To Boldly Dress

Last week marked the 45th anniversary of Star Trek and as such, last Friday night, I experienced what was undoubtedly the nerdiest evening of my entire life. To honour the occasion, a screening of The Wrath of Khan was planned, with the film projected on to a bare wall in Billy Flag and Jack Samson's Rathmines apartment, which as it happens is one of the best ways to watch a film ever. I say it was a nerdfest of an evening, but obviously that also means that it was a huge amount of fun. The main event was preceded by an episode of Deep Space 9 and an episode of the original series. The DS9 episode was one that saw the crew go back in time in order to infiltrate the Kirk-era Enterprise and featured the character of Dax giving herself a sixties Starfleet makeover in order to blend in. When she emerged in her red Mary Quant style minidress and shiny beehive, EleventyFour turned to me and said "That's going to turn up on your blog, isn't it". And GUESS WHAT….she was RIGHT! She knows me so well.

I've actually written about Star Trek once before on this blog, and have posted about sci-fi fashion over on Blaubushka, when I looked at the shiny dresses of Forbidden Planet, but this post is all about the wondrous wardrobes of the women from the original Star Trek series. For example, the most famous wearer of said red minidress, Lieutenant Uhura. There may have been a constant threat of ass cheek, but if anyone could rock it, it was she.


Anyway, the other episode we watched before KHAAAAN! was the one in which, as Jack Samson puts it, "Spock is so horny he might die". This particular episode also features the enchanting T'Pring, a Vulcan bird that Spock was betrothed to when they were both children, but in a fit of wagonry (I may have just made that word up, but you know what I mean) has decided she'd rather hook up with Kirk. All this is beside the point though, as I think my mouth fell open every time she was on screen. She's utterly GORGEOUS and sparkly and lovely and…just look at her for Jaysus sake, she's amazing. Kind of a bitch, yes, but amazing.

The hair! The clothes! The FACE!

Of course, enthralling as T'Pring and her outfit were, the series had its fair share of dodgy wardrobe choices, not least those of Andrea the Android and her criss-crossed mostly-not-there bodysuit, Shahna the stern, green haired gladiator trainer in her silver nappy and the tin-foiled state of this random blonde slave girl.


Speaking of slave girls, there were also green skinned Orion Slave Girls who appeared in the original series, all bouffant hair and looking like an alien version of Goldie Hawn when she used to appear on that 1960s sketch show. They also popped up in an episode of The Next Generation, however this time around they were updated and dropping it like it's hot as if they were the Verdigris Pussycat Dolls.


In fairness to Star Trek's costume department though, the ladies weren't always nearly naked, and oftentimes their more modest outfits were properly gorgeous, such as Dr. Miranda Jones and her cool beaded dresses (one of which was displayed in the Smithsonian as part of their Star Trek exhibit), finished off with a weird but cute topknot.


Former Catwoman Lee Merriwether also lucked out when she appeared on the show as Losira in a deadly purple cutout dress and utterly awesome eye makeup that totally reminds me of sweets from the 90s like Fruit Salads and Drumsticks.


Finally, one of my favourite Star Trek looks belongs to warrior woman Nona who, apart from being ridiculously beautiful, looked astounding in black leather, bright orange fur like she's just been Muppet-hunting and a Native American style necklace, finished off with sparkles on her face. GLORIOUS.


However, for every superb costume, there's a horrendous one too. While Nona's outfit used brightly coloured fur in a tremendous way, the following picture illustrates the exact opposite of that.


Step away from the Fraggle showgirls, McCoy. Just. Step. Away.

Mystic River

Back in April, there was a brilliant post on The Anti Room about great female TV characters, where Lisa listed eight of her favourites. Since the crafty bastards of Doctor Who have now left us hanging until autumn with their infuriating mid-season break, I've come to realise that I very definitely have a new TV heroine that would rank most highly indeed if I ever got around to compiling such a list of my own. I refer, of course, to the bouncy-haired, wisecracking, ass-kicking, Doctor-baiting River Song, played by Alex Kingston.


I have to admit that when River made her first appearance, stomping into the David Tennant-era episode Silence In The Library with her white spacesuit and spoiler-laden diary, I found her smug and kind of annoying. However, now that she's turned up so frequently in the new series as she works her way back along the mind-bending timeline she shares with the Doctor, I've realised that she's actually a fantastic addition to the series and a marvellous character in her own right.


River is a time-travelling archeologist adventurer, kind of like Indiana Jones in space, and a ferociously smart, funny woman who's more than a match for the Doctor. She switches with ease between guns (laser or otherwise) and hallucenogenic lipstick, leaving anyone who gets in her way either dead or completely bewildered as to what's just happened. She's not a lady to be trifled with and will do anything to save those she cares about.

Apart from the fact that she's a strong, fearless, astoundingly fun and relentlessly flirty character, she also has by far the most impressive and varied costume wardrobe on the show. She's liable to pop up in anything, ranging from a saucy cat-burglar outfit, a Victorian gown, a delightfully steampunky white jacket and brown leather combination, or a campy Egyptian queen disguise, having tricked some centurions into believing that she's Cleopatra, through the use of her bewitching lipstick.








On top of all that, she also gets some of the best lines since the beginning of the entire Doctor Who reboot.

Anita: How do you know they're not androids.
River: Because I've dated androids. They're rubbish.

Lux: Professor Song, why am I the only one wearing my helmet?
River: Because I don't fancy you.

River: Like I said on the dancefloor, you might want to find something to hang on to.

The Doctor: You graffitied the oldest cliff in the universe!
River: You wouldn't answer your phone!

The Doctor: Oh and this is my friend River. Nice hair, clever, has her own gun. Oh, and unlike me she really doesn't mind shooting people. I shouldn't like that, kinda do a bit.
River: Thank you, sweetie.
The Doctor: I know you're team players and everything, but she'll definitely kill the first three of you.
River: Oh, the first seven; easily.
The Doctor: Seven? Really?
River: Oh, eight for you honey.

Pendragon Female No. 4

Back in October, when I was working part time, I somehow managed to get a callback from an open casting for Camelot extras. I say somehow managed because I went to the casting day with the Bear, and if anyone would be expected to get a callback for a series set in the days of beardy, burly, long haired men, it's him with the beardy, burly, long haired head on him.

Nevertheless, t'was I who got the call to spend a day drinking tea in a Portakabin in Bray. I had a costume fitting the previous day and was assigned a spectacularly unflattering light green scratchy dress and a heavy brown cloak in which to wander about Pendragon Castle for a spell. I got needlessly excited when I was sent on my way to the hair and make up trailer, as the hair and make up in question really just meant backcombing the shit out of my hair to give it that Middle Ages rats nest look, with a few small plaits thrown in, and brown make up smushed into my face and hands to give me an authentic smudgy, dirty mush and fingernails. So hot right now.


The scene we were required in called for us to enter the set of the big hall, all agog at the impressive interior and wander along our given routes looking amazed, for we were but local merchants and had never encountered such grandeur. The direction of my track brought me right past Sinéad Cusack as the duplicitous nun and I managed to get in the way of her exit at least eight times or so. Thankfully we were eventually rearranged and it was someone else's go to be that infernal extra that kept crossing in front of her path. All my determined concentration not to step on the dress worn by the girl in front of me or knock anything over OR be distracted by how tiny and gorgeous Eva Green is actually paid off and last Friday night, who was to be seen doddering past in the background?


Me, that's who! Pendragon Female No. 4, all up in yo business! Delighted, I was. I'm still waiting to hear back about my idea for my character's spin-off series, The Girl With The Pendragon Tattoo.

Ahem.

I'll see myself out.

Z Day

Here's the thing. I'm one of those people who quite often find themselves considering what the hell I would do when the inevitable zombie apocalypse kicks off. When the Bear and I had finished emptying out bags from Tesco after a particularly big food shopping trip, I surveyed our well stocked shelves of canned goods and fridge and thought to myself "We are so sorted if there's a zombie outbreak in the next few days." I even considered how we could concoct some manner of zip line to cross the street below our top floor apartment, over to Spar in case we ran out of milk or Jaffa Cakes.

Every so often I have dreams about zombies and most recently I had the best one yet. In it, the Bear and myself were holed up in a flat above a shop overlooking a street riddled with shuffling zombies, but we were accompanied by none other than the Mythbusters. Who better to improvise ways of blowing the shit out of the undead than those people? (Except maybe MacGyver.) I'm going to need to get Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman on board with my zombie survival plan, quick smart.

Anyway, my hypothetical plans have gone into overdrive lately, as I recently tore my way through the tremendously brilliant World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks (a fantastic-as-usual Christmas present from the Bear). I never realised books could be scary, but there were quite a few parts of this one that freaked me the fuck out. It very nearly ended up in the freezer on more than one occasion. I also got scared while reading it on the train, as the realisation dawned on me that a train carraige is surely one of the worst possible places to be in a case of a zombie infestation.

Yesterday, the Bear struck zombie survival gold when he unearthed the most amazing and perfect zombie proof house and sent me the link to it. People, I give you "The Safe House", located in the outskirts of Warsaw and designed by KWK Promes, the marvellous bastards. Behold!

Big fuck-off wall to keep the damned at bay? Check.


Jaw-droppingly beautiful interior in which to comfortably ride out the plague of the undead? Check.


Exterior that can be sealed up to render it an impenetrable self-contained fortress of awesomeness? Check.

Oh, did I mention that it has a retractable walkway to the top floor? WELL IT DOES.

Suck on that, zombie jerks.

Limp Biscuits

Is everyone else as bewildered by the new Jacob's Mallows ad as I am? It kicks off with the fuzzy and familiar "Kimberly, Mikado and Coconut Creams" jingle, but before it ever gets a chance to lull the unsuspecting viewer into a false sense of security, we're assaulted with some sort of R&B auto tune disaster and a watered down Pussycat Doll rejects crashing the Mad Hatter's Tea-Party acid trip. Watch it below, if you dare.



It's bizarre. I'm all for rebranding and trying out a new approach for something, but personifying biscuits that are automatically associated with licking and sucking (easy, now) as a tacky girlband just feels incredibly inappropriate.

Genuine biscuit girls in your area, call now on 1800 69 69 69.

The whole Alice In Wonderland schtick falls flat and anyway it's been done to death at this stage. Even Harvey Norman ads at the beginning of the month were beating us over the head with Mad March Hare rubbish, and back in 2004 Gwen Stefani did it infinitely better in her What You Waiting For? music video. Their costumes, which are meant to represent their respective biscuits have the look of a lame Katy Perry rip-off, and just wait till you hear about their oh-so-diverse personalites. Apparently "Kim" is spicy and fun, "Mika" is naughty and mischievous and "Coco" is ditzy and fluffy. Reader, I'll rely on you to roll your eyes here for me, because if I roll mine any more they're going to clean fall out of my head at this rate.

Gwen and Katy give a far superior cutesy Wonderland vibe.

Kim, Mika and Coco even have a Facebook page where they inform us that they live together, which is all a bit Biscuit Girls of the Playboy Mansion, or y'know, a brothel run by Mr. Kipling. All their flirty winking and finger licking comes off as rather cheap and desperate, and I know ads are always using sex and tits to flog stuff, but some just pull it off (har har) better than others, like this Virgin Airlines ad.

Blow-job faces a go-go. Or as the Bear more succinctly put it when I showed him these photos, "insert cock here".

I honestly don't know what Jacob's were thinking. I know it's all meant to be a bit of light-hearted fun, but I find it jarring and unsuitable for what's been a family-favourite style product for as long as I can remember. There's also an excruciating two and a half minute music video that's an extended version of the ad, containing such lyrical dynamite as "I'm hip, I'm hot, I'm everything you're not" and "I'm a naughty girl and it's making me hot". You can watch it here, but you probably shouldn't, unless you're the type of person who gets a kick out of burning themselves with candle wax or poking their bruises. You have been warned.

Thunderstruck

Years ago, when I was only small, I remember queuing up to get my face painted and when asked what I wanted to be, I answered "Cheetara". The face painter in question hadn't the faintest idea what I was talking about and my seven year old self must not have been much good at explaining the concept of Thundercats. I'm fairly certain I ended up with my face painted like a tiger. When I was in college I screenprinted the Thundercats logo onto a tshirt for myself and got excited when I found a Cheetara action figure in a Kinsale junk shop. Because that's how cool I am. (By cool I obviously mean a giant nerd.)

As it happens, Thundercats are making their way back to small screens later this year. The new show features a redesigned Cheetara and a much younger and somewhat anime-looking group overall.



I think I like the look of this new version, although I'm a bit torn, as the orange leotard is more or less synonymous with the character at this stage.


Granted, original cartoon Cheetara's hair was veering ever so slightly towards Mulletville, but her badass blue eyeshadow and orange markings were tremendously cool.


The eighties comic book version more or less ditched the "business at the front, party at the back" hairdid and became rather less orange as a whole.


The franchise got a reboot in 2002 with a new series, and Cheetara was drawn as quite the amped-up ride, all massive rack and deadly boots. The 2011 incarnation of my second-favourite cat lady is quite manga-ish in style which I'm not entirely sure about, and since I saw someone online describe her new look and shaggy blonde mane as something akin to Ke$ha, I can't quite shake the idea.



The bastards.

Under The Boardwalk

I've been rather quiet on the old blogging front of late, mostly due to a mixture of being struck down with what I can only assume is consumption, a spot of childish sulking over not making it as a finalist for the Irish Blog Awards, busying myself with an exciting design project and being generally enthralled by Boardwalk Empire of an evening. It's Prohibition-era Sopranos created by the writer of The Wire, i.e. flipping DEADLY. Not only that, it's criminally gorgeous to look at, a veritable eyegasm of flapper fashions, sharp suits and art deco awesomeness. The title card alone is enough to make me swoon.

See? Gawjus. *thud*

Steve Buscemi is fantastic as Atlantic City's town treasurer, but Michael Kenneth Williams (as in OMAR! 1920s OMAR, people!) as booze-smuggler Chalky White steals every scene he's in, cutting a savage fucking dash with dapper suits, his class crimson fur-collared coat and brand new swear words that prompt a bemused Nucky Thompson to ask "What does motherfucker mean?"


But that's not to say that the other boys of the boardwalk aren't dressed to kill. On the contrary, in fact. Even the kids are well turned out. Look at this little fecker's amazing boots, like.



Which brings me to the Atlantic City ladies. Sparkly showgirls! Temperence League bags of no-craic! Arty bohemians trapped in lousy relationships! But looking lovely all the same.



Nucky's spoiled brat girlfriend Lucy, a pouty, shouty, nearly always naked pain in the ass played with mouthy relish by Paz de la Huerta will annoy the bejaysus out of you, but she certainly gets one of the better wardrobes. She's a filthy bitch to boot, with a creepy habit of calling men she's riding "Daddy". Weirdsville. Population: Lucy.

Ok, that quote is actually from an episode of the Adam West Batman series that I watched today, but it totally works for this picture.

Watch it. Watch it now.

Murder Most Strategic

Last week, the Bear surprised me with a somewhat delayed Valentine's Day present. Totally unnecessary, seeing as I'm more than happy with a card on that most made-up of days. But pulling this particular present out of its box made me squeak with excitement. Those of you familiar with this blog and my fascination with a certain lady crime novelist and amateur detective will understand why when you see what it was...

Holy freaking chocolate covered baby Jesus!

That's right folks. A MURDER SHE WROTE BOARD GAME. Yes, the painting of Jessica looks a bit weird and un-Fletcherly in its slightly big-chinned pudginess. Nevertheless, "A Game of Strategy and Pursuit" that centres around one of the four to six players secretly playing the MURDERER and the other three to five playing JESSICA individually attempting to work out who indeed the MURDERER is sounds like eleven kinds of fantastic fun. I'm not quite sure how it works with a room full of Jessicas but it all sounds pant-wettingly exciting. Check out the lovely big colouredy board, detailing the island resort where all the murder and detecting takes place.

Various characters seem to populate this board, such as the suave Armond DeSoto, the dickie-bowed Walter Ludlow and the perky blonde Penelope Rumford.

I'm not quite sure if these people are suspects, witnessess or victims, but either way I wish Harold Dalrymple would put some Goddamn clothes on. He looks like a big fleshy tombstone with the head of a creepy ice cream seller.

The pieces include little Cluedo style pawns, Jessica cards, painted with a face that still isn't quite hers, some shady bastard in a trenchcoat who must be the murderer and dramatic little tokens with ALIVE printed on some and DEAD on the others. I can't wait to get hammered and give it a lash.