Vanishing Mysterious Cult Artist

I was struck by the language used in describing the career and death of Diane Luckey, whose nom de plume was Q Lazzarus. The singer, who died in July, had songs on four Jonathan Demme films, but never had a recording contract. She disappeared from public view after the release of Philadelphia, only re-emerging to connect with a filmmaker who is now making a documentary about her. 

Even Luckey's age was disputed, some publications noting it as 60 and some as 62. It's quite unusual in the digital age for any public figure, no matter how cult, to not have details of birth, death and everything in between on the record. Wikipedia has revealed many birth dates certain actors would rather not have publicised. 

For my part, I was ignorant of Q Lazzarus's music, even though it was featured on several films I have seen. I loved the Something Wild soundtrack but never noticed her song. 

Since her passing, I have made the acquaintance of her best known song, "Goodbye Horses", featured on not one but two Jonathan Demme film soundtracks. What a haunting piece it is! I don't know how I missed it. Or her. One hopes the upcoming documentary will fill in the gaps and offer an appreciation of her. 

Slow Burn

Happy 64th birthday to Ms. Kate Bush! Or Happy Katemas to those in the fandom. Surely this month must mark one of the most unexpected career boosts of any artist of this century, at least. All those young'uns cheering on Max fleeing Vecna in Stranger Things have helped get "Running Up That Hill" to number one in several countries. 

Those of us old enough to remember the original release can only marvel at its sudden ubiquity after 36 years. But, tortoise and hare and all that. 

But today is also The Most Wuthering Heights Day Ever, as thousands flock to perform the iconic dance that accompanied Bush's debut single in 1978. I have seen videos from Australia but had not realised it happens in other places, as well. Why not London? Next year, definitely. 

Also, happy birthday to Emily Brontë who started it all in 1818. 

Whitstable Biennale

 It was great to get back to this event after six years, but the date I chose was the hottest day of the year, so my memories are slightly blurred by heat exhaustion. Beautiful sea and sky and absolute crowds on the beach made getting inside to exhibits quite the feat. 

First up was old reliable Horsebridge Arts Centre which had two exhibits. Downstairs was Savinder Bual's Fade + High and Low, two water-powered works requiring topping up by human beings, which I thought was novel, if labour intensive. 

Upstairs was a viewing room to see two films by Sonya Dyer. I caught The Betsey Drake Equation, which juxtaposed two white male scientists discussing cosmology with a black female dancer interrupting the discourse. I am told cosmology is quite in right now. 

Jennet Thomas's The Great Curdling was a baffling, bonkers film screened in The Old Bank which had me guffawing out loud. A bit sci-fi, a bit high school musical, it featured characters in the future lamenting the loss of the sea through recitals and songs and dodging low fi special effects. I missed the accompanying live performance. 

This film and several exhibits had to be moved from The Cockle Shed owing to a fire and I never found the new location for Sarah Craske's An Eco-Hauntology, which I was looking forward to seeing.  

I did stumble on Chromatic Agency's Ephemeral Evidence while wandering down a side street. Two versions of the film play out on a screen while a giant lump of clay is available to mark. The film details Southern Water's release of raw sewage into the sea and asks who speaks for the sea? 

My final visit was a long trek to the library to view Alicia Radage's installation MOTHER BENT, which took up a whole room upstairs in the lecture hall. The floor was covered in dirt which had screens and sculptures of body parts pointing upward. Sounds came through speakers while headphones offered additional sounds. I spent quite a lot of time here and allowed myself to really get immersed. I did not see the additional works in the adjacent library. 

What was surprising this year was the lack of a Biennale HQ to offer a gathering place for visitors. Venues did not seem to know about events at other spaces. It would have been good to feel more of a connection with other visitors to the festival. But a day out in Whitstable offers its own connections, to the sea and shore and of course the gorgeous sky. 

Creating Change

Farewell then to the tireless activist Urvashi Vaid whose passing was announced last week. I met her in the early 1990s while strolling down Castro Street in San Francisco, stopped her for a chat and ended up exchanging details with her to set up an interview. All this while her partner, the comedian Kate Clinton, waited patiently by her side. 

Just before we parted, Vaid reached into her trouser pocket, pulled out a rather crumpled object and told me to listen to it. It was Clinton's latest album. I left impressed by them both. 

Eventually, we did speak and I wrote up the interview for Deneuve magazine. I saw her speak at several events including Creating Change West in 1991 and the March on Washington in 1993 and she was always forceful, charismatic and on point. 

I lost touch once I moved to the UK, but I always found Urv an inspiring figure and a much-needed leader in many overlapping communities. My deepest sympathies to Kate Clinton. 

Here is an interview with Vaid and Clinton from 2014. 

BFI Flare: Unsaid

So, this really will be my final post for this year's Flare. My last feature is The Sound of Scars, a doc on the rock band Life of Agony. Knowing nothing of their story, I was pleased to learn they were from Brooklyn. Always good to hear some authentic NYC accents. Singer Mina Caputo had transitioned some years back, in between band break-ups, and this was one stream of the film, another being that several members of the band had suffered traumatic childhoods. A lot of footage showed young boys in various states of rough and tumble. I had rather expected Mina Caputo to reflect on the lasting scars of toxic masculinity in the scene, but this theme was notable by its absence. 

Reflecting back on 1990s hardcore, I remember it was this very strain that alienated so many girls and women from attending gigs, let alone joining bands. What a missed opportunity. Anyway, the band have a new drummer and album and seem to be putting things back together. 

The short Borekas is largely a two-hander of a father and son leaving much unsaid as the latter prepares to fly back from his homeland to his life in Munich. The fumbling of the father and the angst of the sun are well played and the final awkward pat on the back is poignant. 

Syed Family...

And for a final heart-warming family comedy, there is The Syed Family Xmas Eve Game Night, a mouthful to say and replete with cringey moments of recognition, as little sister brings her girlfriend home for the titular event. Actor turned director Fawzia Mirza brings order to chaos, wringing out every last drop of tension and humour from the making of a pot of chai. Coquitos all around!

BFI Flare: Making Space

 I am coming to the end of my Flare viewing and have a trio of films to explore, all of which deal with repression, tradition and making space when it is not offered. 

Terence Davies' drama Benediction is a languid depiction of the life and loves of Siegfried Sassoon, best know as a First World War poet. Davies uses a lot of archive footage from the front, as well as having actor Jack Lowden, who plays Sassoon, voice his poems, but this really unbalances the film. I found the poems to be the least affecting aspect of the drama and was more interested in Sassoon's relationships with his peers. Later in life he married a woman, despite being gay and the film also has disconcerting flashes forward to him as an older man converting to Catholicism and arguing with his son. The whole thing dragged badly and I wished Davies had trimmed the film down. 

Camila Comes Out Tonight is an Argentine drama about a teenager finding life in Buenos Aires to be somewhat out of her comfort zone. Dragged their by her mother as her grandmother lies dying in hospital, Camila meets a boy, then a girl and finds herself negotiating her sexuality as her relationship with her mum becomes strained. The first hour is absolutely tedious but the last act is incredible, with secrets aired and revenge enacted in a way I found delightful. It's rare for a film to depict intergenerational family relationships in a way that is fair to all and it is also refreshing to see the street protests in Argentina given air time. Seeing girls chanting My Body, My Business was a fist-pumping moment for me. 

Gateways Grind

And finally, Gateways Grind is a TV show masquerading as a film that is littered with delightful anecdotes and archival footage as Sandi Toksvig rides around London in a cab offering a history of the historic lesbian nightspot The Gateways Club which closed in 1985. There is a lot of dish, especially around the filming of The Killing of Sister George, but also about the staff and patrons of the club. I was utterly fascinated by the story of proprietor Gina Ware, who was married to the owner but had a close relationship with bar woman Smithy, as told by Ware's daughter. They deserve their own film. A wonderful watch. 

BFI Flare: Under Pressure

Though the festival has finished, I am slowly working my way through titles I did not have access to while it was on. Today I am looking at films that feature characters in sticky situations. 

The Divide opens with a woman frantically texting her sleeping partner who is in bed next to her snoring. Great opening and from there the film wends its way, equal parts humour and trauma, as various characters find themselves at a local hospital as the gilets jaunes protests take place in Paris. Not having paid that much attention to French politics, I was not entirely clear what the sides where in this dispute, but writer-director Catherine Corsini uses this particular divide to map out a complex range of positions, loyalties and identities. The lesbian couple, Raf and Julie, were breaking up before they arrived at the hospital and as tensions rise, the strains on everyone show. At one point, someone shouts, "The hospital is falling apart!" and I thought of our dear NHS, so badly treated by successive governments. Special shout-out to nurse Kim who holds it all together. A brilliant piece of work. 

In Invisible: Gay Women in Southern Music, the pressures are caused by bigotry, tradition and homophobia. We meet a range of queer women who work or have worked in the field of country music. Awesome to think how many hits were written by lesbians. But, as the film shows, Nashville is not nearly so understanding of queer women performers and some of those on show, such as Dianne Davidson, lost their careers as performers when they came out. But the film is a bit meandering and director-screenwriter TJ Parsell could easily lose 20 minutes or so to make it more punchy and impactful. I was also annoyed at how Chely Wright is introduced about 65 minutes in as a cautionary tale and then just left hanging. I googled and found she is still making music and has become an activist. So, why not tell us that? There are also a couple of shocks, as veteran performers turn up and don't quite look as we remembered.... 

BFI Flare: Boulevard!

It seems appropriate as the stars gather in Hollywood tonight to celebrate their successes at the Academy Awards that we consider the queer art of failure. Boulevard! A Hollywood Story does just that, charting the quite incredible but true story of Gloria Swanson's attempt to turn her cinematic triumph Sunset Boulevard into a Broadway musical in the 1950s.

As camp as Sunset Boulevard is and especially the character of Norma Desmond, a faded star who launched a thousand drag numbers, the queer interest in this documentary is found in the two young men who wrote the musical, Dickson Hughes and Richard Stapley, who were a romantic as well as professional couple. 

As the three attempt to make the show work, the collaboration falls apart when Swanson falls for Stapley and the two men break up and go their separate ways. And it gets stranger. 

Hughes, Swanson and Stapley at work

As the documentarian Jeffrey Schwarz makes calls and unearths dusty boxes of ephemera, the truth unfolds in a way scarcely credible. Stapley had a film and TV career as actor Richard Wyler, while Hughes played piano for Marianne Williamson. 

Swanson of course continued on her merry way being a star, long after the roles dried up. All three found the later years difficult, mirroring Ms. Desmond. A Sunset Boulevard curse or the unforgiving nature of Hollywood? 

BFI Flare: Melodrama Queens

 I approached Fragrance of the First Flower with great interest. Lauded as Taiwan's first GL, it features a great meet cute that proves to be a meet again cute as two women who knew each other in high school get reacquainted. But how well did they know each other before? And how close will they get? The problem with the film is it is not really a film but a web series that has been stitched together, which creates problems with pacing and story-telling. At only 99 minutes, it still felt quite drawn out to me and by the end I was losing interest owing to the lurch into melodrama. Would it be too much if a story involving two women could be a bit more upbeat? Apparently, a second series is in the works. Probably best watched in episodes online. 

Similarly, the short Fever sets up a good premise as an inter-racial couple head to one guy's house for his mother's birthday party, before underlying issues in their relationship come to the fore. The explosive finale plays out as rather am-dram and totally undercuts the build-up of tension that precedes it. Quite disappointing.  

BFI Flare: Queering the Archive

 Almost a week into the festival and I have finally completed a feature! And what a film! Ultraviolette and the Blood Spitters Gang is a French art doc with an extraordinary backstory. Director Robin Hunzinger collaborated with his mother Claudie to tell the story of Emma and Marcelle, two young women who met in 1923 and had a love affair which played out in the latter stages in letters sent by Marcelle to Emma (Robin's grandmother and Claudie's mother). After Emma's death, the two descendants found the letters and have used them to narrate this beautifully realised, affecting story of persistent desire. 

It took me awhile to realise most of the images were not of the two lovers but from found footage also also from art films. I recognised scenes from Meshes of the Afternoon and Mädchen in Uniform but the credits revealed work by Leger, Dulac and Moholy-Nagy as well. It's a bold move to drop those into such a personal story. I also admired the strong use of archive footage, the queering of images of women in the countryside, women dancing, women on bicycles, women wearing ties. This was truly a queering of the archive. 

Separated by work and academic commitments, Marcelle writes passionately about her feelings for Emma but also about her own life philosophy, stating she has "le goût de la vie". Diagnosed with tuberculosis, she finds herself confined to a sanatorium, where she meets three other rebellious young women and the four of them form a gang. A very queer gang. Marcelle, despite her love for Emma, is quite happy to play the seducer and even brags about it in her letters. Who knew a sanatorium could be such a pick-up joint, especially in 1928?

There are resonances for current day concerns: young women lying in beds in close proximity, attended by doctors, none of them wearing masks. Young women facing death from a communicable illness. Marcelle writes of her friends facing death, which she refuses. She wonders if a lost friend will return to visit. She has the most brilliant way with words, and one wonders if she went on to become a writer, as one of her friends did. 

Needless to say, there can be no really happy ending, not with fatal illness and impending world war. I felt shaken at the end and thrilled to have made the acquaintance of such vibrant beings from another time.

BFI Flare: Shortsighted

 By now I would have hoped to have seen several films and be mulling over themes arising in ye olde fest. But, owing to technical problems, I have not seen any features and only a handful of shorts, all of them available online for free. 

Among this year's crop of Five Films for Freedom is the evocative Frozen Out (dir Hao Zhou), an arty exploration of dislocation through a series of gorgeous static shots of a man marching through snowy settings while a voiceover asks searching questions like "Where am I?". All five films are available to view until 27 March.

Among the shorts available on the BFI player is Do This For Me (dir Marnie Baxter), which unfolds as a bit of a mystery as five women gather in someone's home and record a series of videos addressed to a missing member of their group. This felt a bit like a web series to me and the ending is a bit abrupt, but the women's gossipy interplay is quite well done. 

Reflections

 Here we are in the shortest month of the year and I have been reminded of several anniversaries. It's natural to offer some reflection on days gone by. 

For example, I was startled to note that the last week marked the birthdays of both Audre Lorde and Kurt Cobain. And what would those two have made of each other? I remember their deaths in 1992 and 1994, respectively, and was immensely saddened by both events. While one was much older than me and the other was a peer, I had enough distance to not mourn personally, but from a distance, wondering what else would they have done?

That has often been a question I have posed myself in hard times: what else might I do? It always spurs me on, thinking about things I might yet accomplish. 

Which brings me to a rather more personal anniversary, as it was seven years ago this week I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Seven years, three diagnoses, three treatment regimes, the works. Still here. Still curious. Still wondering what more is there? Loads more, I think. 

The Stuff of Nightmares: Cats

So, I finally got round to watching Cats last night. It had never made much impression on me, thought it was a big hit on Broadway in the 1980s when I lived in New York and I have liked some other Lloyd Webber shows. 

And then the film came out in 2019. Oh, my. Savage reviews, memes, parodies. But, you know, people like to exaggerate. How bad could it be? Cover me. I'm going in. 

So, it is possible to watch things simultaneously on streaming services with certain apps. My friend L. and I arranged to have a "Netflix Party" to watch Cats in our separate abodes. I pressed Play and off we went. First thing popping up on my screen: the subtitle "Thrilling music". Well, No. It was bang average scene-setting. 

And then the cats appeared, first a timid cat, then street cats. And they were standing on all fours, with hands sticking out and twitchy ears and bits of whiskers and I mean: WTF? Who designed this madness? Are they cat-like humanoids? Humans in cat costumes? What is the concept here? 

And then they started singing in posh English accents. So, they're English cats? In what time period? Hard to tell, as the set design was some kind of weird steampunk vaguely Victorian looking but not really. 

Idris Elba popped up with yellow eyes. Dame Judi Dench popped up with a long fur coat. Rebel Wilson had zippable skin. Poor Jennifer Hudson, the best thing by far in this monstrosity, had an entirely human face with some sad whiskers. She got the only decent song, Memory. Poor Taylor Swift--she had a great entrance, being lowered on a crescent and then had to effect an English accent for her one song. 

By this point my friend and I were openly speculating what drugs the creators of this spectacle were on. She thought LSD and I suggested absinthe. Actually, Lloyd Webber was on coke when he wrote the score. But Tom Hooper, the director, what the hell was his excuse? 

I amused myself during the duller parts by googling who was who and came upon the intriguing notion that cat buttholes were digitally removed in the lengthy post-production. This cheered me up enormously during the 110 minute running time. Finally, it was over. "We did it!" L. typed. Really, we should get medals. 

Someone ran with the butthole concept and here is the evidence. Enjoy. Don't have nightmares. 

Christmas with Netflix

 Much as I would love to offer an end-of-year Best Of full of visits to the cinema, it just hasn't been that kind of year. :)

However, I have managed to visit an extraordinary place full of folk wisdom, romantic encounters and fake snow: Christmas with Netflix. 

It was a few years ago I made my first visit and since then I return annually, the mist lifting on 1 December and closing on 31 December. So many fascinating characters have come my way: hard-bitten executives, heartbroken writers, quite a few social influencers. All of them seeking meaning in their broken lives. And lo! All it takes is a few life lessons offered by the spirit of Christmas. Wow. 

This year I sampled no fewer than 11 Christmas-themed films on Netflix and wowzers. There are some actual rank duds out there. I'm looking at you, A Wish for Christmas. Netflix makes originals but also draws from other networks and my tip is avoid the Hallmark ones. 

But some do actually punch above their weight. I have been pleasantly surprised by the Princess Switch trio, the most recent of which arrived this year. Filmed in Scotland, too, after previously using Romania as a location. 

Single All the Way offered an interracial gay couple as the protagonists, with amusing supporting work from Kathy Najimy and Barry Bostwick. 

Christmas with a View features a chef with stubble and resort manager who could double for Meghan Markle. Great scenery, shame about the script. But Patrick Duffy with a man-bun! Vivica Fox making gingerbread houses! Canadian mountains!

But my favourite Netflix viewing was actually a film I avoided at the cinema two years ago: Last Christmas. Definitely a Whamageddon, as it features the title track many, many times. But it wasn't the wan rom-com I thought it would be. Emma Thompson speaking Serbo-Croat! Henry Golding showing some emotion! Emilia Clarke singing! A lesbian couple! And a message about family conflict and trying again. Plus, a cameo by Broadway legend Patti LuPone. What's not to love?

See you next year. 

Passing

I was quite keen to watch the drama Passing which has arrived on Netflix recently. Adapted from Nella Larsen's novel by Rebecca Hall, who also directs, it's an unexpected debut for the actor turned filmmaker: a 1929 novel set in NYC about the conflagration that erupts when two old school friends reconnect as adults. 

It turns out the storyline of a black woman passing as white had personal significance for the writer-director. I find the concept fascinating for many reasons, but never having read the novel I approached the film in a state of ignorance. 

Passing

Irene, a married woman who lives in Harlem, runs into her former schoolfriend Clare in a chi-chi restaurant, where (it is suggested) both are passing as white. Clare invites a rather reluctant Irene back into her life and the latter realises that Clare's racist husband has no idea his wife is passing. The stage is set for dramatics and the rest of the film unfolds under this tension.

For me, the film of Passing is only partly successful. Ruth Negga as Clare conveys exuberance and flirtation and it definitely feels like Clare is performing the role of a white wife and mother. She actually reminded me a lot of Carol Aird, as played by Cate Blanchett in Carol from her blonde wig to her big gestures and meaningful looks. 

As Irene, Tessa Thompson has the less showy part, but as the film takes place from her POV, the audience has some investment in her character. Nevertheless, I felt the dynamic between the two characters was unclear and I wanted to see more of them and their backstory, rather than the two husbands, the maid, or the white literary lion who hangs around Harlem, commenting on racial difference and whether Irene can tell who is passing. “We’re, all of us, passing for something or the other,” she tells him. 

Indeed, it has been suggested that Larsen's novel was not just about racial passing but sexual, as the relationship between Clare and Irene seems fraught with unspoken desires and complications. I definitely detected some frisson between them but that aspect was definitely downplayed in Hall's telling. 

As I anticipated, things go horribly wrong and the ending is ambiguous and a bit frustrating. No spoilers here. But we really, really do need to know what kind of feeling was shared by Irene and Clare before we can make up our minds. I found the film quite slow, a bit ponderous and not that emotionally involving. However, I will definitely be seeking out Larsen's novel to find out more. 

Monika Werkstatt: MANIA D. / MALARIA! / MATADOR M_Sessions

Quite the undertaking this, as Monika has delved into its back catalogue to focus on three M bands involving founder Gudrun Gut: Mania D., Malaria! and Matador. The musical release offers contemporary artists remixing old tracks, while a second LP offers some rarities, some demos and live tracks. There was also an exhibit that ran in Berlin last week, as well as a forthcoming book I have not seen. 

I was struck by how cohesive the sound was on the remixes, although they were done by artists ranging from AGF to Natalie Beridze and covered all three bands: lots of muttered vocals, bleeps and the odd shrieking sax. It does suggest these bands were ahead of their time, lo- fi in sound but bringing in lots of futuristic touches, such as cut-up vocals, bleeps and odd percussion. The Matador tracks were the least familiar to me, probably the most melodic and conventional but still off-kilter. 

The live tracks which cover 1980-1983 do make me wonder what audiences thought of Malaria! back in the day, what with Bettina's wailing sax and imperious vocals. Wish I'd been there. 

London Film Festival shorts

I didn't actually get to the BFI London Film Festival this year (again), but did watch some of the shorts available on the BFI Player. I watched two programmes, Weird and Wonderful World and My Identity, No Crisis. 

All of the films I really enjoyed came from the latter programme, as the former was long on atmosphere and quite short on satisfying story-telling. Plots and character development I kind of like. 

So, the best of the films I saw included 5 Stars (dir Remi Itani, UK), a drama staged as a documentary in which a women interacts with three Uber drivers over three rides, repeatedly fielding their questions about where she's from. From such a loaded question comes a lot of observations about racial identity and who really belongs, especially as all three drivers have origins outside the UK. Such a clever and knowing film. 

Play It Safe (dir Mitch Kalisa, UK) is a drama set in drama school, as Jonathan tries to negotiate the difficulties in being the only black student in his class. The final scene, which seems to go on for ages, is notable for focusing on the horrified reactions of his classmates, rather than him, as he acts out his assignment. Very well made and tense. 

My favourite, however, was Egungun  [Masquerade] (dir Olive Nwosu, Nigeria) in which Salewa returns to her home country from London to bury her mother. At the funeral she reconnects with someone from her childhood and the stage is set for drama and possible romance. I was cheering the couple on. Really, this could be turned into a feature. Someone, get it made!

Mistress of the Dark Shines Her Light

 Great to hear that the Mistress of the Dark, Elvira, has been sharing her life with a ladyfriend for 19 years. But are we really surprised? The camp innuendo, the raised eyebrow and the enormous beehive have always marked her as in on some old, queer joke. And it reinforces the connection between horror and queerness. Fab. 

Elvira, born Cassandra Peterson, has just released her memoirs, marking 40 years inhabiting the persona of the Mistress of the Dark, and I am trying to remember when I first saw her. Possibly mid-80s on some late-night TV show, which would make me a wide-eyed teen, ready to be inculcated into a cult. 

1981 was also the year that the Oak Ridge Boys released their quite popular cover, "Elvira", celebrating: 

Eyes that look like heaven, lips like sherry wine

That girl can sure enough make my little light shine

Coincidence? I think not. 

Boisterous Longing

 I blame SOTUS. There I was shielding at home in spring 2020 and innocently clicked on a suggestion from Netflix. A series about Thai engineering students? Sure, why not? And that, my friends, was my introduction to boys love dramas. BL, for those in the know. Yaoi for those up on their Japanese anime. The adventures of young Kongpob and his push me-pull you with his senior Arthit had me gripped. 

Here I am 18 months later on my sixth or perhaps seventh BL drama, all variations on a theme: young, good-looking scholarly guys wearing crisp white or pink shirts looking up from their books or screens to exchange meaningful glances with others of similar demeanour. Will they or won't they?

Arthit and Kongpob

Some of them are quite badly acted or clumsily shot. The sound in 'Cause You're My Boy was an abomination.  But then there is always some kind of drama to hold the interest. I even know several actors' handles: Singto, Krist, Off, Gun... They have quite the giddy following, especially among straight women which is the target market. So, it's sort of gay but not gay. 

Ironically, women don't get much of a look-in and the female roles are pretty identikit: a bratty sister, a well-meaning mother, a vengeful ex. Occasionally, there is a BFF as in Puppy Honey, but, really, it is all about the dudes. Once I understood the set-up, I accepted this fact and got quite immersed. Currently, I am watching a mastercut of all Pete and Kao's scenes from Kiss Me Again, meaning I can skip all the straight storylines. This will set me up to watch the rest of Our Skyy so I can see how all of these dramas play out. Then I shall have to find other diversions. 

But the best bit of watching BL? The YouTube comments, especially on the GMMTV episodes. Oh, my, they are a riot! Viewers from the Philippines to Europe weigh in on their favourite characters and actors and the writing is better than the shows. Pass the pink milk!

Aliens at 35

 This week saw the 35th anniversary of the release of Aliens, the epic sequel to 1979's Alien and a rare example of a sequel that matches or surpasses the original. I actually saw Aliens before I saw the original, as I was too young to watch such a violent film in 1979. 

But Aliens. Wow. Sigourney Weaver in control, jaw clenched, eyes blazing, guns firing. Carrie Henn bringing wide-eyed youth to Newt. Michael Biehn as the honourable grunt. And of course Jenette Goldstein bringing the butch to Vasquez. I loved this film when I saw it as a teenager. 

So quotable, such a game-changer and still quite scary, Aliens remains an epic film synthesising horror, action and sci-fi and entrenching Weaver as the iconic action heroine, Ellen Ripley.