No pepperoni and cheese—that’s the biggest problem with the
next generation of consoles from Sony and Microsoft.
Sublime graphics and rich internet personas might find the
PS4 and Xbox One snatched from store shelves, but there’s an age-old feature missing,
one that reaches back to their ancestral origins.
Split-Screen Gaming.
Sony and Microsoft have tried to bridge the divide with
network gameplay, but a camera and sound system—no matter how sophisticated or
powerful—is no match for the lingo of body language.
Some of my fondest childhood memories involve staying home with a group of friends and playing an outdated version of Gran Turismo on the original PlayStation. We made a day out of it, racing each other until the buttons were imprinted on our fingers. Parents didn’t mind because the laughter and enthusiasm of children would fill the halls, and those are their favourite sounds in the whole world.
The only problem is there are few games that support split-screen
functionality. Need for Speed and Medal of Honor—two of the biggest gaming franchises—no longer support a ‘Player 2’ mode. There
is no 007 GoldenEye for today’s generation and each game developer cites screen
real-estate as the reason why.
But that’s no longer a problem. New technology from TV
companies now make it possible for two players to watch their own game action
on one full screen. They simply put on a pair of special glasses and they can
verse their friend-turn-foe without having to sacrifice any screen space.
And they can do this sitting right next to each other. The
good old way.
Sony introduced the technology with their PlayStation
television, but the real kudos goes to LG for integrating the tech into ordinary
TVs.
Thanks to this stroke of technological brilliance gaming can
be social again. Friends can gather around a television and chant as though
they’re at the Colosseum and two gladiators are about to give it their all. There
will be trash-talk and laughter and hysterics. Memories will be born.
The winner will gloat and the loser will endure ridicule until
a rematch takes place. But until then they will break bread.
And if there's no bread they can always settle for a pepperoni and cheese pizza.
Steve Jobs, the man who made electronics cool and reformed several industries along the way, has left an incredible
legacy. Following his death two movie studios have been aggressively working
on biopics, of which the first is to be released next month (August). Surely
for a character as prolific as Jobs, you’d expect three time Oscar winner Daniel
Day Lewis to don the black skivvy, or someone with the gravitas
thereof.
But they picked Ashton Kutcher, of the pot-centric That 70s Show. It's forgivable to reject the notion Kutcher could deliver any justice to Jobs, but in the wake of the latest Jobs trailer, we've compiled a few reasons why we believe he might be able to pull the feat off.
1. Kutcher is
active in many industries, including the technology sector. Jobs just
didn’t make computers, he changed industries. By biographer Walter Isaacson’s count,
Jobs “revolutionised six industries: personal computer, animated movies, music,
phones, tablet computing, and digital publishing.”
Ashton Kutcher has his hands in almost as many industries. He started off as a
model, found fame as an actor and has produced several television shows, most
notably Beauty and a Geek USA and Punk’d.
Beyond his Hollywood exploits, he has invested in several tech companies, such
as Skype and 4Square. Additionally he was the first user on Twitter to amass
more than a million followers; an indication he recognises the power technology
plays in everyday communication.
Also on Kutcher’s resume is a co-founder credit for starting up the human
rights organisation “THORN: Digital Defenders of Children.” The organisation
focuses on the role technology plays in exploitation crimes, such as paedophilic sex.
2. A 35 year old Ashton Kutcher looks a lot like Steve Jobs. Perhaps it is most
evident in this photo of Ashton juxtaposed alongside one of Jobs.
You may be thinking "Yeah, but he'd look nothing like an old Steve Jobs." Well think again.
3. Ashton
actually understands the enigma that is Steve Jobs. Most people would
consider a tech Titan like Jobs to be a man of science alone, but that’s far
from the truth. Jobs took psychedelic drugs, was largely spiritual and often
turned to music as a form of expression. In fact, Jobs considered himself a man
of the humanities before a man of the sciences:
“I always thought of myself as a humanities person as a kid, but I liked
electronics,” Jobs said in an interview with biographer Isaacson.
“Then I read
something that one of my heroes, Edwin Land of Polaroid, said about the
importance of people who could stand at the intersection of humanities and
sciences, and I decided that’s what I wanted to do.”
If an actor fails to recognise how Jobs harmonised the Arts and the Sciences,
then they would’ve failed to capture the core of his essence. Fortunately
Kutcher is an artist drawn to technology. It doesn’t feel like he needs to
fabricate this harmony as much as bring it to the surface.
Kutcher took to Quora to explain his
motivations for wanting to portray Jobs. In his post, he says:
“It was a perfect convergence in my
craft and my interests. I've spent the last 5 years working with early stage
technology companies as an investor and advisor. Whenever you take on a role,
it's like a crash course in the subject matter of the film. So while
researching the role I was able to spend countless hours studying tech design,
product, and history.
“It also afforded me the opportunity to
meet with several of Steve's peers who happen to be icons of the tech world.
4.Not only does Ashton understand Jobs, but he respects him and his legacy. The
first reason Ashton lists in his Quora post is:
“I care. As I read the script I had a knot
in my stomach. I imagined actors playing the role and not connecting to the
love that went into some of the seemingly irrational decisions that Steve
sometimes made. If this film becomes an enduring memory, of a man I admire, I
wanted to ensure that it was portrayed by someone who cared about his legacy
and took the time to represent him in a way that people who were close to Steve
felt to be authentic.”
5. Even if he ends up in hospital, Kutcher is prepared to do Jobs justice. Recently Kutcher revealed he adopted Jobs' fruitarian diet only to end up in hospital two days before shooting began.
"First
of all, the fruitarian diet can lead to, like, some severe issues," Kutcher
told Mashable at the Sundance Film Festival. "I ended up in the hospital
like two days before we started shooting the movie. I was, like, doubled over
in pain.”
"My
pancreas levels were completely out of whack, which was really terrifying ...
considering everything."
Steve Jobs died of pancreatic cancer in 2011.
As it stands Kutcher is playing the underdog card. Let’s hope he uses the element
of surprise to his advantage and captivates audiences in the same way Jobs commanded
the attention of people all over the world. Jobs
will be released on August 29th, 2013 in Australia.
By Tony Ibrahim Like Farewell Blank Page on Facebook here
I fear younger generations won’t know who Roger Ebert is. In brief, Roger Ebert was one of the most prolific film critics of all time. Not only was he
the first film critic to win a Pulitzer Prize, he is also the only film critic
to grace the Hollywood Walk of Fame with his very own star.
A lot of Ebert’s charisma came from his pure love of
cinema. It was never about money or office politics. For him, there was an
underlying truth to each film that deserved to be shared. His job was to expose
it, no more and no less.
Unfortunately his career is lined with a sad poetry. In 2006,
after beating thyroid cancer and a growth on his salivary glands, doctors
discovered a cancerous growth in Ebert’s mouth. To operate on the tumour
surgeons had to remove a portion of his lower jaw. Complications in surgery
caused Ebert, the man who reached audiences through television and radio, to
lose his voice.
But he persevered. The
advent of the internet helped Ebert reach an even wider audience and he spoke
to them about a variety of topics. He was, by my assessment, incredibly intelligent
and enlightened. He never preached an agenda; rather, he sought debate on the
topics that matter. His essay I do not fear death remains forever etched on my mind as one of the most harrowingly
beautiful reads.
In it he describes Richard
Dawkins’ theory of memes, and today, on what would’ve been his 71st
birthday, I pay this cinephile tribute by echoing its sentiment. He articulates
his understanding below:
I am comforted by Richard
Dawkins’ theory of memes. Those are mental units: thoughts, ideas, gestures,
notions, songs, beliefs, rhymes, ideals, teachings, sayings, phrases, clichés
that move from mind to mind as genes move from body to body. After a lifetime
of writing, teaching, broadcasting and telling too many jokes, I will leave
behind more memes than many. They will all also eventually die, but so it goes.
Roger Ebert passed away on
April 4th, 2013. Most people will remember him for his love of film,
but I’ll remember and continue to revere his relentless pursuit of knowledge.
There are two types of people in this world: Apple fanatics
and Google loyalists. These are proud and vocal supporters of the latest craze
in electronics. In fact, if you’re ever feeling blue just jump online and
search any mobile thread. The insults between the two, naturally written in
MySpace prose, will make you laugh hard and long.
I myself am a Google man, but up until now, I’ve never known
why. It’s not like I had owned an iPhone before. I have an old MacBook and an iPod
Shuffle and I love them dearly. So why don’t I like the phone that changed
“everything?”
To find out I had to scour back many years, back when I
worked for an Australian telco. At the time Apple was launching their first gen
iPhone. Customers travelled long and far for a phone that was, more often than
not, out of stock. The lucky few who nabbed one acted as if they found the
Golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
They modelled their phone and boasted its feature set. But
back then, it couldn’t even send a picture message. Worse yet, a young iTunes
governed its functions like an African dictator.
When you asked an Apple enthusiast why they liked the
iPhone, they struggled to form sentences. Eventually they’d surmise “because
it’s an Apple product.”
It didn’t matter its rivals had a better camera, offered free GPS and Bluetooth connectivity. Apple made it and they piss gold.
Apple’s phenomenon grew to unprecedented proportions. Newer,
better iPhones hit the market and people camped outside their stores, praying
there’d be enough stock. Come sunrise, the rowdy line—which enveloped blocks—would
almost always spark a fight. In China they closed an Apple store for such a
reason.
Then there’s the ridiculous lengths poor telco staff have to
go through each time one of them is sold. “I’ll activate your phone for you. You want to transfer your contacts from a Samsung you say? Do
you use iTunes yet? Well forget it, now you will, for everything!”
It doesn’t end once that’s over because the ongoing support
is a bitch. “The
screen is cracked you say? You bought it five minutes ago? Well Apple will have to
swap it for a brand new one. Two weeks please.”
A career as a journalist has seen my relationship with Apple
change. The other day I picked one up and I played with it for hours as I tried
to shift my life onto it. The software is svelte. The design is, frankly, quite
impressive. I could even appreciate Apple’s closed ecosystem.
So why did I ever hate the iPhone?
Because it brought the worst out of people. Owning an iPhone
imparted a false sense of superiority on those who paid the extortionate
prices. And that, that is why I put down the iPhone.
Fortunately the impending Samsung assault is seeing the
badge tarnished and the resolve of fanatics weaken.
But now iOS 7 is coming out, which essentially is a theme
for the software, and the fanboys are shining their teeth as they vie for another
bite of the Apple.
By Tony Ibrahim Like Farewell Blank Page on Facebook here
I’m not a classically religious man. I don’t attend church
and I’m in constant flux when it comes to my religion’s dogma. But a man
without a church is a man wandering blind, and so I’ve found my own place of
religious piety and self-examination.
My sacred place is open every hour of every day, it is five
minutes from my place and it welcomes everyone.
It’s the local gym.
It too has an altar, and a musk in the air that appeases the
senses when it’s time to exercise discipline. There’s a Eucharist of sorts
brimmed with a liquid that nourishes the muscles and the uniformity of a choir playing
metallic instruments. Some even have their own preachers reciting scripture
from well-known authorities. Every person that attends believes they can be
better by achieving one goal at a time. Achieving their goals is heavenly, but
falling shy carries with it a hellish after-taste that lingers well beyond training
hours.
I don’t believe the gym is a substitute for religious
enlightenment or spirituality—that would be dense. Rather after a hard day’s
work in a world riddled by constant injustices and a pervading sense Karma is
procrastinating, I find comfort in knowing the mysteries of the universe can be
eluded by a single repetitive and predictable motion.
For instance: if I extend and retract my arm carrying
weights, the muscle will improve. By focusing solely on how heavy and how many times
I do this, I can control my body, and that’s probably the most control I can exercise
over my life’s wealth, romance and general well-being.
I dare explore what happens when you injure yourself at the
gym—often a common occurrence—but I’m handicapped by my own trauma. I can say
there’s a great reward in overcoming an injury.
Having such a wonderful haven from everyday reality is
priceless. I process my frustrations—anger, doubts, sexual—in a way that is
healthy and almost always makes me feel better. Unfortunately there’s an
alarming group of people breaking some of the gym’s cardinal rules. These are as
sacred as commandments and should be followed just as stringently. They are:
I shall not Facebook at the gym
I shall not use performance enhancing drugs
I shall not douse my face in makeup
I shall not leer at fellow gym patrons
I shall not judge the weak
I shall offer fellow patrons a spot
I shall return my weights
I shall use a towel
I shall diet
I shall push myself to my absolute limits
We do so many things for so many other people and
institutions; the gym is magical because it’s the one place we do things for ourselves.
So remember to do it right, to concentrate on what you’re doing—why you’re
doing it—and not the pretty blond with the clown make up. Throw on the weight and
focus only on the one thing that matters: you can do it.
Every time I walk out of a Superman movie I’m struck by the
same question: Why is Superman such a pussy? Brimmed with super-powers every child covets,
walking out of a Superman movie should be a matter of dodging dropped jaws.
I’m aware more jaws were dropped in the days of Christopher
Reeve, but over time modern storytellers failed to make this caped crusader
Super.
Super-Pussy
Take the most recent Superman flick, Bryan
Singer’s Superman Returns. The
titular character navigates a plane disintegrating in mid-air to prevent it
from crashing into a packed baseball stadium. The scene itself is a visual
spectacle and one of the rare occasions where the audience feels Superman’s
alien powers will fail him. In fact, even though it is half way through, it is
the film’s climactic scene.
Unfortunately this badass display of heroics is undermined
by Superman’s Ned Flanders bravado as the first thing he says after the feat
is:
Is everybody alright? I hope this doesn’t
turn you off flying. Statistically speaking, it’s still the safest way to
travel.
Really? Do you work for the RTA (DMV) or something? Was that
paid advertising? I’d rather he say nothing at all and fly away. The sound of
thunderous applause falling deaf on his superhuman ears as seeing his one
love—the one person who knows Superman isn’t always Super—shakes him.
Singer’s Superman, with his friend-zone persona, is
castrated. Why would any girl want to throw down a Ken Doll? And as for little
kids, they’re more likely to don the Dark Knight’s cape than red undies. I for
one certainly do.
The Crux
Most superheroes are emotionally crippled from a childhood
trauma. Batman, Robin and Spiderman’s parents are dead, while the Hulk and
Wolverine killed theirs. When you really sit down and think about it, Superheroes
aren’t mentally sound but we love them nonetheless because unlike us, they
don’t succumb to injustice. Their masked faces could be anyone—even you—and when they stand up for the little guy a piece of the audience does
too.
Most people don’t know what Superman’s trauma is because his backstory is often malnourished. Superman’s mother and father didn’t just die: his entire planet did. Moments before Krypton was destroyed, his father, Jor El, placed him in a space craft and punched in the coordinates for Earth. He is the last of his kind.
We might revel in the CGI effects afforded by his
superpowers, but for Superman, they’re a reminder of his solidarity. No human
could relate to his desolation, especially
when he’s all dandy. A helpless Superman, one who can’t change something in
spite of his laser powers, is one the audience could relate to.
Don’t misconstrue my plea to humanise Superman. I want him to bleed for some of the film, even
most of it. Then I’d like him to overcome it in all his glory.
A healthy dose of
Venom
A part of Superman should
resent humanity because they take companionship for granted. Couples fight,
thieves plunder, murderers slaughter and villains, well villains usher in the
apocalypse.
Who does he have? No one.
But I bet if he had another kryptonian companion, he’d take
them out for ice cream, check out Disneyland and watch Breaking Bad with them.
“That Walter White!” he’d say with his cheesy grin,
perplexed by conundrum of a good guy breaking bad for all the right reasons.
Is it you, God?
In the presence of these parasites and armed with his
inimitable skillset, the next dilemma confronting Superman is: Who am I to play God? Superman might have God’s muscle, but it’s his lack of philosophical
enlightenment that makes his character so darn juicy.
Every time Superman intervenes, he decides who lives and who dies. Consider what would happen if
people died because Superman intervened
with someone’s natural death.
Picture this: Some guy is walking in the rain when a clap of
thunder strikes a tree. The tree falls and crushes him in what God has decided
is his natural end.
Hollywood’s Superman would have him intervene and save him,
as his cape parts the heavens and bathes Metropolis in sunlight. But what if this guy
Superman saves walks off and pops two bullets into a six year old?
The power to spare a life is inevitably bogged down by
philosophical and religious complexity, which would make for grand subtext in a
Superman movie.
I’d also like to see a Superman torn by his inability to
save someone, when all his speed and ice-cold breath isn’t enough.
After all, “a hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” At least that's Christopher Reeves view.
Anchor
So far I have painted Superman to be tormented, discontent
and alone. Considering his world destroyed itself, why should he stop humans
from doing the same?
Lois Lane, that’s why.
Lois has always been painted as a go-getter journalist with
an agenda to find the truth. There’s been an aeon of tension between the two
characters who, like Romeo and Juliet, are borne from different worlds. But
this Pulitzer Prize winner lacks heroism because she seldom has something to overcome.
Lois is heroic in overcoming adversity
What if she wasn’t? What if Lois represented all the good
let down by an unjust world? If she was a single struggling parent, formerly
abused, trying to do right by her child. What if she was the reason why
Superman chooses to stand up for the little people, not because he’s in love
with her, but because he’s inspired by her inability to give up? Because she is
balance, honest and righteous.
Sure, he can kiss her in the sequel.
PMS
Superman’s powers should be linked to his emotional
state.
It’s hard not being angry sometimes. Imagine how much harder
it would be when an otherwise ordinary tiff could see a car ripped clean in
half? Like the high from heroin, that kind of strength is addictive. In Star
Wars it’s The Dark Side and in Spiderman it’s Venom.
On the other end of the spectrum, a Superman riddled with
self-doubt should have stunted powers. An impotent Superman would have to tend
to his inner conflict before his virility returns.
The Punch Line
A real problem with Superman is his sedated slew of foes, in particularly Lex Luther. Luther comes off as a businessman. His tiff with Superman boils down to a battle of economics; dry the bloke’s resources and call it a day.
There is no greater villain than the Joker. (Okay, a few sit
alongside him on the mantle but he’s definitely a distinguished member of the I want to destroy wherever alumni).
Now Ledger’s Joker in The
Dark Knight coerced the hairs on the back of my neck to stand stiff. His
nervous energy could barely be tamed, so much so that the audience didn’t even
know what octave his voice was going to hit. His knife-yielding hand jerked
uncontrollably and he licked his lips like a dog readying for the maul.
The Joker was unpredictable. The Joker was chaos. The Joker
was fearsome.
Unfortunately for Superman, his nemesis is just as dull as
he is. An average Joe doesn’t instil fear and there’s certainly no triumph in
taking him down.
Redemption
Due in a couple of months is the latest iteration of
Superman. Following in the example set by Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy,
it’s simply titled Man Of Steel. Nolan is the executive producer and the
extraordinary Zack Snyder, of Watchman and 300 acclaim, will be directing. Our
knight in blue spandex is Henry Cavill (Immortals, The Count of Monte Cristo)
and for the first time in years, I dare say on the basis of the trailer that I
want to don blinding red underwear.
By Tony Ibrahim Like Farewell Blank Page on Facebook here
It was a Saturday night. I pulled up outside her house ready
for our first date. “I’ll be down in five” she said. I didn’t care because the
sun was out, the windows were down and the Temper Trap had just begun singing
their tale Sweet Disposition.
Sweet disposition
Never too soon
Oh, reckless
abandon
Like no one's
watching you
A moment of love
I thought to myself: how weird would it be if this girl,
this stranger, turns out to be the woman I spend the rest of my life with?
Could she be into comic
books (+1), travelling (+3) and find my sense of toilet humour refreshingly
funny (+3)?
She’ll be a medical
professional (+4), have an eye for art (+2) and a heart for live music (+4).
Her hair will be brown (+1) and she’ll be tall, but not so tall that she’ll be
taller than me when wearing heels (+3). Her apartment will have contemporary styling (+1) and her dog will be a loyal golden retriever by the name of Wilfred (+3).
We’ll live in an
apartment on the beach and swim in the mornings and I’ll cook breakfast and squeeze fresh orange juice. Come winter we’ll spend the cold nights bathed
in the glow of a warm fire, comforted by the simplicity of one another's company and only pausing for the occasional sip of wine.
Eventually I’ll learn
how to use my hands. How to turn cold slabs of timber into a crib. Perhaps two.
I’m interrupted by a message. “Just a couple more minutes” it
reads. I check my hair and continue singing.
A dream
A laugh
A kiss
A cry
Our rights
Our wrongs
Just a month ago I was on a whole other first date. What if things
don’t go right this time?
If my jokes are met by
deafening silence? (-4) If she orders a salad and then eyes my steak (-2). If
she won’t shut up about her ex (-5). Thinks twilight is critically acclaimed
(-3). Slaps me once for saying ‘That’s what she said’ (-2). Is as deep as a
bowling pin (-4). Has slept with half the waiters in the restaurant (-5). Girls
too (+2).
A single rogue hair draws my attention.
Is my shirt untucked? What
if she doesn’t like my shirt? (-1) Where we’re going (-1). The size of my feet
(-2). My disregard of all things Gaga (-3). Thinks I’m a nerd (-3). My thoughts
on euthanasia (-3). The way I kiss (-4).
What if she doesn’t
want kids (-5)?
Goodbye Wilfred. Farewell crib.
Stay there
'Cause I'll be
coming over
While our blood's
still young
With the hair in place, I nervously fumble into the cool position. It may have been
inspired by the Fonz. I can’t pull it off.
A young boy, no more than 5, spurs past on his green and
black BMX. For no apparent reason he slams the brakes and wobbles to a halt. He scurries back with wide eyes until he
stops at an ant colony. They’re okay and he smiles.
Suddenly it becomes clear it doesn't matter how many -45 dates I go
on because it only takes one—one +25 date—to deem any other unnecessary. Best
of all, every fibre of the universe is cheering me on.
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