“The Jaws Log: Expanded Edition” Review.

A book you can really “sink” your teeth into. (I regret nothing!)

The Jaws Log is a fascinating account chronicling the making of the 1975 classic Jaws, one of my all time favourite movies. Written by Carl Gottlieb, co-writer of the Jaws adaptation, hired by Spielberg to work on the script as well as an actor in the movie. A role that eventually conflicted with his own script revisions that subsequently reduced his character considerably. The book explores the conception and process of getting the original Jaws novel published, commissioned for a movie adaptation and predominantly detailing the infamous filming issues that plagued the production. From malfunctioning Sharks, adverse weather conditions, angry Australians, Martha’s Vineyard and a 4ft 9inch former jockey coming dangerously close to imitating Quint’s final moments! The obstacles faced during the making of this picture would cripple most productions, and it’s clear from “The Jaws Log” that it almost did!

The book is prefaced by an admission by Carl Gottlieb that alludes to the singular perspective scribed in his book, that is likely contradictory to others perceived experience. Though a foreward by Peter Benchly indicates that as far as he is concerned, Carl’s truth, is the truth. And there’s not a single sentance, or anecdote that isn’t used to enhance the almost mythologised notoriety assotiated with this sordid production struggles.

This is a manuscript that amiably conveys the perils and futility of a movie so reliant on the capricious support of nature. With Gottlieb describing the movie’s production as the equivalent of N.A.S.A getting man to the moon and back again! It wasn’t just the dangerously swelling seas or “Bruce’s” fabled reticence to perform when required, but other human interferences. Budgetary constraints, the isolation from family while shooting on Martha’s Vineyard, the ever looming potential of an actor’s union strike. Dreyfuss reluctance to play the part of Hooper, bemoaning the superficiality of the character. Even distancing himself from movie after its completion.

There was the increasingly inflated budget, exacerbated by local saboteurs that would regularly delay the production and crew by pouring liquid into gas tanks, stealing equipment and local businesses overcharging for accommodation and basic amenities. There was even a verbal sparring between Spielberg and Benchly. One grossly embellished by the media and subsequently resolved amicably between the two parties. This, as well as many other contributing factors had a profound psychological affect on everyone involved, including Spielberg, who suffered with nightmares for months after production had wrapped. The cruelest irony of all being that, at the time, he slept on a water bed.

The only notable omission in the “Jaws Log” for me was the renowned animosity between Shaw and Dreyfuss. An abrasive relationship that is largely ignored here, or simply not an incident personally observed by Gottlieb to even anecdotally record accurately. More than likely this is done out of respect for the two actors, both of whom Gottlieb affectionately jibes and equally remarks upon favourably.

The “Jaws Log” is an insightful, witty recant of one of cinemas most culturally significant films, narrated with personable warmth and care. While remaining impartial, succinct, but overall comprehensive. An exceptional dissertation for anyone that loves Jaws, movie making or movies in general.

The PlayStation 5 Is A Must Own Console….Just Not Yet.

Let me first preface this by saying that this entire post consists of me contradicting whether or not you should buy a PlayStation 5. So be patient as I waffle on through various, bewildering tangents. Thank you.

Since the rather limited release of the PS5 back in November, a console I was fortunate enough to acquire despite being delivered by the courier equivalent of dysentery, there hasn’t been a day that I haven’t played it. Mostly utilised to stabilise the extensive back catalogue of PS4 game’s I’ve neglected over the years, that I now feel personally obliged to mitigate. With the PlayStation Collection only further compounding this issue. But like any new console there are inherent risks. Potential teething maladies that range from whirring/clicking sounds in the disc drive to full internal malfunctions. And much like the scaremongering associated with the PS4 on release, the naysayers chirping about the issues that plague new consoles has again proven to be largely farcical.

Through my extensive endeavours, my keen analytical observations and studious nocturnal sessions that routinely resulted in me lapsing into unconsciousness, I’ve finally deduced the merits of owning a console at launch and definitively surmised why you should own a PS5 as soon as possible. And the simple answer is, you shouldn’t. If your PS4 is still functional, with a manageable capacity to store further titles, there really isn’t a legitimate, pragmatic reason for owning one. Yet!

The allure of a shiny new game’s console is a difficult stimulus to ignore. “Being one of the first!” is an exciting prospect. Boasting to friends and colleagues that probably care very little about the impulsive whims of a smug, self satisfied narcissist with more disposable money than sense. To me, being one the exceptional few was admittedly a very minor consideration. Principally the decision to purchase such a premium item was largely one of necessity.

My PS4, which I’d previously alluded too as being a launch model has for a couple of years “struggled”. Initially peripheral, audible little concerns, with sudden intermittent clunking soon became a sporadic integration of both ambient heat and sound. Conducting enough heat and noise that it sounded as though the London Philharmonic orchestra were performing Metallica Greatest Hits in a smelting refinery. Declining significantly in it’s last 12 months, most notably it’s ability to read or even accept discs without encouragement, eventually rejecting in the middle of a game, it became apparent that I’d either have to repair the ageing machine at substantial cost, or simply buy a replacement. So why not get the PS5? It made sense to me. A rational decision, if they hadn’t been as difficult to attain as a post Brexit trade deal. But as luck would have it, I secured one. Preordering at a very unsociable hour. And don’t get me wrong, I love the scale interpretation if Lord Of The Rings “Dark Tower”!

The term “Next Gen” is rather misleading colloquialism, with the implication being that the technology contained demonstrates a significant graphical sophistication, reciprocated with a discernable visual and performance quality, superior too anything we’ve experienced before. But truth is that the generational leap isn’t the discernable chasm that divided the any of the previous generations. This Gen is really one of refinement. Polishing and augmenting performances to deliver an experience that is a little more fluid. Intuitive. The real expansion comes courtesy of the controller.

The features housed in the dualshock 5 are easily the PS5’s most compelling resource. The adaptive triggers and haptic feedback are to the PlayStation 5 what the analogue sticks were for the PS1. I’d argue revolutionary! Astrobot, the free, glorified Tech demo admirably exhibits the mutually beneficial synchronisation of the audio and vibrations that eminate from the controller. My daughter, fascinated by the small, jaunty robot gliding across the title card approached me, without any provocation to play this. Having never shown much interest in her daddy’s peculiar distractions, I was rather taken aback by her sudden interest, but at the same time excited to posture the brilliance of a hobby Mummy simply doesn’t understand. So having explained to her the controls, as best as I could to a 4 year old, she went off on her own, casually colliding into every conceivable obstacle.

After those initial few minutes, those awkward tentative steps, her coordination and spatial awareness had improved significantly, hitting oncoming enemies with surprisingly expeditious timing. And like a proud father watching her child winning the egg and spoon race at their school sports day, having tripped their main rivals in the final furlong, I just smiled. Watching my daughter’s face light up when she realised that these tiny little robots are rattling around in the controller was one of the most life affirming moments I’ve experienced being a father. This isn’t just vibrational sensitivity, calibrated to imitate a desired sensation, but more like there ARE tiny robots inhabiting the controller. That it isn’t merely replicating the squelching sensation of walking through mud, but that somehow the character is, and you are somehow experiencing that sensation.

The painful truth though is that as impressive as this technology is, most developers are liable to exclude it. Dismissing it as just another failed Sony implementation. A novelty soon to be forgotten, like the SIXAXIS. To simply disregard this wonderfully compelling function, one that has so many practical application’s for other more expansive games would be a critical error. I hope I’m wrong and that developer’s really understand the potential to elevate game’s beyond the customary visual enhancement.

Ultimately the PS5 is a great console, with tremendous potential, a lofty selection of “free” games, courtesy of the “PlayStation Collection” and one Sony’s mist ambitious control features to date. But if you own a fully working PS4 there is very little reason to own a PS5 right now.

A Carona Kind Of Christmas!

There is always a sense of hyperbole and a general overstated distaste when people reflect on the events of a previous 12 months. Scornfully condemning the year as one of the worst in living memory, expressing a venerated gratitude for the impending sanctity and promise of a new year. Yet I think it’s fair to surmise that few of us will look back on 2020 with any genuine admiration. For all intents and purposes, Christmas 2020 has been cancelled for some of us. Indefinitely postponed at a time when most people were looking to forget and, for a brief solitary moment, remember a time when facemasks weren’t a common safety appliance. Plans have been quashed, schedules changed and that respite from reality has been irreparably altered. This news, delivered by the nations first democratically elected bog brush, was imparted with all the sincerity of an Ellen DeGeneres apology, confirmed what most political analysts had been speculating for days: A Tier 4 lockdown for London and most of the South East, that essentially act’s as another compulsory lockdown.

My partner and I watched the news, alternating exasperated sighs, dismayed that things had regressed to such an extent. As she began to make emotional calls to her mother, insisting that this wouldn’t affect our Christmas plans, her initially defiant attitude slowly diminished, the severity of the situation finally acknowledged. She has always been close with her family, especially her mother. So her mandatory absence and support over the Christmas period will be utterly devastating for my better half. Rona, like most viruses has mutated, developing into a more virulent strain than the one that has fettered civilised society for the majority of 2020, so its necessary that precautions are taken to reduce its dispersion and potentially save lives. But it just seems so unfair that after a year of intermittent existing, that Christmas isn’t the nullifying reprieve from that uncertainty. Particularly for my daughter.

Having explained the situation to my 4 year old in a way that she could comprehend I felt a little relieved. Bless her, she just smiled, nodded in acceptance and started describing how soft her slippers were. 2020 seems especially cruel to her as earlier in the year we had to celebrate her 4th Birthday in isolation. Opening gifts from the doorstep, as family waited at the end of our drive. And sadly these will be her childhood memories. The snapshot of her past she will remember most vividly. It’s our duty as parent’s to salvage the spirit of Christmas as best we can, to ensure that her recollections, though secluded are cherished memories to hold dear. Christmas isn’t made up of things. It isn’t the surface level adjunctives of gaudy decorations or consumerist incentives. Its moments. Nostalgia. Comfort.

We might not be able to provide her with the traditional, family orientated experience that we’d like. But we can ensure that the limitations extended by a “Rona Christmas” doesn’t restrict her enjoyment, whimsy and most importantly the surreal evocation of that time one Christmas when she had to endure her father’s obsessive addiction to Sage & Onion stuffing and “The Muppets Christmas Carol”.

Wherever you are and whatever you are doing, stay safe, stay resilient and remember that thing’s won’t always be like this. Have a Merry Christmas and a happy, as well as Covid free new year. Cheers!

Surviving Work.

This blog, on many an occassion has been a refuge from the spate of misery that regularly impedes my life. A secure space to express personal thoughts and opinions for my own cathartic satisfaction. My habitual torment is predominantly associated with my professional life, most notably the persistent moral quandaries that make work a considerable challenge. Whether its being pressured into accepting a role I didn’t want, the absent health and safety measures initiated during COVID, or just the general deceitful rhetoric of a company whose HR department is only rivaled by that of “Umbrella” for “questionable ethics”. Today’s topic however concerns an incident that occured last week, resulting in an employee being physically accosted by a supervisor and subsequent acquittal of said supervisor.

Now I should probably preface this by saying that much of what I’m about to say is delicate, highly confidential information that relies on consistent speculation, my own observations and unreliable witness testimony. But considering the historic negligence of the company, I’m interpreting much of this as reliable. Also, I was the one tasked with sending security to manage a significant situation, that led to his removal from the building. Because in any decently run company, the individual in question would have been out on his all bullying ass immediately. Gone! Quicker than Sonic on steroids. In most instances, grabbing someone by the throat and pinning them to the wall because they owe you money is usually frowned upon. Human resources would have suspended them, pending an investigation to establish all the salient facts and determine an appropriate response. Which in this case is immediate dismissal. The obvious caveat to this being that this isn’t a decently run company, nor one that cares for the those lower down in the hierarchy. Instead the measures taken seem to placate the incident, ensuring that a committed member of staff is reinstated quickly, at the expense of what the company deems an expendable subordinate. Easy to replace.

Again I have to reiterate that I have no firm evidence to support these claims other than consistently circulating rumours, including the prevalent supposition that there is video evidence corroborating the claims of GBH, as well as fist size hole in the wall. Not to mention my own experience with the accused, having been well acquainted with his volatility in a previous exchange, with him taking great umbrage to my flippant remark about golf not being a real sport. I am well aware of his temperament, as well as he influence on those around him. He has this radiating, gravitational pull that attracts other, aspiring egotists. Forming his own little entourage of impressionable young men, that willingly abide by his rule and further inflate his considerable hubris. So when one of his acolytes was called in to discuss the incident with a member of HR, its not surprising that he would back him without hesitation. Which is a bit like exonerating Hitler after hearing testimony from Hermann Göring!

I’m not surprised by this acquittal. This a company operated by a committee that will make a prejudicial decision based on the effectiveness of the accused, not his actions. Turn a blind eye to a grievous abuse of power if it suites their needs. And yet discipline those that have taken time off sick…..during a pandemic! The kind of people that would push you under a bus, then accuse you of negligence. What most disappoints me however is the complicity of those I thought could be respected. The people in a position to do the right thing, but choosing not too. People of integrity who are supposed to protect those that find themselves at the behest of some lumbering knuckle dragger that think they are untouchable, not validate their delusions. That, out of all of this is the most concerning.

My First Horror Game.

Did you know that the word “convoluted” didn’t exist until the creation of the Resident Evil series? It’s true. Don’t look it up of course, just take my word for it. Very few series can boast such multifaceted caveats to their own established mythology. The series could never be accused of being simple, coherent or localised to any one setting or time period. Its less Resident Evil and more Global Evil. As much as I assotiate Resident Evil with Arklay Mansion and the neighbouring Raccoon City, over the years the series has diverged significantly from its survival horror roots. Sometimes inventive, more often bloated by conflicting tones, elaberate plots and Chris Redfields “naturally” defined biceps! Somehow the series has made zombies the least nonsensical part of its narrative, boasting over 2 decades worth of genetically engineered derangements that have at times muddled the series considerable ideology. But it never leans too heavily into its nihilistic tones, instead negating this base by topping it with cheese and schalk.

My introduction to the series came courtesy of a defective copy of “Crash Bandicoot 2”. Having purchased Crash the week before from a stall at my local Sunday market, I returned it citing the persistent crashing (pun totally unintented!). To my surprise the vendor — that I have now permanently visualised as the merchant from Resident Evil 4 — was happy for me to trade the game for something of equal or lesser value, or pay the difference. With no money or sapphires to trade I perused his displayed wares, my gaze drawn towards what appeared to be the severed head of some decaying, skeletal figure. I was fixated, but concerned. With the game being rated 15 and myself being a mere sprig of a boy, I was convinced that the proprietor would deny my request for what was clearly an age inappropriate game and report me to the local PEGI authority. But to my surprise, and as I would discover in the proceeding teenage years, that — much like my local pub — independent retailers and people in general consider game ratings as more of an advisory than a law. So having successfully acquired what was my first “Horror” game I took it home and spent the entire evening draped in a duvet to ensure some kind of security from the hordes of undead that would no doubt sneak up behind me in my own room and gnaw on my tender flesh!

My first playthrough on the “Leon A” scenario had probably taken in excess of 10 hours to complete, simply because I had to take regular breaks to compose myself. Everytime I successfully negotiated even the most modest of challenges, like unlocking a door or converting various herbs into one “medicinal” powder I would pause, considering that a worthy stoppage point for a much needed sabbatical. It was just so intense that finding the courage to just walk around a corner required considerable resilience. Taking those awkward tentative steps, that echoed through the dim confines of the seemingly deserted corridors, hoping there wasn’t some dormant creature waiting for my cowardly behind. I don’t think I’ve experienced such visceral fear before or since. It wasn’t just the zombies, the mutated abortions that would impede your progress or the lingering fear that some corporate, pharmaceutical institution could in theory commit similar atrocities as those perpetrated by the fictional interpretation of them. But the silence. The distant shuffling of some unseen zombie. The creaking floorboards above. The isolation!

Resident Evil 0, Remake, 3, 4. I played them all. Though the rigours of its absurdity eventually diminished my interest over time. The ever more ambivalent mythology, coupled with the series penchant for action only compounded my intrigue. By the time Resident Evil 6 came out, a particular low point in my opinion, I’d had more than enough Jill sandwich. And yet despite this, I’m still invested. For the most part. It’s bit like your child drawing shapes in pen on your cream carpet. Your mad, disappointed even. But eventually accept that you will have to forgive them at some point. And I feel like this might be the right time to rekindle that lost affection with my first. Or perhaps that should be infection?

What was your first Horror Game? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.