Wednesday, July 31, 2019

The Copy is Made of Greasy Foam

Wandering through a high fantasy world, David Carradine finds himself caught between a ganglord, a warlord, and a lot of naked women in 1984's The Warrior and the Sorceress. In fact a remake of Yojimbo, it compares unfavourably to the original in just about every way.

Unlike Sanjuro in the original Kurosawa film, who's a world weary samurai but still shocked to see a dog wandering around carrying a human hand, Carradine's "Dark One" laughs when he sees a woman and child being killed at the beginning of the movie. Instead of Kurosawa's vision of the one man who could stand in the middle of turmoil and mitigate or stop the trouble we have a much more cynical, vaguely defined character. His motives are entirely mercenary as he pits one side against another until he realises one side's favourite slave is the sorceress Naja, played by Maria Socas.

It was brave of Socas to appear topless throughout the entire film (apparently Naja's choice) though, as a surrogate for the sake brewer's captive in Yojimbo, a tiny part, her character is still less developed. Her vague motives having to do with a hazily defined lost order where she was at a high place in the hierarchy also gives the Dark One his vague motive for helping her--he used to be a knight or samurai in that same order and so naturally her subordinate. So instead of the world Kurosawa created where a rough around the edged ronin decides to help people on his own impulses, we have a surly swordsman who reluctantly manifests his loyalty to an old party.

Carradine appropriately plays the role with less warmth than Toshiro Mifune played his counterpart in Yojimbo, which also has the effect of making him a lot less interesting to watch.

Produced by an uncredited Roger Corman, The Warrior and the Princess has big goofy 80s fantasy sets to put Masters of the Universe to shame and the ganglord is a low budget Jabba the Hutt knock-off who's best friends with a cheap lizard hand-puppet. The film's kind of satisfying on a cheap, greasy schlock level and it's available on Amazon Prime. Though you're a lot better off watching Yojimbo on The Criterion Channel.

Twitter Sonnet #1262

A diff'rent set of doors accord to-day.
Submerging houses holds a special prize.
In schools of fish the cookies might delay.
The truest plumbers get a million guys.
A set of words arrest the paint for tags.
A can prepares to burst but never will.
A bubble system filled the carbon bags.
A sweating bev'rage pads the groc'ry bill.
Unseasoned satin pressed the watcher down.
Accorded fish replenished gold for scale.
A county squeezed its ruling market town.
Assorted goods removed beyond the pale.
Abandoned zoos contain the panda ghosts.
A paper box contained the cookie hosts.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

There's a World of Lawyers

So what were the rest of Moya's crew up to while Crichton, Aeryn, and D'Argo were stuck in an asteroid field at the beginning of Farscape season 2? It turns out Zhaan was on trial for murder on a planet full of lawyers.

Season 2, Episode 8: Dream a Little Dream

90% of the planet Litagara's population are lawyers, the remaining 10% are "Utilities", the few service workers needed in a city that's otherwise totally automated, presumably. A barman hands Chiana (Gigi Edgley) and Rygel (Jonathan Hardy) the slim volume that comprises the basis for all of Litigara's laws--all of the other books Chiana and Rygel had been poring over in attempt to defend Zhaan (Virginia Hey) apparently being comprised of meaningless ancillary laws to perpetuate the expanding lawyer caste.

I like the premise of a planet of lawyers but for the most part I consider this one of the weakest episodes of the series. Chiana and Rygel's sleuthing to uncover a conspiracy that implicated Zhaan turns up evidence that ought to have been clear to everyone from the beginning. In the finale, Chiana and Rygel basically exploit native superstition--which is hard to believe on a planet of lawyers--and in doing so cause the downfall of a partner in the planet's most powerful firm. We're given no followup on what this means to the civilisation.

But Virginia Hey gives a beautiful performance as she loses her grip, experiencing hallucinations of Crichton (Ben Browder), Aeryn (Claudia Black), and D'Argo (Anthony Simcoe). Rygel is oddly selfless in the episode but still entertaining as an amateur lawyer but Chiana is even funnier, especially after she overdoses on some hangover pills Rygel gives her. As in "Crackers Don't Matter", it's somehow always funny hearing Chiana say "definitely" very rapidly.

. . .

This entry is part of a series I'm writing on Farscape for the show's 20th anniversary. My previous reviews can be found here (episodes are in the order intended by the show's creators rather than the broadcast order):

Season One:

Episode 1: Pilot
Episode 2: I, E.T.
Episode 3: Exodus from Genesis
Episode 4: Throne for a Loss
Episode 5: Back and Back and Back to the Future
Episode 6: Thank God It's Friday Again
Episode 7: PK Tech Girl
Episode 8: That Old Black Magic
Episode 9: DNA Mad Scientist
Episode 10: They've Got a Secret
Episode 11: Till the Blood Runs Clear
Episode 12: Rhapsody in Blue
Episode 13: The Flax
Episode 14: Jeremiah Crichton
Episode 15: Durka Returns
Episode 16: A Human Reaction
Episode 17: Through the Looking Glass
Episode 18: A Bug's Life
Episode 19: Nerve
Episode 20: The Hidden Memory
Episode 21: Bone to be Wild
Episode 22: Family Ties

Season Two:

Episode 1: Mind the Baby
Episode 2: Vitas Mortis
Episode 3: Taking the Stone
Episode 4: Crackers Don't Matter
Episode 5: Picture If You Will
Episode 6: The Way We Weren't
Episode 7: Home on the Remains

Monday, July 29, 2019

Let's Take the Beige Car to the Grey Building

Who in their right mind would want to live in this hard, cold, grey world? Human beings, that's who--they take to it like a duck to water in 1967's Playtime. Filmed on a massive budget that bankrupted director and star Jacques Tati, an entire world of plain grey buildings populated by people in grey and beige is presented to us--in fact largely constructed for the film at tremendous expense. In this hyper-sterile playground, Tati exercises his genius for creating a strange, absurd, natural ballet of human life.

Like Chaplin with the Tramp, Tati was growing tired of his character, M. Hulot, by this point after many successful films as the character. Hulot is still the closest thing to a central protagonist in Playtime but the film's real subject is the busy masses of humanity in which Hulot plays but one tiny part.

Tati is critical of this modern lifestyle but in an extraordinarily benevolent way. In a scene that presages the 21st century ease with which people cast aside privacy in favour of social media exposure, Tati shows apartments with completely transparent walls, allowing passers-by to view a man undressing after a long day. Not that any passer-by seems to particularly care, nor does the man.

Only the viewer is left to ask why, why are people living like this? But we know perfectly well they--or we--do.

Another almost main character is an American tourist named Barbara (Barbara Dennek) who, arriving in Paris, makes some mild effort to find actual local colour in the persistently grey box-scape. Yet she seems placidly content to view travel advertisements that amusingly boast of the exact same dull, grey buildings in Brazil and the U.S.

In this steel tableau Tati places the irrepressible organism of collective humanity unquestioningly carrying on. A long sequence that forms a later part of the film involves a restaurant that's forced to open in the middle of renovation. The staff absurdly endeavour to keep up their professional demeanour as tiles come off the floor, sticking to shoes, or wet paint from the chairs leads to the shapes of chairs quietly making their appearances on people's coats and skin. When Hulot accidentally shatters one of the glass doors, the doorman can see no alternative but to hold the steel handle in place and mime opening and closing the door for guests.

Ultimately, in spite of efforts to the contrary, this city is a living thing due to life's unforeseen circumstances. Thank goodness. Playtime is available on The Criterion Channel.

Sunday, July 28, 2019

Mutants versus Colonists

Still in a Third Doctor mood, I last week watched The Mutants, a Doctor Who serial from 1972. It'd been quite some time since I last watched it and I think I enjoyed it more this time. Probably Three's most controversial serial, it deals with issues of colonisation and the harmful exploitation of a native population.

Salman Rushdie may or may not have had the serial specifically in mind when he referred to Doctor Who in The Satanic Verses;

It seemed to him, as he idled across the channels, that the box was full of freaks: there were mutants - 'Mutts' - on Dr Who, bizarre creatures who appeared to have been crossbred with different types of industrial machinery: forage harvesters, grabbers, donkeys, jackhammers, saws, and whose cruel priest-chieftains were called Mutilasians

Aside from the term "Mutts", though, this description doesn't fit The Mutants or any other specific Doctor Who episode, instead being part of the general, exhaustingly sarcastic, impressionistic tirade that characterises the book. It's the kind of vague stab in the dark Rushdie often makes to establish his feelings on a topic he doesn't seem to have formed a coherent argument about (I'm not a big fan of the book). There's nothing called a "Mutilasian" in The Mutants but the plot involves mutations among a humanoid species which seem to have resulted from tampering with the ecosystem by "Overlords" from Earth.

This was still during the period when the Third Doctor (Jon Pertwee) was exiled on (more or less) contemporary Earth but it was late in that period and he was starting to make a few trips in the TARDIS again courtesy of the Time Lords who allowed him to travel now and then to carry out specific missions. In this case, the Time Lords also send him a hard green egg.

So he and Jo (Katy Manning) travel to the future and the distant space station orbiting Solos, the alien world, to try to find the one person for whom the egg will open. In charge of the space station is a man referred to as the Marshal (Paul Whitsun-Jones), a standard authoritative madman. But I like to think his cruelty is born of his efforts to keep himself insensible of what's occurring on the planet.

The Solonians are turning into giant killer crustaceans, mutants, referred to by the Marshal as "Mutts" with the quality of a racial slur. I'm reminded of Things Fall Apart or other stories about the experience of a colonised population and the particular difficulties faced by individuals who have one foot in the indigenous culture and another in that of the coloniser. This seems to be the intended metaphor for about half the serial until the Doctor, running for his life (as usual) on the planet runs into a scientist named Sondergaard (John Hollis--Lando's bald assistant from Empire Strikes Back).

Presumed dead by the Overlords, Sondergaard has secretly been researching the mutants and together he and the Doctor discover that the mutations are actually part of a natural cycle which the Overlords have prematurely triggered. So much for allegory. Unless what the story is really talking about is something closer to the idea behind the Prime Directive on Star Trek--how it's important to allow civilisations to advance technologically at their own pace. Here, the disruption takes on a physical manifestation.

In another thing reminiscent of Star Trek, the Earth humans are noticeably made up of a diversity of races--among the guards are several black men and there's even an East Asian man at the end. This was long before the quota policy the BBC has to-day so this was likely a deliberate attempt to show an Earth advanced beyond its racial and ethnic divisions. Even so, all the principals are played by white actors except for one of the guards who changes sides to help the Doctor and Jo, a black man named Cotton. He's played by an actor named Rick James--no, not the one you're thinking of--whose career as an actor was short lived. Which may have something to do with the fact that he wasn't very good at it--his performance justly received bad reviews. It seems like it's only been in recent years that British television has had a sizeable enough pool of black actors for casting directors to be discerning but even now there are only so many of the calibre of Idris Elba and Pearl Mackie. To meet quotas, Doctor Who still often has to settle for the likes of Tosin Cole or Samuel Anderson (though, to be fair, Bradley Walsh is also terrible). But the black population of the UK is up to three percent--with over a million in London--so it's at least easier to find good black actors than it was in the 70s.

The best parts of The Mutants are scenes where the Doctor is working with another scientist--Sondergaard on the planet and a guy named Jaeger on the station, whom the Doctor amusingly outwits a few times. Jaeger's played by Czechoslovak actor George Pravda who would later appear in the Fourth Doctor serial The Deadly Assassin. His thick accent does nothing to diminish his entertaining performance as a surprisingly complex character. He's masterminding the project that's ruining Solos but he's clearly unhappy with it and is continually frustrated by the Marshal's demands. There's a sense of respect between he and the Doctor even though it's kind of fun seeing the Doctor make a complete jackass out of him.

Twitter Sonnet #1261

A standing bow adorns the copper keep.
Oppressive fluff obscures the nasal flow.
Through flower buds the sleeping humans creep.
Surrounding shapes emit a pretty glow.
Behind the traded glass a story changed.
Reclaiming sets from yellow dust, a ghost.
Behind the fresher eyes the spirit ranged.
A painted screen provides a welcome host.
A liquid sheet of falling metal rained.
Absorbed in cloudy streets the sky descends.
Assertive steps presage the walking stained.
Receptive moulds incite aggressive bends.
Galactic fingers point to times of night.
Octagonal resorts endorse the light.

Saturday, July 27, 2019

Once Upon a Time in an Eye

It's the simplicity that makes 2019's Once Upon a Time in Hollywood Quentin Tarantino's boldest and most complex work. Honestly, I don't know where to begin except to say it's a damned good film. Tarantino does something new, one could say it's a further advance beyond the restraints of postmodernism, but arguably Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is Tarantino's own version of Mulholland Drive. But where Mulholland Drive is a self contained narrative of dream and dreamer, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood exists in symbiosis with its audience. Tarantino is making a very direct argument about who we are, sitting in the theatre, watching the movie. It's too big a statement to pass judgement on now, really, but I think he's right. I hope he's right.

In one scene, Margot Robbie as Sharon Tate, stares at pictures of herself in a movie lobby, a moment that recalls Jean-Paul Belmondo staring at pictures of Humphrey Bogart in Jean-Luc Godard's 1960 film Breathless. Godard is an acknowledged influence on Tarantino--he named his A Band Apart production company after another of Godard's films. A scene elsewhere in Once Upon a Time, where segments of film are abruptly cut out of a dialogue scene between Leonardo DiCaprio and another man, is straight out of Godard's Vivre sa vie. But the moment in the movie lobby is a more interesting full circle moment--Belmondo's character had stared at Bogart in admiration and contemplation of the mirror Bogart represented for his reality while Sharon Tate is literally staring at herself--or not literally, as Margot Robbie is sort of the professional version of Belmondo's character, staring at the real actress.

Or shall we say gazing? Did you know Quentin Tarantino likes feet? There're more lingering shots of female feet in this film than all of Tarantino's previous films put together and I don't think it's an accident or even simply his way of telling his detractors to fuck off. He's deliberately challenging the concept of the "male gaze". It's part of a more general point he's making about how responsible people are for their own behaviour.

To say you don't buy into the concept of the male gaze is not to say that you don't believe women are ever objectified or portrayed in a manner reflective of the filmmakers' misogyny. Claims that women were objectified long predate the concept of the male gaze when it was coined in the 70s by Laura Mulvey. Even her essay that is credited with introducing the term didn't use it in the ways it is to-day typically used in conversation or criticism, interchangeably meaning either objectification of women or the reflection of male attraction in composition. What new element did "male gaze" bring to the table that "objectification" couldn't cover? It placed an intrinsic guilt in men (implicitly discounting the existence of homosexual motive)--objectification is something done to the actor. The "gaze" is a more passive state, suggesting, in the term's broadly understood meaning, that women being objectified is the inevitable consequence of their being photographed for or by men. Much as one can say Charles Manson was responsible for all the actions of the Manson Family.

Manson's presence in the film, portrayed by Damon Herriman, who bears an eerie resemblance to the him, is minimal. There's no attention given to the religious nature of his teachings or his professed belief in an impending race war--possibly Tarantino, who's certainly pored over details surrounding Manson more than I have, has reason for doubting the authenticity of these stories about the nature of the Family's relationship or structure. The important thing for Tarantino is how tenaciously the Family maintained beliefs that diverged from reality. For such a group, a motive for murder could be like the one he gives to Susan Atkins (Mikey Madison) who justifies the crime of killing filmmakers and actors by saying that films and television inspired murder. So killing artists is a sensible way to prevent a great many more murders, like the ones being perpetrated in Vietnam. Is this an idea Atkins or the Family really subscribed to? I don't know. The idea of art conditioning or brain washing subjects was certainly one subscribed to in critical theory at the time. Notably it's something that Tarantino has faced in interview after interview throughout his career--doesn't he think the violence in his films influences people to commit violence? He usually offers only a very blunt response in the negative. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood gives it pretty eloquently.

If you do firmly believe that art is directly responsible for murder, then of course you can justify to yourself the killing of artists. The belief in the morally corrupting nature of art is itself a moral self-corruption. Much like the beliefs of the Manson Family where the more they seemed right to themselves, the further they diverged from real, workable ideas of human civilisation.

As Oscar Wilde wrote in his preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray; "Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope." For Sharon Tate or Rick Dalton, DiCaprio's character who's, in some ways, a doppelgänger of the actress, movies are wonderful things in and of themselves. When Atkins calls Dalton's series, Bounty Law, "fascist", in one sense she's right--it's about a man assuming the position of judge, jury, and executioner. But it's also only a fantasy and the person actually dealing out death and judgement is Atkins herself.

Dalton and his stuntman, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), aren't portrayed as flawless people. There's a rumour that Cliff has killed his wife and we see a flashback of a woman, presumably Cliff's wife, unleashing a tirade on the quiet and possibly simmering stuntman. But we're never really told if he actually killed her. But that's kind of the point--Cliff is the film's hero, Tarantino leaves it to us what we choose to believe about him, whether we value him based on the actions we witness or the ones we hear about.

Should Tarantino have avoided showing the beauty of the Manson Family members, lingering on shots of their pretty feet or the way one of them (Margaret Qualley) sticks her butt in the air while leaning on the car door to chat with Cliff? To do so would be to deny the reality of how important sexuality was in the cult framework--to shoot the members in ways that would suggest they aren't attractive would be to deny the operative nature of that sexuality. It is, in fact, the opposite stance of the male gaze--the idea that beauty operates on the beholder rather than placing all culpability on the beholder. To some people, this is plain sense--a group of young hippies living together, of course sex is part of it. That's human. On the other hand, when Cliff figures out the girl is underage, he has the power to say no when she offers to suck his cock. That's a lesson a lot of men would do well to learn.

Above all, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, like the Sergio Leone movies from which it takes its title, does not present reality but the elevating quality of myth, confirming us in our best opinions of ourselves without denying the ugliness--or beauty--of reality. The important things are scenes like the one where Tate is pleased by how the work she's accomplished on film pleases her audience, or the simple, honest and lovely chemistry between Cliff and and Rick. The movie offers a fantasy that stands in unabashed opposition to reality, having a perfectly reasonable trust in the audience to know the difference and appreciate the fantasy for what it is.

Friday, July 26, 2019

A Space Monster to Hang Your Hat In

When people are hungry on Farscape, they can always visit a giant corpse floating in space and the mining colony within. Anyway, Chiana thinks its a good idea. Relatively good.

Season 2, Episode 7: Home on the Remains

There's no food left on Moya so Chiana (Gigi Edgley) leads our heroes to a dead budong, a giant animal that dwells in the vastness of space and whose corpse evidently makes a suitable habitation if you don't mind forests of mould and rivers of bile. We get another glimpse into Chiana's past, from the period when she and her brother, Nery, were on the run from Nebari authorities.

Lodged in the flesh of this corpse are precious crystals around which a mining colony sprang up some time ago. Like Han's dubious reliance on his friend Lando in Empire Strikes Back when he and his companions are desperate for aid, Chiana has a similarly murky past with a miner she hopes to appeal to for assistance. Fortunately or unfortunately, he's on the verge of succumbing to fatal wounds when Chiana, Crichton (Ben Browder), Rygel (Jonathan Hardy), and D'Argo (Anthony Simcoe) arrive.

There's a creature loose in the minds, an ape-like being made from a pretty effective combination of fur suit and puppet face. The shadows of the mine shafts help a lot but its the convincingly disgusting jaws that raise the tension in scenes where Crichton combats the thing or clings to Rygel's hoverchair for dear life.

Even more effective, though, is a subplot in which, back on Moya, Zhaan (Virginia Hey) starts to exhibit signs of starvation unique to her species. She is a plant and somehow being deprived of meat causes her to sprout buds like a potato that's sat on a shelf too long.

These buds release fluff into the air giving everyone hay fever and, of course, Zhaan's reason is diminished and her murderous impulses are increased. Aeryn (Claudia Black) and Pilot (Lani Tupi) are forced to contend with this problem alone in a story that's the right mixture of absurd and dramatically effective.

It's an episode that has less to do with Chiana than it seems to at first but her budding relationship with D'Argo is advanced further when he finds himself angry that she's willing to trade sex for food. She also has some good scenes with a mother figure (Justine Saunders), a crystal miner who hopes to make a big score. Chiana also has an important dramatic climax in the episode where we see again, as we saw in "Durka Returns" and "Nerve", that Chiana can be pretty ruthless if the need arises.

. . .

This entry is part of a series I'm writing on Farscape for the show's 20th anniversary. My previous reviews can be found here (episodes are in the order intended by the show's creators rather than the broadcast order):

Season One:

Episode 1: Pilot
Episode 2: I, E.T.
Episode 3: Exodus from Genesis
Episode 4: Throne for a Loss
Episode 5: Back and Back and Back to the Future
Episode 6: Thank God It's Friday Again
Episode 7: PK Tech Girl
Episode 8: That Old Black Magic
Episode 9: DNA Mad Scientist
Episode 10: They've Got a Secret
Episode 11: Till the Blood Runs Clear
Episode 12: Rhapsody in Blue
Episode 13: The Flax
Episode 14: Jeremiah Crichton
Episode 15: Durka Returns
Episode 16: A Human Reaction
Episode 17: Through the Looking Glass
Episode 18: A Bug's Life
Episode 19: Nerve
Episode 20: The Hidden Memory
Episode 21: Bone to be Wild
Episode 22: Family Ties

Season Two:

Episode 1: Mind the Baby
Episode 2: Vitas Mortis
Episode 3: Taking the Stone
Episode 4: Crackers Don't Matter
Episode 5: Picture If You Will
Episode 6: The Way We Weren't

Thursday, July 25, 2019

Rutger Hauer

When Rutger Hauer's death was announced yesterday, most people I knew or followed on social media quoted from his death scene in Blade Runner. It was a bittersweet moment of communal solidarity that showed just how memorable and effective that scene is. A scene about death in a movie that is, arguably, in large part about death. And the 1982 film is set in 2019--Hauer's character had that memorable death scene in, and now Hauer has died in, 2019.

And this monologue was improvised by Hauer, which seems incredible for how succinctly and elegantly it captures the essential character struggles and themes of the film. It's an epiphany that ties together the piles of decay in the city, Deckard's guilt, and, of course, Roy's motives. This is why Roy, Hauer's character, has done "questionable things". Life's too short, for him especially. And even if he's remembered for a long time, his experiences will be lost, every feeling and inspiration that were so profound to him just becomes in imperceptible drop of water in the flood observed by others.

He delivers the monologue in a provokingly casual manner, his rage and urgency transformed into a kind of graceful bitterness. It's the Japanese concept of mono no aware, the consciousness and acknowledgement of inevitable death. It's neither a celebration or quite a lamentation. It's a finer, rarer sort of thing. There's no longer really a point for Roy to communicate his needs or desires any more than there's a real pragmatic reason for him to save Deckard's life. His final acts are of creation because he's been stripped of all worldly motivation. It's one of the most beautiful moments in the history of cinema.

I decided to go back to the beginning of Hauer's career last night when I found the first episode of Floris, the Dutch television series he starred in, was on YouTube with English subtitles. Directed by Paul Verhoeven, who would go on to direct many successful films like RoboCop, Total Recall, and Elle, I found the show to be an entertaining and intelligently written cross between Robin Hood and James Bond. The show debuted 50 years ago, 1969, when Hauer was a very handsome and charming lad of 25:

Twitter Sonnet #1260

A business built of sticks appears at dawn.
A lousy ring was dug in biker tracks.
Confetti's crushed within the plastic pawn.
A leaky barque was built of broken backs.
In random cases coke contained a gem.
The times condensed betwixt the sooty walls.
The strangest eggs accrue upon a limb.
The chimes resound aligned in metal stalls.
The edges kept a modest space of cloud.
On ev'ry cell a skin permits a view.
Transparent drapes oblige the busy crowd.
A splintered block conducts the ragged clew.
Another word adorned the ancient trunk.
In ink and paper seas the jury's sunk.

Wednesday, July 24, 2019

Comic Con Report, volume 6: Miscellaneous Edition

Here's the floor of Comic Con on Sunday. I got there early and Sunday's generally not as busy so you can see there weren't many people there yet. Friday and Sunday I mostly devoted to wandering the floor. Here's an imposing Predator head I saw in the Iron Studios booth.

Iron were also displaying a special undead collection:

They also had this Star Wars chess set with difficult to distinguish colours. I can't imagine playing a real game with this:

Yoko Ono would be proud.

Several booths had their own versions of the Xenomorph this year. I liked the detail on this one at the Weta booth:

This is a life sized version of a model by Mini Epics, Weta's model store.

Speaking of dolls, but of the less (or possibly more) terrifying variety, I saw a two hour panel for San Diego's Ball-Jointed Doll Convention and Volks before the NASA panel on Sunday. Panellists included experienced dollmakers and enthusiasts who talked about their love for the hobby and attention to detail in choosing wigs, base materials, and clothing.

They were some very pretty dolls. I particularly liked this Storm:

I didn't end up taking many more cosplay pictures. I had to get this Dr. Jacobi, though, as the only Twin Peaks cosplay I spotted this year:

Also, these ladies:

I have no idea what military they were dressed as by they were all so coordinated and ready for pictures I had to take one.

Outside the Con I saw costumes of a more political nature, like these anti-vaxxers on Saturday:

Is Anonymous an anti-vaxxer group now? Would they even know it if they were? I guess that's a drawback in having little or no organisational structure. The Guy Fawkes mask has gone from innocuous to sinister to back to innocuous. Anyway, its effect is certainly becoming diluted. Unlike the spread of preventable deadly disease, thanks to anti-vaxxers. I remember it was only three or four years ago I saw the last of the religious protesters who were always obnoxious but at least it felt like the whole Con community were united against them.

Speaking of things that make me slightly embarrassed to be a liberal, there was also a Trump baby across the street:

I sure wish protests of Trump didn't make it seem like the protesters secretly adored him.

Anyway, I should conclude on a more positive note. Here are some Family Guy cast members doing a signing:

Also, a lot of people seemed to be interested in some movie called Avengers: Endgame. I spotted the directors of this film, known as the Russo Brothers, doing a signing:

And I think that's all I have for this year. It was pretty good, maybe not the most exciting Comic Con for me but definitely not the worst. Mostly I was just happy to be there, it's always a pleasent atmosphere.