Action Jackson And Tron: Best Of Both Worlds

Across the blue-black sky of the computer world, a Recogniser buzzed, powered by nothing more than pure binary energy, its sheer surface hiding a crew intent on hunting down a tenacious foe, an errant program that had invaded their world. As they looked down, the program looked up, through the translucent visor of his lightcycle, his ears tuned to the electric hum of the vehicle as it blasted across the virtual landscape. In the distance the program knew a swarm of grid-bugs skittered and bobbed from node to node on the ground, and he contemplated aiming for them, their erratic movement a perfect cover for his progress, but that was giving the crew of the Recogniser too much credit. Their searches were directed too far away to pose a problem for him, and even though he had come to expect more powerful defenses in this particular world, they had turned out to be nothing more than basic security programs, nothing like the powerhouses he thought would be chasing him. Why worry about potentially dangerous evasive manouevres when up against basic programs like that? He was too quick for any of them. After all, he was the program that vanquished the mighty CPU and its puppet program Sark. He was Tron.

As his hermetically sealed computer world had transformed into a universe filled with other worlds accessible via blink-of-the-eye leaps via internet sockets, so had Tron's legend grown exponentially. From CPU to CPU, his name had passed, a mythical being of power and integrity that had captured the imagination of his digital brethren. If Tron knew of laziness he might have rested on his laurels, but his user, Alan, would never let him rest. That was fine by him. The world had become a cosmos, and leaping from computer to computer in an attempt to right wrongs was satisfaction enough. Let the denizens of these worlds idly chatter his name. Celebrity was no reward. Knowing his user was satisfied was all that mattered.

Which is how Tron found himself inside an IBM Roadrunner supercomputer in Colorado, on a mission to collect data proving the existence of the world he was in, and then beam it back to Alan from an I/O Tower, after which point he would find an Internet Socket and zap himself out of there. Though the motives of most users were as alien to programs as all of the actions of a deity are to its followers, Alan had gifted his program with the knowledge that there was only supposed to be one Roadrunner computer in existence, in a laboratory in New Mexico. Rumours of a second one had reached Alan via his WormBot spy programme, Dorz, and knowing that this was a potentially dangerous anomaly, he sent Tron in to check it out. The IP address Dorz had found was the last thing he had sent out before communications ceased. Tron knew Dorz, which had manifested as a coil of glowing protomatter that could camouflage itself as any digital artifact within a computer world. Even the noble Tron was not going to miss the chameleonic program. The shapechanger had made his virtual stomach feel oogy.


However, he did miss Yori, his mate. She made his stomach feel oogy in a good way! She was waiting for him back home in Alan's computer, in a way that suggested that her user, Laura, was using that computer as well. Did that mean both users lived together? Could users love? Tron pondered this question for a picosecond, before almost crashing into a wall of data. That had never happened before. Was it a consequence of getting old? His programming was constantly on the verge of becoming obsolete, and though it was not like him to worry or doubt Alan, Tron had begun to feel like his proudest days were behind him. Maybe it was time for him to settle down with Yori, have some programs of their own, perhaps get a job working for a charity of some kind. He knew of a Old Programs Home situated not far from his domicile, and had considered helping out there when not being sent out on reconnaissance. Well, Yori had thought about it. He had doubts. After all, everyone there spoke nothing but Fortran.

That feeling of doubt remained as Tron shot his lightcycle towards the pulsing red light of a nearby I/O Tower, the landscape surrounding it covered with blocky buildings teeming with programs, most of which would be hostile to him, if what Alan had said was anything to go by. Knowing stealth would be the best option, Tron came to a stop, and with a Vrrrt! of impossibly speedy movement, the lightcycle de-rezzed, exposing him to scrutiny. It could be said that his primitive blue-hued form was one of his best weapons; though he often looked more primitive than the programs that had popped up over the past few years, he had been modded time and again until he could hold his own, which gave him an edge in combat. That modding alone should make Tron feel better about himself, but still he fretted. Would his time soon be up?

Certainly being sent to a Roadrunner supercomputer was enough to increase those doubts. Programs there would surely be lightyears ahead of him in complexity and ruthlessness, devious and powerful and made of pure binary machismo, but then that Recogniser had looked unpredictably feeble. No matter. It was to Tron's advantage, and as he walked through the digital plazas of this circuit-city, he kept an eye out for opposition, pushing his doubts to the back of his mind.


"There!" bellowed the voice from behind, and in a moment Tron had whipped around, pulled his identity disc from his back, and in the same movement hurled it with astonishing accuracy into the guard who had spotted him. The word had barely passed his lips as the disc shot through his chest, de-rezzing him with a sickening "Bloopedy bloopedy bloop!" Tron had heard this many times, the tragic, chilling sound of a program dying. Too bad. He had work to do.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw three more security programs heading towards him, one of them pointing and yelling at him to stop. With a wry smile, Tron shouted back, "No! I will not stop! I dare you to try to make me stop!" It was a dare they took. Discs flew across the space between them, innocent programs ducking for cover as the deadly battle raged before them. Tron handily dispatched two of the programs with a flick of his wrist, but the last was more tenacious. Four times, five times, Tron batted his attacks back, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hurling himself towards his attacker, Tron ducked and threw his disc at the same time. It arced upwards, its path twisting like a corkscrew, before slicing through the final program from behind. It was over. And yet, Tron's doubts grew. These programs were absurdly basic. If this were indeed a Roadrunner supercomputer, he would have been in serious trouble there. These guards were barely more powerful than his unmodded original form. Could Alan have made a mistake?

No, do not go there, Tron thought to himself as he rushed past goggle-eyed programs arrayed along the boulevards of the digital metropolis. Alan does not ever make mistakes. Users were infallible, their orders occasionally confusing or arcane but always to be followed to the letter. Doubting their integrity, perfection, and benevolence was tantamount to treason. Tron could no more doubt the orders of his User than a Bit could doubt that there only existed a Yes state and a No state. There was nothing else. Tron was saying yes to his user, as he always did.

His "YES!" was powerful enough to overcome the suspicions raised by the lack of further interference as he penetrated further into the city, powerful enough to circumvent the worry he felt upon reaching the defenseless tower, powerful enough to motivate him to kick down the main entrance, which shattered into bits with too much ease. But it was not enough to overcome the shock upon meeting the Keeper of the Tower, an ancient program embedded into the floor, decrepit and doddering, barely aware of Tron's presence.


With his sudden lack of confidence evident in his voice, Tron said, "Keeper of this tower! I am Tron, and I require access to this I/O Tower so that I might communicate with my user Alan."

"What? Pr0n? You look like a frat boy dipped in glow-paint."

Tron was horrified. A senile Keeper! In a Roadrunner? "Keeper, tell me your name, and give me information about this CPU. I demand it, in the name of Alan!"

"What? Screw you, punchy! If I wasn't stuck in the floor I'd slap the shit out of you. I am Zomg, keeper of this tower, holder of the IP address, guardian of the secrets held within."

"I need that IP address, Zomg. It is more important than you can possibly imagine."

Zomg considered this for a moment, then, coughing, answered, "And I need a TeraFlop of power to give me the strength to get the hell out of this tower and move somewhere more exciting, but you don't see me bitching about it. Did you say your name was Flarn?"

Having prepared only for battle, Tron was at a loss. "No! Tron! Vanquisher of the Master Control Program! Have you not heard of my exploits?"

"Damn! Quite the opinion of yourself you've got there. Why are you standing like that, with your hands on your hips? Are you farting? Don't stink up my tower with your butt-gas, Poindexter."

What was this? Tron was a fearsome warrior, the scourge of dictator programs and hero of the oppressed masses, not the subject of mockery from a dilapidated Keeper! "I will not be stopped, Zomg! Now, give me that IP address."

"Whatever. If it gets you out of my face, you skinny jock asshole." Zomg belched out a stream of information, which embedded itself within Tron's identity disc.

Tron was elated, forgetting the Keeper's impertinence immediately. "Thank you, Old Program. And now I must transmit to my User!"

"Yeah yeah, don't let the portal hit you in the ass on the way out. It's nap time for Zomg, you glowing bitch."

Tron sped past the slumbering program, gripping onto the identity disc for dear life. It was solid, dependable, whereas his faith in his User was fading fast. Ahead he could see the stream of information pouring out of the computer, and instead of the transcendant glowing beacon he expected, the stream was dull and intermittent. How could this be?


His digital soul shaken by this new worry, Tron stepped into it and held up the disc, which rose upwards, slowly at first and then shooting out across the computerverse to find Alan. Tron waited. What was minutes for him were picoseconds in User Time, but even so, the sudden return of the disc was shocking. Alan had responded without disguising his signal, caring not if he was detected. Tron leapt upwards to grab the disc before it had fully descended through the light, and instantly a message burst from Alan set him moving.

"It's not a supercomputer in Colorado! The IP address was wrong! You're inside a knackered old IBM sitting in a police station in Detroit, registered to someone called Jericho Jackson! Get out, Tron! Head to the nearest socket and get out!!!"

Tron ran, but even as he did the lights of this world flickered, blinked out once, twice, dimmed for three picoseconds. Something had gone wrong. It wasn't a security system inside the machine; it was something external, something happening in the world of the Users. Panicking, Tron activated his light cycle and raced towards the nearest socket.

Four hundred picoseconds later, the lights went out for good.

The crashing sound drew Captain Armbruster from his office for the tenth time that day. The man never let on how annoyed he was that his precinct was regularly trashed not just by the lowlives brought there, but also by the cops who worked under him. He knew exactly where the sound had come from without even looking, but as he rounded a corner he saw the laughing crowd gathered, the perp spread out on the floor, lying next to a knife that looked as if it had been concealed in his belt buckle. The source of the crashing noise appeared to have been a shattered hard drive that had obviously just bounced off the man's head. Sitting behind his desk was the man who had knocked out the criminal, Detroit's finest, Jericho "Action" Jackson. Armbruster sighed. "Sergeant Jackson, could you please explain to me why this man had to be incapacitated via contact with our last computer hard drive?"

Jackson smirked. "Punk tried to jack me, so I had to log him out."


Next: Did Tron escape? Will Alan find the Roadrunner? What about Jeff Bridges? Is he going to appear in the Tron sequel? And why isn't Action Jackson on DVD? Predator gets reissued everytime Fox scrapes the bottom of the sequel barrel with Alien Vs. Predator movies, but this classic remains lost in time? "How do you like your ribs?" That's the stuff.

Yes, Action Jackson triumphs over Tron, just as it should be. Three votes to two might not seem like a conclusive or important victory, but to me it proves the enduring appeal of 90s era Joel Silver movies over ambitious but muddled Disney movies starring David Warner. I can sleep soundly tonight.

Pop Culture Will Fight Itself (2)

Who would win this head-to-head match? Tron...


...or Jericho "Action" Jackson?


Tron lives inside a crazy and beautiful computer world designed by the incredible Moebius and the equally incredible Syd Mead.


Action Jackson comes from Detroit.


Tron gets around on a Light Cycle that does wicked 90 degree turns.


Action Jackson is such an incredible athlete he can chase a cab, leap onto it, hold on while being shot at and, after falling off, leap over it as it attempts to run him over.


Tron is accompanied by a very beautiful and dynamic soundtrack written by synth ace Wendy Carlos, with extra songs by Journey.


Action Jackson doesn't go anywhere without a funky and exciting soundtrack by Michael Kamen and Jazz God Herbie Hancock (seriously, have you heard Headhunters?), with the odd Pointer Sisters song thrown in for good measure.


Tron fights with a glowing frisbee that will de-rez any enemies.


Action Jackson uses his mighty fists, which are especially powerful when used with some taunting.


Tron's nemesis is the dastardly security program Sark, played by super-evil David Warner, here seen playing a game of Pac Man.


Action Jackson's nemesis is car-builder Peter Dellaplane, played by the normally likeable Craig T. Nelson, who uses karate to even the odds against our hero, plus the odd bit of bondage. Don't worry, Jackson kicks his ass later!


When Tron takes Sark down, this is the send-off dialogue:

Sark: You certainly are persistant, Tron.
Tron: I'm also better than you!

When Action Jackson is about to kick Dellaplane's ass after being kicked through a car window (a car that is sitting in Dellaplane's bedroom; long story), Jackson's send-off line is:

NOW YOU PISSED ME OFF!

Tron was played by Bruce Boxleitner. He's pretty bad in this, though he does better than in Babylon 5, where I struggled to take him seriously (though there were far far worse actors on that frustrating show). It's also kinda weird that the lead in the movie Tron isn't Boxleitner, but Jeff Bridges, who plays a hacker who meets Tron inside a computer. I guess if you're making a sci-fi version of The Wizard of Oz, the marketing department is probably going to sniff at the name Kevin.

Action Jackson is played by Carl Weathers, who is awesome in the Rocky movies and Predator, and his appearance on Arrested Development became one of the defining images in our current TV Golden Age. We will be forever grateful.


So, who will win this impossible fight? You decide!!!

SPECIAL BONUS POLL!

Who is your favourite new character on Lost?

EXTRA SPECIAL BONUS POLL!

Who is your least favourite character (i.e. your nominee for Show Gupta) on wacky sci-fi comedy Torchwood?

Temeraire and the Challenge of Ambitious Fantasy

It's well-established that we here at Shades of Caruso love dragons. We love them so much that both of us independently paid money to see Dragonheart in the theater, a movie that features Dennis Quaid playing a hero with a voice reminiscent of a man in the late stages of emphysema, a dragon played by a surly, transmogrified James Bond saddled with lines like "I merely chewed in self-defense, but I never swallowed," and David "Nyeehh" Thewlis nasaling his way through another cringing, effeminate villain role. It might be a significantly less painful experience on mute, actually. Of course, it's bad for lots of other reasons too: terrible writing and plotting, corny "comedy" bits, lackluster CGI, muddy production values... Sure, it's got a talking dragon in it, but he's too busy making pseudo-sexual innuendos about eating people to save the movie.

Of course, the fact that we sat through D-Wars is even more damning proof (we may have even enjoyed it a little), as is our viewing of Eragon on Sky Movies last night (not as awful as D-Wars but infinitely more boring and cliched. The dragon was too cutesy-looking to be cool, and too sassy to be likable). But the truth is that dragon-related entertainment is hard to come by. Well, scratch that -- I should say that good dragon-related entertainment is hard to come by. I have to admit here that I know there are plenty of books about dragons out there that I haven't read (excluding the series I'll be talking about in a moment, obviously), so it's a bit unfair of me to say that; for all I know, there are ones out there that I'd love. It's just...well, take Anne McCaffrey, Dragon Poet of Pern. Here's a partial description I found on Amazon:

In earlier episodes, hero and heroine F'lar and Lessa summoned the captivating dragons and their riders from the remote past to save Pern from a devastating rain of Thread, while the later discovery of Aivas, the artificial intelligence that guided Pern's original human settlers, brought technological marvels like printing to Pern and helped shift the Thread-producing Red Star from its lethal orbit before it self-destructed.

First of all...F'lar? F'lar?? That's the best name you could come up with for your hero? A sound that is most reminiscent of a pirate spitting up a gob of mucous? It has an apostrophe in it, for fuck's sake! (This is a particular bugbear of mine, sci-fi and fantasy writers' insistence on putting random apostrophes in the middle of what are already ridiculous names. After all, what good is a name like Robert when you can invent a character named Ro'outabro'igle?)

Second, devastating rain of Thread? ("Look out! It's multicolored! Auughhh!!") Aivas? "Helped shift the Thread-producing Red Star from its lethal orbit"? I don't have a hate-on for fantasy, but it's these ridiculous concepts that turn me off to a lot of it, and I suspect turn off a lot of other people too. For all I know, those are thrilling stories that, if I read them, I'd end up championing. I love the concept of fantasy, the incredible range of ideas it has access to. But I probably won't read these books, precisely because they sound so silly. I'm sure they have a basis in solid dramatic ideas -- how to build a society, the effect of technology on human lives, the pitfalls of telepathic communication with winged lizards -- but unfortunately the marketing for them tends to be really bad. Plus, I don't know why this is, but they're always about a thousand pages long each and there's about twenty books in every series. Why? Even if the idea intrigues you a little bit, you're immediately put off by the incredible investment required.

Perhaps the core audience doesn't want publishers to pander to what's considered acceptably mainstream, but still, I think a lot of genre books get unfairly ignored because of their covers and their marketing copy and all the rest (I do realize the irony of me saying this, as I'm one of the people who gets turned off by these things). I edit children's books for a large company, some of which are fantasy or sci-fi, so I realize the conundrum here; the stories might draw a larger audience but also have to appeal to the people they know are going to buy them, and be true to the stories within.

Okay, so enough unfocused and contradictory tangenting. The real reason I'm here today is to talk about Naomi Novik's Temeraire series. To go back to my earlier point, I don't think I ever would have picked up these books based on the covers.


They look like standard-issue dragon fantasy novels. Actually that's what the US covers look like. The UK covers are interesting, but I'm still not sure they completely succeed.

I like the dragon-and-boats thing -- pretty accurate, and a bit more in the direction of "this might just be serious literature WITH DRAGONS IN IT OMFG" -- but the paperback covers look a bit too much like Jane Austen-esque beast-friendly chick lit, which is schizophrenic and sexually confusing. I appreciate what a tough job the designers have, though, and I like the idea behind the attempt. Part of the problem is that on none of them do the dragons look friendly -- they look like attacking war-beasts who could very well be ripping apart our society. This is a bit of a problem for Temeraire (the dragon of the title) in the book, but I don't think that's to a marketer's advantage -- but then how do you make the dragons look cool without making them too cutesy? The one I like best is the UK omnibus edition:


It's still a a bit too cheap-fantasy cover for me, but it's an arresting image -- I'd stop and stare at that cover much the way Masticator would at a picture of a woman on a magazine cover thrusting her bottom at the camera. But as I said, I didn't get the books because of the covers -- I read a review of them in Entertainment Weekly in which they were highly praised and I think described as a kind of Patrick O'Brian with dragons, which was enough to intrigue me (I haven't read any O'Brian, though I loved the film of Master and Commander, but the blending of genres sounded great). Meanwhile Admiral Neck heard that Peter Jackson bought the film rights for the books, and when they arrived from the States (they weren't published here until a few months later), he immediately grabbed the first one before I could. Damn you, Admiral, and your insatiable dragon love! He raced through the first book, though, and soon we were both staying up till four to read them. The first three were published all at once, and while I know I complained earlier about the length of fantasy series, these weren't too long (300-400 pages each), and the world they described was not too different from our own. In fact, the only difference was that this alternate universe contained talking, intelligent dragons. Can you imagine anything more awesome? I didn't think so.

Novik came up with an incredibly clever, simple idea -- what if dragons existed, and were used as a line of England's military defense during the Napoleonic Wars? She also started us out with a protagonist as green to dragons as we were -- Captain Will Laurence (note lack of apostrophes), a seaman in Her Majesty's Navy, who accidentally ends up with a very valuable Chinese dragon egg when he captures a French ship. The egg hatches some weeks later, while Laurence and his crew are still out to sea, and though Laurence knows almost nothing about dragons except that they need to be harnessed when they hatch (so that they can bond with the person who will become their captain in England's Aerial Corps), he ends up becoming the choice of captain for the egg who hatches -- the dragon he will name Temeraire.

The first book in the series largely concerns Laurence's gradual acceptance of his fate as an aviator -- he was a respected captain in a prestigious profession, happy with his life, and he is at first reluctant and resentful of his duty to Temeraire, who, despite this, takes to him instantly. We follow the pair as they embark on training and learn about life in the Aerial Corps, which is very different from the life Laurence knew. Aviators are the shabby black sheep of the military, treated by the rest of English society as something of a joke, their dragons feared as dangerous beasts. This despite the fact that dragons are as intelligent as humans -- perhaps even more intelligent; they show an incredible aptitude for math and science, and Temeraire in particular is something of a savant. At first Laurence thinks his growing bond with Temeraire is unusual and that the other aviators think of their dragons as mere war beasts, but he soon learns that the bond between a dragon and his captain is one of the closest relationships a person may ever experience.

Initially Laurence is a bit unlikable -- stiff and proper, with a rigid inclination towards what's considered right and mannerly by society. It's only when he meets Temeraire that he begins to soften, to become less self-serious. It's to Novik's credit that she doesn't entirely soften Laurence, though -- though he grows to love Temeraire more than he can express, he is still concerned utmost with what is right and good, with being an honorable man, with following society's strictures. Temeraire himself is a very intelligent innocent, always questioning why society is the way it is, why people are afraid of dragons when there is so clearly nothing to fear (he is often hurt and offended when people show fear at his enormous, 20-ton physique). This sounds like it could be simple and didactic, but it never is; it comes from character and not as a lecture. The push and pull runs through the series as a constant, with each party softening to the other's argument as they grow to love and depend on each other more.

Subsequent books have Laurence and Temeraire being forced to travel around the world -- to China, Turkey, Germany, Africa, and back to England to fight Napolean, whose ominous presence runs through the books like a harbinger of impending destruction. It's a clever idea to have the pair travel the world -- not only because there's only so much you can write about English battles against Napolean's army but also because it allows Novik to explore how dragons are treated all over the world.

This is perhaps Novik's cleverest idea of all. By far the greatest strength of genre fiction is the way it allows its creators to approach all the ordinary issues of domestic drama from unusual angles, usually through metaphor. Where an ordinary drama would tell a story as a standard teenage-daughter-hates-her-mother story, The Exorcist compares puberty to demonic possession. The interesting-but-flawed Ginger Snaps does much the same: a young girl getting her period for the first time realizes she is also becoming a werewolf, and the movie charts her wrestling with her newfound power and sexuality. Buffy, of course, worked on a throughline of a high-school-as-hell metaphor, and Battlestar Galactica gets us to sympathize with Iraqi insurgents by placing its characters in a situation where they are colonized by an oppressive regime.

The Temeraire series explores issues of feminism (a certain breed of dragon -- Longwings -- only accept female captains, to Laurence's surprise and profound comic embarrassment), racism, slavery, the question of animal intelligence, dragons as a metaphor for how we treat outsiders and minorities -- all without being didactic. In England, dragons are kept away from society at large, and are generally treated as if they were large, winged horses. Their captains and crews love them, but they have no autonomy, and they are generally not treated as intelligent beings. Laurence and Temeraire don't realize there's any other way to be -- until they journey to China and find out that there, dragons are independent and have their own lives and professions (ferrying people from one place to the other, doing manual labor, etc), eat cooked meals instead of raw cows and sheep, and live in sheltered, warm pavilions instead of making their beds on the ground. And some -- like Temeraire, for he is an extremely rare and special breed known as a Celestial -- are revered as thinkers and scholars, and spend their time in the life of the mind instead of being charged with defending the country as a mere unthinking tool of war.

As we go through each country, we find how each one treats its dragons, and with each book Temeraire grows more and more anxious about the way dragons are treated in England and feels more and more that he must do something to change it. Laurence too wants only the best for Temeraire, and for dragons as a whole -- he wants them to be happy above all -- but he knows the harsh reality he's afraid to confront his friend with; he knows how unlikely the possibility of change is, especially in a time of war.

The most touching thing about the books -- in which much is touching, as Novik has a deft hand with melodramatic but never mawkish storylines -- is obviously the relationship between Laurence and Temeraire, but it is also the way Laurence is changed by his love for the beast. Temeraire is part precocious child, part confidante, part comrade and colleague -- a true life partner and probably the closest relationship Laurence will ever know -- and he gradually opens Laurence's tightly closed and rigid personality. For me, good drama happens when we as an audience are torn between two points of view -- when two sides of an argument are presented as equally valid, and we empathize with and understand the views of those on either side. I find nothing more riveting than this three-dimensionality of character, and good drama always has it, no matter what the genre. And in this series, Laurence and Temeraire are always fascinating, always people we want to know.



The fourth book, which I read a few months ago (and am belatedly writing about, obviously), was a tiny bit disappointing in that it was a kind of transition book -- Novik is clearly building up to something exciting, but she has to get through certain story mechanics to get there, which is not so much her fault as just the way the story happened to fall. Getting the first three books at once spoiled me, and now I'm stuck anxiously waiting for the next story as she finishes it. I have no doubt it will be just as fascinating as the others.

I'm also anxiously waiting for Peter Jackson's film version and get more anxious every time he announces another unrelated project. OMG stop taking on goddamn Lord of the Rings movies! How many more drunken homoerotic hobbit songs can we suffer through? (I should explain that -- I think Jackson is an immensely talented director and that he is the perfect person to do justice to Temeraire. I just really don't care about the Lord of the Rings as a story, though I think they're beautifully made movies and he did the best job he possibly could have with them.) (Yet more heresy on this blog! What kind of anarchic free-for-all is going on here - Neck)

When July arrives and Victory of Eagles comes out, I will be first in line, brandishing my nerdy fantasy book with pride.

He-Man Vs. Machete - Requiem

Ext: Forest near Eternos. Prince Adam walks beneath towering trees. Probably covered in purple leaves. Not sure. Will check Complete Masters of the Universe boxset for confirmation. Adam is accompanied by his faithful feline companion, Cringer, and the floaty pain in the ass Orko. On his back is a paper tag, on which is written (C) Filmation.

Orko: Prince Adam, might I remind you, if you do not hurry you shall be late for the anniversary party of your parents, the King and Queen of all Eternia. They would be most displeased!

Prince Adam: Oh Orko, why hurry? It's a glorious day and the forest has never looked as beautiful. Right, Cringer?

Cringer: I don't know about you, but I think even on a good day there could be something lying in wait. ::gulp::

Prince Adam: ::laughs a big bellowing laugh:: (Note to animators - use stock laughing footage) Oh Cringer, you're such a cowardly cat! Surely you remember the Battle of Tranmaxia, where I finally banished the dastardly Skeletor from the kingdom of Eternos once and for all, with the help of my faithful companions Man-At-Arms and Teela. It was a rout, Skeletor's evil band thrown to the four winds thanks to virtuous forces of might, courage, and the Power of Grayskull!

Cringer: If you say so, but that doesn't make me feel that much better. ::gulp::

Prince Adam: You know, for a large tiger-thing that can transform into a fearsome Battle Cat, you're a real loser.

Orko: Prince Adam, this conversation isn't getting us any closer to the castle. If we're late, the King will have my head on a platter, even though, as you can see from the dark, empty space under my hood, I don't even really have a head!


Prince Adam: Why is it so hard to just enjoy nature for a while? Huh? Guys? Seriously, it's a nice day, and all I get is the yapping. If it's not you, it's my faithful companions Man-At-Arms and Teela, both of whom, while lovely people and fine warriors, are pretty much the antithesis of fun. Can you both just get off my case for a bit? Dang!

Orko: But sire, perhaps you're underestimating the fury of your parents! They have told me that GLURK!

From nowhere a knife slices through the air, hitting Orko right in the center of the big O on his chest, flinging him back into a tree, pinning him there.

Cringer: Adam! What did you do that for?


Prince Adam: Why Cringer, I would never do such a thing! Perhaps this is an ambush by Skeletor's forces!

Cringer: I don't believe that for a second. I'm getting out of here! ::flees::

Prince Adam: Worthless cat jerk! That does it. ::raises sword above his head:: By the Power of Greyskull, bitches! (Note to animators, stock footage looking a little overused by now, but stick with it. Animating new character has depleted this week's budget.)

A burst of cosmic power infuses Adam with, as mentioned above, the Power of Greyskull, and he transforms into the mighty warrior He-Man, all muscles, hair and loincloth.


He-Man: Now, with my mighty sword, I shall wreak terrible vengeance on the head and face of my foe, even though I feel like buying him a drink. That floaty jerk was really beginning to chap my toned ass.

A thin whistle splits the air, as another throwing knife flies towards He-Man, connecting with his sword with sufficient force to knock it from his grasp. Stunned, he watches as it disappears into the thick Eternian undergrowth.

He-Man: Very impressive, my skilled enemy. Perhaps this is a new recruit in Skeletor's army of ne'er-do-well's. His skill with a knife is commendable. I shall call him Knifedor, in honour of his talent. This does not matter, though. Even without my mighty power sword I can still vanquish this evil-doer. I did once hang around with Superman, after all (Note to legal, see if DC are going to allow us to use that name. If not, just loop in Fisto or something.)

Fast as a darting hummingbird of death, a throwing knife shoots from a different bush, and He-Man dodges, the knife pinging off his chestplate.

He-Man: Hey! Watch the nipples, dastardly cur!

He-Man wrenches an enormous branch from a tree and prepares himself for battle. A shrub twitches, and He-Man leaps forward at astonishing speed, loincloth flapping heroically. Within the bush is He-Man's foe; Machete! The golden warrior's attack takes the knife-wielding assassin unawares, and he is sent flying. Upon coming to rest, he leaps up and assesses his prey.

Machete: Nothing personal, man, but I got a big bag of gold from some bone-faced dude to rub you out.

He-Man: Skeletor hired an assassin? That coward. Fine, if that's the way he wants it, come and get it!

Before He-Man can connect with his foe, Machete flips back into the undergrowth, and is lost. He-Man grits his perfect teeth and crashes forward into the bushes, and a piercing cry is heard, followed by a thud.

Machete: ::looking into a deep dark hole:: Like I said, blondie, nothing personal. I'll look after your cat and your sword for you, if you want. ::pulls the sword from the tree:: What? This shit is plastic. Crazy asshole.

Next week: Skeletor reneges on his deal, Prince Adam wakes up at the bottom of a large pit with a really bad headache but the same crappy page-boy haircut as usual, and Machete wreaks his bloody revenge with the help of his league of swordsmen!


(Not really, but at least now you know there's a happy ending.)

Yes, the fight poll has closed, and the result was five votes for Machete, and three for He-Man. Not a conclusive victory, so perhaps the musclebound do-gooder will be able to climb from the pit and aid Machete in his quest to separate Skeletor from his enormous Eternian wealth! (Writing heroic dialogue tends to stay with you, I guess.)

New poll! Who is your favourite Ghostbuster? Pete Venkman, Ray Stantz, Egon Spengler, Winston Zeddemore, or honorary Ghostbuster Louis Tully?

Pop Culture Will Fight Itself (1)

Who would win this head-to-head match? He-Man...


...or Machete?


He-Man has one half of a Power Sword and the Power of Greyskull on his side.


Machete has a lot of machetes. And throwing knives. And a nice coat and vest combo to hold it all.


He-Man gets around on a large Battle Cat.


Machete has a motorbike with a minigun on the front.


He-Man was once played by musclebound engineering graduate and former Punisher Dolph Lundgren. He seems like a nice chap. Though in one movie he played a horrible boxer who killed Apollo Creed, which is egregious.


Machete is played solely by Danny Trejo, who I have heard through an internet acquaintance is a very very nice man who has helped people escape delinquent childhoods.


So, who will win this impossible fight? You decide!!!