Category: Review Page 3 of 8

Probably a good thing my parents don’t read this blog (or at least I don’t think they do), as Lost Girls is, by its creators’ cheerful admission, a work of pornography. It’s an unusual format – three hardcover volumes in a slipcase, making it unsuitable for one-handed reading) – and the medium it’s presented in – comics – is hardly the obvious choice either.

However, Alan Moore (writer) and Melinda Gebbie (artist) have more in mind here than the clichéd ‘woman answering the door to the plumber in a babydoll nightie’ stuff, as the Lost Girls of the title are Alice, Wendy and Dorothy, whose names you may well recognise from other works of fiction. The three characters meet in a Swiss hotel on the brink of World War I, and, as well as various encounters with other guests (and the staff) at the hotel, they share tales of their pasts – most of which are, yes, sexual, but which are also re-tellings of their stories in a sexual way; for example, Dorothy’s experience of being whisked away by a tornado is revealed to have been the afternoon she first had an orgasm.

The artwork by Gebbie is interesting; to my untrained eye, a lot of it resembles a mixture of pastels and watercolour paint work, which frequently makes it look like the paintings in a children’s book (appropriate given the origins of the characters and the format), and adds a slightly dream-like quality to things. There are pages with clear, solid linework, but these are rare, as if reality’s the exception and not the rule. There are differing panel shapes and art styles too, depending on whose tale is being told, and this works pretty well, and even when the panels are filled with tangled limbs and fleshtones, there’s rarely any problem knowing what’s going on, or who’s speaking, which is something a lot of comics without pornographic intentions could benefit from.

You’re probably wondering about the sexual stuff (though this is hardly a work likely to be bought solely on the basis of its potential for arousal) – wonder no more: there’s a whole stack of sex in this book, between men and women, women and women, men and men, and pretty much every other variation – voyeurism, orgies, incest, bestiality, and almost anything else you can think of. Some bits of it might float your boat, others might not, as what is and isn’t sexy or arousing is very much a personal thing. Still, there’s pretty much something for everyone here – and of course, that means there’s a lot of stuff which won’t be everyone’s bag.

Now we’re past that pressing issue, I can comment on the story; for me, it was clever, though flawed – the main flaw being that all the stories effectively amount to ones of sexual awakening, as Alice, Wendy and Dorothy are all young in the original texts; we get three women of varying ages in the story’s present telling tales of their youth. To my mind, this is rather limited, and I would have been interested to see stories spanning more of the women’s lives. And whilst the sex stuff is kind of interesting and diverting (and occasionally slightly challenging, on the level of “okay, I’m not really into that particular activity”), it sometimes seems a bit of a hindrance when it comes to the telling of the tales – indeed, most of the third volume is comprised of the three women in a variety of sexual situations and costumes and roles, telling each other their tales whilst having it away, and sometimes the little ‘present day interruptions’ to the storytelling feel kind of jarring.

The story’s set in the run-up to the First World War, and there’s quite a good sense of something looming, that this rather carefree time at the Hotel will soon be gone, though to be honest I felt the end was a little unclear on what was being said; there’s a good point made earlier in Book 3 about how war is just the opposite of sex (all that energy expended on something horrific and destructive as opposed to enjoyable and potentially creative), and I think the final page or so is making the same point again, though in visual terms (I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have missed something painfully obvious here though, so feel free to e-mail me or post a comment). It reminds me slightly of the end of Blackadder Goes Forth in tone, however, which isn’t a bad thing at all.

For me, Lost Girls was more interesting than arousing, and more ambitious than successful, but I think it was worth reading, and certainly worth the creators’ time – as if anticipating a possible media fuss about the book (which is currently not on general release in the UK, ostensibly for copyright reasons) and its depictions, there’s a clever comment about artists’ rights to say whatever they want, and the difference between reality and fiction: “Only madmen and magistrates cannot discriminate between them”, says one character, in the same way that the South Park film contained a pre-emptive strike at the obvious criticisms.

Say what you like about Jimmy Carr, co-writer of this book, he works hard; I don’t just mean that he appears to have cloned himself in order to present loads of panel shows and ‘Top 100’ shows on channel 4, but I know from personal experience that he works at it – I used to dabble with stand-up, and on almost every occasion I did a gig about six years ago, Carr was also there. I’ll freely admit that I don’t really care for much of his material (it’s all a bit calculated for my tastes), but I’ll cheerfully doff my cap to his work ethic.

Anyway, this book, co-written by Carr and long-time friend Lucy Greeves, sets about analysing jokes and how they work.. It’s a bold aim, and one that they pull off with a fair degree of success, to my mind.

They look at the actual nature of what physiologically causes laughter, how various jokes are constructed, what makes a person want to become a comedian, and the usual issue of whether comedy is invariably laughing at someone or something. I wasn’t entirely convinced by one of the chapters – on ‘ironically offensive jokes’ – as it felt like too much of a get-out for Carr’s material, really (as Stewart Lee pointed out, if you can legitimately claim that Jim Davidson’s nicked a joke of yours and used it in his act, and it doesn’t stand out a mile, you might want to reconsider your material).

Still, that’s a small-ish complaint, and there’s a lot to enjoy in this book (not least the fact that – for the first time in my reading about him – they as good as say that Peter Kay doesn’t do jokes so much as a kind of shared cheerful experience; something which I feel is very true indeed). Even if you’re not interested in the arguments and observations being put forward, the foot of each page has a joke on it, and the chapters are ‘followed ’ by examples of jokes of the style being discussed. Making it like an amalgam of a serious analysis and a joke book, as it were.

If you’re interested in comedy, either as a spectator or would-be practitioner, there’s a lot of good stuff in this book, and so I’d recommend it. Though the current hardback (yes, the form I read it in; I know, look at me with my posh books) and the forthcoming paperback both have a drawing of a nude Carr on the front cover, making it rather embarrassing to read in public.

I’m rather late in reviewing this film, I’ll cheerfully admit, but in my defence it vanished from my local fleapit after a surprisingly brief time, though thankfully it re-appeared over the Bank Holiday weekend, giving me a chance to see it on the big screen. Just in time for Review Week here on m’blog.

And I’m glad I did; as you may well know, this film is from the same team as the romantic zombie comedy (‘romzomcom’) Shaun of the Dead, but is their spin on the buddy cop film, with an English angle.

Top policeman Nick Angel (Simon Pegg) is transferred from London to the sleepy West Country village of Sandford. However – and as you’d hope unless the film was going to feature 90 minutes of adrenaline-fuelled grass-keeping-off-reminder action – things are not what they seem.

Comparisons with the team’s previous film are inevitable, but I have to say that I think that Hot Fuzz is the better film; the plot’s stronger – and impressively twisty – and whilst there aren’t as many straight-out jokes (though there are a lot of good gags), the overall look of the film is more confident (check out those scene transitions – racing through events in a kind of visual bullet-point effect, for want of a better phrase), and the action sequences are very good, not least for being in such an unlikely setting.

Pegg carries the film very well, and his friend Nick Frost does well as the inevitable ill-matched partner, though the eye’s inevitably drawn to the rest of the cast, featuring as it does a host of well-known British actors: Timothy Dalton all but twirls his moustache, whilst Jim Broadbent, Edward Woodward, Bill Nighy, Martin Freeman, Steve Coogan and Olivia Colman are just a few of the ‘ooh, look, it’s them’ moments in the film. Oh, and Bill Bailey. Twice. With a very silly way of telling him apart (oh, watch the film, you’ll see what I mean).

Overall, then, a very good film indeed, and whilst it veers into action territory towards the end, it’s got enough human interest and jokes (not to mention in-jokes) in it to stop it being a ‘boy film’, despite it paying homage to such classics as Point Break and Bad Boys 2. Definitely worth seeing on the big screen, and more than likely worth watching repeatedly at home, as I’m fairly sure there’ll be extra jokes to spot on re-viewing. Very much recommended.