A FEMALE BOND? The LUNATICS HAVE TAKEN OVER The ASYLUM...

Remember back in July when I mentioned that some people were seriously proposing JAMES BOND should be played by a woman?  I got the distinct impression a few readers didn't believe me and thought I was making it up.  No, as you can see from the above clip, there really are thick, vacuous, politically correct people out there, who, in their quest to demolish the natural distinctions between genders, are saying it's a great idea and should happen.  Remember, they're not talking about a female spy named JANE Bond, but 007 changing genders in order to appease a minority of obsessive nut-jobs who are determined to reshape society according to their tastes and predilections.  And I'm entirely serious in what I say next - anyone who seriously suggests that James Bond could and should be played by a woman is not quite right in the head and should receive therapy immediately.  (Or at least a good hard kick up the @rse.)

James Bond is a man;  a white, British man.  So that rules out IDRIS ELBA, because, in one of these three prerequisites for the role, he fulfils only two of them.  He's a fine actor, a thoroughly decent human being as far as I know, and if film producers wanted to give him a film series as a spy named HARRY BRAND (or whatever), I'd be very happy for him.  Shades of racism?  Not in the slightest, because if it were ever suggested that JOHN SHAFT be recast as a white guy (or woman), I'd be equally against it.  Respect for the intentions of a character's creator is what I'm calling for here.

IAN FLEMING created Bond as a white, British (half-Scottish actually, though that was a later development) heterosexual man, which automatically rules out any other ethnicity, gender, or sexual persuasion.  Whenever I hear some minor, mystery celebrity (like LORRAINE KELLY - the mystery being why she's a celebrity) witter on about Idris Elba being an ideal James Bond, it tells me they just don't understand what Bond is about.  I also suspect they're more interested in raising their profiles by portraying themselves as 'liberal, fair-minded, tolerant, non-bigoted, impartial, warm, wonderful human beings', with the implication being anyone who doesn't see things as they do is the exact opposite.

However, there are shades of racism and misandry in the ridiculous assertions of those people calling for such changes.  When someone says a role established as a particular gender (man) and of a particular ethnicity (white) should be changed, they're essentially saying there are too many white men in movies.  That strikes me as springing from a standpoint of reverse racism and misandry, and there'd be a hell of a stushie if the role of NELSON MANDELA had been given to JASON STRATHAM.  What's that?  Not the same at all, because Nelson Mandela is a real, historical figure?  Okay then, if the roles of T'CHALLA, The BLACK PANTHER, or LUKE CAGE, POWER MAN were given to white actors.  The principle's the same either way.

In one sense though, I can see their point.  It'd be nice if we were all colour blind and didn't define a person according to the hue of their skin, though not to the extent of pretending those differences don't exist.  And remember, it cuts both ways: if you hear someone lamenting the fact of there being too many white actors on TV and in film (or at the OSCARS), think about how offensive it would sound if someone in the audience of PORGY and BESS were to say there were too many black actors on stage.  That would be considered racist, and the exact same standard should be applied in reverse.  (After all, that's true equality.)  By all means let's have more roles for ethnic actors and women (if that's what the market requires), but not at the expense of changing established characters into a different gender or colour.  Personally speaking, I'm sick of actors bleating on about how there should be more parts for (fill in as applicable), as if the profession automatically owes them a living just because they've decided on it as a career.  

The 'diversity' principle likely sprang from well-intentioned motives, but it's been hijacked by zealots with a skewed perception of reality who want to impose their views on the rest of us.  Similarly, 'positive discrimination' was implemented in order to address a perceived imbalance, but missed an important point in the process, which is this: If you're positively discriminating in favour of one gender or ethnicity, you're negatively discriminating against another (or others).  In just what way is replacing one perceived wrong with another of the same type a good thing?  Or does the end justify the means?

Anyway, that's how I see things, what about you?  Feel free to express yourself in the comments section.  But first, watch this trailer...

BABE Of The DAY - ALEX KINGSTON...

ALEX KINGSTON just walked by,

pretending not to have noticed me.  How-

ever, women can never maintain the pretence

for long, so she won't be able to resist stealing

a look.  Any sec now - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - bingo!

See, told you she'd  turn  around to ogle me,

 didn't I?  Caught you, Alex.  Smile

THESE DANCERS ARE NO CLOWNS...

The Nicholas Brothers and Gene Kelly dance their socks off, to a song that seems a

little incongruous in a film about pirates, but the dancing is impressive.  (And you're right

- the tune does sound very similar to 'Make 'em Laugh' from Singing In The Rain.)

RAMBLING REPOST: MYSTERIES, MUSINGS, & MEANDERINGS...

In previous posts I've doubtless bored you all rigid with ponderous ponderings on the nature of time, as well as rambling reminiscences of my childhood and how I've never been quite able to comprehend how I went to bed one night as a teenager and woke up what seems like the very next morning as the grumpy curmudgeon I am now.  Well, the bad news is that it's more of the same, I'm afraid.

As a child I was always looking backward.  When I moved from the first house I remember (but not the first I lived in), I made little pilgrimages to my old street to look at my former abode and derive some comfort from the familiarity of its presence.  What's particularly odd about this over-developed sense of nostalgia is that I only lived three or four minutes away and was a mere five and a half years old.  Wow!  Not even six and already hankering after the 'good old days'.

This compulsion to revisit the past has been a prominent feature of my personality all through my life to this very day.  I recently added photographs of the views from the windows of my previous houses to my screensaver facility so that I can again gaze on familiar scenes whenever the mood takes me.  At the click of a key I can re-experience any one of several landscapes that once met me when I drew back the curtains in the morning at various stages in my life.

However, there was one particular house (the third after the aforementioned ones above) I lived in for several years that I didn't miss 'til over a dozen years after moving out (and two houses down the line) and I've often wondered as to the reasons for this 'delayed reaction'.  If you're interested (or aren't currently engaged in watching paint dry), feel free to join me as I explore the possible explanation for the curious complexity which has puzzled me for many a long year.

When I moved from the house in question (back in 1972), my life still revolved to a great degree around the neighbourhood it was situated in.  I continued to attend the school just across the road from it for another two and a half years.  I still went to Summer and Christmas fayres in the church at the top of the street, and my mother dutifully trotted along to the Sunday services every week, even though there was another congregation of the same denomination just around the corner from our new home.  (In fact, it was from this group that the one my mother went to had sprung.)  My friends all lived near or around my old domicile and I continued to frequent the area for quite a few years after.

It wasn't unusual for me to come home from school (and later, work), have my tea, and then return to my previous neighbourhood to hang about the local shopping centre (about thirty seconds away from my old front door) with my pals.  Perhaps that explains why I wasn't consumed with the same rabid pangs of nostalgia I nursed for previous houses;  I saw it so often that I simply never had a chance to miss it.  The ambiance of the house was preserved in our new home by the presence of the same furniture we'd had in every place we'd ever lived in - plus, our new house was similar in many respects to the first one I remembered, hence it conjured up a feeling of familiarity that pre-dated the dwelling we had just recently vacated.

It wasn't until we had again moved house (in 1983) and were ensconced in yet another new residence that I gradually started to miss the one we had quit way back in 1972.  What's strange about this was that I was simultaneously wallowing in nostalgic notions for the homestead we had just left (to say nothing of the ones which preceded them both), so it certainly can't be denied that I was spoilt for choice when it came to such sentimental self-indulgence.  Maybe I'm just greedy?

Perhaps another reason I only started to miss this particular house when I did had something to do with running into an old classmate from primary school in the neighbourhood shops across from my old home in 1984 or '85.   ALEX LOWE by name, and as fine and decent a bloke as you could ever hope to meet.  We exchanged greetings, enquired after one another's well-being, and then Alex asked:  "Are you still living across the road?", nodding in the direction of my previous abode.  He was surprised to learn that I'd moved away about twelve or thirteen years earlier, and it made me wonder how many other people I knew still thought I lived in a place I'd left almost half my life away at that point.

Talking of Alex (and veering wildly off topic), I hope he won't mind me recounting that he once appeared in our secondary school play as a fairy, uttering the immortal lines:  "I'm a fairy, bright and gay, helping others every day!"  I don't recall anything else about that play, but Alex's turn got such a huge laugh on the night that everyone remembered it - and constantly quoted the lines back to him in lisping, falsetto voice over the course of the next few terms.  (I know I did, little bastich that I was.)  He always took it in good humour, being the fine fellow he is.

I'd planned to expand the scope of this topic and try and explore (in an epic exercise in tedium) wider themes than I actually have.  For example, what it is that draws us to our past and connects us to where we came from, and whether or not it has any bearing on the direction we take in life.  Can a house in which we once stayed shape our perceptions of ourselves, or would we be precisely the same as we are regardless of the bricks and mortar which shield us from the elements?  However, the realisation has now dawned on me that it's simply too big a concept to concisely and competently capture within the confines of a blog post - in an interesting and entertaining way, at least.

I'll have to content myself with the hope (slim as it may be) that I may have prompted some readers to indulge in a little quiet contemplation of whatever memories reside within the repositories of their own minds.

Or, failing that, helped cure them of their insomnia.

JACK (KING) KIRBY DC SPECIALS...

Images copyright DC COMICS

Having looked at some of MARVEL's TRUE BELIEVERS mags celebrating what would've been JACK KIRBY's 100th year, it's now time to turn our attention to the Distinguished Competition - DC.  First up is the above NEW GODS Special, followed by a team-up Special of The NEWSBOY LEGION and The BOY COMMANDOS.  Why SIMON & KIRBY never produced such a mag (or did they?) is both a surprise and a mystery - you'd have thought it would be an obvious choice for the duo to do back in the '40s.  Rounding off our trilogy is The SANDMAN Special, though no doubt there'll be other titles to come.  (I'll keep you informed.)

All three issues contain Classic Kirby Bonus Stories, so if you're a Jack Kirby fan, these comics are for you, Melvin!  Pop 'round to your favourite comic shop today and grab 'em while they're going.  (And if you're passing GREGGS, jump in and treat yourself to one [or two even - why hold back?] of their famous Steak Bakes.)