Monday, November 30, 2009

The Melbourne Gangland Murders

Like no other city in Australia, Melbourne has been blessed by a fascinating gangland culture, which has helped inspire TV shows, books and feature films - you can get the gist of the whole story on Wikipedia here. I reviewed a couple of memoirs by two of the major players in Saturday's Melbourne Age: ex boxer Mick Gatto and mob wife Roberta Williams (right). I liked both books as you can see below:
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My Life by Roberta Williams; I, Mick Gatto by Mick Gatto and Tom Noble

Apart from a dispiriting lack of basic competence, what distinguishes Melbourne’s criminal underclass from their counterparts in say, the New York mafia, is their enthusiasm for publicity. Where La Cosa Nostra embraces omertà - the code of silence - Melbourne’s underworld clans act rather more like the village chiacchierone: the local gossip who airs everyone’s dirty laundry in public. Recently Mick Gatto and Roberta Williams have been attacking each other in the tabloids with such ferocity that if this were a 1930's film, the third act would finish with one of them saying “kiss me you fool,” accompanied by a soaring musical score.
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Mick Gatto’s account of his life in gambling, boxing and crime I, Mick Gatto is published by an imprint of Melbourne University Press and was co-written by former Age journalist Tom Noble. It is fast paced, lively and unpretentious, and the story of Gatto’s South Melbourne childhood is particularly affecting. Gatto offers no angst ridden self justification for his later actions but says that he was a happy kid surrounded by friends and family. Born in 1955, Gatto’s parents were first generation immigrants from Calabria who, really, must have known all about omertà.
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After a run in with local hoods Gatto decides to learn boxing as a method of self defence and quickly finds that he has talent and, he says, with a little more discipline and some luck he could have been, like Terry Molloy, “a contender”. Instead he became a bouncer and petty crook and ended up in Melbourne’s Pentridge Prison for burglary. Post prison life took Gatto into illegal gambling clubs, but his biggest win was surely marrying his formidable wife Cheryle who has ridden the Gatto rollercoaster for more than thirty years. The meat of I, Mick Gatto, of course, is his sensational 2005 murder trial, when he was accused of assassinating underworld hitman Andrew Veniamin. Gatto’s story is gripping: he and Veniamin (a former friend who had attended his birthday party) got into an argument in the back room of La Porcella restaurant in Carlton over the recent killing of a gangland associate. Veniamin apparently pulled out a .38 calibre revolver and with his boxer’s reflexes, Gatto says that he managed to turn Veniamin’s gun on himself. The jury bought the defence argument that because the .38 misfired it must have meant that the two men were struggling over the weapon, and Gatto was acquitted. Gatto is fortunate that this incident happened in Melbourne where the average jury panelist would not have experienced the fairly common instance of a misfiring .38 at the local gun range, and he’s also lucky the jury never got to hear about the fact that he had a body bag waiting in the boot of his car.
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Gatto’s book is charming and engaging, probably like the man himself, and near the end there is an interesting scene where he meets Roberta Williams after Underbelly has begun showing on Channel 9. He describes her affectionately as having a “lot of dash, more than her husband Carl ever had,” which is nice when both claim the other tried to have them killed.
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You can see this dash and flintiness throughout Williams’s own book My Life - The Untold Story of an Underworld Survivor. Her childhood in Seaford and Frankston was grim: her father died when she was still a baby and her mother could not cope in the slightest. She got pregnant at seventeen, moved to the city and later was horrifically beaten up by her partner Dean Stephens, a friend of rising criminal stars, the Moran brothers.
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In 1994 her life changed when she met chubby, baby faced gangster Carl Williams. They fell in love, married and Carl raised her kids like they were his own. The war with the Morans began when they tried to kill Carl over a money feud and as Williams cold bloodedly points out “luckily for us the Morans were stupid because they let Carl live and he knew he would never make the same mistake they did. Underbelly made Carl out to be the dumb one. . .but think of this, they are dead and he is alive. Who is the dumb one?”
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Roberta denies that Carl ordered the killing of Mark Moran, but she agrees that Carl was behind Jason Moran’s murder on June 21 2003. Indeed she relishes the fact and admits her joy upon hearing of Moran’s death (although she denies foreknowledge of the hit). This part of the book is rather chilly. Williams sees herself as a victim persecuted by the media and the criminal justice system and she portrays Carl as a gun toting loveable rogue. She shows no sign of remorse that Jason Moran and Pasquale Barbaro were shot in their car in front of five young children, including Moran’s twins. Indeed, she mocks the family members who appeared shocked and grief stricken that night on the TV news.
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There’s no denying Williams’s charisma or her toughness or her love for her own children but a kinder editor might have made her temper such sociopathic statements. I also think Harper Collins could have spent a few dollars compiling an index that would assist the general reader in keeping track of all the diverse characters in Williams’s absorbing story.
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Reading these memoirs together is a little like viewing Rashomon: people and actions are either good or evil depending on whom you believe; however truth isn’t necessarily why people are going to buy these books. If you enjoyed Underbelly by John Silvester and Andrew Rule or the first TV series then these volumes should be right up your alley.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Getting Your Geek On

There's still a month to go until James Cameron's Avatar hits the screens and despite hating the trailer I find myself checking AICN every few days for updates. Once a geek always a geek I guess. In the meantime I found this mashup of the Spike Jonze/Beastie Boys Sabotage vid and The Empire Strikes Back. Men of a, uhm, certain age will love this, everyone else should give it a miss... I uploaded the High Def version so you might to want to pause it until the whole thing loads before you play.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Novels of the Decade

Let me jump on the listmania bandwagon and give you my favourite novels of the decade. Maybe these aren't the best books of the noughties but they're the ones I liked most.

1. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
2. The Cold Six Thousand - James Ellroy
3. L'Amour est très surestimé - Brigitte Giraud
4. Grotesque - Natsuo Kirino
5. Let the Right One In - John Lindqvist
6. The Corrections - Jonathan Franzen
7. Her Last Call To Louis MacNeice - Ken Bruen
8. White Teeth - Zadie Smith
9. The Red Riding Quartet - David Peace
10. Fingersmith - Sarah Waters

Sunday, November 22, 2009

The Prosecution Rests in the Knox Case

The prosecution case against Amanda Knox rested today. If you don't know who Amanda Knox is then your life is probably a good bit richer and more interesting than mine. Here's a useful CNN summary:
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Perugia, Italy (CNN) -- [According to the Prosecution] The November 2, 2007, death of British student Meredith Kercher occurred during a twisted sex game in which Amanda Knox taunted Kercher, and two men -- boyfriend Rafael Sollecito and acquaintance Rudy Guede -- sexually assaulted her. Prosecutor Guilano Mignini said during his seven-hour closing that Knox hated and resented Kercher and had decided the time had come to exact revenge. Knox, 22, and Sollecito, 26, are on trial for sexual assault and murder. Police found Kercher's bloody body under a duvet on the floor of the apartment she shared with Knox. Both deny the charges. Mignini said Kercher died about 11:30 p.m. after she and Knox had quarreled -- either over money or Guede's presence at the house. The prosecutor said the men pinned Kercher down by her arms while Knox played with the knife, prodding at her throat and saying, "Ah, you were pretending to be such a little saint. ... Now we are going to show you."
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The defense argument is that Knox spent the night sleeping at her boyfriend's house smoking marijuana and thus has no clear recollection of the evening's events. The drugs apparently also explained her bizarre 'confession' to the local cops and her odd behaviour in the days following the murder. For good measure the defense also says that Knox's DNA appeared on the murder weapon because of evidence mishandling by the Italian forensics unit.
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Despite the fact that this has become a cause celebre and, ridiculously, an early candidate for Trial of the Century, to me this is a fairly simple case, complicated only by the fact that Amanda Knox is American and very good looking. Patricia Highsmith wrote about uncannily similar events to the Knox affair in her novel The Talented Mr Ripley over three decades ago. Ms Knox is not as talented as Tom Ripley, not by a long chalk I'm happy to say.

Friday, November 20, 2009

The Lost Symbol

Ok, so I've taken the piss out of Dan Brown on this blog before, but I've got to admit that there's a good novel buried within The Lost Symbol. The story is fast paced, unusual and exciting. There are two excellent plot twists that I didn't see coming and the book's characters could possibly exist in the real world (allbeit a real world where an assembly full of high school students cheer wildly when they discover that their guest speaker is the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution). I listened to the audiobook version of The Lost Symbol and the narration was crisp and fluid and the characters were well differentiated. For at least three quarters of the book I was gripped by the premise and Brown's clever nesting of the plot within objects and arcana. I admired Brown's dispassionate prose which is the way to go with sensational material and I dug his device of leaving each chapter on a hook. The book takes place in Washington DC and there's murky goings on with masons - two elements that I also really enjoyed.
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However, (and you knew there was a however coming didn't you?) the problems I had with The Lost Symbol were many. First of all, I didn't like the fact that the book ended and then we still had two full hours to go. Two hours of exposition, back tracking and explanation that added nothing to the story whatsoever; and it annoyed the hell of me that the people doing this exposition had just seen their loved ones tortured and killed, but somehow, avoiding a mental breakdown, they decided to lecture us on their own personal exegesis of the Old Testament. End the book already! I kept yelling at the iPod.
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Secondly I didn't like Brown playing fast and loose with science: no Mr Brown ESP doesn't work, positive thoughts cannot reverse the growth of cancer cells, there is no such thing as a Jungian collective unconscious etc. etc. Those studies you mentioned about people praying for heart patients? - the results were the opposite of what you put in the book.
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My third problem was Brown's use of the word "chuckle". Everybody was always chuckling. Nobody laughed, tittered, hooted, snorted, guffawed, broke up, convulsed, snickered, whooped etc. They just chuckled. And boy did they chuckle. They chuckled in extremis. They chuckled when recalling memories. They especially chuckled when revealing odd bits of masonic lore. Dan Brown's got fifty million dollars and a library of ten thousand volumes but he doesn't own a Thesaurus?
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Ok, but that's enough of the hating. It's probably just jealousy. Dan Brown has written a page turner that's quite a bit slicker than the Da Vinci Code with less obvious howlers and better twists; so if you're looking for a good audiobook for your commute, I'd happily recommend it. (He said with a chuckle).

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Thank You Yoko

A few months ago the BBC had a piece about those apparently few eccentrics in the world who dislike the music of John, Paul, George and Ringo. After some exhaustive research it was concluded that to say that you liked pop music but disliked the pop music of the Beatles was an incoherent and untenable position. It was ok to dislike pop music in general, preferring classical, but, according to the Beeb, it didn't make any sense to doubt the genius of the Beatles if you were a fan of the pop music genre.
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Well maybe I'm philosophically unsound but I hate the bloody Beatles. I hate their sound, their harmonies, their lyrics, everything about them. I find their music insipid, dull, bland, so bad in fact that it's almost torture to listen to. I hate the McCartney songs most of all, but the entire oeuvre pains my ears. And it's not as if I'm prejudiced against that era. Quite the reverse in fact. Among my favourite bands are Led Zep, Pink Floyd, The Who, The Stones, The Kinks, The Animals, Cream, but not the frickin Beatles. I hate the early mop top Beatles, I'm a little more tolerant of the middle period stuff in Revolver and Rubber Soul, but then it really gets bad with the late psychedelic albums. Everything about those records makes me irritated and I defy the most ardent Beatles fan to watch the whole of Magical Mystery Tour without wincing in pain and agony. Apart from the two Harrison tracks on Abbey Road I'd be happy never to hear any of those songs ever again as long as I live. (Harrison is my favourite Beatle not just because of his music, but also because he mortgaged his house so that Monty Python could make Life of Brian.)*
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I know most people won't understand me when I confess to these feelings, but there they are, the cat's out of the bag and I feel better.The BBC may disagree with me but some influential people are also jumping on the Beatles hating bandwagon. Anyway I'll stop now before someone gets me started on The Beach Boys or The Eagles or the abomination that was known as Wings.
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*Here's a fact for trivia fans: George Harrison and Elvis both shared a favourite film: Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Back From The Wars

My little brother got back safely from Afghanistan at the weekend. I've talked to him on the phone but he was too exhausted to really give me a lot of details, though I get the impression that this was a harder tour than his time in Iraq last year. Physically it seemed much more difficult: he was based in the desert in Helmand, was sleeping in a tent and although he's an intelligence officer, he was much closer to the front lines this time too.
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Still Gareth is back and everyone in the McKinty family is relieved. Because this was his second combat mission in two years he wont have to go on a combat tour again for a long time. And I'm just glad I'm off the hook. My grandad fought in the trenches of World War 1 for an incredible four years, my dad was in the Royal Navy for twenty years and now Gareth has done his bit for our generation. Hopefully the next generation will not have to deal with any of this craziness.
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Incidentally, Gareth sent me a video of his last dinner in the officer's mess that sensitive souls should not watch.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Everything We Know Is Wrong

From The New York Times

Chocolate Milk May Reduce Inflammation
RONI CARYN RABIN
November 9, 2009
Move over, red wine. Make room for chocolate milk. A new study suggests that regular consumption of skim milk with flavonoid-rich cocoa may reduce inflammation, potentially slowing or preventing development of atherosclerosis. Researchers noted, however, that the effect was not as pronounced as that seen with red wine. Volunteers ages 55 and older who were at risk for heart disease. Half were given 20-gram sachets of soluble cocoa powder to drink with skim milk twice a day, while the rest drank plain skim milk. After one month, the groups were switched. Blood tests found that after participants drank chocolate milk twice a day for four weeks, they had significantly lower levels of several inflammatory biomarkers, though some markers of cellular inflammation remained unchanged.
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Participants also had significantly higher levels of good HDL cholesterol after completing the chocolate milk regimen, according to the study, which appears in the November issue of The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition and is already online.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

A Good End To A Weak Season

In the John Cheever story "The 5.48" a philandering Madison Avenue ad-man from Westchester County gets his comeuppance from a crazy woman he slept with and then completely forgot about. The TV series Mad Men takes place in the same time period and milieu as "The 5.48," and I've been dreading the appearance of a crazy lady with a gun since about episode 2. When Don Draper, the philandering ad exec who lives in Ossining, started seeing a nutty school teacher, I felt sure that this was how season 3 was going to end.
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It didn't. Betty Draper, the enemy within, was the one who plunged the metaphorical knife, ostensibly because of Don's serial affairs with a bevy of brunettes, although it seemed to me that Mrs Draper decided to end their marriage more because she discovered he was poor white trash from West Virginia or thereabouts. She, of course, is a Main Line Bryn Mawr girl cut from the same cloth as Grace Kelly's character in High Society. And now that I think about it, I suspect that rather than following John Cheever as a model for future shows the writers of Mad Men will take us on a dance a bit like High Society (or the better original The Philadelphia Story) where Betty will have to choose between one of several suitors including her ex husband.
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Most of the reviews I've read of Mad Men have raved about another brilliant season, but actually I think this series was weak and unfocused with a lot of non sequitur storylines and tangential plots. The secondary characters grew duller and were absent for much of the time. Did Kurt and Smitty have any lines at all this year? And I really missed Joan giving it the old boom shaka boom shaka boom round the office. At least we did get our weekly dose of Martian Pete Campbell trying desperately not to blow his human cover. Still, much of it was thin gruel. I wasn't impressed by the appearance of Conrad Hilton and I thought the manufactured fight between Roger and Don was pretty lame - Don really could do with a Moriarity but Roger isn't it. What saved season 3 for me was the strength of its final two episodes - last week's mournful riff on the Kennedy assassination and this week's exciting industrial espionage romp. Matthew Weiner has distilled Mad Men back to its essence and we're now literally in a small hotel room with all the main characters as they try to start a new company. Roger, Coop, Pete, Peggy and Joan allied with Don will make for good TV next go round.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Jacques Barzun Is Alive and Well and Living in Texas

In a couple of weeks its going to be Jacques Barzun's 102nd birthday. I hope Jacques hangs in there because in this degraded epoch of ours where ill educated oafs like Glenn Beck and Patrick J Buchanan are lauded as sages Barzun is a rare link to an age when a person would be ashamed to pontificate on any subject without having a thorough knowledge of history, the classics and several European languages.
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Born in France, educated in America, Barzun was for many decades the doyen of the Great Books programme at Columbia University. I have read three books by Monsieur B: Simple & Direct - a sensible and practical guide to writing; The Use and Abuse of Art - an essay which does exactly what it says on the tin describing the uses and abuses of art; From Dawn to Decadence - probably the best history of western civilization from 1500 - 2000 that has ever been written. Let me talk a little more about Dawn to Dec. It's basically a long but fast paced cultural history for the general reader. Barzun's prose is effortless, his learning eclectic, his wit playful, clever and acerbic. It's a book that manages to be both deep and wide ranging and most important of all it, is never dull. If you haven't read From Dawn to Decadence I both pity and envy you. I pity because you're undoubtedly lost in a sea of unknowning, but I envy because you've got a real treat to look forward to. (Hmm, doesn't Mr. T. famously say the previous sentence in a more concise way?)
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Anyway, Joyeux Anniversaire, Jacques.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Yoani Sanchez Beaten By The Cuban Secret Police

Aside from my little brother Gareth, Yoani Sanchez is one of the bravest people I know. She is a young Cuban blogger who writes about the perversities of life in the Castro brothers personal island fiefdom. I've emailed with Yoani a couple of times and I make sure to read her blog every few days. On Friday Raul Castro's secret police, the DGI, grabbed her on the street, pulling her hair and beating her until she got into their car. She was taken to a police station and there, according to CNN, the agents "warned her that her writings had gone too far" and threatened her. Yoani has been intimidated several times in the past but this is the first time she has been beaten by Castro's bullies. She is out of police custody now but badly shaken.
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Late last year Yoani was named one of the world's 100 most influential people by Time magazine and last month the Cuban government banned her from traveling to New York to receive an international journalism award. (Only high ranking Communist officials are allowed to travel outside of Cuba). The DGI frequently attempts to block Yoani's blog, but most of the time you can read it here: Generacion Y.
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I'm really upset about what happened to Yoani but there's a wider problem too. Cuba, I feel, gets far too easy a ride in media circles. Pro Cuban stories frequently appear on the BBC and CNN talking about the wonderful music scene in Havana, Cuban beach holidays, and how "Cubans are more ready to meet the challenges of recession because of their policy of recycling junk." These are puff pieces without a hint of serious reporting. I've been to Cuba many times and take it from me Cuba is not a tropical paradise with a benign dictatorship, happy go lucky cops and great gleaming hospitals. Cuba is a clumsy, thuggish, police state and Havana is a town filled with teen prostitutes, pimps and "sex tourists". There is no freedom of travel or speech in Cuba and the Communist Party and the Secret Police run the island with unsubtle brutality. I think it's very hard to get this truth across because most journalists are broadly sympathetic to Cuba regarding it as a plucky little island holding up a defiant middle finger to big bad Uncle Sam on the other side of the Florida Strait. A particular offender in my eyes is The Huffington Post who published a fawning interview between Sean Penn and Raul Castro late last year and just a couple of weeks ago ran an impassioned "editorial" from Alec Baldwin demanding an end to the ban on US citizens travelling to Cuba. (US citizens, of course, are not banned from travelling to Cuba, they just aren't allowed to spend money there, but try telling that to Mr Baldwin or Huffington Post readers and you'll get disbelieving howls.)
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The embargo is a whole other issue and I'd like to see an end to it too because the Castro brothers use it as an excuse for their disastrous economic incompetence and gross mismanagement. Even if the brothers were geniuses (which they are not) no two people should run any country for fifty years. If you really hated living under George Bush for 8 years, imagine how Cubans feel living under Raul and Fidel for 50.
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I've emailed Yoani to see if she's ok, but the best thing we can all do is email our local Cuban embassy or consulate to let them know that the whole world will be watching how they treat her and other dissidents. This is the email address of the Cuban Embassy in London: embacuba@cubaldn.com and they can be called here: 0207 240-2488

Saturday, November 7, 2009

The Neville Has All The Best Tunes

Ok, so I stole the pun in the title from Declan Burke, but if you can't lift from The Master who can you lift from? I just finished Stuart Neville's The Twelve yesterday and I was blown away by it. It's a dark, exciting, lyrical, uncompromising thriller set in Northern Ireland. James Ellroy has described Neville as a brilliant new voice in Irish fiction and after reading The Twelve I whole heartedly agree. There's a great non spoiler review on Ger Brennan's Crime Scene Northern Ireland here. And if you haven't yet jumped on board the runaway train that is the Celtic New Wave in Irish crime writing, Neville's The Twelve is an excellent place to start. And then after Neville make sure you check out: Declan Burke, Brian McGilloway, Ken Bruen, Eoin MacNamee, Declan Hughes, Colin Bateman, Garbhan Downey, Ger Brennan, David Park, Sam Millar et al. I mean really folks, wouldn't it be nice to be ahead of the trend for once?

Thursday, November 5, 2009

How To Win The War Against Al Qaeda

As some of you may know my little brother Gareth is currently an intelligence officer serving in Afghanistan. He's got a lot on his plate but among his tasks is helping in the hunt for Al Qaeda operatives and Mr Bin Laden himself. OBL is in one of three places: The Afghani side of the Af-Pak border, the Waziri side of the Af-Pak border or Pakistan administered Kashmir. As confident as I am in my little brother's abilities, conventional methods of finding OBL don't seem to be working which is why I think the time has come to bring in 70's TV favourite Grizzly Adams. Why do I say this? Well, I think the following story from the BBC explains it better than I can:

Bear kills militants in Kashmir
By Altaf Hussain
BBC News, Srinagar


A bear killed two militants after discovering them in its den in Indian-administered Kashmir, police say. Two other militants escaped, one of them badly wounded, after the attack in Kulgam district, south of Srinagar. The militants had assault rifles but were taken by surprise - police found the remains of pudding they had made to eat when the bear attacked.

It is thought to be the first such incident since Muslim separatists took up arms against Indian rule in 1989. The militants had made their hideout in a cave which was actually the bear's den, said police officer Farooq Ahmed. The dead have been identified as Mohammad Amin alias Qaiser, and Bashir Ahmed alias Saifullah.

News of the attack emerged when their injured comrade went to a nearby village for treatment. "Word spread in the village that Qaiser had been killed by the bear," another police officer said. A joint party of the police and army personnel went into the forest and collected the bodies of the two militants. Police say they also recovered two Kalashnikov assault rifles and some ammunition from the hideout.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Oh Those Ghastly Americans and Their Dreadful Halloween (Again!)

Every year the British press publishes an article by some Little Englander nutcase attacking Halloween as a gauche American invention that's all about requiring you to spend, spend, spend. This year it was AN Wilson's turn in The Daily Mail. What's interesting about Wilson's lazy article is how similar it was to Andrew Martin's piece in the Guardian last year. It's almost as if Wilson had Martin's article in front of him while he was typing. Hmmm.
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These columns are so tedious to me. They ignore the fact that Halloween is a Celtic invention, not an American one and thrives in the parts of the British Isles where toffs like AN Wilson obviously never travel to. Still for a man so well educated you think he at least would have dipped into The Golden Bough now and again where the multifarious British manifestations of Halloween are well documented. I'd love to rehash all my arguments from November 2008, but the articles are so suspiciously similar, perhaps you should just read my post from last year instead.

Monday, November 2, 2009

The Cove

A few weeks ago I went to see a film called The Cove about the secret slaughter of dolphins in Japan and the shipping of the survivors to water parks (like Sea World) across the globe. I knew that if I wrote about the film then I would say something stupid and intemperate; unfortunately in the ensuing weeks I have not calmed down. If you get a chance to go see The Cove you should. Its a very well made documentary, both beautifully shot, oddly exciting and very moving. (There's a whole Soylent Green subtext too which is perversely funny). If self aggrandizing bully Michael Moore represents everything that is wrong with modern documentary film making, The Cove represents everything that is good. The hero of the film is Richard O'Barry who was the original trainer for Flipper and who after years of working in Hollywood had a Road to Damascus moment when one of his dolphins died in his arms.
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The Cove is a wonderful film but you should probably skip it if you don't want your blood pressure to go through the roof. Also, don't take the kids. Here's Roger Ebert's four star review, and here's what Evan Williams said in The Australian.