Social media has turned into a game of dodge the 200 Word RPG Challenge entry, so I haven’t been online quite as much. Judging begins on April 26th (Wednesday), so I’ll probably release Issue 2 of Machineries of Joy on Monday or Tuesday. It’s on roleplaying games from the Nørwegian Surreal and includes work from the following array of wonderful people:
Ole Peder Giæver
Issue 2 of Machineries of Joy, a fanzine on roleplaying games from the Nørwegian Surreal, has doubled in size but I’m now halfway through laying it out. The main image is the character sheet for a hack of Tarot-horror game Psychosis (Charles Ryan, John Fletcher, 1993) called Infernal Desire Machines. I’ve just reread Steve Dempsey’s riotous-but-playful critique of “creative agenda” Tbilisi: it’s inspired by Georgian Dada and is a lot of fun. John Rose has supplied another collage for Steve’s game. It’s beautiful.
That the was name of the story on which SF writer Jane P Richards was working in our game of Left Coast last night.
It’s a great game: brief, full of flavour and very playful about the long-mooted relationship between madness and creativity. The set-up procedures are a little intense – lots of lists and things to remember – but part of the game in themselves, really; once we got going, we found it easy to play into the themes and out the other side.
The Squatter in the Loft was a tale of a soldier returning from Vietnam with a magician from the medieval city of Angkor Wat living in his head. It was a thinly-veiled portrayal of Jane’s annoying neighbour Elliot Spangler and it quickly emerged that Jane had (a) failed to get the story published and (b) been reduced to selling a “slice-of-life” series of pieces on Elliot to the nearby San Francisco Examiner; this, in turn, had attracted the attention of the FBI, who had sent agent Felix Hamilton to pose as her new landlord.
Space Monkey’s performance as Elliot Spangler was hilarious and Simon and I struggled to hold it together. We agreed that it felt like the pilot of some tripped-out sitcom and we’ll probably return for another episode.
A nefarious combination of train strikes and work and childcare commitments are wreaking havoc with our group at the moment and it felt good to be playing again. Back to Trail of Cthulhu next, as we finish off events in London before moving onto the wonderful Dreamhounds of Paris.
The Mephisto Waltz eschews the traditional approach to a story of the supernatural – much of the tension of which comes from not knowing to what extent it is true or by what means it is making itself felt to the otherwise rational sensibilities of its protagonists – in favour of colourful effects, fancy dress and lurid dream sequences. The film has all of the allure and none of the ambiguity of the subgenre of folk Horror from which it inherits its visual register: a black dog wears the latex face of a man, California socialites enjoy Sex unrestrained by the bourgeois confines of marriage and a soft-focus female-only nudity extrudes decorously onto the screen at opportune moments. Where the typical “folk horror” set-up might involve an isolated location at which apparently-outmoded beliefs announce themselves through some violent or supernatural event, one of the form’s late-1960s variants reverses the metropolitan person adrift in a landscape motif to bring the Fantastika of the old country to the City, often via a secret society of witches or Satanists. The success of Rosemary’s Baby (1967), adapted from the novel by Ira Levin, set the tone for this slow-burn urban alternative: the more gradual the crescendo of its narrative, the greater the impact of its final scene. The Mephisto Waltz swaps the tension of not quite knowing for the drama of not knowing what might happen next. It is easy to see why the film failed at the box office and easy too to see why it has since gained a cult following:-