Two young men are sitting on the balcony of a nice apartment. The city lights below them play across their faces and the occasional sounds of horns and marketplaces booming blast through the air. It is approaching nightfall, but there is just enough light to spark a deep conversation. Both appear relaxed, although WILL is noticeably more loose than JOHNNY.
There is an assortment of beer and snacks on the small table between them and Johnny is furiously going through them at a high rate of fire. He seems preoccupied with other things, his thoughts apparent across his handsome Asiatic face.
Will, a lean cowboy type, leans back in the rocking chair and takes a slow drag from his cigarette, taking care to blow the smoke away from Johnny.
WILL
Come on man, relax. You still got 2 days before you gotta meet her. I didn’t bring you out here to my apartment just to stress out.
JOHNNY
You know me, man, I want things to be perfect.
WILL
Why stress man. It’s just a date. Just go and have fun.
JOHNNY
Unlike you, Mr. Bachelor, I don’t swap women every fortnight. So there is a lot more pressure on me. I want to make sure the person I find is the right one.
WILL
I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.
Johnny rolls his eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Will was obsessed with books. In the time they had known each other, Will’s only true passion was reading.
JOHNNY
OK, where is that quote from?
WILL
Henry David Thoreau.
JOHNNY
More light reading?
WILL
Haven’t found a women under covers as good as the words between paper covers.
JOHNNY
Well I’m still trying to find a woman to join me under the covers. So any pro tips?
WILL
Well you could start by not agonising how bad things will go on a date that hasn’t happened yet.
Johnny laughs nervously and is about to pull out a cigarette from Will’s pack on the table, when he stops himself.
WILL
Still trying to quit?
JOHNNY
Yeah. This isn’t helping. Anyway, I was looking for some real advice. Come on Will. I know you have the Bachelor lifestyle. Teach me.
WILL
If you are going to seduce someone, go for her sister first.
Johnny spits out his beer. Spluttering, he looks at Will with incredulity. Will looks back with a smirk and adopts a wise air and blows out more smoke.
JOHNNY
What the hell bro? Seduce her sister first? What have you’ve been reading lately?
WILL
Machiavellian stuff. But I digress. Just have a good time man. Wine and dine. It’s not that hard. When was your last date again?
JOHNNY
Over two years ago.
WILL
Shit, it’s been that long?
JOHNNY
Come on man, work has been a bitch.
WILL
Yeah but two years?
JOHNNY
I just haven’t had much luck on apps bro. Things are always getting cancelled or something pops up.
WILL
Yeah but like ….. two years without a date? Give me your phone bro.
JOHNNY
Why, what do you want to see?
WILL
Just hand it over man.
Johnny reluctantly pulls out his phone and unlocks it for his friend. Will stares intently at the screen, and after an agonising couple of minutes, mouths “What the Fuck” several times. He looks back at Johnny and shakes his head.
WILL
Bro … why didn’t you tell me about this shit sooner. Holy fuck. You actually can’t talk to women. You sound like the biggest simp on the planet.
JOHNNY
What!?!? Come on man, I …
WILL
“The way how you look, remind me of a princess in medieval times. Allow me to be your knight.” Johnny come on man … that’s just stupid. Who talks like that? Don’t tell me you’ve been reading some dumb guides on reddit or something. How come you didn’t come to me sooner?
JOHNNY
I dunno man. You always seem to have it so easy with women. I was jealous. I thought the goal was always to be nicer to the girl than be a jerk?
WILL
You dumbass *laughs* Just talk to her like you would to me. Girls are human man. OK, show me which one of these poor girls agreed to go on a date with you.
Johnny leans over and scrolls up to a girl called April. Will clicks on the DMs and has a quick skim over. As he suspected, it was April who did most of the talking, so Johnny lucked out and didn’t get much of a chance to be a simp.
WILL
You’re so lucky man. She did most of the work for you. She must really like what she sees. See? When you talk normally, you score a date. Just don’t be an idiot and start spouting this bullshit in reality.
JOHNNY
I don’t really get what you mean though, by talking normally. Should I not shower her with compliments?
WILL
Do you give me random compliments every 2 seconds? No. So don’t give it to girls either. You can say one nice thing about what she is wearing then move on about something else. Like, actually talk to her about what she likes? It’s kinda that simple.
JOHNNY
Really?
WILL
Yeah, man. Just treat her like a person you want to get to know better. That’s all it is. Dating is as simple as that, trying to make human connections. Don’t force any romance, if you don’t feel like it.
JOHNNY
Is that what you do?
WILL
Yeah usually.
JOHNNY
And it works?
WILL
Why do you think whenever you come over, you find random feminine items? It sure as hell ain’t me using them.
Johnny falls silent and ponders his friend’s advice. He reflectively sips on his beer and has finally stopped stress eating.
JOHNNY
You know, it’s funny. We couldn’t be any more different you and I. You’re broke, you spend half your days drinking, smoking and reading and yet can get any woman you want. I’m over here, super tired, stressed, working long hours and with more money than I need, but I can’t seem to find any partners. Isn’t it funny how life works?
WILL
You know, sometimes I get jealous too, of how comfortable you seem to live. You get to wear good clothes, buy expensive gear and drive a nice car. But that’s life you know? I live a bohemian lifestyle man … scrapping by with my shitty bar tending job and a whole lot of books, booze and bitches. I’m not as smart as you, at least not in the same way, but I guess I make up for it in other ways.
JOHNNY
Ain’t it sad how stereotypical we are? I’m the Asian with zero social skills and a high paying job and
WILL
I’m a lazy Englishman who writes occasionally but whiles his life away with endless distractions. Let’s face it bro, I’m gonna be dead by 50, due to liver failure and lung cancer, laughing in hell while you’ll be married to this Alice chick with a beautiful family and completely miserable.
JOHNNY
*laughs* yeah that about sums it up.
WILL
Here’s to hell. May the stay there be as enjoyable as the way there.
Will raises his beer and Johnny raises his own in response. The two friends clink glasses and finally the atmosphere is less uptight. They settle back and watch the city in silence.
JOHNNY
Since when was it a crime to be a simp?
WILL
Ah … shut up bro.
Author’s Note
I’m not too happy with this one.
But then, if I keep resisting failures, I can never improve.
Not every screenplay needs to pass my exacting standards and I need to keep up the practice of pushing onwards even when I feel like it is too meandering and pointless.
This one was originally meant to be a deeper exploration into the dichotomy in how Asians and White people view life and act accordingly, but it ended up being too philosophical and having massive chunks of dialogue that no one in their right mind would actually say aloud. Think perhaps, but not espouse aloud.
I even had the original script being set on the veranda of some country home, but then quickly discarded the idea, because then it would feel too slow.
Better to have this discussion against the backdrop of a city, where things feel a bit more urgent and better paced.
All in all, I consider this one a bit of a let down, from the previous one Dinner for One in terms of pace, quality of dialogue and an actual conclusion.
This … just felt very pointless. But then some cinema thrive of precisely that, doing something that means nothing and maybe a talented director can make something out of this.
(I think a hack like Hong Sang-soo could make something out of this tripe I just wrote. I still shudder thinking about his 2016 film, Yourself and Yours and the horrific dialogue … melons are sweeter but watermelons are just so much more refreshing. God, what a waste of time that film was.)
The restaurant is small, intimate and expensive. There are few patrons and plenty of bored, but professional staff waiting attentively to people’s needs. It is dark, but well lit by candlelight and soft amber lights.
In the corner table, a romantic candlelit dinner for two is in progress. BOYFRIEND and GIRLFRIEND are making their way through their main course. There is an air of familiarity, almost routine between the two of them. It is romantic, but not necessarily honeymoon romantic. They’ve been together for a long time.
The Boyfriend is enjoying his meal, but the Girlfriend seems to be drinking more than she is eating. Her food is barely touched, whilst the Boyfriend is nearly half way through his.
BOYFRIEND
What’s wrong? You’re not eating.
GIRLFRIEND
Yeah I am. What do you mean?
BOYFRIEND
Usually you eat a lot more than this. You’re playing with your food. What’s really going on?
The Girlfriend pauses and she evades the gaze of the Boyfriend. The Boyfriend cocks his head to the side and wonder what is really going on.
BOYFRIEND
You’ve been hinting something has been wrong for the past couple of hours. Do you mind telling me?
The BOYFRIEND is greeted with silence. The Girlfriend avoids his gaze and takes another sip from her cocktail.
BOYFRIEND
Come on, darling. What is wrong?
The Girlfriend sighs. She doesn’t want to discuss her personal feelings. She isn’t ready.
GIRLFRIEND
I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about this right now.
BOYFRIEND
Yes you do. Come on. Just say it. I won’t get mad, I promise. You’ve been holding out on me this whole date.
GIRLFRIEND
I can’t.
BOYFRIEND
Come on … don’t make me guess ….
Silence wraps around both of them. The atmosphere is now noticeably awkward. The Boyfriend has an earnest expression, wanting only to help the Girlfriend. The Girlfriend is silent. She can’t make eye contact. She flits between his eyes and the floor. Anywhere but her Boyfriend’s face.
BOYFRIEND
Is it really bad?
The Girlfriend nods meekly. She still doesn’t trust her voice. She plays with her drink on the table.
BOYFRIEND
You’re not pregnant are you?
The Girlfriend shakes her head vigorously. She seems oddly angry about that accusation.
GIRLFRIEND
You really think I could hide something like that from you? No, of course not.
The Boyfriend looks at her in consternation. He’s still confused. Then the answer dawns on him. The moment he realises, the Girlfriend knows the gig is up. Her facial expression switches from defensive to guilty.
BOYFRIEND
It’s another guy isn’t it?
The Girlfriend nods her head slowly. The Boyfriend breathes in deeply and exhale in a long sigh.
BOYFRIEND
Did you sleep with him?
GIRLFRIEND
Not yet. I mean, no. I won’t.
The Boyfriend raises an eyebrow in response to the wording.
BOYFRIEND
How long has this been going on for?
GIRLFRIEND
Since the start of the pandemic.
This time, it is the Boyfriend’s turn to fall silent. He stares at his Girlfriend and sees the truth in her guilty expression. He remembers his previous promise.
BOYFRIEND
I know I said I wouldn’t get mad … but … but …. the start of the pandemic? Really? That’s like 6 months. What happened?
GIRLFRIEND
I don’t know … I …
BOYFRIEND
Stop saying that. You know what you did and how you feel. Please, stop saying “I don’t know.” Just tell me the truth. That’s all I really want. It’s OK if you fell in love with another guy. I just want to know how and why. We’ve been together for nearly 4 years now … I get it if things have started to get stale between us. Just tell me why you chose this guy over me.
GIRLFRIEND
OK. OK. Just give me a minute. I’m sorry.
The Girlfriend reaches for her drink and take in some liquid courage. She is breathing shallowly, clearly it is difficult to express herself. She motions a pleading “wait” gesture to him. The Boyfriend nods silently and lets himself soak in the ramifications. He motions the waiter over.
BOYFRIEND
A whiskey, neat. Thank you. Can you also get some tissues? My friend is just struggling with something at the moment.
The Girlfriend is on the verge of tears. She is struggling for control over her emotions. She makes a grateful gesture to him and dabs away the tears pooling at the corner of her eyes. They sit in silence until the waiter delivers the whiskey a few minutes later. The Boyfriend takes a sip and savours the burn, letting it melt away his rage.
GIRLFRIEND
The stupid thing is … I was only interested in this guy, because he reminded me of you.
The Boyfriend makes an incredulous expression and splutters over his water a bit. He laughs incredulously.
BOYFRIEND
What?
GIRLFRIEND
I know. It’s so stupid. I can’t believe I am telling you this, but he even has the same name as you.
BOYFRIEND
You cheated on me with … another me?
GIRLFRIEND
I only kissed him once. But I got so confused after that I ended up calling it off and we haven’t really talked since.
BOYFRIEND
So you ended up going on a date with him? How many?
GIRLFRIEND
Four.
BOYFRIEND
During quarantine? How? Actually who is he?
GIRLFRIEND
A work mate. We got close during quarantine because we had to pull shifts every day. I ended up working a lot more closely with him and getting to know him better. We hung out a lot after work and during lunch breaks.
BOYFRIEND
You liked him because it reminded you of us when we first started dating. Isn’t that right?
GIRLFRIEND
A bit. I’ve been feeling this rift between us for a while now. I think we know each other too well and I can’t help but feel a bit of the magic has gone. I’ve dated you for so long, it’s hard for me to feel sexy or wanted again. I know it sounds stupid, but it is because you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been amazing and understanding and so kind, but it is so …
BOYFRIEND
Boring?
GIRLFRIEND
Yeah a bit. Compared to all my other girlfriend’s lives, you seem so simple and considerate. I guess I also missed me, back then, being more in love with things … life.
BOYFRIEND
This guy … is he simple and considerate?
GIRLFRIEND
No actually. He’s really wishy-washy. I feel a bit like I am being toyed with. He’s actually a bit of an asshole.
The Boyfriend gives a wry smile. He is genuinely and morbidly curious as to how calmly he is dissecting everything. Even his own love life.
BOYFRIEND
Isn’t that better? Isn’t this what you were missing?
GIRLFRIEND
No, it make me angry. I couldn’t sleep properly for days. I still don’t know for sure if he likes me.
BOYFRIEND
Didn’t you guys kiss?
GIRLFRIEND
It was a spontaneous thing. I broke away first. It was a bit too forced. I was still really confused about the whole thing when he made that move on me. I wasn’t even sure if we were on a date. (pauses) Wait, hold on, how come you aren’t more mad?
BOYFRIEND
I’m not sure myself. I guess I always kind of knew you might one day go for another guy. You were always more flirtatious than me. I mean, come on … you were always the better looking out of the two of us.
GIRLFRIEND
You predicted I would cheat on you?!
BOYFRIEND
I guess.
GIRLFRIEND
Wooow. You don’t trust me?
BOYFRIEND
I guess I didn’t trust that everything I did would be perfect for you. I always had this niggling feeling that we were compatible, but not all the way. But I wanted to make this work, so I ignored it.
The Girlfriend pauses and thinks about what the Boyfriend said. Even now, when most people expected apoplectic rage, he was remaining calm and introspective. Even going so far as to blame himself slightly for her indiscretions.
GIRLFRIEND
I won’t lie to you, I guess I had similar feelings. There was always this weird rift between us. I guess it took me cheating to open my eyes about it all. It doesn’t excuse what I did though. I’m really sorry about everything. I should have told you earlier but … I guess I needed time to figure everything out.
BOYFRIEND
So what now? Do you want a break?
GIRLFRIEND
Do you? I’m the one who messed up here. I get it if you want to call us off.
BOYFRIEND
Before I answer that, are you going to see that guy still?
GIRLFRIEND
No, I’m going to find another job. I can’t stand being around him. Things are just too awkward at work, and I don’t like being played. He can’t make up his mind. It’s annoying. Why do you ask?
BOYFRIEND.
Just wanted to make sure you’ll be OK. I don’t like the idea of you going out with an asshole that is me but isn’t me. But since you aren’t … if you don’t mind, can we take a break? My head is still struggling to process everything. I know I should be mad right now, but I’m also really calm. My heart doesn’t know which way to go. Let me pay the bill and we’ll both go home.
GIRLFRIEND
OK. Can I ask you for one last favour?
BOYFRIEND
What is it?
GIRLFRIEND
Do you mind if I kiss you, one last time?
BOYFRIEND
Yeah, of course. We still have 4 years of history between us.
They both stand up and she kisses him softly on the cheek and linger near his ears.
GIRLFRIEND
Thank you. Once again, I’m so sorry. I know it isn’t much but I do mean it.
The Boyfriend is silent but gently caresses her cheek. All is forgiven. He moves to pay the bill, and you can tell that the romance between the two has faded.
The relationship is now friendly. They both walk out of the restaurant, and give each other one last hug. It is tight, lingering and melancholic.
The Boyfriend and Girlfriend then part in different directions.
Author’s Note
I felt like writing some dialogue heavy scene. This was inspired by something I had always imagined in my head, a mature, non-toxic way to settle differences between a man and a woman.
I am sick of seeing/reading awful ways to end a relationship and wanted mine to be different by allowing both sides to come to a sad, but necessary conclusion to a journey. It becomes more melancholic and wistful, instead of being drama heavy.
I hope I managed to translate via dialogue, how both the Boyfriend and Girlfriend went from being more concerned with each other, due to their long relationship, to being merely friends in the middle then complete strangers at the very end.
Expect more screenplays from me in the future, as my friends are now pushing me to experiment with film more.
Grand Theft Auto … the most I have ever spent in a game franchise … time-wise, money-wise and addiction-wise. I’m not ashamed to admit it either.
Welcome to the IMPACT series where I dissect notable and iconic sequences from games and movies, and how they broadened my mind and left a lasting impression on me, years to come.
You’re like every other asshole … You made a bit of money, and you became a turd!
The Backdrop
This is going to be more or less an incredibly long love letter to a franchise I have adored since my first time starting up my Playstation 2 and loading in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.
I do plan on deep-diving into the series, with Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas,Grand Theft Auto IV, Grand Theft Auto V and Grand Theft Auto: Online.
But this is just about the franchise as a whole.
So why is it so impactful?
One of the biggest appeals that Grand Theft Auto has always held for me, is the complete and utter freedom one has to act in a realistically created world.
There are no games quite as expansive, lovingly crafted and insanely detailed oriented as a Grand Theft Auto game upon release. The world crafted in-game is almost slavishly faithful to its real-world counterpart.
San Andreas legitimately allowed me to enjoy 3 American cities in a single game, with its copies of San Fransisco (San Fierro), Los Angeles (Los Santos) and Las Vegas (Las Venturas) in addition to expansive desert and wooded countryside landscapes.
The scope of that game … is still unmatched today. No game I have ever played since, allowed a player to legitimately fly from one city to another in a plane and find themselves in an actual “world” to experience.
Rockstar Games have always been an incredibly ambitious and provocative company. They thrive off negative controversy, an iconic element of their marketing strategy and they refuse to release games until they are goddamn ready. Every single game of theirs, has been an event in the entertainment industry.
The sheer amount of marketing that Rockstar Games is capable of, on a global scale, ensures that every single person is aware of their product. It is quite literally, a hostile takeover of physical and virtual marketing when they release a game.
And so it should be, because thus far, they have yet to release a bad one. Even their more obscure titles, like Bully or L.A. Noire have rabid cult followers who are still breathe and live their games and cry out for a sequel.
But it was with Grand Theft Auto, Rockstar Games cemented their place in history. Its’ sprawling, realistic worlds with all the depravity of real life, from sex, violence, and crime gives players full agency to do whatever they feel fit to do, within the confines of the game.
You have immense creative freedom, complete moral ambiguity and intense levels of customisation.
It’s the ultimate sandbox to experience reality like you never have before and never could in the actual world.
I’ll have two number 9s, a number 9 large, a number 6 with extra dip, a number 7, two number 45s, one with cheese and … a large soda.
The Impact.
I have always been a person who loved reality more than a lot of fiction. There is just too much in this world that is incredible and more bizarre than the strangest alternate reality devised.
So on a personal level, all I’ve ever really wanted from a game is a sandbox that is realistic and contemporary, with the freedom to shoot, run, hide and interact like how I’ve always wanted to in reality, but without being sent to jail for it.
Grand Theft Auto, from the very first time I played San Andreas, allowed me that escapism. I became obsessed with the game around the same time The Bourne Supremacy (2004) came out.
Taunting the cops to chase me, whilst I drove away in a yellow taxi cab, to emulate that iconic chase sequence at the climax resulted in both film and game merged in an experience I would treasure even now.
With absolute fondness, I still recall slamming my yellow taxi cab around Las Venturas’ highways, avoiding police traps and playing the throbbing score by John Powell “Bim Bam Smash” on a loop over the Self Radio.
Nothing else quite topped that experience in a game, for a very long time.
That is until Grand Theft Auto IV came out and I became equally obsessed with recreating film moments in Liberty City, and my addiction grew even further, because now the driving and shooting mechanic had become buttery smooth and I was in love anew with the driving physics.
The hours I spent, role-playing as a vigilante FIB agent, killing gangsters with Niko Bellic in a suit and tie, wielding a Glock … are too numerous to count and too shameful to admit.
The simple fact is, the game itself encourages you to recreate iconic moments you’ve seen in film and pop culture. Beyond obvious references in Grand Theft Auto’s stories, the amount of customisation for your character in terms of clothing, tattoos, haircuts and in some cases, even weight, meant that you can express yourself however you see fit.
Then there are the vehicles …
Every single game has been an incredible delight to drive, cruise, fly and pilot. I loved the heavier feel of the cars in Grand Theft Auto IV, the sheer variety in Grand Theft Auto:San Andreas, and now the overall experience of flying across a stunning realisation of Los Angeles in Grand Theft Auto V. Whether it is sport cars, sedans, Pimp-mobiles, tractors …. if there is a fun vehicle, you can find it in Grand Theft Auto and modify it to your heart’s desire.
The sensation of flying across San Andreas in a prop plane with God rays reflecting off the surface of the plane, while a sunset slowly comes down across the horizon is still as stunning as it was when it first came out.
With Grand Theft Auto Online, I think I have lost count of the number of vehicles I own. I became, quite literally addicted to the premise of earning money so I could own more cars. As a car fanatic, the garage collection you can build in Online is so vast, that you can actually forget which cars you own.
At the time of writing this, I believe I own close to 200 cars in the game, with almost every kind of imaginable vehicle I have ever wanted in reality. The classic Batmobile from 1989, numerous Ferraris, two replicas of the F1 Red Bull RB7 challenger, a Bond-styled Aston Martin DB5, an Aston Martin V8 Volante, and even the latest Aston Martin Valkyrie. There are numerous Porsches, Ferraris, BMWs, Mustangs, Nissan GTRs, armoured variants of classic coupes, Bentley Continentals, McLaren F1, McLaren Longtail, and even a Mercedes 300SL.
The list could go on forever, because in the years since its release, Rockstar has only continued to build the endless list of cars inspired by real world counterparts in the game.
And I want them all.
No other game I have ever played, has inspired such greed in me. I haven’t even started on my personal yacht, boats, planes (a goddamn V-22 Osprey) and now with the latest Cayo Perico update, a frigging submarine with its personal Bell H-13 Sioux styled helicopter and even a submersible Ferrari/Lamborghini vehicle.
In Grand Theft Auto Online, there is nothing outside the realm of purchase and in all seriousness, that is 90% of the charm of the game. I have always wanted to own all of these things in reality and the game makes it so easy to do so.
They gave away free go-karts … just so you could throw snowballs from them at random players. Rockstar generosity and marketing genius at play.
The Enrichment.
There are a lot of things that I’ve learnt from Grand Theft Auto. But I want to distil it down to three major points.
Music. Marketing. Decade Recap.
With the Cayo Perico Heist update, it really opened my eyes to just how much of a “record company” Rockstar is. The music selection and licensing is obscene for a game of its size, with over 20 radio stations. Grand Theft Auto might boast the biggest contemporary collection of music in any game ever made. They are are so casual about their power in the music industry, that the legendary Dr. Dre can just show up as a cameo in a game cutscene and surprise everyone.
What makes it all the more astonishing is that without fail, every single GTA has managed to perfectly sum up the decade in music. I have never heard a bad selection of music in-game ever. It was Vice City that managed to grab the absolute best of the 80s and divide them into incredible radio stations complete with false advertising. Not only were the songs amazing to drive along to, it built the immersion to another level whilst playing.
San Andreas killed it with their 90s selection of songs, the game actually instilling in me, a deep appreciation for rap music. Grand Theft Auto IV was an amazing eclectic mix of everything, even surprising me with their Russian taste and really proving that immigrant music can be just as amazing as mainstream hits.
The more said about Grand Theft Auto V‘s music the better. Everything contemporary, most of it new and unheard of, has exploded on the radio stations in the game. You can hear music from Detroit, bump along to UK underground, dance to the latest club mixes and their nightclub DJs mixes rival some of the best music heard in reality. It is truly astonishing how many unique songs have been made just for Grand Theft Auto. I mean, even Gorillaz made a MUSIC VIDEO for their song using footage of their GTA gameplay.
Which brings me to my next point about Marketing.
One of the most obvious standout features about Rockstar as a game company, is their ability to thrive off negative press. Ever since its release, GTA has become the number one pick for hell-bent politicians and angry parents to blame for the corruption of their children, instead of looking inwards at poor parenting.
Rockstar has done everything in their power to further enrage those fires and thus drive up sales of their games, because suddenly when something becomes forbidden, it only serves to fuel the allure. But beyond that marketing philosophy of “bad press is better than no press”, are the numerous tactics that Rockstar has employed to generate hype around their games.
The Cayo Perico Heist was promoted first in-game, when dead bodies started washing ashore on Vespucci beach, at specific locations and at random times. Then there was a strange message that mentioned that the Casino was under construction for something big. Then out of nowhere Gorillaz released their music video for The Valley of the Pagans ft.Beck. This was then followed by a cryptic trailer that hinted at an island and a submarine ping?
Then to increase further hype, they showcased the actual trailer and the music was absolutely killer, encouraging you to think that you needed a holiday away from the mainland of Los Santos and they were teasing all new radio stations, 2 new places to party and socialise and jobs to do for the DJs in-game.
I don’t think I have ever been more hyped for a DLC than I was for this.
Beyond that though, there has been an incredibly consistent GTA branding that I envy, with unique font and art style that saturate every aspect of the game marketing, regardless of which title is released. Add on top of that, bus billboards, NYC giant posters, and endless campaigns that still last to this day, you will never escape the event that is the release of Grand Theft Auto.
The final aspect I adore about GTA is the decade recap.
At GTA’s heart, beats a sarcastic, satirical and scathing teenager who wants to lash out at society and laugh at its ridiculousness. Even the name Rockstar Games suggest there is an attitude of rebelliousness, of good ol’ rock’n’roll attitude to how they produce games. Yes the product is undeniably genius and well made, but its heart is devil-may-care. Rockstar doesn’t care that the game offends or insults you … the fact that you bought it or are talking about it, is already a win in their eyes and they are laughing all the way to the bank.
But what is astonishing is their skill at satire. The have such a consistent stupid approach to things. Pisswasser is their best beer in the game. Cluckin Bell is their take on fast-food empires and their radio stations have insane advertisement for Ammu-Nation the gun store in-game. Then there is the recent parody of Apple in iFruit with lewd, suggestive advertisements and even Faceook is not safe with their hilarious named LifeInvader social media program that apes the infamous company’s style.
What Rockstar is capable of, is identifying the best elements of a decade and turning it on its head, either in a hilariously over the top way or making it bizarrely sexual. Every decade, has had its best music put into a radio station with ridiculous ads, and the story has had the best of all that decade’s pop culture placed squarely into the narrative. Vice City was a spin on Scarface and Miami Vice. San Andreas was all about 90s gangster culture and there are so many references to popular 90s films, like Con Air, Boyz n the Hood or The Big Lebowski.
Grand Theft Auto IV has an obvious reference to Behind Enemy Lines with Niko’s starting outfit, but more sutble references like Ronin and even Zoolander of all things.
The list goes on and on, but it is that ability to grab all the best of a decade and turn it around that makes GTA so special. The world is real, its grounded but … just heightened ever so slightly just to make immersion a bit funnier to those with keen eyes.
Grand Theft Auto IV … arguably one of the best modern American stories ever crafted with an incredibly charismatic lead in Niko Bellic and an incredible devotion to character drama.
The Culmination.
Grand Theft Auto is landmark piece of entertainment. It is one of the biggest selling franchises of all time and is probably responsible for devouring about an 1/8 of my waking hours. The reason why Grand Theft Auto is such an incredible hit is because it takes the world as it is, tweaks it to make it funnier and stupid and offers you that tempting chance to be an arsehole you have always wanted to be in reality.
That is what, at its core, makes Grand Theft Auto so addicting. You want to own all these things in reality. To do whatever you want in reality. To be a badass drifting around a corner through red lights, to sky-dive and not worry about the plane exploding onto a skyscraper, to pilot your own submarine, to make money easily by killing half a dozen people … to pull of heists and make millions.
Then subsequently spend all of it on a hyper-car and not worry about financial repercussions.
The story is cynical, hilarious and ultimately all about a flawed human being having a heart of gold. Every Rockstar protagonist is an incredibly lovable asshole. They are flawed, do horrible things, and behave like the biggest douche on the planet, but their writing, and ultimately desire to get better makes them relatable. Michael De Santa, Jimmy Hopkins, Max Payne, Niko Bellic, Carl Johnson, Tommy Vercetti, Arthur Morgan … all of these leads are charismatic, psychotic maniacs with thousands of deaths to their names and millions of dollars to their reputation and game but at their heart, despite their despicable actions, they are good men who look after their friends and just want to get ahead in life.
To quote Doctor Strange … Its a simple spell, but quite unbreakable.
The cherry on top of this satirical escapism, is the hyper realistic graphics, the fascinating side characters and the enthralling music. Rockstar takes immersion to the next level, with hilarious AI phone conversations, the ability to give the finger to pedestrians, and truly indulge in being the best Los Santos/Vice City/Bullworth Academy/Sao Paulo domestic terrorist you can be.
Rebellious. Controversial. Aggressive. Fearless. Anti-Authority. These are but some of the characteristics that help define the role of the rock star in modern day society. Rock stars are unafraid to push the limits of an established set of rules. They constantly question authority and live to upend the social structures that help to define it. Their belief’s become their passions and they strive to share these with the surrounding world. Their aura is intoxicating and inspires others to follow their way of life. This is the life of a rock star. This is the unofficial motto of Rockstar Games.
May you rock on forever, Grand Theft Auto.
Rockstar’s scathing wit and satirical commentary on today’s society will never get old, as long as their writing is this good.
James Ashford looked at Gabriel Woods, aka the Prince, the assassin famous for the murder of a member of the Royal Family and nodded brusquely before walking into the safehouse.
To explore Wood’s past, was to acknowledge that the best men for this particular lifestyle, had often been the most unsavoury types humanity had to offer. Criminals, dealers, murderers, hackers, assassins … the worst were often recruited for the endless meat grinder. Fringe elements of society that were sharper and smarter than the average citizen.
Not because they were inherently more skilled or blessed in terms of genetics, but because the environment they grew up in, combined with their willpower made them different. Deadlier, more likely to view violence as another means of communication than an abnormal act of aggression.
They survived, thrived even, because only these types of people could survive for that long on the edges of civilisation. It was a life of predator besting another predator. Apex animals battling it out for the ultimate gift of another day of life.
But with Woods, it was a voluntary exile into the wilderness. He chose that life, and had become all the more skilled and terrifying because of it. He had all the opportunities that were provided for any child of a middle-income family.
Entry to a prestigious university degree, money to spend thanks to part-time work … popularity amongst his peers and friends.
But the moment he could, he abandoned it all for the dark edges of society. He had a strange twisted sense of justice and he wanted to see it through, to test his mettle and will against something greater.
Woods dove so completely off the radar, it was largely presumed he was dead.
His family gave him a grave in a prestigious cemetery. His girlfriend of 5 years wept for him and maintained a photo of their time together on her study. His friends toasted him mournfully and moved on with their lives.
Woods gave it all up on a dare he made himself.
Years after his death, rumours of a prolific and skilled assassin began to emerge from the shadows.
It took the NSA and the CIA nearly 2 years to uncover his true identity.
2 years is equivalent to generations in the intelligence community. Whole family trees were wiped from memory in a month. To best the Western Intelligence community for 2 years was an achievement in of itself.
But, as a retired CIA Director once stated,
“There’s a reason why he’s called the Prince. Everything he touches … dies.”
His mind was blessed with a photographic memory, his tongue could twist languages and hearts with ease. His hands made him a natural marksman and he possessed enough calm temperament and patience to outlast and and outsmart his targets.
He was a once in a generation skilled assassin.
Legends of his kills spread quickly through the underworld. A high-ranking corrupt French officer here. An Iranian terrorist cell leader there. A Columbian cartel leader over there. He was untouchable. Unstoppable.
Both sides turned against him, but desperately wanted to hire him.
Then came his crowning achievement.
The murder of a Prince, and the new nickname bestowed upon him, as befitting one of the most dangerous men in the world. Upon murdering a corrupt Prince, the intelligence apparatus gave him the deceased’s title.
It was one of the most shocking assassinations in the 21st century. Not only was the Prince killed in his sleep next to an unknown woman, who mysteriously disappeared 4 hours later, his entire history was exposed to the world.
A Royal pervert exposed to the world, a molester of underage children, a secret admirer of the occult and a world class manipulator of facts and lies.
An assassination of more than just his life …. the Prince’s character was torn to shred by the outraged public. A rampaging British public whose love for the Royal family was shaken to the core by the scandal, nearly resulted in a lockdown for London and Windsor Palace.
The SIS wanted Wood’s head on a platter. Airing out the dirty laundry was not the job of a complete stranger, especially because the secrets surrounding the Prince was theirs to keep and maintain and reveal at the opportune moment.
The next 6 months was spent searching under every rock, alleyway and dealings. Ashford himself headed the manhunt that saw him travel across every continent, always a step behind as he struggled to trace Wood’s movements.
A political rival’s death in Mumbai put Ashford close, literally a second’s hesitation meant Woods gave the SAS grab team the slip.
A Naval Officer’s expose and subsequent suicide in Argentina threw Ashford off completely.
The highly publicised death of a prominent nuclear engineer by his wife, after she found out his indiscretions in Iran shocked Ashford to the core with Wood’s brilliant manipulation of lies, facts and the truth.
The hunt finally drew to a close when a high ranking Politburo from the Xinjiang province mysteriously disappeared after his helicopter crashed mid-flight. Ashford was incredulous when his analysts came back with the report that this was the work of Woods.
The report was waiting from him on his desk, along with a handwritten note from his senior analyst.
Woods just made contact with me. Use this number to talk to him. Be careful boss …
James Ashford remembered how his hand had trembled slightly as he traced the call to a tiny house in rural Victoria, Australia, at a place called Tidal River.
It was as remote a town as could be, near the bottom of the world, a popular retreat for Victorians.
Ashford couldn’t believe it, when he heard the invitation to come down and visit him, Wood’s strange Melburnian accent throwing him off further. His paranoia was overwhelming him, but there was a innate sense of trust. After all, if Woods had willed it, he would have killed Ashford already.
So the head of British intelligence packed an overnight bag, flew down to Victoria, armed with only a single SAS bodyguard, rented a Ford Explorer and drove for nearly 4 hours before reaching the tiny town.
They drove past the tiny retreat with its picturesque river cabins and stunning ocean views and onto a private road that plunged deep into the Australian bush. Ashford recalled slamming on the brakes several times for native fauna, as emus, wallabies and full sized kangaroos sped past.
When they finally arrived, they noted the ramshackle fence that separated bush from property and that the metal gate had been opened for them. Driving through, Ashford looked around and noted the twilight hours in which they had arrived. His bodyguard was scanning the surroundings nervously, uncomfortable with how exposed they were, as the car trundled along the dirt road, across flat, burnt grass.
After nearly a kilometre of driving, they noted the large lush green English oak tree that guarded the left side of the house that was perched atop a cliff, overlooking the ocean. A tiny staircase was visible, no doubt leading down to the docks below where Ashford would later discover a Cessna 206 Seaplane and a Zodiac Milpro dinghy.
The house itself was moderately large, with a modern design aesthetic; large glass walls and a squarish design, the colours and materials matching the ocean. Dark grey stacked stone walls, were intersected with large glass panels to allow maximum visibility to the ocean, and Ashford could even tell that they were able to dim themselves in a instant, to give the house a cloudy look, allowing the occupants to see out but no one could look in.
It was an impressively modern house, a rugged and sturdy design, ugly almost in how it served to stand against nature instead of blending with the surroundings. During a storm, the building would be atmospheric in its brutality.
Ashford and his bodyguard parked the Explorer in front of the garage and walked out cautiously. The SAS trooper was taking zero chances and had a compact MP5K on a sling under his outdoor jacket and gripped it nervously as they walked to the front door.
Ashford pushed it open, surprised at the little resistance and they entered the house of an assassin.
The decor was sparse but tasteful, with minimalist modern styling that made the house more spacious than it seemed. A handwritten note was left on the front desk, with a metal rack next to it.
Please leave your weapons here.
The bodyguard looked at Ashford who nodded. The SAS trooper reluctantly unslung his MP5K and deposited his Glock service weapon on the metal rack.
As the pair of them walked through into the living room, Ashford noted the fireplace that was roaring and a still figure tending to the logs.
Gabriel Woods turned and faced James Ashford and said casually.
Evening. Welcome to my humble abode.
Ashford asked slightly breathlessly
Are you the Prince?
Only in name and legend.
Ashford sunk into the comfortable Ottoman lounge and stared at the man who had caused so much chaos with his death. Taking a deep breath, Ashford started down the long list of questions he had built up over the past 6 months of the most intensive manhunt the British intelligence service had ever conducted.
The subsequent conversation covered both men upbringing, their history, their skills and Wood’s exploits. The list of crimes that Wood had committed across all 7 continents was almost too many to count. The beauty of death meant that Wood was a ghost, with the ability to breeze through customs and borders with all the ease and benefits of an actual apparition.
It was nearly 7am in the morning when Ashford sipped at the tea provided for him and finally came to the real reason why he had travelled all this way to the end of the world.
There must be a reason why you allowed yourself to get caught Gabriel.
I just wanted to meet my opposition. You came close several times. I can respect that.
You want back into the game again don’t you?
Woods shrugged as if to say What offer do you have?
Ashford laid out his terms. Woods countered. The discussion went on for another night.
But in the end, Ashford got what he wanted.
The Queen got her assassin and he was allowed to remain dead.
The loan to the CIA occurred after 4 years operating for Her Majesty’s branches, in which Woods would only ever report to Ashford directly. Upon hearing the success the SIS had been having after a mysterious operative had joined their ranks, the CIA pulled strings and managed to secure the Prince’s services, putting him to work in Latin America before employing him to Afghanistan.
The bureaucracy and mammoth nature of the American war machine however meant that the CIA could never quite replicate the success their British counterparts enjoyed with the Prince.
To be welcomed back into the arms of the British was something Woods was appreciated. After all his deal was with Ashford and he much preferred the low-key operating style of the Brits over the Yanks’ more brash approach.
Woods greeted the two bodyguards that came with Ashford as they filed into the safehouse, leaving the standard issue Jaguar XJ L outside.
As he followed them in, Woods noted the paper dossier in Ashford’s hands.
Noting Woods’ puzzled look, Ashford handed it over silently.
A gift from Langley. Insight into the Sphinx. Burn it once you are done. I’ll be over here, making some tea.
Woods frowned and sat down in the armchair, opening the dossier to reveal two pieces of paper, all that was left of the Washington’s thumb drive that he had handed to Ashford earlier that day.
James Ashford rummaged through the safehouse’s pantry, grumbling softly under his breath as he realised that it had not been restocked in a while. In the end after an exhaustive search, he had only managed to find a near expired package of McVitie Original Digestive biscuits, and 4 teabags of some weak English Breakfast brew.
Putting some water into the kettle and waiting for it to boil, Ashford looked over at his top assassin and wondered just how at the tender age of 31, Gabriel Woods had managed to carve such a large slice of history for himself. He wasn’t even near the end of his operational tenancy either with at least another 6 more years in the field.
Bringing the tea over to Woods and his bodyguards, Ashford sipped at his cup patiently as he saw Woods commit the document to memory before heading over to the kitchen stove and placing a saucepan atop with the papers inside, he set the entire dossier on fire and tossed the ashes into a bin.
Any questions? asked Ashford.
Seems like I’m finding a mirror.
Ashford nodded.
Where can I find William Aitken nowadays?
Dead said Ashford bluntly. I attended his funeral last year. Heart attack.
Left any records of this?
None to my knowledge. William was a different breed of spy. His paranoia was intense, almost Stalinist. I am certain he would have taken this to his grave. He never made any mention of this while I have been running things. He was a strange type of handler. Almost too lenient to a lot of different things.
Sounds like it. A teenage recruit … this was always going to come back to bite you.
It was the 80s, our moral compass wasn’t exactly as strong as it is now.
I’m shocked Aitken managed to turn him. I thought the Sphinx was too indoctrinated since he was trained in AQ camps at an early age?
Aitken got to him before the AQ camps. He was the guy who told the Downing Street that we got a source in AQ when UBL was running things. Aitken recruited a young kid, trained him, turned him and let him loose into AQ.
Woods shook his head. A child-soldier … not exactly an asset worth revealing in a COBRA meeting.
I know it’s mentioned in the dossier, but what really went wrong? asked Woods.
We’re not sure, replied Ashford. That’s up to you to find out. Aitken is dead. Whatever relationship he might have had with Hassan Malik he took to the grave and left us no actionable intel. I’m not even sure how the Americans found out about this. It’s not often Washington gets to pull something over me.
Woods nodded.
Well whatever Aitken did to Malik, it was damn effective. The guy is just as much of a ghost as I am. Explains his vendetta against the UK though. We made him. What makes you think we’ll find him in a couple of days?
Ashford looked at Woods in the eyes and replied calmly.
You don’t hire a saint to catch a sinnerand you’re the Prince amongst them all.
Author’s Note
It’s been a long time since I started writing for fun again!
But with festival work on the verge of winding down and I can finally settle into a decent routine again, I will be regularly posting once more.
Thank you to all the new followers who read my blog. I appreciate and salute your efforts to read anything, even awfully written stuff like mine.
This chapter is all about exploring and deepening the lore behind the Prince nickname I gave to the main character. I wanted to flesh him out and create an interesting mythology around his exploits.
The same intention was behind the slow reveal that Malik and Woods are mirror opposites of one another, differing only in the paths they chose.
Welcome to the IMPACT series where I dissect notable and iconic sequences from games and movies, and how they broadened my mind and left a lasting impression on me, years to come.
Blak and Blu … this is The Story of Sonny Boy Slim.
The Backdrop.
With so much music being made nowadays, it is easy for us to let talented musicians fly under the radar.
I discovered Gary Clark Jr. the same way I discovered most of my musical taste … through Rockstar Games, the record label masquerading as a multi-million dollar game company that has produced masterpiece upon masterpiece.
I found it incredible that for such a short cut-scene in Max Payne 3, they managed to get the license of Bright Lights by Gary Clark Jr. All just to provide incredible atmosphere to the New Jersey bar that Max found himself slumped in.
I grew obsessed with the song and then artist soon after. I devoured his album, Blak and Blu and grew to appreciate his incredible guitar skills. The way how Clark Jr. seamlessly transition between blues and rock still floors me to this day.
So when I heard his next album, The Story of Sonny Boy Slim was coming out, I immediately pre-ordered and got myself a shirt.
There were even plans to see him live in Melbourne. But unfortunately I was strapped for cash so instead I just dedicated a weekend listening to his albums over and over again.
I get a Hendrix vibe from him and while he may not reach the heights of Jimi, he’s damn close and I’ll settle for that any day of the week.
Make no mistake though, this guy from Austin Texas sounds even better live and he is one of the few artists where I actually download the Live albums.
Shredding it like no one else can. Just listen to one of his live renditions. The guitar solos are always worth sticking around for, not to mention the heavy vocal skills on display.
The Impact.
One of my favourite things about Gary Clark Jr. is that the man is raw. Raw talent. Raw emotions. Raw performances. There is a roughness to his playing style that makes it compelling listening. He is insanely talented and skilled at manipulating a guitar, but it is the combination of his vocals and the actual meaning behind his lyrics that make him the real deal.
There is a folklore quality to his songs that inspired me to actually start revisiting other famous guitarists with a message to scream into a microphone.
It also made me realise just how difficult it is to create a niche for yourself in the over-saturated world of blues and rock. Often times you find talent copying other famous musicians, or people who can hold a tune, but can’t string a guitar or vice versa.
Gary Clark Jr’s raw style and folklore style to his lyrics make him a unique voice in American music.
There is a road quality to his soundscapes, where you might be passing by a bar on the street and suddenly you hear this wail of a guitar.
You stop, pay your entrance fee and forget whatever plans you might have had for the night, because talent this good doesn’t come by often.
That’s the effect Gary Clark Jr. has on me. He made me sit up, notice and hum his songs for days after. His voice can soar above his guitar, and somehow go low enough to meld beautifully as well.
I’m not going to sugarcoat it …. he made me want to wear beanies, and hang a guitar over my shoulder. Unfortunately I grew up playing piano and so I’m stuck with only wearing beanies.
The Enrichment.
Gary Clark Jr. opened my eyes to a lot of things beyond his amazing skill and killer album Blak and Blu.
Firstly, I appreciated that he was an early proponent of Indigenous Australian issues, when he toured Australia. The Aborigine flag was highly prominent across his chest as he jammed out his tunes and it seemed the issues they faced, were echoed in his latest album, This Land.
The album was inspired by a encounter he had when buying his ranch in Texas and it prompted one of his best songs yet, with an incredible opening that was as unique as it was impactful.
Warbles, guitar riffs and an angry, indignant voice combined together to create an absolute banger of a song to headline his latest album.
Beyond his obvious championship of Indigenous rights, an issue no doubt brought about his lovely Australian wife, Gary Clark Jr. also tackled social issues in most of his songs.
There is righteous anger in This Land, mythical wistfulness in The Story of Sonny Boy Slim and just pure nostalgia for a rugged Americana in Blak and Blu. His music videos are always well informed and tackling something crucial in society.
Well … perhaps his Justice League MV leaves a lot to be desired but … at least the lyrics are killer.
But the real enrichment Gary Clark Jr. provides for me is an angry atmosphere to wrap myself into. My favourite three songs of his, all make me feel a certain way that just can’t be captured by other artists.
His song, Numb is this hard-edged melody that makes me feel comforted in knowing that I am not the only male out there that loves his woman, but can also be incredibly frustrated by her. The slow, burning energy of the guitar is what sells this song.
Yeah I know … Yeah woman, I can’t feel the same.
Then it is When My Train Pulls In makes me want to run away with her again. The folklore style of the lyrics and wistfulness of his guitar make me romantic. Let’s escape across the road and put our worries behind is the vibe I get from this song. I want to, I want to so badly, but I can’t and that’s why this love is doomed.
I’ll be ready now … I’ll be ready when my train pulls in.
The best song for last is of course Bright Lights where it makes me feel like I am in the same bar as Max Payne, nursing a drink, agonizing over regrets and desperate to chase away the hangover with something even stronger. I’m angry, alone and desperate. I’m willing to do anything to make my pain go away, but nothing is coming, so I’m getting angrier.
Bright lights, big city going to my head
I’ve bought all his albums. That’s a rare statement from a guy like me who is as cheap as it gets when it comes to free methods of downloading on the internet.
The Culmination.
If trouble was money baby …. I swear I’d be a millionaire …
If worries was dollar bills …. I’d buy the whole world and have money to spare.
Gary Clark Jr. remains one of my all time favourite musicians. His guitar skills are unbelievable and there is just a hell of a lot of emotions in his singing.
He’s a born live performer, not a man to be cooped up in a studio.
There is weight to his songs, a real strong sentiment of a man that can’t be tamed and lives on only through his music.
In a lot of ways, Gary Clark Jr. represents to me the ideal musician. A man with raw unmatched talent, the fire within to speak about anything he damn well please and he let his skills do all the talking.
He carry the kindred spirit of guitar legends on his shoulders and it has served him well.
Even now, when I listen to his stuff, I get transported to another space, a place where I am devoured by some strange passions and at the mercy of whims.
And that is a gift that not many musicians can conjure up within me.
Stars: John David Washington, Robert Pattison, Elizabeth Debicki, Dimple Kapadia, Kenneth Branagh and Aaron Taylor-Johnson.
Review by Damocles
If you search the word “muddled” in a thesaurus, every synonym can be used to describe Tenet.
Christopher Nolan is one of those directors that I respect and simultaneously dislike at the same time.
He focuses a lot on spectacle, has the ability to make reality seem more exciting than it really is, and often prefers to tackle an interesting concept poorly, than telling a simple story well.
It makes him a strange paradox in my mind … an appropriate mindset going into this film where much of the plot is about “time inversion”, “entropy” and “temporal movements.”
The film’s plot follows the Protagonist, a spy who joins a secret organisation named Tenet to prevent an Armageddon that is being bought about by Andrei Sator, whose scorched-earth policies will result in the world being torn apart by time inversion.
The plot is dense, confusing and admittedly too complex to properly enjoy. Nolan plays with time a bit too many times in ways that convolutes things too much for you to have a good grasp on what is going on. Confusion is not a particularly good emotion to be feeling when watching a spectacle play across the screen. In Inception (2010) it was enjoyable, in Tenet it is almost insufferable.
This is one of the few times in a review, where I won’t bother to convey the plot in words, but instead just tell you, that if you want to enjoy the film more, it is almost better to ignore what characters are saying and just focus on what they are doing.
Of the three elements that make Nolan special; spectacle, reality and concept, I admire and respect his craftsmanship for spectacle and refusal to implement CGI in his films, but despise his fixation on strange bloodless violence and unnecessary complications to a climax approach.
Tenet is his most “Nolan-esque” film to date. An interesting concept that is made complex far too much, that I felt myself checking out of the film after the 9th expository explanation.
For a man with such visual flair to his set-pieces, he seems to depend a lot on needlessly complicated wordplay to describe what is happening.
In addition, I felt a lot of the incredible locations and sets were not given enough time to breathe. A location shift to Mumbai should be more than just a slightly underwhelming bungee stunt and multiple scenes of dialogue. Tallinn was reduced to an airport. The incredible opening opera house sequence, I felt needed a bit more love and care in the set-up.
The climatic ending needed a better sense of geography and scale, something I was particularly aggrieved about because there was such a lack of focus on what seemed like a large-scale battle, but you couldn’t really tell who was shooting at whom.
Too many action set pieces I felt were not built up enough, where they felt earned, unique and creative and as such, I was left feeling a little underwhelmed by it all, despite witnessing a 747 crash into a building. If anything, I felt they were strangely underused and even a little under-dressed, but then that could just be the nature of a film regarding “time inversion.”
This is a shame, because the casting for the film is excellent, with a truly standout physical performance from John David Washington, whose charisma is palpable despite some odd dialogue choices. His physicality is impressive and I was struck by the natural athletic grace he had, no doubt a holdover from his NFL days.
Robert Pattison’s ability to be a chameleon in any role, continues to impress. I was struck by how well he seemed to control his face to express himself, in a lot of the action sequences.
Elizabeth Debicki, arguably one of my favourite actresses ever because of my Melburnian bias and her effortless class, felt a little bit wasted in this role, a typical Nolan flaw, as he has always had a bit of trouble writing women. A very relatable issue to have, as I struggle from the same dilemma.
What I was pleasantly amused by is Branagh’s continual ability to play a Russian with a slightly strange accent. He seems to enjoy being the big, bad evil Russian with a philosophical intellect, as he plays a highly similar character in Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit (2014).
On a more positive note, I loved Ludwig Goransson’s work for the score, with much of the soundscapes sounding remarkably unique, tense and evocative for a spy thriller. His music was particularly refreshing after Nolan’s frequent collaborative efforts with Hans Zimmer, and I found that much of the film was boosted by Goransson’s style and flair.
Rainy Night in Tallinn is such an incredible example of how Goransson is able to transform a peaceful, airy sound into something dark and terrifying before lifting it up again into something heroic and mysterious.
Praise must also be given to the cinematographer, Hoyte van Hoytema whose work continues to shine under Nolan’s direction. I was particularly struck by how good everything looked, a testament to his ability to make the ordinary world more exciting.
However in spite of his work, I couldn’t really find myself getting more invested in the film. Certain shots grabbed the eyes, but there was this strange disconnect between all the elements that make a spy thriller exciting. Costumes in particular, were really drab for a spy thriller, with much of the characters covered up or dressed in dull tactical gear that didn’t really express their personality.
A key element behind espionage films has always been the glamour of certain locales and characters, and I couldn’t help but feel like Nolan’s insistence on realism was a detriment to this unique take on the spy genre. The Protagonist’s costumes switched constantly, and actually served to be slightly distracting, as I could not pinpoint what his style was, beyond multiple suit colours.
However there was major disservice to Elizabeth Debicki’s tall frame not being utilized enough to emphasis her natural ballet posture. Her costumes in particular did not suit what I imagined a Russian billionaire’s wife would dress like with many not really accentuating her tragic looks.
A great example of spy costuming done right, was The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015) where all the characters had incredible colours and looks that matched their personalities. Normally, I would not pay attention to costumes, but in this film, I felt like it was needed to just bring the characters to life a bit better.
Overall, I felt like Tenet was not one of Nolan’s better films, as I really felt like this time around, the time inversion concept proved too much even for a filmmaker of his abilities and it soured what might have been a fun take on the spy genre.
Set pieces lacked panache and visual flair, especially with some action sequences needing to be expanded further or developed beyond a simple gimmick, such as the enthralling bungee jump sequence or the truck heist perhaps benefiting from a night-time shoot.
Too much of Nolan’s violence seems so bloodless and at odds with the realistic approach he enjoys, and I do wish he would film his action with a better sense of the enemies the protagonists are fighting, because the formula is there, it is good, but the execution isn’t quite up to scratch.
Perhaps I am too biased to the John Wick films, or Mad Max series, but at the end of the day, I dislike seeing such huge potential for unique and interesting action wasted.
A scene to recall: A windmill safe-room is a remarkably interesting and novel concept to me. Just seeing the Protagonist spend his time working out and disguising himself as an maintenance worker stuck with me oddly enough.
It also reinforces my suspicion regarding hi-vis vests and that I was right to use it in my high-school murder mystery.
Welcome to the IMPACT series where I dissect notable and iconic sequences from games and movies, and how they broadened my mind and left a lasting impression on me, years to come.
YOUWILLLOVEEACHOTHER.
The Backdrop.
Quite potentially the most left-field band I have ever found and fallen in love with, HEALTH was introduced to me, via one of my favourite games of all time: Max Payne 3.
In fact, the game’s score and style was so influential, I actually discovered 2 artists through the game, HEALTH and Gary Clark Jr. (more on this guy in a follow up post) and subsequently became obsessed with cynical monologues for the rest of my life.
An obsession you can clearly read in my writing.
In fact, I could argue that Rockstar is probably responsible for most of my excellent music taste. Their choice, direction and soundscape in games is essentially impeccable, from Grand Theft Auto: Vice City’s 80s pop on Flash FM to the addicting anger in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas’s 90s rap Radio Los Santos and my current interest in electronica heard in Los Santos Underground Radio in Grand Theft Auto V.
HEALTH have been long collaborators with Rockstar and I must say I am grateful, because the score in Max Payne 3 is ridiculously unique and truly evocative. When I first heard it, I was genuinely stunned. The sounds that came from the score were so distinct, unique and impactful. I could hear the pain and anguish in Max’s grief, the sadness of the favelas and the nihilistic overtones of the cutscenes.
There has never been a score since that has simultaneously unsettled me and lifted me to emotional heights like Max Payne 3.
Now upon listening to more of their albums, I am incredibly addicted to their angry, violent sounds and the throbbing undertones of dark energy, that are juxtaposed with soaring lyrics and voices.
It is downright weird.
It is industrial noise rock.
HEALTH’s score in Max Payne 3, especially the Airport sequence left me shaken and stirred. TEARS forever.
The Impact.
Beyond the first initial reaction to the Max Payne 3 score, I knew that I was hungry for more from these guys.
Enter DEATH MAGIC.
The first real album I found from HEALTH and the subsequent addiction. For me, DEATH MAGIC is still as incredible now as it was to me when I first heard of.
For me, an obvious sign that I am loving the music I am hearing, is when the hairs on my forearm stand up and goosebumps suffuse my skin. That’s when I know my entire being is vibing completely with the music I am listening to.
DEATH MAGIC still invokes that sensation years after I first found it. To listen to DEATH MAGIC is to go on a strange, dark journey that is terrifying and violent, occasionally interrupted by soaring, despairing and sweet songs that tug away at your inner despair and make you long for love.
If you look at the album cover, the names of each song is unapologetically strange and cryptic, to match the chaotic album art. The red and black strange Jackson Pollock’s style of art is in perfect harmony to the diverse soundscapes you will be expericing in the album itself.
If I had to sum up each song, here is what it would look like:
VICTIM: The very first song is all about setting up a precedence. It’s heavy thumping rhythms make you feel like you are descending into a dark place. You are sinking, falling and diving deeper into a strange, chaotic place. Just when you are lost, and about to give up, in comes Jake Duzsik’s strange soaring vocals to guide you further on your dark path. You follow his voice, like a blind man would, bewildered, hopeful and trusting of a strange angel.
STONEFIST: Hits you with all the iconic HEALTH sounds, from Duzsik’s hauntingly sweet vocals, to the dark pulses of the band’s drums, guitar and synthesizers. It legitimately slams you straight after VICTIM, letting you know that Duzsik’s angel is now accelerating your journey through this dark place, and you have to keep up, as his voice is punctuated by hard hitting synth and drums crescendos. As you try to keep pace, all you’ll hear is LOVE’S NOT IN OUR HEARTS.
(Oh and the music video is deceptively normal, until the 1 minute mark, and then it decides to go full Society (1989) on you)
MEN TODAY: Takes a dark turn, with its heavy emphasis on drums and chaotically quick guitar riffs. Slow drums, then punctuated by quick guitar and dark synth, only to mellow out into soft, high vocals. Almost like you are on a roller-coaster of sound, terrifying one minute, then bliss as you hit the apex. It is mercifully short and then you transition into FLESH WORLD.
FLESH WORLD (UK): Rhythmic, then all the sudden interjected by a strange siren, high vocals allow you to take a breather, and settle in. It is a slower tempo than the other songs, but really allows Duzsik’s unique vocals and HEALTH’s strange lyrics to shine.
All the bones grew strong before they broke All the blood runs hot before it’s cold All the bones grew strong before they broke
COURTSHIP II: Just as you were getting comfortable, COURTSHIP II comes in with dark terrifying visions of nightmares, with slow, throbbing drums, constantly playing in the background, only to be accelerated by rapid guitar, bass and synth. Just as it ramps up, the song takes a sudden turn and lets the slow vocals kick in, confusing you with its chaotic energy. It slows down and almost soothes you with how gentle the vocals are. It would be relaxing, were it not for the crash of drums and guitars at the end.
DARK ENOUGH: A personal favourite of mine, this song is the relaxing element of the album. Slow, and fully utilising Duzsik’s vocals to the absolute pop limit, it is a dark pop song, with haunting melodies. You feel like you are being nursed to health after the chaos of the earlier songs.
Does it make a difference how I feel As long as I come back to you? Does it make a difference if it’s real As long as I still say I love you
SALVIA: A primer for NEW COKE, SALVIA’s first initial seconds of the song are dark and pounding, but suddenly it relaxes into a mellow melody that is airy, and gentle. Short and sweet, it is meant to be an linking song to NEW COKE.
NEW COKE: Another favourite’s of mine, HEALTH’s dark pop style is on full display here, with a dark theme to the lyrics.
Let the guns go off Let the bombs explode
Oh just once We’ll be gone before we know Question how will we go Will we see the ones we’ve lost?
It is nihilistic, despairing and tragic and the song peaks in the centre on a wail that threatens to consume you.
L.A. LOOKS: After the nihilistic, almost suicidal tones of NEW COKE, L.A. LOOKS almost seems to mock you with its actual pop style zest and zing. It is quite possibly the only “fun” song, that doesn’t really delve into the darkness to much. With its more fun style, comes this feeling that you are nearing the end of your journey. That you really have gone through the worst of it. The lyrics of course are dark, disguised by the fun slow tempo of the song.
But it’s not love It’s not love It’s not love but I still want you It’s not love, it’s not love It’s not love but I still want you
HURT YOURSELF: With an odd choir-like opening, HURT YOURSELF is an excellent example of how HEALTH loves mashing genres and styles to create a wholly unique sound to their songs. There is an angelic style to this song, with high pitched peals and tones to accentuate the lyrics. You soar for a while, until HEALTH slams in a beautifully dark undertone to the entire song near the end, to make it seem like you are flying, only it is the sky beneath the ground.
DRUGS EXIST: The final song of the album, and the terminal leg of your journey, is an reflective and gentle song, with high notes and crooning lyrics. It is sad, slow and moody, softly letting you down after the ride through DEATH MAGIC. You finish your journey, empty, and bereft of something, yet … if you leave your music player on repeat, the booming sounds of VICTIM take you right back to the beginning again and your dark journey starts over.
Limp as you’d like Everybody dies Pray if you must Try to love the ones who loved us
There was no blood We’ve worried all but numb There lies no ghost The dead will call us home
Live as you’d like It’s hard to know what’s right Pray if you want But try to love the ones who don’t
It’s magic, that’s what this album is. Sheer, twisted, dark magick.
The Enrichment.
DEATH MAGIC isn’t really just an album with a near perfect replay value, it’s an incredible work of art that is wholly unique and bizarre to the charms of HEALTH.
Of course, I had to go and check out the rest of their discography, from their titular release HEALTH, to the high octane GET COLOR and their latest Vol 4. SLAVES OF FEAR.
What really struck me throughout all their albums, is the consistency of their work. They are always pushing, striving for that unique sound of theirs, and it never ceases to surprise me with how much better they are getting with each album release.
In addition, their music videos are some of the most strange, dark and twisted out there. In particular, WE ARE WATER features highly disturbing and gory results, that I was definitely not expecting from a music video.
But then, I should have known better with how dark and twisted HEALTH is from the beginning. After all, the score during the titular abandoned hotel sequence in Max Payne 3 was some of the most evocative soundscapes I’ve heard in a long time.
Without the discovery of HEALTH I suspect I wouldn’t be able to appreciate new type of music as easily. It took me a while to warm up to them, as I couldn’t work out whether I loved or hated these new sounds.
But repeated playthroughs of Max Payne 3 made me acknowledge the genius behind Rockstar’s choice and appreciate that just because something was unique and utterly strange to me, it wasn’t bad. Not at all.
WE ARE WATER – Texas Chainsaw Massacre edition.
The Culmination.
Chaotic, frenzied, violent and atmospheric, DEATH MAGIC is one of my favourite albums to listen to on repeat because the journey it takes you on, is legitimately like a horror ride.
You’re confused, angry, terrified, and engaged in your primal side. You cling onto the angelic vocals, not realising it is leading you astray and in a strange way, you are having the time of your life, engaging with this strange atmosphere of fear and anger.
To say that HEALTH’s soundscapes are unique is doing it a bit of a disservice in my humble opinion. They are experimenting with all types of things and honestly, they are awesome at slamming it all together in a coherent musical narrative.
I will also like to point out, if you think this is a band trying to “edgy”, I would say that has never been the case with HEALTH. Much like Nine Inch Nails, from the onset HEALTH has been consistently dark in their exploration of music and I don’t see a shred of pretension in their art so far.
To see them live would be a dream come true, and I really hope one day they might tour somewhere Down Under so I can catch them.
A tiny bit of extra trivia that I thought was an insanely incredible act of generosity, was that for their NEW COKE music video, there is a phone number at the end of the short film.
This was actually the phone number for the band and they would legitimately talk to anyone who called the number, about their lives and if they needed any help.
Just amazing. You just have to get past the projectile vomiting to see the end though.
DEATH MAGIC … just go check it out.
I love HEALTH’s work and will doubtless continue to be a fan for a very long time.
Hamlet (1996) – The film that made me detest and admire Shakespeare in equal measure. Alas poor Yorick!
The older I get, the more politics seem to grate on me, and I feel myself longing for some type of controlled anarchy.
Before I come across as some type of chaos agent from Get Smart, what I specifically mean by that is a community that understands and values the core principles of individual responsibility.
Fundamental to that ideal, is the idea that you alone are responsible for what happens to you.
It places a greater pressure on yourself to be the very best version of you. It also implicitly blames you for your own choices, poor decisions and failures. There is no pinning the blame on others, on the world or some perceived slight against yourself.
You go through life, keenly aware that everything you do, you did for a reason.
You also fight complacency at almost every step, because you realise that you can’t really afford to make bad decisions without facing some type of consequence.
It breeds mindful people. People who understand that nothing they do can really be taken for granted, that the casual toss of rubbish here affects others, that your decision to snack on junk food today, will mean more tooth decay and adverse health benefits tomorrow.
A society where people are more aware of their own impact on themselves and others can only generate more positive outcomes to the broader community.
This doesn’t eliminate assholes of course, but then nothing ever will. There will always be people whose predilections and outlooks on life offend you. But they can be assholes with a purpose. They understand why they are behaving the way they are, and will actually have a reason why they do the things they do.
In other words, a person with legitimate reason for believing the things they do and can actually back themselves up, regardless of what atrocious or reasonable beliefs they may have.
So why did I use the words “controlled anarchy?”
Well beyond the shock value, and odd juxtaposition of definitions in those two words, I find that the two find a strange middle ground in terms of governance, with perhaps a slight lean towards anarchy.
I like the appeal behind anarchy, because it is all about self-reliance, and it strips away any pretension we might have about each other. It is raw, animalistic and probably the worst and most stressful way to live, because honestly, you’re not living …. you’re just surviving.
Which brings me to a crucial next point. Individual responsibility isn’t just about empowering your beliefs and values. It also helps highlight deficits you think you might have in life, especially with regards to personal health and skills.
Survival skills have been lacking in a lot of people recently. We are now less observant, less healthy, and less prepared than ever before. You can argue that in an urban environment you no longer need to navigate by the stars, or be able to pluck a chicken.
The counter-argument to that is of course, you still do need survival skills. Cars, bikes, construction work, there is still a prevalent need to develop awareness to avoid nasty accidents and injury.
But the most important issue that is being missed, is that old-fashioned wilderness skills are key to appreciating nature itself.
A greater appreciation of earth is never a bad thing, especially with how people treat their rubbish, food waste and daily consumption of goods. Survival skills help you understand and empathise with the living world around us, to help humble your ego and instill in you, a sense of mortality.
Mortality … a word that barely registers in our consciousness nowadays, but really should. We all think we are going to live forever with the advances of science and medicine, but I think the COVID-19 crisis has finally warned us, that we are very, very susceptible to death.
However, instead of reacting in a knee-jerk way, and celebrating the end of COVID-19, should there not be a greater and deeper reflection on the way how we live our lives? Should we not embrace the greater responsibility to self and work to improve and embrace more of the time we have left?
Where is the gratitude for surviving a plague?
Where is the drive to get healthier, to spend less, to see the positives effects of slowing down humanity’s progress to allow the Earth to catch up?
Instead we just chose to resume everything as normal again and ignore any net positives COVID might have taught us.
Individual responsibility is all about realising that change starts with yourself first. Take courage from that fact, because there is nothing more empowering than knowing that the sky is the limit when it comes to change within.
The world won’t move for you, nor will it acknowledge you, but you have all the power within to enact any change you want.
Want to get fit? Start exercising and trimming down your diet.
Want to get fight-ready? Start training with the money you earn, and sign yourself up for a fight in the ring.
Want to be more attractive? Look after your skin, build up confidence in the strengths you have and take nothing personally. Rejection is not a sign of unattractiveness, it’s a signal for you to search elsewhere.
Want to get better at something? Put in the hours. 24 hours in a day, in which you only lose 6-7 hours to sleep, and 8 hours to work still means you got 9 hours to put in the hard yards to learn, improve and inspire.
This is what individual responsibility is all about. It forces you to take a long hard look at yourself and find the strength within to do everything you ever wanted to do. It inspires you to reach higher heights because you alone know how much you are capable of.
Don’t blame the world, blame yourself first. Only you can change yourself, the world doesn’t give 2 shits about you.
Look after yourself, and stay hungry for more and suddenly it will seem like the sun is shining down especially bright for you, whereas for everyone else, the sky is cloudy.
In a world full of people willing to embrace themselves, improve themselves and better themselves, there is no real ceiling that can stop it. You will see unity amongst people, because they realise that they can’t change others, only themselves and that is OK. You learn to accept others, because they don’t really do you any harm.
The world is less offended, more introspective and accepting. You don’t feel the need to preach to others, to get angry at something beyond your control because you look inwards first and then realise it’s OK if something is beyond reproach.
I think in a lot of ways, the society that truly espouses what I am discussing right now, is early America in the wake of the American Revolution. There was an incredible ideology back then that really embraced what I am discussing, the freedoms in which the American people enjoyed were only made possible because people trusted one another to be responsible for themselves.
In particular if you observe the first 2 amendments of the American Constitution;
The 1st Amendment: Protects the freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of assembly and the right to petition the government.
The 2nd Amendment: Protects the right to keep and bear arms.
Cast your mind back to that period of history, where governments and kingdoms ruled with an iron fist and enjoyed suppressing people as much as the next local dictator next door … the very first two amendments granted the people the extraordinary ability to police their own government and prevent any supreme leader from appearing.
The Constitution allows people to protest, bear arms against the government if suspected of tyranny and express themselves however damn well they wanted.
All the things modern governments still very much fear and do their best to control.
If the very first two Amendments are not a glowing recommendation for individual responsibility than observe the 9th and 10th Amendment which explicitly states
The 9th Amendment: states that rights not enumerated in the Constitution are retained by the people.
The 10th Amendment: states that the federal government possesses only those powers delegated or enumerated to it through the Constitution.
Both Amendments further restricts the power of the government and places a greater emphasis on people governing themselves.
Much like controlled anarchy.
However, such idealism would inevitably be lost to today’s world, especially with the prevalence of even more censorship, propaganda and downright lies spread by everyone.
The irony of too much freedom, is that people start to wish for more control.
With more control, only comes more laziness, more complacency and a desire to blame the other instead of yourself.
Reject the controlling nature of the world. Confuse the algorithms, or reject them entirely. Be informed, be smart, be in self-control of what you consume, read and think.
By embracing yourself, by taking on more responsibility for yourself, you create your own world, instead of falling into the prison that others have designed for you.
Dare to know, dare to challenge yourself and dare to win.
Richard Washingtonlooked at menu of the high-end London restaurant and couldn’t quite stomach anything rich or hearty.
Grimacing, he ordered the overpriced eggs benedict, with sliced cherry tomatoes and an extra serving of hash browns. It was too filling of a breakfast, but there was nothing else simpler on the menu. Checking his watch, an elegant yet striking all-steel Doxa SUB300 Professional, with its orange face, he frowned when he realised that his English counterpart was running a minute late.
Spies, whenever possible did not run late. In a world, where so many things happen so quickly and rapidly with huge ramifications, precision and timing was the key to success.
To be late, was to take chances.
To take chances in this business, was to play with lives.
Washington noted with relief when he finally saw a man with impeccable English tailoring enter through the front door, his grey hair shorn short for style and ease of maintenance. His suit was double breasted, and an elegant dark navy blue, with a classic English striped necktie to complete the look. He shrugged off his coat and handed his umbrella to the waiter who nodded and gestured towards Washington.
Washington stood and beheld the head of the SIS (Secret Intelligence Service), James Ashford, a descendant of a legendary Cold War spy now striving to prove his own value.
An old school patrician and classically trained in Oxford, Ashford seemed like the typical public servant, were it not for his own exploits across Asia, where he rose to prominence and notoriety during the handover of Hong Kong in 1997.
He had vehemently opposed the move, having seen the threat China posed to the people of Hong Kong early, but was overruled.
Incensed, Ashford, under the noses of his masters, continued to operate his secret network of spies, and sources, providing the SIS with valuable intelligence on Chinese trade movements and development in HK.
It was not until one of his most trusted sources finally broke cover that Ashford revealed the extent of his network to his paymasters, who were shocked by the extent of the deception and high grade intelligence.
The daring management of such valuable intel, earned him the most vaunted seat of Chief of the SIS and new headaches. Washington and Ashford got along well, having fast become friends after recognising similar values in each other.
Sitting down, Ashford motioned for the waiter to bring a strong cup of fresh coffee and he swiftly ordered a full English breakfast. The waiter nodded and walked away to fulfil his order.
Richard. You look awful.
Same could be said about you James.
Ashford smiled wryly. Just as well I don’t have any plans for heirs.
I don’t think any self-respecting woman would consider you Ashford. You’re too much of a hard bastard for them.
Speaking of hard bastards murmured Ashford quietly. How is the Prince?
Washington waited as the waiter came around and delivered a fresh jug of coffee and orange juice. Just as the first waiter disappeared, a second efficiently came from the second, her hands holding aloft their breakfast. With a flourish, she handed Washington his eggs benedict, and Ashford his English breakfast, before asking whether they wanted pepper.
Both men nodded and took appreciative bites out of their breakfast before continuing.
He’s already out.
Ashford’s hands paused momentarily, stunned by the three words.
He’s discharged already?
Yeah. He just had a mild concussion. That stall he hid behind took the brunt of the damage. The SEK Officer, Bruno Muller saved the station and his life. The blast was definitely smaller because of Muller’s sacrifice, however Alexanderplatz Station will be undergoing major reconstruction work to replace the support beam.
I’m sure you’ve already seen the footage we’ve sent over. The Chancellor is furious about this whole debacle.
Ashford grimaced and sipped his coffee. The footage captured on CCTV was horrific. But were it not for the actions of Muller and Woods, things would have been catastrophically worse.
As it stood, the death toll was limited only to 20 people who were nearby the blast at the time. A miracle by all means.
Yet despite this, and rigorous electronic scrubbing, they had been unable to catch all the footage that showed Woods coldly drawing and gunning down an terrorist in a hail of rapid gunfire.
It was fortunate for his OPSEC (Operational Security) that most of the footage was extremely blurry and within minutes of posting, the NSA (National Security Agency) had effectively scrubbed Wood’s digital footprint off the internet with no-one really being the wiser.
What footage did remain was highly censored. Political parties on both side were clamouring for Woods. Most proclaiming he was a hero and the others decrying him as a murderer.
Several fringe terrorists groups were eager to claim responsibility for the attack and had already revealed the names of the terrorists, lauding them as martyrs for the cause.
To aid in furthering clouding Wood’s OPSEC, the NSA even leaked a story about Woods being an Israeli intelligence agent through several Facebook alt-right groups they controlled.
Within hours the Mossad denied it, fuelling the fire for many of these conspiracy theorists who were aware of Israeli techniques when it came to suicide bombers and convincing them that it was the doing of the feared and much vaunted Mossad.
Ashford looked at Washington keenly, aware that it was he who cleverly twisted the narrative and pinned the blame on Mossad.
Doubtless there was an angry phone call from Tel Aviv in the morning regarding such political scapegoating, but it was harmless and done out of protocol. After all, the Israelis had created the playbook when it came to terrorists, and privately it was assumed they approved of such tactics and deception. One could even interpret the phone call as congratulatory instead of a critique.
How’s Schindler? Ashford asked as he continued his breakfast.
Washington dabbed the corner of his mouth and replied.
Rumour has it, he might be stepping down from the BND. But that’s sort of thing always spread after an attack. I doubt it will happen. He’s too important for this fight. Watts is on his way to Berlin now to debrief the TIOC (Terrorism and International Organised Crime).
TobiasSchindler is too clever to get politically ambushed. I agree with you, Richard. He’ll survive this one.Besides if the stories are to be believed, he has far too much information of the Parliament to lose his seat.
There’s a grain of truth to that. I’ve heard enough chatter to be aware. said Washington wolfishly. What’s new on your end though? Whiskey will be your asset in a couple of hours soon.
Ashford met Washington’s eyes and said coldly, Under no circumstances are we going to allow something like Alexanderplatz happen in London. We’ve only got 3 days till Valentine Friday and I’ll be damned if the Sphinx is allowed to detonate anything here.
You know that he’s going to be more ambitious right? For him, London is personal.
I know. It’s why the Prime Minister has given me special consideration for the Prince.
It was Washington’s turn to pause, his fork frozen in limbo between his plate and mouth.
It’s that serious is it?
Ashford nodded. Things have not been this tense since 2017 Manchester.The PM is adamant that no terrorist attack on London is to take place under any circumstances.
Washington shook his head. The 2017 Manchester terror attacks were the reason why these two men were so close. Joint failures from both of them, resulted in too many lives lost. It was an unmitigated disaster for both men, to prevent such attacks from happening.
Ashford held himself accountable and the subsequent guilt and work lifestyle since had destroyed his marriage of 20 years. Another sacrifice in the name of Queen and Country.
Washington sighed and slipped across the table a thumb drive.
Ashford gave his old friend a puzzled look.
Destroy it after you’ve finished reading. warned Washington. The Sphinx’s Riddle might be a little less puzzling after you’ve read it.
~
Gabriel Woods stared at the small TV screen reliving the moment that had nearly killed him.
Sequestered away from the outside world, in a small flat in East London, Woods was flown into country by a private military contractor whose private helicopter was often requested by the CIA for covert insertion.
Upon landing at Heathrow Airport, Woods had immediately made his way to the long-term parking area and acquired new transportation in the form of an elegant but powerful grey Audi A6 sedan.
A common workhorse in the CIA stable, Audis were favoured for their reliability, ease of maintenance, discreet looks and ample functionality. The boot was one of its most attractive features, large enough to load bodies or weapons in without sacrificing horsepower for quick getaways.
It’s exceptional handling was a godsend in the maze like streets of Europe and spacious interior design also meant that comfort for certain SAC (Special Activities Centre) paramilitary types loaded for bear wasn’t an issue either.
Fleets of these cars were readily available for all type of CIA personnel across Europe.
However, as Woods was reminded when he received his first ping from his new spymasters, he was now serving the SIS, the famed MI6 of English fame and notoriety.
Back under the pay of Queen and country.
Woods wondered what the Queen would make of his actions in Alexanderplatz, as he stared at the grainy image of him, gunning down 4 men in less time than it took for people to board a train to head home.
His stomach twisted when he saw the SEK Officer, Bruno Muller save his life by diving on top of the final suicide bomber, the original man who had set everything into motion and counter-motion.
Fara Harut.
Woods continued to remain transfixed to the screen, as he saw himself roll behind the stall, and then a second later, a white hot glare from the suicide vest vaporised Harut’s body and Muller was blown apart into disgusting chunks everywhere, his limbs flying in all different directions, as his chest remained on top of the primary blast, protected by his kevlar vest.
The explosion still had enough force to nearly disintegrate the food stall Woods was hiding behind and he watched as the walls folded over and crashed heavily onto his crouched body, knocking him down onto the floor that was beginning to run slick with blood.
He continued to watch as 10 minutes later paramedic streamed in and began helping the wounded, with another pair of SEK Officers rushing in and identifying Woods. They carried him bodily to a stretcher and the ambulance that took him away, went in a different direction to the others.
The intelligence apparatus at work, eager to hide the involvement of one of their own.
However, there were dozens of grainy images of him floating around everywhere. Already, a huge shitstorm on the internet had erupted over his actions, with people defending and contesting his actions. Thousands of comments on Facebook and Twitter called for him to be arrested alongside the terrorist and hundreds more jumped on those comments to label him a hero.
The news was having a field day, interviewing several university professors who had already come forward, with the overall opinion seemingly expressing disapproval for Woods’ actions.
Woods winced inwardly as he heard a lecturer describe him as a “barbarian, a terrorist in his own right who violated the Geneva conventions and a stain on Western intelligence service.”
“What is the point of paying these intelligence services so much of our taxpayer money when they can’t prevent attacks like this? Are they so desperate and late to the crisis that they have to engage in a gunfight in a public train station? What if he hit an innocent person?” decried an outraged woman.
Uglier scenes followed with footage of people being wheeled out from Alexanderplatz on stretchers and several eyewitnesses shakily telling their story on the news in unsteady German with poor dubbed English.
“When I heard the gunshots … I thought it was a car misfiring. But then people came at me, screaming and running. I didn’t know what to do, so I also ran out and then I heard the explosion. It was horrible. I was praying the whole time.” cried a woman as a microphone was shoved in her face.
Switching channels, Woods saw footage from another media outlet, where a bespectacled and dishevelled man waved his arms animatedly and shook his head furiously at the notion whether Woods was a terrorist.
“He saved us, the man with the pistol and the glasses. I couldn’t see him, but he saved us. Wherever you are, thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much. He deserves better than to be called a terrorist”
Sighing, Woods switched off the TV and stared blankly at the screen. He recalled the extremely quick debrief that Washington put him through, the London Chief reassuring him that he had made all the right moves.
Woods could only imagine the political snafu (situation normal: all fucked up) that was occurring in Berlin, Washington D.C. and London. Doubtless there would be ramifications for all parties involved, but as Washington had told him
You’ve got a job to do. Prevent the Sphinx from striking again. Focus on that.
Thumbing through the dossier that the SIS had given him on the Sphinx, Sofia and Harut, Woods placed it down and committed large chunks of crucial information to his memory before deciding on a plan of attack for tomorrow. His body had not fully recovered as well as he had liked on the private flight to England, and he knew he had to rest to prepare for the fight ahead.
Leaving the dossier open while he prepared dinner, a simple meal, spaghetti aglio e olio he stared at the photo of Sofia, the woman who was the courier to one of the most wanted terrorists in the world.
Attractive, svelte and non traditional for a Muslim woman, Sofia Sumarwata’s surveillance photos indicated a lot of independence for a woman who was raised in the oppressive environment of Iran.
She refused to wear a headscarf, was unashamed about baring her smooth, olive skin and was unapologetically Westernised.
However, closer examination of her records indicated that she was extremely devout to her Islamic faith and often practised all the rituals and tenets privately when she thought she was alone. Despite her Westernised appearance, she didn’t sleep around, nor did she spend a lot of time out partying at pubs.
A clever operative then. Perhaps not as classically trained as Woods, but capable of fooling the outside world.
Woods continued to read her profile, as he twirled spaghetti on the end of his fork, and appreciatively eat the meal, pleased to get away from Afghan food after months of undercover work in Kabul.
It was the little things that made life more bearable, thought Woods. For him, it was the spice and zest of home-made spaghetti, for Sofia, it was the time when she spent praying, facing Mecca.
Her signs of radicalisation began early, when she was engaged to a suicide bomber who detonated himself during the Iraq War, taking with him, 7 American soldiers guarding a checkpoint. After her betrothed’s death, she was bounced from terrorist camp to terrorist camp, moving all around the Middle East. Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Palestine …. a courier for hire.
It was her skills as a honey pot, and a discreet messenger that caught the attention of Hassan Malik, the Sphinx. She fell under his spell, and it was her skills at managing and handling communication between terror cells that allowed the Sphinx to strike so often and ruthlessly.
The only issue was … there was no real sign of her being a courier for the Sphinx. The usual evidence of emails, phone records and paperwork turned up nothing for the boys and girls at London’s CIA CTC. She was conspicuously clean.
Wood’s job was to discover what method she was using to communicate with terror cells and the Sphinx, then to go after the Sphinx himself directly.
Hearing a buzz at the door, Woods frowned and reached for his Glock 19. Holding in his right hand and hiding behind his leg, he looked through the peep hole and slowly opened the door to reveal James Ashford with a pair of SAS bodyguards in suits.
Evening Woods. May I come in?
Woods gestured with his head and allowed the head of the SIS into the safe room.
Author’s Note:
I really wanted to touch on the political and media ramifications of Woods actions. I mostly based this extra element on the Vince Flynn’s Mitch Rapp series who really balanced how political clout impacted military and intelligence agencies operate.
I plan on adding more of a political spin in future chapters of this series!
Years. What a strange concept time is. If I was to indulge in a bit of mathematics, then that would mean, I have survived …
9,855 Days
or
236,520 Hours
or
14,191,200 Minutes.
Rookie numbers.
It’s strange though, because for once, I don’t feel like I have changed or regressed. Instead, I’m wondering about the futility of it all, pondering about the whole concept of birthdays and spending the earliest parts of the morning getting my thoughts down.
How little all of this actually means to anyone except myself. And even I don’t really give a shit about it.
The world doesn’t stop because I am celebrating my birthday, nor does it even knows I have one. Time is defined by man, so why did we choose 60 seconds to define a minute of our lives?
Why 60 seconds? What is a second?
All I know about time, is really how much pressure it places on everyone. On me. I can’t help but constantly remind myself about how time I’ve wasted. It’s the one crippling insecurity that constantly plagues my mind.
I like to think myself impervious to most types of self-doubt. I don’t have that much of an issue with my physical appearance, nor my ability to adapt, improvise and overcome challenges. I can be extroverted, introverted and everything in between.
Charming, debonair, average, handsome, ruthless, generous, petty or magnanimous … there is little beyond my reach when it comes to my abilities and charms.
But before the endless progress of time, I feel helpless, angry and keenly self-aware of my weaknesses and procrastination of the important things in my life.
I feel like I am wasting my only chance, my life. I get all too wrapped up on my mortality, and the desire to be named a legend in something.
It’s depressing and nihilistic.
The two adjectives I despise most the in world, because they just seem like an anathema to me, a terrible cycle that induces more time wasting.
In a lot of ways, my fear of time is a lot like if I had alcohol addiction …. I drink to forget I have an addiction, but it only fuels it more.
So, are there any plans to celebrate my birthday?
With the way how things are in the world, not really. It’ll probably just be another day that gets blurred with all others, like in quarantine, just with an added bonus of being more moody and reflective.
As I inch closer to 30 though, I feel like I got to work harder nowadays. I do have this fear of not working hard enough and not committing myself more to some type of success.
I guess this is why I am going to start another challenge for myself. I have to address this insecurity about time and learn to commit to a more regular schedule of work.
3 things to do a day.
Raise my productivity, force my creativity out and shed my laziness.
Physical, Mental or Spiritual …. I need to work on at least one of those 3 aspects in my life to improve things.
There is nothing quite like the feeling when you are aware of how talented, intelligent and overall capable you are, and yet cannot muster the energy nor the will to make use of it.
Physical training, Mental conditional and Spiritual awareness.
If I can at least start to address all of these things by doing 3 simple tasks a day, I think by the time I am 29, I might be able to reach some type of epiphany about my fear of time.
Whilst I get that today’s lifestyle and addictions are a result of rapid technological advancements that are supposed to make life easier, I have often found, in reality, it makes life a lot more hollow.
And the hollow feeling you get, is because you know you could be doing more, with more.
That sensation, is probably one of the most relatable feelings anyone today could have.
It’s OK to feel that.
I just wish it would go away.
That doesn’t excuse my laziness though.
So I got to change it.
3 things Damocles.
Just start with 3 things a day.
Maybe one day, your birthday won’t feel like another finish line where you were too slow.