The end of time, part two: Geronimo!

NERD ALERT, part two. With spoilers.

This is what we had to look forward to going into “The End Of Time, part two,” the conclusion of David Tennant’s swan song as the Tenth Doctor in Doctor Who last night (airing today in America):

I tell you what, for a long time as I was watching this episode, as it swelling and building on it’s action and it’s emotional cadences, I was sure that I was going to walk away from it crying. Maybe just a manly tear or two, maybe just a bad case of the “watery eyes,” but I had that feeling. And in the end, no, I didn’t cry. But it was worse.

This episode broke my heart.

The plot so far: The Doctor’s mortal enemy The Master has come to Earth, freshly resurrected, but it’s gone wrong. He’s slowly wasting away and meets the Doctor who’s not only reeling from the prophecy that he’s soon to die, the victim of someone who will “knock four times,” but that “something is returning,” and said return will herald the end of time itself. The Master gets his hands on an alien medical device and writes his template onto all of humanity, turning the Doctor’s favorites, the human race, into the Master race.

Meanwhile, the Time Lords, still trapped within the confines of the Time War may have just found their way out…

And of course, there was some glorious references to Star Wars there, ranging from escaping from the Death Star to the Mos Eisley cantina, sort of.

At this point in the revamped show’s history, head writer Russell T. Davies has essentially become marmite. People either love him or they absolutely despise him. And, to be fair, it’s easy to want to see him go, especially with Steven Moffat waiting in the wings, but I think a lot of the criticism is massively unfair. If you love the show now, it should be hard to forget that it all goes back to RTD’s influence. And it should be hard to praise Davies as a massively effective writer, perfect to taking the show to massive crowd-pleasing heights all the while creating water cooler moments and turning potential weaknesses or set backs – Billie Piper leaving the show, or the actor playing Donna’s dad passing away – into victories, making them look like brilliant things planned out all along.

Plus, and this is just a personal thing, you have to love the technobabble that RTD comes up with, especially when it comes to the Time War: The Nightmare Child, the Shadow Proclamation, the Medusa Cascade, the Horde of Travesties, and the Could Have Been King with his army of Meanwhiles and Neverwheres. It’s ridiculous but it’s just glorious sci fi word puff.

But one of RTD’s many strengths in his run on Doctor Who has been with words, not just the glossolalia of sci fi puff or fantasy technobabble, but the arcwords, things like “Torchwood” and “Bad Wolf,” the recurring way just talking can scare us or excite us. He’s practically programmed his audience to howl with joy whenever Tennant screams “Allons-y!” or to curl up with sadness whenever the Doctor again refrains with “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

And while a lot of people had – and rightfully so – a lot of complaints about last week’s episode, there was still something brilliant in it’s frantic chase to the end, this beautiful insane pace as these two men, former friends and now bitter enemies, tried to outrun each other and their own mortality.

And then the evil Timothy Dalton had to show up and start spitting all over the place.

And I have to pause here to toot my own horn for a moment. I totally saws the return of the Timelords coming (and perhaps it was hard not to?), though I assumed it would’ve been in last year’s mega-finale of near fan fiction proportions, “The Stolen Earth”/”Journey’s End.” I had assumed that hidden away there in the Medusa Cascade was the locked away Time War. And part of me was glad it wasn’t.

Mostly because I was dreading their return. I know this show, this revived edition from 2005 to now, and every time I dabble in the 40+ years of lore of the show prior to that, I just have to shudder. The embarrassment of those involved, I think. It’s everything that we mock about the BBC shows, particularly their sci fi: looks like it was all shot on video for pocket change, lots of guys in rubber masks and trash cans wheeling around while a bunch of overacting thespians with bad teeth start shouting at each other. And then there’s the Time Lords with their funny hats and silly robes.

I once read an interview with RTD where he prided himself on the fact that he was a long time hardcore fan of this show, since childhood, and that as showrunner, while he may play with certain elements and tweak things here and there within the show’s vast continuity, he had never contradicted the show, not once. And to his credit, I’ve never heard that he has. And I think, based on the things I’ve seen with the Time Lords in the past, that he’s been true to that in this incarnation of them. Here, with the exception of the woman whom I think is clearly painted as the Doctor’s mother, they’re painted as villains, insane dictators of space and time, willing to cleanse and sanction the universe at their whim, and that seems pretty accurate to who and what they’ve always been.

Plus, I think Doctor Who works wonderfully with that nice little bit of pulp roots there, the lone survivor of an ancient and once noble race, lonely as he wanders the universe, seeing everything there is to see and and helping out where he can. It’s a nice bit of dress up for a show about an adrenaline junkie crossed with your classic British pacifist hero who just happens to have a device that punches holes in the universe.

Speaking of which, I was fascinated that a significant aspect of this episode was trying to tempt the character to take up arms. Though, for all the moral high ground that RTD’s Tenth Doctor has taken up over the years, its’ been a shaky, topsy turvy high ground. Sure, he wouldn’t shoot a man in revenge for killing his daughter, but there was the man who offered “no second chances” to the Sycorax leader above London all those years ago in that first X-mas special.

Two other items of tooting my own horn: The sound of the drums in the Master’s head? I totally called that being something involving the Time Lords and their return. Probably blatantly obvious, but still. And I always unfortunately worried that Wilf would be the man who knocked four times. And it was mostly confirmed last week when he became the only person (still living)(and a “he”) that the Doctor had previously told of the prophecy.

And it’d be criminal not to mention Bernard Cribbins as Wilf in this episode. The cafe scene last week was merely prologue to the vulnerability and sweetness he displays here. This wonderful character actor doesn’t just deserves to be awarded for his part in this episode, he deserves to be knighted.

But from that, I think we got a delicious bit of anger from Tennant’s Doctor. All the good he’s done, all the joy he’s caused within his time in the universe, of course he’d be angry that it has to stop, and stop because some silly old man goes and gets himself locked up with a nuclear device, even if he was saving the life of some poor technician. Though his anger is fleeting, it’s natural and perfectly within the character, I think. A year ago in a brilliant regeneration tease, he decided that he didn’t want to die, and he feels the same way still.

Plus, it nicely echoes Christopher Eccleston’s Ninth Doctor transforming into the Tenth. Both men absorbed too much bad radiation of some kind and watched as their cells slowly began to break down and their regeneration energy started to build up. A particularly nice echo also when you consider that I, like so many, was devastated when Eccleston left the part. I figured, “I’ll give this Tennant chap an episode or two, but I’ll probably tune out on the wanker then.”

And somewhere along the journey, David Tennant became my Doctor.

David Tennant with the newly knighted Patrick Stewart in Hamlet.

And I’m glad that my Doctor got his just rewards, a final look at his friends through the eyes he was soon to leave behind. Goodbye, Sarah Jane and bratty son. Goodbye, Captain Jack, who know gets to work his naughty magic on Alonso Frame, replacing dead Ianto after the events of “Children Of Earth.” Goodbye, Mickey Smith and Martha Jones, the new Smith and Jones. Goodbye, Journal Of Impossible Things. Goodbye, Rose.

I knew pretty much everyone was coming back for some filming, except I was under the impression that Freema Agyeman wouldn’t be among them, busy with the British version of Law & Order. And it would’ve been understandable if she didn’t make the return trip, especially when you consider how her character got shit on before she left. First, she’s stranded for an episode in a mud pit with a bunch of fish aliens who can’t speak English. Then she’s berated for the whole Osterhagen thing. And then, finally, she’s stranded with Ricky Mickey. Oh well. Martha, you were still my favorite companion.

And I liked that last scene, well, the scene before the last scene, the goodbye to Rose quite a bit, more than I thought I would. I never disliked Rose, but I didn’t think she was as great as were lead to believe she was all this time. I think certainly she was just a nice chav girl who was in the right place in the right time, and a much needed bit of common sense for the Doctor on occasions. At least for Tennant’s Doctor anyway, since she was always the daughter/audience proxy archetype for Eccleston’s Doctor.

But here again, the two characters had a lovely dichotomy. For him, this will be the last time he ever sees her, and while she doesn’t realize it, this is the first time she’s met him, there in the snow on New Year’s eve. The same as the always recurring arc word “Bad Wolf,” which for Rose, always meant something good, but for the Doctor, it was only something bad.

And then there was the Ood in the snow again, singing the Doctor to his goodbye, well, at least his goodbye to this incarnation. To the regeneration that we’ve been waiting for… for over a year now? This song must end, but it’ll start up again with new instruments and new voices. But the music endures and continues and hopefully only gets better.

And those brilliant last words. We don’t want you to go either, David Tennant. But everything ends. The day before the episode aired, I emailed a friend a bevy of linked related to this episode – preview scenes, reviews, those bingo cards for the finale – and then a little later, I realized I had gone a bit nuts there. I emailed her back to apologize and she said, “Don’t worry. It’s understandable. It’s the end of the era and there’s no better time to go crazy.” Quite right too.

“We’re not in the business of being nostalgic, we’re making nostalgia for the future, new monsters, new friends,” said the brilliant Steven Moffat as he gets ready to take over the show (well, more than gets ready to since they’re probably finished filming the next season by now). Everything Moffat touches tends to turn to brilliance, from Coupling to Press Gang to all of his previous Doctor Who episodes, particularly “Blink” and “Silence In The Library”/”Forest Of The Dead,” and of course “Girl In The Fireplace,” to upcoming Spielberg movie version of Tintin.

Nothing filled me with more confidence than when Moffat told Comicon last year: “Doctor Who is at its best when it’s brand new and you’ve always got to remember that there’s a new bunch of eight-year-olds watching every year and it has to be original – it has to belong to them.”

Well, like I said, first Eccleston was my Doctor, and then, despite my intentions, David Tennant became my Doctor and the show felt it belonged to me. Personally and selfishly, I hope to retain that sense of ownership when Matt Smith’s Doctor takes over, even if he does look like a strange little boy, which may just be perfect for this character.

from here.

I know that the Daleks show up next season, but hopefully there appearance is a short one. I’m a bit Daleked out, personally. Other than that, with Davies raising the bar high on threats faced – the end of reality itself in “Journey’s End” and the eponymous end of time – I’m hoping Moffat will respond with quieter, more intimate bits of dread. I both like watching this show gripping my armchair and cheering along with it and watching it from behind my couch.

Oh, and as I finally wrap this up, here’s a bit of geek-ish warning. Just as we obsess over shows like Lost and Mad Men here at Counterforce, it’s a new year and a new era, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I’ll probably be coming at you with quite a bit of Doctor Who when the new series starts in the spring. Hope you’re along for the ride…

And then there’s how it ended, not with an ending, but with a beginning, with something new making contact in 2010:

The Year We Make Contact.

It’s finally here, people. 2010. Pronounced “Twenty Ten.”

I remember first watching the movie version of 2010, the sequel to Arthur C. Clarke/Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, when I was a kid and thinking about how far off that was, how ridiculously deep into the future that was. Oh, science fiction. How you captured and enraptured my stupid little brain even back then. How you can give me such enticing glimpses of a far off tomorrow (not that 2010, the movie, was all that enticing), and through it all, I don’t stop to actually notice how similar tomorrow is to today.

It really hits me now, especially, since tomorrow is now today.

This is our science fictional future? I want more. And who knows, maybe more is right around the corner. This is “the year we make contact,” after all. Right? And if it’s not, then why can’t it be? Why can’t it be the year that we make contact?

And I think we will somewhere in the vicinity of the next 365 days. We’ve been hovering around a vein, I think, us humans, us earthlings, and I think we’ll tap into it in some way. Maybe not with aliens, but with something. With science. With space. Maybe, and this is more importantly, maybe with something within ourselves, something beautiful and precious. Or maybe something deep and dark.

from here.

Sitting here and reading this right now, you, maybe you’ll be the one who makes contact with something. The next act of your journey. Maybe one of our readers will win the lottery or finish their novel or self portrait or get their blog-to-book deal that they’ve desperately longed for. Maybe we will, but who knows, it might be you. Maybe this is the year you find inspiration, or inspire someone else to greatness. Maybe we’ll meet the love of our life. Or, more importantly, the love of our life will meet us.

from here.

But “The Year We Make Contact” shouldn’t be about “maybe this” or “maybe that.” It’s not just about new understandings and expanding. It’s about conquering. When you’re done reading this blog, quietly minimize the internet, and go do. Go be. Become something.

Two things, and stay with me just another few paragraphs even though I know you’re hungover, but two more things and then I’ll finish my say and let you have yours. One is slightly raunchy: I have this aunt, old as shit and half crazy, I’m pretty sure, but she’s always had this ridiculous saying. She’d always say, “At some point you have to stop jacking off and start coming.” A dirty little bit of wisdom, that.

And secondly, and lastly, like the song says, this will be our year. And it took a long time to come. Make it worth it. Earn it. Go make contact.

The year in pictures, part one.

…but not for much longer.

Midnight In Dostoevsky” by Don DeLillo, who has a new novel in 2010!

Plotting the ruination of Radiohead?

Lady Gaga and the Queen.

This is easily the film I’m most looking forward to next year.

2009 was the year to set aside childish things. Namely, the last eight years.

Putin to retire soon? “Don’t hold your breath,” he says.

“Like taking candy from someone who seriously likes candy.”

There’s always time in time and space to stop and smell the flowers.

from here.

There’s water on the moon!

What this decade has been lacking thus far: Authenticity.

Who’s your favorite Beatle?

The end of love, part one.

Person of the year?

Is this what the culture’s come to?

You know what, don’t answer that.

Going where others have gone before.

Iran pisses on itself just a little more.

“You better be in fear.”

If you are neighbors with Sarah Palin, I guess that puts you within visual range of Russia?

New terror in the skies?

First rap is dead, then love (part two)?

Serious contender for best picture of the year, right?

Both Winston Churchill and Pynchon love inherent vices.

LUV U, LILY.

MISS U, SWAYZE.

New Justice.

Hacker of the year?

Just think about all the sex you’ve had in the past year (or should have been having.)

MISS U, Batman (though not for much longer).

MISS/LUV U, Juliet.

Tiger Woods killed Brittany Murphy!

“Memes” and “Contraflow.”

I saw her again last night.”

Birds successfully begin phase one of their attack on humanity.

In the year full of recurring royalty and ending love affairs, of course the king of pop songs would die. Makes me want to scream.

Was 2009 the year of sci fi?

The end of love, part three.

To be continued!

(1000)(-493) Days of blogging.

500  posts. Plus 2. Then 5 more.  That’s exciting. Shocking, too. Exciting and shocking. Reminds me of my last few marriages.

More random notes:

One: Christmas Eve, all by myself. Plenty of drink and food and a lot of DVDs piling up. And sleeping dogs. I was planning on watching an old movie I enjoyed entitled A Midwinter’s Tale, but I ended up watching it last week instead out of impatience…

from here.

It’s an old comedy from 1995, directed by Kenneth Branagh, going back to his bread and butter, of course: the bard.

It’s the story of a group of poor has been and would be and never was actors putting on a Christmas play in a drafty old church in a small English village. The play they pick, of course, is Hamlet, partially because it’s all the silly things one thinks of Shakespeare – men in tights yelling silly things at each other and then sword fighting – but also because it is the ultimate play, the ultimate endeavor of theatrical drama. And somewhere along the way they find themselves, some light within themselves that’s still burning bright. Of course.

It’s a minor film, but a likable one in my book. It’s 90s comedy and independent film making at it’s finest, also. Branagh is a capable director with a good eye for finding new angles within Shakespeare to reveal to an audience and the cast is tight and enjoyable. Especially Absolutely Fabulous‘ Julia Sawalha as the female lead.

Two: So, right, but I’ve already watched that. I’ve got some work to do but I want to squeeze a movie or two out of this night. I doubt It’s A Wonderful Life is on, though it should be, of course, and I’m actually a bit sick to death of X-mas already. In fact, you know what I’m in the mood for? A ghost story, or something like that. Something creepy. I wish there more adaptations (that were good) of Shirley Jackson’s novels. Sigh.

My choices are, and this is interesting, a South Korean horror film called A Tale Of Two Sisters or it’s American remake, The Uninvited? Granted, the traditional logic here is to watch the original first, especially when the remake is an American take on an Asian original, and I’ve heard good things about the South Korean film, but obviously I’ve never been excited enough to watch it before now.

Though, slight exception to the rule: I really did like Gore Verbinksi’s remake of The Ring. Not the most logical film, of course, but Verbinkski did a remarkable job at effectively capturing dread in the cinema, something that is a lot harder to do than one would think. Actually, previous only Roman Polanski and David Lynch have been truly good at it in my book.

Actually, you know what I really want to watch? The Others. That movie was brilliant.

Three: Speaking of the cinema and adaptations, a few posts ago I was talking about how I was worried that a remake of Home Alone would end with gun violence, and that actually got me thinking a bit…

I’m surprised it hasn’t made the leap to the movies yet, but could one effectively stage a version of Clifford The Big Red Dog series of kid’s books? Especially in this period of economic turmoil, could a family realistically afford to feed this furry monster? And, much like E.T., wouldn’t the government want to step in and take a look at this canine behemoth?

Maybe that’s the angle right there. In the first act, the family gets the puppy, and the little girl’s love causes it to grow to gargantuan sizes. Act two, the government shows up and steals the thing concurrently with the parents, already struggling to pay their bills and buy truckloads of dog food at a time, gets laid off.

Act three: I don’t know. Something to do with the family getting a reality TV show, a take on the Gosselins meets the Balloon boy and his family, and the giant dog escapes the government holding facility in Dreamland/Area 51 where they’re keeping him after peeing on a captured alien spaceship there, which looks like a fire hydrant to him. Jesus, that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? But it’d work. They’ll probably cast somebody like Breckin Meyer as the patriarch and Elizabeth Banks (who’s in the remake of A Tale Of Two Sisters, by the way) as the matriarch, and get somebody like Cuba Gooding, Jr. as the evil Army General who… well, you get the gist, right?

Four: Tomorrow, in the UK, they’re airing the penultimate episode of Doctor Who featuring David Tenant as the Doctor, “The End Of Time, part 1.”

How sad is it that this excites me more than most other Christmas-y things, right? I imagine that somewhere in the vicinity of 3 PM to 5 PM my time, I’ll be online, scouring to find where somebody will have no doubt uploaded it. Then, on New Year’s day, there’s “The End Of Time, part 2,” and after that, well, after that is when that weird looking fucker Matt Smith takes over. Well, Matt Smith and the lovely Karen Gillan too:

Five: I’d much rather watch a movie based on Clifford The Big Red Dog rather than Walter the Farting Dog. That poor creature. The covers of those books just make me sad.

Tell me that dog doesn’t look like he’s in incredible pain. Just try.

Six: This picture is just for you, Peanut St. Cosmo:

Seven: Hmm. Shit. How much chocolate is too much chocolate for a dog to eat? Fuck.

Eight: This picture is just for you, August Bravo, since I know that you’re in love with Morrissey:

from here.

Something to do with him working with Stella McCartney on a line of shoes with no leather in them. Speaking of living my life just fine without slaughtering animals…

Nine: In the last few weeks, two travesties of decency have been committed upon me: The first being that Burger King canceled their “Angry” line of burgers, which was really just pepper jack cheese, jalapenos, and some kind of spicy sauce on their regular burgers. But their angry tendercrisp chicken sandwich was like hot flavorful sex in my mouth and now… now it’s gone…

The following week I went into a McDonald’s and was informed that they cancelled the McSkillet burrito. What the shit? I calmly asked the employee working there. She has no clue and just shrugged. Also, she did not speak English. So the following day, I went to another McDonald’s and discovered the same thing. The McSkillet was gone. Sigh. It felt like a part of myself was gone with it.

It may be remarkably easy to give up fast food for the New Year, should I be foolish enough to even verbalize a resolution this year.

Ten: Also… well, also there’s nothing else. Nothing that can’t wait. Well, except for this:

And this:

Have a lovely Christmas Eve, regardless of your religion, your race, your sex, your situation, or how ugly you probably are. I hope you’re someplace safe and warm doing naughty things with someone you love, or care about, or at least know the first name of. And to all a good night!

(500)(+2) Days Of Blogging.

500  posts. Plus 2. That’s exciting. Shocking, too. Exciting and shocking. Reminds me of my last marriage.

Random notes:

1) Last night I had a dream I was watching a movie featuring Nic Cage as Benjamin Franklin and Jeff Goldblum as Albert Einstein and they were teaming up to fight vampires. It was called Science Dawn and I loved every moment of it.

When I woke up from said dream, I uttered one word: “Gangsta.”

2) Just caught up with the two latest episodes of Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse via Hulu. The already canceled show will come back in January to air it’s last three remaining episodes and I’m now at the point where I can actually call it a tragedy.

I’d say that 83% of the first season was not all that great. The last two aired episodes last year were decent and the DVD only finale, “Epitaph One” was amazing, but almost like a whole other show.  The first two episodes of this season? Not that great. But then somewhere around their third episode this year, the writers must’ve realized that they were dying and they finally just started making really good TV.

The most recent episode, “The Attic” was brilliant and fun. Directed by comic book artist John Cassady (who did a gorgeous and amazing run on the X-Men with Whedon) and aping Neal Stephenson in places, it was like a whole other perfect show compared to where it was last year. I’m really looking forward to the last three episodes but there’s something heartbreaking in the idea that this show will continue to get better and better right up to the moment it dies.

3) There’s a Nick Tosches book called In The Hand Of Dante that I’ve always wanted to read and was reminded of it by glancing through the last issue of Entertainment Weekly, where it’s listed as one of “the essentials” of Johnny Depp. The fact that anyone needs to know what Johnny Depp’s essential anything is, well, it’s hilarious to me. But I’m thankful for the reminder and decided to pop online to get a copy for myself and possibly one for someone else since apparently Christmas is coming up. We still have a few weeks, right?

Anyway, they’re out of stock now on the book, and this is other suggested selections listed, the books that customers who bought that Nick Tosches book also bought:

I got a small chuckle out of that list, since those are the other “essentials” listed by Capt. Jack Sparrow in the EW article.

4) The other day this woman I work with was telling me a story about an elderly lady who was almost the victim of a home invasion. I don’t remember all the details, forgive me, but the gist of the story was that a guy kept knocking on her door, she lived out in the middle of nowhere, and the 911 operator told her to “do whatever you have to do” to protect herself, so she shot the guy with a shotgun.

Regardless of the details of whatever happened, the story terrified me. And it make ponder: If they remade Home Alone now – and that’s, what, probably just a year or two away anyway, right? – I feel like in our current crazy political climate, with all those arma ferre nutjobs out there, little Kevin McCalister would probably not use his brains or ingenuity to stop those stupid robbers but rather just go and get his parents’ gun out of the shoebox in the upstairs closet and would or kill himself and the two of them and maybe the family dog as well. And that’s just awesome.

5) Speaking of death and decay and literary aspirations and creative miasma: Counterforce actually had 500 posts. Well, 502 now. Shocking. How have the Elder Gods of the Internet not kneecapped us yet? Maybe it’s because we run so fast.

Again, sorry about disappearing on you for a few weeks there. We took a mini-vaca, I guess. There was a podcast recorded somewhere in there that probably sounded horrible, sound quality-wise, and wasn’t that thrilling, I’d imagine, content-wise. As I remember, it was a lot of talk about Dawson’s Creek, hate sex, sex with redheads, music, facebook, and… well, the rest is a blur. Rightfully so, I imagine.

Anyway, 500 posts. Here’s to 500 more! Or, at least, a few more. I feel like our posting schedule will be sporadic throughout the rest of December but there’s been some talk about a movie list from the past decade and several other interesting things. We shall see. Until then…

TOMORROW (I believe) on COUNTERFORCE: I’ll probably talk about my favorite albums from the past year, which I’m discovering was possibly even more forgetable than I realized.

And MONDAY or TUESDAY (I believe) on COUNTERFORCE: a book review.

Until then, just ask yourself this:

X-Mas is right around the corner…

We’re back. Sorry we were gone so long. More soon, but let’s get this out of the way: Did you miss us?

“In the garden I was playing the tart/I kissed your lips and broke your heart.”

Today I’m going to spend Easter not so much with a celebration of the day, but of one of my favorite songs:

Until The End Of The World” by U2, off their brilliant album, Achtung Baby. I could write for quite a long time about this album, in fact, one of the handful of really seminal musical works to come out of the 90s, along with things like Exile In Guyville and probably even Pearl Jam’s Ten, but today I just want to talk about this song, just a little.

Haven’t seen you in quite a while
I was down the hold just passing time
Last time we met was a low-lit room
We were as close together as a bride and groom
We ate the food, we drank the wine
Everybody having a good time
Except you
You were talking about the end of the world

I took the money
I spiked your drink
You miss too much these days if you stop to think
You lead me on with those innocent eyes
You know I love the element of surprise
In the garden I was playing the tart
I kissed your lips and broke your heart
You…you were acting like it was
The end of the world
(Love…love…)

In my dream I was drowning my sorrows
But my sorrows, they learned to swim
Surrounding me, going down on me
Spilling over the brim
Waves of regret and waves of joy
I reached out for the one I tried to destroy
You…you said you’d wait
’til the end of the world

As with every song, it was three meanings: what you think it means, what it actually means, and what it means to you. What it means to me is not something I care to go into, other than to say that it’s a beautifully written song that always seems to find me when I’m in a bit of a dark place, and whether it makes me feel better or just sustains me, I don’t know. But what the song means to me personally isn’t nearly as important as what it means to you, and that could be anything.

from here.

What a lot of people think it means is something do with with romance, or rather, the end of one. Around the time of it’s writing, The Edge was going through a pretty bitter divorce (this is before he married the band’s touring belly dancer).

But what the song actually is is a dialogue between Jesus and Judas Iscariot, taking place in the afterlife, talking about betrayal and sorrow. The song was written before the album for Wim Wenders’ Until The End Of The World, though it fits in perfectly with the darker themes and feel of the album. The band is good friends with Wenders, collaborating with him quite a few times in throughout their career. Wenders specifically asked the band to write a song for the album, something along the lines of the same theme within the song, for the very interesting soundtrack to the film, which is set in late 1999. Wenders even asked the band (and every artist on the soundtrack) to write their song to sound like the kind of music they thought they’d be making at the end of the decade as the end of the world approached.

The actual bible and tenets of Christianity mean so very little to me, I can’t even begin to describe it to you, though I guess that’s not wholly accurate. While I respect that my beliefs aren’t necessarily right nor should be everyone’s, though I do consider myself a spiritual person, I find the bible to be about as useful to humanity as Aesop’s Fables. I’m fascinated by the stories from a literature sense, and from the way humanity has handed the keys to your minds over to the God meme rather than relying on themselves to create their own destinies… Ah, but that’s the kind of thing of which people can only disagree on, right?

Being Easter, I thought of this song last night, and how much I am fascinated by the story of Jesus’ end, but not in the torture porn way of something like The Passion Of The Christ, or the sacrificing for the sins of humanity, or any of that nonsense, though Scorsese’s The Last Temptation Of Christ is a beautiful and amazing film and if you’ve never had the privilege to see it, you should. And if you consider yourself a devout believer, then you should definitely see it.

Ah, but Easter, and Jesus, and his friend Judas… The story goes something like this: After supper with his friends, Jesus and his followers are greeted by some Roman soldiers in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus, the messiah and agitator, is identified to the troops by Judas, who gives the man from Nazareth a kiss on the lips. For his trouble, Judas is paid 30 pieces of silver, and Jesus is hauled off to… well, we all know where his story ends. But the following day, Judas, driven mad by the guilt and remorse of what he’s done, hangs himself from a tree not far from Golgotha, where Christ as crucified. By sundown, both men are dead.

All though out our history since that moment, or rather, that story, the character of Judas has been violently vilified. In fact, the only person probably more disgusting to us than him is Hitler, but that’s probably because we have proof that Hitler was real, never mind that the philosophical questions of Judas doesn’t quite add up to satisfactory answers (if Jesus could foresee the betrayal and allowed it to happen, then is not Judas the instrument of our so called salvation?)(Borges’ take on this, “Three Versions Of Judas,” is a very interesting read), nor do some of the historical details (like that the crucifixion couldn’t have been on a Friday, good or not), but what matters is the story, the way the fiction makes us feel.

And that’s one of the reasons I love the interpretation of the story in the U2 song. The betrayal isn’t just about money or a difference of philosophy or wanting to tackle somone’s cult of personality. It’s much more personal than that, almost a romantic betrayal. It’s a betrayal of love, be it homosexual or homosocial. It’s something everyone can relate to, either as the betrayed, or in that dark place where you betray someone you love, kissing them on the lips and then breaking their heart. In so many ways, that is the end of the world.

Baby, I’d be lost without you.

Counterforce would like to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day.

Or a happy Single Awareness Day. Or a happy Hallmark card, candy, and flowers and edible undies and sex toys day. Whatever your style is there, really.

Whether it’s just you alone with some music or stranded on a desert island with someone special…

We hope you have a very lovely and incredible day.

Just know that you’ll be in our thoughts. And we do mean sexually.

The winter of our discontent…

…continues.

Thanks a lot, Punxsutawney Phil. You son of a bitch.

This tradition of letting ground dwelling vermin predict our weather derives from the Christian holiday of Candlemas, otherwise known as the feast of the “Purification of the Virgin.” Which is just… fantastic. Sounds like something you do with knives and a goat and maybe also a volcano. Good luck with that, guys.