Wakey Wakey Sweethearts- Whatcha Waitin’ For, Breakfast In Bed?

The Transmission party on Friday night was great. The weather was good, the beer was flowing, bands were playing and everyone was there. Birthday-wise, Duncan Campbell produced a small but expertly crafted birthday cake from a shoe-box, Kev Hutcheson gave me a Blackpool postcard of a girl getting her boobs trapped in sliding doors and Lorna and Neil got me a pipe!

Saturday was spent with a nice relaxing hangover.

Sunday was spent at karate not getting kicked in the throat… and watching the Alien Quadrilogy DVD that my parents got me for my birthday.

The Alien films, or at least the first two, are among my favourite films of all time and so, as it is with many things that capture my imagination, I have been, over the years, somewhat obsessed by them. And although the fire of this particular obsession has long since burnt its brightest, my recent acquisition of said Digital Versatile Disc has been the metaphorical equivalent of a barrel of kerosene. A widescreen barrel of kerosene with extra footage and bonus features.

So I sat down to watch Aliens, safe in the knowledge that it would be in its original 16:9 ratio, digitally remastered from the original print with crystal clear audio and visual quality and this would mean that…

…at last I would be able to account for all of the space marines! You see, the problem always was (and this is obviously a problem that everyone who has seen the film will have had) that during one major scene, the on-screen point of view is from cameras attached to the marines’ helmets. And so their names were displayed. Hardly a problem really. Not unless you’re anything more than mildly obsessive.

And so many a long afternoon was spent, finger on pause button, wearing out the video, peering through VHS scan-lines. And what invaluable information such a productive activity yielded. I had categorically identified both Dietrich and Frost. Crowe was still a grey area and Wierzbowski was almost impossible, but I was working on it. And then one day the video tape just couldn’t take it anymore. It couldn’t care less who Wierzbowski was and it made this clear by breaking down unannounced one wet Sunday afternoon.

So here I was twelve years later sitting with what might provide substantial, conclusive evidence in the Crowe/Wierzbowski identification fiasco.

Well, what can I say? I watched one of my favourite films and the quality was incredible. Then I went back to the beginning to look for Crowe and Wierzbowski. ‘Ha ha!’ I though, ‘I’ve got state of the art technology with pixel-perfect freeze-frame ability, you can’t hide now you bastards!’

And I was sort of right. I got a few glimpses of what seemed to be Crowe, but that damned Wierzbowski was nowhere to be seen. Oh how my obsessive brain seethed. I kept going until I started to unravel a bit until finally, after a great many theories and counter theories I thought I had reached the end of the line. My brain had gone numb and my mind was weak.

And it was in this enfeebled state that the solution came to me like a tiny embarrassed firefly at the bottom of a very deep coal mine. Check the internet.

So I Googled ‘Wierzbowski’ and was hit by a cocktail of relief, amazement, admiration and envy. I am not alone. In fact there is an organised underground of Wierzbowski hunters dedicated to the task.

Now I sleep well again.