Errata is a web journal written by Robert Davis who has neither spent a night in a ghost town nor pulled a turnip from the earth. He doesn't even know if turnips grow in the ground. Perhaps on trees, like candy corn. Therefore, Errata is a non-commercial project.

Observation #1: It may be appropriate, when leaving a movie theater, to say "mysterious."

Observation #2: It may be appropriate, when leaving a movie theater, to say "mysterious" at the top of your lungs. Bring your eyebrows together before you say it. Effective!

Observation #3: Same for books. Even at libraries.

There is a prize for people who correctly guess the thing about Metropolis, Nevada.

Except where the text specifically states otherwise, Errata's vagaries are indicated vaguely and its authors are indistinct in the traditional way of the Internet, except where the authors lay claim to their work. In some cases Robert Davis lays claim to work that is not his own but has been abandoned like so many ghost towns. Except where held presently, fistfuls of dirt are suspended via dispersal, or dispersed via suspension (in the air), and thus their dissolution is their transcendence, or their transcendence is their dissolution. And yet our eyes tear, and our vision is impaired, demonstrating for the umpteenth time that one entity's gain is another's fit of sneezes. Except where indicated, storms shall outlive the clay upon which they rain, unless storms are improperly delimited by their clouds, which dissolve, rather than by their inevitable return. Thus the clay loses, unless the clay is said to own the storm, to use it to make itself heavy, to make itself cling to white garments, refuse dispersal, cake upon the facades of abandoned buildings, and sit like Man [sic] upon the earth where it is pelted by a storm that it owns. In which case the clay still loses, if you ask us.

Some of the above is legally binding and should be considered a mental contract between Errata and those upon whom it acts. The bit about the prize should be considered an overstatement insofar as prizes differ from dirt and prize dispersal differs from dirt dispersal. Please recall that ownership is a weight and, therefore, hope that you do not win the prize.

One day Errata or its representatives will call upon you for a favor. It is expected that you will hop-to without delay.

You may contact Robert Davis by email unless it's about the rock that was thrown in anger. The rock is more properly called a clod. Why do you continue to raise the topic?

9 February 2004

Revengers Tragedy

2002, U.K.

director: Alex Cox

Someone smarter than I about Jacobean drama will have to say whether Alex Cox's Revengers Tragedy is faithful to Thomas Middleton's 17th-century play, but as a punk-laden futuristic revenge tale, it's darkly funny throughout. It relies on a devious, often deadpan sense of humor to blend the the worlds of rock-n-roll stars, corporate raiders, and good old-fashioned corrupt rulers, each one carrying his divine right between his clenched teeth, each one wicked to the core, and each one dying a sumptuous death, thereby passing the baton to the next eager heir to the dukedom who snatches the title from still-warm hands. Cox makes judicious use of jump cuts and other visual flair to keep up a steady pace, and while the first half hour is confusing to someone without the proper background, I made it through to the reward: a cast — headed by Christopher Eccleston, Eddie Izzard, and Derek Jacobi — that seems to be perfectly in tune with Cox's vision and its infectious rhythms.

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