Regarding yours , dear MS.Mc Dowall of Thursday the 5th of May

I try not to read the local press too often. It just annoys me for any number of reasons that are not necessary to go into right now. But every once in a while my learned friends on the interpipes will point out something that makes me want to go out and burn down the Irish News. Even if it was printed in the Belfast Telegraph. something like this:

http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/opinion/columnists/lindy-mcdowell/is-festival-of-fools-really-a-laughing-matter-15150766.html#idc-cover#ixzz1LlKzpNtU

Where to begin with this trough of shit my darlings? Like most of the work that goes into Telegraph opinion pieces, not a lot of thought has been put into it. As is revealed in Ms McDowell'-s explosive first paragraph. Now it might just be me, but isn't kicking off with the phrase "...I had not given a lot of thought..." something of a bold journalistic gambit? Additionally, isn't "paying more attention" a basic conceit of any form of reportage? But let us put ad hominem asides, err, aside and focus on the TRUTH BOMBS being dropped here.

Once a year in Ye Olde Village of Belfast we get the opportunity to experience the classic forms of street performing that appear all over the world, many of them hundreds of years old representing divergent cultures and societies that may well have passed into history. While many of these seem to the naked eye to be mere "foolery" there are many subtle nuances to consider. Is that motorised robot designed to look like a homeless man a tasteless piss take ? Or is it a subtle satire of the way we treat the homeless? Somtimes if you look beyond FACE VALUE you might notice a SUBTEXT. If you are too shallow to try any of these ideas might I recommend November's "Festival of Saucers, Envelopes and Small Streams." I suspect they'll be at your depth.

The Festival of Fools allows, for at least a short period of the year, Joe Belfast to see some stuff they would not ordinarily get (it's considered too twee for the rest of the year). Without subsidies, much of the arts scene in Northern Ireland would simply not exist. Simply put, these things nine times out of ten don't make a profit. Why? BECAUSE IT ISN'T ALWAYS ABOUT MONEY. SOMETIMES IT'S ABOUT EXPRESSION, OR ARTISTIC ENDEAVOUR, OR JUST TRYING SOMETHING NEW!!!!!!! Obviously because of this, these events might have limited appeal. It's not for everyone. So without vital funding we wouldn't get any of this good stuff.

All right the Cathedral Quarter Festival certainly attracts the crowds because it has big name acts, but if that festival isn't subsidised in some fashion either by arts council or sponsorship I will eat my fucking hat. In fact, just checked--massive arts council funding which was recently cut. Still, maybe that will result in a higher quality of craic, eh?

Basically what our Ms McDowell is saying is "I saw some people doing stuff I didn't understand or like. Some people told me they didn't like it. Other people may have. I couldn't be bothered to check. I saw Andrew Maxwell at the Cathedral Quarter last year and there were loads of people at that. That must be much better."

And a final note: if we were left to have our "craic" without funding, we would be left with either top end commercial acts who can pull a crowd themselves without any subsidy, or acts that are free. Like street performers. who apparently we are too sophisticated for. We can leave that for the bumpkins in Covent Garden.

CFX

I FEEL SO FUNKY

I love Ghostbusters more than 90% of the population of the planet. So i was mightily pleased to receive a pair of Ghostbusters branded pants from Santa Claus himself( in actuality my niece).

Pretty sweet EH? Primark generally do a good wearing pant and have exceeded expectations with this festive/supernatural offering

Thing is this is the back of the pant, and the front of the pant ( where my gentleman's teabags live) are adorned with the following legend:

Now given that this is the area where i store my *ahem* Proton Pack i suspect that either someone has just pulled an amazing example of Getting Shit Past the Radar or ( the more likely of the two) Primark is a spastic. You Decide

Cheese in a can: The verdict.

Fucked up childhood expectations.

As a young child growing up in Derry we were privy to a world of confectionery and toy products that, simply put, were not available to us. We got advertising on TV from England that allowed us to dream of enjoying such exotic fare as "Vimto" and "Penicillin". The few American comics that were available led to any number of trips to unlikely shops and enquiring if they had any "Kool Aid" or "Chips Ahoy". We were promised Transformers toys that never materialised (although to be fair a robot that turned into a microscope was a bit crap anyway). Film and TV showed us images of space food that we would never taste. What the fuck is a Twinkie anyway? They were golden days of the imagination where we could dream of eating a "Moon Pie" thus distracting us from whatever the fuck awful shite we were actually eating (probably stew sandwiches). Endless evenings spent watching Kurt Russel in Overboard and imagining exactly how delicious a meal composed of Spaghetti-os and Ritz crackers would be. Great days. Great days.

But those days are long gone. The internet and cheap commercial flights to the States have killed those wonderful dreams. I can not describe the horror I felt as the

long awaited hot dog from a street vendor in New York ended up tasting like Fritz'ls cock. Hershey's chocolate was rotten. Blaster might as well have turned from a robot into a pile of shite. Disappointments one and all.

I always thought the idea of Cheez Whiz sounded amazing. Cheese. In a can. That you spray. Mazin. Never tried it. Did not want to spoil it. I have acquired a tin of this wonder substance and it has sat unopened for the last two days because I did not want to

kill childhood. I am however going to eat some later on and share the experience with you, the reader, that your dreams of delicious 1980s food might die too. Wish

me luck and check back later.

Reviews From Feb 2010 Verbal Magazine

Footnotes in Gaza

Joe Sacco

Jonathan Cape Ltd

The historical context of the situation in Gaza seems like an unlikely source of inspiration for a piece of graphic literature, but there have been several excellent books on the subject. Joe Sacco’s Palestine provided an interesting (if a trifle one sided) look at life in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, presenting the daily struggles, humiliations and frustrations of the Palestinians living in the occupied territories. He returns to familiar ground with Footnotes in Gaza, a look at the small town of Rafah on the southern tip of the Gaza Strip. In 1956 a single bloody incident saw one hundred and eleven Palestinian refugees shot dead by Israeli soldiers. Sacco sets out to examine the conflicting truths surrounding this incident by immersing himself in daily life in Rafah, and trying to clear some fairly murky waters: was it a coldblooded massacre or was it a dreadful mistake?

As someone who is fairly naive to the political and historical situation in Gaza this book was a real eye opener. To present over 50 years worth of conflict, misery, and oppression in such a way could be off putting. However Sacco has a real gift through his artwork for humanising people who have committed some grisly act either in the name of their beliefs, or through following orders. Footnotes in Gaza provides a poignant snapshot of ordinary people trapped in desperate circumstances

The events depicted in Footnotes in Gaza should resonate strongly with the people of Northern Ireland, and the aftermath of that fateful day in 1957 clearly still affects the everyday life of the people of Rafah in a way that the residents of Claudy, the Bogside or the Shankill Road may sadly find all too familiar. Sacco is open and honest about not only the information he uncovers but the sources of this information, and his methodology. He presents his findings in an unbiased fashion and is typically able to avoid editorialising.

If nothing else Sacco has proven that the comic book can have a wealth of value above and beyond being an entertainment for children or idiots. This is less a graphic novel than one of the finest pieces of historical reportage I have ever had the pleasure to read. Absolutely astonishing.

Grandville

Bryan Talbot

Jonathan Cape Ltd

During last year’s 2d Festival Bryan Talbot gave a very brief preview of the follow up book to Alice in Sunderland (a book described in Verbal issue 10 as being “....aware of how clever it is. Almost TOO clever “). It was a crowded room on a very hot day, and I wasn’t paying attention so only managed to catch two words: steampunk and badger. Intrigued by the prospects of the book I asked him to elaborate and he would offer only that the inspirations for Grandville included Arthur Conan Doyle, Quentin Tarintino and Rupert the Bear. I’m not afraid to tell you I’ve been looking forward to getting a look at this one.

Talbot has made a career out of turning out comics that have ridiculous premises, his run on 2000AD’s Nemesis the Warlock is well remembered by fans as being nuttier than squirrel cack, but this one really takes the biscuit. Grandville is set in a world where technology has taken a turn for the strange (think Blade Runner by way of Thomas the Tank Engine) and France is the leading world power. It is essentially a Victorian style detective novel except that the characters are the cast from The Wind in The Willows, and it’s full of scenes of graphic sex and violence. Let’s all stop and think about how bizarre that is for a moment. No matter what you are thinking of, it is not nearly as bizarre as this is. Okay? The lead character is Detective Inspector Lebrock of Scotland Yard, a badger who becomes embroiled in investigating a shadowy 9/11 style government cover up and who must work his way through the murky underworld of Grandville, a hellish reimagining of Paris.

Talbot’s art is as always superb, managing to be both simplistic and richly detailed at the same time. The books unusual settings aside this is a good old fashioned action-adventure comic that starts slowly and quickly builds up to a frantic pace from which it never slows down. Owing as much to Eagle and Dan Dare as it does to Pulp Fiction and Herge,

Talbot has managed an unthinkable task by exceeding the meagre expectations I had formed in June of last year. I had imagined a slightly outré tale about a naughty badger getting in an argument about a pound note. This is a full on AA Milne on steroids affair. Thumbs up

Hey yo, im a pundit now.

http://www.rte.ie/news/morningireland/player.html?20090901,

Reviews I don't even remember writing.

Aparently these were in an issue of Verbal. I dont rememeber writing this.

Hulk Smash!

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As far as mainstream recognition of comic book characters goes the Hulk is right up there with the big guns (chiefly those who wear their pants outside their ludicrously tight tights).

So it’s something of a shame that most people remember him as either a giant, green, radioactive simpleton; jumping round the desert shouting “Hulk smash!” (as portrayed in the early comics), or as a hitchhiker in awful looking flares, walking down the road to sad piano music; alternating between thumbing a lift to the next town and turning into a giant, emerald steroid addict. Which is a pity, because the Hulkster has spent over 20 years in the hands of some of comic’s best creators, and writers like Peter David and Bruce Jones have taken what is a simple spin on Jekyll and Hyde and transformed it into a tragic, modern day Hamlet. Albeit a Hamlet who has been bombarded by Gamma Rays.
Recent events have taken an even more tragic turn as the leading superheroes on the planet have decided that the Hulk’s rampages must cease. Their solution: stick him in a rocket and send him away. Planet Hulk is an account of the Hulk’s Proustian travails on the planet Skarr, where he becomes a Gladiator, an outlaw, and eventually King. It’s a little heavy-handed to be frank, considering it is almost the Plot of the film Gladiator in reverse, however it never drags and the art and dialogue are excellent. It’s FUN, like a Hulk comic should be. Unfortunately, being who he is, it all goes belly-up for the Hulk when the planet he is king of explodes. Being who he is, the Hulk decides to raise what is left of his army and return to Earth to seek revenge on those he holds responsible (because inevitably, Hulk will smash). World War Hulk is a big, bold, ballsy crossover that encompasses the entire Marvel universe and took up nearly 150 comics. Fortunately for us it has been condensed down into one easy to digest mouthful and I’m happy to say it loses nothing in terms of storytelling.
Both these books are fine as stand-alones, but act as excellent compliments to each other. THIS is the way comics should be. Good times.