RICH.WILSON.DOT.COM

Writer. Converting brain matter into words. Making things up, jotting them down. Dabbles in films and music a bit. Scruffy, generally lovable. 1972-2072

[therealrichwilson]

Portrait Studio | Portsmouth | Portrait of a Wrestler

Portrait of a Wrestler follows the UK Independent wrestling scene with phenomenal imagery in a mix of show & backstage moments aswell as Fine Art Portraiture

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Ways Writers Work

I get asked this. Presumably every writer does. How do you actually work? What’s the method? What’s the secret? Here’s the thing: everybody does it differently, and there’…

As usual, perfect advice from the great Warren Ellis...

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I love this. Pixar conceptual artist Josh Cooley has taken some classic movies and re-imagined them as pages from children's books. These are very twisted and very cool...

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Been a while since I sat and wrote at the library. New comic book notes coming together. Enjoying the silence. Refreshing... #writer #writing #writerlife #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #author #graphicnovel #comics #fiction #story #scifi #horror #fantasy #peace

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Story Vs Anxiety = Problem

THOUGHTS: Currently thinking about a bunch of uncompleted writing projects that I have in various states of length and disrepair, and how I’m going to get them up and running again. They’re all fiction, but the problem is that I’ve left them to cool and stagnate, and they’re currently sitting on my hard-drive wondering what they did wrong and why I stopped loving them. Thing was, I picked myself up a nice dose of anxiety around the middle of last year, and my brain decided that it wanted to take a giant shit on itself, squeeze the cortex until I couldn’t really think properly, and then plant an imaginary monkey on my shoulder that continually whispered in my ear and told me that I wasn’t capable of anything, that no-one really liked me, and that I should spend every night lying awake in a dark room asking myself if I was going crazy about sixty times an hour. Based on that, I found that the only general functions I could manage were going through the standard routine of the day (and believe me, if you’ve ever suffered with a mental condition you’ll know that just achieving the basics is difficult enough.) During the times I forced myself to write, I spend an hour at my desk and managed approximately one sentence, and not in a good all-work-and-no-play-makes-jack-a-dull-boy Jack Torrence kind of way – even that would have been something. Nothing was happening. The frustration of it was terrifying.

 Ideas die. You can scribble notes to keep them alive, but once you’ve put pen to paper or fingers to keys, by God you need to get that sucker moving, and more importantly keep it moving.  When that initial burst of excitement for the new project has faded several pages in, it’s a work to continue, to complete. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t smashing rocks on the coalface, but it is work, no matter how enjoyable, and it still takes effort and commitment. These projects have ground to a halt, and it’s going to take a jump-start or a good push down a slope to get the spark ignited and the engine running smoothly again. My brain, although far from fixed, is (I pray) just about ready to get going, but the real question I need to ask myself and offer a brutally honest answer is: Do I breathe life back into these neglected stories, or set them on a metaphorical funeral barge, fire an arrow into the script, and let them burn out into the Valhalla of forever lost fiction? (In reality, I’ll just put them into an old file called something like ‘uncompleted work’ and forget about them, but I just wanted to make it sound a bit more romantic.) I’ve got new things happening, scribbles of plots and dialogue in notebooks that are just waiting to be watered and grow. I don’t know. Here’s a brief overview of what there is:

 Scanlon’s Retreat – A dark tale about a mentally unstable genius and his deformed best friend who have discovered a repeating signal from space that indicates an alien landing in their small town within the next 14 hours, and their plans for how to deal with it. (Currently 6000 words, maybe the same to completion)

 By Any Other Name – Horror about a woman who has an infestation of vermin in her exclusive riverside apartment, but naturally refuses to believe the exterminator who tells her she has monsters, not rats, living in her attic. And there are, of course, consequences. (Currently 4500 words, and really not that far away from a nasty end…)

 The Pit Stop (Title definitely to change, because it sucks) – Black humour/Sci-fi. A reclusive writer living in the deserts of Texas has a UFO crash-land in his back yard. When the perfectly formed humanoid that emerges from the craft wants to cannibalise parts from his beloved ’67 Mustang to get moving again, it’s a battle to the death. With added LSD. And a lot of violence. (Around 5000 words, maybe the same again to the end.)

 Untitled Graphic Novel Proposal – Horror/Sci-Fi. First issue in the bag really. Concerning a strange little girl who has a magical, wish granting box that the Government requires, the two G-Men who are assigned to get it back, the return of an huge spacecraft in the Welsh mountains 62 years after it left, and a violent assassin called Gullick with telepathic powers that ties everything together. The first issue is done, but the story is far from complete, and exists in note form only.

 So there you have it. Plenty to get my teeth into, and no real reason not to do it. If any of the above happen to fly your flag, then let me know.

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THOUGHTS: Pointless writing anything yesterday. Inevitably filled with mawkishness regarding the end of the year, the beginning of this one, regrets, ambitions, resolutions, and so forth. I’m not a thirteen-year-old girl so that shit can be left alone and found in a billion other places. I like Tumblr. Out of all the social media platforms available to me, it’s the one I grumble about the least, so that must have something going for it. It’s also the one I update the least, which is odd as I not only find it strangely fascinating and oddly satisfying, but it’s a damn fine outlet for spilling out the brain sludge that collects in my psyche like a blocked pipe; a mental fat burger of insane garbage that makes little sense.

 Is Tumblr still a thing? I hope so. I haven’t posted anything in a year, but I notice that nothing really seems to have changed, all the gears seem to be greased and there are still interesting people showing me art and literature and meaningful words, so I guess that’s something. A lot of my stuff is still getting likes and reblogs. A story I wrote about an alien encounter in my past has thousands, which seems slightly surreal, but in a good way. I’ll pick up the pieces and get stuff up here more often. I was going to say I’ll post here everyday, but even as I wrote the sentence I knew it to be a lie. Let’s just stick with making a promise to do my best, and then none of us will be disappointed.

Things have happened. Good and bad. I’ll write about it here and there. Fiction will turn up (I have a lot of projects to complete) and there will be film and music and art and comics and whatever else I desire. No one really reads this anyway, so I’ll do as I please. Also, since we last met, I’ve picked up a good old case of stress and anxiety. I was always ignorant to mental health, never really understanding it. Now I have issues, I still don’t understand it, but for certain I’m not ashamed of it. They’ll be bits of that on here. Brain sludge. For your pleasure.

 Please come back. Remember, you subscribed to this.

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[thepostermovement]

Star Trek by Aurelio Lorenzo

[neonelven]

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My Top Ten Films Of 2015

It’s that time again, when critics trawl through the cinematic rubble of the last twelve months and settle on what gave them the best thrills while sitting in the dark. If I produced this list in a couple of weeks it may be a little different - I have seen neither The Hateful Eight or The Revenant, both yet to be released here in the UK - but in all truth it would take a lot to knock any of the following from the list. All are different, but all are the reason why my lifelong love-affair with motion pictures continues. Here then, in no particular order:

Ex Machina

Seriously intelligent science-fiction from first time director Alex Garland. This isn’t a film about whether the AI known as Ava (Alicia Vikander, who seemed turn up everywhere this year; definitely the breakout star of 2015) is good or evil; it's about whether she could ever become aware. It's less about whether she likes or loves someone; it's about whether she fully grasps what those concepts are. Garland is far more interested in capturing subtle acts of manipulation and the consequences of such actions rather than seeing what Ava's reaction times are. Watching creator Oscar Isaac and experiment Domhnall Gleeson talk and move around each other is endlessly entertaining, but it’s Vikander who is the show, and she’s perfect; beautiful, fragile, frightening, her Ava is manipulating the audience as much as she’s manipulating Gleeson. Ex Machina offers something else with every viewing.

Creed

Ryan Coogler’s entry into the filmic universe surrounding the Italian Stallion shouldn’t have worked; the story of Apollo Creed’s illegitimate son wanting to follow in his father footsteps and seeking out Balboa to train him has cliché written all over it. Instead, this turned out to be as uplifting and entertaining as the original Rocky, partly due to a fresh perspective on an old story by Coogler, partly due to Michael B. Jordan as the young Creed, but mostly due to Sylvester Stallone, who steps back into the aging shoes of the character that defined him and delivers a brilliant performance; watching Stallone as a broken down, sick old man is tough, watching him fighting for breath while climbing those famous Philadelphia steps will bring tears to your eyes. It’s easy to forget what a talent Stallone is. This is an award-winning performance in a great movie. And when Bill Conti’s iconic theme finally kicks in, you’ll be out of your seat.

What We Do In The Shadows

Vampires are everywhere in current culture, so what better time for a brilliantly observed mockumentary about a family of bloodsuckers, which cleverly comes across like the demented love-child of Christopher Guest and Dario Argento. This is a New Zealand production from the team that bought you Flight Of The Concords, and shows the difficulties three undead flatmates, Deacon, Vlad and Viago have in a modern world; a dull social scene, needy slaves and secretive monster hunters are just some of the problems. This is achingly funny; during an interview they are asked why the drink virgin blood: Vlad responds with, “I think of it like this. If you are going to eat a sandwich, you’d enjoy it more if you knew no-one had fucked it.” It’s also very gory, and has without doubt the best title sequence of the year. A guaranteed cult hit of the future.

It Follows

The simplest film on this list, and the most effective. David Robert Mitchell creates an instant horror classic by coming up with an irresistible legend: if you are infected with a curse, there will be a supernatural force walking towards you, no matter where you are or how far you run. Maika Monroe plays a doomed teen who is passed the curse through sex and then proceeds to lose her mind with fear while trying to convince her friends she’s not going crazy. With no CGI and no gore Mitchell creates a skin-crawling mood and tension that finds the audience question everything that is happening in background of the shot. When the force does appear, in various guises, it’s simply terrifying. Utilizing a Panavision frame that recalls John Carpenter and a brilliant soundtrack, this is the best horror film of the year. The only problem is how Mitchell can possibly follow it up.

Star Wars : The Force Awakens

Of course we were all excited, but of course we were all nervous. The sequel to Return Of The Jedi, 32 years later? A director playing with the expectations of a generation of film geeks who state Star Wars as the reason they love film?  Yeah, nervous. But as the year went on, as the first trailer kicked in (“Chewie, we’re home,” caused a collective nerdgasm around the globe) my anticipation went from high to nuclear. The final few days before release found me unable to sleep, and unable to concentrate on little else. My wife almost kicked me out of the house for my constant whistling/humming of the Imperial March. Luckily, it was worth the wait. J.J.Abrams exceeded my expectations, and managed to create a movie which not only sat perfectly within the scale of the original trilogy, but managed to make me forget the many horrors of the prequels. It treated the legends perfectly, introduced a new generation of heroes, and ticked all the expected boxes - lightsabers, X-Wings, Falcon, Jedi etc. - within the realms of a new saga. Best of all, Abrams managed to keep things spoiler free, so when the shocks and surprises hit, they hit hard.

The Martian

Andy Weir’s source novel went for the hard science in science-fiction. Ridley Scott’s adaptation keeps the science but expertly weaves a life-and-death story around it, with Matt Damon’s botanist astronaut stranded on Mars looking for a way to survive the next four years, while NASA attempts to find a way to bring him home. Damon knows the futility of his situation but uses his mind to stay alive while constantly expecting his death; so for every scene where he’s attempting to grow plants on a planet with no water, he’s cracking jokes to his cam-diary (effectively the audience) and driving his Mars-rover while listening to disco. Easily the best film Scott has made in years, it looks amazing, has a brilliant supporting cast, and is genuinely thrilling.

Me And Earl And The Dying Girl

Those of you sorry that Wes Anderson didn’t put out a new film this year, look no further. Alfonso Gomez-Rejon has put together a gem of a movie that does the almost impossible job of balancing smart-ass wit, high school satire, adolescent friendship, the love of movies and a massive emotional wallop without (a) getting lost in it’s themes and (b) never slipping into emotional melodrama. It’s the story of how gawky teen Greg, who along with buddy Earl makes terrible remakes/spins of classic films (Sockwork Orange, Senior Citizen Kane), spends the summer with Rachel, the girl of title, and finds not only friendship but the course of his life changed for ever. It’s at times odd, often hysterically funny, but it’s never predictable; Greg and Rachel’s relationship remains totally platonic, and through Greg’s narration, we’re never sure exactly where the movie is going, keeping Rachel’s fate in the balance. Obviously she lives. Doesn’t she?

Spotlight

Don’t let the unsavoury nature of the story stop you from checking this out; Spotlight is one of the finest films of the year, with the pleasure being derived from a top level cast (Michael Keaton, Stanley Tucci, Rachel McAdams, and especially Mark Ruffalo) working through a superb script that follows the real-life expose of a small team of journalists uncovering a scandal of paedophile priests in Boston. What makes the picture fascinating is the painstaking depths that the team went through to uncover the depth of the cover-up; the audience stays with the team throughout, and as such feels part of it. This is a breathtaking thriller, expertly shot, impeccably acted, and could easily nab a hatful of Oscars come awards season.

Bone Tomahawk

Some are calling this a horror film. I’d call it the best Western to come along in a very long time, as Kurt Russell (sporting the same whiskers he took into The Hateful Eight) and his posse head into the bleak west to rescue the town doctor from a group of cannibalistic cave dwellers. Bone Tomahawk achieves the very hard job of constantly putting the audience at unease; by taking a classic western story and adding a totally fresh approach to the telling it’s impossible to predict. The script is tight and lean, the dialogue so sharp it feels like Elmore Leonard is emailing pages from heaven, and the violence is swift and brutal. As for horror? Well, it does contain singularly the goriest scene of the year, in a climax that will have your jaw on the floor. A brilliant genre picture.

‘71

Jack O’Connell proves himself as the next big UK actor in this brilliant portrayal of a rookie British soldier stranded on the streets of Belfast after being separated from his unit following an ambush. Taking place over the course of one night, it thrusts O’Connell and the viewer into an alien world, where no-one (not even his own commanding officer) can be trusted and streets and houses run into a confusing nightmare maze with seemingly no way out. All O’Connell wants to do is get back to his barracks and see his younger brother, who is waiting for him in care. This is a hard film, with sudden scenes of violence (a pub bombing is horribly realistic) and a great sense of the period - it’s hard to imagine how difficult life must have been under this level of fear and paranoia. With handheld camerawork and natural lighting director Yann Demange creates a documentary feel, and a remarkable movie.

[therealrichwilson]

I have written extensively about The Long Good Friday before, and I’m not going to repeat a review now. But just now I was making notes on another project and listening to Francis Monkman’s fantastic score, and it reminded me once again what a huge influence it was on me as a teenager spending weekends with a hot VCR discovering gritty, urban cinema. The film is memorable for many reasons; it’s grim violence, tight and intelligent script, and pacing that builds the tension perfectly. But above all it’s the very sadly missed Bob Hoskins’ performance as London mob boss Harold Shand that is the standout . It needs to be; the film catalogues the piece-by-piece destruction of Shand’s empire after a bad deal between one of his men and the IRA, and Hoskins shows a man so used to getting exactly what he wants that when it’s taken away from him he breaks, physically and mentally. Two key scenes not only depict the soul of Shand, but also Hoskins genius: He stabs to death his right-hand man and then seconds later falls into the arms of wife Helen Mirren, covered in blood and nearly in tears in the back of a car. The second is the last moment of the film, and perhaps one of the greatest climaxes in modern cinema: After meeting with the mob and dismissing them (“Mafia? I’ve shit ‘em!”) he walks triumphantly from a hotel and into a car, expecting to find Mirren, but the IRA have pulled a double-cross, and with a gun pointed they drive him away to an (almost) certain death. The camera stays on his face for almost a minute, his expression detailing fear, anger, confusion… and finally acceptance that he has finally the game. It is a stunning moment, a fantastic piece of acting, and a fitting climax to one of the best British movies of all time.

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Portable electric device to induce erection.

Wait... WHAT?

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Bill Murray working on the set of Wes Anderson’s RUSHMORE. I love the idea that out of shot is a small crew, and perhaps Anderson and DP Bob Yeoman huddled around a monitor watching the camera feed, all patiently waiting for Murray to dive. And they’ve been there for ten minutes, because Murray is enjoying the feel of the wind on his body and the light on his face. But that’s okay, because when Peter Venkman wants you to wait, you wait. No arguments.

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After the disappointing Age Of Ultron, this could be the Avengers sequel that we deserve. Love the trailer, and this teaser poster.

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This is a good time to be alive...