Fat Pigeons

The ghost of an English soldier who died more than a hundred years ago in Gaya, India, haunts the local graveyard, appearing to locals and passers-by after dark.

He can only be pacified by offerings of tea and biscuits.

Truth.

With Peter Tolan, writer of Rescue Me, getting seriously burned recently while talking about his show on a message board, I’ve been thinking about how far a writer should go towards interacting with fans.

Indeed, Denis McGrath argues that writers should never ever talk to their audience.

So it’s with great interest that I’d like to point you to the Wordplay forums where, in the section marked Movies Message Board, the two screenplayers of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest are responding to various critiques of the movie and clarifying plot points from the writers’ perspective.

Their posts are reasoned, well-argued, and more to the point prove that They Thought About The Bizarro Structure Of The Film. Quite deeply, as it turns out.

Perhaps even more interestingly, the majority of the posts from others come across as polite and well-thought out as well. This may be because the forums are Ted & Terry’s own, rather than (as in the Tolan case) held on a third-party website, and it’s considered impolite to insult your host.

Whatever the reason is, I find it immensely pleasing – and helpful to my own work – that two such high-profile screenwriters are able to spend some time talking about their art and craft in a public forum regardless of the danger.

I went to see a play a few months ago.  You’ll probably not have heard of it.

It was called “Their Very Own And Golden City”, by Arnold Wesker. It’s a story about a man called Andrew Cobham, an architect with a vision and a passion – to build a beautiful place for people to live, and work, and play, and dream.

No reason you should have come across the play, I suppose. It’s rarely been put on in the UK since the original production in 1966 with Ian McKellen in the lead role. The production I saw was the first in Britain for many, many years.

It was astonishingly well-written, and it’s a wonder that it’s not performed more regularly.

I saw the play at a Drama School.  East Fifteen, to be precise. It was one of the last performances before all of the newborn actors are thrown onto the streets and left to fend for themselves.

Everyone in that production is now putting miles of pavement behind them, auditioning for acting work in the real world. Some of them will make it. Some of them won’t.

One of them I’m sure will do well, though. The man that played Andy Cobham in 2006.

My brother, Rafe Beckley.

Immensely talented.

Watch out for him.

I always liked to think of myself as a fairly tolerant man, but I suppose that it had to happen eventually.

I have found my personal squick line.

I have met and enjoyed the company of many people who happily describe themselves as being furry. If they enjoy the adventures of, or the lifestyles of, anthropomorphic animals, who am I to say them nay? Just because it is Not My Thing does not stop it from being a valid lifestyle choice.

I even believe that some of the more spiritual furs possess a strong case for being inheritors of the lost western shamanic traditions as espoused by Professor Brian Bates.

In addition to which, what consenting adults get up to with other consenting adults is none of your damned business. Or mine.

However.
However.

Yesterday, I saw the edge of the map. The section marked: “Here be dragons”.

And I recoiled.

Perhaps I’m just not strong enough to face the awful truth.
So here I stand, and say “Thus far, and no further.”

I do not ever again wish to see the Ninth Doctor and Rose Tyler represented by anthropormorphic personages.

Dog-based, unless I miss my guess.

And that goes for all the rest of the Doctors too.
And Star Trek.
And Battlestar Galactica.
And EastEnders.

There is a reason why there is a bottom rung on the geek hierarchy.

I beg you not to stand there.

Let’s take a moment to look at Star Trek’s holodeck.

We know that it is capable of creating realistic facsimiles of an environment through the use of force-fields and matter conversion systems, such as are used in the replicator units.

A replicator can make any one of a number of foodstuffs, materialising it from raw matter. This matter must come from somewhere. On a closed system such as a starship, we can posit that it is stored somewhere on the ship, waiting to be dematerialised, then rematerialised in a replicator or on a holodeck.

So a holodeck can recreate practically any scenario. What do you think the crew of a starship are going to be using these 24th century facilities for?

That’s right. The driver of technological advances throughout time.

Porn.

And not just rude pictures either. The holodeck can use its force-fields and matter conversion systems to allow all sorts of simulated naughtiness to occur. And there’d be no need for prophylactics, because a holopartner could never become pregnant, or infect you with an STD.

So we can also assume that various bits of waste are left in the holodeck after a session. How do you suppose we clean the holodecks?

Well, given that the holodecks use transporter technology, and that we are on a closed system such as a starship, I think that we can safely say that it’s dematerialised for later use as raw matter in a replicator system.

We are all of us, in a very real sense, eating Commander Riker’s jizz.

Ah, Eurovision time again.

A little history:

Back in 1954, a consortium of Television Companies in Europe, the European Broadcasting Union, began to share their programmes across a Europe-wide network. At first by landline, later by satellite.

This network was named Eurovision.

As well as sharing plays, documentaries, and sports programmes across the network, the Eurovision Song Contest (as it’s now known) was launched in 1956 to find popular music from all members of the consortium. The contest has run every year since.

The European Broadcasting Union has now grown to 74 members, including Israel and Russia – which is why they’re entitled to enter the Song Contest despite not being in Europe.

Obviously with so many different cultures, the range of entries is quite wide, and it’s always a bit of a mystery who’ll win. Some have accused the Contest of churning out far too many sappy ballads.

There’s some truth to this.

But this year, oh this year, there was a clear winner from the get-go.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the well-deserved winners of Eurovision 2006: the Finnish Hard Rockers Lordi, with Rock Hallelujah.

Monsters who sing. What’s not to love?

Steven Moffat is one of the greatest TV writers in the world.

Coupling is probably the show he’s best known for. It lasted four series in the UK. He’s also written for Doctor Who. As well as being a bit of a fan.

So when someone asked him on the Outpost Gallifrey message board what happened after the last episode, he told them. As I couldn’t link to the post because the registration system is down, I asked Mr Moffat if I could repost it here.

So here you are, Coupling fans.

Closure.

Originally Posted by IMForeman

Ok, that’s me venting for today. Move along. Nothing more to see.

Oh, all right.

Steven Moffat

You might want to check out the posts over at Doris Egan’s LJ. She’s been a writer on (inter alia) Tru Calling, Skin, Smallville, Dark Angel, and (now) House.

On the downside, she only posts about twice a year.
On the upside, it’s all good, including techniques, behind-the-scenes stories, and a picture of the whiteboard laying out the last season of Angel.

Enjoy.