TMNT Movie: Teenage Mutant Ninja TRAVESTY

*Contains spoilers and ranting*

Last night, Nick and I went to see the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie.

A short background to my fandom of this franchise: a few years ago, I worked on the series of books for the new TMNT TV show which is on Nickelodeon. I remember watching and liking Teenage Mutant HERO Turtles when I was little (ah, the censorship of the early 90s), but I can't remember this series in detail, particularly any detail relating to the mythology.

When I started writing the books for the new series however, I fell in love – it's such a great TV show. Testament to its greatness lies with the simple fact that Nick agreed to watch this with me as I immersed myself in the brand for the books, something he has not done when I needed to watch the new series of Power Rangers Megaforce or Woolly and Tig for the same reason. In fact, we've been watching the second series over the last week or so, a move entirely driven by him. If you look at my twitter feed, you'll see that I've been quoting my favourite lines from the show, entirely from Mikey who is my favourite turtle.

I was nervous about seeing the movie; the other movies were terrible, I've never seen a film Michael bay has been involved with that I've enjoyed, and also Megan Fox has such a perfect sense of smouldering and seemingly dangerous sexuality that it puts me on edge. My worse fear for this film: what if I didn't like Mikey?

Off we went, with Nick wearing a red t-shirt, because his favourite turtle is Raph; his favourite turtle was chosen during childhood based on the fact that his favourite colour is red.

I encapsulated my reaction to this film in a tweet:

I'll start with the only positive from the film, which seems obvious when written in black and the white. The turtles were the only good part of this film, the CGI is cool, their action sequences are awesome and, in the rare occasions its glimpsed, they are funny and the brotherly argumentative dynamic is really great. So, if the best part of the film is the turtles, then this should have been a fantastic film, right?

Wrong. Despite being the eponymous heroes of a beloved franchise, I think the turtles get the least screen time. The screen time is given instead to April O'Neil, to an extent that I feel they should retitle the film 'April O'Neil and a few Mutant Turtles', because calling it 'TMNT' is a flagrant misrepresentation of the film.

The film is dedicated to April O'Neil, but it might be more accurate to say it's dedicated to Megan Fox. The plot entirely centres around her, her emotions, her struggles, her actions in a way that is infuriating and bizarre for a film meant to be about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I think there are two possible explanations for why this might be:

1) Someone thought 'Megan Fox is hot. How can we give her more screen time?' 'Perhaps we write out the turtles part of the film?' 'Excellent. Cinematic genius.'

2) The budget for the CGI was low (unlikely), so they had to concentrate that budget on the action scenes, rather than building a plot or storyline for the turtles. Shooting live action scene with an actress must be cheaper than expensive CGI rendering and hey, it means Megan Fox gets more screen time. Awesome.

I mentioned this theory to Nick after the film, who pointed out that unlike in Transformers where Megan Fox 'bends over a lot wearing tight clothes', she actually doesn't do this during TMNT (score one for feminism...) but it does highlight just how awful an actress she is in this film. In the parts where her explanations of how she'd seen ninja turtles were meant to be comic, they just weren't. When she was meant to be afraid or scared or determined, it was just unconvincing. 

The story centred around her saving the turtles and Splinter from a fire at her dad's lab. They were her pets, apparently. A fact in her life that she's forgotten, despite probably being about 10 or so according to the film (but then again her Dad died in the fire so it could be attributed to trauma), she is reminded of this story by Splinter in the layer and all of a sudden, appears the brother/sister bond between her and the turtles. Immediately.

Oh, and that's another thing. Instead of being a well trained ninja of years of experience who steps into the mutagen with rat DNA on him to become a rat/human hybrid, the Splinter of the film is a mutated super rat, who decides to teach himself ninjutsu after finding a book in the sewer, so his sons could defend themselves in the outside world. Which means that in the short space of 16 years, a mutated rat taught himself the complex, lifelong discipline of ninjutsu and then was good enough to teach it to the turtles . . . outrageous.

The explanation of why Splinter raised the turtles as his sons, was not because his DNA was spliced with theirs in the mutagen, but because of the care and love April O'Neil showed them in the lab, he knew he had to love these turtles. *eye roll*

When Splinter and Shredder meet for their battle in the film, their set up as an exchange between two mortal enemies, which they aren't because they've never met previously. This is yet another flaw with the plot of the film, it assumes that the audience are bringing along a wealth of knowledge of the franchise with them. Which, of course they do, but if you expect this of your audience, you shouldn't them try to offer a 'different story' and create a slightly altered world mythology from what is known from the canon. 

When the plot of this film was first announced, the turtles weren't going to be mutants, they were going to be aliens from outer space. I'm not sure if the fan backlash to this was why the film was rewritten, but suppose it was, the end result is a TMNT film which has nothing to do with aliens, as the mutagen in this film is made in a lab. This change would of course be fine, if you weren't expecting fans to bring with them the knowledge of the franchise with them, but the fact that the plot spent so little time developing the characters of the turtles and the relationship between them seems as though they expected the fans to already know this.

This was highlighted in three moments in the film. 

1) When the turtles are begin drained of their blood for the mutagen it contains, April asks Donnie 'What should I do?' to free them and he tells her to press the adrenaline button. At this late point in the film, apart from the hi-tech glasses Donnie wears, it's not really been established that he's the genius of the turtles. Or if you argue it has been (albeit loosely), it's not been established the April knows this with enough certainty to know he is the turtle to ask.

2) The classic tension between Leo and Raph over who is the leader is alluded to; Leo's leadership is briefly confirmed in an exchange early on in the film. (Paraphrasing) Raph: Who made you the boss? Leo: You know who did. So when the big moment when Raph says, "Let's do what Leo says." that should have been a defining moment in the relationship between the two brothers, but it just isn't in the context of the film plot (where Raph is the turtle who gets the most screen time and who goes the other turtle's rescue) and only is with a knowledge of Raph and Leo's relationship in the wider franchise.

3) Raph's big speech at the end as the Turtles are falling from the tower, when he tells the other turtles he's sorry that he's pushed them, that he only did so because he believed in them so much and that he only threatened to walk away because he was afraid he wasn't good enough to be alongside them, surely is the speech of a leader. It also comes out of nowhere, as these internal struggles and the group dynamic is not explored enough in the plot for this to make any sense. It only makes sense when you know Raph as a wider character from the franchise.

All in all, as you might have gathered from my rant, I did not enjoy this film in the slightest, just as I feared. But at least, I still liked Mikey.

Wardrobe Tardis and work PJs

I've started a new job where I'm working from home. I'm only a week and a half in and I have to say that working from home suits me. Not least because I woke up dramatically this morning and declared to Nick,  "I have to get up now and get to work. I don't want to be late." I think I'm going to find that amusing for some time to come, especially on the mornings when there is a horrific tube delay. Also, because if I'm not going out to meetings, I can wear comfortable 'home' clothes. Which meant a couple of weeks ago I stocked up on a collection of work PJs, onesies and comfortable trousers. Amazing because one of my new work outfits includes a pair of Star Wars PJs. If that's not the career dream then I'm not sure what else would be.

Here's my new office (in progress).

Today, I was feeling ill and it wasn't brilliant weather outside, so on my lunch break, I put some laundry away. (This is very close to being the most glamorous post of all time.) I realised that I've had to start quadruple hanging my dresses on each coat hanger. Even to me, a 'hoarder' according to some, this seems quite excessive. I don't particularly want to throw any dresses away because things always come back into fashion and I bought those dresses because I liked them. Also, it's on a regular basis that I look at my wardrobe that's full to bursting, sigh loudly and moan about how I have nothing to wear. This is probably because I can't actually see three quarters of my wardrobe at a glance.

I'm worried that it'll become a large enough problem that Nick will notice and because he's a practical, cold and logical humanoid he'll tell me to throw out some of my dresses because there isn't 'enough room'. He's made this absurd argument before. He finds so few items of clothing that he actually likes that he'll never understand my predicament. He'll do the maths and remind me that I had fifty coat hangers to begin with and so quadrupling the dresses on each hanger that is frankly ridiculous for someone who now works from home in her sparkly and awesome new work PJs. My wardrobe and mind has no place for the rudeness of mathematics and the constrictions of space. 

The only solution is inventing a wardrobe Tardis. 

Why I've decided to be Chilean for the World Cup.

I'm not really into football. I usually hate it because about 90% of the time it's just watching over-paid princesses falling over when another player gently brushes his shoulder. But I do love the World Cup,  'football at its best as they always say', but mainly because of the patriotism you feel and get to see – you get to watch other people cheer on their national team with a look of pride and passion so intense that I'm always surprised that there's never been a case of a football fan spontaneously combusting when their national hero scores a goal in the dying seconds of a game that rescues their campaign from the swirling hell of being knocked out.

I also love feeling patriotic. I love England; I love being English. I like being British too, but that's a concept slightly too abstract to feel as passionately about. I do prefer the Union Flag to the St George's Flag, but that's for colour and aesthetic reasons more than anything else. I researched my family tree a few years ago, along several branches and there wasn't a single a relative that wasn't born and lived in England for their whole lives. I love the rain, I much prefer winter to summer because I am just not good in the heat, plus I really like hats and scarfs. I drink an inordinate amount of tea and I always say sorry to someone who clearly bumps into me (although the frequency of this has lessened ever since I moved to London).  If you follow my Dad on twitter @thesockmine you'll see from his many retweets he is a British manufacturer who isn't afraid of being a passionate advocate for bring manufacturing back to Britain. (Incidentally, if you need socks, you'll find the best ones ever made here: www.thesockmine.co.uk. They're like wearing a pair of dreams.)

I'm not trying to be all EDL, I'm just trying to illustrate that how proud I am of being English and that my switch to support Chile is therefore surprising to say the least.

Probably not that surprising, as co-habitant Nicholas is half Chilean (despite the surname Wilkinson, since it's his mum who is Chilean), so at the beginning of the World Cup I'd decided that Chile would be my second team for two reasons: to be in support of Nick and also so that I could enjoy watching and be involved when watching the matches with him.

I was watching Chile vs Spain alone in my flat, as Nicholas was out. I found myself really enjoying the match, especially how Chile were playing – together as a team, so passionately for their country. You got the sense that if you asked any one of the Chilean players to lay down his life for a member of his team or his country, they'd do it, without a thought and with a smile on their face. The fans are the same, the image of the Chilean fan weeping the crowd as he sang the national anthem; a national anthem that's a love song from a people to their country.

Just look at the English translation of the lyrics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvkVX99nBUc&app=desktop

It was watching this match, that I so enjoyed that I realised that you could watching a team you support during a World Cup match without feeling insane amounts of stress, feeling sick and also bitter disappointment. Up until that moment, I thought that is what watching your country at the World Cup was like and I was wrong. All these years of hating those 90 minutes watching a match; this was not how it was for everyone. Well, it was a revelation . . . amongst the guilt I was feeling about enjoying another country's victory more than an England one. Even when I watched Chile lose to the Netherlands, I enjoyed that because you knew that they enjoyed playing for their country and they tried.

Even the commentators during the match against Spain fell in love with the Chilean team. I've never heard English commentators get so passionate about an entire team before. "Oh, they're such a hardworking team." "Every pass they make is for the team; each thought they have is so generous." Up to the point where, towards the end of the match, one of them actually said: "Oh, that's a great foul Chile. Tactical." A team that is commended for how awesome their fouls are and how they showed great teamwork is definitely something I've never hear before.

So that's why I'm supporting Chile for the World Cup. Who can't fall in love with a country who has this advert on their TV in support of their football team. It's just superbly ridiculous. If Westeros had adverts, these are the adverts they'd have:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZHwdI3bh9Q&utm_content=buffera17e3&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer

Talking with my hands . . .

I was in the middle of an interview, mid-hyperbolic attempt to convince my interviewers just how employable I am, that I noticed my hands waving about as I spoke.

At first, they were just the backing dancers to what I was saying; emphasising and illustrating my speech. I've long known that I'm a gesture-dramatic speaker. However, as I begun to notice them, the larger the hand gestures appeared to become, until I became convinced that my hands were actually attempting to steal the show; like they thought they something better to say than my voice (which at the time was probably correct).

Then I remembered about alien hand syndrome from an episode of House and wondered if my subconscious could divide itself in two during times of  the stress perhaps caused by an interview you fear might not be going well. What if my hand, on its own accord, started stealing sweets and sneaking them into my bags as I paid for my groceries? I might get away with it once, but then full of bravado, my hand might get cocky and start stealing bigger things and lead an unsuspecting me onto a path that ends in arrest and a criminal record. It'd be harder in an interview to convince companies of my employability then.

It was very distracting, more than the usual internal monologue through which I narrate my life. At one point I did attempt to sit on one of my hands, to lessen the hand flailing by half, but I stopped that after awhile for fear I looked like a complete mad woman. So, I continued my interview hoping that my hands would just portray my passion and excitement for life.

In light of this experience, I've been reading up on hand gestures, although it was hardly enlightening. "Hand gestures are used by those who struggle to express themselves due to a limited vocabulary." I don't think this applies to me...
"Hand gestures reveal what is unsaid." Worrying.
"Hand gestures make you seem more friendly and approachable." Especially when you have open arms and are beckoning strangers in for a hug.
"Hand gestures are a sign of intelligence." Finally, an approach I can get on board with!

Hopefully, my flailing appendages won't count against me. Perhaps I'm secretly Italian?

Public hugs

Over the last week, I've encountered two separate scenarios in which the issue of public hugging has crossed my path.

Scenario one
Last week, as I sat in drinking my first ever iced mocha (it was disappointing), I watched as a group of people held up 'free hugs' signs at a busy intersection. (Read about the lovely Free Hugs Campaign here.) I surprised at my initial reaction, which was fear. I knew I'd finish my coffee soon and have to leave the shop (also I had an interview to go to and it's frowned upon to be late to those things), but in leaving, I'd run the risk of them offering me a free hug and then I'd be in one of those awkward situations that is perpetuated by the fact that I'm also English.

I'd either have to accept the hug because it would be rude to turn down what is, on the face of it, a kind gesture of humanity from one human being from another, despite my massive aversion to strangers touching me or, perhaps more accurately, the idea of being so close to someone I don't know that I'm forced to make physical contact with them. Or I'd be so English that my fear of being impolite to a stranger's offer to invade my personal space that I'd forget my own personal feelings for the sake of a stranger's.

So, I did the only option left open to me in this scenario: I left the coffee shop when a group did and stuck closely to the wall, side-walking like a crab, to avoid being within the free hug locus.

Scenario two
I was walking down Kilburn High Road to the tube, listening to a podcast (There's no such thing as a fish, by the QI Elves – it's a brilliant, you should listen!) when a man stopped in front of me and said, "You're beautiful, can I have a hug?"

First of all, when on earth did that ever work as a chat up line? When did saying that become an OK thing to say to a random person on the street? In this instance, I was so taken aback by the front of this man, especially considering the apparent age gap between us and the fact that we were strangers, that I quickly mumbled "No" and walked away as quickly as I could manage.

So, hugging scenarios crossing my path twice in one week: is the universe telling me I need to be more open and affectionate? Well no, as my brother and sister will tell you, when I'm merry I am probably too loving and affectionate. It's more likely it's a huge coincidence, strung together in my own mind. Either way, I still won't ever accept a random hug from a stranger – I'm English and the price I'd have to pay in how uncomfortable it makes me is too high a price for me.

T Rex society probably never had this kind of problem . . .

River Island and the Anti-nagging gag

I'm not sure if any of you have read about the River Island Anti-nagging product today. I read about it on the BBC:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-27295797

I tweeted about this earlier, but there's more to this than 240 characters.

As a female human at twenty-six years of age, I thought I'd comment. Not least because as a female I've obviously experienced sexism. (The fact that this is even an obvious statement, irks me.) At school during A Level English, we studied the The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy and I loved it (read it, it's brilliant). It was, of course, then suggested that because of my appreciation of Duffy's poetry, I too must be gay. And, of course, the countless times when I have said that I studied English Literature at university and then the man with whom I was in conversation, would snidely suggest and assume that I therefore studied and was well-versed in feminist literature. Would I be boring him with these 1960s notions; the women have the vote and jobs now, isn't that all done and dusted? There are so many other daily experiences that I won't go into now and I'll only point out quickly that it is entirely by accident that both my personal experiences above feature sexism that surrounds being an educated female.

As I said in my tweet, it's 2014. Why are we having to read about a story like this?  It's is unfathomable to me that this product got approved any meeting in River Island at any level. Products don't just magically appear on a modern huge retailer's shelves, like River Island, there are months of product development and selling in, where it will be seen by lots of employees at different levels and not one of them was sensitive and intelligent enough to point the inappropriate sexism of an anti-nagging gag for women? So their response that "as soon as this product was brought to our attention" – at what stage in the product development through River Island was it not at their attention?

Perhaps people did point it out, but were at too low a level to have an impact on the chosen products, but of course that means that someone higher up got to where they did thinking that this sort of hilarious novelty product was fine to sell in store; it's a terrible state of affairs either way.

Just to highlight my own standings in terms of equality, be it gender, race or anything thing at all, I'd be equally irked if it was an anti-nagging gag marketed at women to shut the man in your life up, but then again, if it were this wouldn't be on the news: there's something wrong there too. Offensive things should be offensive, no matter which gender you are. People should be equal and should be treated with courtesy and respect. This should at least be achievable in 2014, right?

This isn't just an issue with River Island. Sadly, I think it's just them this time; it'll be someone else in the news for something equally as offensive and stupid soon.

Toilet Graffiti

With it being bank holiday, the Nicholas and I (since I've still not come up with an alternative name for him, yet) went out for a lovely stroll around Regent's Park and then out to dinner. As I went to the washrooms at this certain proprietors, I noticed the graffiti in toilet cubicle.

For example:

'Justin 4 Vera 4eva'

It got me thinking, mainly about who on EARTH declares their love for someone on a toilet cubicle door and, perhaps more importantly, who is impressed with this declaration? If anyone declared their love for me on the inside of a toilet door, it'd place me somewhere at the completely opposite town to Impressed, further away than the hamlet of Unimpressed, even if it had a perfect metre and immaculate metaphors. 

I found this example on google, where someone has obviously gone back and amended their previous toilet love declaration, as if the main preoccupation of the broken heart is to keep the toilet door as an up-to-date chronicle of love.

Another question frequently asked about this phenomenon is: who goes to the toilet with marker pens? In fact, who leaves the house with marker pens 'accidentally'? I am a person who at any one time has at least five pens in any bag I'm carrying (perhaps this is an editorial trait), so I think I'd be someone who is most likely to carry a marker pen into the toilet, but the pens in my bags are never marker pens and I have never graffitied a toilet door. (I've always been a goody-two-shoes.) So, do people buy pens and go out with the forethought and intention to graffiti toilet doors? Are there toilet door graffiti addicts who are constantly slipping away from their friends' conversations in the pub to fulfil their need to write something poetic in the bathroom? 

I'm not even going to get started on the toilet door grammar. Perhaps another post for another day, as Mum always told me, correcting people's grammar is not a way to win friends or readers. (But has been beneficial for me career wise.)

Then again, graffiti is as old as time and if it is done well for comedy reasons, you can't help but appreciate it. My personal favourites:

What's in a name?

". . . that which we call a rose would be any other name smell as sweet." To quote everyone's favourite love-sick teenager.

Today, in a rather fancy email, I referred to Nick as 'my partner' today because referring to him as 'my boyfriend' didn't seem appropriate, it doesn't cover so many things like how we're 26 or that we pay bills together.

So, what do you call your significant other, if you're not married or engaged but are older than giggling as you hold hands in the cinema – because I can not find a term I like.

Other half – because without the other half you're only half a person?
Significant other – sufficiently great or important to be worthy of attention', doesn't seem to cut it really.
My better half – please. This just isn't true . . .
Ball and chain – just sounds restrictive and painful
Partner – too western. It also reminds me too much of Woody from Toy Story.

So, I'm just going to call him Nico.

It's the little things...

It struck me yesterday that everyone spends a lot of time answering the big questions in life: Why am I here? What does it all mean? Will I be happy? What does the future hold? Was the universe really created by a mysterious, omnipotent and divine being with a touch of his noodle appendage?

But nobody really ever takes the time to answer life's little questions and as Sherlock Holmes once said: "It's long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important." He was right of course, about this and so many other things. Little things are so much more important than big things.

Yesterday brought to me a supreme example of why being a human in 2014 is the most magnificent era to be alive. I was in Sainsbury's (other supermarkets are available) searching for pancake ingredients and toppings, when I found myself by the preserve aisle. In a scenario that can only be described as one that only happens in the first world, I picked up a jar of raspberry conserve and I found myself wondering . . . what is the difference between conserve and jam? Why is there a difference and do we actually need both? #firstworldproblems

In hope, I turned to the back of the jar for answers to find there were none. So, with a second wind of hope, I turned to where I always go in times of question and need, Twitter.

I wasn't particularly expecting a response to my open-ended exacerbation but it was my way of documenting all these pesky little questions of my life, so that when experience brings the answer, I can remember it and tick it off my list. But, lo and behold, Twitter delivered an answer to me almost immediately; via @Bizzy_Fizzy, who put me in touch with @rosiemakesjam:

So there you have it, this is why this is such a great time to be alive. If you have questions in 2014, ask it and you'll get an answer from another human being pop-up for your convenience on your phone. How amazing is that? I am now enlightened about the particulars of fruit preserves.

That's one of life's little questions down, millions more to go. 

The interim

During this time of 'interim', I thought I'd start this blog as an outlet for my brain (there are too many things to keep bottled in there and still remain sane) and to make sure I keep writing, as it's something I love to do. 

I'm not entirely sure what the content will be, I'm just going to see how it evolves; at the moment, I'm hoping it can be an extension of my Twitter feed, which is just a collection of things I find interesting or amusing – with the hope that at least someone else finds it amusing too.

A bit about myself: my name is Gemma and I like words, giggling and making ridiculous puns. I've been working as a children's book editor for a few years now, but at the moment during my career interim, I'm going to see what's out there, keeping my mind open and ready to begin a new adventure.