Jumping aboard Singapore’s Knight Bus

Singapore’s Harry Potter: Visions of Magic dives into the world of the Daniel Radcliffe movies. With controversy surrounding the pending HBO remakes, fans should enjoy the nostalgia while the magic remains.

By Lee Russell Wilkes

I can’t shake noticing Harry Potter got into Hogwarts solely because of who his parents were. If the exclusive school were a comp in Redditch, would the world care? Like congenital syphilis and the cast of Megan Markle’s polo series, the power struggles of Harry’s world only seem important set against the privileged lives of the landed gentry. Why fans celebrate this parodic class nonsense is beyond me.

I flew to Changi airport and took a cable car to Harry Potter: Visions of Magic on Sentosa Island. My scepticism was only tempered by honeymoon diplomacy. I console my sense of good taste with the excuse that the trip is fieldwork – imagineer Margaret Kerrison’s Immersive Storytelling for Real and Imagined Worlds has been on my Kindle for a while.

My suspension of disbelief almost didn’t survive staff asking who needed the bathroom. Nothing exercises the cynicism muscle like walking the retrograde way through the tat-filled gift shop, knowing the designers didn’t factor incontinence into their plans. I half-expected to be handed a mop and bucket. However, once infantilised bladders were safely voided, we were given a wand glowing like E.T.’s finger. Wiggling it at patches of swirling light rewarded us with some animation and a dopamine hit.

Inside is a tour through familiar movie locations. The wizardry begins on the Knight Bus. Hyper-lapse images flash past, indicating rapid motion. The audience loved it, ignorant of the drunks and late-night ranters needed to make the experience real-world authentic.

The Ministry of Magic is impressive. Its mystical globes emit a pale blue light, illuminating a dark room, while an ethereal ghostly soundscape fills the space. As the Chamber of Secrets opens, the snakes on the door really move. The movie used unconvincing CGI. Here it’s all mechanical. The battle at Hogwarts – the final room – has some impressive animation of duelling wizards and some excellent sunrise graphics.

Those expecting a ride or a haunted house experience will be disappointed. Visions of Magic is a 3D interactive art exhibit aimed squarely at Instagram. Although, you don’t have to be a fan – or a wannabe influencer – to admire the worlds created in the animation and layered sound design.  

Potter fans now have the HBO remakes to look forward to. You don’t have to dig too deeply to find online accusations of stunt casting and gender controversy. I suspect these changes are unlikely to win over many of the fans in Singapore who like their Harry Potter twee – and Anglo-Saxon. Such Disney-style reimagining is proven to kill franchises and divide fanbases. If you love Harry’s world as it is, book your trip before the revisionist Death Eaters suck all the magic out of it.

American Cinematographer’s Photography Issue is Light on Story

The ASC give us trees. Lots of backlit trees. 

Cinematographers know a thing or two about making movie scripts into the images on our screens. You’ve seen the initials ‘ASC’ after countless screen credits and probably don’t know it stands for the American Society of Cinematographers. The acronym signifies the bearer is an industry-recognised master of their highly technical and artistic craft.

The ASC’s monthly magazine – American Cinematographer – has been published since November 1920. It pre-dates sound. Few industries offer as much scandal and drama as the film industry but there’s not a whiff of it in the magazine. Much like the Oscars, it tends towards mutual congratulation. Lots of gear adverts though.

The May 2025 edition is their annual still photography issue – intriguing given the skill of the ASC members involved. The cover image is a child in a red dress taken through frosted glass. It’s a strong image with high contrast, a dominating primary colour and a clear subject. The two images on the contents page vary in quality – two people silhouetted on a swing at night with atmospheric blue, green and red neon lights behind them. What are they talking about? There’s mystery here. The second image comes straight from a stock image archive: a small boat on a beach with a rope leading the eye to the anchor in the foreground.

Like most recent movies, it goes downhill after a strong opening. The first collection is Places. David Mullen’s leading image is a high-contrast monochrome shot of the Eiffel Tower shrouded in nighttime fog. All very Lonely Planet. And then lots of dull images of backlit trees. Shana Hagan and Ravi Varman’s are flat compositions with an orange sunrise. Nancy Schrieber shows us two skies and four trees in one image: A blue sky taken through a car window capturing an orange sunset in the exterior mirror. Eben Bolter and Mihai Malaimare Jr’s images are colour studies. Charlie Lieberman shows us a hazy Malibu Creek Park. Then some rather dull black and white images of corridors and stairwells. The highlight is Roberto Schaefer’s ‘After Hopper’ – a worker silhouetted in a patch of light seen through partition office windows.

People and Faces offers mostly unspectacular images – photos of children playing and a man jumping into the ocean. Long exposures and Dutch angles add nothing to dull subjects. Yet, Jon Joffin’s image of a shop window dummy in a red wig caught in yellow light stands out. As does Dana Gonzales’ Girl on a Red Bus contrasting a red frame with yellow electric light and a hint of blue exterior daylight. Crescenzo Notarille’s is a selective colour image of a cat. Richard Crudo captures a seagull. The still life section is entirely lifeless.

What a dull collection of Vermeer and Rothko clichés, absent subjects, and flat compositions.   For self-proclaimed master storytellers, this collection suggests they started shooting once the book was closed.   

Surviving in the Nepali Diaspora

Rupa Poudel navigated an abusive grandmother, the threat of forced marriage, and Nepal’s soul-destroying education system before finding a future studying in Germany.

You can safely say a culture is in trouble when it comes down to wisdom. Imagine growing up in a country slowly collapsing under the weight of its own straight-jacketing traditions. Savvy educated young people are expected to defer to the wisdom of their uneducated elders. Imagine mothers describing the horrors of arranged marriage – and then forcing the same on their daughters.

This bleak picture is maintained by inadequate rote learning in Nepali schools. Seeking something better, many take A-levels at colleges in Kathmandu. Not that these offer anything better – U-grades are widespread as the students lack the necessary study skills. Many teachers admit privately to not understanding the questions.

On average, forty-thousand young Nepalis take the language test required for university entry in an English-speaking country every year. Who can blame them for dreaming of a better life away from this dysfunctional mess of conflicting ideologies?  

Rupa

My first memory of Rupa was her looking me in the eye and confidently asking where she could study Philosophy, Politics and Economics (PPE). Her peers were all playing PUBG. One of those forty thousand was trying to stand a little taller.

She later described her insular emotional life – she was wracked with insecurities and cripplingly under-stimulated. She didn’t know her introversion was perfectly normal – and widespread – until I described exactly what she was experiencing. Her world didn’t offer even a popular psychology understanding of self or others.

She spent a lot of time in dark rooms paralysed by procrastination. She said she liked breaking things – no surprise with the catalogue of frustration she dealt with every day.  Today, a student in Germany, she continues to exhibit shades of Wednesday Addams. Her Instagram handle is tellingly apocalyptic.

Before I called her, I imagined skulls, Green Day posters, and dripping candles. Instead, she sat comfortably in a messy room devoid of any such pretention.  

“Some of my professors say, ‘mathematicians and computer students should love the dark,’” she says ironically. “They’re encouraging us to be darker than we already are.” Clearly, she’s found her people.

Family

She grew up in a fibreboard shanty house in Ramkot, Kathmandu. Her father mostly abandoned them, and his mother – Rupa’s grandmother – made her life hell. You hear the glee in her voice as she says relationships have improved now she’s abroad – she blocked their social media accounts.

Her father’s family started searching for a husband for her while she was still a student. “My grandmother was constantly saying it would be very nice and healing for them if they can send me to some guy, so I would be his responsibility.”

Her older brother, then a student in Germany, intervened. He volunteered to look after her there. “My brother took a stand. After that, they couldn’t say anything,” she says.

She laughs bemusedly. “I don’t even have the skills to be a housewife. I’m so proud of my mother for not letting me do anything. She taught me things, but she never let me do anything. She said, ‘It’s not your job to do it. You go and learn.’  If my mother raised me to not do this thing, then why should I be doing this?”

“I’m really proud of half of my family, whereas I hate the other half. They were tolerating me. They would have thrown me away.”

A Terrible Time at College

The sixth form she attended only made it worse. The college – I briefly ran its A-level programme – offered reduced fees. She accepted a place, not wanting to be a financial burden to her family.

She says, “It turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.”

“You were there teaching us something, and after you left, no one taught us. The principal tried. He organised classes on Saturday. He provided us notebooks and pencils – coffee, food to eat. I think it went for one or two weeks.”

Teachers would keep students waiting and then dismiss the class as students said they were too tired. If she arrived home early – or late – her grandmother would accuse her of skipping classes.

She later quit the school out of sheer frustration with its methods and completed her studies from home. She faced a difficult choice: she could study the subject she wanted in Kathmandu or go to Germany and study something she hated. She chose Germany and mathematics.

“And then there was no emotion, not happiness, not sadness. On my flight, I was thinking, ‘Okay, I’m going to meet my brother.’ I thought nothing else.”

Escaping to Germany

I ask what her first impression of Germany was. “That was the first time I saw a train,” she replies. She manages to express mild enthusiasm for life there.

 “The teachers are punctual. They teach us,” she says. She’s shocked she’s the only student in one class. It would never happen in Nepal. “At least students won’t come just for dating,” she adds.  

For the first few months, she felt numb. “And then I thought, ‘No. It’s a lot better here. No one is judging me, no one is stopping me from doing anything. I can do whatever I want without my family interrupting me.’ So, it’s actual freedom. It’s nice.”

“I used to think where I grew up was a very nice place because of the environment. But as I grew up, my family got worse. I can see that place objectively now, and I realise how awful it is. It’s not just my family. It’s the villagers and the neighbourhood. The way they think, the way they behave to other people.”

Today, she’s trying to decide what to study next. She’s looking at finance, getting her German language qualification and her Deutsche Pass.

I ask if the dreamcatcher on her wall works. With pure understatement, she adds: “I’m very glad that I left Nepal.”

Crafting Kings Heath’s Art Scene

Nook Gallery is creating space for Birmingham’s artists.

Why doesn’t Birmingham get the cultural credit it deserves? Despite a rich creative community, its artists are often overlooked — not least by the city itself. When you picture cities famous for their art, Birmingham doesn’t compete with Paris, Madrid, Florence, or even New York. Sadly, the ongoing rat problem gets more headlines than the city’s creatives – and for a city that attracted Steven Spielberg and Tom Cruise, the media attention always seems unfairly negative. In contrast, cities like Manchester fuel their artistic reputation by aggressively promoting themselves and their talents. Let’s face it, Birmingham’s approach to art and its artists could be a lot better.

For the last year, Nook Gallery, on Institute Road, Kings Heath, has been reversing this trend. Enter leather goods maker Gosia Weber, 45, from Gliwice, Poland, and her partner, Kings Heath’s own Darren Whitcombe, 48. From behind an easy-to-miss blue door, they’ve taken it upon themselves to champion the city’s artists. Nook is a patchwork of styles and media – everything from models of Birmingham cinemas to prints, paintings, and pottery.

They explain the idea behind Nook was to provide exhibition space for local artists and to help them make the leap from emerging to professional status.

Building a Community

Why choose Kings Heath? “It’s where we live. You’ve got Kings Heath, you’ve got Moseley. Stirchley is on the rise, but it’s been on the rise for the last 100 years,” says Darren.

 “We exhibit work from 57 artists – 75% of them are local. But we’re open to showcasing great work, no matter where it’s from,” he continues.

“We decided to bring contemporary craft to Birmingham as there was nothing of the sort,” Gosia says.

For example, Nook stocks her handmade leather bags and exhibits work by among others, Sarah Leigh, a maker of lighting shades, and Clare Hewitt, a Pictorialist photographer in the style of Alfred Stieglitz and Edward Steichen.

They explain that Nook is a gallery where anyone can show their work. By contrast, most of Birmingham’s few remaining galleries focus on established professionals and showcase conceptual art unlikely to hang on anyone’s living room wall. Many of these spaces are now closing.

Challenging Birmingham’s Artistic Vacuum

As Birmingham lacks an art and craft fair, Darren says, it fails to capture artists travelling the country. He maintains local artists are discouraged from taking a national or even a global view.

“One thing I see across the country is there’s usually a place where artists can gravitate,” he says.

“There’s some sort of shadow that sits over Birmingham, and it affects all disciplines.”

He explains that Manchester has former Oasis singer Liam Gallagher championing its creative scene. Without a Gallagher of its own, Birmingham gets drowned out at the national level. The lack of local government support doesn’t help.

“It’s not because the council went bankrupt – that’s a fairly recent thing,” says Gosia. “There’s a lack of a positive attitude across a much longer timescale.”

She adds that while the city’s multicultural centres are focused on community activities like dancing, singing or even cooking, nobody in these locations is discussing or exhibiting contemporary art.

“I don’t think it’s a lack of artists. There’s no real space where ideas can flow, where people can work together, or where artists can truly connect,” she adds. Nook aims to address this by being approachable and open-minded. 

“If we like somebody’s work, we will invite them to exhibit,” Darren says. “We have open calls. We’re open to different styles. We go with gut feelings.”

New Media

How challenging is it running a bricks-and-mortar store given the impact social media is having on the high street?

“There’s probably less than 1% of Birmingham that know we exist. You could probably even say 1% of King’s Heath as well. I’m still having people coming in going, ‘I live four doors down, and I didn’t know you were here.’”

“Our social media has grown quite organically over the last nine months. It seems like it’s happening in the right way – authentically,” says Darren. “We have really lovely comments from people.”

They’re a big hit with their customers, too. Instagram comments praise the artists, the shows, and Darren’s guided tours – tara_harris_art says: “If you are in Kings Heath and you want to marvel and revel in art, visit this incredible exhibition.” Likewise, emma_woollley_artist praises them for doing “an awesome job!”

She’s Electric

Movie enthusiasts know cinema is dying – global releases are a fraction of what they were, and international box office is down. Gen Z are all streaming Netflix on their phones. Locally, matters aren’t much better – movie lovers will be aware of the issues facing the campaign to save the Electric Cinema.

Yet, Nook has some good news for the city’s depressed cineastes – Gosia and Darren have reopened the Cosy Cinema that previously occupied their site.

“We run more or less monthly movie nights – which was one of the very first things we realised we could do when we came to this space,” says Gosia.

“Initially it was a nice idea – let’s just watch a film together with a group of friends,” says Darren. “But it’s grown into everybody’s favourite moment of the month.”

“Customers ask what we’re showing. And we always have a discussion after,” Darren says. “They trust us to put on something special and make a night of it.”

Screenings aren’t just popular fare, either. They recently hosted Egyptian director (and Birmingham resident) Khaled El-Hagar’s 2019 film Shihana – about the struggles of two children after their mother joined Isis.  

“I’m a skateboarder,” Darren adds. “We’ve been involved with the skate community as well. We had a skateboarding exhibition and we’ve shown a few skate films.”

Working in a New Medium

Has it been plain sailing bring arts-entrepreneurism to the heart of Kings Heath and the city’s creative community?

“Generally, no,” says Darren. “We did one event on a cold Sunday night and misjudged it — only a few people came, despite all the wine and snacks.”

“There’s a misconception that galleries don’t add value — that they just take a big cut,” Gosia adds. There’s a huge amount of work behind the scenes. It’s important for artists to recognise why having gallery support matters.

“I didn’t originally plan to involve painters and fine artists — it’s not my area of expertise. But when we couldn’t find a tenant for one of the studio spaces, we turned it into a temporary exhibition space, and it worked.”

“We’re a good team, which was great to discover,” she adds. “Communication was a challenge, partly because, as an artist, I’m used to working independently. It’s very different when you have to communicate with a lot of people — especially other artists.”

“Trusting our instincts has been important,” Darren adds. “Putting yourself out there takes bravery, and it’s easy to lose confidence. But you usually know if you’re getting it right or wrong.”

“My aim has always been to support professional artists and makers. I’ve never had access to a real professional support network where I could be challenged and grow. I wanted to create opportunities for others in the same situation,” Gosia adds.  

“I’m really enjoying running Nook, and this feels creative.”

Nook Gallery and Makers Studio, 25c Institute Road, Kings Heath, B14 7EG

Email: nook@nook-gallery.co.uk | Tel: +44 7763 992091 | Instagram: @nook_kingsheath

Lost on a Bloodless Barsoom: How Disney Butchered John Carter

Did Disney’s wildly expensive failure pave the way for a stronger vision of Dune?

Many Marvellous Misfires

What do The Marvels (2023), Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023), and Cinderella (2025) have in common? Three films. Three franchises. Three expensive Disney flops. Such financial disasters are sadly nothing new to Disney. In 2012, John Carter set a record loss of at least $200 million. Edgar Rice Burroughs’ books are genre-defining fantasies, so how could a movie version of A Princess of Mars fail so spectacularly?

Fantasy Cinema Started Here

Burroughs’ John Carter books are the ancestor of every big screen fantasy you know.  Avatar, Dune, and Star Wars all owe their lunch to Burroughs. Yet, Andrew Stanton’s film is a case of ‘all the mistakes everywhere at once’. While this isn’ta ‘the book is better’ argument, the contention is the books are so serial, and so well-planned, they could (almost) be filmed as written. The production was let down by cliched screenwriting that kicked the load-bearing elements out from under it. And hampered it further with poor casting and design choices.

The Film Begins Four Times

The film starts on the wrong note – it shows us Mars is red, then gives us a blue sky.  Then, we get an exposition dump about cities on legs – taken straight out of Mortal Engines – that’s never mentioned again. Bad movies start with an explainer.

Burroughs’ Martians fought over dwindling resources on a dying world – clear Malthusian motivation. His cities tended to stay where he left them. The movie gives us godlike beings bestowing magical weapons to one faction in a war. Why? No one ever explains. Thank the screenwriters for this rubbish.

Our Hero

We first encounter John Carter (Taylor Kitsch) as he evades pursuers in late 19th century New York. Then he dies. His heir – Edgar Rice Burroughs – reads Carter’s diary. That starts the story for a third time. While this is taken from the book – where it doesn’t work all that well – it takes up too much screen time. This John Carter brawls a lot, reflecting a little of the character the real Burroughs gave us.

Finally, we get the actual beginning – a chase where Carter and his cavalry pursuers come face-to-face with some Apache. The soldiers shoot first.

Burroughs had Carter fleeing from Indians after he tried to rescue his prospecting partner. He gives a clear ‘leave no man behind’ characterisation and an action-packed start. Putting your lead in immediate danger makes the audience care – even before we know them. Isn’t this taught at film school?

Why do screenwriters assume they know better than the original author? Why this need to interpret and improve tried and tested material? What are the odds against improving a classic? Burroughs’ Carter loved a good fight and was motivated by derring-do. Why explain movie Carter’s reluctance to fight by adding a clichéd backstory – a dead wife and child. Did it need PTSD? Anyone remember Raiders of the Lost Ark working because of the lack of narrative baggage?

Sci-Fi’s First Female Icon

In Dejah Thoris, Burroughs created sci-fi’s original dusky maiden – and a MacGuffin to be coveted and pursued. The movie mistakenly turns her into a warrior and a scientist. Oh, and she found time to discover perpetual motion. How is turning an icon into a by-the-numbers Disney princess an improvement on Burroughs? You embrace icons. You don’t change them.

Dejah Thoris is sci-fi Helen of Troy. She’s no passive victim – Burroughs stresses her pride and defiance – quite a thing when she’s more flesh than fleshed-out. Yet, she’s endured for reasons beyond her minimal attire. That combination — bold beauty and unflinching toughness — is femininity as power. To do her justice, you need to put her onscreen in a way that blows the viewer’s mind. Why is everyone on Barsoom obsessed with her?

It takes quite a talent to capture an icon. Lynn Collins isn’t it. Her Dejah Thoris is generic empowerment pasted over poor casting and puritanical costume designs. She has no chemistry with her leading man, or the audience. This is the ‘no one will steal our cast if we choose people that can barely hit the x on the floor’ TV approach to casting.

Where’s the mythic cinematic presence that means she breaks spirits as well as hearts? If you want to make an icon, you must show us more than a pretty face. Give her charisma, wit, and a design that honours her pulp roots, and you’d have something special.

Who?

Feel sorry for the actor projecting, “I’m Kantos Kan!” Does the audience go, “Look! A character from the book,” or do they simply ask, “who?” Why should the audience care? Screenwriters get this wrong all the time. Name-only characterisation works in novels but not in performance.

Names are empty signifiers. How many times did the Harry Potter writers have someone say “Harry Potter” without ever showing us why we should care about him to begin with? Focusing on named characters without characteristics puts nothing memorable on the screen.

Gods, Monsters and Screenwriters

The Therns – antagonists in books two and three – are sadistic religious fanatics. And that’s removed entirely in the movie, replaced with them being interstellar beings waging unspecified war against one world after another. Why? Who knows? This is Disney hedging. They mustn’t enrage the conservative crowd that was once its core demographic.

These changes weaken the plot too. Burroughs was clever enough to focus it on recognisable people in an alien landscape. Religious fanatics and death cults we can relate to. But godlike creatures of unspecified origins? Lazy deus ex machina clichés. This leads the audience away from Barsoom and leaves story points unresolved. Burroughs focused on Mars and its warlike people. His thoughts on gods are clear enough in book two. How did the screenwriters envision the sequels having just ripped out their spine?  

Other essential plot points are included very poorly. Sola secretly being Tars Tarkas’ daughter is lazily done. It’s just blurted out for the sake of ticking a box. No audience sympathy is built for these cyphers. Of course, the makers wasted so much time with the four beginnings, important material like character development was likely cut out. Burroughs’ readers know these characters – the general audience just sees pixels.   

Failure By Design

The production and costume design are undercooked too. Everyone onscreen wears ill-fitting wigs and factions are only distinguished by red and blue colour-coding. Burroughs’ characterisations aren’t Shakespeare, but you know who is who. Why can’t the screenwriters create characters deeper than Burroughs’ own “Oh that villainous cad” descriptions? His simple black hat/white hat tropes let the audience know who to cheer for. Onscreen, it’s confusing as everyone looks the same.

As for the world-building, the technology is all high fantasy – isn’t this supposed to be a dying world? Machines need to look cobbled together and mechanical, not shiny new and ethereal. Burroughs describes fleets of flying boats, not clichéd insect-inspired designs made of sunshades. We’ve seen this all before.

Overall, the filmmakers convey a weak reading of Burroughs’ visions. And these are the reasons his work has endured over a turbulent and fantasy-filled century. Who comes to Burroughs for character studies? Concessions to family audiences, sloppy production design and poor characterisation weaken it immeasurably. It’s an epic that isn’t epic, full of sweeping vistas that don’t sweep. Nothing elevates it above the countless Burroughs-derivative visions we’ve seen before. It has no edge and no FOMO.

While not terrible, Stanton’s John Carter isn’t great either. And that makes it the worst anything can be – bland.

From Barsoom to Arrakis

It’s easy to imagine John Carter being an immensely influential film – for all the wrong reasons. Was there a day when Dune’s director Denis Villeneuve and cinematographer Greig Fraser sat and went “We’re not making that!” Dune’s visual style is entirely deducible from what Andrew Stanton and his crew got wrong.

Visual Rhythm

Let’s not proceed by suggesting Dune is without its faults – hello? emotion? Here, we’re discussing design and visual language. Villeneuve’s film is image-led. Every shot directs the audience to a very specific focus. You might not want to visit Arrakis, but it looks amazing. In contrast, John Carter is a world of wonder that isn’t wondrous. It looks like it’s been shot by a soap opera crew and realised with the XP version of Unreal Engine.

Of course, Villeneuve and Fraser had the advantage of large format digital cameras, tools not available to Stanton. But John Carter’s flaws aren’t technological – they’re grounded in a modest visual rhythm and pedestrian shot design. A good director of photography could shoot quality on sticky tape.

John Carter’scamera language is flat. Character moments are shot with the same medium-wide coverage used for establishing shots. The first question asked of any shot – whose point of view is it? – seems to have been ignored entirely. The rare close-up of Carter’s wedding ring draws attention to itself so obviously, Stanton might just have shouted “Important detail!” through a megaphone.

Dune’s visual rhythm – shot selection, depth of field, colour palette – makes good use of every aspect of modern filmmaking. Whether you love or loathe Hans Zimmer’s pots and pans sound design, you must admit it’s at least distinctive. We’re watching a committed mission statement and not, like John Carter, an apology. Likewise, the technology of Dune is satisfyingly industrial and clunky – you come out of the theatre with grease on you. It feels built and has a sense of occupancy. All you get from John Carter is a sense of confusion. Amazon’s Fallout got this right too – kipple everywhere – broken satellites, dust buried cities. Isn’t Barsoom supposed to be a dying civilisation succumbing to entropy? Where is the evidence of its past? How did Stanton get this wrong after getting it pitch perfect in his magnificent WALL-E?

Pitch It: Channel Roger, Frank and Paul

Let’s not suggest John Carter wasn’t made with care – the level of artistry on display in even modest productions puts the rest of us to shame. Both Dune and John Carter had access to the best. Why such a different outcome? Vision. If we are going to revitalise Princess of Mars, we’ve got to go full throttle. 

A wishy-washy remake isn’t going to cut it. Let’s take inspiration from the best exploitation filmmakers: Paul Verhoeven and Roger Corman. Verhoeven’s Total Recall points the way – a vision of life on Mars from when movies were made for adults. Corman’s film school graduates made most of the movies we revere today. They knew something we’ve buried beneath test screenings and streaming metrics. If we aim to bring back the audience, we need a production that demands to be seen on something bigger than an iPhone. Two words: controversy and spectacle.

Let’s propose the Rio Carnaval version of Carter, set in the Colosseum: no PG matinees here. Frank Frazetta’s paintings must be at least half of the reason Burroughs’ books endured. You’d be foolish to not put this on the screen. Have Robert Richardson shoot it. Mix in the unsubtlety of Corman’s The Warrior and the Sorceress, Robocop levels of gore, some industrial entropy and the sort of visual rhythm that would make Dune dizzy, and you’d have…something.

Would no respectable actor play Dejah Thoris as written? Fine – cast whoever’s currently trending on OnlyFans. The studios all chase the algorithm, so why not? Subtle? No. FOMO through deliberate controversy? Hell, yes. Movies have always been a vulgar medium. Embrace it. Let’s stop short of Caligula though.

Bring Back Burroughs

Burroughs’ Barsoom stories are riotous fun. Filmmakers like Stanton have been making derivative versions for decades. The time is already here when the studio returns from remakes and rebootquels are running drier than a Barsoomian ocean. The branded franchises of yesteryear are all dead. Are Superman and Avengers: Doomsday going to revitalise cinema? Don’t bet your mortgage on it.

Please, we can’t let Bluey dominate streaming, and Lilo and Stitch be the only film bringing people into theatres. Cinema deserves to bang, not whimper. We’re in dire need of some Hollywood entrepreneurism, if we’re to save the dying world of the movies. More risk-aversion equals more indifferent product and more audience apathy.

Controversy never hurt a film, so why not throw everything there is at Burroughs? If everything has been done, it’s time to do it over again. Better. Let’s go back and do old Edgar proud. Cinema owes him that.  

Chasing the White Lotus?

Give your skin some thought.

By Lee Russell Wilkes

Razor Burn in Paradise? Travel means clogged pores and irritated skin. Thank the sweat, seawater and suncream – the perfect combination for wrecked skin. Think 7-Eleven stocks your Men’s Health approved boutique aftershave on Thai islands that suffer brownouts? You’ll need a wet shave that won’t destroy your face. What to take?

Everyone starts with a disposable

    Bics are unjustly ubiquitous. Rumour has it the Inquisition showed these to Galileo to force a swift confession. You might just as well use a cheese grater as you’ll end up with third degree razor burn and skin resembling an Ed Gein table lamp. Under no circumstances should one ever be applied to living flesh.  

    Get past the ridiculous name – the Wilkinson Sword Xtreme Three is a reliable and infinitely safer alternative to Bics. A £4 pack will last months. Your face should – should – remain attached to your skull. You’ll still be using your first when those Bics are causing groundwater contamination somewhere.

    You then consider cassette razors

    Gillette has the market cornered. Expensive, ubiquitous and acceptable when there’s no other option, their cassette razors are, like fast-food, popular out of all proportion to their quality. They’re sharp for one shave. Penetrative skin damage should be minimal, but the multiple blades cause long-term razor burn. Best avoided.

    Your great-grandfather used a safety razor

    Single blade, double-edged safety razors are the only choice for habitual wet shavers. Your great-grandfather took one to World War Two and brought it back for a reason.

    With butterfly razors, you swivel the base, the top opens and you drop a blade in. The Wilkinson Sword Double Edge Safety Razor costs £20 and is a safe everyday shave. The downside is the fragile mechanism.

    Better still are 3-piece razors, like the £18 Bamboo, which has no moving parts. They’re a cheap, fun shave. You shouldn’t need stitches.  The only point of weakness is the pin attaching head and handle.

    Both offer a great bloodless shave, but don’t get emotionally attached – you won’t have either for life.

    The best a man can get

    The $90 CAD Henson AL13 inspires covetous pet bonding, but without the trauma of burying it in the garden a few years later.  These things are immortal – you’ll never need a replacement. Kiss goodbye to skin irritation and bereavement counselling.   

    The design is faux carved ivory by way of the Bauhaus. It feels like shaving with a felt pen. No trips to Samui A&E, unless you’re bitten by a rabid dog on the beach.

    After the initial cost, you’ll only ever need to replace the blades, which have zero compatibility issues. Buy a hundred and you’ll leave the majority to your descendants.

    Get one immediately. Your skin needs a reliable friend at home and abroad. The only irritant remaining on Samui will be the other dream-chasing sheeple. Go to Koh Mak instead  – have cocktails on Cococape pier at sunset.

    Revisiting Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Barsoom

    John Carter reminds us how to deal with death cults.

    By Lee Russell Wilkes

    Edgar Rice Burroughs’ pulp fantasy John Carter series influenced everything from Crabbe’s Flash Gordon to Cameron’s Avatar and Herbert’s Dune – every chapter reveals a new world of wonder, kept moving with unending shameless cliffhangers. The story is told in a solipsistic first person and filled with boo-hiss villainy. Anyone scoffing at the basic style misses the point entirely. Burroughs was chasing the audience, not high-minded literary critics.

    Burroughs’ Mars is Schiaparelli’s vision of canals on a dying world – fantasy science, flying sailboats, ballistic weapons and sharp swords. The world the natives call ‘Barsoom’ is tribalistic, and only as technologically advanced as the plot demands.  

    While Burroughs wrote eleven books, Carter’s story is mostly wrapped up in the first three. In book one, the post-civil war Virginian awakens on Mars and casually slaughters his way across it – possessed of superhuman advantage due to weaker gravity.  He chases the MacGuffin Dejah Thoris – imagine From Dusk Till Dawn era Salma Hayek in a G-string – across the dying planet. Who wouldn’t? He spends time in everybody’s dungeon, and for narrative convenience, makes lifelong friends of all the right people.

    In book two, he pursues Dejah Thoris down the holy river Iss, encountering a sadistic religion of slavery, torture and cannibalism. No deconstructivist sympathy for the devil here. No PTSD either. In book three, Burroughs reminds us some people can’t be reasoned with – Carter’s solution to entrenched death cults is to form a coalition of the willing and mercilessly eradicate the believers. He’s big on regime change.

    Reviewers blither on about the books not being PC. Well, modern literature is, yet nothing has left the slightest cultural footprint for decades. Want to see how it’s done? Read Burroughs. This is refreshingly archaic storytelling – black hats vs white. Sure, it has its problems – the near-naked women serve only as lovestruck plot devices. Imagine the modern audience, if you can find it, writing an auto-ethnographic rebuttal: “Just like Margaret Mead, Burroughs misunderstood the natives.” What’s left to enjoy if every story is dragged before the court of colonialism, patriarchy, and white saviourism? Some bastards are just plain evil. Making them cannibals just signposts it for those who need it spelling out.

    Burroughs’ influence extends into the language too. It is but the work of a moment to realise Carter shares a turn of phrase with Bertie Wooster. ‘Sith’ (a giant wasp-like creature) is owed to Burroughs. Game of Thrones’ ‘Tarth’ has ancestry in Barsoom’s ‘Ptarth’.

    Burroughs’ work was blockbuster material long before that term existed. Forget all those rubber-monster Doug McClure movies – Burroughs was the James Cameron of his day. Now Jennifer Salke’s fourth-wave agenda has exited Amazon Studios, it’s time for a gritty HBO-style adaptation. Put Dejah Thoris on screen as written and you have a winner. A no-nonsense John Carter is what the 2020s need.  Or perhaps, it’s about an expat chasing skirt?

    Remember Not to Breathe This Weekend

    What drives a European security expert to hold his breath for six-and-a-half minutes while floating face-down in a Bristol swimming pool?

    Is this the ideal weekend activity for the terminally lazy? Relax, take a deep breath and move as little as possible. The catch? You can’t breathe for several minutes while submerged in water. Welcome to the extreme sport of freediving – no oxygen tanks allowed here – you compete on just one breath.  Even the events sound like serious medical conditions. Static Apnoea, anyone?

    Ask weekend visitors to Bristol what’s on their itinerary – it’s doubtful a competitive breath-holding contest ranks very highly. And it’s easy to see why. While diving in the tropics sounds idyllic, diving here conjures up nightmarish images of masked figures in wetsuits plunging headfirst into the Bristol Channel. Mercifully, participants at Bristol Blue 2025 competed in a heated pool at Hengrove Leisure Centre, although it’s unclear how added comfort makes voluntary drowning any more appealing.

    Among the participants was Dr Cornelius Friesendorf, a specialist in security topics including guerilla warfare, organised crime, and Russian-Western relations. How does he square evaluating Russia’s war against Ukraine with participating in sporting events seemingly one-mistake away from killing him?

    “Times are economically and politically difficult now, so freediving helps people to calm down and find inner peace,” he says.

    A Boy from Bonn

    He was born in 1973 in Bonn, then the Cold War capital of West Germany. His mother was a journalist, full of the 1968 revolutionary spirit. His father was an antiquities dealer specialising in Byzantine art and Russian religious icons.

    “The Soviet authorities hated all religious art. They weren’t unhappy about it leaving the Soviet Union. There was a market in the Western countries. And then after the end of the Cold War, the Russian art went back with the oligarchs buying it.”

    He spent summers spearfishing in the Mediterranean from a boat built for navigating the Bristol channel. “I started to love the water. And then I was scuba diving for 25 years and always loved snorkelling. But I did not know freediving existed as a sport. In 2011, I saw a course advertising it in Frankfurt and I’ve been doing it for 14 years now.”

    Professionally, he’s a researcher with the Institute for Peace Research and Security Policy at the University of Hamburg. He’s writing a book on the obscure Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) which had its origins in the Cold War and has been struggling to survive Russia’s imperialism. What dangers does his work predict?

    “The transatlantic relationship is broken, and it’s not only Trump. It’s a generational shift in the US. The Republican Party has turned into a very strange sect and preparing for major conflict with China. So, Europe from the US perspective, is a sideshow. Plus, Russia is trying to destroy what is left of the European security order.”

    Is there any truth to the idea that the military and political alliances of today’s world look like those of 1914? “It’s an important analogy. In summer 2014 the Kaiser attempted to stop the troops but could not prevent the process from unfolding. We now see a similar risk of unwanted escalation. The major difference being no nuclear weapons at the time. Global annihilation is what’s really at stake.”

    Holding your breath underwater is suddenly starting to look like a survival strategy. The same idea saved the crocodile from that asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.

    What’s the Appeal?

    Cornelius is rightfully proud of his sport and makes it clear freediving isn’t for adrenaline junkies and reckless thrill-seekers. Competitors try to reduce their heart rate, being as relaxed as possible before getting in the water as vigorous activity burns that single lungful of precious air.

    He says the macho-types quickly become unstuck: “Suddenly they get all these thoughts and fears of not being able to hold their breath like a true hero. Often people who seemed a little quieter or insecure do very well.”

    Is that because of introversion? He says: “It’s more that freediving teaches us to accept our fears, and our limitations. To overcome you must first accept them and embrace them.”

    “Freediving really teaches us to be humble when we dive to greater depth. If we have an ego and we flex the muscles and try to get to the target depth, it won’t work. You’ll injure yourself.”

    While people like the Japanese Ama had no alternative when they dived for valuable shells and pearls, hasn’t holding your breath been unnecessary since Cousteau and Gagnan invented scuba? 

    “While holding the breath, you’re focusing inward. You’re faced with yourself, with your thoughts, with your bodily reactions. And in scuba diving, some people use the derogatory term ‘underwater tourists’, you have a tank, and you look around, you’re trying to spot animals.”

    He says freediving may never be an Olympic sport as people don’t always look telegenic when they emerge from the depths. The International Olympic Committee (IOC) clearly likes to minimise televised fatalities. A lot of people blackout and have squeezes – when the external water pressure injures the lung. He says: “It’s something you never do alone, even in a bathtub. When people lose consciousness alone in the water, they drown.” He emphasises mutual safety is always a priority. 

    Bristol Blue

    “I always love visiting the UK, because people are so friendly. You get back to Germany, everybody is grumpy and pessimistic.

    “But I was also shocked about the difference between rich and poor. It seems even starker than on the continent. It reminded me of the movies of Ken Loach or even some of the stories of George Orwell when he was a tramp.”

    He says the Bristol event was very well-organised: “One of the best I’ve ever been to. The UK has a very nice freediving community – a very nice atmosphere.”

    “The first day was diving as far as possible without fins. My result was 114 meters, well below my personal best. In the evening, I suddenly realized that when you don’t drink enough water, the heart rate goes up because the blood is thicker, so that the heart needs to pump harder or faster, so I drink more.

    “The second day was trying to hold your breath as long as possible. Suddenly, I did a personal best of six minutes, thirty-one. I could have probably done seven minutes.  And this is all thanks to better hydration.”

    Limits

    Are there upper and lower age limits for anyone wanting to start? “My daughter, she is nine now. She dives to seven meters. There’s one person I’ve heard about, he’s over 70, and he dives to 80 meters. It’s a very nice sport that can be done at higher age.”

    After the Lia Thomas controversy, do men and women compete separately? “We do, but there are many excellent female freedivers. The constant weight world record for women at depth is 123 meters. The male world record is 136.”

    If Putin and Trump don’t destroy the world, what’s the future of freediving? “We will see even more impressive performances in the pool. Someday people might dive 400 meters. For one breath hold, static apnoea, the record is 11 minutes 35. At depth, decompression sickness has become a game changer. Several top athletes have suffered from nitrogen bubbles in the bloodstream. So, I think this should lead to more caution and possibly limiting the depths that people can or should go to.”

    And personally? “Like any freediver, I want to a dive to 100 meters. I’m not sure that I’ll do it. I have two kids. I have a full-time job. I’m fifty-one years old. I also don’t want to kill myself. I’ve done 91-meters in competitions.

    “So, I’m less focused on results. Now I’m trying to do it the Buddhist way and enjoy the process.”

    When Indian Food is the Mildest Option in Bangkok

    If Thai food were a language, it would be Italian: stylish and loud. Negotiating the menu every time you eat is intimidating. It all looks appetising but what is it? After your fifth tom yam gung, you’ll be begging for something familiar.

    Three Tiers

    Bangkok, like any self-respecting capital city, caters for all budgets.

    The high-end options are the luxury hotels with their rooftop bars. Local diners feast on their sense of social superiority. What you eat isn’t as important as being seen eating it – think haute cuisine mixed with mass-market wine and a healthy sprinkling of PM2.5.

    The people’s street food moved long ago into the mall’s food courts. Eating and air con go together very nicely. If you can fight through the crowds, the food’s cheap – and instantly forgettable.

    In the gutters you’ll find open-air popups, usually a family of cooks, some surly waiting staff and tacky plastic garden furniture.  They serve traditional food for Bangkok’s commuters, drunks and sex workers. You really need to avoid seeing highly made-up working girls eating fried bugs. The stuff of nightmares.

    New Bukhara’s Indian Restaurant

    After days of this, you’ll be a highly suggestive mess. You’ll want something you recognise, and I don’t mean a steak and kidney pie and a warm beer in a depressing Irish bar. You’re on holiday, you’ve got to have some standards. Everyone likes Indian, right?

    Searching for New Bukhara’s, you’ll be vigorously jostled as you walk through air thicker than that tom yam. You’ll pass street vendors hawking sex toys, cheap football shirts and off-brand Viagra. If you have any humanity remaining, you’ll arrive a sweaty misanthropic mess.

    The air con hammers you. The place is reminiscent of tourist safe restaurants in India; the mood and décor are sedate. The lighting is thankfully low. Indian pop music plays.

    The clientele are mostly Indians. Western sex-pats are mostly absent, although you might suffer the occasional ranter. Service staff get friendlier after they see you’re not paying your dinner companion the hourly rate. They’ve seen it all before. Politeness works wonders.  

    Food

    Many places have more artful presentation, but Bukhara’scan’t be beaten on quality. Choicescater for meat-eaters and vegivores. First time? Go for the classics. Start with vegetable samosas and the alu chaat. They excel at fragrant carbohydrates.  

    Next, you can’t go wrong with a thick creamy tikka masala – decline the spice. Eat as the Indians do and avoid filling up on rice. The naan is as thick as a blanket. Death by Ghee? Only if you eat here too often.

    Bukhara’s was recommended to me as a ‘real meal’ when I was an out-of-my-depth first-timer in Bangkok. They offer reasonably priced food exotic enough to feel special yet a welcome alternative to all that lemongrass and coriander. If the Thai experience is overwhelming mind and stomach, this will settle both.