there's nothing sad about that.

Jodorowsky's Dune - A Better Documentary Than A Movie

Sometimes, some things are better left unmade. It doesn't matter how great the source material is that sparks the idea, nor how brilliant the creative personality behind it allegedly is, nor the mightiness of the forces marshalled to bring it into being. Sometimes, an idea is a lot better tossed excitedly around the table over coffee or a few bottles of wine than it is when you break it down and take a good, long, objective look at it.

I'm going to step out on a limb here and say Alejandro Jodorowsky's idea for Dune is one of those things. [steps back, takes a deep breath, and braces for hordes of filmerati and a few sci-fi fans to start hurling curses and tomatoes]

Jorodowsky's plan back in the 70s to adapt Frank Herbert's classic is a cinematic legend that's spoken of in hushed whispers occasionally in art house movie theatre circles and science fiction chatrooms. It was supposed to be the greatest movie never made. And director Frank Pavich has finally brought together Jodorowsky himself and some of the other players involved in the effort, in a new documentary chronicling its conception, planning, growth of talent and resources, pitch, and eventual stall. Over the years, I'd heard the occasional vague rumour of Jodorowsky's non-existent masterpiece, and lately of Pavich's documentary, so when the doc became available on pay-per-view last week, I had to see this spectacle for myself.

First, as far as the Pavich's doc goes, Jodorowsky's Dune is absorbing and highly detailed. Pavich lets Jodorowsky tell his story of how he brought together all of the elements that would combine to make his movie, revealing much about the man's strong personality and huge ambitions. The doc periodically cuts away to others who were involved in the project at various stages, telling how they became swept up in the irresistible tide of Jodorowsky's passion and vision, what their contributions were, and, occasionally, giving some critical reality checks. For those of us who grew up with the distaste of knowing David Lynch's Dune, or the satisfaction of John Harrison's miniseries Dune (a.k.a Frank Herbert's Dune), Pavich's doc shows us just how radically different a production Jodorowsky was prepared to offer years earlier. It shows what can happen when a lot of talented people get drawn into the excitement of an idea (or the force of a big personality), and what happens when one is blind to the realities of the business end of the creative process. In that respect, it's as much a "how-not-to" guide to movie-making as much as it is a "how-to" example.

The doc also shows the creative legacy of this failed movie: how many of the talented people involved went on to contribute to other hallmarks of modern science fiction, and how some of the plans or concepts were incorporated into other films (such as one of HR Giger's design for the Harkonnen castle eventually being used for the Engineers' facility in Prometheus). In that respect, the end of Jorodowsky's project reminded me of the aftermath of the Avro Arrow shutdown, which saw its engineers and other staff swept up by NASA and other agencies, and the plane's design elements incorporated into the designs used by other governments on other fighters. But I digress (as usual)...

Whether you're a Herbert/Dune super fan who's intrigued by how another iteration of the story would have played out, or a more general fan of science fiction wanting to learn more about what could have been a major moment in the genre's cinematic history, or just a fan of good, meaty documentaries about modern Quixotes tilting at their windmills, Jodorowsky's Dune is worth watching.

That said, after having watched the doc, I'm really glad Jodorowsky didn't get his way, and that his Dune never happened.

Listening to Jodorowsky, I have a huge amount of respect for the man's passion for the project. I also admire his ability to recruit serious talent. Bringing Giger, Moebius, and Dan O'Bannon in on the project was the right move, and it would have been just awesome to see Orson Welles as Baron Vladimir Harkonnen.

But I didn't like some of the changes Jodorowsky was gushing about (yes, I know, the classic nerd bitch line whenever some director dares to adapt a piece of sf canon for film and, either of necessity or due to personal interpretation, begins to play around with things). Some of the concepts they were experimenting with (such as one costume design portraying Baron Harkonnen dressed like some sort of clown) just didn't seem to work. Other wholesale changes to the plot were unnecessary, like the idea of portraying Duke Leto Atreides as more-or-less gelded and impotent. Some were flat-out wrong to the point of derailing the plot and robbing it of its meaning, such as the plan to kill Paul at the end and have him take over the collective consciousness of humanity, and then have the planet Arrakis shimmy off into deep space to convert everything in the universe into some kind of gestalt entity. That's not Dune. That's so completely not Dune that there would be no point in calling that film Dune.

And that's an important point, because as the doc played out, I got the overwhelming sense that had Jodorowsky succeeded in making his film, it would ultimately have been more about the director's own ego and the need to put on a flashy show (a drug trip without having to take drugs, to paraphrase the man himself) than actually doing a good job of telling the story of Dune. It felt like he would have made some kind of overblown art house pic — inaccessible in its deliberate over-the-top weirdness.

Maybe, for once, we should give credit to the Hollywood studio bosses [gasp!] of the day. Maybe they'd got their hands on some of the spice and were able to peer just far enough into the future to see that Jodorowsky's version of Dune would have been a masterbatory nightmare that would have not only lost the studios profits, but turned generations of moviegoers off of the story of Dune, and maybe science fiction in general. Maybe they saw that better things would come of it, if they just quietly let this thing die, and sent of the intellectual parts of its estate to those who might make better use of them. Or maybe they were just looking at the immediate bottom line of production costs and kyboshed what appeared to be a risky venture. At any rate, the end was the same: Jodorowsky's Dune sank into the desert sands of cinematic non-production, leaving few traces other than whispered legends. And sometimes the desert knows best.

Godzilla - Rampaging down Memory Lane

Me an' the big guy have a long and complex relationship. Godzilla's been a part of my sci-fi awareness for as long as I can remember, and, over the years, I've learned to take the good with the bad. He's been terrifying and awe-inspiring, campy and laughable, but never, ever boring.

Not until now, anyway.

In the beginning:

My first encounter with the King of Monsters was when I was around four years old. It was the middle of the afternoon, I think in the summer, and we were living in an Ontario suburb where the aerial towers on the houses (remember, this was the late 70s, so no cable yet) were able to pick up TV signals from Buffalo reasonably well (it had to be one of the US stations, because it was too early in the day for TV Ontario's old movie show, Magic Shadows), and one of the stations was running the Americanized version of the original Godzilla/Gojira. I was in awe. Completely terrified as I watched this unstoppable titan smashing through houses and buildings, but equally filled with wonder. I've always been a fan of dragons, and here, on the screen in our basement, was the ultimate dragon, complete with fiery breath, laying waste to whole cities. This guy was so big, so bad, he didn't have to concern himself with hoarding treasure or carrying off princesses — he was so big, the entire planet was his hoard to do with as he pleased. He was a force of nature... if one that was ultimately killed/driven off/whatever by a giant Alka Seltzer tablet.

That night, I had a nightmare that I was at my friend Cameron's birthday party, and Godzilla came storming through our neighbourhood and destroyed Cameron's house. I woke up screaming as the images of the house collapsing all around me, birthday party wreckage everywhere, all my friends gone, and a huge, green foot descending from so very, very high up, faded from my eyes. And here's where it gets weird: The next day, just before supper, Cameron came walking down the street with a stack of invitations and asked if I'd like to come to his birthday party that weekend! Now, I kept my poker face on, but inside I was going completely bonkers because I knew, I just knew that if I went to that party, that was it: Godzilla would come and kill us all.

Silly, yes. A total coincidence, yes. But I was four, and this shit was real to me. I politely declined without giving a reason, and Cameron went on to the next kid's place with a confused and slightly sad little frown. His mother called my mom later and asked if I'd reconsider. Again, I kept my poker face on, despite the mounting terror inside, and told Mom that I just didn't feel like it. How could I tell her I was doing everything I could to protect my family — my entire neighbourhood, dammit! — and that if I went to that party, Godzilla would come wading up the Grand River from Lake Erie or some damn place and we'd be toast? Parents would never believe something like that, so I couldn't explain, now could I? So I kept it simple and polite, and missed out on an afternoon of cake and hot dogs and junk food and noisemakers with my buddies.

Time went on, and I realized it was just a nightmare, and that Godzilla wasn't real, but the feeling of awe that I experienced when I saw that movie, of the big guy's unparalleled coolness, stayed with me.

Periodically, I'd get other Godzilla fixes that helped to maintain this fondness. I remember commercials on TV for a toy Godzilla that would fight samurai warrior robots (they had ejectable hands and missiles, he had plastic fire coming out of his mouth). I didn't have that cool toy, but what I did have (for a while anyway) was a little metal wind-up Godzilla toy that would march across the tabletop spitting sparks. It had been in my Christmas stocking in '77 or '78, I think, and was one of my favourite toys at the time. Sadly, it was lost after just a couple of months. Should I blame the vacuum cleaner, my little brother, or my dad's drinking buddies? Tough choice.

Then there was another afternoon where one of the TV stations ran Godzilla vs Mothra... I have a vivid memory of watching Godzilla struggle as the Mothra larvae hosed him down with layers of heavy webbing.

On another occasion (I think it was on TV Ontario this time), I was introduced to Marv Newland's hilarious 1969 short Bambi meets Godzilla. 

These days, you'd never see something this harsh put on TV where kids could see it, but back then we were tougher, and I didn't know a single kid who didn't laugh his or her head off at the inevitable outcome of this meeting. Twenty years or so later, I remember seeing this again when I went to Spike & Mike's Sick and Twisted Animation Festival with a friend in Vancouver. Everyone in the audience laughed then too, although I think it was the copious amounts of pot being passed around, as much as it was the nostalgia or the humour of the film.

But back to the old days... In 1979, Hanna Barbera's Godzilla cartoon exploded onto our Saturday morning TV screen (yeah, I know, in some markets it was aired as early as the fall of '78 as part of a longer, co-branded package with other shows, but I don't remember it being packaged in our area - it was just run solo, amongst the other shows in the various networks' Saturday morning lineups).

This time, Godzilla was a good guy, he was a lot bigger than his movie predecessor ("30 storeys hiiiiiiiiiiigh!"); he now had laser vision (in addition to his fire breath); he had a son or little buddy, Godzuki; and he was someone's bitch.

That's right, Godzilla, King of all Monsters, was, in this cartoon, always at the beck and call of a gaggle of puny humans. This Scooby Doo-esque gang of self-styled adventurers travelled the globe in their tramp steamer and used a remote control to signal to the big guy to bail them out whenever they got into trouble. Which was every week. Each Saturday, Godzilla would knock heads with cyclopean crab monsters, animated giant statues, creatures of legend, over-sized dinosaurs, or whatever the foe de jour happened to be. After he took a few knocks and beat the bad guys, the humans would dismiss Godzilla, and he'd give a farewell roar and then disappear back into the sea. No trips to gorge at the local nuclear power station as a thank you. No offer of industrial-sized dental work to fix whatever teeth had been knocked loose in the tussle with the gargantuan Aztec monkey robot or whatever. Not even a truckload of fish. The big guy didn't really get much more of a thank you than some servant in a British period piece would.

Even as a little kid, part of me was waiting for the day when Godzilla would get some self respect and ignore the signal, and leave the humans to deal with the giant space blob (or angry pizza delivery guy demanding a tip, or whatever) themselves. That day never came.

And there was the other difference from the movies: the roar. In the films, Godzilla's battle cry is that weird screeching-trumpeting-honk-growl, like an elephant in serious intestinal distress. But in the cartoon, he sounds like a college football player puking his guts out after a night of hard partying. Watch a few clips on Youtube and you'll hear that I'm right.

But I loved the show anyway. After all, what could you not love about Godzilla battling other super monsters every week?

The middle years:


Eventually the cartoon went off the air, and there were a couple of dead years before Godzilla experienced a bit of a Renaissance

In 1985, the appropriately — if unimaginatively named — Godzilla 1985 attacked the big screen. This Godzilla film was more restrained than the over-the-top monster slugfest sequels of the 1960s and 70s, focussing solely on the big guy, the mystery of why he'd returned, the tragedy of this attack, and what could be done to stop him. Periodically, a grim-looking Raymond Burr (reprising the newsman role he'd played in the scenes added to the original 1954 Gojira when it was released in North America in '56 as Godzilla: King of the Monsters!) would lumber onscreen, comment on the devastation, and try to give the movie some gravitas, and even challenging the audience to feel a bit of pity for Godzilla when he eventually met his apparent demise in the depths of Mount Fuji. I also remember this movie for getting a little weird and goofy when the TV promos ran Blue Oyster Cult's "Godzilla" under the trailer (although maybe I'm thinking of the promos for the VHS release — it's been so long, I'm not entirely sure). In any case, it was nice to have the big guy back in action, especially since the other movies in the franchise never got much play on the local stations.

Round about then, my friends and I were also spending an awful lot of money playing the "Rampage" arcade game at one of the local convenience stores in Tsawwassen. The clip I've linked to is a solo run by George (clearly modelled on King Kong), but I always enjoyed playing Lizzie because she was so obviously Godzilla. Sure there were other — and more specifically Godzilla-related — video games that came out before and after this one, but Rampage was the one I loved.

Then there was the hilarious, if idiotic, movie One Crazy Summer, where, at one point, Bobcat Goldthwait's character, Egg Stork, gets trapped in a Godzilla costume when he's supposed to be spying on the bad guys. Mayhem ensues. Not necessarily one of my favourite scenes from the film, but memorable none-the-less.

At this point, as I got into junior high and was starting to stay up until stupid-o'clock-in-the-morning, I was also getting into the late night "Sci Fi Friday" features offered by the local US cable stations. Ah, the late 80s and early 90s: the glorious final years of cable TV, before all the little independent stations were eaten up by the big cable networks, and where they'd run anything at any time of day just to get any kind of viewer watching... the years when Friday and Saturday nights belonged to geeks. On these stations, the Sci Fi Friday (or Saturday) feature was a kind of Russian roulette: they might show a vintage piece of the canon, like The Day the Earth Stood Still, or something more recent and cool like Close Encounters of the Third Kind or Alien. But they could just as easily inflict some cheestastic damage on a viewer in the form of Invasion of the Star Creatures or The Barbarians. Sprinkled in among all of this was the occasional instalment in the Godzilla franchise. My favourites were the 1968 supreme battle royale known as Destroy All Monsters, and 1962's King Kong vs. Godzilla, because any flick with a fight scene where Godzilla drop kicks King Kong is just... well, okay, maybe it isn't.

Recently:

As the years passed, Japanese filmmakers continued to pump out Godzilla instalments at a fairly regular rate, but I didn't have time in my university and college years to hunt around for them. The next time Godzilla came crashing into my awareness was in the spring of '98 when Hollywood took a run at the concept with Godzilla.

This time, it was New York, rather than Tokyo, in the monster's sights, and the menace in question was quite a bit different than its previous incarnation. First, there was the facelift (which I guess fits with Hollywood culture) which abandoned the big guy's traditional body design for something more like a gigantic, bipedal, lantern-jawed iguana. Second, there was the sex change, ignoring Godzilla's traditional identity of "it" or "he" and reimagining the creature as female (to facilitate the laying of eggs to pave the way for sequels that were never made because the film was received so poorly). Third: forget about the atomic fire breath. I seem to recall one scene where it looked like maybe Godzilla (or "Zilla" as she's now called in the franchise's canon) took out a helicopter with fire breath, but it wasn't completely clear and could just as easily have been rogue ordinance or a gas main explosion. Even if it was supposed to be fire breath, it was only used once and certainly wasn't as flashy as the traditional blast. Lastly, there was no thirst for energy. Instead, Zilla had a hankering for fish.

Throw in Matthew Broderick in the lead role, supported by Jean Reno and a squad of French commandos ("Croissant?" "Non. Donut."), and you've got a well-intentioned but ultimately weak attempt at rebooting the monster.

I'll admit that I was super eager to see this film. Again, lifetime Godzilla fan. And this was the first opportunity to get a fix in a long time, and one that was going to have slick Hollywood special effects and filmmaking. I also have no problems saying that I was disappointed when I came out of the theatre. Not gutted. Not really pissed off and feeling cheated and raging that they'd mutilated a thing I'd loved. But disappointed. There's a lot that was dumb or screwed up, but when a human character (in this case, Reno) steals the show and you're indifferent to the kaiju, then something's seriously wrong with the Godzilla movie you're watching.

But things started looking up after that.

There were other movies, not imitators, but films very much inspired by Godzilla, that came along and showed audiences that kaiju movies could move beyond their schlock property roots and could look good, be fun, and even be capable of creating a real emotional impact, and (sometimes) have something intelligent to say.

In 2006, there was the Korean film The Host, which some of you may remember I gushed over at length.

Then, in 2008, there was Cloverfield (I'm constantly amazed when I can reference this movie without saying "Cloverdale" — the name of a nearby village known for its rodeo, which has nothing to do with anything in the flick. "Coming this summer: a town at the mercy of a man... and a giant pickup truck!"), which I also enjoyed.

Last year, Guillermo Del Toro gave us Pacific Rim, which wasn't the least bit intelligent, but was ultra fun and everything a great kaiju movie should be, with the best Hollywood special effects, and the right actors to pull it off.

Even the Godzilla comics have been good for the past couple of years! Yeah, I know, Godzilla's been published in comic form off and on by different houses for a long, long time, but I never really paid much attention to them until this past year or so, when I started picking up the graphic novels from IDW. The best of these has been Godzilla: The Half-Century War, chronicling one man's efforts to stop the big guy and other monsters over the years since Godzilla's first rampage in 1954. Great story. Great art. Definitely worth picking this one up next time you're at your local comic shop.

The newest version: Godzilla.boring

Just when you thought it was safe for Hollywood to go back into the waters of Godzilla movies, you were wrong. For a flick that came on so strong in the trailers, the 2014 Godzilla turned out to be disappointing and boring. Worst of all, it was stingy with the big guy's screen time — I don't think the director/writers/special effects team let the audience see the titular King of Monsters for more than a minute and a half.

The problem lies in the fact that the writers and director are clearly trying to go for a Cloverfield approach to the movie — focussing entirely on the human characters, with the kaiju relegated to the background as shadowy, rarely seen, and barely understood causes of disaster. So, instead of 30, 40, or even 70 percent of the movie fixating on the battling monsters, Godzilla teases us with some offshore dorsal spines/fins in the opening credits, then a dark, distant shot of Godzilla fighting the flying Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organism (MUTO) at the Oahu airport (a brawl that only lasts a minute or so before cutting away), then lastly the final battle against the MUTOs. Problem is, this is a Godzilla movie. We paid to see Godzilla. A lot of him. It's okay — and, dammit, even encouraged — to have a solid cast of human characters with a decent plot and dialogue, but those things can't get in the way of Godzilla's screen time! The whole point of the movie is to watch extended sequences of the King of Monsters laying down his authoritah in a Cartman-like temper tantrum that lays entire cities to waste in lengthy battles against equally destructive foes. So when the first 45 minutes or so had no Godzilla in it, and then the audience was teased with just a minute-long glimpse of his supposed Hawaiian rumble, and then there was another long wait before the final battle, you can imagine the disappointment of myself and other audience members. There's a vulgar comparison I could use here, but I'll exercise a little discretion and instead say it was like seeing an advertisement for delicious pie, going into the baker and laying down your money, and being given only a half-forkful of mostly crust with just a little filling on it, and then being told there was no more to be had. Not cool.

To make matters worse, the writers and director botched the job of focussing the film on the human characters. Brian Cranston does a good job of playing a nuclear technician who survives a terrible reactor accident that kills his wife. But his talents as an actor are ultimately wasted because he's killed off after 45 minutes just as the film is finally starting to get moving, and before the kaiju really start doing their stuff. If we could have watched him ride through the events of the entire film, watched him have to cope with his feelings of confronting the monsters that caused his wife's death, and the government agents who allowed it to happen, watched him weigh the options that could affect the lives of hundreds of thousands of others, that would have been a human-centred plot that would have been worth while. That would have been a role worthy of Bryan Cranston. Instead, his character is abruptly killed off, making it a role that could have been serviced by any middle-aged actor. Instead, we're left more or less drifting through the rest of the movie with his character's non-entity army guy son, Ford, who himself basically just drifts through the events around him (even drifting past his opportunity to use his bomb disposal skills at the end of the movie when they'd actually count for something). The other failed option is the character of Ford's wife, Elle, who's given just enough screen time to tell us that we're supposed to care about what happens to her, but not enough screen time to actually make us care whether she lives or gets pulverized in the falling rubble of San Francisco at the end. Beyond those two, there's only the Japanese scientist, Dr Ishiro Serizawa, who seems limited to cryptically muttering that Godzilla is a force of nature who should be left to do what he does, and who looks so incredibly hang-dog, so bent and constantly cringing, so utterly physically and emotionally broken, that you'd think he'd either been stepped on by Godzilla, or that between the movie's takes he'd had to use the toilet stall next to one occupied by the kaiju king and been forever altered by the horror of the experience. So, lame-duck human characters taking up too much screen time that should have gone to the monsters.

On the positive side, Godzilla himself looks terrific. Sure, the special effects designers have made a few alterations here and there, but they're okay. Firstly, he's much bigger than his cinematic predecessors, standing at around 150 metres, compared to the modest 50 metre height of 1954's original. Apparently, the director and special effects guys took to heart the tag line from the '98 version, that "size does matter". Next, he's hunched forward slightly, not standing erect like many godzillas of the past, but also not entirely horizontal like 1998's Zilla. This one also has smaller, round, compact feet like an elephant or sauropod dinosaur, rather than the big flappy dogs that the others had. And he's bulky. Hugely massive. As in no-neck big. Formidable in a sumo sort of way. And it looks good on him. I also have to give credit to the atomic fire breath: it's incredible. In fact, one of the only good parts in the movie is when Godzilla uses his fire for the second time, in a kiss of death blast that finishes-off the last MUTO.

But good looks aren't enough to carry a movie, and when my wife and I left the theatre after the show on opening night, I was bored. And disappointed. More disappointed than I'd been after the '98 version. And with Pacific Rim and Cloverfield and The Host to learn from, that's inexcusable. I can only hope that the next time Godzilla rises from the depths, it will be to destroy the real monsters — the people who would settle for boring mediocrity and ruin the chance to make a really good film.

But as much as 2014's failure has left a bad taste in my mouth, I haven't lost my love for Godzilla yet. He's been down before: savaged by other monsters, cheapened and made campy by greedy and overzealous studios, ridiculed by critics, and compelled by a gang of meddling kids. But he's never been beat. Whether he's thrown into a good movie or bad, Godzilla is still the King of Monsters.