Why aren't there any ghost dinosaurs?

As you may have gathered, I'm interested in sprituality and I've read more than my fair share of likeably nutty books about nature sprites and communicative trees. However, when it comes to Pets Have Souls Too, I must advise that it would be best shredded into hamster bedding.  

After reading some positive Amazon reviews, I thought this book looked interesting. So when I saw it in a charity shop, I snapped it up. This is one time where it might have paid to read the back cover more closely, for then I would have learned that author Jenny Smedley is a columnist for magazines such as Love It! Now, I don't want to be snobby about such publications... but I can't help it. Reading this book was essentially like reading a bumper issue of "spiritual pets" in a trashy magazine; all presented with absolutely no scepticism or questioning.

I'm sure some people might enjoy Jenny Smedley's conversational style of writing, but I found all the comments of "you know" and "don't get me wrong" etc made my brain hurt. It was like having a conversation about spirituality with your extremely suggestible next door neighbour over the garden fence. Many stories were rounded off with a "There, you see! That PROVES it!" footnote.

She does attempt to get a bit scientific by addressing sceptics' concerns, saying that they would argue that animals don't have souls because, "if you show an animal a reflection of itself in the mirror, it won't recognise what it's looking at." But, she explains, "people look in a mirror for two reasons – to admire themselves or to try and change the way they look... animals simply never consider how they look and they're not curious about it, so generally there's no point in them recognising themselves in a mirror. "

So, I says to Mabel, I says......

Well, that's that sorted then. For a self-proclaimed animal lover, you'd have thought she might have seen some of those youtube videos of puppies or kittens attempting to play with their reflections, or peeking behind the mirror to find the other animal. I may not be the most scientific type, but even I know that recognising your reflection is something that only happens at a certain stage of development – which is why babies and MOST animals can't do it. However, I don't think anyone is using this as an example of why infants don't have souls. Incidentally, as Jenny later points out, chimpanzees do pass the mirror test. With a quick google search, she would have discovered that bottlenose dolphins, orcas, elephants and magpies can also recognise themselves. (By the way, this isn't even the whole list – and I imagine there are many animals which have not yet been tested.)

The book is divided into chapters such as "spirit pets" (those which have died and return to comfort their owners) "guardian pets" (such as the dead horse who whinnied in order to warn his owners that the barn was on fire) and "pets that return" – the writer herself has a dog which she believes is the reincarnation of one of her former dogs.

Helpfully, the final chapter explains how to communicate with your own pet, presumably so they can miaow from beyond the grave to let you know the winning lottery numbers. (FYI, it boils down to relaxing and then asking your pet questions, such as "What is your favourite food?" in the hope that the answer will psychically pop into your head. Jenny points out that animals gaze at us intently, "almost willing us to understand them". This is true, although I'm pretty sure that the message your pooch is trying to convey is "Give me some of that delicious smelling grub," not "let's discuss some philosophy, old chap."

I am about 50% sceptical and 50% willing to go along with the ideas in this book – I see no reason to disbelieve stories of spiritual animals if we're willing to accept similar stories about human beings. I've always found it somewhat bizarre that people can happily believe that people "go to Heaven" but automatically assume that animals don't. So if this subject ever comes up in church, try them with this: If I love my cat, then either God loves her too, or I have a greater capacity for love than God does – which is impossible. See, it's simple. (Or as Jenny Smedley would say, THAT PROVES IT!)

And let's not forget the talking donkey featured in the Bible - Numbers 28, baby!

Some of the tales described here are genuinely sweet and moving. However, the dreadful writing style and occasional ridiculous story makes the book as a whole unintentionally hilarious.

For instance, one owner of a ghostly mutt mentioned "the dogs were never allowed upstairs in the bedrooms, but now she is in spirit she has no boundaries". (Well, good luck in keeping an apparition off the sofa.)

Jenny also describes the theory of "soul configuration" – that souls begin as a huge number of "sparks" – they may start as a million blades of grass, then as they gather experience, graduate to 2.000 tadpoles, working their way up to mammals (perhaps four sheep souls), before finally becoming one human. (Am I the only person who thinks this theory is kind of insulting to animals?) She also describes flocks of birds as having a "collective soul," meaning that they have "a fragment of a soul and need the others of its group to function as a whole". I'm fairly sure anyone who has loved a pet bird would dispute this idea. (And judging by what we now know of the intelligence of birds, it seems unlikely....)

She uses the collective soul to answer that age old question "whoever heard of a ghost ant or dinosaur?" Apparently because "an ant contains only a fraction of a soul, and therefore doesn't hang around after death, it's immediately absorbed back into the whole," and "the same would apply to early life forms such as dinosaurs". Why? It seems odd to me that the world should be awash with spectral dogs, cats and horses, while no spooky dinosaurs have ever appeared in Times Square.

This prejudice for pets is apparent again in her introduction to one anecdote: "When I got this following letter from Mimi about her tortoise, I was amazed. It just goes to show that just because an animal isn't fluffy and cuddly, that doesn't mean they don't have some soul inside." Well, that's a relief.

There are some genuinely interesting stories – we've all heard about pets who "know" when their beloved owner is coming home, but some stories can be explained by their super-sensitive hearing. Not so the story of Moxy the dog, who will only relax when her master is safely home – at his university digs 50 miles away. (As he ruefully points out, this made it impossible to stay out all night without his mum knowing.) Another dog reacted oddly at the exact time his human daddy was boarding a homebound plane.

But for every fascinating story, there is one which makes you groan – such as the man who was afraid of cats – but accepted one which he believed to be the reincarnation of his dog. He describes the way this cat would growl and spit at other felines – "It was really strange, and to this day Cilla still won't tolerate another cat near me." Protective reincarnated dog, or averagely feisty kitty?

In the "About the author" section, much is made of her TV career, with one description of Jenny being introduced to a pen of semi-wild foxes "and they gathered close around her, one fox even scented on Jenny's hair to welcome her to the pack". Now, the picture in my mind may not be accurate, but it is funny.

If you're looking for books on animal spirituality, a better choice might be When Elephants Weep by Jeffrey Masson and Susan McCarthy, or any of the animal-related Chicken Soup for the Soul books. If you do want to read this book, check your local Oxfam – it's where my copy is going.

Would jubileeve it?

"Our lovely young queen" as Paul McCartney once wrote in a school essay.

I've written before about the joyous realisation that Britain is secretly quite patriotic, contrary to our outward appearance of being a bit grumpy and cynical. And while this weekend's celebrations are an excuse for a four-day booze up, there has been a feeling of genuine pride and happiness about the Queen's jubilee.

Not many 86 year olds would willingly spend hours standing in the cold and rain with nothing to do but wave, but HRH does it all with her characteristic stoicism. I don't suppose she was too keen on the pop concert either, but she put on a brave face. She looked about as impressed as I was with Kylie (seriously! We know she sounds like a chipmunk, accentuating this by putting her on straight after Shirley Bassey was just cruel). And I'm afraid I am completely underwhelmed by Gary Barlow's famous contribution – it's tuneless and insipid and dull. (A bit like The Voice, a programme I was excited about until I'd watched the first episode and discovered it had just as many sob stories and image obsessions as the X factor. (Danny: "It's really hard to judge, because you can't see them....") I didn't watch it again until the final, which was won by a lovely girl whose vocals reminded me of a runaway bus, with her clinging tenuously to the tune with no idea where she was going to go next.)

I fear I am becoming as bitchy as Amanda Platell (a tall order, admittedly. But I think I could get there if you took away my chocolate supply and made me look at Kylie's face and listen to her say she's never had Botox). But I will point out to Mandy that Kate Middleton looked lovely and NOT showy-off in her red outfit, that the Royal group were beautifully co-ordinated and really, is there any doubt that they would have had all their wardrobe choices organised and approved well in advance? (Although I'm not entirely sure about the Queen's cream coat being paired with black shoes and handbag...) Does Platell seriously think that the Duchess just turned up in the first eye-catching scarlet outfit she found on her bedroom floor? Durrrr!

Red, white and blue. Perfect.

The crowd cheered and waved their little Union Jack flags for all they were worth. (Small rant here: My local shops ran out of bunting weeks ago. I'm not a supermarket manager, but I could have told you that it would sell out fast. Why can't these people stock-take properly? Get more in next time you imbeciles.)

Cliff sang Congratulations!, the BBC filled in time with inane chatter in the manner of breakfast time DJs, and so far I think we have had only one runaway horse (or "horse streaker" as he was dubbed). We may complain about the weather, but I bet all those in bearskins were heartily grateful for the lack of sun. As mayor Boris pointed out, it wouldn't have been a proper British occasion without a bit of rain.

All in all, it's great time to be British. You'd have to be particularly heartless not to have a little lump in your throat as the crowd sang as much of God save the Queen as anyone could remember, Charles called her Majesty "Mummy" and the spectacular fireworks lit up the London sky. Elizabeth II will be long remembered as one of the best monarchs Britain has ever had – which is why I am perplexed by the people who claim she "sits on her arse" all year round. Um, do you have ANY IDEA of her schedule? It's would make Beyoncé balk. (And Liz is about 55 years older.) Also bizarre is the idea that she's completely out of touch with the rest of the world; yes, she lives in a palace, but she travels more and speaks to more people than YOU will in a year. Who has the bigger world view?

Not only that, but 60 years on, she's still a style icon.

Three cheers, for the Queen, indeed. Hip hip hooray!

The forgotten Steve Martin movies...

Here's another of my reviews over at Movie Cultists.

One of my favourite Steve Martin movies – why has nobody else ever seen it? Makes me sad!

I heart cheesy horror movies

Subliminal messages from Hollywood. Yo, teenagers! Phones are so dangerous!
You'd be better off without them –  especially in the classroom!

I've been at it again – here's another movie review. Dontcha just love a really bad film once in a while? (I'm not counting Tremors or Arachnaphobia. They are awesome films.)

The movie Hollywood doesn't want you to see...

Well, sort of. It doesn't get much publicity....

"This isn't Sweet'n'low...."

If you want to know why Swimming with Sharks is my favourite Kevin Spacey film of all time, you can read about it here. Enjoy.

How I learned to stop worrying and love being ill (with nothing to do but watch TV)

You know those days when all you can do is sleep?

So, I've been a bit poorly this week. What I thought was an allergy to fake fur (making caveman costumes, of course!) morphed seamlessly into a stinker of a cold. Symptoms aside, I realised that being ill isn’t all bad. You spend most of the time asleep, occasionally summoning the strength to read a few pages of a trashy novel. People bring you drinks and snacks on little trays. All in all, it's not unlike a tropical beach holiday, but without the inconvenience of sunburn or sand in your unmentionables. (I realise that the parents among you will be gnashing your teeth at this, as you don't have the option of long, languorous illnesses. Never mind; when your kids are big enough you can train them in the ways of the helper-monkey. Feel better?)

I did spend about a year of my young life being plagued with a glandular fever type virus, which seemed a pain at the time (what with all the being ill, the snooty letters from the school, and the teachers' manic assertions that I'd "never catch up") but I see now it was a massive blessing in disguise. It's the reason I spent hours and hours of my childhood watching Fawlty Towers, and The Good Life, and Some Like it Hot (still my all-time favourite film) and other classics featuring  Margaret Rutherford and and John Le Mesieur. It's the reason why I'm the only person my age who has ever admitted to recognising Richard Wattis or Will Hay. 

It has also proved invaluable in honing my telephone manner

I also take particular satisfaction in the fact that I got out of loads of really pointless work. That's right, Mrs Bing, I never did get around to making that model of a medieval village. The one that you insisted was crucial to my development, my school career and my very soul. Ha ha. 

When you're 8, who cares if you miss lots of school? Everything is repeated a million times anyway – I visited Mountfitchet bloody castle three times in roughly as many years.  As long as you can read and write, you'll still be ahead of most of your classmates. Actually, you'll be ahead of some of the university graduates I've met. (I actually know a teacher who writes with freewheeling disregard for spelling and grammar. He is teaching your children. Makes you want to retch, doesn't it?)

I don't mean any disrespect to teachers – I know several, and they do an amazing job – is there anything more important than educating the next generation? Not that I can think of. They are somewhat held back by a ridiculous amount of red tape, and the necessity of lesson plans for all the hypothetical geniuses or simpletons who aren't in the class, but could be. According to this story, teachers are now discouraged from alerting children to their spelling mistakes. I actually thought this had been par for the course for years now, judging by the inability of most young adults to spell really simple words. If you were deliberately trying to sabotage kids’ chances of ever getting a decent job, you couldn't come up with a better plan.

The one advantage of being confined to your sick bed is that you can catch up on the TV you missed while you were doing all the activities that left your immune system a weak shadow of its former self. I recalled the trailers for The Undateables as looking potentially mean and exploitative, but had read several reviews of how sweet and touching it was. If you missed it, please check it out – three episodes following the romantic escapades of people looking for love, hampered by special needs, disfigurements, and disabilities. I'm not saying there weren't hilarious moments – Shaine telling  his shy and silent date "You’re very bubbly, I like that" with absolute sincerity was comic genius. The characters in the documentary were memorable, fascinating and... magical. If you only watch one episode, make it the second one – if you can watch Justin's search for love without your heart breaking just a little, you might actually be dead inside. I wish this film could be shown in schools to remind kids that the people with Asberger’s or a lopsided face have the same thoughts, wishes and dreams as everybody else, and a little empathy goes a long way. 

I wanted to see if there were any updates on The Undateables, so I started reading the website – no news so far but what I found even more refreshing was the number of heartfelt, warm messages of encouragement from the public. It seems that trolls had no place in the comments section here, and my faith in humanity was restored.

Watching Louis Theroux's latest offering, Extreme Love, was a similarly moving experience. Like the parents of those with Asberger’s and Down's syndrome shown in The Undateables, those carers of kids with autism are gracious paragons of patience, kindness and unconditional love. Likewise the families affected by dementia – the wives who had to see husbands cavorting with other women in the care home (because they had no idea they were already married), the husband and child of a woman in her forties who was visibly embarrassed that she had forgotten how to draw a simple clock face. Apart from making me feel vaguely guilty that I don't work in some kind of worthy avenue such as this, the whole programme was a testament to the love that defies circumstances, and it reminded me why Louis is such a great interviewer – he will happily roll up his sleeves and get involved. It’s much easier when you get to go home after a day.

I'm so hungry I could eat a book

So I’m a little late to the party (ok, about 3 and a half years late) but I finally got round to reading The Hunger Games; I then lasted approximately 15 hours before I had to see the film too. (I have this thing, y'see, where I always have to read the book first. It’s movie OCD.)  

Even the title makes me think of food.

For those not in the know (people living under a rock / my parents) The Hunger Games is set in a dystopian future in which “Capitol” rules over the 12 unfortunate districts which are the remains of what was once known as the USA.

Citizens are controlled with a shortage of food and rebellion is strongly discouraged. Just in case anyone’s getting any ideas, they are kept in a culture of fear by the annual hunger games; 2 teenagers from each district are sent to battle to the death, gladiator style. The last survivor wins (duh), and the whole thing is televised. So it's like Big Brother / I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, but with instant death instead of the slow demise of appearing at G.A.Y and miming. It's also kind of like the classic Arnie / Stephen King combo Running Man. (It’s one of my faves and I mentioned it here.)

The internet has been ablaze with accusations of plagiarism because of the similarities between Suzanne Collin's Hunger Games and Koushon Takami's Battle Royale, published almost a decade earlier. (I haven't yet read this but comparing plots on Wikipedia, yes, it's the same book.) Like Stephanie Meyer claiming that she never read The Vampire Diaries or The Sookie Stackhouse / True Blood novels despite the striking similarities to our beloved Twilight stories, Suzanne Collins says she had never heard of the Japanese book. This may stretch credibility, but isn’t impossible. The idea of a televised battle to the death isn't the hardest idea to come up with, and the Big Brother-style spying as victims are picked off is almost becoming passé. With films like Kickass proving popular, it's logical that murderous kids will hold a particular fascination.

So, the book: read it. It won’t give you lines of epic beauty that you will want to write in a notebook because they’re so poetic and lovely, but it will keep you reading. I chomped this down in a day. The film? It’s better in some ways, inadequate in others. Jennifer Lawrence is spot on as Katniss – she’s believable as a hunter, protector and quick-thinking adversary. There have been complaints that she is "chubby" which is nonsensical – she does have round cheekbones which suggest she would still look like a bonny wee lass even if she was skeletal, but she is clearly fit and healthy. Bratty teenagers have been whining "But the whole point is that she's hungry – she would be thinner." Yes, the districts are starving, so I WILL NOT REST until I can source hundreds of anorexic and emaciated actors. I'm talking method, people! 

Here's the gigantic heifer you've heard so much about

Oddly, nobody makes any complaints about the boys being muscular or the general, adult population being normal-sized. The districts aren't starving anyway – there are bakeries and butchers, and others, such as Katniss and her best buddy Gale, go hunting to feed their families. If the Hunger Games participants were malnourished, the show would be over in a day, and where is the fun in that?

The rest of the casting is INSPIRED. Stanley Tucci is flawless as the game show host who conceals a kind heart under TV patter and bouffant hairstyles. Elizabeth Banks brings the vacuously selfish host Effie to vibrant life, and Woody Harrelson provides mentor Haymitch with more character and authenticity than the book would allow. I wasn’t sure about Josh Hutcherson as Peeta, (I had imagined someone more solid and phlegmatic, not the love child of Alex Winter and Alan Tudyk) but he grew on me as the film went on.

The trailer is probably better than the film in terms of swift storytelling; it also features Liam Hemsworth heavily although he gets barely 5 minutes of screentime in the film. I haven’t yet read the 2 sequels in the book franchise but I am guessing that they didn’t cast the hottie for a bit part.

Visually, the movie has a lot of fun with the Capitol folk – it reminded me of  Dangerous Liaisons or Amadeus; these are hedonistic, carefree people. When Lenny Kravitz appeared as the kind and protective Cinna, my first thought was "OF COURSE!" – he fits the bill perfectly. Imagine my astonishment when I read that his casting, and that of Amandla Stenberg as little Rue, was considered controversial because they’re black. You can read more about this at http://hungergamestweets.tumblr.com/, in which stupid people humiliate themselves by tweeting their surprise and disgust that "all the good characters are black". Much hilarity ensues when it's pointed out that Rue is actually described in the book as having dark brown skin, so IN YOUR FACE, suckas! But, wait... if Suzanne Collins had omitted that one little line of physical description, would Rue default to white anyway, leaving the casting director without a leg to stand on? Really????

Are we saying she's not CUTE enough?!

I've long believed that racism in movies will only be overcome if actors from all ethnicities are cast, with no changes to the script. If it doesn’t matter to the plot what race someone is, let's push the boat out and make them non-white! This film did exactly this and has been pilloried for it. In 20freaking12.This is slightly more depressing than a TV show about children killing each other.

(Because really, who are we kidding? If the Hunger Games existed, we’d totally watch it. The fact that Jerry Springer and Jeremy Kyle have TV shows is rock solid proof of that.)

Impeccable casting aside, the film does suffer a couple of flaws. There are small ones, such as the annoyingly uncommunicative flashbacks of Peeta giving Katniss burnt bread – if you've read the books, you'll know what's coming; if you haven’t, you may wonder what incredibly profound part of the story is being imparted. Also – I'm sorry, art director, but when you burn bread, it doesn’t leave half the loaf pale and the other half an incinerated lump of coal, with a neat line down the middle. I know you're trying to make sure we can see it's bread, but... that looked really, really stupid.

I thought director Gary Ross also blundered at the moment when Prim Everdeen is picked in the lottery of death. The book convincingly describes the paralysing shock that delays Katniss’s reaction, but by focusing instead on Prim, the long pause implies a good 60 seconds of thinking "Damn, my little sister got called. I wonder if I should volunteer to take her place, maybe? I guess I should. Ok – WAIT! I VOLUNTEER!" If we could have seen a shot of Katniss looking stunned, it might have helped convey the instant and uncompromising nature of her protectiveness towards her sister.

And one last niggle: I know it's a law that horror films have to feature dark nights because it's scarier than broad daylight, but in this case of the grand finale, it was hard to see what the hell was happening. Besides, certain engineered horrors are more hair-raising if you can actually see them clearly. 

How did this picture of a topless Lenny Kravitz get here? That has nothing to do with the film!

On the whole, the film covered all the bases and I look forward to reading and watching more. Not everyone was as enthusiastic; The Daily Mail proffered an article from a moron who was trying to jump on the Samantha Brick bandwagon by writing things so stupid that people would have no choice but to publicly ridicule her.

With the headline "Why I feel I'm a bad mother for taking my girls to The Hunger Games." Shona Sibary went on to explain why she actually is a pretty bad mother. She took her two daughters, aged 11 and 13, to see this film – apparently nothing in the "children battle each other to the death" description tipped her off that it may not be ideal viewing for a child who cries when somebody steps on a ladybird. (Ms Sibary worries about the film leaving her children with lasting emotional scars, it doesn’t occur to her than any of their classmates might read newspapers.)

Just like Jan Moir's take on New Moon she mixes in untruths with garbled hearsay. Firstly, it's not “targeted quite deliberately at young children," it's clearly aimed at teenagers. (There are clues to look out for; films aimed at young children often feature talking animals and they don’t tend to be rated 12A.)

Nor is it "dressed up as wholesome, family entertainment". Sibary opines "The first half-an-hour of the film lulls you into a false sense of security that this is nothing more than a skewed take on our modern-day obsession with televised, X Factor-style elimination games. But then the grotesque twist becomes apparent." What, the grotesque twist being the children fighting to the death? Like you saw in the trailer? That twist? 

I thought it was going to be all bunnies and talking deer!

She seems to have seen a different film from the one I saw; "At one point a young girl’s neck is ruthlessly snapped." (Ok, I don’t remember that at all, but maybe I wasn't paying attention.) "At another, a child has a spear skewered through her stomach." Yes, but you don’t actually see that. It's all done very carefully to stick to the 12A rating; you see a spear sticking out of a bloody torso. It’s no more gruesome than anything you’d see in one of those Sunday afternoon John Wayne films that we encourage kids to watch because they’re classics.

She goes on: "But perhaps even more gruelling is the gradual awareness that dawns on you that this is not a story about good overcoming evil. It’s about innocent children being forced to turn on each other and – against any received moral or human code – fight for themselves till the end. Like any decent parent, this is not a message I’m keen to expose my daughters to."

Wha...? Perhaps Sibary is not one for subtle moral messages in films. Did she miss Katniss volunteering her life in exchange for her sister’s? Or the part where she befriends one of the children she is meant to be fighting against? (This is partly because Rue reminds her of Prim, and partly because Katniss isn’t a mindless killer – even when her life depends on it.)

Actually, a strong theme in the film is that even in the arena, Katniss and Peeta are determined not to sink to the Capitol’s level – they must retain their integrity if they are to remain “themselves”. Shona Sibary, try reading Man's Search For Meaning (Victor Krankl) if this concept is something you've never heard of. This film is deeper than you think.