Saturday, October 27, 2018

Two weeks late and a dollar short









My favorite time of year has begun. This is also my least favorite time of year because it's when I begin to live my own personal version of every killer virus movie ever made as everybody around me gets Down With the Sickness. Out comes the hand sanitizer and down goes the Emergen-C powdered vitamin drinks and there's me standing back from people from even greater distances than usual, as they tell me why they didn't bother getting a flu shot because it's only, like, two percent effective from this year's model of influenza. Then they cough and sniffle while I try to keep my cool, when all I really want to do is point at them while screeching a la Donald Sutherland at the end of 1978's Invasion of the Body Snatchers. (Spoilers.)

I'm forced to walk a tightrope of good health that puts me at risk of missing out on the fun stuff if I get sick -- stuff like Camp Frida, an all-night horror movie marathon being held at The Frida Cinema located in the city of Santa Ana. But thankfully, I was able to keep the evil viruses away long enough to attend on the rather crisp evening of October 7th.

Camp Frida is a summer camp-themed 12-hour marathon of horror films scheduled to run from 8pm to 8am, hosted by an 80s-era camp counselor named Aly; I did not attend the previous year but my friend Cathie did and she covered the inaugural event on her blog -- I highly recommend that you give it a read.

I arrived just in time as the theater opened its doors and started letting the people in line inside, where we were greeted to a lobby that was done up with fog, cobwebs, and various other spooky decorations. My favorite was a large black curtain or shroud or blanket, whatever it was, it was covering a large part of a wall and there was a sign that read something like "Look under here if you want to see a dead body"; I watched as someone began to lift the curtain when all of a sudden a zombie hand popped out and swiped towards the victim's leg causing her and her friends to scream and/or jump while I stood by looking all cool and stoic because I'm better than that and thank god I was wearing dark pants because then nobody could tell I had just pissed them.

There were also many cupcakes being offered to us, and there was nothing scary about that unless you're diabetic; we had a choice of Camp Frida S'mores or Deep Red Velvet Braaaaains. I went with neither for the same reason I didn't get snacks or bring a blanket and pillow or come dressed in ultra comfy pajamas. In my experience with marathons, comfort -- too much comfort, in both what you wear and what you eat -- is the enemy. That goes double for the popcorn and soft drinks available at the snack bar, and triple for the blood bag cocktails they were also serving at said snack bar.

This was my second time at the Frida; it's a nice non-profit two-screen cinema that screens a good variety of films both classic and current. For Camp Frida, the auditorium on the left was called "The Graveyard" and the one on the right was called the "Main Lodge". After being hand stamped, we were told to go to the Graveyard first, which had a spooky cemetery setup under the screen along with a tent. Waiting for us was a photographer who was taking pics of each of the attendees, who were then told to go to the Main Lodge.

A little before 9pm, the evening finally got under way with a little scene being performed on stage for us as a group of young campers gathered around the fake campfire and told a scary tale about the legend of camp counselor Aly, who had hosted the previous Camp Frida and met her unfortunate fate at the hands of Jason Voorhees. One of the kids pulled out her trusty Necronomicon and read from it, and so we didn't have to wait long for the sudden appearance of the now undead Zombie Counselor Aly as she arrived, who despite obviously having been dead for a while, had not lost any attitudinal spark in her delivery. She told us that even though she was a zombie now, she was still a vegan, and so we shouldn't be too worried about her feasting on us -- but that she wasn't above murdering anybody who didn't behave either.




First up on the menu was the 1996 film From Dusk Till Dawn, written by Quentin Tarantino and directed by Robert Rodriguez. This is the one where Tarantino and George Clooney play brothers -- so you know this is a movie -- who are on the lam and kidnap a family in order to hijack their RV so they can get across the Texas/Mexico border. Once they're on the other side, they stop at the mother of all dirty biker & trucker bars called the Titty Twister, and that's when things go from crime movie to vampire movie.

This was my third time seeing it on the big screen -- the first was during its original release in 1996 and the second was at the New Beverly Cinema in 2015 -- and this was the best crowd yet, with lots of laughs and cheers throughout. I think a big part of it was that the sold out event made for a packed house full of people who were already well into their blood bag cocktails. My only real complaint was that there were quite a few piece of shit cocksucking asshole scumbag douchebag fucks who started recording video and/or snapping photos with their phone -- one award winner even used the goddamn flash on the camera!

And I would be remiss if I didn't mention that a couple scenes early on with Tarantino's rapey Richie Gecko felt a bit more uncomfortable to watch this time. I'm guessing it might have had something to do with the fact that mere hours earlier, a rapey piece of shit had been confirmed as a Supreme Court justice. That might've painted an unfortunate shade to some of the proceedings.

But at least I wasn't in full pearl-clutching mode, like the guy I stood next to outside the theater while getting some fresh air between films. I overheard him telling his friend something like "I forgot how racist and misogynistic it was...it was just so gleeful." As far as the racist part, I can only say speaking as a filthy spic that I didn't find anything particularly racist about the movie. I mean, yeah, they're dealing with Mexican vampires in the movie, but I don't know, was it the language being used by Seth and Richie Gecko that bugged him? Well, their characters aren't exactly choir boys. And plus it helps that I just assume everybody talks like that in real life anyway, even the pansy liberals, they just do it behind my back -- and that's all I ask, is to keep your secret hatred of my people behind closed doors. Save it for your weekly poker game in the garage, you bitter honky fucks.

As far as the misogynistic claims, I can't really speak to that because I'm a misogynist. But I have a legitimate reason to hate women -- they won't have sex with me.





I'm happy to report that between films a gentleman from the Frida whose name I can't remember came out to kindly tell people to cut it the fuck out with the goddamn cameras and to also calm down with the conversations while the movie is playing or else he would feed them to Zombie Counselor Aly, even though she's vegan.

A few minutes later, Zombie Counselor Aly returned with one of the young campers, Ethan, who was now a zombie himself. He seemed pretty bummed out because being undead at 16 years of age meant that he would forever be in puberty. Aly claimed to have only killed him but didn't snack on him, instead having let other zombies take a bite out of him. Aly then told us that they were trying something new for this year's marathon based on something they did last year; at one point, both the Main Lodge and Graveyard were showing a different movie and audience members were able to choose which one they wanted to see. It went so well, they decided to do that for this year's marathon, only this time instead of one movie, they would give the audience a choice for the next four films.

After a guessing game where audience members were given an on-screen clue as to what the next set of films would be, the choice was revealed: those who wanted to see the 1989 adaptation of Stephen King's Pet Sematary could stay in the Main Lodge while those who wanted to see the 2004 rom-zom-com Shaun of the Dead would have to go to the Graveyard. I went with Shaun because I had already seen Pet Sematary in the past and have even rambled about it in a past blog entry, and to be honest I'm not a fan of the movie. So I went with the Edgar Wright-directed film which I had only seen once during its theatrical release.

Shaun of the Dead is the one about the dude who's pushing 30 and is kinda stuck in that limbo between growing up and enjoying your goddamn life. I mean, I kinda get it; it's that choice between hanging out with your friends and getting drunk and playing video games OR having a girlfriend and spending a whole day at fuckin' Ikea or something and trying not to fall asleep as she gets all excited about a stupid table. It's a table! I don't give a fuck about it aside from Can It Hold My Keys, My Remote Controls, and My Dinner? If it can, then cool, let's buy the fuckin' thing.

That's the conundrum that Shaun, played by Simon Pegg, is going through -- and to be honest, it's pretty clear that he's better off becoming a fuckin' responsible adult and living life with his special lady friend Liz. At least that's how I see it. I mean, his friend Ed has his moments but goddamn he can be a real fuckin' style-cramper, man. He means well but, I don't know. I don't have friends like Ed and I'm glad I don't, to be real with you. Maybe it's because in reality, I'm closer to someone like Peter Serafinowicz's character in the movie, especially in that scene where Shaun and Ed are blasting that goddamn Electro in the middle of the night and out comes Peter's character losing his shit about how he's trying to get some goddamn sleep because he has work in the morning. That's pretty much me everyday with this whole goddamn world.

And come on, Shaun, you had one job: make the reservations at the place that does all the fish. See what being friends with Ed does to you?

Anyway, it's all very interesting, and it almost makes you forget that this is a zombie movie, and it almost kinda bummed me out when it got to that point because I would've been fine with a movie just about Shaun, Ed, and Liz that has nothing to do with the undead. But I was just as fine with what did happen, because once zombies come into play it becomes a most amusing tale about how to deal with these goddamn things and live through the day while trying to get from point A to point B. What really makes the film is all the details, though. I mean, not just visual setups and payoffs and quick little bits that are easily missed the first time because they go so fast -- I mean, just all of the dialogue is a pleasure to listen to but not in a snappy comeback sort-of-way, it's all very funny and there are just as many setups and payoffs in the things that they say.

That's why I would've been cool with a non-zombie version of this movie, because the characters are so well-written and lived in. And as funny as it is, it also manages to have a serious moment or two -- and it all blends together well, it never feels forced or tone deaf. I found myself actually caring about what happens to these people, although maybe not so much that douchebag David. Fuck that guy. It's a good zombie movie from the Romero school of the undead -- it gives you the goods while also being About Something, which I'm choosing to see Shaun as being about having to grow the fuck up and move on to the next stage of your life. Because as much as it pains me to say this, we can't be kids forever, man. But you can still have fun, so long that you can keep your indulgences on a leash and visit them once in a while.

Edgar Wright's direction has pretty much always been this way, hasn't it? I forgot that he was already doing things like long takes and scenes synchronized to songs in this film, way before Baby Driver. It's good stuff and the dude's already had cinema running through his veins.





After another break, I went back to the Main Lodge where another visual guessing game was played; the next choice of films turned out to be either stay and watch the 2004 remake of Dawn of the Dead or go back to the Graveyard to watch the 2010 film Insidious. I had never seen the latter and had been meaning to see it, and so eight years after its release, I finally did.

Insidious is a tale about a well-moisturized married couple living in an old grandmother of a house with their two or three children -- I say two or three because I swear they had another kid and somewhere along the way that motherfucker just disappeared not unlike Chuck Cunningham on the television series "Happy Days".

What I know for sure is that there are at least two kids; one is a little boy and the other is a fuckin' baby who never shuts the fuck up with her goddamn crying. I don't know how you parents do it, or did it; I don't know how you are able to take in the sound of that horrific crying without wanting to tear the nearest human being limb from limb. But the mom in this movie, played by Rose Byrne, seems to be used to it. The father, played by Patrick Wilson, has an easier way to deal with it: he leaves for work and stays out late so he doesn't have to hear that shit.

The son, he deals with it even better than the others -- he falls into a coma.

In addition to having a comatose child, this family has to deal with lots of spooky haunted house type of stuff going on in their grandma house. It's all very effective because I jumped quite a bit every time some scary red faced demon thing popped up, along with the accompanying music sting. It wasn't so much the idea of the house being possessed that got to me, no, I was afraid because every time a potential scare scene was coming up, it meant that the wife would scream, which would cause that goddamn baby to cry again and I don't go to the goddamn movies to hear babies cry. If I wanted to hear babies cry, I'd be banging chicks without a condom and then wait nine months.

Insidious was director James Wan and writer Leigh Whannell's return to low budget independent filmmaking following the failure of their big studio fright flick Dead Silence back in 2007; I haven't seen that movie but I did see Saw. I mean, I saw Saw. I mean -- OK, you know that movie Saw? That was their first film and I watched it back in 2005 and I liked it. I liked Insidious even more. It has more of a classical horror film style compared to the MTV flashiness occasionally exhibited in their debut, and it manages to display that Wan and Whannell have the ability to supply the scares without having to get all NC-17 on us (this film is PG-13).

Halfway through the film, Insidious turns into the cinematic equivalent of Wan and Whannell asking the audience "Hey, did you ever see Poltergeist? Me too! Wasn't it awesome?!" but that's OK because they ask that question in an entertaining manner. It's fun to watch Lin Shaye enter the film as the resident paranormal expert who is gonna Get Shit Done. Her underlings, played by Whannell and some other dude, are a little too goofy for my taste but at least they don't raid the fridge like their equivalent characters in Poltergeist. In fact, one of them shows up having brought a Hot Pocket. That to me shows a person who is prepared and considerate.





The next guessing game revealed the choice of either Friday the 13th Part III in 3D or Beetlejuice. As much as I love me some Winona Ryder, I had already seen Beetlejuice on the big screen twice, but have seen Jason Voorhees in 3D zero -- so I stayed at the Main Lodge and put on a pair of 3D glasses handed to me by one of the volunteers.

I guess this is as good a time as any to bring up the format of the films we watched that evening; they were all digital, which is not a dealbreaker for me. These marathons are more about staying up all night watching movies and less about the privilege of watching them in 35mm. Although that would be nice too.

I bring this up because I'm not 100-percent sure whether what we watched of Friday the 13th Part III was a DCP or Blu-ray; it looked fine but I had my suspicions. I don't know what a 35mm print of this film is supposed to look like in 3D but we watched this one with the old school red and blue anaglyph glasses, so we weren't getting modern quality three dimensions with full color, but like I said it was watchable. The color was kinda whack and there was occasional "ghosting" where some of the image would split into a slightly visible double, but if I'm grading it on the 3D scale where you have Captain EO on top and the Nintendo game "Rad Racer" at the bottom, this film would reside right in the middle.

As for the film itself, it's pretty important to the series because in addition to being the one in 3D, it also introduces the hockey mask to Jason's ensemble and gives us the theme song that makes me want to break out the cardboard and go Boogaloo Shrimp on all you motherfuckers. It's also one of the better films in the Jason saga, which isn't to say it's one of the more intricately plotted sequels -- far from it, it's actually pretty simple even for a Friday the 13th film. But it's the simplicity that makes for the film's strength: people show up, drink, do drugs, have sex, then get killed by Jason. After a time-padding prologue that replays the climax of Friday the 13th Part II, the film gives us a good pace in between the kills so that we never get bored. Or at least I never got bored, I can't speak for the rest of you jokers.

In this film, a girl named Chris and her friends go up to her family's cabin in the woods where she had previously survived an attack by Jason -- because that's exactly what traumatized victims of violent attacks should do, I guess, return to the scene of the crime as way to own that shit? I don't know. But what becomes bad news for these characters becomes good news for the audience because that means Jason gets to murder these morons for our entertainment.

I can't say I was gonna miss most of these victims; early on, there's a dude named Harold who owns a general store along with his wife and a bodega rabbit, and this piece of work has a habit of eating everything on the shelves. It's disgusting, not just the fact that he'll take a dirty backwashed swig of Sunny D and then put it back on the shelf for some unsuspecting customer to purchase, but the fact that he eats more like a stoner than the actual stoners in the film -- stoners who look about ten years older than everybody else, by the way. So yeah, Harold eats peanuts, donuts, the aforementioned Sunny Delight, fish food, and god knows what else. So it's no surprise that we're then treated to the sights and sounds of him having a production session on the toilet.

I don't know why we had to hear that in addition to seeing it -- and I don't know why we get two separate scenes of characters taking a shit in this film, and I *really* don't know why both of these dudes get up and put their pants back on without wiping their asses. I mean, OK, fine, they heard a strange noise and they want to go check on it. But I'm telling you, if I'm in the middle of taking a dump and suddenly my firstborn starts screaming for help, I'm sorry, I have to clean house at least a little bit because going back out onto the field to make a play -- and you bet your unwiped ass I'm washing my hands too, and not just a quick once-over, I'm singing Happy Birthday twice before drying them.

This also might be the first Friday the 13th film that introduces raza into the cast -- poor pretty Vera Sanchez, and I don't just mean "poor" as in her unfortunate fate in the film as one of Jason's kills (Spoilers). I mean, she's financially poor and she's rocking food stamps, because of course you have to have the wetback on welfare. You find this out during a scene in a store, where she's told by the cashier that they don't take food stamps, even though Vera never mentions food stamps, she was just reaching into her shirt pocket.

OK fine, in this case, the cashier assumed correctly, but that still ain't right. That would be like me assuming that the Asian lady driving in my opposite direction is going to make a sudden left turn in front of me without signaling. Just because every single Asian driver that I've come across in my life couldn't drive for shit, I can't assume that the next one is going to drive like shit as well. It's wrong to think that way.

Anyway, Vera is saved by her fellow camper Shelly, who according to the Friday the 13th Wiki has the last name of Finkelstein. Bucking the trend of his heritage, Shelly eagerly gives Vera some of his money so she can pay for the groceries. Although when you consider that Shelly has been dreaming of dipping his kishka into her mole, maybe he wasn't really giving the money away so much as he was paying for something he hoped to get in return.

Eh, I kid those two because I liked those two. I also liked the character of Debbie, because she was played by Tracie Savage; those who grew up in the L.A. area in the 90s might remember her as a reporter for KNBC-TV Los Angeles, because that's what I knew her from and it's funny how long it took me to make the connection that the attractive anchorwoman on the news was the same hot chick from this movie. After working on Friday the 13th Part III, Savage retired from acting and went on to have a successful career in journalism, where her previous experience with murderous slasher Jason Voorhees served her well when she covered the O.J. Simpson trial.

At one point, Savage herself was called to the witness stand at the trial, where she was asked to give up the identities of her confidential sources regarding some incorrect information about O.J.'s bloody socks. She refused to give up her sources, even though Judge Lance Ito had threatened her with jail time if she didn't cooperate. But what Judge Ito got instead was confirmation that Tracie Savage would rather rot in jail than be a fuckin' rat, because she sure as hell ain't no stoolie. Jail? Fuck jail! What can jail do to her that fuckin' Jason Voorhees didn't already do?!

Today, Miss Savage teaches journalism in college, where I'm sure among the many things her students learn are the two most important things in life: Never rat on your friends, and always keep your mouth shut.






Up until this point, the guessing games were hosted by Zombie Counselor Aly. But in the last round when it was revealed that a Jason movie was among the choices, she got upset because Jason was the reason she was now a zombie, having killed her during the last Camp Frida. Then the real Jason Voorhees showed up at the theater and followed after her as she ran away. After the film, when I walked back into the Main Lodge for the next guessing game, I did not see Zombie Counselor Aly but instead there was a bedsheet-clad ghost with a male voice. I asked the guy next to me who that was supposed to be and he said it was supposed to be the ghost of Zombie Counselor Aly, having been killed again by Jason. He was chuckling the entire time and he reeked of the blood bag cocktails, so I can't be too sure if he was telling me the truth or just having me on. But that is what I was told.

Anyway, for the final choice of films we were given either Blade II or 30 Days of Night. I've always wanted to see 30 Days of Night and so it was back to the Graveyard for me.

This adaptation of Steve Niles' graphic novel of the same name takes place in Barrow, Alaska where an extended month-long period of night is about to fall. For those who are night people, this sounds like a pretty cool time, but unfortunately vampires are also night people and they're about to swoop in on this little sad town and have themselves a good ol' time all month long with the bitin' and the chompin' and the drinking of the blood.

The town sheriff is played by Josh Hartnett, who based on his obvious youth must've graduated from the same police academy that Ben Affleck's sheriff character from Phantoms attended. I'm not saying that there aren't really young sheriffs out there in real life, but it's hard for me to buy dudes in their 20s walking around these small towns acting like grizzled seen-it-all types. But I'm gonna give Hartnett a little bit of slack because maybe the pickings were slim as far qualified police officers who wanted to move up to the northernmost city of the United States. Nobody wanted to go up there, they wanted to patrol in the contiguous United States, baby. So maybe the best they could do was hire some kid fresh out of the academy who was willing to move out to the goddamn tundra if that's what it took to move up the ranks.

I don't know if you're familiar with Barrow, Alaska, but based on what I saw and read about the place, it's super cold and barren and there's not much to do there as far as having fun. It's also a dry town, where you're only allowed to drink at a bar -- which is bullshit for a solo drinker like me who prefers to stay home when it comes to getting fucked up. I mean, I'm not gonna get drunk alone in a bar and have the paranoia set in every time I have to stumble my way to the commode to take a fuckin' piss while some assholes in a booth chuckle at my drunk ass, fuck that shit. It's better to get drunk while home alone, that way no one laughs at me if I fall and crack my head on the nightstand and bleed out like William Holden. I deserve a little dignity.

So yeah, vampires. They're led by Danny Huston and I'm guessing this film takes place in the Blade universe because they all look like nouveau riche Eurotrash who came out of some ultra elite VIP only nightclub at 2 in the morning and are looking for a place to eat -- which in the case of this film is the town of Barrow, Alaska. They swoop in and start with the feeding and it's very impressive and scary as fuck. There's a great sequence where they're attacking everybody in town and it employs overhead tracking shots of the carnage that look like they could've been done with drones but I'm not too sure about that, but whatever the case the filmmakers really give us an unforgettable mini-apocalypse to "enjoy".

It's a very well made film with style to spare; once night falls, the film takes on a nearly monochromatic look as nearly everything is dominated by the black of the night or the blueish white of the snow, punctuated by crimson red blood or yellow-orange flames. It brought to mind the 1954 film Track of the Cat, starring Robert Mitchum, another snowbound film with a similar visual color scheme.

Early on, I was sure I was watching a slept-on masterpiece. "Why don't more people talk about this movie?" I thought to myself. The chilly setting, the shocking sudden moments of gore, and an overwhelming bleak sense of doom reminded me of John Carpenter's The Thing -- had that film been randomly hacked down by about forty-five minutes. And there's the rub; the more 30 Days of Night continued, the more disjointed it felt, as if it were missing important scenes -- and maybe it was, maybe the studio forced the filmmakers to cut stuff out so they can fit in more showings at the local cineplex. Because what I saw felt like it could've used a lot more meat on the bones, particularly the scenes involving the survivors of the initial attack as they wait out the rest of the month in an attic. I never got to know the supporting characters well enough -- so as a result, I didn't really give that much of a shit if anything happened to them.

These vampires speak another language and I thought it was interesting that the film didn't have subtitles, or at least that's what I thought until a random subtitle popped up here and there. It happened twice in the film and I even remember the lines: "The heads must be separated from the bodies" and "We cannot give them reason to suspect".

I thought that was a strange choice by the filmmakers and it didn't feel right to me, so the following day, I streamed the film from Starz On Demand -- and it turns out that all the vampire dialogue is subtitled! Oh my God, is it subtitled. These vamps are subtitled up the wazoo, I gotta read subtitles three times a day, I got fucking subtitles coming out of my fucking ears, mang.

Anyway, the film started out as Great but eventually downgraded to Good Enough. I don't know why the digital print at the Frida held out on us with those subtitles, but I wonder how many first timers in the audience were as confused as I was, and like me, how many of them would've had a higher opinion of the movie had the subtitles actually shown up for work that night.






Everybody gathered at the Main Lodge to watch the final film of the marathon: the 1982 Steven Spielberg production of Poltergeist, directed by Tobe Hooper.

That's right, motherfucker -- directed by Tobe Hooper. The Frida volunteer who introduced the film made sure to let his movie douche flag fly by loudly stating that it was directed by Steven Spielberg and I held back on grabbing this motherfucker and showing him the life of the mind because I must remain pure. But I don't get these people who seem to get giddy when spouting off their garbage that somehow Tobe Hooper was sitting in a corner on the set tripping out on mushrooms and playing Atari the whole time while Spielberg really directed the entire thing.

I harbor no delusions of Poltergeist being purely a Tobe Hooper film, but I feel it was indeed a collaboration between him and Spielberg, with Spielberg having the final creative say. The final product looks, sounds, and feels every bit as much a Tobe Hooper joint as it does a Spielberg flick. Maybe Hooper didn't deal with the actors as much and maybe he wasn't involved in the post-production process after turning in his cut of the film, but there's still enough here visually for me to point out similar types of shot compositions and lighting set-ups and camera movements in his other films -- not to mention a kind of coked-up hysteria that occasionally rears its long-haired sweaty-toothed head in all of his films. That in particular is a Tobe Hooper specialty.

So give the man his due.

Anyway, I'm sure most of you have seen this one or know about -- and if you haven't seen it but have seen the remake, I'm not gonna judge you but I'm going to politely yet firmly suggest that you remedy that shit most ricky-tick or I'm gonna have to show you the life of the mind.

As I mentioned earlier, the film Insidious is mostly running plays from Poltergeist's playbook. Both are about suburban families dealing with spooky stuff happening in their nice house, and eventually both families have to deal with the spooky stuff snatching one of their kids. In the case of Insidious, it's the kid's consciousness that is taken, and in the case of Poltergeist, the supernatural forces literally take the child -- body and soul -- to the other side. And in both movies, the parents employ the help of paranormal investigators who try their best before finally bringing in the big guns: an older woman with an extraordinary ability to make contact with the otherworldly.

Insidious does a pretty good job at remaking Poltergeist -- even better than the actual remake, I've heard -- but there's no beating the original, and it still holds up as a top notch haunted rollercoaster of a cinematic experience. You want quiet, you got quiet. You want loud, you get loud. You want a family that you actually like and care for, but most important of all, believe as real human beings? Poltergeist 1982, baby.

Part of why I buy these people as a real family is because there's enough here -- the way the house looks, the way they're dressed, even the kind of cereal they eat -- to remind me of my childhood in the 1980s. I don't remember my parents ever smoking a joint in their bedroom like Coach and JoBeth Williams do here, but otherwise, this all feels familiar. Anyway, it's one of the movies that brings up the most nostalgia in me.

Something that I'm not nostalgic for is anyone who thinks they can come to my house and eat whatever they want; I'm referring to that one scene where visiting paranormal investigator Marty looks at himself in the mirror and...well, you know (or don't know, which is why I don't want to spoil it). When talking about Poltergeist, people often bring up that scene as one that genuinely disturbed them, but I was more bothered by what preceded it; so Marty and his partner are staying over at the Freeling family house to record evidence of paranormal activity, and late at night Marty decides to raid the fridge for a snack. He takes out a leftover chicken drumstick, and that I can understand.

But then he pulls out a big raw steak from the fridge, and I'm like Wait a Minute, and then he puts a pan on the stove, and now I'm like WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE.

The fucking balls on this guy!

Steak is, has been, and always will be expensive. It's one thing to jack some cheaper stuff from someone else's fridge, but a goddamn steak?! I didn't see him ask for permission, or maybe that part was in Tobe Hooper's original cut of the movie, I don't know. Then he places that steak on the kitchen counter with nothing underneath it -- no cutting board, plate, foil, paper towel, Fangoria magazine -- just plop that raw bloody steak anywhere, chief. And don't beat yourself up about not washing your hands at all during this.

He never gets around to cooking that steak. I bet you he didn't even bother to put it back in the fridge either. Next time, bring a Hot Pocket, you inconsiderate fuck.





It was a little before 9 in the morning when the marathon ended. After the final film, the campers all gave a big round of applause to the volunteers and the projectionist, and then we all got up on stage together to pose for a picture.


Following the picture, we all stepped out into the lobby where we were greeted by the sounds of Semisonic's "Closing Time" and treated to one more cupcake for the road. We were also given a Camp Frida badge/lanyard, featuring the late Counselor Aly's picture; the badge also served as a voucher good for one free drink at the Frida, but I figure I'm just gonna hold onto it because I'm sentimental like that.

I then went down the block to Eat Chow for my post-marathon breakfast; I had the "A.M. Burger" that consisted of two eggs, crispy onions, cheddar cheese, hollandaise sauce, applewood smoked bacon, chipotle aioli, tomato, and avocado, served between two brioche buns. I recommend that you get one and I highly recommend that you ask for extra napkins.