On and impluse, I did a search for old Interzone covers on google images, and came back with this site which holds most (if not all) the covers of Interzone from Issue 1 to Issue 199, which strangely enough is exactly where I started subscribing to it.

I particularly liked the way the cover changed slightly from Issue 1 to Issue 2, the total eclipse of the sun moving off centre and the colour changing. Very effective, if simplistic.

You can see how the artwork progressed, and the way in which ’sf’ is being portrayed through art is changing.

It’s also amusing to see how the Interzone logos change over the years, of which I prefer the newest. Although that’s not to say the older ones weren’t ‘cool’ in their day - they just look kind of dated now, which isn’t really true of the artwork itself, it’s stood the test of time.

My favourite is Issue 16 as it reflects the kind of stories I rate high on my list - a world which is similar to our own on the surface, but strange when examined closely.

Looking at the covers, quite a few names jump out. Most notably, J.G Ballard, Christopher Priest, Jonathan Carroll (which I never realised had written for Interzone), Ian Watson, Kim Newman, Greg Bear, Bruce Sterling,, Greg Egan, Eric Brown and William Gibson, to name but a few. Which goes to make an impressive lineup.

A great archive, which covers the covers of the world’s best, British and longest running, sf magazine, although, sadly, the names of the artists are missing.

After the roaring success of 300, which took over the late evening slot for the last two months, After Dark at the BFI IMAX is back with an extra-special event on Saturday 2 June – an all-night screening of the Alien quadrilogy with the added bonus of Alien 1, 2 and 3 presented in stunning 70mm. Also showing soon on the big screen on the South Bank will be four current movie hits; Hot Fuzz, Sunshine, 28 Weeks Later and Curse of the Golden Flower.

For the first time at the BFI IMAX since 2000, sci-fi and horror fans can not only see Ridley Scott’s ground-breaking movie – one of the scariest films ever made – back on the big screen again, but can sit in comfort, even with a beverage or two and enjoy the three sequels. It’s a marathon SEVEN hours of viewing to handle throughout the night, so remember…. in space no one can hear you scream.

AfterDark Schedule Dates/Times:
May
Fri 25 – Thurs 31 May at 8.45pm – Hot Fuzz (15)
June
Fri 1 – Thurs 7 June at 8.45pm (except for 6.45pm on 2 June) – Sunshine (15)
Sat 2 June from 9.00pm – Alien quadrilogy all-nighter – all four films showing back to back, with a 30-minute break between each
9.00pm – Alien 70mm (15)
12 midnight – Aliens 70mm (18)
2.30am – Alien 3 70mm (18)
5.00am – Alien: Ressurection (18)

Fri 8 – Thurs 14 June at 8.45pm – 28 Weeks Later (18)
Fri 15 – Thurs 21 June at 8.45pm – Curse of the Golden Flower (15)

During the all-night event teas and coffees will be provided FREE, with snacks, sweets and soft drinks available to buy and a range of alcoholic drinks on sale at the bar.

All films with the exception of Alien, Aliens and Alien 3 which are the original 70mm versions, will be shown in their original theatrical 35mm versions (NB. not IMAX or IMAX DMR); the image will fill approximately one third of the giant screen.

Cinema information
The BFI IMAX is located at South Bank, London SE1. Nearest tube is Waterloo (2 minutes walk). Tickets for the Alien all-nighter are £25.00 for Adults and £18 for Concessions and can be bought either online from www.bfi.org.uk/imax, from the ticket desk in person or by telephoning the box office on 0870 787 2525. Tickets for the other films showing in May and June are £8.50 Adults and £6.25 Concessions.

About After Dark at the BFI IMAX
Created to offer an alternative during the evening to the mainly family-friendly titles that generally comprise our programme, After Dark is an opportunity for local residents south of the River to see new releases on the big screen. Films are screened in their original theatrical 35mm formats, unless otherwise indicated, using standard projection (i.e. not IMAX or IMAX digital re-mastering); the image fills approximately one third of the screen, making it one of the biggest pictures in London. As the auditorium is designed as a sound studio, sound quality is excellent. The BFI IMAX, two minutes from Waterloo station, offers a perfect view from steeply raked seats. Alcoholic drinks along with snacks, sweets and soft drinks are available to buy. The After Dark programme changes regularly and customers are advised to check our website or local listings for details.

About the BFI IMAX
The BFI IMAX is run by the BFI. A state-of-the-art, large-format cinema seating over 485 people, it features a screen more than 20 metres high – the height of five double-decker buses – and stretching more than 26 metres wide. It is the largest cinema screen in the UK. This, together with the 12,000-watt digital surround-sound system and the most sophisticated motion-picture projector in the world, immerses audiences in larger-than-life images and ultra-realistic sound, whether the film is in 2D, 3D or IMAX® DMR™.

About the BFI
There’s more to discover about film and television through the BFI. Our world-renowned archive, cinemas, festivals, films, publications and learning resources are here to inspire you.

Q) Can you tell me if you will be showing the extra episodes of Stargate that continue to 10.5 episodes that the usa Scifi Channel is showing.

And also when the new Stargate film The Arc of Truth will be available to buy in the U.K. Thank you.

A) We haven’t been following Stargate the series at all, so no ideas there.

We mentioned Stargate episode 200 a while back, and realised it would take a long, long time to catch up.

If any of you Scifi addicts out there have any ideas, let us know via the contact form.

It just finished about 18months 2 years ago with no explanation.

A) Judging by the various episode listings, it appears that six series were made. As I’m not sure what the last one was to be shown (I’m presuming you’re from the UK), then I don’t rightly know if they showed them all or cut off halfway through. To be honest, Earth: Final Conflict was never one I watched. It didn’t grab me while I was watching it, and it was just so boring, and really nothing new.

But, hey, you can always get it on DVD and watch it as much as you like.

If there’s any Scifi Question you’d like to ask us, then let us know and we’ll bust our brains to find the answer!

© 1997 and reprinted with the author’s permission.

‘Attaboy , Boatswain. There’s a good dog. You’re hungry, aren’t you, pal? A few more minutes, okay? Soon as I’m through talking with this nice man.

Don’t care . . .

Some imbecile of a poet once wrote how it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, blah, blah, and blah. I guess the words look good on paper if you’re a Freshman taking Horsefeathers Lit 101. Well, Jim, I’m here to tell you Mr. Tennyson got it wrong.

I loved once.

I lost love once.

For guys like myself, ‘one’ seems to be the allotted number.

A more devout man might believe unendurable loneliness is part of the cosmic plan, some universal litmus test designed to measure the soul’s perseverance. There’s a plan, all right, but I doubt a benevolent or loving Being has much to do with it. If this sorry little planet is overseen by any omnipotent or omniscient God, then as far as I can tell, that deity is into whips and chains and tearing the wings off flies.

You remember Deela, boy? Sure you do . . . Sure you do . . .

Her name was Deela, and although she was impossibly beautiful I never once touched her. The downlink was a crazy accident, of course, a happy stroke of serendipity. Happy accidents aren’t my usual lot, but if you’re talking about the other kind . . .

See these legs, Jim? They’re as useless as pinewood stumps now, and I’ve been unrehearsed in matters of good fortune for some time. During the winter of ‘94 the Throughway looked like Aspen clear up to New England. A ten ton eighteen wheeler barreling down the Greenwich exit ramp thoroughly exhausted my personal allotment of godsends.

Except for my old pal Boatswain here . . .

You miss her too, don’t you, boy?

I couldn’t describe the moment as anything less than extraordinary when I first saw her, although this part will sound absurdly simple. But I’m telling it to you the way it happened, Jim, and if you’re just humoring me to get my story, then this interview is past tense. Are we clear on that point?

The associates at Menkin & Malish were decent enough to let me work out of my apartment, and I’d been downloading July’s spreadsheets when my IBM monitor suddenly strobed and smoke belched from the disk drive. While I was trying to salvage July’s barbecued actuary tables the girl simply appeared alongside my wheelchair like a magic trick, standing there big as life where a split second earlier there had been nothing. I had to rub my eyes to determine she wasn’t some sort of colossal mindfart, thinking that being laid up like this had finally done to my brain what that diesel had done to my limbs.

The woman seemed more confused than frightened, like some innocent forest creature that had fallen asleep and awoke to find itself in completely unfamiliar surroundings. Boatswain was sniffing at her feet but she simply stepped away from him, browsing my study as if to confirm no predators lurked behind the day bed. When her eyes found mine, there they stayed. She didn’t back off when I pulled my wheelchair closer.

I couldn’t utter a sound for several minutes, and that wasn’t entirely because of the girl’s unique entrance. I had never seen any woman so completely and so effortlessly alluring. Ivory flesh glowed through her delicate garments like a polished ceramic. Had she entered my apartment using the doorbell I would have remained stupefied. But coming out of the ozone the way this girl did, that tore it. Who wouldn’t believe his sanity had flown south?

You saw her too, Boatswain, didn’t you? You sniffed and sniffed, and nothing was there . . . but, damn straight, you did see her.

Jim, that dog’s reaction was all that convinced me I hadn’t gone completely mad . . .

“Can you speak? I’m Allen . . .” I offered as my introduction. I might as well have been talking Swahili. Her dark eyes never left mine, but she said nothing.

I reached out slowly to her, carefully, concerned I might frighten her the way she had scared the hot piss out of me. But the woman was made of sterner stuff. She never so much as flinched. I’d expected a being made of flesh and blood, but that was going to be the first of several surprises.

My fingers passed right through her cheek, her image flickering like some old penny arcade movie. She seemed to enjoy - no, to encourage - the contact. Even leaned toward me, for Chrissake, responding to a caress that she couldn’t possibly feel.

Jim, I swear to you, there was nothing to feel, nothing there at all. But my hand warmed to her that instant.

She was some sort of holograph, incorporeal, yet alert to her surroundings. If my brain was playing sandbag with me, then the woman was the most authentic head fuck I’d ever seen. I half anticipated her to corroborate, Why, yes, Allen, of course, a head fuck. That’s what I am!

When a semblance of rationality returned I tried putting pieces together. Something had happened while I’d been downloading the month’s figures, something powerful enough to give the computer one potent hot flash. Somehow my PC had plucked this woman like an errant radio signal from Nowhere. Crazy when you think about it, Jim, I know. Billion dollar satellite dishes scan the skies every day from remote S.E.T.I. outposts in Pago Pago and they come up empty, and in a nanosecond I’m yanking women from another dimension courtesy of a cheap Radio Shack modem.

So, Boatswain, what do you think? Is our friend Jimbo pretending to buy all this phonus bolonus because it will make good copy, laughing up his sleeve at the poor gimp, jingle all the way . . .?

I can’t blame your skepticism. Call it a fluke, call it karma. But can you come up with a more plausible explanation? Who knows what’s bouncing around among the stars? Light beams from fifty years ago? Old television signals of “I Love Lucy”? If you’re searching for logic, then the girl’s image might have been the refracted light from some star that burned out ten thousand years before Ricky Riccardo ever belted out his first “Babbaloo.”

But there’s the rub, Jim. The girl responded to her surroundings in the here-and-now. She saw me. Whatever glitch that occurred in the proverbial space/time continuum unquestionably would have given Al Einstein ‘dem ol’ cosmic blues. Well, you can tell the gang at Omni I’ll take a pass on that migraine, thank you. E Pluribus Unum = MTV2, there’s my formula. I’ll happily let someone else do the math.

Besides, the question we need to ask ourselves now isn’t “How?”

It’s why.

Here’s a good hook for your feature, Jim . . . The ‘Yehbut’ syndrome . . .

My canine friend here, his is another tale entirely. The order of the universe never enters into your equation, does it, Boatswain? A dog can’t be bothered with dogma, right, boy? You are so much clearer on matters of the senses than we homo sapiens can ever hope to be .

My first attempts at communication proved futile. The woman continued watching me and I kept right on watching her. That became so damned unnerving I tried going about my routine with some degree of normalcy. I guess I was hoping that habitual behavior might impose some order back into a universe that had suddenly gone gonzo. I smoked a cigarette or two, thinking she might acclimate herself to my world while I tried to assimilate her appearance into mine. She had made herself so completely unobtrusive that after several hours I even nodded off.

I dreamed of her, Jim. Dreamed of walking right out of this wheelchair and holding that girl in my arms. But every time I reached for her, there was nothing .

And here the plot thickens. Here the impossible downshifts to the incredible.

“Allen? . . .”

She had stepped closer to me while I slept. Although she spoke in the faintest of whispers, the girl’s voice didn’t come from her image. I shook myself awake and turned so quickly I practically spilled out of my two wheeler thinking someone else must be in the room.

“Allen, can you understand me? I’m Deela . . . Allen . . .? ”

Her lips didn’t move. Instead she spoke from some obscure chamber within my brain sounding like a lost child who had fallen down a dark and bottomless well.

I started to respond, but she interrupted before I got my first word out.

“–Not with speech, Allen . . .”

It seemed a gnat had gotten inside my head and taught itself the English language. Until that moment I’d felt about the same respect for mental telepathy as I did for voodoo. But I couldn’t tell you what goes on inside my telephone either, and I know it works.

My lips formed a silent “Hello . . .” Had someone entered the room during that moment I felt certain they would have found me talking to myself. Mindlessly I began straightening up the study, sweeping papers from my desk and emptying ash trays like some obsessively compulsive neurotic. The crap we do when confronted with the incomprehensible . . .

” . . . place is a mess–” I lip synched like an idiot.

Communication with her was that simple and that absurd, a dialogue so unpretentious that I smiled at my candor concerning my house cleaning skills. But we had managed to break through the tension, and the girl was even beginning to show some grit.

“Was sleeping . . . dreaming . . . when suddenly I am here . . . Unfamiliar with this place, Allen. Not frightened now . . .”

. . . and a hesitant attempt to smile here.

” . . . I have questions . . . Not familiar with here . . .”

She studied my wheel chair, then turned her attention to my ruined legs. The story was there inside my head for her to decode. For me there were few other places than ‘here.’ My universe during the past three years effectively had ended at the door. But Deela didn’t need to read my mind to comprehend the supreme irony. The first human she had ever met was a cripple who feared someone - anyone - would prove better company for the new girl in town.

She’d been studying my face, probably matching what she saw in my eyes against the thoughts inside. Hesitating, Deela uttered something I couldn’t make out because she said it so timidly, as if uncertain of the appropriateness of her remark.

“Repeat, please?” I asked.

“I like when you smile.”

That’s how it started, Jim. Man’s first contact beyond his own dimension and it reads like a first date.

Impressed?

No, I wouldn’t think so. I have to admit our early conversations would seem anti-climactic even for the science fiction crowd. After all, we had transcended the boundaries of time and space. Yet here we were exchanging this getting-to-know-you drivel, seated on our cosmic bar stools trying to get past ‘So, you come here often?’

We talked. She shared with me how telepathy is the one true universal language, how self-imposed dream states were, for her, the equivalent of a day at the beach; I shared with her Bruce Springsteen and episodes of ‘Survivor.’

We talked like this for weeks. It’s all here on video - at least my end of the conversations because of that telepathy thing. Fun for the entire family, I promise you, at least as much fun as watching those piles of dirt beamed from Mars.

But that’s not why you’ve come here, is it, Jim? You know what sells magazines. Leave the cerebral discourses for those folks at PBS, right? We’re talking National Enquirer and maybe the lead story on Hard Copy, aren’t we Jimmy? The Paraplegic and his Love Affair with The Girl from Dimension X .

So let’s cut to the chase, shall we?

Let’s get to the downlink . . .

I coined the phrase because I was the only person who had ever pulled off that stunt, the only guy who probably had ever tried it. I don’t know a microchip from a cheese doodle, but I felt certain of one thing. Whatever had brought Deela to me lurked inside my computer the moment I’d begun that download weeks earlier. It stood to reason that if she had immigrated to my address via modem, then shutting off the power ran the risk of sending her back into cyberspace like returned e-mail.

So I had to make certain I kept the computer’s power switch turned on . . .

. . . But just how reliable is electricity in this town, Jim? Brownouts are as common in New York as dog turds in Central Park, and with all those midtown air conditioners doing double shifts in August a power outage becomes an event you could set your watch to. The most natural law in nature has always been Murphy’s.

Aware that it could all vanish in a moment I took my chances . For weeks we shared a private world that never left this room. I couldn’t tell you why Deela chose to remain with me. I never asked her. I’d like to think it was something other than pity, and if that’s what it was then I didn’t want to know.

Yehbut . . .

Maybe it was the dreams she had been having , dreams she didn’t want to face alone . . .

In any case our brief time together should have been enough . . .

It wasn’t.

Because something was missing from the get-go with Deela. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? What man wouldn’t know? Just because my legs had quit kicking didn’t mean the rest of me had .

The woman was only a holograph! A puff of mist near enough to reach out to but as impossible to touch as Casper.

. . . and Christ I wanted to touch her !

I agonized the decision for weeks. To risk losing Deela amounted to pulling the plug on every emotion I’d experienced since that first day.

In theory the downlink could happen again because any valid experiment can be replicated. The downlink had worked, and that made it valid. Some rogue microchip residing inside my PC had successfully tuned in to Deela’s channel, and presto! the rabbit was pulled from the hat.

So I got to thinking . . . could celestial lightning strike twice?

Excepting the rust colored Rorschach around the upper lip of its disk drive the computer didn’t seem badly smoke damaged. How difficult would it be to perform a similar operation, to reestablish the original downlink and pull Deela back, this time in the flesh? Any high school freshman taking Science knows solid matter is never created; it’s recreated. Matter is particles, zillions of the ubiquitous fuckers. When you strung enough of that dense matter together you had yourself - academically speaking - one breathing, heaving, and perfectly solid woman.

Could I bring those particles closer together in a new downlink? The variables would have to be different this time, of course, but the central nervous system of the operation clearly resided in my PC and its modem. Working in tandem the first time, hadn’t those babies proven a pretty efficient vacuum cleaner that had sucked Deela right into the third dimension?

But not quite . . .

Because the first downlink lacked the muscle to pull off that trick with complete success.

And I knew why.

The human brain is a regular dynamo when called to action, Jim. I searched for an answer and that light bulb inside my head blared like a 1000 watt klieg.

The first downlink didn’t pull Deela entirely through because she had to share space with the other data I had downloaded. My computer did what any computer would do. It downloaded what it could . . .

It downloaded the image of Deela, but not the substance . . .

Ergo and ipso facto, Jimmy . . . This time I would create a file specifically for Deela, I’d clear up a load of memory on the IBM, then I would wait for her to drift off to sleep and play that computer’s keyboard like Chopin .

One to beam down, Mr. Scott.

Easy.

Too easy.

Because I haven’t told you about the dreams . . .

Deela couldn’t sleep without having them. All that mental magic she had been practicing on me had its downside, because she’d been tuning in on some demons as well. Practically every night I awakened to the sound of her screams reverberating inside my head.

“Something horrible . . . Something huge . . . Darkness all around me . . . each time the same dream! Each time, always the same!”

I never wanted to hold Deela so badly as I did during those moments I came to awaken her from those nightmares . . .

Do you ever scream yourself awake, Jim? Are your worst dreams so real you have to keep screaming to bring yourself out?

Do you ever worry that maybe the next time you won’t be able to bring yourself back?

‘To sleep, perchance to dream . . .’

The old cosmic scam .

Deela had been having that same nightmare when the first downlink found her and carried her to me. Here’s a thought . . .

They say our brains give off certain alpha waves when we sleep, that these become more intense when we dream. Let’s say those alpha waves could be picked up by some sort of transmitter like radio signals, then relayed someplace else?

No, not relayed. Something more . . .

Downlinked .

Do you get what I’m saying, Jim? Are we on the same frequency?

Deela was . . .

It was a gamble, of course, an inexact shot in the dark, and odds favored complete failure.

But if it worked! Christ, if it worked . . .

I emptied every file on my computer menu, probably kissing off my career with Menkin & Malish in the process. I didn’t tell Deela what I had planned, fearing that even the slightest tampering with the variables might affect the second downlink.

Yes I know, Jim. Deela could read my mind like the Sunday paper. I wasn’t kidding myself. She must have known how much it meant to me .

But she never said a word .

I waited for her to fall asleep.

Wheeling myself to my computer I opened the single file I had created.

I had labeled it “DEELA.”

Switching on the modem I turned to watch her as she slept alongside Boatswain on the day bed. I hoped on this night her dreams were more peaceful.

I inserted the floppy disk marked ‘e-mail’ I’d formatted for this moment and moved Deela’s empty folder online, selecting the key that would open it.

I opened the vacant Menkin & Malish file and began the download.

Deela disappeared that same instant.

You ‘ll want to see how it came out, James. This part has to be seen. I think we’re ready to roll tape now.

Pop this cassette into the VCR , would you? I think you’ll enjoy our denouement.

Come here, Boatswain. You’re going to want to see this too.

All right, there’s Deela fast asleep on the day bed just before the downlink. She could pass for a little kid with a tooth hidden under her pillow, couldn’t she? Watch her closely, because . . . because . . .

Now you see her . . .

. . . and now you don’t!

Sing it along with me, all together now . . .

YEH . . .

She’s vanished like words erased from a chalkboard . . .

BUT . . .

. . . where has she gone? Oh, you can watch me on the screen for those first few moments and tell I was just fine with her disappearing act. Hell, it meant I was right on the money. That comforting thought didn’t last long.

There I am seated by my trusty PC, my faithful canine by my side, doing what I’ve since learned to do best.

I’m waiting . . . just waiting for Deela to reappear . . . and waiting some more . . .

I had observed the downlink procedure to the letter, but as you can see nothing much is happening on the screen, is there? How much time had I spent sitting here? Five minutes? Ten? Tell me, what’s wrong with this picture, Jim?

Ever see a guy in a wheelchair move his ass like that? Here I am hustling into the bedroom where I won’t find any trace of Deela whatsoever. Come out, come out, wherever you are! ‘Oley-Oley In-Free!’ How about the bathroom? Nope, no Deela here either. Inside the closet? Maybe under the sink? Watch me find nothing for my efforts, Jim.

Watch my world crumble.

But she’s there on the screen. Oh, yes . . . Deela is there . . .

You have to know where to look for her . . . how to listen for her . . .

Do you see her? Can you hear her now? Shhhhhhh . . .

. . . Shhhhhhhhh . . . .

What about you, Boatswain? I’m seeing those ears perk up. Is it all coming back to you now? Is it, Boatswain? Is it, boy?

“Allen . . . Help me . . . Allen . . . Please . . . Please . . .!!!”

Yes, that’s Deela screaming just as she had screamed in her dreams.

It’s hard to hear on the t.v., but that’s Deela screaming her lungs out, all right.

Want to know why she’s screaming, Jim?

. . . because she’s reliving her nightmare all over again, that same nightmare from which I had stolen her and now had returned her!

[Something horrible . . . Something huge . . . Darkness . . . ]

Still can’t see her? I couldn’t either. . . at least not then. Watch me searching for her, frantically searching for the voice no longer speaking from inside my head, a voice that somehow remained so small, so impossibly and infinitesimally tiny . . .

“Allen . . . Allen . . . Please . . .”

“Deela! Where are you? Tell me where you are! I can’t find you! ”

My good pal Boatswain knew where to find her, Jim. Dogs have their incredible senses of smell and hearing. Boatswain’s a Labrador Retriever, you know, and those hounds make the best hunters. That’s what Labradors do.

They hunt . . .

. . . and they retrieve!

You see, I had brought Deela back, all right. The downlink had worked perfectly.

Except I had miscalculated one small thing, one tiny detail . . .

When all those particles of solid flesh came together in the downlink they condensed the former image of Deela back to her original size .

. . . to reconstruct the real flesh and blood Deela . . .

. . . a woman who had always been three inches tall!

“Allen! Please, . . . oh please! . . . Allen . . . EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE……………………….!”

Look closely at the screen, Jim. There’s my Lab, there’s man’s best friend, and sure enough, he’s doing just what nature intended him to do.

He’s retrieving something! He’s eating something!

Why, Jim, it looks like he’s pulling some sort of gravy-matted lump from his dog dish . . .

Can you see what Boatswain is carrying to me in his mouth . . .?

THE END.

Following on from the post earlier about Eddie Izzard’s scifi sketch, someone has let me know that the excerpt is available online. (I think I’ll become Eddie’s unofficial promotor for a while).

!!!As before it contains swearing, so if you’re scared of those kinds of words, don’t watch it!!!

I checked out some of his other sketches (which you can do at the link above), and it’s apparent that he ties in science fiction jokes into his sketches all over the place.

I’m going to have a look and see what else I can dig up in relation to science fiction sketches.

This is an edited version of Cake Or Death from the Eddie Izzard - it’s magical: as it has the power to combat automated comment spam.

Actually, not really, but I needed an excuse to tie in Eddie Izzard with the comment spam filter I’ve installed, so comments are re-opened AND we all get a laugh.

!!!Contains a bit of swearing, much like the spam used to, so DON’T read ahead if you’re scared of it!!!

Over to Eddie Izzard, ladies and gentlemen:

Future
But finally tonight, finally tonight I just want to talk about the future. The future. Where will the future be? Science Fiction writers, they write it down, they write it down in books. And then it becomes films, and then it all comes to pass, like those doors in Star trek: (whoosh sound) we’ve got them now! That’s about it! But that’s happened.

And they had ‘The Empire Strikes Back’, the fifth of the four Star Wars films. He is fucking with us numerically, isn’t he! “Children, count up to ten.” “Four, five, six, one, two, three, ten”. No, it goes, four, five, six, one, two, three… No, it goes: four, five, six. One. Two and three have not been made.” “Two and three have not been made! What should they be?” “What should they be? We do not know. All we know is that there will be a big floppy character in it that goes, (like Ja Ja) ‘Brr brr, brr brr..’ who needs a punch up the bracket!”

That’s another one, that’s the punch right there. Up the bracket. (indicates face) This is the bracket, I think. I didn’t know, my dad used to say it to me, “You need a good punch up the bracket!” No he didn’t, actually. He used to say, “I’ll smash you through that wall!”

So, uh, where was I going? Yes, yes, yes, so Star Wars, I mean they had the Deathstar. Deathstar is a very… almost like a New York name, ‘The Deathstar’. It gets to the point. (American accent) “What’s that star?” “It’s the Deathstar.” “What does it do?” “It does death! It does death, buddy! Get out of my way… with your centilitres and your millilitres, your fucking combine harvesters.”

Sporadic laugh that was, (mimes weird laugh) It’s like I’ve gone in and removed some of your entrails… Ish, you know. Anyway.

Death Star Canteen
So, uh, yeah, but the Deathstar, the one thing about the Deathstar is that there was no food. No one had food at all. No food at all! No one said, “Hey, Darth Vader, Emperor, just nipping down to alpha beta 9. What d’you want? Couple of sarnies? Um, chicken, ham, ham, chicken, egg, what? Coke? Diet Coke? What d’you want? What d’you want? You weird bleeders!”

But there must have been a Deathstar canteen, yeah? There must have been a cafeteria downstairs, in between battles, where Darth Vader could just chill and go down (Vader voice) “I will have the penne a la arabiata.” (canteen server) “You’ll need a tray.” “Do you know who I am?” “Do you know who I am?” “This is not a game of who the fuck are you. For I am Vader. Darth Vader. Lord Vader. I can kill you with a single thought!” “Well you’ll still need a tray.” “No I will not need a tray. I do not need a tray to kill you. I can kill you without a tray, with the power of the Force - which is strong within me - even though I could kill you with a tray if I so wished. For I would hack at your neck with the thin bit until the blood flowed across the canteen floor…” “No, the food is hot. You’ll need a tray to put the food on.” “Oh I see, the food is hot. I’m sorry I, I did not realise. Hah hah! I thought you were challenging me to a fight to the death.” “Fight to the death? This is canteen, I work here.” “Yes, but I am Vader, I am Lord Vader. Everyone challenges me to a fight to the death. Lord Vader. Darth Vader, I am Darth Vader, Lord Vader. Sir Lord Vader, Sir Lord Darth Vader. Lord Darth Sir Lord Vader of Cheam. Sir Lord Baron von Vaderham. The Deathstar. I run the Deathstar.” “What’s the Deathstar?” (Darth is losing a bit of patience) “This is the Deathstar. You’re in the Deathstar. I run this star.” “This is a star?” “This is a fucking star - I run it. I’m your boss.” “You’re Mr Stephens?” “No, I’m… who is Mr Stephens?” “He’s head of catering.” “I’m not head of catering! I am Vader. I can kill catering with a thought.” “What?” “I can kill you all. I can kill me with a thought. Just… I’ll get a tray, fuck it!

(Still Vader) This one’s wet, and this one’s wet, and this one’s wet. This one is wet, this one is wet, this one is wet, this one is wet, this one is wet, this one is wet, this one is wet, this one is wet. Did you dry these in a rain forest? Why, with the power of the Deathstar, do we not have a tray that is fucking dry? I do not…(someone has pushed in) No, no, no. I was here first.” “You have to form a queue if you want food. Can I have, oh, penne a la arabiata, that looks nice.” “No, no, no. D’you know who I am?” (server buts in) “That’s Jeff Vader, that is.” “I am not Jeff Vader, I am Darth Vader.” “What, Jeff Vader runs the Deathstar?” “No, Jeff… No, I run the Deathstar.” “You Jeff Vader?” “No, I’m Darth Vader!” “Are you his brother? Can you get his autograph?” “I can’t get it… No, I’m… All right, I’m Jeff Vader! I’m Jeff Vader!” “Can I have your autograph?” “No, fuck off, or I’ll kill you with a tray! Give me penne a la arabiata or you shall die. And you, and everyone in this canteen! Death by tray it shall be!” (scornful server) “Do you want peas with that?” “Peas? You don’t have peas! You can’t put red with…It doesn’t work with penne, you don’t put, unless you push them up the penne tubes, and then they’d be weird! Just…(gives up) oh, all right, put some peas on.”

Thank you very much. Thank you.

The End.

(And I’m off out now to get ALL of Eddie’s material.)

You can view Eddie’s Deathstar Cafeteria sketch here too.

Only - I haven’t seen a single episode. Which means (deep breath): I have to watch 199 episodes beforehand = 199 episodes at 45 minutes : 8955 minutes of it = 149.25 hours? 6.2 days of solid viewing. omg! better order some popcorn…

And they apparently bring back ‘Willie Garson’ - I presume that’s good…

OK, I’ll do it after the rest of The Twilight Zone B&W 2 and Blake’s 7 1 & 2 and LOST.

A guy can only take so much.. .. . .

2000AD do an occasional story line which are just weird, very much like the Twilight Zone called Future Shocks or Time Twisters. It’s a place for new artists and scripters to showcase their imagination. Alan Moore has put together a compilation which will - just - weird - you - out.

One memorable one which I recollect is where a guy notices a strip of clear white paint on the roof of his house. He’s bewildered, and wonders what it’s about. No conclusion comes until maybe 15 years later. He’s finally painted his house and low and behold a strip of paint has disappeared. He vaguely remembers something which happened before…

To me these are probably the most thought out story lines, or at least the most weird and thought provoking story lines which have appeared in 2000AD.

If you like weird and thought provoking stories, then simply go get it.

Personally, I think it should be at least looked at, without CGI. Unless it’s absolutely necessary.

So what’s stopping you?

Or can’t you Director people handle it?

Thunderbirds, War of the Worlds , Images of Sci-Fi. Artist Mike Trim Featured in NewBook Slated for July Release

“A book of Mike Trim’s design work is a thing to be treasured.” — Richard Taylor

Five-time Academy Award winner & Special Effects Director of Lord of the Rings, King Kong, Master & Commander: The Far Side of the World, and director of Weta Workshop.

In 1964, young Mike Trim answered a newspaper advertisement seeking model makers for a film production crew and embarked on an odyssey that would last for more than four decades. Beginning in the final days of Stingray, Trim went to work as a model maker and designer for Gerry and Sylvia Anderson’s television series Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet, Joe 90, The Secret Service and UFO - as well as their feature films: Thunderbirds Are GO, Thunderbird 6 and Journey to the Far Side of the Sun (aka Doppelganger).

Starting out in the model shop, Trim later became Special Effects Director Derek Meddings’ assistant in designing the fabulous futuristic architecture, vehicles, and distinctive look of the Andersons’ imaginative series. Eventually, he assumed responsibility for the majority of the design work for the series as Meddings (who won an Academy Award for his work on the 1978 film Superman) became more involved in feature films.

After contributing a single (unused) vehicle design and model to the series Space: 1999, Trim moved into freelance illustration, creating an iconic cover painting for one of the best-selling albums of all time, Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of The War of the Worlds, in 1978.

The Art Of Mike Trim. Images Of SciFi.

Celebrating more than forty years as a designer, Trim has now collaborated with author Anthony Taylor to produce a full-color collection of his works. The Future Was FAB: The Art of Mike Trim is an in-depth review of the artist’s entire career as a sci-fi designer and illustrator. Featuring hundreds of full-color and black-and-white drawings, paintings, marker comps and photos, the book offers a one-of-a-kind, up-close-and-personal view of how the artist foretells the future at the end of a paintbrush. The illustrations are annotated by Trim via his anecdotes and insights as he worked with the Andersons, Meddings and the crew of Century 21 Films, as well as his experiences as a freelance artist and his account of how the instantly recognizable cover art for The War of the Worlds LP was created. Also chronicled: his techniques and influences, unproduced and upcoming projects, and more. With chapters covering his techniques and early influences, unproduced and upcoming projects and more, The Future was FAB: The Art of Mike Trim is a fitting tribute to an artist whose work has permeated the pop culture landscape for more than forty years, and a meticulous archive of his seminal works in the field of sci-fi art and design.

The Art Of Mike Trim. Images Of SciFi.

AVAILABLE JULY 25, 2006
from Fabgearusa.com, Amazon.com, and book stores worldwide.

All Mike Trim Images Are Copyright.

# # #

The Future Was FAB: The Art of Mike Trim

By Anthony Taylor with Mike Trim

Forewords by Richard Taylor and David Tremont of Weta Workshop

Published by Hermes Press. 128 pages. Trade Paperback, 9×12 inches, $29.95

ISBN: 1932563822

If there is one under rated British SF author that comes to mind, it’s Christoper Priest. Being one of my favourite authors since reading The Affirmation, I have since collected all his books - A Dream Of Wessex, The Space Machine, The Glamour, The Extremes, Dream Archipelago, The Quiet Woman etc, numerous short stories and of course, The Prestige (some of the older and out of print ones which were suprisingly difficult to track down).

I particularly like the way his novels are cross-linked, where one story will link to another story. For example, The Dream Archipelago references The Affirmation which was read by a soldier, The Affirmation is a novel about a novel being written, which appears to be The Affirmation too. A very clever writing style.

So, I am pleased to find that at last one of his novels has been chosen to be produced as a movie. Let’s hope they pull it off. It is due out sometime in 2007. Pencilled in details are as follows: Director: Christopher Nolan. Cast: Christian Bale, Hugh Jackman. Production Company: Disney/Warner Bros. Written By Jonathan Nolan.

You can read and catch up on the specifics on IMDB and The Z Review.

Photo credit unknown.

Jim Patrick Kelly has recorded some of his short stories and has posted them in the form of free audio books in MP3 files. They have all appeared in some outstanding journals such as Asimov’s Science Fiction, SciFiction, Realms Of Fantasy and The Magazine Of Fantasy And Science Fiction.

You can see from the list below that Jim has been writing for over two decades and the fact that he has put up his stories for free in audio format is a testement to his love of the genre.

You can tell this during his narrations too. As he says in the introduction, he is reading them as he thought them as he was writing them. His voice changes with the text, you can feel the emotion coming through every breath. The snippets of music during the start and at the end really add to the overall presentation. Thankfully there is no sound effects or added music during the text itself, making the true power of the words come through without any superfluous trimmings.

I hope that you get enjoyment from these free e-books, and in turn peruse his commercially available paperbound books and e-books.

• Bierhorst, R. G., Seera, B. L. and Jannifer, R. P. ‘Proof of the Existence of God and an Afterlife.’ Journal of Experimental Psychology. (August 1998)
• The Edge Of Nowhere (June 2005)
• Barry Westphal Crashes The Singularity (September 2002)
• Faith (June 1989)
• The Best Christmas Ever (May 2004)
• Serpent (May 2004)
• Bernardo’s House (June 2003) (Rated R)
• The Pyramid Of Amirah (March 2002)
• Itsy Bitsy Spider (June 1997)
• The Ice Is Singing (April 2003)
• Monsters (June 1992)
• Fruitcake Theory (December 1998)
• Unique Visitors (2001)

No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century, that human affairs were being scrutinized, written down, rearranged and composed into a short but powerful novel. A man busied himself, merging intelligences greater than Man’s and yet as mortal as his own.

A leafy suburban town became the focus of his writings, the first strike point of an invasion from outerspace. From Mars. One world crept silently towards another. Thus was born, War Of The Worlds.

Herbert George Wells.

Some Shots Of The Wonderful H.G. Wells’ Martian Sculpture/Rendition To Be Seen In Woking

A Long Shot Which Shows The Height Of This Impressive Work Of Art

An Almost Vertical Shot Of The Daunting Martian Sculpture

A Close Up Showing The Detail Of The Martian’s Body

Another Close Up Shot. Notice The Detail, Especially The Tenticles

The Inscription Which Can Be Found Near The Martian

The Crashed Pod In Which The Martians Landed Is Located A Distance From The Martian Itself

As well as the Martian, a Crashed Pod and Bacteria Trail were built. The surrounding area was changed too to compliment the structure.

The Woking War Of The Worlds Martian Sculpture was conceived, designed and built by Michael Condron, Sculptor in 1998 and still looks as cool as it did then.

It is a shame that Woking didn’t utilise and build upon, even work with Universal Studios to promote the town centre and surrounding countryside (Horsell Common inparticular).

Sophie’s World has fast become a phenomenon. Written by Jostein Gaarder, it has become a European bestseller. Written factually it shows the introduction of Philosophy to a 14 year old girl named Sophie. Starting mysteriously with letters left in her mailbox - “Who are you?”, “Where does the world come from?”- which are followed up by a correspondance type course of the history of Philosophy. Sophie warms up to the challenge and eats up the pages. Her mother even thinks her new found enthusiasm in the nature of life is due to drugs.

I am always unsure of these kind of narratives, where factual events are tied up a fictional environment, but Gaarder pulls it off superbly. Even if, in certain places, it seems to drone on somewhat, there is still enough mystery to keep you reading. One person I have spoken to said that you could actually skip some of the factual areas and it wouldn’t detract from the story at all. Don’t be put off by me using the word facts, as the fictional side balances the facts out, being exciting, especially so at the end. It is very much like a Christopher Priest novel in the way that reality, or expectations are turned head over heels. While reading, you will feel like you are sitting next to Sophie, almost asking the same questions.

Sophie’s World is definitely one to recommend if you are interested in Philosophy, either from an academic point of view, or just for some background on it. And with the story of Sophie and Albert Knox (the mysterious tutor) in parallel, it is a wonderful, thought incuding read.

“A book, a bullet, a bomb. A female writer leaving home to buy coffee in 1953 finds herself transported to the year 1997. There she meets a woman on her travels and they become best friends. They discover that they are both victims of a time line which enables them to experience segments of their lives in any order they choose. ”

With a back cover like that, this makes for high expectations. Filmed in black and white and colour; it manages to pull off the different eras perfectly. It is a well shot period piece which manages to look authentic. The music plays a part in the feel of presentation; violin based, quick pieces. It is like the music of the heart of someone who has been thrust into another world, and doesn’t know what’s going on.

A mixture of atom bomb testing, emotion enabled time travel, almost lesbian overtones, and with a story that isn’t explained but has to be worked out as you go along, it is movie worth a watching.

The main thing which fits together is the way that the current timeline (1997) is scary for both leading ladies, they are both unsure of what is going on.

The underlying story flows well, and there is no long narrative explaining everything (as in The Matrix), you have to think through what is happening yourself. A very clever concise story which the actors fit into and flow along with, well.

If you are into time travel stories or film noir, you could do a lot worse than this little gem of a weird and thought provoking film. (If you can manage to hunt it down that is; it seems pretty scarce which is a shame). I’ve watched it more than once, simply because it takes so much to actually work out what the whole story is about.

Fact: This was an impulse buy a few years ago, I bought it on the premise on the backcover and because of the title. Nutty, eh?

For more information, background, quotes and the hows and whys from the movie, you can see writer/director/co-editor Hilary Brougher’s Official Sticky Fingers Site.

I will start this review of Interzone with some blurb off the TTA Press website.

Founded in 1982, Interzone has maintained its position as one of the world’s leading professional Science Fiction and Fantasy magazines, nominated for a Hugo many years running and winning in 1995, a reputation that the new team will be making every effort to enhance and improve.

TTA Press took over from the previous publishers from issue 194 (September/October 2004).

Prior to that, it was published by David Pringle and his gang. It was a stylish, 68 page, (monthly/bi monthly depending on the schedule) containg around 6 or 7 short stories. It included both well known authors and up and coming authors. The kind of stories were what I would term proper SF. They made you think. They were impressive, and most of all they were enjoyable.

Because the lineup changed issue by issue, it was almost like a lottery as to what kind of story you would next read (but the reader always won). Interzone has published new stories by authors such as Brian Aldiss, Sarah Ash, J.G. Ballard, Iain M. Banks, Stephen Baxter, Michael Blumlein, Molly Brown, John Brunner, Christopher Burns, Richard Calder, Jonathan Carroll, Thomas M. Disch, Paul Di Filippo, Greg Egan, William Gibson, Nicola Griffith, John Courtenay Grimwood, M. John Harrison, Robert Holdstock, Gwyneth Jones, Graham Joyce, Garry Kilworth, Jonathan Lethem, Paul J. McAuley, Ian R. MacLeod, Michael Moorcock, Kim Newman, Rachel Pollack, Christopher Priest, Alastair Reynolds, Nicholas Royle, Geoff Ryman, Brian Stableford, Charles Stross, Ian Watson and a great many talented newer authors. The list contains some of my favourite SF writers, namely Christoper Priest and Jonathan Carroll. The point being is that the list is impressive.

As well as the fiction, there were articles of non-fiction which included book reviews, interviews and movie reviews. They were intelligently written and almost as interesting as the fiction.

So, in issue 193 they announced that there was a change of management, and that there was an ‘incoming publisher’. We held our collective breath…

I must admit, that when they announced a change of publisher I wondered exactly how Interzone itself would be affected. I have seen all too many times, an entity is taken over and all of a sudden it becomes unrecognisable for what it was. The new owners have big ideas, which can invariably have a negative impact on how it appears from then on.

It appeared to me as if it was the backbone of British SF and it seemed to be the general consensus from other critics.

Along came issue 194.

My first impressions were from the way the presentation had changed. I held in my hand a glossy Manga style magazine. The main obvious changes were to the logo and the fonts had changed to be more ‘trendy’. I could see immediately that they were trying to push the magazine from it’s ‘fanzine’ look, to a more commercially viable look.

Opening issue 194 showed that they had re arranged the content presentation as well as the content. The look was definately crisper, easier to read, and somehow just looked better. The artwork seemed to revolve around the content of the page it was on. For example there were drawings which fitted in with the page of the story it was on.

Upon comparing the non-fiction areas, I could see that there were still the main areas as there were before, gossip, movie and novel reviews. But in addition there was a new computer game page. Hmm I thought. This instinctively struck me as a bad move. If I wanted to read about computer games, I’d buy a computer game magazine. But after reading the column, and subsequent columns, it shows that in fact, it fits in well. The column is written with SF in mind. Even though I wouldn’t personally buy a game from the sole writings in the column, it makes interesting reading.

The fiction itself was pretty much the same as before, which I breathed a sigh of relief to. But being wary, I wanted to read each subsequent issue to see if there would be a gradual change.

The format lasted from 194 to 198. I think during this time, the publisher were ‘testing the water’, trying various tweeks to the format (as it is in fact only the format and presentation which has changed), and getting feedback from readers.

And along came 199. And it blew me away.

Again, the changes were primarily presentation, but it makes it so much more of a proper magazine. The artwork is still just as excellent. The fiction and non fiction sections are just as good. But now the changes to the look and feel of the magazine seems to have thrust it into a format which could be displayed in a high street newsagents.

The feedback from their readers seems to have payed off. It has a masthead and more of an identifiable front cover. It has been toned down slightly, the logo is no longer in such a ‘futuristic’ font.

I noticed also they’ve put a few choice keywords on the front - Aliens! Murder! Celebrities! Dragons! Sex! Food! I’m not sure what the mentality is behind this choice of words, but I have a feeling that the publisher are aiming for a larger market, something that will sit on a newsagents shelf and be catching to the eye. The picture of the cyberamazon girl with big tits and a laser kind of implies that too.

Looking back, Interzones pre 194 were pretty stagnant. I would envisage this is because it was a case of ‘why fix what isn’t broken’. The format worked. But now, post 193, Interzone is going through many changes to simply bring it upto date.

And it is certainly working. I will continue to subscribe. You can subscribe to Interzone here too. You won’t be disappointed.

So, it’s been revamped and revamped again, and the publishers are improving it all the time. It is very much the better for it. It should be available at WH Smiths (at Waterloo for tired commuters wanting to escape the reality of being stuck on a packed, sweaty train).

A last thought: A few Interzone Anthologies have been released over the years containing key stories through the lifetime of the magazine. It was, infact, how I first got to hear about the publication. I would hate to think that these compilations won’t be carried on. Let’s hope the new publisher have the time/energy/money to bring out the first 21st Century Interzone Compilation.

Issue 200 is reviewed here and it’s funkier than ever.