Smoke Screens of the Modern Age

For the last few weeks, I have observed, on my way back home, the development of a new hair salon from its initial construction. As someone who clips his own hair, this new enterprise should really be of no interest, but my curiosity was piqued. How would this new business aim to attract customers in Tokyo, a city of thousands upon thousands of barbers, salons and beauty parlours that can be found on almost every street?

Today was the big opening. Gentleman, who I presumed were the owners, dressed in fine suits and chatting on their mobiles, stood outside. The salon, which had been the home to hairy bottom-bearing builders for the past month and a half, was now home to new clientèle, waiting to get their hair snipped, blown, dyed and permed. Certainly, if I had hair myself, I may even have found myself drawn by the hypnotic power of the modern-looking design of the shop. Indeed, the six plasma TVs in the shop window, that unrelentingly played scenes from a movie about skiing, was certainly tempting. However, it occurred to me that I was getting duped by the razzmatazz. Do six beautiful TVs really mean that I would get a better cut than if I went to a salon that does not have these TVs? The answer, of course, is no.

The nature of the modern consumer world we now inhabit, is entirely about image. Certainly, those six flashing screens, mirrored marble walls and neon lights have absolutely no bearing on the skill of the employees within. Whilst the superficial dressing may well entice initial customers, the hairdressers' ability would be the final indicator on whether they returned or not.

Everywhere you look today, we are bombarded by imagery to invoke certain emotions about a product being offered. The reality is that we are being tricked into believing that one product is better than another through manipulation of colour, smell and design. Brand managers are playing a game of smoke and mirrors, convincing us through dressing that one product is better than another, even though the product may in fact be the same. This brings to mind my stalwart friend at university, Tesco's Value Beans, which looked and smelled the same as Heinz, but cost 20 pence less. I could live with a less glamorously designed tin, as long as the contents managed to fill my stomach.

Medicines, drinks, news channels, clothes, restaurants, cars... the list goes on and on, all using design to manipulate us into thinking that the product is something we need. We are told that some products can even make us "cool", whatever that adjective actually means. I have always been baffled at the promise that drinking a red can of fizzy fruit and vegetable extract can somehow make me become a "cooler dude" than I already am. Or, that a pair of denim pants embroidered with a familiar brand name are any more helpful in enhancing my life than that of another cheaper company. It's all smoke and mirrors.

Sadly, we now live in a world where the game of politics has, more so than ever, become a game of image and deception; where policy must be packaged to become palatable and even fashionable, however despicable it may be. The build up to the Iraq war, with all the spin and falsehoods that led us there, is perhaps the saddest example.

We have become Alice in a Wonderland, trying desperately to discern what is genuine, good and necessary. Many of us can't help but to follow the trends and brands that pummel our minds incessantly. And like the zombies in George A. Romero's Dawn Of The Dead, some of us spend countless hours wandering banally through malls in search of products we have been told we need.

There are some though, who have awakened to the bombardment and are asking, 'Why?'

Harajuku Fashion, Tokyo
Photography by El-Branden Brazil

The Mystic Traveller Sings With Bono & U2

It has been a good year. In fact, it has been a very good year, musically, for the Mystic Traveller. In March, I was given a ticket to see The Rolling Stones. Next, I was on the guest list, two nights running, at The Pogues' concerts in Tokyo, and got to hang out with the band afterwards. Yes, it has been a great year. How could such a year get any better? Perhaps an evening with U2...?

When I heard that U2 were coming to Tokyo, I contacted some new friends I had made at The Pogues, and asked if they could get me backstage access to this legendary band. Unsurprisingly, it was impossible at this time. Bands really don't come bigger than U2, but it was worth a try.

I contacted my rock chick friend, Tomoko, who I knew would be able to get hold of a last minute audience ticket for me. And indeed, within a few hours of asking, I received a wonderful phone call informing me that I would be attending on 4th December, at Saitama Stadium.

Tomoko warned me that the ticket may not provide the best spot in the massive stadium, but I didn't care, because I was going to at least hear U2 live. That is nothing to grumble about.

When I arrived at the venue, the place thronged with crowds queuing to enter. Being somewhat spoilt by my Pogues' experience, where I didn't have to line-up, I decided to just head my own way to the entrance. It was pretty straight forward, as the staff seemed quite overwhelmed.

As I headed for the correct gateway, I befriended a Canadian, who was equally as confused as I about the system they were using to organise the crowds. Finally, we found our way inside the stadium ground, where we both had standing tickets.

The location was very far from the stage and behind a dense crowd of tall Japanese fans. My new Canadian friend soon discovered that he was in the wrong place, and should be in the section nearer the stage, where the more expensive tickets were.

Now, this got me thinking, just may be, I might be able to snuck through the ushers, and get myself a prime bit of Bono estate. So, instead of putting up with my dire situation, which Tomoko had warned me about, I followed my Canadian friend. As I approached the gate, I flashed my ticket confidently at the ushers and walked in, finding myself standing right next to the stage!

The excitement was now building evermore, and it was enhanced further by the enthusiasm of an American traveller, who has been traipsing the globe to see as many of U2's concerts as he could. He had just seen them in Auckland, New Zealand and Sydney, Australia.

To my relief, I was informed by my American friend that there would be no support band: I was not there for some sub-league music. I was there for Bono and The Edge.

Finally, the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted, with my heart dancing with the incredible energy all around. I cannot believe that it is only recently that I have discovered the magic of "THE BIG MUSIC CONCERT". I am now hooked.

I get a nudge from my American super fan friend. He points to the stage right next to me, and there is Bono, only a few feet away, walking up with a Japanese flag over his shoulder. The crowd screams and jumps out of control, and I'm there with them.

I wanted to go to the toilet just before the start, but there was no way that I was going to miss a second of this. The wall of light that surrounded the stage was now thrumming in synch with the music and I was totally hypnotised.

The concert set comprised of all the old favourites and some of their recent releases. Of course, they were also interspersed with Bono's worthy political statements. During a performance of Sunday, Bloody Sunday, Bono donned a headscarf printed with a reproduction of a graffiti message he had seen in Lebanon. It read: Co-Exist. The "C" was written as a crescent moon, the "X" as a Star of David, and the "T" as a crucifix. It got thunderous support from the crowd.

As Bono sang the set with an immaculate performance that matched any of his recordings, I found myself singing my voice box almost out of my throat. Now, I have no shame in admitting that I have done my fair share of U2 renditions at karaoke in Tokyo, so it was an automatic reaction I had to throttle a few notes with Bono leading.

Contradicting the expectation of my fans (well, mates who attend my "karaoke concerts"), Bono did not call me up to the stage to sing a duet of With Or Without You. It would have been great for me, but less so for Bono! Well, I didn't want to steal his thunder!!!

The band finished with two encore sets. By this point, I just wanted them to play and play throughout the night. Finally, the magic retreated and I returned back to my world.

Visit Amnesty International's Website.
*I apologise for the poor quality photographs. They were taken with my mobile phone.

The Name's Claus... Santa Claus

When I was visiting southern India, during Christmas of 2004, I was a witness to an event that has become the stuff of legends, and changed my life completely.

Cruising along the backwaters of Kerala, my attention was drawn to a flash of red and white on one of the many boats that journey up and down the river. Quickly, I grabbed my camera and caught shots that the News Of The World labelled, "SENSATIONAL"!

For many children, Santa Claus is the deliverer of gifts. For me, however, his other job is far shadier. He is, in fact, an international man of mystery.

For several years now, I have been tracking down this elusive man of myth, and discovered that not only is he a gift giver, but also a real life James Bond. My research has led me to believe that he works for the Lapland spy agency, I.M.P.S. (International Mission for the Protection of Secrets).

One can only imagine what top secret missions he is on as we speak. A CIA friend of mine, informed me that Father Christmas had infiltrated al Qaeda, and was providing a lot of valuable information.

With great pleasure, I present images of The Jovial Prince of Secrets at work whilst undercover:

Kerala Backwaters
Photography by El-Branden Brazil

The Rolling Stones In Tokyo

The Rolling Stones At The Tokyo Dome
Photography By El-Branden Brazil

Throughout my life, there has been one rock band that has been a perennial presence - The Rolling Stones. I have never bought a Rolling Stones CD, but I have always loved their music, sense of rebellion and their gigantic personas that have only continued to become ever larger as their faces have become craggier.

Since the early Sixties, the Stones have been a solid fixture of the music scene. And while a few of the members should have expired decades ago, due to their infamous decadence and excess, they continue today to entertain like nobody else.

When I was ten years old, reading an issue of the classic Seventies occult magazine, Fate & Fortune, I came across an image of Mick Jagger dressed in blue leotards in an article exploring the connection between Rock music and Satanism. The Stone's Sympathy For The Devil, no doubt helped to fuel such fanciful speculation. And no doubt, The Stones lapped up every ounce of controversy and infamy that was attributed to them

I never imagined, when I was that little boy, that some 24 years after reading the article, I would find myself in a gigantic baseball stadium in Tokyo to experience the sheer magic for myself, thanks to the generosity of a good Japanese friend of mine, who kindly gave me a ticket.

Tokyo Dome is a massive hollow structure, famous for the bands that play there, but infamous for the acoustics. Huge numbers of people swarmed all over the thousands of seats. We were very lucky to have a wonderful position close to the left side of the stage.

As soon as I saw the stage and rigging, my heart pulsed with excitement. I had seen many live gigs before, but I had never been to a giant concert. Many years ago, I watched a Stones concert from the Eighties on television. That played in my mind, as I anticipated the good fortune I had to now see them in three dimensional space with my own eyes.

The support band was adequate, although I had no idea who they were. They failed to ignite the atmosphere, and I feared that may be the venue would also diminish the Stones.

After an hour break, the lights were turned off and the crowds started yelling and screaming, instantly engulfing me in an excitement I have never felt before. Ronnie Wood was the first to appear, followed by the other members. It is no exaggeration to report that the Mystic Traveller was having a religious experience!

For two hours, a psychedelic lightshow transcended us all upon a wave of classic and modern Rolling Stones' music. The band are all now in their sixties, but still retain the energy of their youth.

Keith Richards, who is a miracle for surviving at all, lithely slithered around like an incredibly sensual gekko; crawling and leaping upon the stage, as his guitar took aim with his always present contemptuous nonchalance.

In the meantime, Mick Jagger raced and jived continually up and down the stage, like a man who has never had his age revealed to him. I continually marvelled at the fitness that he has sustained.

What occurred to me throughout the concert was how privileged I was to see them. For nearly half a century, these men have entertained and influenced us all in someway. Yes, they are only human, but how easily they manipulated me into believing that they were something superhuman for the duration of two hours. Such enormous charisma indeed is something to behold.

While they fight the aging process with vigourous rock 'n' roll disdain, there is unfortunately only a finite period of time in which we can have the chance to witness these characters in all their magnificence.

Perhaps the most memorable moment of the evening was provided by Keith Richards. Prior to arriving in Japan, there had been some controversy regarding whether he could smoke on stage or not, due to Japanese fire prevention laws.

During the show, Richards walked up to the mic to begin a short solo performance, with his trademark cigarette dangling from his mouth. He took a good solid drag, smiled at the audience, and in absolutely classic form, threw the burning cigarette down on to the stage, to which the audience gasped approvingly. Now that is what Rock is all about!

For photographs and a review from the Japanese newspaper, Mainichi Daily News, CLICK HERE!

Zombie Horde
Art By El-Branden Brazil

Zombies

As I said in my review of the excellent Shaun Of The Dead, I love zombies. Sure, there have been some atrocious movies in the sub-genre, but such classics as Night Of The Living Dead (1968), Dawn Of The Dead (1979), Day Of The Dead (1985), Zombie Flesh-Eaters (1979), and even the remake of Dawn this year, just keep me enthused about the walking dead.

I am the first to admit, that it is a very odd genre to like, but there is an enormous following for it. Right now, zombies have become profitable. There is something so enticing about the apocalyptic vision of a world taken over by hungry ghouls. I can't explain it, but I could watch hours of this stuff.

When I was ten years old, I first watched a video of Dawn Of The Dead in 1980, at my cousin's home in London. I remember being entranced by particular visceral moments in the film. Soon after, in 1983, the Video Nasties Act was passed in Britain, which led to the banning of many classic horror movies of the time, such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Evil Dead, and even The Exorcist.

Throughout the dry years, I often thought of the indelible scenes I had seen in those movies as a young child. Luckily, I had a very good friend who later supplied me with grainy, imperfect pirate copies of all those lost classics. All of which I now have on gorgeous DVD.

I had to talk about zombies, because today, I received a positive e-mail about some artwork I posted on a website (the artwork is above). Sorry if it is a bit gory.

Don't Mess With My Tutu!

El-Branden Brazil Backstage On The
Production Of 'Swan Lake'

Many years ago, I was employed to work for the Birmingham Ballet Company and The Royal Ballet Company, as an actor. Having been a professional performer from the age of ten, I was very excited to have the opportunity to experience working for these prestigious companies.

Apart from a very brief stint of ballet lessons, at the ripe old age of three, I had absolutely no skill in the pirouette to contribute to any professional production. However, both ballet and opera productions require professional actors to support the dancers, either working as background movement or as small featured roles. The opportunity provides no chance of fame, but it does allow a wonderful insight into the workings of a ballet production from behind-the-scenes.

The first I worked on, was Cinderella for the Birmingham Ballet Company. In this particular production, I had the respectable role of 'Footman'. This required me to don 18th. Century attire, as well as a short powdered wig. There was some responsibility, as I had to be on cue to open the door on Cinderella's coach, as she arrived for the Prince's ball.

Timing is crucial, as the orchestra stops for no one. Unfortunately, on the first night, I forgot that the coach's door handle needed to be pushed up, rather than the more natural action of down. I could hear from the wings, the stage manager screaming, "UP!!! UP!!!", and Cinderella, looking so graceful, whispering, "Get the fucking door open!" Finally, after what seemed like minutes, but was actually seconds, the door opened, and Cinderella leapt out to catch-up with her missed cues.

People have many misconceptions about ballet dancers. The first is that they are incredibly fit. In so many ways they are, but it seemed ironic to catch the ballet dancers coming off stage, bent over and exhausted, but immediately lighting up a cigarette to "clear" the lungs.

The second misconception, is that they are snobby, serious and distant. Nothing could be further from the truth. On the production of Swan Lake I worked on, for the Royal Ballet Company at the Bristol Hippodrome, it was difficult to keep a straight face on the stage.

In one scene, I played a lord arriving at the Swan Queen's ball in the Second Act. After entering and bowing nobly to the Queen, I then had to spend a torturous ten minutes, standing stoically in the background. This should have been a simple task, had it not been for the ballet dancers' insatiable desire to make me laugh by pulling silly faces, as they pirouetted by!

Shaun Of The Dead

For as long as I can remember, I have adored zombies. If you asked me why, it would be difficult to give any kind of logical explanation. There was always something fascinating in the apocalyptic vision of a world overrun by walking corpses, who would do anything to have a nibble at your flesh.

George A. Romero has been a lifelong movie hero of mine. He was the director of Night Of The Living Dead, released in 1968, which forever took the zombie out from the hands of Ju-Ju Men and the sugarcane fields of Voodoo Haiti. The zombie had now evolved into a stumbling cannibal, whose basic instincts propelled it to kill. In hordes, they become a lethal army that relentlessly attack the last vestiges of humanity, barely surviving behind improvised fortresses of farmhouses and department stores.

In Romero's movies, only scant explanations are given for the phenomenon of zombies, and it all seems utterly ridiculous when logic is applied, but the concept nonetheless, has remained a towering canon in the horror genre. It is not surprising that major studios, such as Universal, are now interested in developing big budgeted zombie flicks, which in the past were considered material for "B" or even "Z" grade productions. Finally, the studio suits understand that zombies are marketable.

Shaun Of The Dead is the best British comedy since Withnail and I. It came out shortly after the release of the Dawn Of The Dead remake. Zombies came back into vogue, due to the popularity of the non-zombie, but highly Romero influenced, 28 Days Later. The timing for this British film, could not have been better.

Unlike previous zombie comedies, such as Return of the Living Dead, Braindead, Reanimator and last years, Undead, there is an avoidance to spoof the genre in this latest effort. The zombie genre simply becomes a backdrop to a well-written and beautifully performed story about regular twenty-somethings trying to cope with the mundane patterns of life, but discovering strength in a time of crisis. It has been described as a "zom-rom-com" - a zombie romantic comedy! Yet, the story could have been embedded into any disaster scenario, such as a nuclear war, plague, whatever, and the drama would have played the same.

The movie's star, Simon Pegg, and its director, Edgar Wright, demonstrate an obvious passion for the zombie genre in their screenwriting. Unlike the Dawn Of The Dead remake, which attempted to alter the mythos by having running zombies, the screenwriters demonstrate their affection and respect by changing nothing other than the setting. In Shaun, the undead remain their old familiar selves.

Much of the comedy is achieved by contrasting the normality of these characters with the extraordinary situation they find themselves in. It is as if Pegg and Wright had imagined what it would be like if a real zombie nightmare occurred. How would any of us react? Who would survive and who would die? Of course, there is also plenty of slapstick gore to satisfy the hardcore zombie fan contingent. You'll be happy that you kept your vinyl records after you watch this film.

Shaun Of The Dead is an instant classic, that every fan of comedy or horror should see: Wonderfully funny, always engaging and often touching. What more could an audience want?

Godzilla: King Of The Monsters

NEWS FLASH! A prehistoric monster has awakened from the depths of the ocean. Its slumber disturbed by a nuclear blast. The creature named ‘Gojira’ or ‘Godzilla’ by scientists, has swiftly swam to the coast of Japan, rapidly reducing Tokyo to rubble with its radioactive fire-breathing and brute force. A humanitarian disaster of great magnitude has occurred. Terror has swept across the nation, as the Self-Defense Force tries every tactic, in a desperate bid to bring the beast down. It seems that nothing can stop the invincible Godzilla! Only the tie-clad executives at Toho Studios have the power to control it.

Godzilla has become a pop cultural icon, whose presence can be found in comic and model shops the world over. His elephant-like scream and flaming breath have become as familiar as Superman’s red cloak and “S” symbol. There seems to be no waning in his popularity, as it continues to grow with each new generation who rediscovers him. Why a gigantic dinosaur, decked out with a healthy set of Tyrannosaurus Rex teeth and Stegosaurus armored plating should have so much appeal, has baffled researchers of pop culture for over 30 years. However, his place is firmly established next to Batman, Boris Karloff’s Frankenstein Monster, Groucho Marx, King Kong and Elvis Presley.

Like most other enduring icons, Godzilla’s birth occurred during a period of great social upheaval. After the horrors of the Second World War, the Gothic monsters that were popular before, now seemed irrelevant. How could vampires and werewolves scare an audience, when science had created a far more frightening and very real specter in the form of nuclear weapons?

The shocking results of the two bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, etched a social terror on a scale never before seen. The impact of these events became manifest in the concept of Godzilla, a cold destroyer of cities, with no conscience for the residing citizens far below his stomping feet.

When the first movie was released in 1954, he was an instant hit in Japan. All good horror movies work as a catharsis for facing our fears. There is an innate masochistic pleasure that can be drawn from watching the things that scare us most, such as death, deformity and loneliness. Godzilla’s initial success laid in his ability to tap into the audience’s anxieties towards the new nuclear age.

As the movie series continued into the Sixties and Seventies, the persona of Godzilla adjusted to the changes in Japanese society. Instead of a threat, he became the protector of Japan, fighting all external aggressors. The enemy had now become a friend, as had the USA, which itself had become a necessary ally for the demilitarized Japan of the post-war era. Children could sleep at night, knowing that Godzilla was there to protect them.

His popularity shifted from being an icon of horror into an icon for popular culture. The movies were distributed worldwide, in various dubbed and subtitled forms, creating a huge fan base, which enjoyed them either literally or purely for their increasing campiness, silliness and cheap special effects.

While the first movie was created for an adult audience, the later contributions to the series in the 1960s and 1970s are quite obviously aimed for children. With this shift, Toho Studios saw a gradual decline in its core audience, which led to a suspension of new Godzilla movies in 1975.

By the mid-Eighties, a large cult following had developed, in very much the same way as Star Trek. The questionable quality of the films had in themselves become an attraction. Godzilla Versus The Smog Monster (1971) was awarded a Golden Turkey in 1978, for its dreadful production values and ridiculous storyline. People responded and interest in these movies increased. Like the films of the so-called “world’s worst director”, Ed Wood, the movies have a distinctive identity that continues to endear the imagination to this day.

With the sudden resurgence of popularity in Godzilla, Toho Studios could not resist the opportunity to exploit their prehistoric patron. In 1984, they released a direct sequel to the 1954 original, ignoring the sloppy sequels of the past and returning Godzilla to his roots, as a romper-stomper killing machine. This new timeline continued on till 1995, through six more movies.

Hollywood, always good at sniffing out a trend, became aware of the potential that Godzilla would offer in a large scale American version. After several well-known directors, such as Jan De Bont, passed on the opportunity, Roland Emmerich of Independence Day fame, became attached to the project.

Hordes of avid Godzilla fans waited with high expectation to see a movie that would elevate their favorite monster out from suited-actor hell and into the modern world of CGI. However, the result was met with disdain and disappointment. The Godzilla of yore had now been replaced by a salamander-like visage, baring no resemblance to the popular creature that audiences had come to love. Gone was the chunkiness. Gone was the personality.

In response, Toho was determined to resurrect their monster again, in the hope of amending the damage caused by the Hollywood incarnation, with the release of Godzilla 2000: Millennium.

Toho continues to produce Godzilla movies, and while there may be pauses in production in the future, it seems that the green giant is here to stay.

- El-Branden Brazil
Copyright 2004 -

Catwoman & King Arthur

Having some time spare in Bangkok, I decided to go to one of the city's excellent movie theatres, to watch a couple of this year's summer "treats". At the very cheap price of 140 Baht ($3) compared to Tokyo's 1,900 yen ($19), it just does not hurt so much to waste time watching the latest Hollywood garbage.

Catwoman has been a project that has seemed doomed from the start. When the first images of Halle Berry's ill-conceived costume were revealed, there was universal ridicule. Compared to the glory of Michelle Pfieffer in a PVC catsuit, it was obvious that this latest endeavour was missing the beats.

When the movie was finally released, the expected critical goring began. One critic in Variety, compared Berry's performance to that of Elizabeth Berkley in the horribly bad, Showgirls. Ouch! When I read this, I pitied Berry, who is obviously a very talented actress. Could she really be that bad? I had to find out for myself.

Well, I must say I was a little disappointed, because I went to the movie expecting a total disaster, and discovered a movie that was vibrant, silly and kitsch. The story was ridiculously lame, but Pitof's direction was consistently energetic and imaginative, with beautiful splashes of colour and lighting.

If the Worst Actress award must be handed out, then it should be for Sharon Stone, who plays the bland villain. Halle Berry certainly camps it up the best she can with the flaccid script, and there are many embarrassing scenes that will no doubt come back to haunt her, but she most definitely is NOT as bad as Elizabeth Berkley!

Like so many movies today, the CGI was the biggest let down. It just could not provide the realism needed, and once again, it was a distraction rather than an enhancer to the film.

Catwoman is not a great movie, but it is mildly entertaining. It is certainly not the disaster that King Arthur is, and has more chance to become at least a camp cult classic, if nothing else.
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King Arthur is a film that defies all that should be included in an ideal summer blockbuster: entertainment, excitement, star power and impressive set pieces. What Jerry Bruckheimer succeeds in giving us, is a summer movie so horribly dull and boring, that the producer should be given a special award for such an incredible achievement.

The movie is set in the Dark Ages, and it became rapidly apparent that the director, Antoine Fuqua, had misunderstood why this period in history was named such. Instead of the Dark Ages being a period of little social or cultural development, he seems to have interpreted it literally, because the movie is filmed entirely in dark, pallid, grainy tones of grays and blues.

Matching masterfully the dullness of this enterprise's vision, Clive Owen gives a career best in what can simply be called one of the most uninspired, uncharismatic and stilted lead performances to ever grace the cinema screen. The durge of his voice is often inaudible and simply lacking in anything that could be called emotional or inflective. The contrast with Ioan Gruffudd's overly Shakespearian intoning Lancelot is unintentionally hilarious in scenes they share together.

The rest of Arthur's knights are basically an assembled collection of fictional stereotypes. It would be easy to take all these characters and throw them into a Muskateers' movie. Ray Winston, who I have worked with twice, on Robin Of Sherwood and Casualty, throws in an effort well below his talents, performing in the standard loveable rogue role.

The battle sequences are confused and messy, failing to achieve any of the impact of those found in the Lord Of The Rings movies, Braveheart, or even Troy.

If the legend of King Arthur had been as uninspired as this effort, the myth would have long been vanquished from memory. It is such a shame that the filmmakers decided to ignore the source material and club together their own story. The names of the characters alone, does not an Arthurian adventure make.

Spider-Man 2

Perhaps its the Spandex, but superheroes have, more often than not, failed to translate to the big screen. The tight fabric that looked so cool drawn in ink, must be an absolute nightmare to transfer into reality. The easy option has been to shift from Spandex to either leather or PVC body armour, as was the case in the Batman movies. Sure the Dark Knight looked cool at times, but he was never "the" Batman of the comic books.

The biggest problem with most superhero movies, has more to do with unimaginative writing. I am often baffled as to how studios can produce such tedious efforts out of such rich, colourful source material. Throw-in the usual over-the-top big name actor in the role of the villain, and hey presto, yet another over-hyped, uninspired piece of crap flickers upon the screen.

Well, I must say that Spider-Man 2 is the exception to the rule. Whilst the first movie left me somewhat shortchanged, but with enough of a smattering of Spidey antics to keep me marginally interested, the sequel excels in every sense. It is one of those rare cinematic efforts that improve upon their predecessor. This time, Sam Raimi's direction is more assured, as are the meticulous special effects. It really is a delight to fly through the city of New York with the beautifully rendered Spider-Man. They have really captured the form and classic poses so familiar to readers of the comic books.

The real star of the movie was Alfred Molina as Dr. Octopus. I have fond memories of owning a 1977 Spider-Man annual, when I was very young and wrinkle free. Within those much read pages, was a story featuring Dr. Octopus. I can't explain why, but there was something extraordinarily impressive and archetypal about his four extra appendages. However, while those simple drawn images remain forever part of my childhood, I could not have imagined the majesty of seeing Dr. Ock in all his living screen glory. Molina plays him in such an understated way, that it immediately disarms your preconceptions of the standard over-the-top comic book villains in previous films. There are times when his presence on the screen is pure magic. My favourite shot appears after the bankrobbery, as Dr. Octopus flees from the scene with Spider-Man's Aunt May. Just pure, beautiful imagery.

The quirky comedy that peppers the film, is entirely in keeping with the Sam Raimi sensibility, that has been present in all his movies, right from the start with The Evil Dead. There are even sly hidden references to his previous efforts. Look out for the chainsaw.

Tobey Maguire excels at bringing all the appropriate nerdy qualities that the Peter Parker character requires. He is perfectly cast and seems much more at ease this time around. There are some very human moments in this movie, and that is perhaps why Spider-Man succeeds where other superhero movies have failed. We can relate to Peter Parker with his frustrations and internal conflicts.

Sure it's a summer blockbuster, and while I would recommend Fahrenheit 9/11 over Spider-Man 2, it is a rare summer movie that produces all the fun, thrills and spills we are often promised, but usually remain undelivered.