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Starlog: 1976-2009

Starlog_52.jpg

I’ve read in a couple different places this morning that the venerable magazine Starlog — which is for sci-fi fans something like Rolling Stone is to music lovers — has ceased publication. The official announcement calls it a “temporary” cessation while the publishers re-evaluate and revamp, and they apparently intend to continue producing digital content for their website, but I think we know what this move really means. For all intents and purposes, after 33 years and 374 issues, Starlog is finished. It may live on in a diminished form as some kind of blog or genre-centric website, but there are thousands, if not millions, of those already, and Starlog.com is going to have a hard time differentiating itself from, say, io9. The most public and respectable face of science-fiction film and television fandom — our only honest-to-god, widely distributed, often-seen-on-regular-newsstands magazine — is dead.

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This Makes Me Happy

This has been floating around for a while — it seems like someone emails it to me every couple of months — but I never get tired of watching it. It always boosts my spirits a little, even on days like this one. Maybe especially on days like this, when I’m not depressed, exactly, but I am feeling beaten down because of too many nights staying up late trying to finish the crap I didn’t have time to accomplish earlier, and too many afternoons putting out stupid little fires that have everyone around me losing their heads while I struggle gamely on.

What a charming notion, don’t you think? That disparate people from all over the globe can find common ground in a sweet old chestnut from Motown’s golden years? Yeah, I feel a little better now.

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Unleash the Force Within You

Okay, so, you know those Axe body-spray commercials where some young guy with a bad haircut spritzes himself with cheap cologne-in-a-can and suddenly finds himself surrounded by horny females who seem to have lost all their higher reasoning functions? Yeah, I don’t get ’em either.*

I think this makes much more sense:

Ah, lightsabers. Is there nothing they can’t make cooler? Extra credit to the makers of this clip for throwing in a Wilhelm.
* Oh, come on, is there anyone over the age of 19 who doesn’t think that shit makes you smell like you just rubbed yourself down with one those tree-shaped air fresheners for your car?

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Saturday Morning Star Wars Net Crap

Ever wonder what it might’ve been like if, instead of a hugely successful feature film, Star Wars had been a late-70s television series with a disco-flavored theme song? Sure you have:

For you younglings in the audience, the music and visual stylings of this piece are derived from the opening of Dallas, a primetime soap opera about rich, conniving, nasty people with better sex lives than you. Dallas led to the pinnacle (or nadir, depending on how you look at it) of ’80s television, Dynasty, which in turn begat Falcon Crest and god only knows how many lesser rip-offs.

I’m impressed at how well the Dallas theme and style works with Star Wars footage, and also amused that the creator of this mash-up included “the men in the masks” in the credits. Of course, in my world, the Death Star explosion doesn’t result in one of those lame “Praxis-effect” plasma rings, but that’s my grumpy-old-fanboy side speaking up again and we won’t indulge him today.

More fun stuff below the fold…

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My So-Called High School Life Meme

Being as I am a hopeless nostalgic — not to mention the incredibly odd mutant who actually, for the most part, liked high school — I couldn’t resist the latest meme from Jaquandor, which he titled “My So-Called High School Life.” I am retaining that title, despite its derivation from a TV show I never watched, for lack of any more clever ideas.

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It Is Not Logical, But…

Vulcan Bettie

I like Star Trek. I like Bettie Page pin-ups. Now I can enjoy both at the same time. Not everything about the 21st century sucks…

Obligatory shout-out: I picked this up from SamuraiFrog, who got it from here, where you can also get this image in sizes appropriate for your desktop. If you’re into this sort of thing, of course…

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In Memoriam: Andy Hallett

Andy Hallett as Lorne

Even though I watched it faithfully, I was always somewhat frustrated by the TV series Angel. The show had some very cool ideas at the core of it — I especially liked the notion that Los Angeles is full of supernatural beings who go about their business right under the noses of we oblivious humans — but it never really seemed to find its footing, even after five seasons on the air. Sometimes it was like a detective series with monsters instead of criminals, sometimes a variant of Highlander in its focus on immortal angst, sometimes a dark, apocalyptic fantasy about the fast-approaching end of the world, and sometimes it was a satire of all of the above. While Angel‘s parent series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, was also a mish-mash of different elements and story types, Buffy gelled into a coherent whole more often than not. By contrast, I never got a clear sense of what the spin-off was actually supposed to be. I kept tuning in, though, because I liked the characters, the thing that keeps me coming back to a lot of shows that really aren’t all that good (and keeps me away from some, arguably, that are; in the final analysis, a big reason why I never warmed to Ron Moore’s Galactica was the fact that I disliked his characters).

Anyhow, one of Angel‘s more memorable characters was a gent named Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, a.k.a. Lorne, a gentle-souled, green-skinned, telepathic demon who owned a karaoke bar and could psychically “read” others when they sang. My understanding is that he was originally intended as a one-episode plot device, but, like so many other secondary characters who go on to steal a show, Lorne proved popular enough that he was brought back for an encore, then became a semi-regular and finally a full cast member with the actor’s name — Andy Hallett — in the opening credits. Andy would appear as Lorne in 76 of Angel‘s 110 episodes.

I was shocked and saddened this morning to learn that Andy Hallett died on Sunday at the far-too-young age of 33. According to a story on NPR, Hallett’s been suffering from congestive heart failure for five years, basically ever since Angel wrapped production. Hallett’s entry on IMDB indicates he appeared in only three other projects, the last of which was a voiceover job in 2005. What a damn shame… even my grandfather, who died young of heart failure and has always kind of been my personal benchmark for these things, made it to 37.

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The Thousand-Yard Stare

There was another round of layoffs at work today, a big one. Looking for the positive aspects, it did take out a couple of people who’ve been thorns in my side, but also a few more friends, which really sucks. As before, I remain reasonably confident that my own job isn’t going anywhere any time soon. However, watching the slow parade of the unfortunate march one by one into the HR office and then back to their cubes to collect their personal effects with a blank-eyed escort hovering nearby… well, I can think of grimmer sights but I prefer not to. The worst was seeing a sweet, soft-spoken man in his fifties struggle to control his tears as he took down his Ghosts calendar and laid it carefully into the top of a packed bankers box. I didn’t speak to him, didn’t say goodbye, and I wish I had. I was oddly embarrassed, as if I personally had done something to him merely by not getting my own phone call from HR. I think I can imagine what he was thinking, though. At his age — not quite old, but a long way from the eager-eyed hipsters fresh out of college who swarm through our industry like goldfish in a pet store — he was probably imagining how he’s going to look in a blue smock with “Welcome to WalMart” printed on the chest.

Not quite as iconic an image as that famous portrait Dorothea Lange captured 73 years ago, but it haunts me just the same…

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Ten Movies I Want on DVD

Since writing about the Warner Archive DVD-on-demand service the other day, I’ve been thinking about which currently MIA movies I’d most like to own in the form of a shiny silver disc. A few of them are pretty obscure, a couple are somewhat less so (i.e., I’m willing to bet my readers have at least heard of them), and four of them are beloved classics that simply have no good reason to be unavailable, aside from intransigence and the nonsense that so often just seems to happen in Hollywood.

In no particular order:

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