Programmable clipboard shortcuts?

Do such things exists? Or, more likely, some software to do so?

“What the hell are you talking about, Kiernan?” I hear you cry. Right, we all know about Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V etc and what they do. Basical cutting and pasting selected text/objects. I notice that Office (or at least Outlook – don’t use the rest that much) is expanding this and giving you more clipboard options within the suite. And, I’m tedious droned on to about just how much you can do with te clipboard in Linux. But, still none of them do what I want to do. Here are two examples of what I mean:

Email address
I want to be able to Ctrl+Shift+@ (for example, it doesn’t really matter if that already does something) and paste my email address into whatever application I am using.

Lorem
I develop web sites. I would love to hit Ctrl+L and *bang* a paragraph of Lorem complete with p tags.

There must be something that does this. I can’t be the only person to see the advantages. Even a Firefox plug-in for the first would be useful. But ideally something that works with the OS.

Or, am I missing something really obvious somewhere?

NB. I use PCs and Macs

Surveillence

Surveillance is Jenifer Lynch finally getting a second chance to make a movie after the hilariously dreadful (and I hate to admit quite sexy) Boxing Helena.

This film has both Bill Pullman AND Michael Ironside in it!!!! If that’s not screaming B movie/straight to DVD to you, you don’t know what a film is. OK, plot: A group of disparate unreliable witnesses are interviewed by two FBI agents about a brush with some serial killers rampaging across the country. There’s a twist, you’ve probably guessed it.

The problem is, this film has pretensions. Probably most embodied in the rather good performance from Julia Ormand (one of them I’m sure I’ve seen in stuff until I look at what they’ve been in). Or maybe the way they try to use a Rashômon type device, without really understanding the point of it. Rendering the whole thing a bit of a pseudo mess. This is it’s biggest failing. If it accepted it’s place it’s be tighter, darker and nastier.

When it turns up on Five, it’s worth a look. If you’re siting peaceably in in a pub enjoying a glass of cabernet wih a good book, don’t disturb yourself.

The Watchmen

overly faithful whilst managing to miss the point

A comment on a messageboard elsewhere (read after having seen it). I’ll have to take his word for it. Having never been comic-book boy I haven’t read Alan Moore‘s seminal The Watchmen. This despite it being one of the few graphic novels that I’ve always meant to.

So, based on the movie alone, we have story of some ‘superheroes’ (of the Batman mode – no real super powers) outlawed and now possible the victims of a serial killer. There’s also their large blue radioactive mate who apparently single handedly won the Vietnam war ensuring President Nixon’s continued presidency. There’s bagloads of existential angst and cod-galactic philosophy bollocks on the way too. It all seems a bit hokey, and creaky.

And there in lies the main problem with this: It’s nothing new. No, I know the source material changed the world of the ‘comic book’. But, when I used the word seminal earlier it wasn’t some sort of lazy shorthand. The source material has been so influential that we’ve seen pretty much everything in it ripped off already (Tim Burton’s Batman comes to mind). It’s permeated popular culture (this feels more akin to Heroes than X-men ever did). And, been superceded (stand up Batman Begins – you’re all wrong about The Dark Knight).

In the director’s chair we have 300‘s Zack Snyder. So, you’d expect a heavil stylised visual stun-feast. Again, it’s all very pedestrian. In fact most of the effects seem to be on Billy Crudup‘s big blue member and some twaddle to do with clockwork he throws together on Mars when having a cream puff. (All of which would probably look great on a HUGE 3-D screen. If only there was such a thing). This being a proper grown-up comic means there’s been no faffing about trying to get a 12A certificate, it’s a full blown 18. (A rare enough thing these days for anything.) And the director gets to indulge his very obvious love of graphic violence. And, I’ll be honest, the most impressive moments in the film for me are the sequences where he’s managed to take (what I imagine is) one frame from the storyboard of a bullet passing through a body with a splurge and a crunch. But, tbh, these things really are just exercises in doing so and would have been more impressive presented as such. Maybe on Youtube.

I’ve complained many times about the use of digicam and before this we saw a trailer for the preposterous looking Crank II in which the only bits I could make out what was happening were the usual homoerotic Statham jokes. Over the 2+ hours of this I kept wondering if there was something wrong with the projector. Not one scene goes by at even a normal pace when its possible to run it in painful slow-mo. It struck me afterwards that this is probably Snyder trying to make sure that we can drink in all the detail (upcoming Imax release perhaps?). It don’t work.

There is about half an hour of fun in matching the cast with the real star they couldn’t get for the part. Or, rather you’ll find yourself scrabbling for anything to do to release the tedium.

So, “faithful”; I’m willing to believe. “Missing the point”; I sure hope so. Of all of the films adapted from Moore’s works I’ve seen (none of which have been great), I can’t help thinking this was certainly the poorest. And, yes, I have seen The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

Gran Torino

I’d convinced myself that I needed to go see this because (unlike his last three films) this one’s actually got Clint acting in it. But, let’s face it, despite it’s plaudits, I still haven’t seen Million Dollar Baby. So, why did this seem so necessary for me to see? Well, sucker that I am, it would qppear to be the marketing. As well as this bing the ‘surpise’ hit when I was in the states over New Year (Slumdog came out on the 1st and quickly usurped it) and subject ot much discussion/TV coverage, there was a blitz on it when released here (it’s the bum end ofthe awards season, probably not the dieal time to be putting something out). Effectively, this had been positioned as Dirty Harry meets A Perfect World. Now, who wouldn’t find that irresistable.

The film opens with retiree Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) burying his wife. We are then taken to his home where he attempts to make sense of a world he no longer knows, on his own. He wants and has little to do with the Minnesotan Hmong community that has ‘taken over’ ‘the old neighbourhood’. That is until the neighbours’ youngest tries to steal his beloved 1972 Ford of the title.

God, where to start? Let’s start with the acting: Apparently most of the supporting cast here were drawn from the community the film is set among and, boy, does it show. From the wizened old hag (as I’m sure your’e meant to regard here) trading incomprehensible (to each other) abuse to the young kids that finally manage to under his rhino-like skin, they run the fuill gamut ofamaturish, one-dimensional and, ultimately, fairly cliched perfomances.

Which leads us nicely to the cliches. We could’ve set up a game of convention bingo for this film and I’m sure it would’ve been over in the first five minutes. In addition to the aforementioned grandmother, we get (uncharacteristically) tenderly meant gesture that it of course a raging faux pas in the other culture. Thwere’s the shaman/wiseman who sees deeply into the soul or our protagonist and tells him truths he’s never acknowledged about himself. Of course, all of this is related by translation through someone that doesn’t see how deeply their words are striking home… They’re all in there.

If cliche’s not good enough for you, how about the heavy handed symbolism? The car of the title: An emblem of an america long gone, but which everyone desires to own. Walt repairs his home and has all the tools required to do so (clunk!). Not only that, but he repairs the tools he uses for this. We see him mowing his lawn with an ancient but perfectly amintained push-pull mower. His beer cooler looks like it was a wedding gift. He is surrounded by the solid well built, that the modern world has no real need (or want) for anymore. A. Bit. Like. Walt. Himself. See?

There’s a line in Half Man Half Biscuit‘s Breaking News (a list song of the people rounded up as part of “Operation less pricks”) about a people who say they speak as they find and are somehow proud of it. This lot’ll be creaming themselves at the ‘anti-PC’ language used by Walt throughout this movie. Much like the tubes that hailed D-Fens as some sort of hero, they’re seriously missing the point. This is a damaged human being, and an intolerant racist. Again, there’s the wistfulness for a time time long gone whan a man could call a spade whatever the hell he liked. The way in which this is used as the central (and recurrent) ‘joke’ in the film is cheap and nasty. There’s a rerason why kids today know all about Bill Hicks but have no idea who Andrew Dice Clay is (who is still with us and still going).

There’s nowt wrong with sentiment. However, it can quite easily teeter over the brink to mawkish schmaltziness. And, this film not only teeters and topples, but takes a full blown swan dive right into it.

Let’s see, what else? The plot is so predictable you find youself thinking “no, they’re not gonna do that?” And, they do. And, so shall I.

Despite it all, it’s really, really good. An object lesson in how to tell a story and keep an audience entertained. (Yes, it could lose a bit of flab. But, I’ve said enough about that beign the norm…) You quite happily go along with the signposted plot and cack-handed symbolism (oh, I haven’t touched on it, believe me) because it’s so damned enjoyable. Yes, a large part of this is down to heart of the film being CLINT doing what he does best. But, there’s just something deeply satisfying about the whole enterprise.

Nowhere near as flashy, but every bit as enjoyable as Slumdog. Probably better. The kind of solid work that makes you wonder whatever happened to the craftsmenship.

Release you’re inner fogey!

Nice piece by David Mitchell in today’s Observer:

One of the fastest growing areas in our economy in the years leading up to the crunch was the selling of crap to twats.

Jeez, this man’s younger than me :-/

Also, am I the only one that keeps getting him confused with the author of Cloud Atlas? Obviously, not when actually reading/listening/watching him but when I hear reference to him turning up on something or (as here) writing a column.

Che: Part Two

And so, to part 2. Erm…more of the same without the flash forward stuff. Except without the happy ending. (And, with added Lou Diamond Philips!) I think the whole exercise is possibly more admirable than enjoyable. But, I’m glad I’ve sat through it an when some idiot decides to put the Motorcycle Diaries and these two on in a threesome, I’d probably go along.

Interestingly, in any non-English speaking markets these films were known as The Argentinian and The Guerilla. Apparently, we’re now the dumb-downing audience too.

I’m a huge fan of Julian Cope. I frequent his excellent website. I also find it amusing how I’m regularly denigrated for not blindly loving his (hugely patchy but always worth a look) recent work. Or not accepting his increasingly garbled writings as the reincarnation of Lester Bangs or the words of some prophet handed down from above. In his latest Address Drudion I think he exemplifies where our values differ:

Any fears that viewers may have had about their hero being depicted as too much of a Pop Star are successfully squashed by Soderbergh’s brilliant decision to cast the ‘too old/too ugly’ Benicio Del Toro in the role

Correct me if I’m wrong, but surely Benicio is damn sexy? And, anyway, Che was always known for his ‘rock star’ looks (that use of ‘pop’ is lily-livered)? I’m not (or ever) saying he’s wrong; just that I don’t agree.

It’s The Stupid Economy

Comedy genius Mark Thomas has been interviewing a bunch of folk about the current financial apocalypse for his latest tour/show/book. This has been done in front of a studio audience, recorded and made available as a series of podcasts.

It’s actually great to hear voices of rationality in amongst all the nit-picking twaddle from the pundits and politicos. He’s managed to get a nice mix of activists, academics and politicians for this. There’s particualrly interesting input from gamekeeper turned poacher Sargon Nissan. There’s nothing too hefty to them, and Thomas’ presence ensures that not only do we get a good sprinkling of humour but also the layman’s clarification of points.

Interesting just how many themes keep recurring: The UK is a tax haven (thanks to the non-dom laws); the government are the cowering bitches of global finance (all of HMRC‘s buildings are leased from an offshore comapny); the need for governement run banking (and not just cleaning up the shit before handing them back to the shitters); and, WE TOLD YOU (yes we did. and what did you do? Pat us on the head and send us on the way to protest the war that we charmingly thought was based on lies and would be an unholy mess. Fuckers).

*and, breathe*

It’s good to know you’re not alone. It’s also such a shame that there’s not a hope in hell any of the sensible solutions being bandied about are likely to ever be taken up. Hear that whirring? It’s George Santayana.

Anvil! The Story of Anvil!

Much has been made of the fact that the drummer of Canuk rockers Anvil! is named Robb Reiner and this documentary is being touted as some sort of real life Spinal Tap. And with lines like

I’ll tell you what happened to us, in one word. Two word…THREE words: We. Had. Bad. Management.

you can see where they’re coming from.

But of course, truth is often stranger than fiction* and thankfully there’s a damned site more to Anvil! The Story of Anvil! than simply pointing and laughing (which is OK with the Tap, becasue we know that they know that we know…and, we all arch our eyebrows together). In 1982, the band were poised for world rockdom domination. The opening sequence of the film sees the likes of Lemmy (ALL HAIL!), Scott Ian, and Lars friggin’ Ulrich (*spit*) recalling how great they were and that the fame was a done deal. Cut to present day and lead singer Steve ‘Lips’ Kudlow traipsing through the snow delivering school meals. But, the band are still a going concern. And, I mean still, not some nostalgia reformation. These guys have been slogging for 30 years, with the constant belief that IT’s just sound the corner for them. Rock On!

I’ve heard that Sach Gervasi (co-writer of The Big Tease and father of Geri Halliwell‘s children – weird) was once a roady for the band. I can’t find confirmation of this anywhere, but one thing is for certain he is most definitely a fan. Not only would no-one other than a fan have such a crazy idea as making this, but they would never have resisted the urge to make this the horredous stitch-up job it could’ve been (yes, I’m looking at you Theroux). Neither is is some simpering whitewash job, though. As the quote above shows, this is what’s great about metalists; they are inherently hilarious enough without any encouragement.

I’m trying not to call this a ‘warm and affectionate study’ but it’s the only way I can really phrase it. But, it is so much more than that. You will find yourself willing these guys to succeed. You’ll even contemplate picking up a copy of their album (before remembering even the successful thrash bands were pretty sucky). And, you’ll laugh your head off. Another fine addition to the welcome trend of excellent documentary making that’s frequenting our cinema screens.

Now, I’ve been in a band. And, there’s so much in this to recognise and cringe about. But, what I found strange was the singularity of vision that these guys have. It’s all about maing it big. (I find myself wondering if this a metal thing. A metal-leaning friend recently mentioned getting a band together, I assumed it was for the craic. A hobby. An outlet. Nope. Turns out he meant to get a major recording contract, play stadia and pick up groupies.) They seem to not be able to sit back and look at what they have. TBH, had I been able to put out over a dozen albums, be guaranteed 100 folk at a gig (maybe this is the indie-kid in me, but I found the derisive way that’s mentioned really confusing), and given the opportunity to do flea-pit tours across the atlantic I’d be the proverbial double appendaged canine. [CHUNK EXCISED FOR THE SAKE OF NO SPOILERS] Towards the end of the film there’s grudging mention made of being able to sell their stuff on the web and keep in touch with the fans that way. As if the realisation that there may be another way with this than the major deal is beginning to dawn. Let’s hope so, as thirty years of failure in your own eyes can’t be good. The fact that these guys just love to (and live to?) play is what ultimately saves this from being fatally tragic.

* As will all cliche: Bollocks! I’m rather fond of Borges. Or, maybe I’m just doing something wrong in life.

Music is better than sex

The increasingly essential No Rock ‘N’ Roll Fun has an interesting and often amusing deconstruction of a youth survey by Marrakesh Records. In particularly the point that gives this post it’s title

It’s a pity they didn’t pursue this line of questioning further: Kasabian, or your mate’s sister? Ringtones or a handjob?

And, it would seem the music industry is a lying bastard

Seventy per cent bought a CD? Like, recently? Isn’t the prevailing wisdom that young people never buy music at all, and when they do, it’s digital? And yet here’s a survey that sees seven out of ten people aged between ‘late onset puberty’ and ‘too old to admit they still live with their parents’ hoofing off to buy an old-style plastic disc with music on it?

Slumdog Millionaire

If I came to Frost/Nixon with a bit of baggage, you wanna see the full set of matching Louis Vuitton luggage I had with me when I went see Slumdog Millionaire. I had difficulty getting over a sneaking sense of cheap holidays in other peoples’ misery before I’d even come across the various accusations of exploitation of Mumbai‘s people and slums and, perhaps most alarmingly, of the child actors in the film. And, tbh, the filmmakers’ denial of the latter smacked of a certain patronising cultural imperialism (albeit dressed up as do-gooding).

Yup, my liberal knee-jerk was going right off the liberal-knee-jerk-ometer. I even consulted my street worker (stop that at the back) mate, who went on a fact finding trip there a year or so back, as to his opinion. (“That kid would be straight back onto the street”.) Kermode‘s continued insistance that it was a fable (leading to great debate as to whether it was, or a parable) began to kinda nudge me towards going to see it.

Well Mark; it’s a fairytale. Y’know? Once upon a time in a land far, far away? And, I suppose the source material (novel Q&A) sets it there, not some European conceit.

The asian bloke from Skins (as he will no longer be known), Dev Patel is Jamal, the slumdog of the title, who is – on the Indian Who Want’s To Be A Millionaire. We join him being grilled (nearly literally) by the local police, who believe him to be cheating. I’ll say no more. [Extricated rant on the amount of plot spoilers about these days. See The Reader. But, TBH, I don't think they really detract from this.]

This central contruct was what got me the most: What a simply beautiful dramatic device. You have someone being asked a pile of questions, flashback to where they gleaned that knowledge. See? The University of Life, School of Hard Knocks etc. I don’t think I’ve been taken with the structure of a movie so much since I walked out of The Usual Suspects and stopped dead in my tracks realising none of it actually happened. And, it’s through this that we follow Jamal and his brother in their brutal journey through the world of the slumdog.

I don’t know how Danny Boyle managed it, but from the off I was gripped. No, literally. I had a paplable tightening of the stomach. Despite knowing he’s going to end up on the telly, I still found myself on the edge fo my seat as to what was going to happen to these kids next.

It looks fantastic (hmmm…oh, the local colour!). Boyle’s camera being as well suited to running round the backstreets and shanties of Bombay (as it is for half the film) to MIA as it is juddering around Edinburgh New Town to Leftfield. It’s a definite recognisable style. And, jolly exciting it is too. (Raising the question what went wrong with Sunshine)

This being a film made in the last decade it is, of course, too long. As Jamal gets closer to his telly appearance, it seems to drag a bit. It’s as if they feel they need to give as much time to this period as they do the rest of his life. It’s not needed. This began to disengage my involvement with proceedings. As we know what the outcome of this is going to be (it’s in the bleedin’ title, nevermind the poster), it began to actually drag. They could’ve tightened up this end of the film quite a bit. Also, if I’m honest, they could’ve done without most of the stuff with the police questioning. Why bother giving him the aide memoir twice?

The Bollywood dance number at the end is great fun.