Golden Sunsets Redux - 60 Years of Memories - Part 23 - 1989

This time, I’ve gone with a series of books which a lot of people will never have heard of, but which were far better than things might suggest...

1989:

The trivia:

• Scuba diver William Lamm was swimming in eight feet of water off Hutchinson Island in Florida - the kind of shallow, calm depth where the biggest threat is usually stepping on something spiky. However, he drifted too close to the intake pipe for the island’s nuclear power plant, and before he could even register the mistake, the current grabbed him like a giant invisible hand. What followed was 1,600 feet of high‑speed, pitch‑black pipeline travel with  no idea where he was going. And then, unbelievably, he popped out into the plant’s cooling pond like a confused otter. No broken bones. No burns. Not even a dramatic scar to point to at during dinner parties. Just a man who survived the worst waterslide in Florida and now had to figure out how to explain it to friends without sounding like he was making it up.

• An amateur collector of 18th century maps bought an old tattered painting of a country scene for four dollars at a Pennsylvania bargain sale - purely because he liked the frame. The artwork itself was worn and frankly, unremarkable. When he got home and took it apart, he discovered a folded copy of the US Declaration of Independence hidden behind the canvas. Thinking it nothing more than a reproduction curiosity, he just put it to one side until a friend convinced him to contact an expert. It turned out to be one of only 200 "John Dunlap broadsides" printed on the evening of 4th July 1776 - of which fewer than thirty were known to survive. When it finally went to auction two years later, it sold for... US$ 2.4 million.

• A MiG‑23 fighter jet taking off from a Polish airfield in 1989 suffered a malfunction that caused the pilot to believe the aircraft was about to crash. He ejected almost immediately after liftoff. The problem, however, corrected itself the moment he left the cockpit. With no one on board, the MiG levelled out, climbed, and continued flying on autopilot. The aircraft crossed into East Germany, then West Germany, and kept going for more than 500 miles. It finally ran out of fuel over Belgium and crashed into a house near Kortrijk, the impact sadly killing a teenager inside the building. The Belgian government demanded an explanation, and the Soviet Union issued a formal apology, acknowledging the chain of errors that led to the accident. The pilot was later cleared of any wrongdoing.

The memory:

The Cineverse Cycle by Craig Shaw Gardner

In the wake of the success of Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" novels, publishers realised that comic fantasy could be big business. The truth is that a more light-hearted take on the standard fantasy tropes had been around for a long time, but it had never captured the general public's imagination. in quite the same way until now. Almost overnight, the fantasy shelves in the UK seemed to shift. What had once been a scattering of Tolkien clones, coming-of-age quest sagas, and the occasional oddball paperback with a pun in the title suddenly blossomed into a riot of new comic fantasies. For a teenager wandering the aisles of  London’s Forbidden Planet store, it felt as if the genre had cracked open and started laughing at itself.

During regular trips to the shop I’d make a beeline for the paperbacks, scanning for anything new. I didn’t have a system - I judged by titles, by blurbs, by whatever caught my eye. So I ended up with John DeChancie's "Castle Perilous" series, Simon Hawke's "The Wizard of Fourth Street", Christopher Statsheff's long-running "Warlock" sequence (although he’d been writing for years before the boom), and Alan Dean Fosters "Spellsinger". Plus  I continued to collect the ongoing "Xanth" adventures from Piers Anthony, plus many of his other novels. Yes, I bought a *lot* of books.

Amongst the dozens of new titles on the shelves, one new author particularly stood out - but what attracted me to his name was not the description on the back, but the cover. You see, in a canny move, the publishers decided to get Discworld artist Josh Kirby to also produce the covers for the books by American writer Craig Shaw Gardner. Kirby’s instantly recognisable swirling, chaotic, overstuffed illustrations told you exactly what kind of ride you were in for - anarchic, colourful and possibly slightly unhinged. I guess they felt that readers who already strongly associated his work with Pratchett's books, would make the same leap and assume "this is more of the same kind of stuff". Well guess what - it worked on me!

Gardner originally released "A Malady of Magicks" in 1986, but it was some time later when it, and the other two volumes in his first trilogy ("A Multitude of Monsters" and "A Night in the Netherhells")  reached UK shores, complete with their Kirby coves

The main plot is fairly simple - Ebenezum is possibly the greatest wizard of the age. After an altercation with a demon, causes him to be cursed to be allergic to magic,  he and his hapless apprentice Wuntvor must journey to the City of Forbidden Delights in search of a cure, all the while avoiding death, disaster and perils such as tap-dancing dragons, enchanted chickens, etc, etc. 

It's your typical episodic quest narrative and very reminiscent in places of "The Colour of Magic" and "The Light Fantastic" with its send-up of standard fantasy. It's light, whimsical and occasionally funny - good enough to while away the time on a train journey but certainly nothing mind-blowingly original. 

Nonetheless I enjoyed the books enough to pick up the sequel "Wuntvor" trilogy, which ventured into fairy tale territory as the helper becomes the hero and has to save the world with help from (amongst others) an amorous unicorn, a ferret and a cowardly sword. None of the books demanded much, and maybe that was part of their charm. They were warm, silly, and just self‑aware enough to feel clever without ever trying too hard. 

However, these Pratchett-pastiches are not the core of this particular memory. That’s because Craig Shaw Gardner's next series was far more in tune with my tastes - especially my love for all things from the worlds of movies, pulp serials and comic books....

Overall billed as "The Cineverse Cycle", book one - "Slaves of the Volcano God" concerns Roger Gordon - a bored public relations worker, who accidentally activates his childhood Captain Crusader Decoder Ring (found inside a cereal packet) and is transported into the 'Cineverse', a multiverse where the rules of low‑budget cinema are literally true. Westerns, jungle adventures, musicals, serials - each world runs on its own genre logic, complete with cliffhangers, stock characters, and the kind of physics that only ever made sense on a studio backlot. When Roger’s girlfriend Delores is kidnapped by the evil Doctor Dread, he sets off on a rescue mission that takes him through a series of increasingly absurd film‑worlds, picking up unlikely allies and crossing paths with villains straight out of the 1940s. Behind it all lurks a larger mystery - “The Change” - a shift in the Cineverse that has thrown its once‑predictable movie worlds into disarray.

"Bride of the Slime Monster" raises the stakes. Roger is now stranded in the Cineverse without his Decoder Ring, leaving him unable to control where he ends up next. Doctor Dread has gained the upper hand, unleashing hundreds of celluloid villains across the multiverse, and Delores is being pursued by the revolting Slime Monster. Roger’s only hope is to find the legendary Captain Crusader, the one hero powerful enough to restore order. His journey takes him through increasingly chaotic genre realms, including an extended detour into a beach‑party movie complete with musical numbers and surfer gangs. As Roger begins to understand the Cineverse’s rules more clearly, he realises that the crisis is bigger than any single villain - the very structure of the movie worlds is starting to break down.

The trilogy concludes with "Revenge of the Fluffy Bunnies", where Roger has, in a true plot twist, become Captain Crusader himself - just in time for the Cineverse to fall apart completely. Genres are collapsing, villains are multiplying, and the underlying logic of the multiverse is coming undone. But the most unexpected complication is personal - Roger’s mother has stumbled into the Cineverse and been transformed into a dominatrix‑style villainess. As Roger tries to rescue Delores, confront Doctor. Dread, and uncover the truth about the enigmatic Plotmaster, he must also deal with the surreal horror of battling his own mother. The trilogy barrels toward a finale that blends affectionate parody with a genuine love of the strange, rickety magic of the movies that inspired it.

I think what appealed to me most about the Cineverse is that it’s obvious Gardner has a deep, abiding love for the B‑movie genre and all its gloriously conventions. His story isn’t just sprinkled with references - it’s built from the same raw material as those old films, with every world operating according to its own lovingly reconstructed rulebook. You can feel the affection in the way he handles cliffhangers, the way villains monologue just long enough for the hero to escape, the way science is always performed in laboratories full of sparking machinery. There’s a deliberate echo of those black‑and‑white Republic serials - the breathless pacing, the weekly peril, the sense that the plot is being made up on the fly but somehow still holds together. Gardner isn’t mocking these tropes - he’s celebrating them, treating them as the building blocks of a universe where the power of cinema means almost anything can happen. 

And all of that was exactly what I needed, because my own childhood was steeped in that same kind of stuff. I grew up on the original serials - Buster Crabbe’s "Flash Gordon", "King of the Rocketmen" - all those earnest heroes in tin‑foil spaceships battling rubber‑suited monsters. Saturday mornings were filled with creature features like "Them!", "Godzilla", or "It Came From Beneath the Sea" -  the kind of films where the special effects wobbled but the imagination behind them never did. These weren’t just movies, they were part of the fabric of my early life - the background of my weekends and school holidays. So when Gardner created a universe where those worlds were real, where their rules mattered, and where someone like Roger could step into them and treat them with the same mixture of awe I always felt - well, it felt like he’d written the Cineverse specifically for people like me. 

It's a far more original work that the humorous fantasies of Ebenezum and Wuntvor - satirical rather than trying to be "funny" and all the better for it. It also helps that there is a rollicking good plot inside the pages. I lapped up all three books in quick succession and enjoyed the hell out of all of them.  Gardner would never replace Pratchett in my affections, but he certainly was up there with the likes of Douglas Adams, Robert Rankin and Tom Holt.

Gardner went on to write one more light fantasy trilogy (the "Sinbad" series), before trying his hand at a a traditional "fish-out-of-water" story with the "Dragon Circle" novels. Both got published in the UK with the requisite Josh Kirby covers, but I never even saw copies of the latter, let alone read them. He also started dabbling in movie adaptations (when those were a thing), with the most successful being novelisations of Tim Burton's "Batman" in 1989 (more on that movie below), plus all three of the "Back to the Future" movies. I recently discovered he later started used pen names for other series - I guess 'Craig Shaw Gardner' had become too synonymous with comedic fantasy...

While there was an omnibus edition of the "Cineverse Cycle" in 1992, the paperback books have been long out of print and prices in the second-hand market are variable. E-books of most of Gardner's novels appear to have emerged around 2014 (complete with the truly woeful US covers), so the stories are still out there if you want to give them a go. For me the trilogy is a bit of a lost pearl amongst an ocean of parodies and Pratchett copycats - a series that understood its influences so well it could play with them rather than simply imitate them The more you know about the movies, the more you will enjoy these books. Not every story has to be epic or life changing or worthy of the Booker prize. Sometimes you just need a series that is really good fun - something that reminds you why you fell in love with stories in the first place, and why a well‑timed cliffhanger or a rubber‑suited monster can still make you smile decades later.

I took one of Gardener's books to a Terry Pratchett signing once. He looked it over and just wrote "nice cover..." on the inside...

Honourable mentions:

• Batman - He could never better the late great Adam West, but Michael Keaton made a pretty good Dark Knight and an even better Bruce Wayne. The costume is excellent, the Batmobile looks suitably cool and Gotham had the right mix of gothic exaggeration and urban decay - even if it did sometimes feel like you could see the edges of the set. Keaton’s casting was loudly criticised at the time, but he shut that down quickly once people saw what he could do with the role, bringing a controlled and grounded performance. I’ve never been fully sold on Jack Nicholson’s Joker though. Yes the Clown Prince of Crime is meant to be theatrical and over the top, but Nicholson went too far in the wrong direction for my personal tastes. Still, in 1989 superhero films were a gamble, and the studio clearly wanted a marquee name to anchor the whole thing and reassure audiences. Of course the strategy worked and the film was a huge success, so clearly I know nothing! Despite this one niggle, I still loved the film when it came out and even though I wasn't the greatest Prince fan, bought both soundtrack albums. As for Vicki Vale Vale - the less said, the better...

• Truckers by Terry Prachett - So after I headlined one of his 'imitators', here comes Terry himself with the first in the "Nome / Bromeliad" trilogy. It was the first non‑Discworld Pratchett novel I read, and it immediately showed how much range he had beyond witches, wizards, and homicidal luggage. The central idea - an entire community of Nomes living under the floorboards of a department store - is one of those concepts that sounds whimsical until you see how carefully he builds the world around it. The characters are small, but the story isn’t. Their search for where they came from and how to get back there gives the book a sense of scale that goes far beyond its setting. The whole Bromeliad trilogy stands alongside his best work - sharp, funny, and surprisingly moving. "Truckers" proved he could write character‑driven adventure with just as much clarity and heart. The 1992 Cosgrove Hall stop‑motion series is also a strong reminder of how adaptable his ideas are. The studio behind "Danger Mouse" captured the tone of the book perfectly, and it remains one of the better Pratchett screen adaptations.

• Doom Patrol - I’ve never really counted myself as a Grant Morrison fan. Too often his work feels like an attempt to be clever for its own sake, a kind of bargain‑basement Alan Moore impression that leans heavily on abstraction without always earning it. But every so often he hits on something genuinely original, and his reinvention of the 1960s DC super-team of freaks and rejects with Richard Case is one of those moments - rebuilding them into something stranger, sharper, and far more ambitious. What drew me in were the ideas - the Brotherhood of Dada, the Scissormen, Danny the Street - concepts so bizarre and specific that they shouldn’t fit, yet somehow do. The stories are absurd, and occasionally pretentious, but they’re also compelling in a way that’s hard to shake. Morrison leaned fully into the team’s outsider status and used it to push superhero comics into territory they rarely visited at the time. For all my reservations about his broader body of work, this run stands out. It’s messy, inventive, and completely unlike anything else DC was publishing. Even if you don’t buy into every choice he makes, the sheer insanity of it carries you along.

• London Boys - The Twelve Commandments of Dance - It's cheesy Europop synth dance music and to be honest it's pretty awful. Why is it even on the list then? Well apart from the fact that the songs were never off the radio in the summer of 1989 (although popularity is no measure of quality), it's here because it was an album I bought and tried to like in order to impress a girl I was genuinely infatuated with. Listening to "Requiem" or "London Nights" now instantly transports me back to a time and place when I was young, naïve and a little bit too keen. No wonder the lady in question tolerated my friendship and nothing further...

• Metropolis :The Musical - With, let's be fair, only a couple of really good tunes, this stage version of the Fritz Lang classic needed something else to make it stand out. Thankfully it marked the UK debut of Judy Kuhn, who brought real presence to the dual role of Maria and Futura.  Opposite her was Brian Blessed at full power - that unmistakable voice and sheer physicality doing a lot of heavy lifting. Jonathan Adams is also in a great supporting role. The production itself leaned heavily on spectacle. The huge metallic set, with its rising platforms, moving walkways and cradles descending from the ceiling, was designed to echo the scale and machinery of Fritz Lang’s original film. What made it memorable wasn’t just the scale but the constant movement. Scenes didn’t simply change - they shifted, rotated, unfolded. The set behaved like a piece of machinery in its own right, echoing the film’s themes of automation and dehumanisation. It created a sense of depth and height that most productions of the time couldn’t match, and even when the score faltered, the staging kept the audience’s attention. Yes it wasn’t subtle, but it was impressive, and for anyone who loved the 1927 movie, it was enough to justify multiple visits. I went three times in quick succession, partly for the cast, partly for the staging, and partly because I knew it wasn’t going to last. And it didn’t. After just 214 performances, "Metropolis" closed and slipped quietly into the category of interesting theatrical footnotes. The machines were beautiful, but only for a very short while...

• Beautiful Stories For Ugly Children - This was the first title launched under DC’s short‑lived Piranha Press imprint, and it immediately set itself apart from anything else the company was publishing. It wasn’t really a comic in the traditional sense - each issue was essentially a prose story accompanied by Dan Sweetman’s stark, scratchy illustrations. But the format suited the material. These were unsettling, off‑kilter fables with titles like "A Cotton Candy Autopsy", "Die Rainbow Die" and "The Santas of Demotion Street" - stories that lived in the margins, far away from capes, continuity and the brightly coloured optimism of mainstream superhero books. Dave Louapre’s writing was bleakly funny, often uncomfortable, and completely uninterested in giving readers sympathetic characters or tidy resolutions. Sweetman’s artwork amplified that tone perfectly. His distorted figures and jagged linework made the world feel unstable, as if everything was slightly out of alignment. The combination created something that felt genuinely different. Across its run, the series was experimental without being pretentious, strange without being incoherent, and confident enough to let its stories be abrasive when they needed to be. For a brief moment, Piranha Press had something truly distinctive on its hands - thirty issues of sharp, unsettling brilliance that still stand out in the landscape of late‑80s and early‑90s comics.

• Legion of Super-Heroes - I fell in love with the Legion during the 80s Paul Levitz era. The series started with a new number one on higher quality "Baxter" paper and Levitz had a real knack of maintaining decades long continuity, yet creating fresh stories for a new audience. Those 63 issues are a high watermark in the team's history - still well regarded all these decades later. But what came after was very, very different. Levitz stepped away and genius writer/artist Keith Giffen took the reigns. We had a new first issue and an ominous title page - "Five Years Later". Giffen along with Tom and Mary Bierbaum took the team into darker territory, presenting a 30th century where the United Planets was crumbling, Earthgov was compromised and the Legion itself had splintered into scattered, damaged former heroes. It was a shock to the system, especially for readers who’d grown up with the cleaner, more straightforward adventures of the earlier runs. What made the book compelling was its willingness to commit to the premise. Characters aged, relationships broke down, and the idealism that had once defined the Legion was replaced by a sense of loss and disillusionment. Giffen’s dense, nine‑panel layouts and heavy use of shadow gave the series a striking visual identity. It wasn’t always easy to follow, and it certainly wasn’t always welcoming, but it was ambitious in a way the Legion perhaps hadn’t been for years. I really loved it, but the changes divided the fanbase. However it did prove that the property could evolve rather than simply repeat itself. Buy the omnibus editions - you won't be disappointed.

Golden Sunsets Redux - 60 Years of Memories - Part 22 - 1988

 A real case of "you had to be there"...

1988:

The trivia:

• As a protest against null voting, Brazilian magazine "Casseta Popular" submitted a chimpanzee named Tiao from the Rio de Janeiro zoo as a candidate in the upcoming election. Tiao was well known locally for his bad temper and habit of throwing mud and feces on visitors. In the election he incredibly received over 400,000 votes and came third. but of course his ballots were considered null. When Tiao died in 1996 at the age of 34, the city declared three days of official mourning. Shades of Mayor Dave the Orangutan in 2000 AD perhaps ?

• At the opening ceremony of the Seoul Summer Olympics, a large group of white doves were released to symbolise peace. Later the Olympic torch was carried into the stadium, and by now many of the doves had settled on the cauldron of the official flame. Despite this, the lighting of the flame proceeded as normal and worldwide TV audiences watched in horror at scenes of the doves being cooked alive on the world's biggest barbecue.

• Former NASA engineer Edgar C. Whisenant wrote a book predicting that the Rapture (when the Christian dead would be resurrected and join the living in heaven for eternity) would occur in September 1988. The book sold more than 4.5 million copies and some evangelical groups began to prepare their members for the coming event. When it failed to occur, at the appointed time, Whisenant followed up with other books - with predictions for 1989, 1993 and 1994. These failed to sell quite so well...

• In 1988 a huge controversy swirled around Hollywood regarding the attempts to colourise black and white films. Speaking to Congress about this activity, "Star Wars" supremo George Lucas passionately stated that "People who alter or destroy works of art and our cultural heritage for profit or as an exercise of power are barbarians...in the future it will become even easier for old negatives to become lost and be “replaced” by new altered negatives...our cultural history must not be allowed to be rewritten". I guess your movies don't count then, George?

The memory:

Destination Docklands

Electronic musical genius Jean-Michel Jarre had become a big part of my life by 1988. Thanks to my brother's friend Alan I'd been introduced to his music around the time that "Magnetic Fields" was released, and I'd never looked back - buying each album as it was released and playing them over and over again. Jarre had also become known for his large elaborate concerts - featuring lasers, fireworks and images being projected on the sides of tall buildings. When it was announced that - at the peak of his popularity - he would be bringing a show to the UK in support of the release of new album "Revolutions", I was obviously *extremely* keen to attend. 

Named "Destination Docklands", it would be using the partially derelict Royal Victoria Dock in London as its backdrop. Jarre felt the industrial, desolate environment with its cranes, warehouses and grain silos was suited for his music. Who wouldn't want to be part of that once-in-a-lifetime experience? There was just one teensy problem - I was going to be on holiday in the US for two weeks in September - and wouldn't you know it, the concert was due to take place right in the middle of that break, on 24th September.

Oh well, I guess I was destined not to see the great man live. I wasn't about to cancel a long-planned and very expensive trip overseas. That was that. Or was it....?

Earlier in the year, Jarre and his team had met with officials from Newham Borough Council to discuss the project. This was to be a huge event. Hundreds of thousands of people. Massive lighting rigs, Pyrotechnics. Lasers. A floating stage. Repainting the facade of the Spillers Millennium Mills building for the projections. The logistics were staggering. Expressing strong concerns about the size of the thing and the associated safety fears (not to mention getting that many people in and out of the area), the council did the usual bureaucratic thing, and took an absolute age to make a decision. After procrastinating for weeks, they finally rejected the application outright on 12th September - just a few days before I was due to fly out to the USA.

Such was the disappointment, that the decision made the UK news headlines - after all, it had been planned as the biggest show of its kind the country had ever seen. I felt slightly better about things though, I couldn't miss out on something that wasn't going to happen anyway could I? So I relaxed and proceeded to go off and enjoy my holiday. Goodbye London, hello Epcot.

Meanwhile, Jarre persevered with his planning application. He spent a hectic two weeks looking for alternative locations, while still working on the Docklands site - in the hope that he could satisfy the councillors issues. This was all still big news, even thousands of miles away in Florida (Jarre had experienced somewhat similar difficulties with his "Rendez-vous Houston" concert a few years previous). Semi-regular phone calls back to my parents in the UK, and the media coverage, meant I was aware of all the twists and turns, and this glimmer of a resurrection meant that my excitement levels began to rise. Maybe, just maybe, fate might have turned in my favour...

Eventually Jarre's tenacity paid off, and after making some logistical changes - and most significantly splitting the concert across two nights (thus reducing the attendance numbers for each one) - he won conditional approval on 28th September for two shows to take place on the 8th and 9th of October. I can't recall if those with unused tickets from the aborted 24th September performance could still use them for the new date or if they were refunded and had to apply again - but the vital thing was that *new* tickets were going on sale and everyone could apply. 

But hang on, I wasn't back in the country until 1st October - they would have sold out by the time I got home! No internet back then either of course, so no way of buying things online. You had to call a sales office in person. Fate was conspiring against me once more. Frantically I used the expensive hotel phone to contact my friend Neil and hatched a plan. Our circle of friends arranged for him to make the all-important box office call and do his utmost to get tickets for all of us. Eventually after several anxious hours, word reached my brother and I in Florida. Success ! We were going to the Sunday performance!

Building work contained in Docklands at a frenzied rate in order to be ready in time for early October. The 30m by 40m floating "battleship" stage on which Jarre and his musicians were to perform was constructed on top of huge steel barges towed down from the north of England. Large purpose-built display screens were erected, along with World War II searchlights positioned on rooftops. The buildings were painted white. In a strange moment, a giant mirror ball meant for the event fell into the road during transportation and was confused for a fallen satellite. Anticipation was building. This was epic stuff. Meanwhile, with a just a few days to go, my friends and I planned how we would get to the venue.

Eventually the weekend of the concerts came, and with it one final set of problems for the Frenchman - the unpredictable British weather. A howling force seven gale hampered final preparations. That giant stage (and the 400 tonnes of material on board) was meant to float back and forth along the dock, but the increasingly inclement weather, and concerns it might break free from its moorings, put paid to that idea. The Saturday was the wettest day of the year and rain lashed the temporary grandstands and dock area. Nothing could dampen anyone's enthusiasm however and the first show went ahead as planned. Then it was our turn.

We made our way to London (and again my memory fails me as I can't remember if that was by car or train. Not important I guess). In any case, as we walked closer to the venue there was a veritable buzz in the air. Hordes of people were arriving from every direction. Not everyone had tickets - some had come just to see the light show and fireworks from a distance. The streets and parks were full. The sky alight with searchlights. Closer still, the stewards herded us like willing sheep into the muddy area before the stage and up to the seating - the vast cranes towering over us as we waited patiently. The sun began to set - and then the rain began to *pour* down. Of course it did.

Nothing was going to dampen our enthusiasm though. Finally when the darkness was complete and everyone was in place,  the searchlights dropped. A solitary green hued laser light pierced out of the darkness with a "woosh"  and the windows of the building in front of us turned red as the crowds cheered wildly. As the opening bars of "Industrial Revolution - Overture" boomed out, Jean-Michel Jarre appeared in the spotlight, slowly walking down some steps. He was dressed in a smart long aquamarine jacket - with a roadie holding a large umbrella to shield him from the worst of the weather. As the music soared, so did the first of the fireworks into the night sky. As the first piece finished, Jarre punched his fist in the air in celebration. Despite the setbacks, stress and awful weather, he was determined to enjoy himself.

Well that's what you can see him do on the video recording of the whole event. To be honest the rain by this point was so heavy - and I was far enough back from the stage (which was also slightly to the right) - that all I could see was a coloured blob in the distance. Then one of my friends handed me a pair of binoculars he’d cleverly thought to bring along and everything came into focus - well until I had to hand them to the next person anyway. I pitied some of the people at the furthest reaches of the grandstand. They must have wondered exactly where the Frenchman was, twiddling his knobs and playing his laser harp.

Not that it mattered really. Jarre's shows have always been about the experience as a whole and in this respect he didn't disappoint. If anything the wind and rain added to the drama and he carried on regardless of the buffeting gusts (at one point in between tracks he even joked that "Frogs like rain..."). Synchronous with the music that I knew so well were more fireworks, lights and images than I had ever experienced before. Spectacular doesn't even begin to cover it. In fact, take a look for yourself at this excerpt from the official release, which really shows the extent of the weather and the scale of the concert:

The piece being played in that clip is one of my favourites - “Fourth Rendez-Vous". That grinning guitarist at the end with Jarre? That's the legendary Hank Marvin from "The Shadows", one of the most influential musicians of the 60s and 70s. He appears just on the track "London Kid" on the "Revolutions" album, but here was present through many other parts of the night. There was also a choir from Mali on stage for "September" - a tribute to assassinated South African political activist Dulcie September. There were tracks from all of Jarre's albums, each accompanied by amazing visuals and massive enthusiasm from the 100,000 attendees.

Eventually the show came to a conclusion with another gigantic burst of fireworks, and my friends and I made our long way home - cold and very wet, but extremely happy. Looking back now, what amazes me isn’t just the spectacle, but the sheer improbability of it all -  the cancellations, the bureaucracy, the frantic phone calls across the Atlantic, the last‑minute approvals, the storm that tried its best to drown the whole thing. And yet, somehow, on that rain‑lashed October night, everything came together. Jarre played, the cranes loomed, the fireworks roared, and we stood there soaked and exhilarated, part of a moment that felt bigger than any of us. It was messy, magical, and absolutely unforgettable.

Honourable mentions:

• Who Framed Roger Rabbit - I'm not including this film on the list because it's a live action / animation mash up classic with wonderful characters, a fantastic plot and more cartoon guest stars than you can shake a stick at (plus of course Jessica Rabbit, the first animated lady to apparently make men of any age feel a little bit funny...). Those things are all a given and any one of them make it deserving of being in any countdown. No it's here because of *where* I saw it.... In the heady days of the late 1980s there was still a significant gap between cinema releases in the US and the UK. - in this case it was going to be nearly six months before we Brits would get to see this hotly anticipated, highly unusual production. I'd read all about it in "Empire" magazine already and was pretty excited. Then as I mentioned earlier, I went to Florida for two weeks holiday with my brother in mid-September - ostensibly to do the whole Disney thing - but we also took in Kennedy Space Centre, Rosie O' Grady's Good Time Emporium, Wet 'n' Wild, Busch Gardens, Sea World, etc,etc. On a rare day of downtime in the packed schedule, we found ourselves in the local giant shopping mall and adjoining multiplex cinema (something the UK was only just starting to get). To our surprise "Roger Rabbit" was still playing and a showing was about to start. We couldn't believe it and quickly bought tickets. As great as the film was, I think we were more excited that we were seeing it way before any of our friends!
• 
  

• Killer Klowns from Outer Space  - I’ve mentioned before that horror films are not really my favourite genre. Well here's one of the exceptions to the rule, though it's more of a low budget slightly scary science fiction comedy than anything else. Plus, everybody hates clowns, right? The basic plot might be simple - mysterious clown-like aliens descend to Earth and attempt to kill all the inhabitants of a sleepy American town - but it's the imaginative and touch-in-cheek nature of how they do it (and how the townsfolk defend themselves) that makes this a thoroughly enjoyable 82 minutes. Where else could you see toy guns that fire deadly popcorn, a balloon animal dog that comes to life, a human puppet show and aliens that use a crazy straw to drink the liquefied remains of their victims (I knew Doctor Who had ripped off that little old lady in "Smith & Jones" from somewhere...) One of those movies that the word "cult" was invented for.

• Batman: The Killing Joke - Some say that this is the definitive Batman / Joker story - and there is no denying the book’s enormous influence on DC continuity. Barbara Gordon’s transformation from Batgirl to Oracle alone reshaped decades of storytelling. But I’ve never quite been convinced it’s the solid‑gold classic people insist it is. Part is that neither Moore nor Bolland consider it their best work. Moore has famously “disowned” pretty much everything he ever did for DC, but he has also said that "it put far too much melodramatic weight upon a character that was never designed to carry it". Bolland's artwork is immaculate of course, but for his part, has said he prefers the later recoloured edition because the original didn’t match the tone he intended. As for the story, it’s undeniably powerful, but it’s almost too neat in its structure. The infamous attack on Barbara Gordon is disturbing, but it’s also emblematic of a certain era of comics where violence against women was used as shorthand for “serious storytelling". Don't get me wrong  - it’s a good read, but it's also a little too cold, a little too calculated, and not quite as emotionally rich or psychologically deep as later Batman stories would become. It's almost as if Moore's name on the credits has put the story on a pedestal it doesn't quite deserve. Even if I'm not the biggest fan, it deserves a place here because of the sublime art  - and because it's impact is too great to ignore. 

• Doctorin' The TARDIS - I'm a "Doctor Who" fan, of course  I bought the 12" version of this! It's a novelty song, that mixes the TV shows theme music with "Rock and Roll (Part Two)” from dodgy 70s sex offender Gary Glitter, plus samples of Sweet's "Blockbuster" and catchphrases by comedian Harry Enfield's boorish plasterer 'Loadsamoney'. A Frankenstein’s monster of pop culture which, defying reason, the public absolutely adored. The masterminds behind it were Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty -  the chaotic geniuses who would later become "The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu" and "The KLF". They knew exactly what they were doing - creating something so brazenly silly and shamelessly catchy, that it bypassed critical disdain and went straight to the nation’s collective funny bone. And then there was the “frontman” -  a Ford Galaxie police car. Why? Who knows. Who cares. It was the 80s. Things just happened. The music press hated it, naturally, but it sold millions worldwide, proving once again that sometimes people just want something daft and joyful for two and a half minutes. Judge for yourself...

• Tad Williams - The Dragonbone Chair - The first volume of the "Memory, Sorrow and Thorn" trilogy, which even now still feels like one of the great pillars of modern fantasy. On the surface it looks traditional - no grimdark excess, no graphic violence, no edgy reinventions - but Williams uses the familiar shape of classic fantasy to build something richer, deeper, and more human than it first appears. What makes it so memorable isn’t just the world‑building (though Osten Ard is vast, layered, and astonishingly detailed) or the sheer size of the thing (these books are *long*). It’s the characters. Williams populates his world with an enormous cast, yet somehow gives each of them depth, nuance, and emotional weight. And then there’s the way he plays with genre tropes. He embraces some, subverts others, and quietly reshapes the rest. The farm‑boy‑hero setup is there, but Simon isn’t a chosen one - he’s a confused, stubborn, often overwhelmed young man who grows slowly, painfully and believably. The villains aren’t cackling monsters but complex forces shaped by history and grief. The magic is rare, strange, and unsettling. It all feels familiar and yet entirely new. "The Dragonbone Chair" was one of those rare books that completely rewired what I thought fantasy could be. It’s immersive, emotional, patient, and utterly absorbing. And the best part? Tad Williams didn’t stop there. His other books aren’t too shabby either.

• Black Kiss - Probably one of the the most controversial comics of the late 80s, primarily because of the explicit sexual content. Howard Chaykin's hard-boiled thriller is a decent enough story on its own, full of his trademark cynicism, grit, and razor‑sharp dialogue. It follows a washed‑up jazz musician who gets pulled into a spiralling mess of murder, blackmail, cults, and Hollywood sleaze after crossing paths with a mysterious woman and a stolen reel of film that everyone seems willing to kill for. But it's the nature of some of the scenes which forced publishers Vortex to seal each issue in a plastic bag so that under-age children couldn't peek inside. That was a big deal in comic shops at the time - it instantly made the book feel dangerous, forbidden, and slightly ridiculous all at once. Nowadays I'm not sure anyone would even bat an eyelid. Still, "Black Kiss" earns its place in comics history - not because it was the greatest noir ever written, but because it was one of the first independent books to test the boundaries of what the medium could show. A little pulpy, a little outrageous, and very much a product of its era

• Young Einstein - Didn’t you know that Albert Einstein was actually a Tasmanian who discovered the theory of relativity while trying to put bubbles into beer - and then went on to invent rock and roll, the electric guitar, and surfing? Well, 'Yahoo' Serious did, and he made a whole movie about it. "Young Einstein" is a slapstick comic fantasy that gleefully rewrites history with the confidence of someone who’s never let facts get in the way of a good joke. Serious himself is like a proto–Jim Carrey: all rubbery facial expressions, wild hair, and odd, spring‑loaded movements. But there’s a kind of innocent charm running through all the nonsense, as if the film genuinely believes that the world would be a better place if physics involved more surfing and guitar riffs. It’s very, very silly - a movie powered entirely by enthusiasm and whimsy -  and for some strange reason, I absolutely loved it. It’s been years since I last watched it, so goodness knows what I’d make of it now. Maybe it’s aged terribly. Maybe it’s still a delight. But at the time, it hit exactly the right spot - a goofy, good‑natured bit of cinematic nonsense that made me smile far more than it probably had any right to.

• Mr Jolly Lives Next Door - If "Destination Docklands" hadn't dominated 1988, then this would have been my number one pick without any hesitation. There are many superb episodes of "The Comic Strip Presents...", but only one which has such personal importance that I can repeat large swathes of it to this day. There is a seven year gap between my sister and I, and this is the film which really brought us together as she hit her teenage years in a shared obsession. Rik and Ade are at their unhinged best as the proprietors of  the "Dreamytime Escorts" agency (tagline 'Escorts, Bestcorts. Come in if you're saucy!'). Their business model basically involves them conning foreign tourists into take them on a binge drinking tour at their expense  - or stealing booze from Heimi Henderson's off-licence situated below their office. Next door lurks Mr Jolly, a psychopathic contract killer, played with manic brilliance by the legendary Peter Cook. When Rik and Ade accidentally intercept an envelope meant for Jolly, containing a wad of cash and a request to "take out" TV presenter Nicholas Parsons, the pair spend the cash on 1,574 gin and tonics and head off to meet him at the Dorchester hotel. What follows is a glorious descent into mayhem: exploding tonic water, Tom Jones blaring at full volume, a body count that would make an action movie blush, and the immortal competition‑winning catchphrase: “Never ever bloody anything ever.” It’s violent, chaotic, and utterly ridiculous - but for my sister and I it became something more. A shared language. A private joke that has lasted decades. A film we have watched so many times that it's become part of our language. Our love for this one‑off comedy is that deep and has lasted that long, that I’m fairly sure we’ll be in our twilight years and still shouting quotes at each other. An utter classic.

We're All Stories In The End 20 - Deceit

 Can a comic strip character cross successfully into prose?....

Deceit by Peter Darville-Evans

Seventh Doctor Adventures number: 13

Originally published: April 1993

Companions: Ace, Benny and... ?

"Take Arcadia apart if you have to."

The middle of the twenty-fifth century. The Second Dalek War is drawing to an untidy close. Earth's Office of External Operation is trying to extend its influence over the corporations that have controlled human-occupied space since man first ventured to the stars.

Agent Isabelle Defries is leading one expedition. Among her barely-controllable squad is an explosives expert who calls herself Ace. Their destination: Arcadia.

A non-technological paradise? A living laboratory for a centuries-long experiment? Fuel for a super-being? Even when Ace and Benny discover the truth, the Doctor refuses to listen to them.

Nothing is what it seems to be.  

This one features the return of Ace after three years away from the Doctor (in her timeline, anyway) and a guest appearance from infamous 1980s comics character Abslom Daak - Dalek Killer.

And it's definitely a novel in three parts.

The first is thoughtful and measured and with lots of different threads in play. It's also full of mysteries:  

• Why does Agent De-frees have Abslom Daak on ice? 
• What secrets has Scribe Francis uncovered? 
• Who are the hooded Counsellors? 
• Why does everyone die at age 30? 
• What does Lacuna want with Britta? 
• And what is the big experiment involving Arcadia?

To start answering these questions, the book jumps around between multiple points of view, sometimes giving us just brief glimpses before pivoting away to another location. Reading it, I wasn't exactly sure where it was all going  - and not much of it seemed to  involve the Doctor. But unlike other novels in this series where I might have been annoyed at that, this time I was gripped. This was excellent stuff -  full of great character development and backstory. A cracking start.

Ace generally felt like the same character, just more experienced - a bit more jaded and, dare I say it, grown up -  and with lots of exciting new gadgets to blow stuff up. Benny is perhaps less well served in this section, basically being trapped in a rapidly constricting TARDIS until she's expelled onto the surface of the pastoral-looking Arcadia. Thankfully she's still as sarcastic as ever. As for whatever was going on with Britta and Lacuna? Well, that was an unpleasantly abusive relationship if nothing else.

I'd say the second part starts as Daak is defrosted. He's as homicidal as I remember from the "Doctor Who Weekly" comics, although I don't recall him being quite such a boorish, sex mad, Conan the Barbarian archetype. There was always a bit of a sad, tragic element to his character, with him pining for a lost love that he hardly knew, and channelling his anger into killing as many Daleks as possible. That seems to have been lost in this written-word version - or maybe my memory is being kinder. I did like the tie-in to the "Nemesis of the Daleks" strip and Ace assuming that was in Daak's future, so she had to keep him alive, despite wanting to push him out of an airlock.

The book becomes like an action movie: huge set pieces with a starship destroyed, a cliff top crash landing and a massive battle with Ace and Daak and troopers fighting against endless Counsellor robots. There are also some nice ideas, such as the giant tortured faces made of rock; the fact that the monsters attacking were projections backed up by force shields to give them a physical presence; And the idea that Arcadia's natural flora and fauna were slowly retaking their planet back after the terraforming.

It's certainly fast-moving and there's plenty of peril and death, with the loss of the crew of the ship almost in an instant - and then Johannsen gets taken down by the androids on the planet. And it's certainly enjoyable, as the stakes get higher. But if I'm honest, I kind of preferred the writing in the first section. I also lost count of the number of times Ace had to rein Daak back in from doing something stupid, contemplate how annoying he was - but still a bit sexy - and then recall that she had to keep him alive. It got a little repetitive.

Finally, after some convenient transmat beams and shuttles, all our main characters end up on the Spinward station - and it's here where I feel the wheels start to come off… if only a little. I really liked that the Doctor realises that his past actions may have led to the atrocities committed on the people of Arcadia. The fact that Pool was composed of harvested brain matter is a nicely gruesome image - even if its plan to become a god in its own universe was a trifle cliched. And it was clever for the Doctor to plant the idea of the TARDIS connection socket in Benny's head so that Pool could read it from her.

But…with Pool being just a formless presence, its downfall doesn't carry a huge amount of weight and seemed to be over in a flash. Lacuna and Britta just…wander off together ? And Francis just accepts everything and goes home. It felt like much of the promising build-up for these supporting characters from the start of the novel didn't follow through  - and they didn't get the resolutions I hoped for. Maybe that was the point, but I did feel that, although I enjoyed reading the book, the end was a bit of a let down.

And before I forget, lets talk about Abslom Daak accidently getting decapitated by Ace ! But it's okay because he was only a clone. What was the point of him being there then? Why bring back such an iconic  character from another medium if you're not going to have him be responsible for anything meaningful in the plot?  Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to see him pop up, but it did feel like a bit of a wasted opportunity. He didn't even get to kill any Daleks for goodness sake. What a waste of a legend.

Golden Sunsets Redux - 60 Years of Memories - Part 21 - 1987

By my early twenties I was fully immersed in the comics industry - both as a reader and as a retailer. But an encounter with one of my customers lead to the discovery of a different kind of super-heroics...

1987:

The trivia:

• By 1987, the California Condor - one of the largest birds in North America - had been pushed to the very edge of extinction. Poaching, habitat destruction, and decades of lead poisoning from spent ammunition had whittled their numbers down to a mere 27 on the entire planet. Conservationists made a bold decision to help save the species - all of the huge birds were captured and placed into human care, split between the San Diego Wild Animal Park and the Los Angeles Zoo.  Thanks to an extraordinary breeding program, the population slowly began to climb, until today, there are over four hundred California Condors, many living wild.

• American Airlines came up with a bold idea - sell a tiny handful of ultra-expensive unlimited first‑class tickets. No restrictions - just show up and fly anywhere in the world, anytime. It sounded like a dream - and for Chicago businessman, Steve Rothstein, it absolutely was. He bought his pass for a then staggering US$ 233,509, and over the next decade, flew more than 10 million miles, made over 500 trips to England, and took spontaneous flights just because he felt like it. Sometimes he’d book flights for strangers he met in the airport. Sometimes he’d fly somewhere simply to have lunch. Rothstein wasn’t breaking any rules. He was simply using the pass exactly as advertised, but the airline estimated his travels cost them around 21 million dollars in lost revenue. So by the mid‑2000s, they began scrutinising the few remaining unlimited ticket holders, looking for any reason to shut the program down. In 2008, they claimed they found one. Rothstein’s pass was terminated for what the airline called “fraudulent behaviour.” - his habit of booking companion tickets for people he barely knew. Whether it was truly fraud or not remains a matter of debate, but the result was the same - Rothstein's golden ticket was gone.

• 19-year old German amateur aviator Matthias Rust managed to fly his small Cessna aircraft all the way from Helsinki to Moscow and land illegally near Red Square. Despite being tracked several times by Soviet air defence, he was never shot down. Although originally sentenced to four years in prison he only served a few months and the incident allowed progressive Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev to dismiss many of his harshest military opponents.

Okay so I guess before I start with the memory proper, I should provide a bit more context to that comment at the top of the page about being a comics "retailer". This might take a while...

By the mid-1980s I was getting my regular comics from specialist shops rather than newsagents. It started with all those trips to "Forbidden Planet" in London, but as I left school and (after a brief period in market research) started working in Southend-on-Sea, I switched to getting my weekly fix from the local independent book shop in the historically windy Victoria Circus Shopping Centre - known rather generically as "The New Bookshop" (I never did discover where the "Old" one was).

                                        

The two rather mature gentlemen who ran the shop were always friendly and I became a regular customer. Their shelves were crammed full of all the latest Marvel, DC and independent titles. Each week I would pick up the current releases (almost everything to be honest) which they had put by in a hi-tech filing system of brown paper bags with your name written in marker pen. Thanks to these lovely fellows I discovered comics from First, Comico, Capital, Eclipse and a vast range of other titles. More and more of my meagre wages was being spent on four-colour adventures (well I was still living at home and couldn't drive, so had very little outgoings). I reunited with some old friends in the shop as we all started to hang out there, and met some new ones along the way - including a very young Warren Ellis.

Then to my delight, in 1985 a proper specialist comic book store opened on the bottom floor of the shopping centre. "Collectors' Dream" was run by local writer, artist, musician (and sometime shoe salesman) Gary Spencer Millidge. Gary would become well known in comic circles in later years for his seminal series "Strangehaven", but when I first got to know him, he was focused on the new shop and associated mail order subscription service - along with near-forgotten news zine "Comic News Monthly". The "Collectors' Dream" shop became the new place for us comics fans to hang out.

It was a seminal period for my favourite medium. Many of the industry's most famous and well respected titles were published then. I was there when Gary unboxed the first issues of "Watchmen" and "The Dark Knight Returns", marveling at the innovation on display. Titles such as the Giffen / DeMatteis "Justice League International", Kyle Bakers "The Shadow", the first ongoing series for Paul Chadwick's "Concrete", and so many more.

It was also in Gary's shop that we watched him work on the famine relief title that became "Food For Thought" - a charity comic that predated Marvel and DC's equivalent titles by a long way. Containing illustrations and strips by a wealth of creators old and new, it's become something of a rare item now. Luckily I still have my copy. As you can tell, we spent a *lot* of time in that basement level store - my younger brother even worked there for a while when he first left school.  Those were great times. Maybe I'll write about them in more detail one day.

But at some point not long after (and here my memory gets slightly hazy), Gary decided that he needed to down-size and move the shop to smaller premises. I really wanted to get into the industry in some way and convinced my brother and a friend that we should buy the "Collectors' Dream" mail order service and run it ourselves. With a cash loan from my father, we did just that  - and from my bedroom we somehow managed to run a small business on a complete shoestring.

We started with the customer list we had purchased from Gary and then expanded it by handing out flyers at the Westminster Comic Mart's. The ads looked great thanks to a custom piece of Alan Davis artwork we received with the business purchase (amazingly I still have it). Typing up the monthly order catalogues on a Commodore 64 computer, printing them out and pasting them together to then be photocopied - it would all seem incredibly primitive to modern eyes. We wrote humourous editorials to accompany the listings. Deliveries from Titan Distributors became a weekly occurrence, along with regular trips to the warehouse itself in Mile End for single issues (the minimum pre-order was two copies). All of our spare time was spent wrapping parcels, collating orders, banking cheques and keeping things afloat - all this while holding down regular jobs. It was hard work but hugely exciting. We made lot's of contacts, learnt a huge deal and of course bought a *lot* of comics for ourselves at trade prices!

One of our regular overseas customers was a young guy called Philip Chee who lived in Hong Kong, and he often sent us long letters with his large order, chatting about his love of science fiction and fantasy and comics. Over time we corresponded back and forth and developed a good relationship with this fellow fan who was half a world away. Then one month, Philip mentioned that he was going to be in London visiting family - and did we want to meet up with him for lunch or something?

Arranging to meet outside Tottenham Court Road tube station in the West End, the three of us waited somewhat nervously, until approached by a young dark haired gentleman in glasses. Yes, this was Philip -  and after a few minutes we found ourselves getting on really well, even if he did come across as very excitable and a definite comic book expert. We made a tour of all the London comic shops within walking distance (Philip wanted to stock up on back issues) and ended up at the famous Denmark Street "Forbidden Planet" store, which as well as comics had the best selection of SF and fantasy novels in the area.

Perusing the lengthy shelves for anything new, Philip picked up a US import book with a lurid purple-ish cover and a shining logo.. "The secret history of our times revealed" it claimed. "Had I heard of "Wild Cards" before?" Philip asked. I shook my head and he thrust the book into my hands. "You should try this series, it's really good". Not wanting to appear rude - and to be honest open for something new to read - I took a look at the blurb on the back. What I saw was enough for me to plonk down my cash - and a decades long love affair was about to begin...

The memory:

Wild Cards

It is a world parallel to our own - an Earth where an alien virus bomb strikes the Earth in the aftermath of World War II. Millions are killed, but a handful of those that survive are endowed with strange superhuman powers. Some are called 'Aces', gifted with extraordinary mental and physical abilities. Others are 'Jokers', cursed with grotesque mutations or unpredictable quirks. Some turn their talents toward helping humanity, others toward harming it. And from that simple premise the Wild Cards 'shared universe' was born.

On the surface, it might sound like a prose version of the Marvel or DC universe. But the difference was the “mosaic novel” format. Each character was created and written by a different science fiction author, but all their stories interlocked into a single, coherent narrative. The whole thing was shepherded by some guy I’d never heard of called George R. R. Martin (wonder what happened to him ?). These weren't your traditional throwaway stories either. Following the 80s trend towards more realistic portrayals of super-heroes, these characters were fully three dimensional - they changed and adapted and faded in out out of the narrative like real people and even died, sometimes in sudden, violent ways.  

The roster of 80s writers was astonishing - Walter Jon Williams, Roger Zelazny, Melinda M. Snodgrass, Stephen Leigh, Daniel Abraham, and many more. Even legendary X‑Men writer Chris Claremont contributed. It felt like a clubhouse of genre heavyweights all playing in the same sandbox. The first volume chronicled the events from World War II to the (then) present day showing the emergence of the Aces and Jokers and the impact they had on world history. It also sprinkled in delightful alternate‑history cameos - Mick Jagger as a werewolf, Jim Morrison as the literal Lizard King, and so on. More importantly, it introduced the characters who would become the backbone of the series:

• Doctor Tachyon -  a flamboyant Takesian who tried to prevent the detonation of his races virus bomb and now attempts to atone for their mistake.

• Croyd Crenson "The Sleeper" - cursed to fall into a coma and wake up in a new body every few months. Sometimes an Ace and sometimes a Joker, he never knows what will happen when he falls asleep.

• The Great and Powerful Turtle - possessed of the world most powerful mental abilities, he hides inside a metal shell constructed from an old VW Beetle

• Fortunato - the supreme sorcerer on the planet who recharges his powers via tantric sex.

• Captain Trips - a burned out hippy biochemist who can call forth five different super-powered persona through the use of designer drugs.

• Puppetman - a politician able to control the minds of anyone he touches and feed off their negative emotions? What could possibly go wrong?

I devoured the first book and immediately went back and brought the following two. Set in the late 80s, each one dealt with a particular threat, but sub-plots and continuing threads were interwoven and carried between all three. It got better - between 1987 and 1993, twelve books were published, spanning political thrillers, detective mysteries, space opera, and everything in between. A whole world of different heroes and villains were introduced and like the best comics multi-part stories, it took several volumes for all the events to unfold. Sometimes the heroes won. Sometimes they lost and people died. It was my comics world seen through an adult lens - violent, sexy, horrific, thoughtful, and utterly addictive. 

Around book six, a UK publisher (I’m fairly sure it was Titan) caught onto the "Wild Cards" phenomenon and reissued the series with new Brian Bolland covers. US publisher Bantam Spectra responded with their own new covers by "Grimjack" artist Timothy Truman and it's those that adorn my copies of books seven to twelve.

Then came a shift. With volume 13, "Card Sharks", a new trilogy began  - and a new publisher, Baen, took over. Barclay Shaw replaced Truman as cover artist. Released just a month after book 12, the book kicked off a conspiracy arc involving a deadly “antidote” to the Wild Card virus known as the Black Trump. The trilogy also wrapped up several long‑running character arcs and felt like a natural endpoint. For a while, it seemed like the series might be finished.

Seven years passed.

Then, in 2002, came "Deuces Down", published by iBooks -  the long‑awaited sixteenth volume. It echoed the structure of the first book, offering standalone stories across four decades. But this time it focussed on those less well known members of the Wild Card saga  - the “Deuces”, people with minor, often inconvenient powers. It was fun, but I was hungry for the main timeline again.

Four years later, I got my wish with Death Draws Five, a solo novel by John J. Miller. An apocalyptic thriller with religious overtones, it brought back favourites like Carnifex, Mr. Nobody, and Fortunato, and introduced the formidable Midnight Angel. But iBooks collapsed into bankruptcy, and once again the series needed a new home.

Enter Tor Books, who didn’t just rescue Wild Cards -  they revitalised it. Beginning in 2008 with "Inside Straight", Tor introduced a new generation of Aces and Jokers, a new global scope, and a new wave of writers joining the "Wild Cards Trust". It wasn’t a reboot (the series has never had one), but a widening of the lens. The old guard still appeared, but now they shared the stage with younger, stranger, more diverse characters shaped by the 21st century.

Tor’s run quickly grew into its own era. "Busted Flush" and "Suicide Kings" completed the “Committee Trilogy,” a storyline that pushed the universe into geopolitics, humanitarian crises, and the messy reality of superpowered interventionism. After that came a steady stream of new volumes - each one expanding the mythology, exploring new corners of the world, or revisiting long‑running characters in surprising ways. The tone ranged from noir to horror to political thriller to cosmic weirdness, to reality TV - but it's always felt unmistakably "Wild Cards".

The publisher also embraced the digital age. A whole run of standalone short stories and novellas appeared on Tor.com. Self‑contained, often free to read, they sometimes tied into or foreshadowed events in the main novels, but also worked as little snapshots of life in the Wild Cards universe. For long‑time readers, they feel like bonus tracks - for newcomers, they were an easy way to dip a toe into the world without committing to a full novel.

Meanwhile, Tor began reissuing the original Bantam books - some with new introductions, some with additional stories, and all with a consistent design that finally made the sprawling series feel unified on the shelf. For new readers, it was the perfect jumping‑in point. For old readers like me, it was a chance to revisit the classics with a fresh coat of paint.

Then, in 2023, the series did something unexpected - it returned to its original publisher, Bantam Books. For the first time since the early 90s, new Wild Cards novels were once again appearing with the Bantam logo on the spine. Tor’s final major contribution came two years later with "Aces Full", a second volume of its previously online‑only stories.

The Wild Cards universe has become something rare in genre fiction - a shared world with nearly four decades of continuous, unbroken history, spanning more than thirty books and multiple publishers. No reboots. No continuity wipes. No “multiverse resets". Just a living, evolving timeline shaped by dozens of writers and hundreds of characters. Sure regular superhero comics have caught up with some of the storytelling techniques used ("Astro City" springs to mind), but there is still something unique about the novels and the world.

Turning things almost full circle, there have actually been several comic mini-series telling original stories. Recently Bantam even branched out in graphic novels (although I have to say the new US cover designs are bloody awful). Plus there have been role playing games, audio books and translations into different languages. There (predictably) was even a live action TV show in development at one point.

I've bought all the books avidly since that original chance recommendation from young Philip Chee - and perhaps that's really why I love them. Because they’ve grown up alongside me. They’ve changed, taken risks, reinvented themselves, and refused to stand still - just like the best long‑running stories do. Every new volume feels like catching up with old friends, but in a world that’s still full of surprises. After nearly forty years, "Wild Cards" remains unpredictable, ambitious and utterly alive - and I can’t think of another shared universe that’s earned my loyalty the way this one has. 

And the remarkable thing is - it’s still going. New books, new characters, new directions. The "Wild Cards" universe looks certain to continue for many years to come - and I can't wait to find out what happens next.

Honourable mentions:

• Filthy, Rich and Catflap - a comedy series that's only six episodes long, is barely remembered by the mainstream - yet is absolutely essential if you want to understand the evolutionary chain that runs from the anarchic brilliance of "The "Young Ones" to the full‑tilt slapstick carnage of "Bottom". Rik Mayall plays Richie Rich, a talentless, delusional, permanently unemployed actor whose ego is so inflated it might as well have its own postcode. Nigel Planer is Ralph Filthy, the sponging, sleazy, morally flexible agent who’d sell his own mother for a 10% cut. And Adrian Edmonson is Edward Didgeridoo Catflap, Richie’s violent, drunken minder - a man who treats the world like a pub brawl waiting to happen. So far, so familiar. But the twist is that the show treats the' Fourth Wall' like a suggestion. Characters wander in and out of the studio audience, mock the production, and generally behave as if reality is something that happens to other people. It’s meta before that was a buzzword, and is gleefully rude about the Z‑list celebrity culture of the time. And yet, for all its energy, it never quite hits the same delirious heights as "The Young Ones". Maybe it’s the showbiz satire, maybe it’s just that the characters are totally unsympathetic. Despite that it’s still absolutely worth watching for the sheer manic commitment of the performances. It’s messy, loud, self‑aware, and gloriously unhinged.

• Green Arrow The Longbow Hunters - After the shockwave of "The Dark Knight Returns", this was DC’s second big “prestige format” gamble - a mandate to take a second tier character somewhere deeper, darker, and more human. I already knew Mike Grell from "Jon Sable, Freelance", where he’d honed that grounded, muscular, street‑level style. But what he did here was on another level. It wasn’t just a new coat of paint on Oliver Queen - it was a complete reimagining of who the character could be. Grell stripped away the trick arrows and the cartoonish villains. He acknowledged Oliver’s age and his scars. He dropped him into a world of serial killers, organised crime, and moral ambiguity. Suddenly Green Arrow wasn’t a superhero - he was an urban hunter. And that shift worked. It made me care about a character I’d never been particularly invested in before. Grell’s Seattle was moody, rain‑soaked, and lived‑in. His action scenes had weight. His violence had consequences. Even the relationship between Oliver and Dinah Lance felt more adult - messy, complicated and believable. The three issues were a mission statement which paved the way for Grell’s seven‑year run as writer (and occasional artist), a stretch that remains one of the most consistent and character‑defining eras any DC hero has ever had. For my money, "Longbow Hunters" is still one of the finest Green Arrow stories ever told.

• Weaveworld by Clive Barker - I never got into the"Books of Blood" or the "Hellraiser" movies. Horror stories are not really my thing and certainly in 1987 I had read only a mere handful of that type of novel. However I picked up "Weaveworld" because of the more fantasy-orientated premise - and boy was I glad I did. The book revolves around the secret existence of a race of magical beings known as the "Seerkind" and their struggles to remain hidden from the non-magical world inside "The Fugue" - a separate dimension woven into the strands of a carpet. The Seerkind have to face multiple dangers from human and non-human antagonists, plus the mysterious "Scourge" which seeks to destroy all magic. Full of religious allusions and themes, a multi-facted plot and truly evil and horrific threats, the novel was several worlds away from the more traditional fantasies I had consumed up to that point. I quickly became a Barker devotee as he published one excellent novel after another over the next ten years. Any attempt to turn "Weaveworld" into a film or TV series can only be doomed to fail in my eyes, as it would be practically impossible to match the imagination and power of Barker's prose.

• The New Statesman - It's Rik Mayall again in a razor sharp political comedy. What's not to love? As Tory M.P. Alan B'Stard he was selfish, devious, lecherous and utterly without shame - a man who treated service to the British public like an inconvenience. Heaven help anyone who got in his way, and whatever schemes, crises or scandals surrounded him, B'Stard always came up as top dog, usually with a smirk and a cheque in his pocket. It was a role tailor‑made for Mayall - all swagger, venom, and sarcastic brilliance - and it proved what some of us already suspected: that he wasn’t just a great comedian, he was a genuinely tremendous actor (I'm biased - I already considered Rik to be my comedy god). The show was savagely funny. Cruel, irreverent, and gleefully disrespectful to anyone in power. No party was safe. If you were a politician, B’Stard was coming for you - and any resemblance to real figures, living or dead, was absolutely deliberate. His toxic charm ran across four series, two specials, stage shows, and even newspaper columns and looking back, it’s astonishing how much of the show still feels relevant. Maybe that’s because politics hasn’t changed as much as we’d like to think. Or maybe it’s because Rik Mayall, in full B’Stard mode, tapped into something timeless - the idea that power attracts the worst people, and the only sane response is to laugh at them as loudly as possible.

• The Question - Another reimagining of a lesser DC character -  but this time it's the faceless vigilante from Steve Ditko, a hero originally steeped in it's creators objectivist absolutism. But Denny O’Neil and Denys Cowan didn’t just update The Question - they rebuilt him. Vic Sage became a flawed, curious, introspective figure, wrestling with morality, identity, and the limits of black‑and‑white thinking. O’Neil infused the series with Eastern philosophy, Zen teachings, and a deep sense of moral ambiguity. The series wasn’t afraid to just let Vic meditate, question his own motives, or simply observe the world around him. It was a superhero comic that felt more like an philosophical detective novel that just happened to involve masks. These weren't distinct adventures - it was an ongoing saga, with the final issue referencing points made all the way back in the first. Sure there were mysteries, fights, conspiracies, and some genuinely great supporting characters - but the heart of it was always Vic Sage’s internal journey - the idea that the real battle was against your own self. Denys Cowan’s art was a perfect match for the book’s tone. His version of Hub City felt like a feverish, corrupt, rain‑soaked nightmare, a place where justice was always out of reach and the shadows had shadows of their own. For me it remains one of the most thoughtful, mature, and quietly daring superhero books DC has ever published. A quiet masterpiece.

• Star Trek Next Generation - We actually didn't get to see this show in the UK until September 1990, when it started airing in that cosy early evening slot on BBC2, but I've included it here as it was first broadcast in the USA in 1987. It came at exactly the right time for me. "Doctor Who" had finished the previous December and into that gap sailed the Enterprise‑D, all gleaming curves, diplomatic missions, and Jean‑Luc Picard’s magnificent bald head. I latched onto it instantly and it became my new favourite genre show. Thanks to some 4 hour VHS tapes and my trusty 'long play' Panasonic video recorder, I managed to cram up to eight episodes on one cassette. In later years this meant that my first wife and I (also a fan) would occasionally start watching an episode in bed, fall asleep and wake up the next morning to find that Captain Picard was still boldly going, having spent the night exploring strange new worlds while we snored! For a while I was obsessed with all things "Trek" and amassed a large collection of books, comics, fact files and assorted ephemera. Even if that obsession has faded and even if it doesn't quite reach the heights of "Deep Space Nine" in terms of dramatic arcs and long-form storytelling, "TNG" still has a cast of characters that I love to spend time with. It's one of those rare shows where despite having seen each episode so many times that I probably know the plots off by heart, when one comes on the TV I still stop changing channels and start watching. Engage!

• Marshal Law - First published by Epic Comics as a six-issue mini, before sporadically hopping around a number of different publishers and formats in the subsequent years, Pat Mills and Kevin O'Neill's savage satire of the superhero genre is a classic that deserved a much wider audience. Set in the future sprawl of San Futuro, the titular character is a government‑sanctioned hero‑hunter, whose job is to take down rogue superhumans with maximum force and minimum sympathy. He hates superheroes. He hates himself for being one - and Mills uses that as a scalpel, slicing into every major comic‑book archetype with savage glee. Over the course of the various storylines, no icon is safe. If you’ve ever worn a cape, Mills probably eviscerated you. It's a flamethrower aimed at the idea that superheroes are noble, pure, or even remotely sane. Match that with Kevin O'Neill's unique, grotesque spiky artwork and you have something really rather special. Later crossovers - with The Mask and even with Pinhead from Hellraiser - are odd little curiosities. Less acerbic, but still fascinating in that “I can’t believe they actually published this” way. They’re proof of how elastic the character was, how easily he could be dropped into other universes and still feel like the most dangerous thing in the room. If you’ve never read it, there’s a big deluxe collection out there, and it absolutely deserves a place on your Christmas list. "Marshal Law" is one of those cult classics that should have been huge - a blistering satire, a visual feast, and a reminder that sometimes the best way to work in a genre is to set fire to it.

• Max Headroom - Trying to explain Max Headroom to anyone who didn’t live through the mid‑80s is a bit like trying to describe a fever dream. “He was the world’s first computer‑generated TV star… sort of.” “He hosted a music‑video chat show.” “He advertised New Coke.” “He was in a pop single with Art of Noise.” “He had his own cyberpunk drama series.” All of these things are true, and yet none of them quite capture how omnipresent he was. For a few years, Max wasn’t just a character - he was a cultural phenomenon. Born from a one‑off British TV drama, Max Headroom was played by Matt Frewer under layers of prosthetics and video trickery, delivering lines in a stuttering, glitchy voice that became instantly iconic. He looked like a computer simulation, sounded like a malfunctioning AI, and behaved like a caffeinated talk‑show host who’d been left alone with too much electricity. And somehow, it worked. The drama was great, but my favourite incarnation was the US TV series. Set in a dystopian near future (aren't they all?), it imagined a world where television networks ruled everything - politics, culture, information, even law enforcement. It was stylish, inventive, and surprisingly sharp for its time, tackling media exploitation, corporate power, surveillance, and the manipulation of truth. Watching it now is a strange experience since so many of the things it predicted have sort of come true. What once felt like satire now feels uncomfortably close to the evening headlines. The show was weird, clever, anarchic, and utterly of its moment -  and yet somehow still relevant. "Twenty minutes into the future" never felt so close...

Star Cops - This little SF show arrived with ambition, intelligence, and a grounded approach to space drama decades ahead of its time - and then promptly vanished under the wheels of scheduling chaos and BBC indifference. The premise was simple - in the near future, humanity has begun to spread into orbit and onto the Moon, and with that expansion comes crime. Smuggling, sabotage, espionage, even murder. Enter the International Space Police Force - the “Star Cops” - a small, underfunded, politically beleaguered team trying to keep order in an environment where one mistake can kill you. What made it special to those of us who loved it was the tone. This wasn’t glossy space opera. It was procedural science fiction, grounded in physics, bureaucracy, and the messy reality of human behaviour. The tech felt plausible. The politics felt depressingly familiar. And the characters - especially David Calder’s wonderfully grumpy Nathan Spring - felt like actual people doing an impossible job. Sure the effects and the weightless scenes are bit shonky, and the theme tune by Justin Hayward widely derided (except by me), but the whole show has a real intelligent charm. It treats its audience with respect. The tragedy is that "Star Cops" never got the chance it deserved and it struggled to find an audience. Only nine episodes were ever made - and yet it left a mark. It's a clever, thoughtful gem that pointed the way toward the kind of grounded sci‑fi storytelling we’d later see in things like "The Expanse", and it remains a show that is really special to me. Thankfully in more recent years Big Finish have picked up the baton, and continue to produce audio stories with many of the original cast members. Amazingly they genuinely feel like the TV episodes we never got to see. If we ever do get a base on the Moon, we have to remember that "it won't be easy"...