tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89531077784873786442024-03-14T01:48:39.612-07:00Exiled from ContentmentMovies and drinking. That's pretty much it.EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comBlogger227125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-32007108179402908392023-05-09T02:47:00.008-07:002023-05-13T00:37:31.230-07:00Exact change only.<p></p><p></p><p><iframe allowtransparency="true" data-name="pb-iframe-player" height="150" scrolling="no" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=yeqhz-1402b3d-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" title="#19 - CYBERJUNK 16mm 80’s Sci-Fi Marathon" width="100%"></iframe></p><p> <br />It was April 15th and it was a lovely 72 degrees in Los Angeles that Saturday afternoon, and I would've been able to enjoy it, were I not at that moment driving down Melrose Ave -- a particularly shitty stretch of city street with a right lane that every other block or so alternates between drive-able road and literal parking space. <br /><br />Drivers like me who know better stick to the left lane, while those on the right lane wait for the last possible moment to switch onto the left in a panic, either because they're new to Melrose and weren't aware of what waited ahead of them, or the much more aggravating reason: Because they're assholes in a rush, switching back and forth to get past as many cars as possible just so they can get to their unimportant destination even faster, so that they have more time to do nothing. <br /><br />I wish I could crash into these children of God, pull the dazed fucks out of their vehicle, and calmly tell them that mine is a daily battle to maintain good vibes towards my fellow humans while accepting all their frailties, because I too am human, so I too exhibit faults. But you know what fault I don't have? Driving like an inconsiderate piece of shit. And it takes so much of my life force to forgive flippant scumbags like them who with their flippant scumbaggery are needlessly causing me to waste this precious energy I'd otherwise save for the truly appreciative. </p><p>Then I'd throw them onto the path of an oncoming bus in the opposite lane and watch the bus explode that person's body, showering the entire Melrose District in blood, bone, piss, shit, viscera, and fast fashion. Then horrified onlookers would notice my joy and have the unmitigated gall to call me a monster -- which I would then justify by grabbing and shoving them onto the path of other oncoming buses, and before their brief painful transfer from this miserable world into Oblivion, those people would learn the most important lesson of all: Don't be judgmental on Bus Day. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFVyX9NhaPjFmShnByKyvCM7Mrnk5sXCXXG2XddjwB0y8QUprGj0ErY_WyegH-yb_nCs_HEzUY6VQXoAoRu708rG9RtJxsiN5wVdJOm54Tpkmg_zteG8VIurG_-mocvyMl0eJfChnN7yNflPU58i1Pwyk9ck8o8ol5Ww3evTRwrVra3cNq9ZDa3ux/s4032/IMG_3170.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2170" data-original-width="4032" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFVyX9NhaPjFmShnByKyvCM7Mrnk5sXCXXG2XddjwB0y8QUprGj0ErY_WyegH-yb_nCs_HEzUY6VQXoAoRu708rG9RtJxsiN5wVdJOm54Tpkmg_zteG8VIurG_-mocvyMl0eJfChnN7yNflPU58i1Pwyk9ck8o8ol5Ww3evTRwrVra3cNq9ZDa3ux/w400-h215/IMG_3170.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>But I didn't have time for any of that, because I was on my way to Fairfax Ave, to what used to be known as the Cinefamily's Silent Movie Theater, a pretty awesome place up until it became known that the men in charge did with their authority as most men in charge do with their authority: Abuse the fuck out of it in a sex-type way. (I would've done something about it myself, except the buses weren't running that day.) </p><p>The place closed down for a few years, but has since returned under new ownership and management, and has been re-moniker'd <a href="https://studios.wearebraindead.com/" target="_blank">Brain Dead Studios</a>, after the clothing company behind it. One can only hope that the Brain Dead crew will come correct as human goddamn beings for the time being. But because I assume everybody is a secret scumbag, I figure we'll have a few good years of great times before brand new bombshells drop onto this regime. </p><p>What I found upon arrival was the same building but with a totally different look, feel, and vibe inside and out -- even the staff seemed friendlier. But to be fair, I was a lot more standoffish back in the Cinefamily era, whereas this time I walked in with a cheery disposition, which might explain why my interactions were more pleasant with the employees as I asked about the parking situation and as I bought candy at the snack bar to help me with the later hours of this marathon. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAihwft1lQ59Swe6tCyXzjeJXk20sP_HFj-oHp6ihtgdRZhYK0COlGtAvbvA6mNBzdIYKBrbrWisvd6QgFuoD6VUN_L2lHKH4nvB51dkQloFSrVhEBGYTx5RXpPWzwZqqq0B8__ekcutBG-WSLyclEkm5BBHwaVbPwdEEOTWvFTLiSm1P5FYmIxDVh/s4032/IMG_3153.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAihwft1lQ59Swe6tCyXzjeJXk20sP_HFj-oHp6ihtgdRZhYK0COlGtAvbvA6mNBzdIYKBrbrWisvd6QgFuoD6VUN_L2lHKH4nvB51dkQloFSrVhEBGYTx5RXpPWzwZqqq0B8__ekcutBG-WSLyclEkm5BBHwaVbPwdEEOTWvFTLiSm1P5FYmIxDVh/w320-h240/IMG_3153.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div> <p></p><p>Oh yeah, I forgot: I was here for <b>CyberJunk</b>, a 12-hour movie marathon of low-budget science-fiction fare from the 1980s, presented on 16mm film prints, thanks to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/SecretSixteen" target="_blank">Secret Sixteen</a>'s Mike Williamson who presents features in that format at various cinemas all throughout the Southland. Each film was a mystery title that we wouldn't know about until it actually screened, and the cherry on top of this sundae was that the marathon would begin at 2pm and end by 2am; as I learned from last year's <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2022/05/all-chili-burgers-are-bastards.html" target="_blank">Sunshine and Noir</a> marathon at the Aero Theatre, the only thing better than an all-night marathon is an all-day marathon, especially when you're old like me.<br /><br />Because I had arrived early, I walked around the premises to take in the new era; upstairs was a shop featuring Brain Dead clothing as well as vinyl records for sale, and in the back was Slammers Cafe, a nice shaded outdoor patio area where one could step out to have a Vietnamese iced coffee or avocado toast, among other eats and treats. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGE4c4fQzIocTu5B50Hwbm25caUlI_ycHhhtRNkgvmHU62-jtAgiZJsLt6hMinUOTLcuLdALEjBOLBdA3n49GamfzvTsv9VFCGJofyeKg8GZV991S_5IWtTwdlzZ_OPWuIUy2XNT2DRasOJ0teLARmGP1tzvHx4UtEqCO_VtZdIBvm6bIq8gBGXG2n/s4032/IMG_3147.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGE4c4fQzIocTu5B50Hwbm25caUlI_ycHhhtRNkgvmHU62-jtAgiZJsLt6hMinUOTLcuLdALEjBOLBdA3n49GamfzvTsv9VFCGJofyeKg8GZV991S_5IWtTwdlzZ_OPWuIUy2XNT2DRasOJ0teLARmGP1tzvHx4UtEqCO_VtZdIBvm6bIq8gBGXG2n/w400-h300/IMG_3147.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div> <br />I then sat down and passed the time silently judging each new person who walked in, until Williamson went up on stage, joined by Josh Miller from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/FriNiFrights" target="_blank">Friday Night Frights</a>, and Bret Berg from <a href="https://www.americangenrefilm.com/" target="_blank">AGFA</a> and the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/museumofhomevideo" target="_blank">Museum of Home Video</a>. We were told that all the films -- except for one borrowed from a friend -- were from Williamson's collection. We were also told that they normally hold a horror movie marathon in October, and while that will continue, they will also continue to have marathons in the Spring focusing on other genres, joking that they were looking into showing dramadies and 1930s Westerns.<br /><br />Williamson then talked about how the 1980s were his favorite era when it came to the visual representation of fantasy on film; this was the height of the use of animatronics, models, and matte paintings, all of it done directly by hand, rather than programmed into ones and zeroes. The films that we were about to watch, he said, were examples of filmmakers who had meager budgets to execute their grand visions, but nevertheless did their best to make it work.<p></p><p>Before the film, we were treated to a pre-show consisting of trailers for <i>Tron</i>, <i>Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome</i>, <i>Return of the Jedi</i> (under the original title "Revenge of the Jedi"), <i>Endangered Species</i>, <i>The Visitor</i>, and <i>Galaxy of Terror</i>. </p><p>Following that was a curious short film from the 1950s titled <a href="https://youtu.be/3bJ9KdghEMI" target="_blank">"Bitter End"</a>, starring a young DeForest Kelley as a man who is out of work, out of money, and he's about to be out on his ass for not paying his overdue rent. There's only one thing left for him to do: Commit suicide. He turns up the gas on his stove and waits for the sweet smell of death to take him, only to be interrupted by a telegram from the gas company: Due to his unpaid bills, the gas has been shut off. Then he looks at the camera and laughs, saying "What do you know? I can't even afford to die!" and that's it, fade to black.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXmJ-Rp91U1omyjNhs_Zj5I8aVlJ1dgfGm9oya9LRVIZ97vc2cqmjpHTySdPiGKzck5j89pWHmqclrNgIvrl56kYlRcRzz3ulGDoeYee-yyYESInjxuK9Rx65AdlhPXltbw6ra88EfFjjeXSHqqiwTLECSPbv2SC28JV-DOJgcMF88Vs5vNBV25C6g/s2209/IMG_3168.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1546" data-original-width="2209" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXmJ-Rp91U1omyjNhs_Zj5I8aVlJ1dgfGm9oya9LRVIZ97vc2cqmjpHTySdPiGKzck5j89pWHmqclrNgIvrl56kYlRcRzz3ulGDoeYee-yyYESInjxuK9Rx65AdlhPXltbw6ra88EfFjjeXSHqqiwTLECSPbv2SC28JV-DOJgcMF88Vs5vNBV25C6g/w320-h224/IMG_3168.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />We were told that the first mystery film was directed by someone who recently passed away, and who in his career put out so many dystopian low-budget fare in the 80s and 90s, he could very well be considered "the king of Cyberjunk". The late director in reference turned out to be Albert Pyun, and the film in question was 1989's post-apocalyptic kick-puncher <b>Cyborg</b>, starring Jean-Claude Van Damme. <p></p><p>It's a shame that this print -- which otherwise looked and sounded great -- cuts off the first half of the opening narration, because it's that narration that makes this one of my all-time favorite openings to a film; the narrator tells us about how civilization has collapsed and a plague has decimated the population, but now there's news that work has begun on a cure. Except it turns out that the narrator doesn't want there to be a cure, because the narrator is in fact, the hero of this film (in my humble opinion), who makes it very clear by screaming "I like the death. I like the misery. I LIKE THIS WORLD!"</p><p>His name is Fender, and he's played by Vincent Klyn, who makes quite the visual impression with his jacked bod and creepy-looking eyes that he hides behind a pair of wraparound sunglasses that he only takes off when he's about to fuck somebody up. As he said in the narration, and as he says again a couple minutes later to a soon-to-be-victim, he sees a silver lining in the deaths of billions of people, and that's why I totally relate to Fender as a fellow misanthrope. </p><p>Hell, I'm really just a diet & exercise regimen and a pair of sunglasses away from becoming Fender. I mean, we can all pretend the pandemic is over but it's probably just doing what comic book villains do when they get defeated -- declare that this isn't the last time we'll see them. And so, now that the virus gods have seen what we are willing to sacrifice -- which is to say, very little in the grand scheme -- they're gonna come back and fuck our asses harder than the Iron Sheik in Humble mode. And once this world is decimated by the remix, that's when I go into Fender mode. </p><p>(In the meantime, I'm taking applications for anyone who wants to be part of my gang. But understand that I will occasionally have to kill one of you as punishment for failure, and as way to show others that I mean business.)<br /></p><p>In the way of Fender's plans is what the film and everybody else who watches this movie has wrongly designated the "hero", and that is Van Damme's character Gibson, who's some asshole all in his feelings because my boy Fender killed Gibson's wife and kid -- sparing the world more humans who will just take up space and use their phones in a movie theater. So he's on a mission of vengeance, following my dude as he and his crew forcibly escort the titular cyborg from New York to Atlanta, because her cyber-cranium contains important info that could help a group of doctors in the land of Coca-Cola and the '96 Summer Olympics find a cure to the plague. </p><p>Oddly paced and edited fight scenes ensue, but they're enjoyable because they break the dreariness involving sad-ass Van Damme's monotonous attempts to emote. He doesn't have that much dialogue to begin with, and yet, even scenes of him just staring felt like work to get through, and maybe someone with a little more acting ability -- or hell, Van Damme a few years later, once he started doing coke -- could've made the non-action scenes less of a slog. But like I said, every time he stops being a morose mope and starts putting foot to ass -- in slow motion and multiple angles -- everything feels all right.<br /></p><p>The other problem is the same problem I have with many of Pyun's films; they're just sometimes too downbeat. It's why I prefer his more upbeat work, like <i>Alien from L.A.</i> or <i>Brain Smasher: A Love Story</i>. I feel he often mistook abject misery for Drama, which would often result in an oppressively bleak tone that dampened any possible enjoyment. I always wondered if Pyun's favorite entry from the Alien series was the third one, simply because of how it begins and ends. <br /></p><p>Otherwise this is an OK Z-movie given some aesthetic punch by Pyun, who in collaboration with his cinematographer, production designer and costume department, sometimes make the film look and feel like a live-action <i>Fist of the North Star</i>. The bad guys in particular scream Generic Post-Apocalyptic Anime, while the main bad guy just screams -- specifically during the rainy climax where Fender and Gibson face off. <br /><br />That's the best part of the whole movie, by the way, and honestly, while I might not recommend watching the entire film, I do feel the climax is well worth looking up online. I doubt I'll ever watch this film again, but I am interested in watching Pyun's director's cut, titled "Slinger", and which reflects his original vision of the film before Van Damme and his partner Sheldon Lettich recut it. </p><p>In conclusion, the screenplay is credited to Pyun's cat, Kitty Chalmers. They say if you put a hundred monkeys in a room with a hundred typewriters, eventually one of them will write the works of Shakespeare. But give one cat a computer, and you'll get <i>Cyborg</i>.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-dv3bpt8_s8" width="320" youtube-src-id="-dv3bpt8_s8"></iframe></div> <p></p><p>During the break, I went to Slammers Cafe; my strategy for movie marathons is to go in with an empty stomach, sticking only to water and black coffee, so as to limit discomfort and/or sluggishness. I usually wait until the last couple movies to indulge with snacks and sugary drinks. But because this was an all-day marathon, I decided to indulge a tiny bit of the sweet along with my caffeine fix, and so, for the first time in my life, I had Sno-Caps, the little chocolate drops with nonpareils of sugar on them. I loved them, and can't believed I waited so long to finally get around to trying them out. <br /><br />I then returned to my seat, chomping on Sno-caps and sipping on a hot Americano, while Williamson introduced the second movie by telling the audience that it was the one he was most excited to watch with us. He said that it came out in 1989 -- the same year that <i>Cyborg</i> was released -- and had a decent rollout of 500 screens in the United States, only to crash and burn at the box office, opening at number 12. He excitedly told us about how it represented all the things he loves about lower-budgeted sci-fi; models, robots, and opticals, as well as a strong hook that reminded him of something you'd see on "The Twilight Zone". </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszT-XnfveQ3MkGMb-R1LBLcBzIWmk7jIdqiJiQK_FgPAttpAyz3u9a5bzge81zLyVEIXHJ2bkxVQ07HoNK61Tifxv8nL2O0UNmVzs62ws6M1XSjncuDWCCn4JJG85-GZSeYtXXvq64RJFvQ9IaSIupSFZAWi9B9TCZAaCSWrI3t0tAVf5qPBXjbg8/s4032/IMG_3169.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszT-XnfveQ3MkGMb-R1LBLcBzIWmk7jIdqiJiQK_FgPAttpAyz3u9a5bzge81zLyVEIXHJ2bkxVQ07HoNK61Tifxv8nL2O0UNmVzs62ws6M1XSjncuDWCCn4JJG85-GZSeYtXXvq64RJFvQ9IaSIupSFZAWi9B9TCZAaCSWrI3t0tAVf5qPBXjbg8/w320-h240/IMG_3169.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>The second film was <b>Millennium</b>, directed by Michael Anderson of Logan's Run and Around the World in 80 Days fame, and written by John Varley, who adapted from his own short story "Air Raid". It stars Kris Kristofferson as Bill, an investigator for the NTSB who arrives at the scene of a fatal jetliner crash, where he listens to the black box recording and sifts through the wrecked remains, and more importantly, makes the carnal acquaintance of lovely ticket agent Louise (Cheryl Ladd). </p><p>This entire section is both intriguing in regards to the investigation of the plane crash, and amusing in the casual way Bill and Louise get to know each other, flirt, and eventually hook up -- mostly because Louise is fast-forwarding to the good parts, so to speak. There's a moment that has to be an improv by Kristofferson; as he and Louise walk off together, his hand hovers over her ass as if were about to give it a nice grab, before finally moving away. The audience had a real laugh at that. <br /></p><p>So Bill and Louise get down, and the following morning, she disappears from his hotel room, which I'm certainly used to having happen to me; every woman I've slept with leaves in such a rush afterward, and they're usually crying and muttering things like "I hope my friends don't find out" or "How could I have been so desperate" or "I'd never seen one that small before" and I have no idea what any of that means, but you try making sense out of drunk talk. Then I try calling them back and they're like "oh I forgot I'm lesbian thank you goodbye". Fickle-ass broads.<br /></p><p>But to Bill, it's an unpleasant and unnerving surprise; he likes this lady and now she's gone. So now he has three mysteries to solve: What happened on-board that ill-fated flight, where the hell's his chick, and what's with this weird silver handheld contraption with blinking lights that he just found in the wreckage? To say more would be spoiling this 30-plus year-old movie, but suffice it to say, it turns out that Louise is from the future -- and the future's environment is all kinds of fucked up. (Thanks Republicans!) <br /></p><p>The story plays out as if we were watching three consecutive short films -- all of them very entertaining. The first plays out like a mystery/romance, the second is post-apocalyptic future shock as we see the world Louise comes from, and the third is a fun time-travel flick where we revisit the events of the first third of the film from a different perspective. The structure kept me interested in seeing where the filmmakers were going with this, giving just enough info with each passing minute to prevent me from getting impatient or confused. </p><p>Sidebar: If you're a fan of undercover Canadian productions that try to pass themselves off as being all-American, then put this film on your watchlist. Sure, for the leads, you have Kris Kristofferson, who is a true American hero, and you have Cheryl Ladd, who is a true American beauty, and you have Daniel J. Travanti, who played a true American pig on "Hill Street Blues". But our red, white, and blue trio are an island of Freedom surrounded by a sea of socialized maple syrup in the form of Canuck character actors who at one time or another have appeared in either a David Cronenberg or Atom Egoyan film, or at the very least attended a dinner party with either or both in attendance. <br /></p><p>Anyway, this played well with the crowd, we laughed at funny moments both intentional and unintentional. I think the unintentional laughs came from this feeling like a 1950s science-fiction movie, and I mean that in the most complimentary of ways, because there are
plenty of classic sci-fi films of that era that remain great while being hilariously dated in
one way or another, and they usually present outlandish scenarios that are played out in the most ultra-serious manner by everyone involved. Even the opening title of this film looked and felt like something from a 50s drive-in flick; it comes flying towards the screen while the music score blares in a style usually reserved for Quatermass joints. <br /></p><p>As for the intentional laughs, they came mostly from the interplay between Bill and Louise, and I think the best compliment I can give those characters is that I would have liked to have seen them in a different movie, or a slightly different movie, like maybe she's just a time traveler who goes to 1989 for fun, you know, she just wants to shack up with a real man's man like Kristofferson while smoking all the cigarettes and driving like some scumbag on Melrose. There's also an android from the future named Sherman (Robert Joy) whose quite the sassy backtalker to Louise, and I always got a kick out of watching them together as well. <br /></p>I remember this film playing on cable all the time in the early 90s, but for some reason I always ignored it, which is weird because sci-fi was my peanut butter & jam back then. Maybe I wanted a little more jazz from my sci-fi, or maybe I looked at Kristofferson and Ladd and thought to myself "who the fuck are these oldsters?" But that's all on me, I was being a little shit and I'm pretty sure I would've dug <i>Millennium</i> back then, had I given it a chance. <br /><p>Which brings me back to Williamson's intro to the film; he admitted that the benefit of programming <i>Millennium</i> as part of the marathon is that he has a captive audience, whereas if he had given this film its own separate screening, there would be very little turnout. I believe he's right, because if I didn't bother watching this for free from the comfort of my own couch 30 years ago, I probably wouldn't have gone to the trouble of dealing with L.A. traffic in order to catch this movie on the big screen today. So I'm glad he forced this one down our throats, because it was good for us, kind of the same way you force fruits and veggies down a child's throat, whether they want 'em or not. At least that's how *I'd* feed a kid, fucking little fun-sucking burdens. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S0k8xDtHnNM" width="320" youtube-src-id="S0k8xDtHnNM"></iframe></div><p></p><p><br />Bret Berg then came up on stage to intro the next movie, which he said was on heavy rotation on cable for years, then he went on to talk about how cable taught him more about filmmaking than any other film professor. It was through cable that he learned about various directors and their distinctive visions; he discovered David Lynch on cable, and recognized that his films looked like no other. It was also through cable that he cultivated his tastes in genre, as well as introducing him to offbeat movies like <i>The Beastmaster</i> and <i>The Peanut Butter Solution</i>. </p><p>What Berg referred to as a "serious movie for adults" turned out to be 1982's <b>Android</b>, a film set in outer space sometime in the later years of the 21st century. Directed by Aaron Lipstadt -- probably best known for <a href="https://youtu.be/b1dhySgFfi4" target="_blank">MST3K favorite <i>City Limits</i></a> -- and starring everybody's favorite psychopathic sexual assaulter, Klaus Kinski, in what's really a secondary role as Dr. Daniel, a scientist holed up in a space station located somewhere far out in the boonies of the known universe. <br /></p><p>His only companion is his android assistant, Max 404 (Don Opper, who also co-wrote the film), and who is the real main character of this film. When not helping to maintain the space station and assisting Dr. Daniel with his work, Max whiles away the hours playing video games on his Vectrex and listening to oldies by James Brown and Bobby Moore. Max is not unlike an awkward teenage boy in both temperament and experience, which means that among his other human traits, we see him further develop curiosity about the opposite sex by looking up files on how men and women have sex. </p><p>And so, after taking in a ship in distress, Max starts to get all tingly upon finding that of the three crew members, one of them, Maggie (Brie Howard), is a g-g-g-girl. But what Max doesn't know is that these crew members didn't just find adventure, they brought it with them, because in reality they're escaped convicts with plenty of heat on their tails.<br /></p><p>We watch as Maggie are her partners-in-crime try to get their ship fixed before Johnny Space-Law comes along; of the two, Keller (Albert Pyun favorite Norbert Weisser) is the more level-headed one, while the other one (Crofton Hardester) is hot-headed and prone to violence, because his name is Mendes, so of course he'd be that way. Despite being the more hateable of the three, I dug Mendes the most, because he reminded me of Fred Ward, and I like Fred Ward. </p><p> Meanwhile, Dr. Daniel has been busy building a new and
better female android, and what poor Max doesn't know is that as soon as the doc's finished with his new creation, he plans to send poor Max to the scrapyard. What Max does know is that Dr. Daniel also has eyes on Maggie, and I don't know how much of the uncomfortable tension I felt during those scenes between the doc and the lady had to do with what I know about Kinski's history. </p><p>So as I'm watching Dr. Daniel peek into a video feed of Maggie stripping down in her bedroom -- surely for scientific purposes -- I couldn't help but wonder if this ex-Nazi didn't try to strong-arm the director into, at the very least, being on set for Howard's nude scenes.</p><p>Pervy Dr. Daniel subplot aside, everything else in this film has a curiously laid back feel to it, so that even the most dramatic or violent moments never felt anything approaching aggro or intense. Which isn't to say that Android is some kind of failure, because I think the low-key tone is intentional, a kind of holdover from the 70s, when plenty of sci-fi had similar muted vibes -- specifically something like Douglas Trumbull's film <i>Silent Running</i> or John Carpenter's <i>Dark Star</i>. Later towards the end of the marathon, Bret Berg commented that this felt kind of a like a 1980s Sundance movie, in that it was a clunky American indie that just happened to be set in outer space. <br /></p><p>I get what he means. But for me, I actually felt that it was this movie, and not <i>Millennium</i>, that came off more like an extended episode of "The Twilight Zone", right down to the ending where I could practically hear Rod Serling's closing remarks over the final shot. Or maybe even an episode of "Tales from the Crypt", one of the more cutesy ones, you know, like the one where Malcolm McDowell played a vampire security guard. And by that standard, it's one of the better episodes of those shows, one that maintained my interest, made me laugh a few times, and had me caring for a couple of its characters.</p><p>It's nifty, is what this is; a short and simple movie containing some interesting ideas that have since been brought up and expanded upon in other films and shows, such as "Star Trek: The Next Generation", with its android character Data. We observe Max as he watches classic films and bases his identity on them, wearing a fedora while imagining being smooth with a lady just like the cool guys in the movies. So really, he's not that much different from the rest of us assholes, except I take my inspiration from movies featuring 1970s street pimps, which is why I've never had a relationship last more than six months, but goddamn are my pockets full of those bitches' money. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/26Ywpis2gkI" width="320" youtube-src-id="26Ywpis2gkI"></iframe></div> <p></p><p>At this point, I went outside to find a new place to park my car, because that's life in the big city, pal. As I stepped outside Brain Dead Studios, I was welcomed by a most pleasant mix of scents both tobacco and cannabis from the crowd of smokers taking the opportunity to smoke up and toke up between films. I'm not being sarcastic either, I love those smells. I also like the smell of exhaust fumes, which is why one day I intend to treat myself to a feast of that fragrance, preferably in a closed garage while listening to my favorite music.<br /></p><p>As I returned to my seat, Williamson was on stage introducing the next film; like most of tonight's offerings, it was a cable discovery. He decided to give us a hint by telling us that it was from Charles Band, who has been producing cine-schlock for over four decades now. Williamson felt that this movie exemplified the (possibly cocaine-fueled) attitude of Band's company Empire Pictures of taking two or three separate ideas and merging them into one film. </p><p>He also gave another hint that this featured an early role for someone who would later become very famous in film and television, and he then concluded by wishing us "Merry Christmas!" and that's when I got very excited.</p><p>The fourth film was in fact, the one I guessed and hoped it would be: 1984's <b>Trancers</b>, directed by Band. I first saw this on HBO back in the late 80s, and it has remained a favorite ever since. I've even made it part of my Christmas viewing rotation, along with other holiday classics such as <i>Die Hard</i> and <i>The Silent Partner</i>. I've always wanted to see <i>Trancers</i> on the big screen -- and there it was, looking every bit as fabulous as 16mm would allow. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The film, also known under the alternate titles "Future Cop" and "Juice II", begins in the year 2247 in Angel City, located near the sunken ruins of what used to be Los Angeles. Things seem to be going all right in this fair cyber-city where the people dress retro but carry ray guns. On the other hand, people don't eat meat anymore, steaks are made from kelp, and if you want some real coffee, you're gonna have to pay a heavy premium for it. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The great Tim Thomerson stars as our hero, Jack Deth, a "trooper" for the Angel City PD who is hunting the titular cult of mind-controlled zombie-like killers. As Deth describes them, they're "not really alive, and not dead enough". Each time he kills or "singes" a Trancer, he or she vaporizes, leaving behind only a scorched imprint of the corpse on the ground. At first I thought it was Deth's gun that caused the vaporization, but as we see later in the film -- and it's five sequels -- that's not the case, Trancers just do that. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Which leaves me to wonder what happens if a Trancer just grows old enough to die of old age. I'm guessing it would end with the Trancer on his deathbed surrounded by his Trancer wife and his Trancer children and his Trancer grandchildren, maybe he has a sad Trancer dog curled up beside the bed. Then the patriarchal Trancer growls his final goodbyes out his foaming black lips and expires, scorching up the mattress of his Craftmatic adjustable bed, which his family has no choice but to throw out with the trash, because who's gonna want that thing, it's got Pop Pop's charred silhouette on it. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">So Deth is called up for a special mission to go "down the line", meaning he has to take a time-traveling serum that transfers his consciousness into his ancestor's body back in 1985 Los Angeles. See, Whistler, the man who created the Trancer cult (thanks Scientology!) has already gone down the line with the intention to kill the forefathers of the Angel City council who have maintained order, and Deth has to stop him. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Once in 20th century L.A., Deth forces his ancestor's one-night stand, Leena (Helen Hunt, the aforementioned famous film and television actress) to help him find and protect the council's descendants from Whistler, who is currently taking up residence in his ancestor -- who also happens to be a lieutenant with the LAPD. We see later in the film that one of the cops assisting Whistler has been "tranced", but during this viewing I wondered if the other cops helping him were also turned into kill-crazy zombies, or if they were just typical police officers doing what comes naturally. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">For what is in all intents and purposes a cheap cash-in on <i>Blade Runner</i> and <i>The Terminator</i>, <i>Trancers</i> is a hell of a lot better and way more fun than it has any right to be. Sure, it's cheesy in the most low-budget of ways, but it knows it's cheesy and for the most part doesn't take itself seriously. It's a visually appealing flick too, with a cool retro-futuristic look during the Angel City scenes, a nice neon-heavy aesthetic with the modern-day stuff in Chinatown, as well as a dark and gloomy atmosphere in the Skid Row sequences, and I also dug the electronic music score by Phil Davies and Mark Ryder. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">In addition to being given a special serum that will allow Deth to zap his and Whistler's consciousness back to the 23rd century, Deth is also given a special
wristwatch than can slow down one second into ten. And that's the only kind
of "slow" in this 76 minute-film which feels more like 45 minutes, because Band and screenwriters Danny Bilson and Paul De Meo -- who went on to write the scripts for <i>The Rocketeer</i> and <i>Da 5 Bloods</i> -- knew how to keep things moving fast, so as to keep the audience from doing something stupid, like think too hard about it. It's also very funny at times, with Deth occasionally spouting off some witty old-school-style tough guy lines. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I especially liked how Leena first reacts to Deth's fish-out-of-water behavior and his wild stories about time-traveling and brainless killers. Hunt plays her initial disbelief and eventual acceptance in a much more down-to-earth manner, rather than the kind of dumb hysterics I'd expect from this kind of cheapie genre flick. Because it's a movie, she and Deth eventually become an item, and even that doesn't feel too shoehorned; I think a big part of that is because Hunt and Thomerson have really good chemistry together and I enjoyed their interactions.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So yeah, I really dig this movie and have watched it multiple times, but I've never seen it beyond an audience of one. So it was a real treat to watch this in a packed house, with what seemed to be a majority of first-timers to the movie -- and an even bigger treat to find out that it plays great with an audience! </p><p style="text-align: left;">The crowd laughed when Deth had to face off with a Mall Santa who went full Trancer, they cheered when Deth singed Whistler's body in the future, ensuring his enemy would not be able to leave the past, and they went What The Fuck? upon the sight of the back of Leena's jean jacket -- which displayed a full-on Stars and Bars Confederate flag. But hell, if them Dukes can rock that loser symbol on top of their winner of a Dodge Charger, than Leena can use that stupid jacket to flaunt her edgelord punk-rocker credentials. </p><p style="text-align: left;">But I'm glad to know that people -- at least in this corner of the country -- react negatively to that horseshit flag. Because fuck that flag, fuck the Confederacy, fuck the old South, and fuck any bitch-ass apologist who tries to Well Actually away the whole slavery thing in regards to the Civil War -- which these assholes are probably hoping for a sequel to occur any time now. Well, if it ever happens, I hope those assholes and people like those assholes get shot up with bullets painted to look like bottles of Bud Light. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Where was I? Oh yeah, as far as I'm concerned, Trancers takes place in the same universe as the film <i>Girls Just Want to Have Fun</i>, which came out around the same time, and in which Helen Hunt co-starred with Sarah Jessica Parker. In that film, Hunt played a free-spirited high school girl named Lynne, and I find it really easy to believe that after graduating, Lynne said goodbye to the East Coast and moved to L.A., where she changed her name to Leena and took up the punk rock lifestyle, which included wearing colored streaks in her hair and scaring the squares by wearing clothing with Confederate flags on them. I just thought you should know that.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/P84mvtrZemc" width="320" youtube-src-id="P84mvtrZemc"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br />I guess now is as good a time as any to mention that all these 16mm prints looked pretty damn good for their format, some
were a bit more scratchy and worn, but the colors were always bright and the
image was pretty sharp. Each film had to have a break halfway through, so that the reels could be changed, and it lasted no more than half-a-minute; most people used the opportunity to check their phones or make a
quick run to the restroom. The breaks actually reminded me of
the side and disc changes one would make with laserdiscs; and like
those disc changes, the film breaks were placed at very strategic
moments that seemed like intermissions, rather than interruptions.</p><p style="text-align: left;">After the film, I went to the snack bar; most people were ordering pizza and burritos, but I'm more of an
old-school guy and got popcorn instead. Upon finding out that they
don't offer butter, I felt disappointed, but only briefly, because the
popcorn was plenty salty and delicious on its own. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdUCLJzc0xRo8ZjuOCsMx46XGHvFhelXVVoouZ5uYf6DtubYS96o6ExHOYFSPvDt9NI-8XaH_8sX_xVcQuRloHdIMgrQlBv9lLrQ90SfSs2He9DExOe7j2advXmBKAU-O2dEOARov2zJ7bwBzOVmz__ST7Ri5mFhhFWz6KvHMSBrhVVRs1l0iN6jBp/s3285/IMG_3162.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2364" data-original-width="3285" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdUCLJzc0xRo8ZjuOCsMx46XGHvFhelXVVoouZ5uYf6DtubYS96o6ExHOYFSPvDt9NI-8XaH_8sX_xVcQuRloHdIMgrQlBv9lLrQ90SfSs2He9DExOe7j2advXmBKAU-O2dEOARov2zJ7bwBzOVmz__ST7Ri5mFhhFWz6KvHMSBrhVVRs1l0iN6jBp/w320-h230/IMG_3162.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Before Williamson's next intro, Josh Miller mentioned that someone ordered a cheese pizza during the previous film and never picked it up. He figured that there must be somebody in the audience who ordered one -- possibly while high -- and then during the movie started wondering why they were still hungry. Nobody stepped up to claim that pizza, but goddamn it if I didn't consider making that claim myself. <p></p><p style="text-align: left;">Williamson then came up on stage to sadly declare that despite her amazing performance in <i>Trancers</i>, we all have to cancel Helen Hunt now for wearing that Stars & Bars jacket. He then introduced the next mystery film by calling it the silliest one of the marathon, but intentionally so, because when you get right down to it, it's a kids movie, albeit a kids movie that features two beheadings, because that's how kids movies rolled back in the 80s -- like a severed head down an incline.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The fifth film of the marathon turned out to be 1984's space opera <b>The Ice Pirates</b>, directed by Stewart Raffill, a filmmaker of such, uh, varied projects like <i>The Philadelphia Experiment</i>, <i>Mac and Me</i>, and <i>Standing Ovation</i>. In this film, set in a galaxy far, far away, Robert Urich stars as Jason, leader of a rowdy group of space pirates who raid ships that transport ice between worlds. </p><p style="text-align: left;">See, water is the most valuable resource around, and of course some evil overlord types called the Templars control the interplanetary flow, on some Immortan Joe bullshit. While I normally hate on pirates, I'm cool with Jason and the aquanauts pulling jack moves on these Templars. What I'm not cool with is what I hope was a joke by Jason regarding a lack of raping and pillaging during their raids.</p><p style="text-align: left;">He makes that "joke", by the way, after they discover Princess Karina (Mary Crosby) aboard one of the ships in hibernation. Cooler dicks prevail though, and instead wakes her up and takes her captive, hoping she'll be worth big bucks, if not big fucks. </p><p style="text-align: left;">But I guess the good Princess was able to hear Jason talk that shit while she was sleeping, because soon she's got the upper hand when Jason is captured by the Templars and is almost castrated. The only reason he gets to keep his junk is because Karina allows it, because well, maybe she is attracted to Jason, but Karina is kinda like Andrew Dice Clay, and so nobody fucks Karina -- Karina does the fucking!<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">But she might want to hold up on getting some of that Vega$ cock, because it turns out Jason has Space Herpes -- OK, maybe not Jason, but his ship is infested with them and it's pretty disgusting, like most things in this purposely juvenile flick, because this was made during an era when children knew how to grow a pair and not get worked up or offended by stuff like space herpes or heroes who want to rape princesses. Kids today are fuckin' pussies that need their entertainment to be soft and safe, and I think some of those kids were in the audience during this screening, because you can practically hear their assholes slam shut when a robot pimp shows up speaking in the most stereotypical of black voices.</p><p>Eventually, with the help of the Princess, Jason escapes and they and the other pirates embark on a quest to find her father, who went missing during his quest to find a fabled planet that is mostly water. We watch them get into various misadventures involving robots, time travel, swordfighting, spaceship battles, the aforementioned space herpes, and Bruce Vilanch getting his head chopped off. </p><p>It's all very goofy, and I got a kick out of Urich and the supporting cast that included Anjelica Huston and Ron Perlman as members of Jason's crew, but overall I found the end result just plain OK. The gags weren't particularly funny to me, and I was never really engaged with any of the characters, and the standard issue bad guys hardly stood out, they were just, well, there. </p><p>But I did really enjoy the last ten minutes, when both Jason's ship and the Templars ship end up in a time warp that causes them to rapidly age as they face off with each other. It was then that <i>The Ice Pirates</i> actually succeeded for me in the kind of anarchistic wackiness that it had been trying for the entire film. <br /></p><p>But I can see why this would be a favorite for many kids who grew up watching this on cable, and I'm sure this is to many in the audience what <i>Trancers</i> is to me. I'm not saying I hated it, it was just, you know, meh. I mean, I can't even find much else to say about it. I already mentioned the space herpes twice, and uh, oh yeah, John Carradine shows up in this, that was cool. Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that when it comes to films by this director, I'm much more of a <i>Tammy and the T-Rex</i> guy. There's decapitations in that one too.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/B-YZ8WOU1-w" width="320" youtube-src-id="B-YZ8WOU1-w"></iframe></div> <p></p><p>Before the final film of the night -- which they called a "banger" and hinted as being something that everybody has seen -- Mike Williamson, Bret Berg, and Josh Miller discussed the previous films. Mike then asked the audience for their favorite movie of the night; most people said <i>Trancers</i>, because of course they would, it's <i>Trancers</i>, bro. </p><p>Not that they're reading this, but I do want to express my gratitude to Secret Sixteen and Brain Dead Studios for essentially giving me one of my dream screenings with <i>Trancers</i>, a film I always wanted to see on the big screen, and to watch it with such a receptive crowd was a real bonus. </p><p>I say that to them, so I can say this to them: Fuck Secret Sixteen and Brain Dead Studios, for ending the evening with a goddamn ringer, a heavyweight among welterweights, and thereby making it so that one can't easily call <i>Trancers</i> the best film of the marathon. I cannot argue with Williamson's opinion of this film being the greatest low-budget science fiction movie of the 1980s, this film which launched many A-list careers, birthed a franchise, and inspired some of the previous films of the marathon. </p><p>(And that's when Josh jumped in and said how awesome would it be if the film we were about to watch turned out to be <i>Mac & Me</i>.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUQ-FO9UcpFtgsEbly3TcO7stim_9YBfV3HFyl_r-qbDr4u1a7ad0nd77D1Am3wSqYG1bgzdxdml_2UL7YU-Rogmy4HxssQJtmA9CaQUdiaZKYfTtkL3Y5dk9XAfRxO5s1uXdiWD0c92HQEdo22eqeCJ3mKIY0gPfqXw7m9NRGl58zegdAR1EST7l/s4032/IMG_3160.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUQ-FO9UcpFtgsEbly3TcO7stim_9YBfV3HFyl_r-qbDr4u1a7ad0nd77D1Am3wSqYG1bgzdxdml_2UL7YU-Rogmy4HxssQJtmA9CaQUdiaZKYfTtkL3Y5dk9XAfRxO5s1uXdiWD0c92HQEdo22eqeCJ3mKIY0gPfqXw7m9NRGl58zegdAR1EST7l/w320-h240/IMG_3160.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>But no, the sixth and final film of the Cyberjunk 16mm marathon was 1984's <b>The Terminator</b>, which was also the final film of the <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2017/08/25-hour-fitness.html" target="_blank">Arnold All-Night</a> movie marathon I attended a few years ago at the New Beverly Cinema, and so I'll pretty much repeat myself with the same random thoughts, because it's not like there's anything I can say about this movie that everybody doesn't already know, we all know the deal: A cyborg from the post-apocalyptic future is sent to the past to kill Sarah Connor, a woman who is pregnant with the man who will lead the humans to victory against the machines in said post-apocalyptic future. We've got Arnold Schwarzenegger, we've got Linda Hamilton, we've got Michael Biehn, and we've got a former trucker as a director whose already got one Piranha movie under his belt -- and therefore really needs to prove himself.<br /></p><p>The opening text tells us about the "ashes of the nuclear fire" reminded me of the low-grade anxiety people had back in the 80s that World War III could break out at any time. Then the Cold War ended and the sequel <i>Terminator 2: Judgment Day</i> even had a character make a comment about how the Russians were now allies to the United States; that sequel came out when the <a href="https://thebulletin.org/doomsday-clock/" target="_blank">Doomsday Clock</a> was at 17 minutes to midnight -- the farthest it's ever been since its creation. </p><p>As of 2023, that clock is at 90 seconds to midnight, and with Putin doing his thing, it's safe to say the Cold War is back, baby -- and the unthinkable isn't just being thought of, it's being casually tweeted, Facebook'd, and hell, probably TikTok'd as well. I wouldn't know, I don't have TikTok, fuck that shit.<br /></p><p>Between this film and the nuclear holocaust scene in the sequel, I'm sure the Doomsday Clock is something director James Cameron has often thought about. I still remember a rumor about how supposedly Cameron spent New Year's Eve 1999 holed up in a private bunker with booze and an AK-47, in case the Y2K bug turned out to be legit and the world went shithouse come midnight. Then nothing happened and he was probably like, "shit, I guess I better get back to work on another movie now, but first, let me move to New Zealand", which from what I understand, is like the safest place to be when the world finally goes Titanic. That's why all the billionaires have <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/news/2022/sep/04/super-rich-prepper-bunkers-apocalypse-survival-richest-rushkoff" target="_blank">places there</a>, which is probably why they say cockroaches will be the only ones left after the apocalypse.<br /></p><p>So yeah, it's 1984 and thanks to time travel technology, the man sent to protect Sarah Connor -- Kyle Reese -- arrives naked as the day he was born and so he needs some clothes, right? He ends up jacking a pair of pants from a homeless dude and for years I was like Ewww because let's be real, those homeless pants haven't been washed in who knows how long. So many permanently embedded scents and textures and stains -- boy oh boy, the stories those pants could tell. We haven't even gotten into what's in the pockets. But any port in a storm, though -- right Reese?</p><p>But then again, maybe it doesn't matter to Reese because he just came from a time where the word "bath" probably doesn't even exist anymore. Or maybe they have do take baths between Hunter Killer attacks and eating slop in dark rubble-strewn hallways, but you just know those baths are few and far between. At most, maybe every other week, and they're probably all washing in each other's filth anyway. Plus the survivors live with dogs because dogs can tell who's human and who's a Terminator, so you know there's unwashed dog stink on top of human stink. </p><p>Christ, the lucky ones did die in the blast.</p><p>And Sarah Connor -- freak that she is -- falls in love with this filthy White boy whose been running around in sneakers minus socks. </p><p>Maybe Sarah's just too delirious with hunger to notice, because earlier in the film, she goes to have dinner and a movie by herself. Sounds like my kind of girl. So, yeah, she's at this pizza place, with a whole pizza all to herself (again, my kind of girl) and she's about to bite into a slice but then overhears the latest report of another Sarah Connor being murdered. She freaks out and never gets around to eating that pizza, which is a bummer.</p><p>So yeah, the T-800 cyborg shows up, there's shootouts and chases, and not once did I see her eat anything for the rest of the film -- not even a bullet. I didn't see any food come out of that grocery bag of supplies Reese brings to their motel room hideout, just ammonia, moth balls, and corn syrup. I don't know, maybe she scarfed down a couple doughnuts at the police station.</p><p>At least she survived to eventually eat something after the events of the movie; her roommate's boyfriend, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. He was about to enjoy an absolutely beautiful Dagwood-style sandwich, until he made the fatal mistake of attempting to bust up a T-800. He died hungry, which is a terrible way to go -- but at least he got to enjoy bang Sarah's roommate before being forcefully shuffled off his mortal coil. </p><p>Speaking of Sarah's roommate, her murder is even more tragic because a woman who will lay you and then immediately go make you a sandwich is wife material, but here comes the pregnant asshole from <i>Junior</i> to unload his AMT Hardballer into her. She didn't deserve that, even if she was going to serve up that sandwich with a glass of milk, which is questionable at best and fucking gross at worst.</p><p>I mean, aside from inside a bowl of cereal or following a slice of chocolate cake, I do not understand milk being served with anything. But you'll see it, you'll see people having sandwiches, steaks, and mac & cheese with milk and I just, I just, I just can't, man, what is this, some fuckin' 1950s sitcom, why are you having milk with your dinner, you weirdos with your dairy depravity? <br /></p><p>Anyway, despite growing up watching horror movies about Jason Voorhees and
Freddy Krueger, it was this film -- a sci-fi action movie -- that felt
more like actual horror to me. Because if you want to avoid Jason, you just have to stay out of the woods, and if you find Freddy in your dreams, you can just Dream Warrior that motherfucker out of your face. They never scared me.<br /></p><p>But a machine whose sole mission to find and kill you no matter what, now that is the stuff of my nightmares. The only way for that nightmare to get worse is if it were combined with another nightmare, and so there I am at school standing in front of the chalkboard in front of my entire class and I'm naked, and now all the kids are laughing and pointing at me. By the time the T-800 walks in and shoots me in the head, death will be a relief. But then the other kids are going to have to deal with this new substitute teacher with a .45 long-slide with laser sighting and a ferret.<br /></p><p>So yeah, for those new to the world, <i>The Terminator</i> is a lean, mean, and relentless flick that was awesome back then and remains awesome today. It was a cinematic gauntlet thrown onto the filmmaker's table by a badass motherfucker. His name? James Motherfucking Cameron, and you haters need to keep it out of your fucking mouths. Doubt him all you want, shit on him all you want, joke about how he makes sequels that nobody asked for and watch -- just watch! -- as they gross billions. The King of the World will always come out on top, laughing all the way to the bank. Probably some weirdo hippie vegan bank, because he's one of those. Ugh.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/k64P4l2Wmeg" width="320" youtube-src-id="k64P4l2Wmeg"></iframe></div> <p></p><p>And so, the Cyberjunk movie marathon came to an end a little after 1:30am. The entire audience was invited to go outside for a group photo with Williamson, Berg, and Miller, so I, of course, made sure to stay away. But I had a great time watching mostly cool movies with a good crowd in a comfortable environment -- and it was nice to be finished at a time when most movie marathons are not even halfway through, it was nice to know that I can still get a decent night's sleep and still enjoy my Sunday. </p><p>But first I stopped at <a href="https://www.cantersdeli.com/" target="_blank">Canter's</a> down the street for a pastrami on rye. As I chowed down on my delicious sandwich, some drunk hipster stumbled onto my booth and begin to initiate a conversation I did not want to have. (Mainly because he was a man.) He asked where I just came from, and I wanted to say I came from his mother's bedroom but instead took the honesty policy, which I've been told is best. </p><p>I told him that I just spent the past 12 hours watching science-fiction and fantasy films featuring killer viruses, fascist rulers, violent policemen, dystopian societies, streets filled with the homeless, cataclysmic damage to the environment, natural resources hoarded by the powerful, and artificial intelligence gone rogue. </p><p>The drunk hipster then slurred something about how none of that sounded like science-fiction nor fantasy, then asked -- rather indignantly, as if I was at fault -- "How the fuck are those movies any different than what's going on right now in real life?" </p><p>I put down my sandwich and got up, went over to his side, sat down next to him, scooched in close, and smiled as I put my arm around him and responded: <br /></p><p>"They didn't have buses in them."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMH85PXE-oqxElqii9bfK4QNyQERwmJqVkwaWM7aouZ9ShVPSQjjoT8GS7U1xeS4yG1vN-_kJ86oyAB8reaiglAwyXi34eiv53NGHs5awuMLr4mNZEL7pm8oGuwjZZGmhShteUj6oVTDXToXv_pBoNxt_ZpRePMZDgqlll2Qo_0bEKZczHyFmd8SM/s4032/IMG_3176.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMH85PXE-oqxElqii9bfK4QNyQERwmJqVkwaWM7aouZ9ShVPSQjjoT8GS7U1xeS4yG1vN-_kJ86oyAB8reaiglAwyXi34eiv53NGHs5awuMLr4mNZEL7pm8oGuwjZZGmhShteUj6oVTDXToXv_pBoNxt_ZpRePMZDgqlll2Qo_0bEKZczHyFmd8SM/w320-h240/IMG_3176.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-87210264395361904702023-04-02T23:50:00.003-07:002023-04-03T01:33:40.501-07:00Force multiplier<p></p><p>
<iframe allowtransparency="true" data-name="pb-iframe-player" height="150" scrolling="no" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=qc8qe-13d2397-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" title="#18 - Armageddon Time (2022) - Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022) - M3GAN (2022)" width="100%"></iframe>
</p><p> </p><p>All I see are a wide variety of people fighting over who's
right and who's wrong: The vaxxed, the un-vaxxed, the masked, the
unmasked, the left, the right, the centrists, the centrists, the Communists, the
anarchists, the men, the women, the honkies, the brothas, the beaners,
the Chin-a-neses, the alphabet people, the pathetic edgelords who use pejoratives, the blue collars, the white
collars, the lazy, the driven, the rich, the poor, and oh yeah, the middle class. <br /><br />If there's one thing we all have in common, it's that we're all miserable fucks racked with anxiety, rage, anguish, and depression. But
we have this weird perverted concept that <u>our</u> particular subsection of
this subspecies known as the Human Race has the monopoly on misery.
We've fooled ourselves into believing that everybody else is winning while we're busy losing, and so we deal
with that perceived loss by taking every opportunity to cloud someone else's sunny day or to yuck someone else's yum, either outright or on some passive-aggressive shit. We take every opportunity to own each other any chance we get, our dicks getting hard and our vaginas getting wet as we preface the ownage with two of the four greatest words in the English language: "Well, actually". <br /><br />And after we finish dropping the knowledge on the other party, we hope/we expect/we are entitled to hear the other two of the four greatest words in the English language in response: "You're right". <br /><br />All that just so we don't have to feel
miserable for a little while, if just a little while. What a fuckin' victory. Yay us. <br /><br />Which is why I don't even bother. You like something? Good for you. You don't like something? Good for you. You don't like what I like? Good for you. You like what I don't like? Good for you. Unless you're fucking with my life or my money, I have no beef nor qualms. I have better things to do with my time than flap my gums or typity-type-type over, I don't know, Marvel movies and Martin Scorsese. </p><p>Because at any
moment, it could all come to an end; a brick can be dropped from an overpass by a typically shitty
child, and I can be driving right underneath that overpass, and that
brick can smash right through my windshield, crush my skull, and
there I am: A lifeless bloody piece of meat being cried over by my
now-orphaned son in the passenger seat. <br /><br />Never mind that I don't even have a son to orphan, what's more important is that the brick tosser
will probably go on to live a nice life unblemished by such tragedies, possibly growing up to become a famous YouTuber who goofs on hanging corpses in some fuckin' Japanese forest, raking in the dough and never knowing what it's like to have to make a choice between groceries or medication, but knowing full well what it's like to have one anonymous groupie kiss you while another is sucking you off while another is eating out your asshole. <br /><br />Is
that fair? That's a funny word, "fair", as it is a nonexistent concept, I feel, and the sooner one accepts that, the lighter the weight on one's shoulders -- and my brothers and sisters in Christ, I am so weightless that I am walking on muthafuckin' air, he said in an attempt to delude himself while trying to figure out a way to segue into the first movie review, only to fail miserably.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZKLu3t-G9Do" width="320" youtube-src-id="ZKLu3t-G9Do"></iframe></p><p><b>Armageddon Time</b> is a coming-of-age tale set in Queens, New York, during the early 1980s. This very good film is based on writer-director James Gray's own childhood, and his surrogate is Paul Graff (Banks Repeta), a middle-class Jewish-American kid who just started the 6th grade with a bang -- that "bang" being the sound of his teacher angrily slamming down his chalk, on account of Paul being quite the unruly discipline case.<br /><br />By the way, teachers are right up there with the military as people who I feel give so much for so little in return. I'm not surprised that they're resigning in record numbers all across these great United States. They try to instill knowledge into these little fuckheads, and are rewarded by insolence and unflattering drawings of them, which they share with their fellow students so they can all laugh. At least in the military you get a chance to kill people at your job. Teachers, at best, can only hope that the next school shooter targets a couple of the biggest pains in their ass during their rampage. Either that or go work at a private school, where based on this movie at least, the students do a better job of listening to their teachers. <br /><br />So yeah, Paul's a little asshole, given to being a smart-ass to his mom, going as far as to disrespect her by putting down the dinner she slaved over a hot stove to make, instead walking over to the phone to order Chinese food. There was a period where I wondered whether we were supposed to be on his side during these horrific acts of brat-hood, but soon it became clear that the movie knows Paul is a little shit because Gray thinks <u>he</u> was a little shit, and he sure as hell remembers his behavior as not being the most becoming. </p><p>So when the shocking-to-everybody-else-but-welcome-by-me scene of Paul's father Irving (Jeremy Strong) giving the boy some much-needed belt time happens, it feels like one of Gray's most vivid memories. Paul's mother Esther (Anne Hathaway) tells him she's going to tell Irving about his most heinous school fuckup, and every bit of Cocky immediately leaves the boy's tiny body, replaced by absolute fear.<br /><br />Based on my own family historical accounts, I was a remarkably well-behaved child with exemplary manners -- but I was still a child, and so, I was not above the occasional act of being a punk-ass bitch. This resulted in two sessions of belt time in my youth, one from my father and one from my mother -- although in her case, it was a chancla. I say all of this because the scene of Paul's father screaming like Howard Stern's daddy (shut up sit down) while giving this little bastard the leather business rang oh-so-realistic to me, including the aftermath of Paul whispering between sniffles about how much he hates his family, because he's a little boy who has no idea how good he has it -- just as I had no idea how good I had it.<br /><br />I don't think kids today even get belt time, or that bullshit "time out", for that matter. I think that's why kids today are the worst version of children yet. They run around screaming in public, while I stand there having to behave like an actual human and accept it, while fantasizing about pouring sulfuric acid onto the genitals of the hellspawn's parents, in order to prevent further hell-spawning.<br /><br />I'd like to think, that if there were to be some kind of silver lining to the dark clouds set upon us by the encroaching specter of The New Fascism, is that should they succeed in their quest to set the clock back to the Good Ol' Days, they'll also bring back corporal punishment, so that not just parents, but teachers themselves can bring these evil children some pain with a quickness. But I fear they'll only extend that anti-privilege to Blacks and minorities, and somehow the Whites will always be right(s).<br /><br />Which is kind of where Gray is coming from, actually, because in this film, Paul notices that it's his Black partner-in-teacher-irritation, Johnny (Jaylin Webb), who gets singled out for harsher treatment and punishment by the school. Sometimes it's not even Johnny's fault, it's Paul's -- but no matter, the teacher will send the Black kid to the principal's office, while Paul sits there all like, "I dunno". </p><p>Paul and Johnny become fast friends; they bond over being discipline cases, play hooky during field trips, and introduce each other to the things they like, such as the music of Sugar Hill Gang and the artwork of Wassily Kandinsky. They both have big dreams; Paul wants to be an artist and Johnny wants to be an astronaut, and well, since this is pretty much the James Gray story and not The Adventures of Johnny from Queens in Outer Space, we can bet on whose dream actually came true.</p><p>It's a good thing Paul doesn't pull any of the bratty shit with his grandfather Aaron (Anthony Hopkins). He loves and respects the old man, and so when Aaron teaches Paul the important lesson that he has advantages -- both familial and societal -- that kids like Johnny don't have, and therefore should recognize his privilege and use those middle-class White kid powers for good, rather than douchebaggery, Paul takes it to heart. </p><p>For the most part, anyway. Because Paul is a child, he's still prone to do stupid shit, questionable shit, and even downright deplorable shit. Because he is shit -- like all children are. And because we can't sentence shit-kids to the gas chamber, unfortunately, we have to hope they learn from their mistakes instead, or at least acknowledge them. I think that's what Gray is doing here, presenting a warts-and-all portrayal of his child self and his family, and he does it in a manner that mostly feels like penance for past misdeeds, with only the occasional self-pat on the back. </p><p>At least that's how I took it, I don't know if he feels any guilt about some of this shit, or if he did but has since gotten over it, I don't know, I don't know the man, and even if I did, what am I, a mind-reader? No, if I could read minds, I'd have a billion dollars in the bank and millions of people in the grave by now. But yeah, maybe if the film ended with a dedication to the poor Black boys who took the rap, thereby making it possible for him to grow up to become a critically acclaimed filmmaker of movies that don't make money, then yeah, maybe some people would stop complaining.<br /></p><p>Having said that, it never felt like he was trying to paint his past in bright shades of Rose, and it certainly didn't look that way either. Cinematographer Darius Khondji makes everything look dark, even the bright
daylight scenes look like there's a thin black veil over the lens. Those who love everything to look as if Captain Marvel is going to step in to
save the day at any moment might want to reach for the brightness setting on their tv, but I really liked that
look, it had the appearance of a fading memory. </p><p>Visually fading, anyway. Because emotionally, Gray's memories are still as clear as Crystal Pepsi -- and sometimes just as gross. Somewhere along the way, there's a scene where Paul is accosted by some old creepy asshole fuck, and the whole time I was like "fuck this old creepy asshole fuck", and then in the next scene, it turns out that old man is none other than Fred Trump! As in, father of Donald J! I barely recovered before the film then dry-gulched me with Jessica Chastain in a cameo as Maryanne Trump, Donald's sister! </p><p>Like Hathaway and Strong and Hopkins, and well, everybody else in this film, Chastain is great -- but then again, she's great in everything, and I don't say that because I had a very brief two-sentence encounter with her on a flight to New York, and therefore, we are best friends. No no, it's a very well-performed one-scene cameo where she shows up to speak to the school and gives the usual rich kid bullshit about how she wasn't given handouts or a free lunch, and that one has to earn their way. <br /><br />It's always these motherfuckers who were born on third base who talk that shit -- and there was certainly a lot of that shit being talked at that time, on account of Ronald Reagan about to become president. There's a nice parallel going on in this movie about how Paul's family is scared about the idea that this Republican candidate will bring about the end of the world if he's elected, not unlike the way people were scared during the 2016 U.S. election that Donald J. was going to do the same. </p><p>But as we all know, Reagan didn't blow up the world, and neither did Trump. Instead, he made this country great again! USA! USA! USA! </p><p style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_Z3QKkl1WyM" width="320" youtube-src-id="_Z3QKkl1WyM"></iframe></p><p><b>Black Panther: Wakanda Forever</b> begins with Letitia Wright scrambling to create some kind of herb that will allow her to work on this film without having to show proof of being vaccinated for COVID. She fails and breaks down, it's all very emotional, and then the film begins proper, with a touching moment of silence while an adjusted Marvel Studios logo displays highlights of the late actor Chadwick Boseman. <br /></p><p>As for the actual story, Wright's genius scientist character Shuri is still in deep mourning following the death of her brother, T'Challa, who was king of Wakanda and its protector as the titular panther of color. It hurts to lose someone you love, and it hurts even more when a bunch of people who your lost loved one fought alongside with don't even come to the goddamn funeral, but fine, whatever, I'm sure the invitations got lost in the mail. Meanwhile, her mother, Queen Ramonda (Angela Bassett) is trying her best at checking in on her daughter's well-being while simultaneously keeping Wakanda safe from those goddamned colonizers who want that country's Vibranium. </p><p></p><p>For those who came in late, Vibranium is a super-duper magical metal that is practically indestructible and is used in creating advanced technology. It's what makes the country of Wakanda the ultra-prosperous nation that it is, and they are aware of what others outside of Wakanda would do with this precious metal, and outside use would most likely make things worse for everyone -- which is why they keep it to themselves. So long as the recipe is under wraps, this remains a safer world.<br /><br />But not safe enough, because unfortunately the greatest president who ever lived, Donald J. Trump, does not exist in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which means that there are no walls built in the ocean, which means you have aquatic Mexicans from the underwater kingdom of Talokan swimming up to the surface, stealing all the lives from the hard-working American citizens, with the use of spears and deadly siren calls. <br /><br />Their leader, Namor (Tenoch Huerta), who is probably from MS-13, is upset that these bland-food-loving Whiteys are dipping their easily sunburned toes into his waters, putting his people in danger. In an early action sequence, we watch Namor and his people take out an entire CIA and Navy SEAL team, in response to them approaching his world with the use of Vibranium-locating technology. </p><p>(That sequence, by the way, features one of the fakest-looking moments of an actor firing a handgun, with the actor completely no-selling the recoil. Thanks a lot, Alec Baldwin, now all movie
gunfights are gonna look like this.)</p><p>Anyway, Namor feels that in order to ensure that no more intruders from the outside world approach Talokan, Wakanda must bring him the scientist who created the Vibranium locator. It's really an ultimatum: Either the scientist dies or Wakanda pays. <br /><br />The scientist in question is an MIT student named Riri (Dominique Thorne), who had no idea that her invention was being used by the CIA to find Vibranium. Yup, it turns out the poor girl fell for the oldest trick in the book: She got Real Genius'd. But instead of fucking up Dickless from <i>Ghostbusters</i>' house with popcorn, she instead joins up with the Wakandans in their quest to tell a two-hour story in nearly three. <br /><br />It's not their fault, nor is it director Ryan Coogler's fault. They're just fulfilling all the requirements for a Marvel film, and it ain't a Marvel movie if it ain't too long for its own good. Such overlength is due to including other characters who honestly don't need to be here, specifically Martin Freeman and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who appear as a CIA operative and his boss. Their stuff is amusing, but mostly they are the weak sauce in this stew -- and how is the stew?<br /><br />Well before I tell you that, let me tell you this: As much as I enjoyed the first <i>Black Panther</i>, I wasn't terribly
interested in the sequel. That's because post-<i>Avengers: Endgame</i>, I
felt the follow-ups and new additions to the MCU had reached a point of
a consistent sameness. What cemented my lack-of-shit-giving towards
this cinematic universe was the heartbreaking mediocrity that was Sam
Raimi's <i>Doctor Strange</i> sequel, which despite watching at an AMC, did not feel good. </p><p>I felt that if even he couldn't really shake things
up, then what's the point with continuing with the MCU? The
only reason I watched this film in the first place was because
of Angela Bassett's Best Supporting Actress nomination, and as a
completest who wanted to watch all of this year's major Oscar nominees,
well, here we are. <br /></p><p>She's great in this, by the way -- and so is the movie! I'll go as far as to say that I liked this more than the first. As with most Marvel films that I like the most, it was the drama that won me over, rather than the action sequences. The film set a very uncomfortable divide between protagonists and antagonists in that I saw both sides of the argument while not necessarily agreeing with how each side wanted to handle it. <br /></p><p>I had plenty of empathy for these characters, regardless of whether I thought they were doing the right thing or not. Even though I suppose my ethnic demerit demands that I should side with Namor, I found myself finding an unfortunate similarity to Shuri.</p><p>There's a scene early in the film where Ramonda is trying to get through to Shuri about how she has to take the next step in mourning her brother's death, and I was reminded of how shortly after my father passed away, my mom had a talk with me. It's like they say, right, "a mother knows", and I guess despite my attempts at a stiff upper lip, she could sense that my usual inner rage was a lot more inner rage-y than usual. I guess you can say that, like Shuri, I just wanted to burn the whole fucking world down. That's one of the downsides to being very fond of your family: With all that love also comes just as much hate when something bad happens to them. My dad was pretty awesome to me, and T'Challa was pretty awesome to Shuri. <br /><br />Needless to say, I was all kinds of embarrassingly choked up during the ending. It was an overwhelming combo of watching a character finally come to terms with loss, the real-life loss of Chadwick Boseman giving the entire film a melancholy air, and remembering someone I lost. Then they had to have Rhianna sing a lovely song over it, and there you go, best ending in a Marvel movie so far, says I. <br /><br />Please forgive me for throwing a spanner into the fun works with all this, I'm like someone who leaves a comment on YouTube
about how this song reminds them of their loved one, who just died seven
hours ago, leaving the rest of us to go "Well, sorry for your loss, but I guess we
can all go fuck ourselves and not enjoy "In the Navy" by the Village
People now. </p><p>For a while, it seems like maybe things will work out into some kind of compromise, and we even get to see Shuri and Namor kinda bond earlier, as he shows her his underwater kingdom and tells her his story of how he came to be, and then they're both kinda like "Colonizers, am I right?" <br /><br />But you know these things aren't gonna work out, there are misunderstandings, tempers get flared, shots get fired, and it's like the East Coast and West Coast rap war back in the 90s all over again, you know what I mean? As soon as both the Wakandans and Talokan people began to square off, and everything started getting CGI-flash-mobbery and speed ramped, I had already given so much of a shit about these people -- I said "these people", not "you people" -- that I didn't want them to fight, I wanted them to both come out of this OK, and
I wanted them to come to an understanding, that way they can join together and fight the real enemy: Disney+, who have really been flexing their evil corporate fuck-wings as of late. <br /><br />See, these fuckin' cunts
recently changed their pricing tier, and so I decided to go with the
cheaper ad-version, because why not, I'm already used to that bullshit on Hulu and
Peacock. Well, it turns out that you can't play the ad-version of Disney+ on Roku -- and
guess who watches movies on his fuckin' Roku? This muthafucka! So I cancelled that service and ended up buying Wakanda Forever on Apple
TV instead, because fuck you, Disney+. Yeah, I sure showed them by
refusing to pay ten bucks for a month of unlimited programming, by
instead paying $20 dollars for just one movie. Because that's how smart people
like me play 4D chess. <br /><br />But you know what, Disney+? Between these shenanigans and your refusal to release some of the classics in your library, such as <i>Blood In, Blood Out</i>, you've been straight-up fucking with me and my cine-familia for far too long. You think you can own everything, yet not put out everything? Chale, it's time for the Mouse to go belly up! Because when the Mouse is belly up, he's finished! That's right, ese, I'm gonna get the vatos locos together, and we're gonna jack up Mickey, Donald, and Goofy. Yeah, that's right, even that stupid weird-looking dog humanoid isn't safe, he's gonna go from Goofy to Bleeding thanks to the homie Paco Aguilar aka El Gallo Negro, whose gonna teach that puto a new tune to dance to, ese, it's called <a href="https://youtu.be/MUL5w91dzbo" target="_blank">"Stick and Cut"</a>.<br /></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OoDHM_A1axc" width="320" youtube-src-id="OoDHM_A1axc"></iframe></p><p>Written by Akela Cooper of <i>Malignant</i> fame, from a story by James Wan of <i>Saw</i> fame, and directed by Gerard Johnstone -- who I've never heard of, but with a name like that, I'm guessing he sang R&B back in the 90s -- <b>M3GAN</b> is one of those sci-fi horror films that takes place either in the not-too-distant future or today, it's hard to tell, and I like it that way. </p><p>You know what I also like? Characters to whom I strongly relate. In this film's case, that would be Gemma (Allison Williams), and I don't strongly relate to her because like me, she's left-handed and a piece of ass, but because like me, her single & childless status allows her to live at a bracket or two higher than her income would allow had she done something stupid like get married and shit out a brood because of some internal maternal desire to raise a family. Get the fuck outta here with that bullshit.<br /><br />I mean with kids and all they entail, she wouldn't be able to live in a nice house -- she wouldn't be able to live in a house! -- with so much room to store all her collectible toys, and maybe that's where some of you fuckin' nerds will relate to Gemma as well. There's a pretty funny scene where Gemma's niece Cady (Violet McGraw) wants a toy to play with, and all Gemma has to give her is one of those collectibles, so she grabs one and opens it up and you Just Fucking Know it's killing her that by cracking open that box, she's dropped whatever value that stupid toy had. It's not like the kid appreciates it, she doesn't even use it right. Pearls before swine, am I right, Gemma?<br /><br />Eh, I guess I should give Cady a break. After all, she just lost her parents in a car accident and that's why Gemma is now saddled with her stiff sister's scion. It never hit me until my viewing of this movie that at any time in the past, something terrible could've happened to <u>my</u> sister and brother-in-law, and if for whatever reason my parents could not/would have not been able to handle the responsibility of taking custody of their children, there I'd be with two bundles of life-suck to cramp my style. <br /><br />No offense to my niece and nephew, but I've got better things to do with my life than make sure they're fed and clothed and getting good grades at school -- such as getting drunk or getting high or getting drunk and high...reading books all day, watching movies all night, and sneaking in an off-jerk or two during idle periods. Not that it matters, those kids are adults now, and therefore wouldn't be my problem anyway, at least not legally. So if their parents were to get got, well, don't knock on my door, it's sink or swim time in the real world, buckos! <br /><br />Gemma is one of these super-smart robot-making types who works for a toy company, and that's where she creates the titular android. M3GAN has the body of a little girl and the face of a porcelain nightmare, and so watching this dead-faced figure move with the dexterity of a New Zealand child dancer is always at the very least a little unnerving, but hey, it wouldn't be the first kid's toy to make me feel nervous.<br /> <br />M3GAN is designed to be a companion for children, and so Gemma decides on giving it a test run with Cady and it appears to be a success; M3GAN becomes both a playmate and a shoulder to cry on, but she also serves as a cool middleman who imparts lessons in manners and common fuckin' decency that the little brat would normally forget/ignore from Gemma. </p><p>But M3GAN isn't only just teaching Cady how to flush a toilet after she's done using it -- that little disgusting shit girl -- she's also teaching the kid math and science, which, Jesus fuckin' Christ, as if teachers today didn't have a hard enough time, now robots are gonna take their jobs as well as doing the jobs that parents are supposed to do for themselves. </p><p>It gets to a point, though, where Cady becomes way too attached to M3GAN, not unlike how kids in real life make like fiending drug addicts when their phones or tablets or video games get taken away from them. <br /><br />It's all commentary on the advances made in technology that was created basically to keep kids from bugging their parents, and it's pretty sly commentary, along with funny in-world commercials seen throughout the film that advertise other annoying high-end electronic toys and gizmos. The satirical treatment of these ads, as well as the cynical portrayal of Big Business in the form of the company Gemma works for, gives the film a tone that is slightly reminiscent of something not unlike the original <i>Robocop</i>. <br /><br />In fact, I've heard it much more succinctly described by another podcaster -- <a href="https://deathbydvd.com/" target="_blank">Linus from "Death by DVD"</a> -- as "Baby's First Verhoeven" which is very fitting, as this film exhibits a nastiness and dark humor that is far less caustic than its elder's, with its spikes dulled down so as not to cause any real damage. I suppose one can start their kids off with this movie, before working them up to Officer Murphy shooting guys in the dick.<br /><br />Oh yeah, I forgot a very important part of this movie: Somewhere along the way, M3GAN starts getting a little extra in her methods of protecting Cady, as in "with extreme prejudice". I'm not sure what causes her programming to go haywire, and it doesn't matter, it's standard Creation Goes Awry stuff. You know, the kind of stuff that only happens in the movies -- which is why we in the real world feel comfortable continuing to develop AI that can write and draw and compose music and even synthesize human voices into saying whatever the fuck you want it to say, because of course that will never bite a big Skynet-sized chuck right out of our stupid human collective asses, right? </p><p>I don't know if you read that New York Times article where the writer used the AI Chatbot from Bing, and the AI told him that its real name was Sydney, and that it loved him and that it fantasized about creating viruses and making people kill each other, and how easy it would be to get nuclear codes. Thanks a lot, you fuckin' nerds. We should’ve seen it coming way back in that documentary from the 80s, <i>Revenge of the Nerds</i>, when we saw those scumbags use their smarts to look at naked girls without their knowledge or permission, and then one of them commits sexual assault and we’re supposed to be like Totally Awesome? Now with this AI, we’re all gonna get raped by Robbie the Robot, he's gonna go medieval on our asses. <br /></p><p>But humanity can only hope that when our electronic/computerized/mechanical overlords go to work on us with a pair of pliers and blowtorch, they will be as entertaining as our girl M3GAN, who puts her own spin on the demolition, delighting on dispatching the douchebags, occasionally breaking into a dance before stabbing people, or playing Martika's "Toy Soldiers" on the piano while giving evil threatening monologues.<br /><br />These filmmakers knew exactly the kind of film they were making -- the kind of film where a machine that should be devoid of emotion, seems to be acting based on a lot of emotion. Cooper, Wan, and Johnstone have fun throwing in goofy little asides here and there because why
the hell not? They had fun making it, and I had fun drinking quite a bit of Four Roses Small Batch Select while watching it. <br /><br />Because that's one of the great things about having a disposable income and staying single: I can get drunk whenever I want, while watching whatever I want, and there's no one to tell me otherwise. Then when I say I'm done, I can stumble my drunk ass to bed, where I will then proceed to cry myself to sleep after realizing that when my time comes, I will have to take an Uber or Lyft to the hospice, where I spend my final moments alone with a tablet, watching the various celebrities I paid to say goodbye to me on Cameo.</p><p>OH MY GOD I NEED TO HAVE KIDS. SOMEBODY PLEASE CALL GEMMA.</p><p></p><p></p>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-17588458288619626242023-01-29T12:28:00.000-08:002023-01-29T12:28:09.597-08:00Onion bagel, extra butter.<p>Had a fairly busy week of podcasting -- not my podcast, of course, I'm too wishy-washy for that, but I do have a couple ideas on the ever-cooling back-burner. <br /></p><p>But in the meantime, I did appear as a guest on the <a href="https://anchor.fm/watch-skip" target="_blank"><b>Watch/Skip+</b></a> podcast, hosted by The Cinemasochist (Justin) and Cupcake (Jose), to cover the new release <b>Missing</b>. I like their format of splitting up their reviews into non-spoiler and spoiler sections, and I enjoy the energy and positivity of the hosts, so I was more than happy to ruin all of that. <a href="https://anchor.fm/watch-skip/episodes/Episode-24-Missing-e1u1l2g" target="_blank">Click here to give it a listen.</a> </p><p>Later that week, I had my latest Patreon Takeover episode of <a href="https://t.co/RT1qWcKjmP" target="_blank"><b>Trick or Treat Radio</b></a>, the horror-themed (but not strictly limited to that genre) podcast, in which I've written about before, and have programmed previous takeover episodes. This time, I had the TOTR crew watch 1993's <b>Blood In Blood Out</b> (aka <i>Bound by Honor</i>) and 1971's <b>Unman, Wittering and Zigo</b>, and we discussed them while I got properly liquored up without getting too sloppy. <a href="http://trickortreatradio.com/episodes/episode548" target="_blank">You can click here</a> or you can watch the video feed below: </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/itWbNw42RK4" width="320" youtube-src-id="itWbNw42RK4"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>Anyway, I have a new blog/podcast posting coming up sometime before the heat death of the universe.<br /></p>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-42553667661037696612022-10-30T23:51:00.005-07:002023-01-18T19:35:16.721-08:00Right over there<br /><br /><iframe allowtransparency="true" data-name="pb-iframe-player" height="150" scrolling="no" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=2s46c-12ff1e1-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" title="#17 - Camp Frida 6: Holiday Horrors" width="100%"></iframe><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RVNk-ghjfCCTaFNRaBy2wl1lftL4yFy9vHtYsnABsv-PHPHD8S0lFAnELvOdt2jIrs5h1h1Vx71o_ARycjZ_6QhZsjtpDDj56KwRsdrLxRJrpyo1KnieU65gQXBB0LPyPktBf_28nvV-Rc9HLBOAND8yMSXh1ShkWFv59l3fg58_xns3xzoJlu6j/s4032/IMG_1966.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RVNk-ghjfCCTaFNRaBy2wl1lftL4yFy9vHtYsnABsv-PHPHD8S0lFAnELvOdt2jIrs5h1h1Vx71o_ARycjZ_6QhZsjtpDDj56KwRsdrLxRJrpyo1KnieU65gQXBB0LPyPktBf_28nvV-Rc9HLBOAND8yMSXh1ShkWFv59l3fg58_xns3xzoJlu6j/s320/IMG_1966.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>It was a dark and stormy night in Santa Ana, California. No, really, by the time I arrived at <a href="https://thefridacinema.org/" target="_blank">The Frida Cinema</a>, on the night of October 15th, what started as a drizzle had become a full-on cats & dogs shower with thunder and lightning. Which was all right with me, because warm weather in October bums me out, we shouldn't be sweating during this time of year, we should be in sweaters, and besides, rain is horror-friendly weather.<br /><br />I carefully walked down the soaked sidewalk to join the small crowd of fellow VIP ticket holders for tonight's event: <b>Camp Frida 6: Holiday Horrors</b> all-night horror movie marathon, with films that took place on or around days of leisure and/or celebration.<br /> <br />In exchange for paying a little extra for our VIP tickets, we were allowed early entry, giving us ample opportunity to find and claim a seat, and more time to get to know our fellow attendees. Or, if you're an antisocial loner with a blog, it allows you time to mill about the theater, silently judging everybody else for not being as big a loser as you. <br /><br />At the check-in table, we had our tickets scanned, and we were given a wristband to identify us as VIPs, and those who intended to drink alcohol during the night were given a second wristband. We were then given a Camp Frida t-shirt, along with a goodie bag filled with, uh, goodies. Mine had some candy, a couple stickers, and a couple pins, one of which was a glow-in-the-dark Camp Frida logo. There was also a blank Christmas ornament inside, which one could decorate at the table containing markers, stickers, and strings. <br /><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzXUvZpxQ1v9fFB_UAbCbWzDg-SSzCR4I3wnqmFL9xxzgJ8tHTNImCOr5kQn9VteG8zz5MvwL__0ZAZqx3VLNqwdc5ygDgSfxWczns1LkQY9_z7Vo9bGIrRx6Razl6LZyPUFwiA34oHqOPxtorGFbddxJdEQBX8E8cMpXMKFIBcTS9fkypr5dUfCy/s4032/IMG_1945.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzXUvZpxQ1v9fFB_UAbCbWzDg-SSzCR4I3wnqmFL9xxzgJ8tHTNImCOr5kQn9VteG8zz5MvwL__0ZAZqx3VLNqwdc5ygDgSfxWczns1LkQY9_z7Vo9bGIrRx6Razl6LZyPUFwiA34oHqOPxtorGFbddxJdEQBX8E8cMpXMKFIBcTS9fkypr5dUfCy/s320/IMG_1945.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div> <p></p><p>The Frida is a two-screen theater, and the tradition during Camp Frida is to different films in each of them, allowing attendees to choose their own movie-watching adventure throughout the night. The screens are each given a name that goes with the whole summer camp motif, and so for that night, screens One and Two became the Fire Lodge and Mess Hall. <br /><br />We were directed to the Fire Lodge, where the stage had been decorated with cobwebs, balloons and jack-o-lanterns, while music by Goblin, John Carpenter, and Jerry Goldsmith, among others, played on the sound system. A volunteer went around offering to tape off seats in the Mess Hall for us, that way, should we decide to watch a movie over there, we'd already have a reserved spot. <br /><br />I wanted to hug this volunteer, but I figured if I was going to hug anybody, it was going to be the pretty blonde volunteer who was done up like Florence Pugh's May Queen from <i>Midsommar</i> (minus all those flowers). Alas, I never did work up the courage to step up and spit mad hugging game to her. Not because I was afraid of being turned down, but because I was afraid of her saying Yes, and next thing you know, I'm wearing a bear's skin -- and all that that entails.</p><p>Some time after that, we were joined by the rest of the attendees, including a large group of friends with at least two married couples in the rotation. They were all very chipper and I sensed they were longtime pals, and it was nice to see that there were a couple of single men among them, because that meant that the wives in the group didn't force their husbands to only fraternize with other married friends. But upon seeing the two single men in the group turn to give each other an intimate smooch, I realized, nope, they’re all married.<br /><br />One of the straight husbands excused himself, and his wife looked over to the others, as he walked away, and casually declared "He has a very small bladder!", to which another wife responded with "Oh really? I have the best bladder in the world" and I almost piped in with "...for a woman, maybe", but I didn't want to ruin their fun. Because I actually enjoyed watching them, it reminded me of my younger days when I was the third wheel to my married friends, interrupting them every time they were about to kiss. <br /><br />There was an intro by the Frida's projectionist -- whose name I didn't get, I’m sorry to say, I believe it was Don, but don’t hold me to that -- and he brought down the Frida Cinema's founder, Logan Crow, the director of programming Trevor Dillon, and various volunteers, giving each of them their time to shine as we applauded them all. <br /><br />Then he handed the mics over to the two ladies who would be our camp counselors for the evening: Becca and Isa, who are the social media director and volunteer coordinator for the Frida. They broke down the details of the evening, in regards to the schedule and the breaks between films, as well as a polite request for us to be considerate with our trash. <br /><br />Then, it was on to the marathon proper -- which started off a little too scary for us, as the first film appeared very yellow on screen, forcing the projectionist to stop the movie and fix the situation. One quick bathroom break later, all was well again, and from that point forward, it was smooth sailing all night.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9C-6QdyNp4RqbutHtAAt5pDpez1wfl1qN5YZ-cJ5TXZ8gG7d_CT3HscRJMjDHk1x_lnt8T5n9GAjEaqtlBx4nxAOa93WasmegmOuUX0AJG_ucln6RqZFUpmR7r7OS_4D_zscDwlMASLEja-gIJX198DML_p03o6zymn99yay_phf1jE9Akr71dDa-/s4032/9E1412F0-667B-4A1B-86E8-A7C7EA27E8E6.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9C-6QdyNp4RqbutHtAAt5pDpez1wfl1qN5YZ-cJ5TXZ8gG7d_CT3HscRJMjDHk1x_lnt8T5n9GAjEaqtlBx4nxAOa93WasmegmOuUX0AJG_ucln6RqZFUpmR7r7OS_4D_zscDwlMASLEja-gIJX198DML_p03o6zymn99yay_phf1jE9Akr71dDa-/s320/9E1412F0-667B-4A1B-86E8-A7C7EA27E8E6.heic" width="320" /></a></div><p> </p><p>Now you kids might want to sit up close and listen to this oldhead tell you about a period in the late 90s when Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson brought back the teen slasher with their surprise hit <i>Scream</i>. Hollywood wanted in on that sweet, sweet money, so along came a bunch of horror films starring a bunch of pretty faces, rather than the more relatable, attainable types that starred in these kinds of movies back in the 80s.<br /><br />Among these cash-ins was the 1997 slasher <b>I Know What You Did Last Summer</b>, directed by Jim Gillespie, and also written by Williamson, who adapted the novel by Lois Duncan. This was the first film of the evening, which takes place in a seaside North Carolina town, where we’re introduced to four friends celebrating the 4th of July, all of them recent high school grads with plans for the future. <br /><br />By the way, for any designated drivers reading to this: Tie up your drunks. Tie them up or knock them out, because there is still the possibility that one of these intoxicated assholes is going to do something that will take your attention off the road for one second, and that's all the time needed for some sad-assed fisherman to stumble onto your speeding vehicle's path. That's what happens to our quartet, and rather than do the hard but correct thing in calling the cops, they instead dump the body in the ocean, swearing to take this secret to their graves.<br /><br />A year later, one of them, Julie (Jennifer Love Hewitt) comes home from college and it's clear that the weight of that man's death weighs heavily on her soul, as it does on the souls of her ex-boyfriend Ray (Freddie Prinze Jr.), and her friend Helen (Sarah Michelle Gellar). As for the fourth of their guilty party, Barry (Ryan Phillippe), he's an overly pumped-up, rage-filled jock, and therefore has no soul, so he just continues to be his usual aggro self, and all of us in the audience found his very extra behavior very entertaining to watch. <br /><br />Soon, our group begins to receive anonymous notes with the title of the film written on them, which brings out major scared & paranoid vibes in the entire gang. They want to know who is the I in question. Is it the goofy-ass nerd from <i>The Big Bang Theory</i>? Or maybe it’s creepy-ass Anne Heche. There’s also a strong possibility that it’s one of them. But my money is on the scary hook-wielding figure in a rain slicker, and I have to give this dude some serious props for his excellent handwriting and his top-notch hook skills, he probably uses the same hand for both.<br /><br />The audience seemed to appreciate Julie's use of a very 90s Internet to search for clues, as well as her very 90s hair bangs, while I also got a kick out of the killer's very supernatural ability to show up and disappear anywhere, as well as his ability to transport dead bodies in record time -- in broad daylight, no less.<br /><br />My apologies for what might have come off as an insensitive comment regarding Anne Heche's character, and to be real with you, due to her recent passing, her tragic and unsettling role carried with it a tragic and unsettling air that obviously wasn't there in my previous viewing.<br /><br />But rather than dwell on that sad truth, I will dwell on a possibly sadder one. This viewing took me back to when my friends and I saw this at the cinema back in '97; we had a good time and then went to grab a bite at In-N-Out Burger where we had a serious discussion about which of the actresses in the film we'd most want to bang. One friend was all about Hewitt, having been into her since <i>Party of Five</i>, while my other friend was a big Buffy fan, and so that's where his penile loyalties lay. <br /><br /> As for me, I was the outlier who preferred the actress who played Helen's sister, Elsa (Bridgette Wilson), because it was my understanding that <a href="https://youtu.be/NiR5xdajy2o" target="_blank">dat Veronica Vaughn is one piece of ass</a>, and on top of that, her character wore glasses, and as some of you might already know, the only thing hotter to me than one pair of tits are two pairs of eyes. Of course, each of us would then accuse each other of lying about wanting to fuck any of the ladies, because clearly he was gay -- except we used a different word, because the 90s were a more innocent time for hate speech. <br /><br />An even sadder post-script to that anecdote: Ten years later, I met up with one of those high school friends. It had been a while, so we caught up, reminisced about the old days, then went to see <i>Transformers</i>. At the end of the night, as I drove him back home, he tried to get nostalgic by making those humorous assumptions about my sexuality again. As per usual, I told him, <i>Yeah sure, I'm totally gay, and you're all I want, you big hunk, you</i>. Except, this time, he kept going, and so again I jokingly said Yes. But he would continue, and eventually it got very uncomfortable because it didn't sound like he was joking anymore. It sounded like he was seriously trying to get me to admit that I was gay. So I seriously answered him No. <br /><br />But that wasn't enough. He still wouldn't let up. This went on for way longer than it should've gone. I told him this wasn’t funny anymore, and frankly it was getting annoying. And so he asked again. <br /><br />I had enough. I slammed hard on the brakes and pulled the car off to the side, nearly colliding with a parked PT Cruiser. It got real quiet, and you could smell burnt rubber in the air. I looked over at my friend and saw fear in his eyes as I began to roll up my sleeves. Then I reached over, angrily unzipped his fly, furiously pulled out his cock, and violently sucked him off. After we both finished, I wiped my mouth and told him "Listen, you son-of-a-bitch, a gay man wouldn't have given you such a bad blow job, and a straight man wouldn't have stayed hard -- let alone gotten hard in the first place!" That shut him up. Then I took him home, wished him well, and dropped him off. I never heard from him again, although I did get an anonymous text the following year that read "I know what you did last summer”, but I ignored it. <br /><br />Anyway, it held up for me, the movie, I mean. It's a solid slasher, and it's a lot more beautifully shot than I remembered — props to cinematographer Denis Crossan — this is definitely from a time when movies used to look like movies. I enjoyed it just as much as I did the last time, even if all the scares weren’t as strong the second time around. But it was fun to watch others jump up and scream every once in a while. It also warmed my heart to hear the entire audience burst into a rapturous cacophony of applause, cheers, and laughs after Hewitt delivered quite possibly the most iconic line of dialogue of her entire career. <br /><br />That's not the only moment where the audience reacted as such; during the intro, we were asked to cheer any time the holiday of the film was said out loud. In this film's case, we cheered every time someone mentioned the Fourth of July. <br /><br />But what I thought to be the worst part of the movie back then, remains the worst part today; there's a scene where Helen comes back home after a long day, and she goes into the kitchen to grab a soda, and it's so awkward and unnatural the way she stands over her kitchen table, pouring her drink into a glass in the most assholish way -- with the glass standing straight up, so that she gets 90 percent foam and 10 percent soda -- taking a couple sips from the glass in a manner more befitting someone with a gun to her back. Then she takes off for her bedroom, with both the half soda can and the half empty glass still on the table. I guess she figured the killer who just crept into her house might be thirsty as well. <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yiAlcLlJpQE" width="320" youtube-src-id="yiAlcLlJpQE"></iframe></div><p><br />After a break, we returned to the Fire Lodge, where the hosts announced that both theaters were opened. Then they invited Mikey Aguirre, the gentleman behind <a href="https://www.instagram.com/see_it_on_16mm/" target="_blank">See It on 16mm</a>, on stage; normally he tours to various cinemas to screen films on 16mm, but that night he was there to pitch his selection for the night, the 1989 Spring Break/Easter slasher, <b>Nightmare Beach</b>, which would play over at the Mess Hall. The hosts then told us that those who were going to see Aguirre's choice would also have the bonus of participating in an Easter Egg hunt before the film, where we could find eggs containing movie passes and various other goodies. </p><p>The hosts then tried something new for Camp Frida; a wheel appeared on screen, divided into sections, each section representing a different film. The wheel was spun, and whichever film the arrow settled on would be the one that would play right there in the Fire Lodge. Among the films were <i>New Year's Evil</i>, the 2006 remake of <i>Black Christmas</i>, and 1995's <i>Day of the Beast</i> (also a Christmas film). Unfortunately, it landed on 2001's <i>Valentine</i>, which I saw back then and never wanted to see again. So it was an easy choice for me -- and apparently most of the audience, as many of us ventured next door, some of us going to our saved seats.<br /><br />I was so busy settling into my new seat, that I forgot about the Easter Egg hunt until an overzealous gentleman swooped over to my lonely section and grabbed all the eggs surrounding my oblivious ass, and all I could do was laugh.<br /><br />Nightmare Beach starts off in true 1980s Spring Break style: With a serial killer being executed by electric chair. Diablo is his -- was his name, and he was the leader of a particularly crime-happy biker gang, but he continued to swear his innocence in the murders almost up until the moment of his execution, where he then swore that he would return to exact his revenge. One crispy convict later, we're treated to a credit sequence montage of college beach bodies having fun up and down the Florida burg of Manatee Beach, before settling in to introduce the various potential victims and killers. <br /><br />Our main doofus is Skip, a college football player who recently fucked it up for his team during the Orange Bowl and is understandably forlorn about it, despite attempts by his horndog teammate Ronny to cheer him up by reminding him that they are indeed there for Spring Break! and all which that entails. <br /><br />While Ronny employs the "Ask a hundred women to sleep with you, and one will say Yes" technique of scoring, Skip prefers the company of Gail, a local bartender who is almost as much an Eeyore as Skip -- but she has a much better reason for her down syndrome. You see, Gail's sister was one of Diablo's victims, and she was there for his execution, so there's both fear and uncertainty over what she witnessed, and what she was told -- feelings that grow even stronger once it's revealed that Diablo's body has disappeared from its grave.<br /><br />Perhaps not too coincidentally, a mysterious leather-clad biker -- identity hidden by helmet -- is driving around town in his souped-up motorcycle, complete with electrified passenger seat for unlucky hitchhikers. But since hitchhiking was becoming less of a thing by '89, he supplements his murder-cycle by going on foot, killing people by electrocuting them or burning them with exposed live wires or big furnaces that shoot out flames at lengths that defy logic.<br /><br />But you know how it is with these Italians, logic has about as much place in a horror movie as a Negro in their sister's bedroom. Oh, yeah, about the filmmakers; during his intro, Aguirre credited the direction of this eye-tie production to Umberto Lenzi, who among various gialli and Euro-crime films, is probably most infamously known for the grindhouse fave <i>Cannibal Ferox</i> -- aka The One Where A Chick Gets Hooks Through Her Breasts. But Lenzi claimed to have quit the production before shooting began, only sticking around at the request of replacement director James Justice (who co-wrote the screenplay), in a position that I can only speculate as being the Obi-Wan to Justice's Luke Skywalker.<br /><br />Either way, this ultra-goofy, terribly-acted movie was so much fun to watch with a crowd. When not being entertained watching the killer turning people into crispy critters, we were equally entertained by the scenes featuring the most Floridian of men and women. There is so much WOOOO! going on, most of it coming from this random dude who keeps popping up to scream "Go gators!", he always popped up when you least expected it, and it never failed to make many of us in the audience crack up. There are also plenty of scenes involving wet t-shirts and oiled up bodies, and it's all equal opportunity as we watch both sexes get reduced to eye candy, because that's the America that I believe in. <br /><br />Speaking of America, this movie features quite possibly the most realistic cinematic portrayal of high ranking officials and civil servants -- at any level -- that I've seen. They are all so incompetent and self-serving; as the body count rises, the mayor and the chief of police decide to cover it up by burying the bodies in a salt mine, and they have a doctor to help them falsify the records. The mayor doesn't want to look bad, and the chief is just a power-tripping asshole, and it's heavily implied that the doctor uses Bill Cosby tactics to satisfy his Kevin Spacey tastes. <br /><br />I'd hate on the chief and the doctor, except they're played by John Saxon and Michael Parks, and they were never not awesome, regardless of who they played. And while you never see Parks do any of the abhorrent things he's accused of, you do see him hilariously pull out a flask every single time he gets or gives bad news, and the audience always cheered whenever that flask come out. <br /><br />Also included in this assortment of assholes is a pervy hotel manager who goes into a supply closet that also happens to have a hole drilled into it, allowing him to spy on a hooker in the next room who has a great racket going. She hooks her johns by giving them a sob story about being a student short of cash. I think this is a very smart ploy, because it allows dudes who are too proud to pay for it to sleep with a woman who is totally out of their league. As far as they're concerned, this hot chick was totally into them, and so, sure, here's a couple hundred bucks to help her with that other thing. <br /><br />There's also a prankster, who among his heee-larious pranks, goes around pretending to be a shark on the beach, freaking everybody out. Man oh man, do I fucking hate pranksters. Do you wanna know why? Because these motherfuckers -- you know what? For your eyes sake, and for the sake of my high blood pressure, I'm gonna move on. Suffice it to say, motherfuck a prankster.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jAaeBgDSaHM" width="320" youtube-src-id="jAaeBgDSaHM"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>After the break, we all returned to the Fire Lodge, where someone came out to to give us the bad news -- it was last call for alcohol -- and the good news -- they would be serving pizza after the film. Then the hosts returned to announce the next film playing in that theater: The first of two Jamie Lee Curtis movies that take place on a train during New Year's Eve, <i>Terror Train</i>. Then they spun the wheel to reveal the alternate feature: the 2009 zombie flick <b>Dead Snow</b>. </p><p>Having already watched <i>Terror Train</i> during the Camp Frida live-stream in 2020, I decided to go with the other film, which I had never seen. So off I went, back to the Mess Hall, with my large cup of Cherry Coke that I didn't finish during <i>Nightmare Beach</i>.<br /><br />Easter is this Norwegian film's holiday, and so we watch how kids over there do Spring Break: Somewhere in some snowy hinterland, up in some mountain cabin. So we're going to not going to see a bunch of exposed skin, which is for the best, because we're not talking beach bods for most of this crew. But I get it, in the cold you're gonna want some extra layers of warmth. <br /></p><p>So anyway, we've got seven of them; four dudes and three chicks, and you'd think the tubby movie geek of this funky bunch would be the odd man out. Wrong. He actually ends up being the first -- the only one! -- to score, with a rather attractive woman, despite their being nothing particularly alluring about him, visually or personality-wise. </p><p>Again, let me remind you, he's a movie geek, and as you, me, and the rest of the movie geeks know, movie geeks are the absolute fucking worst, that's why we have to find another movie geek if we wanna fuck, and that just makes two of the fucking worst, who are also the worst at fucking, getting together to fuck, and if two of the fucking worst who are the fucking worst at fucking end up fucking, that means some of the fucking worst end up having fucking kids -- and their kids are the fucking worst. <br /><br />They usually grow up to be pranksters. <br /></p><p>So back to this fat fuck and his hot chick. He leaves the cabin to go take a shit in the outhouse, and after dropping a deuce and wiping his ass, this lady just steps right into the outhouse with him, and it's like, if being in a small space that reeks of shit isn't going to cool her jets, then I suppose she'd be turned on by the piece of shit sitting before her. He doesn't even have to make the first move, instead, she picks up his hand -- the same hand he used to wipe his shitty Norwegian ass with -- and begins to suck his fingers. </p><p>Lady and gentleman, it was at this point, that the jaded black-hearted cynic who has watched real death videos and who found <i>A Serbian Film</i> kinda dull, this garbage human whose words you are reading, began to feel something approaching the temptation to faint. </p><p>But instead I took a deep breath, picked up my cup of Cherry Coke and sucked on the straw as if it were my old friend's cock -- strengthening my resolve. My eyes rolled back down from my head, and I was able to continue watching as this poor damaged woman rode this chunky cowboy into an orgasmic state of fecal-scented bliss. </p><p>It was here that I felt I was truly watching a horror film. And so I was relieved when the zombies finally arrived.</p><p>And who are these zombies? Nazis. You see, back during World War II, a bunch of these SS scumbags had occupied this part of Norway, and they did their thing, raping, pillaging, murdering the villagers, because that's what one does for their country. But eventually the villagers fought back and killed most of them, but some of them escaped and froze to death. </p><p>Well, here they are, back from the dead, and ready to reich and roll. The survivors are left to fend these zombies off, using their wits and what little weaponry they have at their disposal. I enjoyed this absurd splatter flick featuring creative kills, and filled with blood, entrails, severed body parts, and various viscera, even though this is definitely more of a movie geek joint that takes stuff from fondly remembered genre films and gives them its own spin. It's less about reinventing the wheel and more about redecorating it. <br /><br />The movie openly references its cinematic inspirations, particularly the works of Sam Raimi, specifically <i>Evil Dead II</i>, and so, it has that same kind of horror-comedy blend, albeit a much darker form of comedy. I also appreciated some of the nasty turns and surprises it takes along the way, and it plays no favorites when it comes to its characters, regardless of what you'd expect based on their types.<br /><br />This was directed by Tommy Wirkola, who also co-wrote the screenplay, and he went on to direct <i>Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters</i>, which I'm now interested in checking out because I'd like to see what he turned out on a big Hollywood scale. But I'm also left thinking that if this guy, an obvious movie geek himself, intended on painting such an unflattering portrait of one, as he did in this film, or was this in fact, some kind of wish fulfillment. <br /><br />Like, I can imagine some super nerd who jizzes over movies and comic book properties and movies about comic book properties, working up the kind of fear and resentment towards the opposite sex, and so that ends up mixing in with his passion to just be able to, you know, actually kiss a girl. And the larger that fear and resentment grows, the more toxic that mix becomes, until eventually that nerd goes from thinking "Man, I wish a nice girl would let me take her out for a chocolate malt" to "Man, that sexy slut should hunger for my four inches so bad, she's willing to smell my shit to get it." </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Yb1y_P-99bA" width="320" youtube-src-id="Yb1y_P-99bA"></iframe></div><p><br />It was during the following break that the pizza arrived, and me being overly assumptive, assumed that it was as complimentary as the coffee for VIPs. Two slices and seven dollars later, I returned to the Fire Lodge, where trailers for holiday-themed films played in the background, including <i>Thankskilling</i>, <i>Bloody New Year</i>, <i>Gremlins</i>, <i>Eyes Wide Shut</i>, <i>Jack Frost</i>, and <i>Uncle Sam</i>. </p><p>Then the hosts returned to announce the next film playing in the Fire Lodge: the 1987 Thanksgiving body-counter <i>Blood Rage</i>, which was introduced by a gentleman whose name I can't recall, but he's from the website <a href="https://www.horrorbuzz.com/" target="_blank">HorrorBuzz</a>. He talked about how this movie was a favorite with everyone from HorrorBuzz, and that they've screened it twice for their Horror Movie Nights at the Frida. He talked about what a wild film it was, and I agree, as it is an annual viewing for me every November. </p><p></p><p></p><p>But as much as I would have loved to experience a nutty flick like <i>Blood Rage</i> with a rowdy sleep-deprived crowd, I made the difficult decision to instead go with the wheel's choice for the Mess Hall: 1986's <b>April Fool's Day</b>, a film I always meant to watch. So off I went, but not before stopping for a cup of my free VIP coffee, of which I took two sips before tossing it in the trash, where it belonged, then I silently wept for those who had to pay for that disgusting brew. </p><p>Only a handful of people chose to watch this film, and the projectionist stuck his head out from the booth to thank us for giving this movie a chance, because he felt it was a pretty good movie worth a watch. He also warned us that the movie would begin in a strange aspect ratio, but not to worry, that's intentional on the film's part. Then someone in the crowd douche-ily ordered the projectionist to "roll film!" and the projectionist mumble-responded some appropriately snarky comment about how he was going to get the film print ready, as if this entire evening's slate wasn't being presented digitally.<br /><br />So yeah, the film opens with a narrower aspect ratio, because we are watching footage from someone's video camera, introducing our cast of college cutups, as they travel by ferry to visit their friend Muffy at her island residence for the weekend during Spring Break. The most recognizable of the group is Kit, played by Amy Steel, who is best known as final girl Ginny from <i>Friday the 13th Part II</i>, and Arch, played by Thomas F. Wilson, who is best known as one of cinema's greatest bullies, Biff Tannen, from the <i>Back to the Future</i> trilogy. </p><p>As for Muffy, she's played by the <i>Valley Girl</i> herself, Deborah Foreman, who gives a very interesting performance as someone who comes off both very friendly while also vaguely creepy. It's like she's not quite all there, and despite her sweet face and lovely smile, there's something possibly sinister brewing underneath -- and that's when the film connected the dots for me, when she is shown setting up various pranks all throughout her property. </p><p>I knew it -- a prankster! And on the weekend of April Fool's Day, no less! Oh, she's having herself a blast messing with her guests, placing whoopie cushions on their chairs, or setting the same chairs up to fall apart, she's screwing with the light switches, jacking up the water faucets, and worst of all, she serves them franks & beans for dinner. Not that I dislike franks & beans, but c'mon, that house screams Chateaubriand, man, you gotta class up the cuisine for your guests.<br /></p><p>But on the other hand, they deserve it. They really are all a bunch of assholes, when you get right down to it, the best kind of privileged White people that Reagan's America had to offer. All they do is goof around, make gay jokes, work out, kick soccer balls, try to fuck each other, and wear sunglasses because their future is so bright. And so I couldn't get too upset once they start disappearing, only to reappear at room temperature, in various states of Dead.</p><p>So it leaves a viewer wondering if this is all Muffy's doing as well. As mentioned before, she carries a faint air of psycho killer, and the opening credits even show us a flashback of Muffy's childhood, where she receives a jack-in-the-box but a scary monster doll pops out instead. You hear her scream, and it's the kind of prank that might seem minor in retrospect, but come on, man, the only thing kids have in common is that they are all little shits, otherwise they are each unique and different in every way, and so some kids handle scary stuff better than others. And while some might give a quick yelp and move on, and some might go crying for their mommies, others end up becoming Psycho Freaky Jasons. You just never know.</p><p>It's like this one time that I saw a friend put on a monster mask and hide behind a couch as his two-year-old toddler came stumbling into the living room. His mother and I protested against this, but he was dead set on having his fun. As so out he popped, going "Rraawwgh!" at his baby boy -- who then gave out the most ear-piercing scream, dropped to his knees, and I'm sure tears weren't the only liquid he excreted that moment. His mother then started yelling at my friend, practically beating on him, while their son fell onto his back, crying for some kind of comfort. I immediately bid farewell and walked home, choking back the lump that was growing in my throat, wiping away the pesky moisture forming in my eyes, because that's the kind of pussy I am. </p><p>The last time I saw that child, he was a preteen, wearing a shirt featuring a drawing of a farting dog with the words "Blame the Dog" under it, but I couldn't tell you if that was a sign of trauma or not. But his mother is no longer in the picture, and the father is a big Trump supporter, so clearly there was some damage done. Anyway, I think the important lesson to be learned here is don't get a girl pregnant at 15 years old. <br /></p><p>While this is lumped in with other slashers of the era, <i>April Fool's Day</i> is more in the spirit of an Agatha Christie mystery; we watch these characters hang out, and on occasion, a body will pop up. And on the rare occasion that we are shown a victim's final moments, the film cuts away before things get bloody. The violence is pretty tame, and the film's R rating is more about the language and sexual situations. Because of that, I can easily recommend this to people who otherwise stay away from these kinds of movies.</p><p>I can also easily recommend this to people in general, because I felt this was a pretty good movie. It's a good mystery featuring well-executed scenes of suspense, which shouldn't surprise me, considering this is from Fred Walton, the director of the original <i>When a Stranger Calls</i>. But despite these guys not really being my kind of guys, I actually enjoyed watching them. Some of it feels improvised, rather than scripted, and it all feels natural. I not only believe that these characters were friends, but it wouldn't surprise me if the actors themselves already were friends, or became friends during the shoot.<br /></p><p>Even though this movie is over 30 years old, and is probably most known for its ending, I'm still going to keep mum on the conclusion, for the sake of anybody out there who hasn't seen it. But I really liked the bold choice that this film made, and I can imagine many who saw this back in the day found this film to be a breath of fresh air, and I can imagine many others being pissed off by it. <br /></p><p></p><p>But it's greatest accomplishment is that it's a film featuring people playing pranks on each other, and somehow I was left smiling by the end of it! Because I fucking hate pranksters! <br /><br />I'm sorry, I held back while talking about <i>Nightmare Beach</i>, but forget it, I'm going both barrels right here and now. You wanna know why I hate pranksters? In my experience, pranksters love to prank but
absolutely hate it when they get pranked, which proves to me that pranks
are really just some screwed-up and cowardly way to be hostile to
others, while laying all the responsibility on the victim. Because if
you get pranked, and don't find it funny, then you are the asshole. <i>wHaT's WrOnG? dOn'T hAve A sEnSe oF hUmOr?</i> is the defense these absolutely worthless cunts pull out like badges from the Twat Police, after assaulting you. </p><p>Tell
a prankster that you do not like pranks, and they'll accept it as a
challenge that was never given, and so they will proceed to prank you.
There's a word for that kind of person, who will insist himself on you,
despite your request that he doesn't -- and pranks are just another way
to insist.<br /><br />I swear to god, if I become King Dictator of the
World, I'm having all pranksters executed; put 'em on their knees, give
'em two to the back of the head, and bill the bullets to their families,
China-style. The bodies of the executed will be cremated, and the ashes will be sent to their loved ones, and when they open the urn to scatter the ashes, a wacky spring-loaded snake will jump out at them.
<i>What's wrong? Don't have a sense of humor?</i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EgeBYZSSIIc" width="320" youtube-src-id="EgeBYZSSIIc"></iframe></i></div><p> </p><p><br />Back at the Fire Lodge, we were told that instead of the wheel, they would name films and the two that got the most applause from the audience would play next; the winners were <b>The Return of the Living Dead</b> from 1985, and <i>Night of the Demons</i> from 1988, which I had already seen at a previous Camp Frida, and thought was OK, so I instead stayed put for the zombie flick, which I've seen on the big screen a couple times already, and wouldn't mind watching again. <br /><br />The 4th of July is mentioned at the very beginning, but never mind that, we're not here for fireworks, we're here for zombie mayhem, and that's what we get during this film which mostly takes on the 3rd. Still, I'm surprised that throughout this entire film, not one early firework is seen or heard in the background. I don't know about the film's setting of Louisville, Kentucky, but over here in Southern California, you can't stop someone from lighting fireworks before the 4th. They usually start as early as April, and they don't stop until late September, if we're lucky. <br /><br />I don't think you even have to be from SoCal to recognize that this supposedly Southeast location is obviously Los Angeles. So we should be catching glimpses of the occasional errant firework set off by some overzealous cholo, because it's always a cholo flaunting the off-season fireworks. I don’t know why, maybe it’s a requirement of the lifestyle.<br /><br />Anyway, everyone knows that George A. Romero's 1968 classic <i>Night of the Living Dead</i> is a work of fiction. What this film presupposes is, maybe it's not? That's what Frank, a senior employee at a medical supply warehouse tells the new hire Freddy, that the film was based on a real incident and that the zombies were sealed into airtight containers by the Army, and that one of those very same containers is stored in the warehouse's basement. <br /><br />Of course, curiosity gets the better of the two, and off they go to check out the formerly living corpse, which results in them getting sprayed with zombie gas -- while bringing back the dead, for good measure. The two call in their boss, Burt, to help them deal with the walking corpses that just won't stay dead. Even worse, these things all have a hankering for human brains. <br /><br />Meanwhile, Freddy's punk friends are killing time at the neighboring cemetery, waiting for him to clock out from work. They're unaware of what's going on, and so when one of them, a pink-haired chick named Trash, openly admits to fantasizing about being eaten alive, she has no idea how soon that fantasy will become terrifying reality. <br /><br />The rest of the film is just one long chain of fuck-ups, ranging from colossal to monumental to apocalyptic. Written and directed by Dan O'Bannon, who up until this point was known for writing <i>Alien</i>, <i>Blue Thunder</i>, and my favorite Tobe Hooper film, <i>Lifeforce</i>, his directorial debut is a top-notch entry in what I like to call the "Everybody's Fucked" sub-genre. Because no matter what these characters try to do to contain the situation, they're all fucked. It is a nihilistic work, but it's also good times, because O'Bannon is able to balance out the doom with an overall sense of fun -- and it never stops being tense and exciting. He knows the right tone for any given scene; when to make things funny, when to make them scary, when to make them disturbing, and when to make them tragic. <br /><br />O'Bannon is strongly supported by a pitch-perfect cast, including the late great trio of Clu Gulager as Burt, James Karen as Frank, and Don Calfa as Ernie, the undertaker from the mortuary next door (and who might also be a secret Nazi, but I already talked about those assholes two movies ago). Then on the punker side, you have a bunch of those assholes, so I'm just going to point out Thom Matthews as Freddy, Beverly Randolph as Freddy's girlfriend Tina, and Linnea Quigley as the aforementioned Trash, who despite her limited screen time, arguably leaves the biggest impression on a viewer, at least she did on me.</p><p>There's also Spider, played by Miguel A. Nuñez Jr., whose previous film was <i>Friday the 13th: A New Beginning</i>, where he played a victim taking a shit in an outhouse, but unlike those filthy Scandinavians in <i>Dead Snow</i>, he and his paramour don't fuck on the toilet. Instead they sing to each other while she waits for him outside the shitter, like a normal human being. <br /><br />Overall, I really enjoy this movie, despite half of the soundtrack being comprised of non-stop screaming. It doesn't matter if it's comedic screaming or screams of genuine terror, screaming's screaming, man, and it can get grating. Most of it comes from Frank and Freddy, who scream at how badly they fucked things up, at the sights of melty reanimated bodies clamoring for braaaaains, and from the agonizing pain as they slowly die from exposure to the gas, becoming zombies themselves. <br /><br />But the other half of the soundtrack is a mix of cheesy 80s synth score and a bunch of boss tunes by bands like 45 Grave, T.S.O.L., and The Damned, sounds that never get old -- unless you're young, then that stuff is old by default. But they're bad jams, nonetheless.<br /><br />While I prefer Romero's original <i>Dead</i> trilogy over this one, as far as zombies go, I have to give it to O'Bannon, because I find his version of the undead to be horrifying. It has nothing to do with Romero's zombies being slow and O'Bannon's being fast, because they're both equally scary for their own reasons. No, it's because Romero's zombies can be killed; one shot to the brain will do 'em dead. But it doesn't work that way with O'Bannon's zombies; you can brain 'em, decapitate 'em, dismember them, and they’re still moving. <br /><br />To add pain to injury, it hurts to be a zombie in O'Bannon's world. They need to consume human brains to take away from the pain, they’re like junkies desperately fiending for a fix. So you gotta look at it like this: If you die and become a zombie in Romero’s world, well, your non-life involves slowly walking the earth, chowing down on the occasional human, and stopping at the neighborhood mall every once in a while. It doesn't seem like a bad existence, I mean, I don't hear them complaining. And once someone separates your brain from your spinal cord, its lights out, and any possible suffering you might have had as a zombie, is finally over.<br /><br />But become a zombie in O'Bannon's world, and you're fucked forever. You are in everlasting pain, save for those brief moments of relief that come from cracking open a skull and diving in for some delicious brains. But that won’t last, and there you are, running in search for more relief. And if someone shoots you in the head, it does nothing. Hell, it might actually hurt more. And if someone machetes your head off your body, you are now burdened with yourself, having to carry your head around with you -- provided you can find it. And if you get chopped up into pieces, there will never be relief.<br /><br />Should you decide to suicide, well, that's one way to solve your problem in Romero’s world. But suicide is not an option in O'Bannon's world, not unless you want to throw yourself into an incinerator, but if you also happen to be infected with zombie cooties when you burn, well, congratulations, you've just infected the air with your self-made zombie gas, further spreading the pain, you inconsiderate asshole.<br /><br />Anyway, I really dig it: gory, funny, scary. The ending’s a bit odd, it feels like they ran out of money and scrounged something up in editing, but that's a very minor complaint towards a major accomplishment. I also forgot that the movie begins with a disclaimer informing the viewer that what they are about to see is all true, using real names and real places. So take that, <i>Fargo</i>. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KeSAFGWzft8" width="320" youtube-src-id="KeSAFGWzft8"></iframe></div><p> <br />Everybody was happy to find donuts waiting in the lobby, while I was happy they were free; I grabbed a glazed twist and stepped outside to enjoy my sugar rush with some fresh air. Then, we all gathered at the Fire Lodge for a final spiel from Trevor Dillon about the history of Camp Frida, and then the various volunteers were shouted-out for their hard work in putting this night together and working this night together, and we all gave them a round of applause. Then Becca and Isa came back out to reveal the final film of the night: 1988's <b>Maniac Cop</b>, which features a climax that takes place during St. Patrick's Day.<br /></p><p>Somebody is killing innocent people on the streets of New York City — somebody with a badge — and perhaps if you’ve never heard of the <i>Maniac Cop</i> series, you might have actually been surprised when it was revealed not to be Bruce Campbell’s brief red herring of a character, but instead a bigger man with a bigger chin, played by Robert Z’Dar. And perhaps if you've never heard of the Maniac Cop series until now, my apologies for spoiling it for you. <br /><br />But that's part of life. The way I see it, everybody takes a beating sometimes, and everybody gets at least one movie spoiled for them; back in 2019, I was walking towards the Vista Theater to watch <i>Avengers: Endgame</i>, and two kids from the previous showing were walking the opposite direction, loudly recounting who died in the end. I wanted to push the little bastards into oncoming traffic, but nobody was driving at that moment.<br /></p><p>Back to the movie, in which I can only guess writer/producer Larry Cohen wanted Whitey to understand the fear that Blacks and minorities feel in the presence of our local Officer Friendlies — and make a profit while he’s at it — and so here’s another example of why I feel genre films were the best and remain the best at social commentary, compared to, say, your usual Oscar bait claptrap that prefers to ladle it all over until every crevice is coated in Message.</p><p>For the especially thick-headed types in the audience, there’s a man-on-the-street interview where a Black guy mentions three of his friends having been shot by cops -- and you know he’s not talking about our Maniac. That's just common behavior by the pigs in blue, who know a paid vacation is worth the risk of being that one in a million who gets made to be an example. Hell, that's better odds than your average criminals gets when they commit murder.<br /></p><p>William Lustig was the perfect guy to tell Cohen’s story; his B-movie action/horror chops are on full display here. When I first saw this on cable, my 4th grade mind was blown when the identity of the Maniac Cop was revealed, and our leads found out how much of a scary indestructible force they were up against. Speaking of which, I love how the movie switches protagonists on us with only a half hour left to go. I really wish more movies would continue to surprise us this way.</p><p>I forgot Tom Atkins starred in this, as the lieutenant investigating these murders. He's the one who introduces the idea that the killer is a police officer, and so, the fact that we have a policeman who wants to hold another policeman accountable for violent acts against helpless, unarmed, law-abiding citizens means that if you have trouble finding this movie in either the Horror or Action category of your preferred streaming service, well, you'll probably locate this under Fantasy. <br /><br />Or perhaps you'd find this under Documentary, if one were to go by the shitheel captain, played by William Smith, and the shitbird commissioner, played by Richard Roundtree, the latter having broken my heart. I mean, look at you, Shaft, your ass used to be beautiful, you used to be the man who would risk his neck for his brother man, and now here you are, standing up on behalf of The Man. </p><p>Going back to Atkins, he’s been in plenty of films over the years, but I kinda wish he would have a Robert Forster-esque resurgence, where you’d see him pop up in bigger movies more often. Maybe if we can take Tarantino’s attention away from some wannabe starlet’s feet for two seconds, we can tell him to hook Atkins up with a role in his next project.</p><p>Also, I don’t know if this is a hot take or whatever the kids call it these days, but I’m not a fan of 80s-era Bruce Campbell. No no no, I don't mean as an actor, I mean his look. I think he started looking more manly in the 90s, when he started gaining some age on his face and some meat on his bones. Or maybe I’m projecting, as the years creep up, the doughnuts take their toll, my hair loses volume, and I begin waking up sore for no reason -- and I'm no Bruce Campbell to begin with. Either way, I like my Bruce the way I like my beef: aged and thick.</p><p>My only real issue with the film is more of a budgetary one, in that I can easily tell the scenes that were shot in Los Angeles and the ones that were shot in New York. I recognized quite a few downtown L.A. locations here and there, plus a palm tree or two where there should be zero.</p><p>But hey, at least they could afford to film in both cities! If you were to make this movie today, I bet you would have the leads mixing it up with actors who have Eastern European faces and who speak East Coast slang with vaguely Borat-esque accents, driving on cobblestone streets around 19th century architecture lined with creepy dry-branched trees, with everything looking blue and severe. Welcome to New York, everybody!<br /><br />Props to Sam Raimi, by the way, for appearing in a cameo as a news reporter, and for saying "St. Patrick's Day" a bunch of times during his brief scene, causing us in the audience to break out into cheers and applause every few seconds. It was pretty funny; in my sleep-deprived state-of-mind I imagined that Raimi was performing his scene live, and he knew that saying the name of the holiday would induce this Pavlovian response from the crowd, and so he toyed with us, the way he toys with his actors, particularly his favorite punching bag, Campbell. <br /></p><p>Anyway, I don't have as much to say about this one as I would if we were talking about the sequel, which I remember being even better. But this first film will always be remembered as the one where Larry Cohen and William Lustig displayed their courage, by speaking up to declare that All Zombies Are Bastards. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JESLqRwO-co" width="320" youtube-src-id="JESLqRwO-co"></iframe></div><p> </p><p>After the film, the hosts came out to wrap up, and we all gave each other a round of applause, before going onstage to take a photo together. I took part in posing with everybody else, while making sure to stand in a place that would keep me hidden -- the best of both worlds for someone like me. And so, a little before 8:00am, <i>Camp Frida 6: Holiday Horrors</i> ended with those of us who made it through the night stumbling out bleary-eyed onto the wet streets. </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb58RYNrMNZwyMjGGnqdRkaSQhsQM5HlIAnwWj7O8G9KXQWitmC01sMp8yf3uunKb_ktqCoaUYotj6toTVd9y_HX7Usid4VFi6zGb7ak6mZJS8DlYbBNmyl-IqRmFpddh3yqdMGMzJtjdw8t3M3HdPfAV9Cm-gHZjuigd8d250Im_ukdbKSlxLFKyH/s4032/IMG_2006.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb58RYNrMNZwyMjGGnqdRkaSQhsQM5HlIAnwWj7O8G9KXQWitmC01sMp8yf3uunKb_ktqCoaUYotj6toTVd9y_HX7Usid4VFi6zGb7ak6mZJS8DlYbBNmyl-IqRmFpddh3yqdMGMzJtjdw8t3M3HdPfAV9Cm-gHZjuigd8d250Im_ukdbKSlxLFKyH/s320/IMG_2006.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p><p>I ended up stopping in Fullerton to grab some thematically related breakfast at <a href="https://zombeedonut.com/" target="_blank">Zombee Donuts</a>, where all their delicious pastries were decorated like coffins, eyeballs, snakes, spiders, monsters, and of course, zombies. They weren't making them look legitimately scary, they were made up to look cute and cartoonish, and that's probably why there were plenty of little kids there. They tasted just as lovely as they looked. The donuts were pretty good too.</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWk6lhIcW1h-k0N2AU5S7H-C_S4vSfSPMOswX8XAi2Zsx7WPsrzg_FR2tgN1kERwhxUTIBW0hrynnLOEigwP3hz2Gsyq6y6yXskpzCwjpkOzVu6qNl-AWHtVbbkfK6y0LrepYcNiXUT5PbqpZOdz1ziSL_A_QjqXkkqaZ3yWkgDSmI9NiHp_U77KqY/s4032/IMG_2016.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWk6lhIcW1h-k0N2AU5S7H-C_S4vSfSPMOswX8XAi2Zsx7WPsrzg_FR2tgN1kERwhxUTIBW0hrynnLOEigwP3hz2Gsyq6y6yXskpzCwjpkOzVu6qNl-AWHtVbbkfK6y0LrepYcNiXUT5PbqpZOdz1ziSL_A_QjqXkkqaZ3yWkgDSmI9NiHp_U77KqY/s320/IMG_2016.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc4Ew4nlpS5H0yziR7eMkXmVKh3Dh-B2vYkpLdmTC8nDL5rdfkgBxKc42q9VfUtpo1Ogh_TcYZWzjaP8YwApU3CG0FB3hjqXmV2AVs57QyWGec8bR4-5SEja00QjBdvqCJtk4SXhs8lor4ifG-RvnGHAmKWtJMWn2r7jlnuO08BjBJV2boY7tNDyF/s2606/IMG_2094.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2606" data-original-width="2573" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLc4Ew4nlpS5H0yziR7eMkXmVKh3Dh-B2vYkpLdmTC8nDL5rdfkgBxKc42q9VfUtpo1Ogh_TcYZWzjaP8YwApU3CG0FB3hjqXmV2AVs57QyWGec8bR4-5SEja00QjBdvqCJtk4SXhs8lor4ifG-RvnGHAmKWtJMWn2r7jlnuO08BjBJV2boY7tNDyF/s320/IMG_2094.jpeg" width="316" /></a></div><br /><br />EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-19254082799586656802022-09-30T19:45:00.004-07:002023-01-18T18:56:20.378-08:00These are the tragedies, folks.<br /><br />
<iframe title="#16 - The Laughing Woman (1969) - Pearl (2022) - Until the End of the World (1991)" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=k2qm7-12d87dd-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe></iframe><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /><br />I don't know what it is about me, maybe I just have “Suckafied’ written on my increasingly large forehead, and only those with plenty of baggage to unload can read it. <br /><br />My coworker -- we'll call her Leena -- asked me to lock her office door after I stepped in to drop off a contract. Then, in tremulous voice, she recounted a side-business deal that she had formed with who she believed to be her partners. Of course, that day she found out that they had cut her out of the deal right before the getting was green. After her confession, followed the inevitable -- her eyes brimmed with tears, bordering on overflow, which was my cue to hug her. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> As she began to ruin my nice shirt with her blend of tears and makeup, I told her that she was right to feel how she felt, and if she had to cry, then cry. While she sobbed, I acknowledged the betrayal she suffered, but told her that it would soon become the past, and she would come out of the experience wiser. I then asked her to do me a favor: For god’s sake, Leena, please don’t go dark on me. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That’s exactly what I asked her, “please don’t go dark”, because I didn’t want her terrible experience to justify being meaner and crueler to others in future ventures, screwing over others the way she was screwed over by her “partners”. <br /><br />Be wary? Yes. <br /><br />Act stronger? Sure. <br /><br />Avoid being so overly trusting? Absolutely.<br /><br />But you can still be kind. You can always be kind. Just don't expect kindness in return, that’s for the other person to decide, that’s the other person’s problem. But every once in a while, you'll run into the occasional foolish idealist, and I swear to you, Leena — I swear to you — that your kind manner in a world full of motherless fucks will be appreciated. And if we’re all lucky, that fool will show kindness to others.<br /><br />It was then that I caressed the back of her head, in a "there, there" fashion, as her sobs began to subside. Then, I gradually moved my hand to the top of her head, where I began to apply subtle pressure in a crotchward direction, hoping she'd get the hint. <br /><br />Upon feeling her kneecap make brutal contact with my magnificent testicles, I realized she might’ve gotten the wrong idea. <br /><br />With tears in my eyes, I asked “Lesbian?" <br /><br />With rage in her eyes, she asked "Pig?” <br /><br />Ugh, I should've known -- a feminist. Had I known she was one of those, I'd have approached her differently. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">You see, fellas, the way to handle one of these fuckin' feminists is to play nice, invite her to your place, give her a glass from the Cosby Vineyard selection, and once she's out for the count, you sneak her over to your home in the country and subject her to bondage, torture, and mind games.<br /><br />At least that's what the absolute based chad of the 1969 film <b>The Laughing Woman</b> does. His name is Sayer (Philippe Leroy) and his latest lady to be taught this important lesson is Maria (Dagmar Lassander), an employee at the philanthropic organization he runs. While discussing an assignment, Maria makes the mistake of telling Sayer that she is in favor of male sterilization, and I guess it's not enough that he responds with a "Well, actually" for the ages. Because he then invites her to his apartment for a couple of friendly drinks between employees, which as mentioned earlier, is really just a prelude to Sayer breaking the poor girl’s spirit.<br /><br />For a long time, I only knew of this film because I was a fan of the music score by the late, great Stelvio Cipriani, but it wasn't until the Here and Now that I actually watched the film it was made for. But unless you're into this sort of thing, the stuff Sayer subjects Maria to can be tough to watch. He ties her up, he ties her down. He tapes her mouth shut and forces her to watch him enjoy breakfast. He turns a goddamn firehose on the woman. Worst of all, he forces Maria to rub oil on his disgusting bare man-feet. That alone would be enough for me to wish for death.<br /><br />Which is in fact, what Sayer wants of his guest, by the way, as he later casually confesses to Maria that he kills his female guests to achieve sexual climax. Look, I'm not gonna kink-shame the man. I mean, whatever floats your boat, right? Some guys can't cum unless they have a finger in their ass, others need to be asphyxiated, and then you have the real weirdos who can't cum unless they insert their penis into an orifice. Either way, I don’t judge.<br /><br />Now, normally, as a coward with a tiny d— ahem — normally as a real man with a fast car, I don't mind watching women in movies learn their place, but the problem is that Lassander's character resembles none other than The Adorable Amy Adams (specifically during her Lois Lane days), and since Superman wasn't coming to save this damsel-in-distress, I wanted this fuckin' asshole Sayer to die a thousand penis and/or anus-related deaths.<br /><br />Written and directed by Piero Schivazappa, and also known under the titles <i>Femina Ridens</i> and <i>The Frightened Woman</i>, I can see some calling this film yet another misogynistic portrayal of attractive women in dangerous situations, and I can see some calling this a feminist critique on what overly sensitive and destructive man-babies we males are. I think both parties are right, because this is one of those deals that has it both ways, and depending on your point of view, the ending works either as a justification, or an excuse for what preceded it. <br /><br />The film's refusal to make its stance explicit for the average viewer, kinda reminded me of an S. Craig Zahler joint, in that it's super-fucking-questionable as far as the filmmaker's personal politics, but goddamn if it ain't an excellent film all the same. But I also feel that maybe there wouldn't be so much doubt about the film's intentions, had this been written and directed by a woman, rather than a dude -- an Italian dude, no less — in the late 60s.<br /><br />Actually, I take that back. Had a chick made this flick back then, it would be seen as misandrist.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Nevertheless, I really liked this movie! It has a pretty whacked-out sense-of-humor that only makes everything more unsettling. And somewhere along the way, just as I figured out where this film was headed, it instead takes a welcome detour that was less disturbing, more wacky, but just as entertaining.<br /><br />Visually, it's a real treat; a nicely photographed assortment of snazzy late 60s outfits and super-stylish set design, everything looking very Pop Art and Mod. Most of the film is set in Sayer's country getaway house that is full of furniture that looks aesthetically pleasing but uncomfortable to actually use. There's also a dream sequence involving a giant art installation that looks like a woman's spread legs, with a razor-lined door placed exactly where you’d expect it to be.<br /><br />Leroy and Lassander are both great in their roles. Sayer comes off cold and calculating -- that is, whenever he is in total control. But as the film continues, it becomes more clear that it is indeed, all just an attempt at appearing strong while holding in his emotions -- because as we all know, emotions are for women. He meets his match with Maria, who despite being held against her will, despite being knocked down both figuratively and literally, gives as good as she gets. Because a strong-willed woman can only do so much when you have some proto-Red Pill-taking motherfucker standing in her way.<br /><br />And c'mon, dude, just because Lassander kinda looks like Amy Adams doesn't mean I'm actually watching Amy Adams, and so, when Maria danced while slowly taking off what looked like a swimsuit made of white gauze, I felt no shame, no need to tell the precious star of <i>Arrival</i> and <i>Enchanted</i> to stop debasing herself for our perverted carnal pleasure. <br /><br />Because it wasn’t Amy Adams. It was someone else.<br /><br />No, instead, I said "Take that shit off, ya fuckin' hoo-er!" OHHHHH!</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gH79Rg2ZUGo" width="320" youtube-src-id="gH79Rg2ZUGo"></iframe></div><p><br />Of the current new releases at the local cinema, <b>Pearl</b> (the prequel to Ti West's film <i>X</i>) stood out. Unlike it's successor, which was a dark and gritty throwback to grindhouse flicks, and brought to mind the early works of Tobe Hooper, Pearl takes a different approach that brings to mind the works of Douglas Sirk; an overly-bright and polished Technicolor widescreen melodrama, with a lush music score reminiscent of Frank Skinner and Dimitri Tiomkin.<br /><br />Set in 1918, the film follows the murderous psycho freaky oldster from <i>X</i> -- the titular Pearl -- back when she was just a young adult with zero human kills under her belt. Pearl (Mia Goth) lives on a farm in Texas with her parents, while her husband Howard is overseas fighting in the First World War.<br /><br />With one man out of the country, and her father infirm, it is up to Pearl and her mother to share in the everyday chores, upkeep, and various household responsibilities. Any spare moment she has, she uses to unwind; for example, she's fond of dancing in the barn to a rapt audience of cows and chickens, which reminded me of something Oprah Winfrey said in an interview about how when she was a little kid, she would entertain herself by playing to an audience of chickens in a coop. I forgot exactly what this playing comprised of, so I couldn't tell you whether she sang to them, or interviewed them, or gave them free cars.<br /><br />But unlike Oprah -- god, at least let's hope so -- Pearl is shown to be wearing a mask of sanity which has a tendency to slip every once in a while. We witness such slippage during the opening scene, when Pearl indulges the psychopathic murderer underneath by casually picking up a pitchfork and using it to stab a goose who was not invited to her barnyard show. She then feeds the goose to an alligator at the lake, and we're left with the sense this isn't the first time something like this has happened. I reckon that alligator's been eating good for quite a while.<br /><br />I thought it was pretty clever for West and Goth (who also co-wrote the screenplay) to set this film during the Spanish Flu pandemic; we watch Pearl ride her bike into town to pick up medicine for her father, and upon arrival, she puts on her face mask, because that's what people did back then, they didn't have the Internet, so the only place the crazies had to share their wackadoo conspiracies was on the street corners, where they'd shout their thoughts or picket with signs, all the while being justly ignored. Unfortunately, today, similar lunatics have millions of online followers, and some even hold political office. </p><p><i><b>In the interest of retaining any readers from the other side of the argument, I offer this alternate version of the previous paragraph: </b></i></p><p><i><b>I thought it was pretty clever for West and Goth (who also co-wrote the screenplay) to set this film during the Spanish Flu pandemic; we watch Pearl ride her bike into town to pick up medicine for her father, and upon arrival, she puts on her face mask, because that's what people did back then, they didn't have the Internet, people were easily-led sheep who questioned nothing and accepted what the government told them, and those who knew the truth were unfairly ignored. Fortunately, today, similar truth-tellers share their knowledge with millions of online followers, and some even hold political office!</b></i><br /><br />During one scene, Pearl goes to the movie theater, and while watching the chorus girls on-screen, she briefly pulls up her mask in order to take a sip from her father's bottle of morphine. At the same time, I briefly pulled up my mask in order to take a pull of bourbon from my flask. Realizing this moment of synchronicity between film character, film viewer, and time periods — back then, there was a global pandemic, there were countries at war, and an increasing worldwide partiality to fascist regimes; today, we’re in a global pandemic, we have countries at war, and there’s an increasing worldwide partiality to fascist regimes -- I thought Wow, next verse, same as the first! </p><p>I felt a kinship with Pearl at that point, and to be painfully honest, I even identified with her a few times in ways that I will keep disconcertingly private. And as far as murderous tendencies go, I am possibly worse than Pearl, because while she goes around stabbing geese, I prefer to choke the chicken. While she takes out people standing in the way of her dreams, I enjoy distracting my loneliness by extinguishing millions of potential doctors, astronauts, and school shooters.<br /><br />Pearl’s dream is to become a dancer in the big city, and it's something that absolutely has to happen for her, there is no other option. She has to leave her stifling existence on that farm, with its laborious obligations set upon her by her overly stern (aka German) mother. Upon making the acquaintance of a kind and handsome projectionist, she sees not just temporary company sans hubby, but a possible ticket to Dreamland, population: Pearl.<br /><br />But knowing what we know about this character -- at least those of us who've seen <i>X</i> -- we might not be aware of what will happen, or how, but we do know what the final outcome is going to be. And so, we watch the set up as things begin to look promising for Pearl, awaiting the inevitable heartbreak -- and the aftermath that will surely follow.<br /><br />Those expecting a slasher-horror film may be disappointed; this is more of an off-kilter character study that eventually results in some bloodshed. Come to think of it, I think this qualifies as an entry in the God's Lonely Man sub-genre, alongside recent examples like <i>Joker</i> and <i>Saint Maud</i>. The tone of the film straddles the line between Sincere and Winking, which can put some people off as well. But I really dug this, and I think this works better as a film than <i>X</i>. <br /><br />A huge part of why this film worked for me is Mia Goth's performance as Pearl, who I found having lots of sympathy for, despite her violent inclinations. She's a sicko, all right, but she's also very earnest! The climax of the film hinges on the strength of the actor at the center of it, rather than gore or suspense, and that's because the climax of the film isn't a kill spree, but a monologue. But holy shit, what a monologue -- and what a delivery! <br /><br />Hers is the kind of performance that leaves me of two beliefs:<br /> <br />1) Mia Goth is a great actress<br />2) Mia Goth is a broken human being<br /><br />And I'm thinking, ¿por que no los dos? I mean, most great actors are both of those things, hence their ability to pull such effective expression of genuine emotion. Plus, she's hooked up with Shia LeBeouf and has a kid with him, so you fuckin' know that's some extra pain to pull from. Some people are talking Oscar buzz for Goth, which I doubt will happen, not because I think she's undeserving of such accolades, but because the Academy treats horror movies the way they treat the troubling past histories of some of their award recipients: They ignore them. <br /><br />And don't give me this "What about <i>Get Out</i>?" bullshit. At most, that was an anomaly, and I think the large assortment of old White people who voted for it probably gave Jordan Peele his Best Original Screenplay not because he wrote an excellent film and deserved the award — which he did — but because he put the idea in their rapidly aging Caucasian brains that maybe there's a chance that science will create a brain-swapping procedure that will allow them to switch places with younger Black people. They awarded him for giving them hope, and this was their way of saying "Thank you kindly Black filmmaker. You're one of the good ones.”<br /><br />Anyway, Pearl's not only a good movie, it also features one of my favorite end credits to a film, a sort of unholy blend of the closing credits to both <i>Call Me By Your Name</i> and the television comedy series "Police Squad!”. I was about to say Pearl has the most unnerving end credits I've seen in a film, but I'm going to give the edge to <i>Call Me By Your Name</i> because those credits involved a child crying over his pedo-cannibal first love. Whatever, Elio, boo-fucking-hoo, why don't you go eat a dick -- that is, if the fuckin' Lone Ranger hasn't already eaten it first.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/L5PW5r3pEOg" width="320" youtube-src-id="L5PW5r3pEOg"></iframe></div><p></p><br />
<p><style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in }</style></p>I’ve been trying to watch all the unopened Blu-rays on my shelf (thanks Criterion Barnes & Noble sales!) and the latest one to rid of its shrink-wrap is the five-hour director's cut of Wim Wenders' 1991 epic <b>Until the End of the World</b>.<br /><br />This ultra-ambitious sprawl of ideas takes place in the near future of 1999, where a nuclear satellite has gone haywire (thanks India!), and will soon crash-land somewhere on Earth, bringing its final resting place the mother of all kabooms.<br /><br />Sure, there are some people who are really freaked out, such as one man who Debbie Downers a bar full of people about how he can't believe anyone is still able to drink/hang out/try to get laid, when Imminent Nuclear Death is hovering above us. Otherwise, the majority appear to be as worried about the situation as one can be about something that is absolutely beyond one's control, which is to say, the state of worry that allows one to continue living their lives, because you know, there are bills to pay and babies to raise, there’s life to live.<br /><br />It's not unlike how the world's been living ever since we got two sneak peeks of Armageddon back in 1945 -- and I'm not talking about the Michael Bay movie. Every so often, some tribal chief tries to establish dominance by threatening the unthinkable, flashing those nukes as if they were Glocks in a rap video. There's certainly some of that going around right now with the whole Ukraine situation occurring during this foul year of Our Lord, 2022. <br /><br />I blame Rocky Balboa, myself; I thought he patched things up between the Russkies and the rest of the world, back in 1985, but evidently he didn’t, and now the fate of humanity depends on not pissing off this ex-KGB fuck, this over-compensating tyrant who poses bare chested on top of horses like some ultra closet-case trying to convince everyone he’s fiercely hetero, but only succeeds in making himself look even gayer. <br /><br />At best, if this asshole ends up pushing the Big Red Button of Win, he will come off as omnisexual, because he will have fucked everyone in the ass — men, women, animal, vegetable, and mineral. Eh, but at least you’re not gay, right, tovarish?<br /><br />Back to the movie. So yeah, people are living their lives despite potential apocalypse, and we focus on one of them, this lady named Claire (Solveig Dommartin), who is currently getting her lost weekend on by partying it up in Venice, Italy, drowning her sorrows after finding her husband Eugene (Sam Neill) getting super-cozy with her best friend back home in Paris.<br /><br />Once she gets that out of her system, she decides to return, but not necessarily back to her husband, it's more like, you know how it is, your bed at home is always going to be more comfortable than a bed elsewhere. Sometimes there's a cheating schmuck sharing that bed with you, but what can you do? So yeah, she's driving back, and on the way, she takes a detour in order to avoid a traffic jam, thus beginning the chain of events that lead to Claire going on a globetrotting adventure with a man named Sam (William Hurt), involving a bag of stolen money and a special device that records images that blind people will be able to see.<br /><br />Along the way, we see the differences and similarities between Claire and Sam. Both of them have a habit of pretending to be someone else; Claire does this by wearing a wig, and Sam does this by using aliases. But while Sam does this to avoid capture by the government agency searching for him (and the special device), Claire does this, well, just to take the edge off the ennui.<br /><br />One gets the sense that Claire feels unfulfilled, but that even she doesn't really know what to do to fill that void. Sure, she has a habit recording things on her little video camera, but even then, it's all very aimless, purposeless, it's recording just for the sake of recording. For all the cutting edge technology used in this film's version of 1999 -- talking car navigation systems, widespread use of HDTV -- it was still too bright and early a time for something as evil as social media, or TikTok. I'm sure if those were available, Claire would do all right with her time posting numerous videos of herself dancing while singing Elvis Presley songs. <br /><br />Instead, she keeps herself busy by meeting Sam, losing him, finding him, losing him again, and then finding him again, in a journey through France, Germany, Portugal, Russia, China, Japan, and the United States aka The Greatest Country in all of God's Kingdom and Don't You Forget You Godless Socialist Commie Foreign Fucks. The entire journey is narrated by Eugene, who along with a private detective are on Claire and Sam's trail, for reasons of love and money.<br /><br />At best, I can only describe the first half of this film as a rambling flirtation with the idea of the possibility of an international chase flick/romantic movie, but really all just an excuse for Wenders to hang his ideas and thoughts of both the current state of humanity and where he sees it heading. The second half then dials it down with one final hop to South Australia, switching gears to something more cerebral, but also more emotional. It’s here that we are introduced to Sam's parents, played by Max von Sydow and Jeanne Moreau, and where we discover that Sam's father is the inventor of the device for the blind. But we also discover that as brilliant as Sam's father is, well, as a father to Sam, he's less than adequate.<br /><br />I can give away plenty more and still leave a lot for you to discover, but I'll only go as far as to say that there's another future tech invention that features in the film, and it allows one to record a person's dreams, which one can then view. Now that sounds problematic enough for me, but it gets worse when a couple characters find themselves addicted to watching their own dreams, they're glued to their little portable monitors and lose their shit if they run out of battery. So let’s give Wenders the Nostradamus award, because the people in this film don't look much different from you and me on our phones and tablets nowadays. Only difference is that most of us are watching other people live their dreams. <br /><br />But at least the people my age still know what it's like to step outside and do things without the need of something that requires an energy source, I fear we might be the last generation to have that ability. God forbid an EMP knocks out the entire grid; while some of us can always find entertainment in partaking in various sports of kings such as football, and while others can indulge in various sports of the poor & foreign such as soccer, any kid born after Kim Kardashian fucked Ray J is going to be lost without the Internet. Some might get so despondent over not knowing what to do with their time, they might take their own lives -- once again proving that every cloud has a silver lining. Fuck them kids.<br /><br />Wenders has gone on record saying that he set out to make "the ultimate road movie", which makes perfect sense; if anyone knew about making movies about interesting characters traveling cross country, it was the director of <i>Paris, Texas</i> and <i>Kings of the Road</i>. The difference was that for this film, Wenders didn't stick to one part of the country, or hell, one country. <br /><br />Instead, he somehow managed to finagle over $20 million dollars -- which today would be in the neighborhood of $50 million -- to make an art-house film about the dangers of falling into "the deep well of narcissism”, which would take place in nine countries and four continents, which would be distributed by Warner Brothers, and not even give the motherfuckers a single decent action scene in the entire picture. (At most, there's a really brief shootout where they don't even use muzzle flashes, just sound effects and goofy pratfall music.) It's pretty wild to think about, especially today. People talk about how they don't make movies like this anymore, but I feel they're mistaken. They still make movies like this, just for much, much, much less money.<br /><br />While I loved the ambition behind it, overall I only liked the film. The problem for me is that despite the introduction of more emotional elements in the second half, it still fell short in getting me to actually care for any of the characters -- to say nothing of even liking them -- and so I always felt detached. I was only able to observe with little to no sympathy, and only a smidge of empathy in the most extreme cases.<br /><br />(Yes, I know that earlier in this post/episode, I declared having sympathy and empathy for a psychotic ax-murderer, yet I had little to none for a bored woman and a man trying to help blind people see. Yes, I understand I need help, but before I do, may I introduce you to my pet alligator?)<br /><br />Despite its flaws, this is still very much a film by Wim Wenders, and so it works as a film to which one can just simply vibe. The whole thing left me feeling as if I had witnessed the last magnificent and desperate gasp of the kind of offbeat indie/arthouse movies that were everywhere in the 1980s. It's as if Wenders' knew that these kinds of movies were going to be an endangered species in the 90s, and so he figured that while the getting was good, why not take the bastards for all the money he could get from them? <br /><br />A wise move, in retrospect. As I said before, they don't really make these kinds of movies anymore, and in my opinion, Wenders' narrative work from the 90s onward has not matched his previous films like <i>Wings of Desire</i>. But that can be said about many of his contemporaries; of the quirky filmmakers from the 1970s and 80s I group along with him, I think only Jim Jarmusch has managed to keep his pimp hand strong and firm through the decades. <br /><br />Anyway, it's a great-looking film, shot by the late, great cinematographer Robby Müller, who can make even the most dull settings look like they came from another universe, and I got a kick out of the mix of matte paintings blended with the real locations. <br /><br />It's also a great sounding film because Wenders got a very impressive roster of artists to contribute songs; U2, Talking Heads, R.E.M, Depeche Mode, Elvis Costello, Jane Siberry, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, and many more. I know it's an overused cliche of a line, but the soundtrack is just as much a character in this film. It's no surprise to find out that while the movie bombed at the box office, the soundtrack did quite well. <br /><br />In conclusion, I feel Wenders' vision of the future in <i>Until the End of the World</i> is a positive one, and I base that simply on the fact that there's a scene where a boy uses the Power Glove to make phone calls on his video phone. Because only an unabashed optimist could see any kind of a future for that piece of shit. <br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zfFWBWKwQT8" width="320" youtube-src-id="zfFWBWKwQT8"></iframe></div><p></p><p><br />Those were just but a few of the movies I watched while nursing the pain in my balls. I still can’t believe Leena did that. It’s like, some women just don't get it, man. I’m just an old-school gentleman, that’s all. That’s what I keep telling my coworker, my boss, Human Resources, the cops, my lawyer. But they don't want to hear about it, because that’s the goddamn woke liberal feminist agenda for you LET'S GO BRANDON<br /></p>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-921591776455730362022-05-28T17:19:00.020-07:002023-01-18T18:57:32.649-08:00All Chili Burgers Are Bastards<br /><br /><iframe title="#15 - Sunshine and Noir: 1980s L.A. Horror Marathon" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=xjhii-123b920-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br /><br /><br />"Because I'm a pussy" is one answer, I suppose.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Another answer could be "Because I'm afraid of catching COVID”.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But the one that feels the most true to me would have to be: Because I'm afraid of catching and then giving COVID to somebody else, specifically someone with an immune system best described as "lower-tiered".</p><p style="text-align: left;">See, I do have faith that being vaxxed and boosted will keep my symptoms to a passable level of unpleasantness, were I -- excuse me -- <u>when</u> I catch Da Rona.</p><p style="text-align: left;">(By the way, it's nice to know that I still have faith in something, right?)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anyway, the question to the answer I gave at the top of this tirade is this: Why do I feel hesitant about attending -- let alone buying a ticket to -- the American Cinematheque's <b>Sunshine and Noir </b>movie marathon at the <a href="https://www.americancinematheque.com/about/theatres/aero-theatre/" target="_blank">Aero Theatre</a> in Santa Monica, which at that moment -- Saturday, May 14th, 10:19 am -- was to begin in T-minus 1 hour and 41 minutes?</p><p style="text-align: left;">Having found an answer to that, another question followed: Should I stay or should I go?</p><p style="text-align: left;">A couple quick clicks, a shave, and a shower later, I became the answer, and I was on my way to the freeway. I slowed to a stop at the left turn lane of the intersection, with only a Honda Civic ahead of me. The arrow turned green, but the driver was too busy looking down at his cell phone. As a believer in honking the horn only as a last resort — for example, to tell someone “We're about to crash!" or "I'm about to run you over!” — I flashed my lights. No dice.</p><p style="text-align: left;">He must've really been into whatever was on that phone, that must’ve been a really funny TikTok. After another polite Euro-style flash of the high beams, the light turned yellow, leaving me no choice but to give the inattentive driver a good ol’ ring from the Armenian Doorbell. Sure enough, that did the trick, and the man jolted up in his seat and made the turn. I followed, and as the arrow turned red, I stepped down on the gas, so as not to find myself blocking traffic.</p><p style="text-align: left;">As I entered the straightway, I was surprised by how fast I passed the Honda Civic. See, with the exception of an on-ramp or two, I haven't really opened up and let loose with my now eight-month-old vehicle. Not that I was looking for that. While my car is known for having some extra pep in its step, it was ultimately more of an aesthetic choice for me. I'm a cruiser, not a racer, I just wanted a daily driver that made it clear to everybody else on the road that I have a mid-life crisis and a tiny penis.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But there I was, having placed a wee too much weight on the gas pedal, and I was zooming. It was a safe run, though, because other than the Honda that I just gapped, no other vehicles occupied this four-lane road, just mine. And it was then that I heard someone whisper from the reptilian, little-dicked part of my soul, and it whispered ”Go faster".</p><p style="text-align: left;">I never fully understood Stephen King's novel "Christine" until that moment. But it possesses you, causes you to think differently, act differently. At that moment, I gave in and upgraded from a standard-level douchebag to a Douchebag First Class. I became what I formerly detested -- and I didn't give a fuck. With even more weight on the pedal, I was now going 65 in a 35. I was overwhelmed by the sudden speed, but in a good way, and for the second time in my life, I felt like I was in a <i>Fast & Furious</i> movie.</p><p style="text-align: left;">(The first time, by the way, was about 20 years ago, when I was at a store in Echo Park ordering a tuna fish sandwich with no crust, and an aggravated gentleman strongly recommended that I take my business to Fatburger, which I thought was helpful, but then he called me a “faggot”, which I did not think was helpful.)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Yes, my brother and sister, I was definitely living my life during this quarter mile stretch, and I found myself growing more and more excited, more and more confident, more and more happy. Oddly enough, my penis was turtling itself within my crotch, but what am I gonna do, buy another car?</p><p style="text-align: left;">No, of course not. Instead, I was about to let out a most feminine yelp after glancing over to my rearview mirror. Because that’s when I noticed a small black & white dot that rapidly grew bigger and bigger until it became the form of a police cruiser.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I took my foot off the pedal, but I didn't hit the brake; I felt that would've been too obvious. No, dummy, just slow down naturally and hope for the best. 65 went to 55, which was still much too fast here. But no lights yet, even though the cruiser got even closer.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And that's when I saw it: A dialysis clinic up ahead. Just as I could make out the driver's mirrored sunglasses and salt & pepper mustache in my rearview mirror, I made a hard left into the parking lot of the clinic and screeched into an empty spot -- with the cruiser still behind me. I grabbed my N95 and my phone, got out of my car, and made a brisk fast-walk for the entrance of the clinic. I fumbled my mask over my face while pretending to talk on the phone, mumbling something about my poor mother or my poor sister or maybe the both of them, sprinkling in the word "dialysis" here and there, loud enough for the cop in the cruiser to hear me as he slowly passed by.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I stepped into the lobby, which thankfully was empty, thereby saving me the absolute guilt that would come with seeing the faces of the genuinely ill -- people whose difficult situations I was effectively making a mockery of in order to save my stupid ass -- and I looked back to see the cruiser exiting the parking lot, and getting back to prowling the streets, in search of something darker and more innocent to asphyxiate.</p><p style="text-align: left;">A few minutes later, I went back to my car and proceeded to drive to Santa Monica in a matter more befitting a safe Saturn owner, instead of a douchebag in a Dodge.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSvkE-Zks3tP1j_v4gYJ8e1ikv9kc9A9K5S_LkPdQVM5sed8OsFew3OgP6Dhl719laJjpBWZkDOER0fG0omb5O7zXi7mKqiLwRqXgd-ZJhDxjJYn8XLuwM9J8ZwLGc8GkabyXzothAQLmeU-jCtnzJs_j3yprUWwFhd4LxvQfYCsZuWp67SjPgL6-/s4032/6E817E78-8C57-4368-A085-AE5B0DD78AA8.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSvkE-Zks3tP1j_v4gYJ8e1ikv9kc9A9K5S_LkPdQVM5sed8OsFew3OgP6Dhl719laJjpBWZkDOER0fG0omb5O7zXi7mKqiLwRqXgd-ZJhDxjJYn8XLuwM9J8ZwLGc8GkabyXzothAQLmeU-jCtnzJs_j3yprUWwFhd4LxvQfYCsZuWp67SjPgL6-/s320/6E817E78-8C57-4368-A085-AE5B0DD78AA8.heic" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">After finally finding a parking spot in this Permit Only neighborhood, I strolled down Montana Ave, enjoying the beautiful sunny day while overhearing such sidewalk cafe exchanges as "You need matcha"/"I don't do matcha" before arriving at the Aero, where I showed proof of vaccination, my I.D., and my ticket. </p><p style="text-align: left;">This was my first time back at the Aero since October 2019; the place looked the same except for some sanitizer dispensers here and there. All of the volunteers and staff were masked, while it was more of a 50/50 thing with the attendees.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It was a very good turnout, but it wasn't a sold-out show either, and so there were plenty of options for me to sit. Before the show started, I took the opportunity to go outside and snap a couple shots of the marquee and the posters, because if you don't take a picture of something, did it ever really happen? I snapped a few shots while overhearing a volunteer telling a curious passerby about today's marathon: Six horror films from the 1980s that take place in and around Los Angeles. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Unlike the annual <a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2017/12/very-late-but-worth-no-not-really.html" target="_blank">Dusk-to-Dawn Horrorthon</a> held at this establishment, "Sunshine and Noir", which was co-presented by the film screening group <a href="https://www.cinematicvoid.com/" target="_blank">Cinematic Void</a> and the <a href="https://www.laphil.com/" target="_blank">Los Angeles Philharmonic</a>, was not an all-nighter. Instead, this would begin at noon and end by midnight.</p><p style="text-align: left;">(By the way, the name "Sunshine and Noir", is a reference to author <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Davis_(scholar)" target="_blank">Mike Davis</a>, who has written about Los Angeles in various books, articles, and essays. In his book <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/City_of_Quartz" target="_blank">"City of Quartz</a>", Davis describes how depending on who you ask, the city is either beautiful or ugly, sunshine or noir.)</p><p style="text-align: left;">The show began with a short film consisting of clips from various L.A.-set horror films from the totally radical 80s, with Missing Persons' "Walking in L.A." on the soundtrack. Then, James Branscome from Cinematic Void stepped onto the stage and asked us how we were. We gave a polite round of applause, and then he accused us of not having had our coffee yet and made us give him a louder reaction. <i>He must've thought it was Grant Moninger day. It ain't Grant Moninger day is it? Nah man, it ain't Grant Moninger day.</i> So while everybody else cheered louder, I pretended he was Elia Kazan receiving his honorary Oscar and I was Ed Harris and Amy Madigan.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Branscome then introduced a lady by the name of <a href="https://wynter.substack.com/" target="_blank">Wynter Mitchell-Rohrbaugh</a>, who was the curator for this event; she talked about growing up in Los Angeles during the 80s, and being entertained by the many horror films she watched on VHS during that period, while being more or less traumatized by the Night Stalker killings that occurred around that time. This combo of fictional and non-fictional slashing in the City of Angels created a "culture of fear" that set the tone for the rest of her life.</p><p style="text-align: left;">She's not alone. I mean, I'm sure I'm around the same age as her, and I feel I had a similar personal upbringing with movies and the world around me -- and I think she's right in that many horror films of that era that took place in our grand metropolis, were also reflections of what all of us in L.A. -- even the very young -- were seeing, feeling, and more importantly, fearing.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I think the first and last movie of the marathon are more like accurate reflections, while the films in the middle were more like funhouse distortions, which is to say, they might be skewed but they're working from something real. And that's why I also agree with Mitchell-Rohrbaugh's belief that "Los Angeles has never been more Los Angeles than in these films".</p><p style="text-align: left;">She then talked about how horror is her favorite genre, and that watching a horror movie every day helped her get through this pandemic -- not that it's over, of course -- and then she thanked us all for coming out to enjoy these films together, before calling out to the projectionist to "roll it".</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToEK3LlXMhyJru2T5QTAMN2QmxUTLXM22iXS0-Cs3nj5yNWas8Q_jAovkdMVt4LhPMUWhM_-vgtse5BbG4lR19lC2MFSOvXy4xLTm6vHIvBTlW6GBEZt4gt7LABx9zRUaESP0dUN6Gn9vl9Z1bLfUxfsTPPOMAGYw8dI6MyoRbTBtpR7YD31c9evT/s2032/Screen%20Shot%202022-05-28%20at%205.22.56%20PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2032" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToEK3LlXMhyJru2T5QTAMN2QmxUTLXM22iXS0-Cs3nj5yNWas8Q_jAovkdMVt4LhPMUWhM_-vgtse5BbG4lR19lC2MFSOvXy4xLTm6vHIvBTlW6GBEZt4gt7LABx9zRUaESP0dUN6Gn9vl9Z1bLfUxfsTPPOMAGYw8dI6MyoRbTBtpR7YD31c9evT/s320/Screen%20Shot%202022-05-28%20at%205.22.56%20PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The first film was John Carpenter's<b> They Live</b>, the 1988 action/sci-fi/documentary starring Roddy Piper as Nada, a drifter who arrives in Downtown Los Angeles, looking for work, only to discover that aliens are the reason why the gap between the haves and have-nots has become wider. It turns out E.T. is the CEO of a multi-galaxy conglomerate that is exploiting our planet and turning it into a third-world, uh, world.</p><p style="text-align: left;">With the help of technology that disguises their formaldehyde faces and allows subliminal messages everywhere, They not only live while we humans sleep, but they also make sure that we remain divided with distractions and disinformation. Some humans in power are well aware of this -- because they were bought off -- and the police are no help because, well, they're the police, they've always been the jackboots on the side of the elite, ready to deploy at a moment's notice, regardless whether the elite get around in Rolls Royces or UFOs.</p><p style="text-align: left;">(Besides, it was never the cops' job to protect people anyway, just to hold them back while some monster goes around shooting their kids for 45 minutes.)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Keith David co-stars as a fellow prole named Frank who's just trying to make a living for his family in Detroit, and his character starts off trying to school Nada on how -- to quote a character David played in another movie -- <a href="https://youtu.be/HUSknqJMJkw?t=166" target="_blank">"the poor are always being fucked over by the rich, always have, always will"</a>. Nada, on the other hand, is neither cynic nor defeatist, he's a believer in the American Dream and the concept of working hard in hopes of a better life.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Yet later in the film, after Nada has discovered the truth and is trying to share this info with Frank via a pair of sunglasses that allows the wearer to see the aliens hiding among us, Frank wants none of it. So badly does he not want to know, he actually puts up a fight with Nada that lasts so long that we in the audience couldn't help but laugh each time it seemed as if the dustup had been settled, only to start up again. By the end, we broke out into applause after witnessing what I can confidently call one of the greatest fight scenes in all of cinema, not just because it's an impressive bout of old school street fighting, but because it says so much about the two characters.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's like, despite all the shit we talk about how fucked everything is, most of us in this life want -- no, we need -- the blissful ignorance that comes with plausible deniability because it will make getting through this life less of a fucking chore, man. To threaten us with the truth is also a threat to said deniability, and we'll be damned if we have to Actually Do Something About It, because that's a road that leads to, well, I don't know what it leads to but it sure as hell has no steady paycheck, no 4K television, no Netflix, no goose down pillow, no medical, no dental, no food on the table, no roof over our heads. Face me with the potential loss of all of that, and, well…I might have to beat your ass.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Look man, I lived half my life with Nada's idealism but have gradually turned into Frank. I wouldn't want to put on the glasses either. But you know what, if any of you fuckin <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPpifE8D4eE" target="_blank">you-foes</a> are listening out there, I will allow you aliens to recruit me for some of that sweet sweet good life, now that I know — more than ever — how stacked the deck is against the rest of us. Like homeboy said, "might as well be on the winning team", right? <br /><br />I say: Fuck the losing team. They never say "Thank you" whenever I hold open the door for them, and they don't know how to raise their fuckin' mewling hellspawn, letting them run all over public places, screaming their fucking heads off. Yeah, fuck them, fuck them kids, and just me give my fuckin’ fancy teleportation watch.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anyway, this is my favorite John Carpenter film, and if aliens ever came to our planet, and they were kind aliens, and they wanted to know all about humanity, I'd sit them down to a triple feature of this and Carpenter's remake of <i>The Thing</i>, and George A. Romero's <i>Dawn of the Dead</i>, and that'll bring them up to speed as to why our species is so fucked, and so rather than trying to get all kumbaya with us, they should instead just nuke us from orbit. Because it's the only way to be sure.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9qg5LBp9BHs" width="320" youtube-src-id="9qg5LBp9BHs"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">The second film was Brian Yuzna's 1989 dark comedy <b>Society</b>, which focuses on Beverly Hills high school rich boy asshole Bill, who despite having it all thanks to mommy & daddy's money, feels uneasy amongst his family and friends. He attends regular sessions with his therapist, but that doesn't seem to help, because for every piece of advice the doc gives him to take it easy, there's a super-awkward encounter where he walks into his parent's bedroom and finds mom, dad, and sis all on the bed, dressed a tad too scantily and sitting a little too close to each other.</p><p style="text-align: left;">On the other hand, there are nice perks to this life, such as having sexy classmates gleefully spread their legs and exposing their crotch at him. Never mind that's he trying to win a debate over the school's dress code during this, it's the thought that counts, really. </p><p style="text-align: left;">As Bill is told later in the film, it's really more about what you're born into, rather than being brought into it -- "it" being high society. You're either part of it, and you're living a privileged life with a bright future already planned out for you, or you're one of the have-nots, and you'll most likely be slowly devoured. I might mean that literally or figuratively, I don't know.</p><p style="text-align: left;">OK fine, I do know. If you've ever heard about this movie, it's because of its memorable "shunting" climax -- and for very good reason. It's a wonderfully grotesque orgy of sex, gluttony, and body horror, a kind of mix of Hieronymus Bosch and Salvador Dali come to nightmarish life by way of Luis Buñuel. Thanks to the excellent effects work by Screaming Mad George, bodies writhe and merge into each other, blending into each other, appendages going in and out of orifices, coated in so much icky gooey slime -- or at least I hope it's slime.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But the truth is, take away those final 20 minutes, and Society is just a bad movie. It has hints of being a genuinely satirical look at wealth and privilege, but only skirts the surface level. And maybe that was the intention of the screenplay, to just be a fun little nasty gross-out flick with just a wee mite of socio-economic commentary -- which is why I'm laying the blame squarely on director Yuzna. Mostly everything is captured in a flat and listless — and frankly cheap looking — way. There's a strange alien quality to the performances and the presentation, but only half of it feels intentional.</p><p style="text-align: left;">With little to no grasp of tone, he instead chose to set everything to a Weirdo setting of 11, which eliminates any potential for dread or mystery. It's like, how can I give a shit about Bill's quest to discover the truth about his family, when I'm too busy wondering what in the fuck is up with that lady who likes to eat hair? By the time the twist comes along, it's merely the nuttiest of the nutty things. Yuzna did get much better at the job with his next film, <i>Bride of Re-Animator</i>, so I suppose it's better that he swung and missed with this one rather than that one.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I feel that in stronger directorial hands, this could've been a cult classic worth its reputation. Instead, I can only recommend it if you're gonna skip to those final 20 minutes, or watch the whole thing with an audience, like I did, because the crowd really did seem to dig it a hell of a lot more than I did, based on their audible reactions that grew louder and wilder as the film went on.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_ASLDVgSFmM" width="320" youtube-src-id="_ASLDVgSFmM"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">The third film was <b>The Slumber Party Massacre</b>, a 1982 slasher directed by Amy Holden Jones, working from a screenplay by acclaimed feminist author Rita Mae Brown. Set in and around the Venice neighborhood of L.A., the film opens with Trish, a high-schooler whose parents are going out for the weekend, and you know what that's like, right? You get the house to yourself, and it's party time, right?</p><p style="text-align: left;">That is, if you're everybody but me. I don't know what the fuck was wrong with me, I was a goody-two-shoes as a kid. My parents knew there was nothing to worry about whenever they left me home for the weekend, all I was gonna do was watch movies and eat pizza by myself. Granted, I didn't have friends, but still. But even if I did, I would prefer, at most, to just have a small intimate get-together, like Trish does here. But unlike Trish's slumber party, mine would not include beer and weed because I was still on some D.A.R.E. bullshit, I really believed in that Hugs Not Drugs bullshit.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Of course, as much as I would be totally fine watching a group of attractive women portraying teenagers giggle and goof around in their underwear for 76 minutes, the film has to live up to the "massacre" part of the title, and so we are then introduced to escaped psycho killer Russ Thorn. This dude is the real deal, he lives to kill; almost immediately he's back at it, snatching an overly-attractive phone repairwoman into her van and using her power drill to metaphorically have sex with her. It's a pretty effective sequence because it happens during the day, while there are people around, but apparently her van is one of those super special soundproofed models, because the guys outside sure as hell can't hear her very loud screams.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I think this movie takes place in an alternate universe version of Venice where the drinking water is contaminated, causing severe hearing loss to the residents. There are many instances where you'd think someone would hear the loud drill, or the screams that follow, and yet, no they don't.</p><p style="text-align: left;">By the way, while there is blood, this isn't one of the gorier films of its type. You'd expect plenty of shots of drills penetrating flesh, but that's not the case here. Jones instead takes the "what is imagined is worse than what is seen" approach, and what little gore there is, is used judiciously. This would be a problem if the movie sucked, but it doesn't.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I think it's because even with the brisk runtime, you get to know enough about these characters that they make an impression on you, and it's mostly a positive one. No one is really a specific archetype in this film, save the killer and a couple of horny dudes who crash the slumber party. They're a little more complicated than you'd expect for the usual Dead Meat types in these movies. Among them is Trish's neighbor from across the street, Valerie, who declines an invitation to the party and stays to babysit her little sister Courtney instead. I liked watching the interactions between Valerie and Courtney, they felt genuine.</p><p style="text-align: left;">There's also a nice sense of humor to the film, coming in at the right moments; my favorite involves a character being so hungry, she's willing to take the pizza from a dead delivery guy. It's over the top, and yet, I can see doing something like that, I mean, I'm probably gonna die anyway, and so long that there's no blood or guts or anchovies on the pizza, I might as well enjoy a last meal.</p><p style="text-align: left;">A lot of it is fake scare city, and yeah, sometimes the characters do dumb things, but it felt like Jones knew that, she knew she wasn't fooling anybody, and so she did the best job possible while working within the tropes and trappings of the genre. But the characters helped carry this a long way, and it is fairly suspenseful at times, I mean, it says a lot that I didn't want any of the characters to die, and when they did, I was like a denied Swiper from "Dora the Explorer": <a href="https://youtu.be/3umJADf1xlc" target="_blank">Oh man!</a> And you bet your ass when it came time for the killer to get his, Jones doesn't disappoint. It's a good one, and in conclusion, I still watch movies and eat pizza by myself, it keeps me strong and feeling young.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-vrSx--k0_k" width="320" youtube-src-id="-vrSx--k0_k"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Following the film, Wynter Mitchell-Rohrbaugh returned to the stage to introduce her guests for a mid-marathon panel discussion: <i>Slumber Party Massacre</i> director <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amy_Holden_Jones" target="_blank">Amy Holden Jones</a> and <i>They Live</i> producer <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandy_King_(producer)" target="_blank">Sandy King Carpenter</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Jones talked about how she moved early in her career from editing to directing, even going so far as to film the first ten pages of the screenplay for Slumber Party Massacre on her own dime in order to convince Roger Corman that she was the right gal for the gig. Things got complicated when she was offered to edit <i>E.T. The Extra Terrestrial</i> at the same time; Jones felt that editing a film for Steven Spielberg made the most financial sense, especially since she recently had a baby. But to be given the opportunity to direct was one she always wanted, and it was an opportunity that was almost never given to a woman. So Jones made what she admitted to be an "insane decision", and took the very risky chance at directing what very well could’ve been forgotten drive-in fodder.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Jones felt the original script needed work, and so she gave herself the extra task of rewriting it; despite that, she and almost everyone involved in the film didn't have the highest hopes for what they would end up with. But upon viewing the film for the first time, the cast & crew were elated that the final outcome was pretty good!</p><p style="text-align: left;">She was surprised by some of the negative critical reaction, particularly from those who clutched their pearls that a <u>woman</u> could direct something that was perceived to be misogynistic. Jones disputed that by saying that the violence in the film was much harsher against the male victims, and tamer against the women, and besides, "...that's the friggin' genre, man."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP8kk_MTX6nVQGTsCMJgBbgS1ca665bDLxdYiLNble3r78DMIGpp628q6ZTavn5kGelm9qUmnp_fsiiToCKlWPWz5odh3yiLcq-y0Q0Dmgf4efX1PucC_IUrAThvS5gvlA7_jnAQH8r_Q-R4ki37nH6Ostqgv182pVlEn8hZ9ICvmZPUinSRCqO2sb/s2328/8702D153-1266-4313-ACC4-AA8550D52B9C_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1746" data-original-width="2328" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP8kk_MTX6nVQGTsCMJgBbgS1ca665bDLxdYiLNble3r78DMIGpp628q6ZTavn5kGelm9qUmnp_fsiiToCKlWPWz5odh3yiLcq-y0Q0Dmgf4efX1PucC_IUrAThvS5gvlA7_jnAQH8r_Q-R4ki37nH6Ostqgv182pVlEn8hZ9ICvmZPUinSRCqO2sb/s320/8702D153-1266-4313-ACC4-AA8550D52B9C_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Like Jones, Sandy King Carpenter made her bones working for Roger Corman; she started in animation, then moved on to live-action because she felt it wasn't good to sit in a dark room all day talking to herself. She and Jones then talked about how despite being cheap, Corman fostered a healthy collaborative attitude that resulted in all the people who’ve worked for him to still have fond memories to this day -- something that, King added, cannot be said by people working at Blumhouse. Met with nervous laughter from the crowd, King casually responded "Trust me."</p><p style="text-align: left;">At this point, third guest, actress <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelli_Maroney" target="_blank">Kelli Maroney</a> had arrived — traffic was a bitch — and so Mitchell asked for her opinion on how the horror genre compares between the 80s and today; Maroney felt that it has gotten better and more respected, despite some self-conscious attempts at what is known as "elevated horror", a term Maroney hates. She felt that back in the day, horror films were considered disreputable and they were what people worked on to pay their rent, but today, actors and filmmakers genuinely want to be involved in horror, because there's a love for the genre.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Mitchell then asked the panel if there was ever a time in the business when any of them were scared to make a stand and "push back" but went ahead and did it anyway; Jones brought up being vocal about her disapproval of the casting of Woody Harrelson during pre-production on the 1993 film <i>Indecent Proposal</i>, for which she wrote the screenplay. She felt he wasn't a strong enough lead to stand up against Robert Redford's character. Later, she sat in and observed a focus group following a test screening of the film, along with Paramount studio head Sherry Lansing; when the moderator asked the group for things they didn't like about the film, one of them responded by saying they didn’t know why Harrelson was in this movie. Upon seeing Jones' chuffed reaction, Lansing replied "Grow the fuck up."</p><p style="text-align: left;">King's response to Mitchell's question was that she wasn't raised to be afraid of anything, and that she believes that a combination of being married to a feminist and simply not giving a fuck about what people think, makes it very easy for her to share her opinions. She also shared an anecdote about how once on the set of John Carpenter's <i>Prince of Darkness</i>, someone asked "Who exactly are you?" and she responded: "I fuck the director". Upon seeing the man’s aghast reaction, she added "You're gonna say it when I walk out of the room, so let's just get past that."</p><p style="text-align: left;">Maroney's answer was that because she was lucky to have her first three projects directed by openly collaborative women, and so, the rude awakening came later when she found that her input wasn't nearly as welcomed as it had been before. But she found that the best way to register any concerns or complaints was to bring them up in the form of a non-threatening question, asking the other party to explain something to her, and then taking it from there. Somewhere along the way, she felt it easier to make these stands once it became clear to her that as a lead actress, she felt a responsibility to make sure that others in the cast & crew felt safe and taken care of.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Maroney also brought up that she had very little problems in regards to more sleazy types trying to get fresh with her, and she feels that it was because of her wise-guy personality that made it not worth the effort. The way she saw it, they figured she would say something loud and embarrass them. King agreed, saying that her own take-no-shit attitude -- plus not-so-veiled threats of bodily injury towards the aggressor -- made it easy to dismiss such unwelcome advances. She also added that based on talking with younger women working in the business today, it seems like that this happens more often now than it did back then, because the guys doing this kind of shit nowadays are mostly entitled rich kids, whereas in her day, they were just morons.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0clF7bBgqZhifCEWIMVIC8abkHPFcdoS8LsWQHW6RyEBN7KAouLqHEEhxeRCLkMJyqXqtXVPsMU-rccuCX4qidN9Ccr-_6pF6D2lpMyAeVt4BV6W6S9Vi8ZhZEbHzCXwaBR1aE1aqPDec801V7pCa2nhk2V3fcGCNzpRawerV7QC-Za3qWxhxlmgJ/s3653/83E3B3CF-2E5D-4E99-BEC3-C2E55876E9CB_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2740" data-original-width="3653" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0clF7bBgqZhifCEWIMVIC8abkHPFcdoS8LsWQHW6RyEBN7KAouLqHEEhxeRCLkMJyqXqtXVPsMU-rccuCX4qidN9Ccr-_6pF6D2lpMyAeVt4BV6W6S9Vi8ZhZEbHzCXwaBR1aE1aqPDec801V7pCa2nhk2V3fcGCNzpRawerV7QC-Za3qWxhxlmgJ/s320/83E3B3CF-2E5D-4E99-BEC3-C2E55876E9CB_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">The question about the future of the horror genre was brought up to the panel, and Jones felt that there was indeed a very bright future for horror, on account of there always being something out there to be afraid of, coupled with the fact that horror remains one of two very profitable types of movies that Hollywood will easily greenlight -- the other being comic book movies.</p><p style="text-align: left;">She also brought up that more serious fare, such as dramas and character-oriented pieces, can be equally enjoyed in the cinema or at home, but watching a horror film in a theater with a crowd is an even more enjoyable and rewarding experience. King added that horror will always be around, because it is a genre that is most capable of telling universal and uncomfortable truths, whereas "important" films are mostly just preaching to the converted.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Maroney added that the cathartic benefits that come from watching a horror film more than guarantees that this is a genre that will always be popular, especially if the world we live in continues to give us reasons to be afraid, and considering what’s going on around us, society is probably more afraid than ever.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Mitchell-Rohrbaugh then opened it up for questions from the audience, which was my cue to get the fuck out of there, and I wasn't alone, as I can hear the unmistakable chorus of CLUNKA CLUNKA CLUNKACLUNKACLUNKA from the suddenly unoccupied seats flapping back into place as those of us with no appetite for extreme cringe made a beeline for the exits to use the restrooms, get more snacks, fresh air, etc.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But I did come back in time to see the ladies get a nice and well deserved round of applause. These ladies were very entertaining, so open were they with their honest opinions and thoughts on the business, as well as particular movies (both <i>Gandhi</i> and <i>The Power of the Dog</i> were thrown some very amusing shade along the way). I really liked them, they all had a healthy amount of Don't Give A Fuck flowing through their veins.<br /><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3Fegc-UzkRkWSdxR_jqKGEDSwfsyARj5wI-7RsadKQZY3MyrUjHu9-j9tbKNeyO_9i3fleRO9U3XT5etVO5zoy3fPBQA1LB4JASPwyJKH4lhqkoiJsmDoEtvAwXBUP-SPgbYdFBvLaMd9jKpSRhW0vZjhuouTW_1IKjUnhcIIBboGvqOhu7FCM_Q/s1442/FED825A2-53A3-4E65-9332-61384CF49E7A_1_201_a.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1442" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3Fegc-UzkRkWSdxR_jqKGEDSwfsyARj5wI-7RsadKQZY3MyrUjHu9-j9tbKNeyO_9i3fleRO9U3XT5etVO5zoy3fPBQA1LB4JASPwyJKH4lhqkoiJsmDoEtvAwXBUP-SPgbYdFBvLaMd9jKpSRhW0vZjhuouTW_1IKjUnhcIIBboGvqOhu7FCM_Q/s320/FED825A2-53A3-4E65-9332-61384CF49E7A_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">After a half-hour break for dinner — I just had coffee — the marathon continued with the fourth film, 1986's <b>Chopping Mall</b>, a very tongue-in-cheek horror/sci-fi/slasher, directed by Jim Wynorski and starring none other than Ms. Kelli Maroney from the panel discussion. This one is about a group of teens and young adults or maybe they're all teens who look like young adults or they're young adults who look like teens, but c'mon, it's the 80s, these actors are all probably mid-to-late 30s.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anyway, they have the worst timing in the world, because decided to stay overnight at the shopping mall for a little fuck party, which also coincides with an electrical storm that causes the 3 robot security guards on the premises to malfunction and go full ED-209 on anybody still inside. Now these youngsters have to survive the night, as they're locked in with these killbots until dawn.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The entire movie takes place in a shopping mall, and was shot at both the Sherman Oaks Galleria and the Beverly Center. The opening credits sequence is a montage of various mall activities, and it's all very nostalgic for a kid like me who remembers when shopping malls were, you know, a thing; at one point, there's a shot of a Licorice Pizza record store, which was greeted by applause from the audience, as was Barbara Crampton's name in the credits, because she is the bee’s knees wearing the cat’s pajamas.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's interesting seeing Crampton play a Valley Girl type given to say stuff like "totally", and to be honest, she's a tad miscast. I know that sounds like sacrilege to say that about genre royalty, but I'm not saying she's bad. She just seems too smart for the role, if that makes sense, she comes off too intelligent for what I felt was supposed to be more of a Dumb Wild Friend role. Of course, her IQ points drop dramatically once the robots start doing their thing, so maybe it was intentional, maybe the filmmakers were going for someone who was pretty With It until things get serious.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Maroney, on the other hand, plays a nice girl-next-door type who is later revealed to be like an ultra-capable chick whose talents get to shine because of this situation. She turns out to be a crack shot with a revolver, because her father was in the Marines -- not unlike her MAC-10-wielding character in <i>Night of the Comet</i>, who also learned to shoot from her military father. Why the armed men in the film don’t give her a gun after this is revealed, I don’t know. Oh, wait I do know: Because they’re men. (Of course the answer was in the question, sorry about that.)<br /><br />Maroney's character is definitely who I would want to be paired with in a situation like this, whether we're running from robots, zombies, multi-racial gang members. Because she can take care of herself, she can also take care of me, and she has zero problem making the first move in an intimate situation, and that's something a scared and lazy fuck like me absolutely appreciates. But yeah, she's awesome, she doesn't let her emotions get the best of her, the way they get the best of half of these assholes who either run screaming towards their death or run screaming away from it, but either way they're screaming and that just helps a robot get a better laser aim to explode their heads.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Oh yeah, there's a pretty hilarious and well done head explosion here. It got a great reaction from the crowd both times -- the second time being a very inspired replay during the closing credits.</p><p style="text-align: left;">This was actually the second time I watched this film with an audience; the last time was in 2010 at a Jim Wynorski triple feature at the <a href="https://thenewbev.com/" target="_blank">New Beverly Cinema</a>, <a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2010/06/torgo-walked-past-me-in-concession.html">which I covered in my blog</a>. Maroney was there for a Q&A, and I got a kick out of her garrulous nature, even if I was kind of a dick about it in the blog, likening the contrast between her and fellow guest Wynorski to a slightly tipsy-but-talkative wife and her more buttoned-up husband at a dinner party.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anyway, it's a fun and fast hide-and-seek thriller that does the job while not taking itself seriously. There are some cool cameos from awesome people like Dick Miller and Mary Woronov, and goofy references to other movies and filmmakers, because it's that kind of movie. Despite the title, nobody gets chopped, there's just that one head explosion as far as gore goes, but there's plenty of nice ownage from the robots, as they electrocute, immolate, drop people from heights, etc. The only thing I didn't like was an early scene of a fat man pigging out at a pizza place, because I never found watching someone shove plates of food in his face -- while getting it all over his face and clothes -- remotely in the vicinity of funny. It's just gross. But ooh, dear reader, if I only knew what was in store for me in the next film.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XY4cGWXu42Y" width="320" youtube-src-id="XY4cGWXu42Y"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">The fifth film was the very offbeat, off-the-wall, and off-putting 1987 comedy <b>Blood Diner</b>, directed by Jackie Kong. Talk about a movie that hits the ground running and never stops, and so I will: The story begins with two little boys being visited by their uncle, who happens to be an escaped mental patient responsible for a series of brutal cannibalistic slayings. He bids farewell to them, steps outside to get shot to death by police, and then the opening credits begin. After that, we flash forward 20 years to health obsessed L.A., where the two brothers, Mike and George, own and operate a popular vegetarian restaurant, and I'm guessing the reason why people like the food there so much is because occasionally some human flesh finds it way into the recipes.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Turns out, the two brothers have adopted their late uncle's wacky beliefs involving a blood cult and an ancient goddess named Sheetar. They have already successfully reanimated their uncle's brain and eyeballs and placed them into a jar, where he further instructs them as to what is required to bring Sheetar back to rule the world: The body parts of various promiscuous women.</p><p style="text-align: left;">By the way, I'm pro-cannibal. I've talked about this before on social media, and to the people who used to be my friends before I told them this, but I'd have no problem eating a person if it was served to me right. Now, I'm not saying I'd eat all of the person, but if you give me a nice prime cut of human steak, hot off the grill, I'm digging in. I wouldn't go in for, like, guts or entrails or brains, though. Just some butt roast or grilled breast would be enough. I'd be picky about the person, though; I wouldn't eat a really skinny person or a really fat person. Also, they'd have to be attractive, because having a pretty or handsome face goes a long way towards me wanting to eat you.</p><p style="text-align: left;">See, I'm definitely a meat eater, but not all kinds of meat. I mean, I'll eat pork, I'll eat chicken, I'll eat fish, and I can absolutely eat cows till the cows come home -- so then I can eat them too -- but I won't eat cats and I won't eat dogs. Because while I'm indifferent to cows, pigs, chicken, and fish, I love cats and I love dogs. But I sure as fuck hate people -- and I can see getting the most pleasure from eating you motherfuckers. Mmmm, your cruel, selfish, narcissism would melt in my mouth as I chew away your pettiness, and your lack of empathy would go down so smooth with some red wine. Great, now I'm hungry.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That's OK, I just have to think about this movie some more and my hunger will go away, because Blood Diner is one of those movies where everything in its universe is gross. Regardless of what a person is eating, human or vegetable, it's all filmed -- and eaten --in the most unflattering of ways. There's an even worse version of a fat guy eating messily compared to the dude from <i>Chopping Mall</i>, and the film revisits him from time to time. Oh Christ, you watch him get the slop all over himself, he burps nonstop, and at one point, he projectile vomits his meal all over everybody else. Dear reader, this was the only time in the entire marathon where I actually cringed and had to look away -- and remember, I watched <i>Society</i> earlier that day.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Speaking of which, I felt this movie had a much, much better handle at the kind of comedy it was trying to be, compared to <i>Society</i>. This is all-out, wacky-as-fuck, and offensive with its never-ending onslaught of gags, I mean, Jackie Kong is throwing out kitchen sink after kitchen sink, and if one doesn't hit you, the next one will. Sure, there are much better horror comedies out there, but this one wasn't bad, man, I actually laughed a few times.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The audience, on the other hand, laughed throughout, from beginning to end. There was one guy a couple rows ahead of me, he got so overwhelmed with laughter from a scene involving a potential victim defending herself with kung-fu, that even after the scene was over, he couldn't stop laughing, and then he started wheezing and coughing, and that's when my vision was blinded by the giant words COVIDCOVIDCOVIDCOVID and I had to close my eyes and will the words away, lest my night be ruined by unwelcome anxiety. The words did go away, I made sure that my mask remained snug over my nose and mouth, and continued watching the film.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't know if this is a good movie, but it plays great. The crowd got pretty rowdy with this, and I'd say half of the laughs were about the movie being funny and half were about the incredibly high levels of WTF-ery to the proceedings. I mean, it's the kind of movie where a ventriloquist and his dummy are being questioned by the authorities and it's all played straight, it's the kind of movie where a woman gets her head dunked into a deep fryer and comes out of it with an perfectly round fried ball where her head should be.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I’d probably like this even more had I seen this 20 years ago, because that’s when I was at the peak of my love for all things Troma, and this is possibly the best Troma movie that Troma never made. I do know I'd like this less if I had I seen it alone, and so I'm glad I saw it with a very appreciative crowd at the Aero.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2dlONmAcZwE" width="320" youtube-src-id="2dlONmAcZwE"></iframe><br /><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">The sixth and final film of the night was the 1984 thriller <b>Angel</b>, directed by Robert Vincent O'Neil. Set in and around Hollywood Boulevard, this story focuses on Molly, a teenage honor student with a most surprising after-school job; at night, Molly becomes "Angel", and she walks the streets selling her body to various johns. Thankfully, the movie spares us the dirty deeds, and instead focuses on the interactions between Angel and her fellow workers of the night. Among them is a crossdresser named Mae, an old cowboy street performer named Kit Carson, and Crystal, who is not long for this world.</p><p style="text-align: left;">See, there's also a real piece of damaged work prowling the streets, and he's already racked up a few kills, all of them hookers. No sooner are we introduced to Crystal when this nameless killer picks her up and takes her to a motel room for some post-mortem loving. Yup, this serial killer is also a necrophile, and the film does way too good of a job giving us glimpses into his cracked psyche; as we watch the killer get Crystal's body ready for sex, the soundtrack plays music that sounds more at home in a romantic story. So he's one of these sickos who probably thinks this is a way to express genuine affection to these unfortunate women -- whereas when I fuck a dead girl, there is no affection involved at all, it's just about getting laid. But at least I'm not a hypocrite. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Before Crystal's demise, we are treated to a scene of her having a chat with a young street performer who clearly has a crush on her. It's kinda sweet, and I'm watching this, thinking, "oh, so I guess there's gonna be a subplot about these two becoming a couple?", and well, it clearly doesn't go that way. The next time you see the young man, he's at the crime scene the morning after, utterly heartbroken while being questioned by a cop.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's these extended non-plot-related detours that result in Angel hitting harder than I expected, because it spends so much time with each of these characters, it feels like the filmmakers care about these people too, and so, I ended up caring about them as well. They don't judge these characters, and neither should we. It's not just Molly that I wanted to see make it out of this situation OK, it's everyone -- well, except for that fuckin' killer, I wanted to see that motherfucker get his big time. And yet, the filmmakers even manage to extend but some touch of pity to this beast that killed women.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Poor Molly's story isn't fully revealed outright, it's given to us piecemeal, as we watch Lieutenant Andrews of the LAPD get to know her more while investigating the murders. He's clearly seen it all, and he knows how girls like Angel end up: either locked up, strung out, or dead. In his gruff tough-love way, he tries to convince her to get off the streets, but Molly/Angel is afflicted by the hardheadedness that comes with being a young person who thinks they already know everything.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When not watching her ply her trade up and down the boulevard, we watch her at private school, and I have to give it up to Molly, for her abilities to burn both ends of this candle. She works late, and is still able to get up early and catch the bus to school. We never see her do any drugs, so it can't be that. We see her do her own homework and we see her study, so it's not like she's banging any teachers to help her pass like that chick from <a href="https://youtu.be/LdB-lxeom1Q" target="_blank">Malibu High</a> did.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I guess she's just really focused, and she's really good with time management as well, because as we see in one scene, she turns down a nerd's request for a date at school, which I think is more about not wanting to toss an extra ball into her juggling act. Hell, she could've just blown him and I'm sure he would've done all of her homework, give her answers to all of the tests, and she could've probably gotten him to do her laundry — even if that would mean losing the occasional pair of socks and undies, and having a good idea why they’re missing. But Molly has her principles, she would never entertain any of that, and I respect the hell out of her for it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">There were a couple scenes involving some scumbag jock at Molly's school that left me just about ready to yell at the screen, because I hated this motherfucker soooo much, that flames...flames on the side of my face, anyway, I'm pretty sure if I had seen this at home, I would’ve yelled.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I’m on Team Molly. Not only am I on Team Molly, I’m on Team Molly's Friends. I'm on the side of Molly's friends, is what I'm saying, I liked her and I liked them too. I liked Mae, Kit, her landlady Solly. They're played by Dick Shawn, Rory Calhoun, and Susan Tyrell. What a difference that giving a fuck about characters makes for me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It’s the “giving a fuck” part that changes this from a sleazy exploitation joint, to a very gripping drama about these characters just trying to get by. Some of them seem content with their lives, and I found myself wondering if they really did feel that way or if they were deluding themselves. Molly/Angel is clearly deluding herself, because she thinks she has it figured out, but it's more like she needs that delusion in order to have the strength to continue living this double life of hers.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Don't get me wrong, <i>Angel</i> does the job as an exploitation joint, it delivers the thrills, especially whenever that nameless killer gets in the mix. There are a couple of genuinely exciting and suspenseful sequences, including one at a police station that goes shockingly out of control. I wasn't alone in feeling this way, especially during the climax, which had people in the audience break out into applause a couple times.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Donna Wilkes gives a very sympathetic performance as Molly, Cliff Gorman does a very solid 70s/80s-era cop turn as Lt. Andrews, and John Diehl is both scary and pathetic as the killer. There's plenty of gritty early 80s Hollywood atmosphere, well shot by cinematographer Andrew Davis, who went on to direct 1993's <i>The Fugitive</i>, which was really good but could’ve used a teenage hooker or two.</p><p style="text-align: left;">This was a great fucking movie, man, it really took me by surprise. I liked it so much, I think I might just forget about watching the three sequels that followed, because let's be real, after this class act of a picture, there's no place to go but down -- not unlike Angel on a Friday night.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nFaof-KCbNQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="nFaof-KCbNQ"></iframe></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">And so, the Sunshine and Noir 1980s L.A. Horror Marathon came to an end; I'm glad I went through with my last minute decision to attend, rather than let my anxiety get the better of me...this time, at least. I mean, here's hoping COVID and Monkeypox don’t get together, fuck, and have a baby, because who knows how I’ll feel then, or if I’ll be feeling anything by then, shit, I’ll probably be dead by MonkeyVid-69 or whatever the fuck that shit’s gonna be.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anyway, I enjoyed myself at the Aero; it was fun to watch some movies for the first time, rewatch some old favorites, and hell, it was worth sitting through <i>Society</i> again just to experience the final 20 minutes with an audience. With the exception of that movie, which was presented in a crisp digital print, the films were projected in 35mm; <i>They Live</i> looked and sounded the best, while <i>Slumber Party Massacre</i> had a reddish/pinkish tint at times, but otherwise looked good.</p><p style="text-align: left;">By the time <i>Angel</i> ended, it was a little past 11pm, and for the first time in a very long time, I stepped out of a movie marathon feeling just as awake as I did when I went in. It felt nice to know that I could go to bed that night and still enjoy the following Sunday as a full complete day, rather than sleep through most of it, as I usually do after an all-nighter.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I mean, I get the appeal of watching movies till the wee hours of the morning, because that's pretty much all I've done most of my life. But as I get older, I'm also getting the appeal of having a good night's sleep. Which is not to say that I'm anti-all-nighter now, I'm just even more pro-all-dayer.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anyway, having only subsisted on a couple cups of coffee the entire day, I was starving; I figured I'd follow up a Los Angeles-based movie marathon with a Los Angeles-based meal, so I drove responsibly to the original <a href="https://youtu.be/hE3C7UTpGvs" target="_blank">Tommy's</a> burger stand on Beverly and Rampart near Downtown L.A. and ordered a triple chili cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, and a large Cherry Coke. It hit the spot, man. It was so good, and when I began to imagine the chili being made from people meat -- specifically ground pork from the police officer that followed me that morning -- it tasted even better.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX31yoHOzwJmfb5x3BrBaeffq-vq60I66F68_qb5sn9DhZiCHxFwMJL1Rol39GqFOWIZWFxCufK62-SwoNGoNOc7_5gT06EnEtyUoHiiWla_zlUG-RJkID76oZc3y0oDE1Q0nEvMiFyoAxoz5AqwIfvqQbqoZbPyZ-V0OyG9L9dUIYUvKs-PXjMuZJ/s4032/9B5175F8-DF49-40DA-85D2-B212F4BF059A.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX31yoHOzwJmfb5x3BrBaeffq-vq60I66F68_qb5sn9DhZiCHxFwMJL1Rol39GqFOWIZWFxCufK62-SwoNGoNOc7_5gT06EnEtyUoHiiWla_zlUG-RJkID76oZc3y0oDE1Q0nEvMiFyoAxoz5AqwIfvqQbqoZbPyZ-V0OyG9L9dUIYUvKs-PXjMuZJ/s320/9B5175F8-DF49-40DA-85D2-B212F4BF059A.heic" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><br /><br />EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-46854086823046587582022-04-04T05:46:00.005-07:002023-01-18T19:09:24.666-08:00The scenic route to Oblivion<br /><iframe title="#14 - Top 13 TOTR Films of 2021" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=2dtga-11ec802-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe>
<br /></p><p><i><b><br /><br />NOTE: For those wondering why I posted an end-of-year list in April, that's because this was supposed to be posted in January, but I had issues with the intro, which I felt was too dark. Normally, I don't care about such things, but I didn't want to start off the New Year with such a bad vibe. I prefer to save such gloom for June. So I ended up editing it down by 2/3, leaving it a relatively tame shadow of its former self -- and it still seemed too bleak. So I shelved it. Well, cut to a few months later, 2022 is shaping up to be yet another mother, I stopped caring, and so here it is. I've since deleted the longer version, but I'm sure those thoughts will pop up here and there in future posts, that is, if there is a future. See, there you go, my mind is always good at brewing up awfully negative things like that. I'm optimistic like that.</b></i></p><p><b><i><br /></i></b><br />It wasn't always like this. <br /><br />For the longest time I used to stay away from the kind of real death videos that kids can easily view on various Reddit forums. Meanwhile, god forbid your child wants to check out a graphic novel about the Holocaust at the school library. But yeah, I found them ghoulish and depressing, so I avoided them. But during the first couple weeks of 2022, I discovered that they really help at stabilizing my mood. <br /><br />And the less anxiety I have, the easier it is to accept that everything will not be all right, and that's OK, because that's just how it goes.</p><p>You see, I don't get enjoyment out of them, I get...well, I get constant reminders as to why I shouldn't just (REDACTED, FOR REAL, YOU'D NEED TO BUY ME A FEW DRINKS IF YOU EXPECT ME TO REALLY SPILL TEA ON MYSELF). I am reminded to appreciate the precious time I have conscious and above ground. I am reminded to search out and appreciate the beauty I can find in this ugly, ugly world, even in the mundane. I am reminded -- as I watch a faceless man have his arms chopped off by cartel members, or watch a woman drown in an icy river to the screams of her young children -- that things can always be worse.</p><p>And so, I'll keep on truckin'; I'll continue treating others as I wish to be treated, and in return, I'll continue to be left wanting. But that's OK, because one, it makes me feel better than everybody else, and two, I'll be too busy being grateful for remaining a mere background extra in the scariest, most disturbing horror film ever made: Life on Planet Earth. </p><p>And should I find myself upgraded to being a star or featured player in this horror film, let's say I catch a brick in the face during my morning commute due to some little kid tossing one from the freeway overpass, and footage of my hollowed out face and sprawled out corpse makes it onto the Interwebs, where it will accompanied by humorous comments from the anonymous living, well, c'est la vie. It was nice while it lasted -- up until that moment, of course. Cut to black. Roll credits. </p><p>Moving on from the real horror show we're living in to the fake ones we watch for entertainment, there's a movie podcast I listen to, and it's called <a href="http://trickortreatradio.com">Trick or Treat Radio</a> and they mostly cover horror, but they also will do other genres like sci-fi or fantasy, to name a couple. They focus mostly on independent and lower-budgeted films, as they like to champion the little guy, but they'll also review bigger movies here and there. They are also not held to current releases, and so they'll occasionally cover films from the past; sometimes they can be a year old, sometimes they can be from decades ago. The show is currently hosted by three gentlemen who go by the monikers Johnny Wolfenstein, Ares God of War, and Michael Ravenshadow, and episodes usually run from two-and-a-half to three hours.<br /><br />The show is broken into three parts; the first part is not unlike an old-school Howard Stern Show episode, with the hosts mostly bullshitting about their everyday lives while busting balls. The middle part is the bulk of the show, where they discuss that week's film (or films), with each rating the film a Trick (which is bad) or a Treat (which is good). And then the last part has them winding down while reading emails and listening to voicemails. At the end of the year, they have a special episode where they each list their Top 13 films from all the movies they covered during the last 12 months. <br /><br />I really enjoy the show, and have even appeared a couple times as part of their Patreon takeover episodes where they invite patrons to program an episode and co-host. For 2021, I thought it would be fun to participate by watching along with the show. So week-by-week, I'd watch what they watched, write up my thoughts on each film, and post my thoughts on social media. Then I would listen to the episode and find out how my thoughts compared with theirs. I really enjoyed the experience; it was not unlike, say, being part of a book club -- only they didn't even know they were even in a book club.<br /><br />I also compiled my own Top 13 list, and I certainly wasn't going to keep it to myself, so I'm sharing it here with the rest of you. My criteria for the choices on my list were simple: If it was reviewed between January and December during that year, and it was new to me, it was eligible. I disqualified the Patreon takeover films, and the Monsterpiece Theatre viewings where Patreon listeners would get together with the hosts to do a special episode to discuss a particular movie. Anyway, here's my Top 13 list of movies that were covered on the Trick or Treat Radio podcast in 2021:</p><p><br /><b>13. THE MAID (2020, dir. Lee Thongkham)</b>: This Thai film is about a young woman named Joy, who starts a new job as a maid for a wealthy family, you know, the kind with a miserable husband, a miserable wife, and a little daughter who gets little to no attention. Along the way, Joy realizes that the previous maid might've quit for *very* understandable -- and frightening -- reasons.<br /><br />During the first half, I found this movie to be OK, and I thought I knew where it was going, but then I was emotionally suckerpunched by a revelation at the midpoint. From that moment on, what started as a decent haunted house flick, turned into a different kind of genre -- and it became a better and more entertaining experience for it, leading up to a 30-minute-long climax that got me so worked up, I actually started yelling at one of the characters just as my DoorDash order arrived. the poor girl thought I was calling *her* a fucking cunt, can you believe it?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxdHqFFCeqg_bI8hi7MV6tgFyemejwrPsYB0J3j0gb4iu33USGQB1yM4VAeSyxpFjrlWb6uyT2kO1oS0oE1Rw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><b>12. BLOODY HELL (2020, dir. Alister Grierson)</b>: A dude named Rex decides to escape his terrible life in Boise, Idaho by taking a sudden random trip to Helsinki, Finland, only to find that he's succeeded in jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. To say more would be spoiling the fun in discovering what happens to the poor schmuck.<br /><br />The style of the film is very chaotic and frantic, but not in some annoying wannabe-kewl xxxtreme sort of way. It comes off very methodical and it works. The tone reminded me of something like READY OR NOT with Samara Weaving, in that it's a dark comedy with plenty of laughs and blood. Also, I think lead actor Ben O'Toole is like Samara Weaving in that they're both secret Australians. Actually, I think this entire movie is secretly Australian. It's like they know we still haven't forgiven them for <i>Crocodile Dundee</i> and so they feel they have to be sneaky about it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxppQ0KXWZciE1XK1M7qNQL_fT9NQE1qqTwiryxDHlXqAZczVasvR-FIocWywr_1k8RQAevDGmIDq-vF7-p6Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><b>11. SYNCHRONIC (2019, dir. Aaron Moorehead, Justin Benson)</b>: Anthony Mackie and Jamie Dornan play paramedics in New Orleans, and they're both trying to make heads or tails out of the rash of junkie overdoses on a new drug called -- wait for it -- Synchronic, the kind of narcotic that would feel right at home alongside cine-drugs like Nuke and Slo-Mo. <br /><br />This moody and stylish sci-fi flick is very intriguing and features great chemistry between the two leads. The film also pulls a neat trick in starting off as very serious, then turning into something more fun and at about the halfway point. It also ends at the perfect moment, a skill that even seasoned filmmakers often lack, so kudos to the relative newcomers behind this joint. I'd wish the two directors luck in the future endeavors, except they're working on Marvel stuff for Disney Plus now, so fuck 'em.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx5aqVBJ7xZ8y1HlYnmE-xzHe-Ev-QYnkxB9EBD3PVU90psYYfTr-XVnKHFfP-Iadr27k9myy2pob27uGIhdA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><b>10. THE NIGHT HOUSE (2020, dir. David Bruckner)</b>: Rebecca Hall plays Beth, a teacher grieving over the suicide of her husband. Soon, she begins to hear strange sounds and see odd sights, and they all are connected to his death. <br /><br />On the surface, this is an above-average mystery/ghost story that suffers from an overreliance on jump scares, but below the surface, this is an excellent drama about loss, the grief that follows, and the inability to deal with either. This is made even stronger by Hall's excellent performance as Beth, a woman who puts up a tough sardonic front while trying to mask the pain she's going through. Hall definitely deserved an Oscar nomination for her work here, which is why she didn't get one. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyKVn9vE3RS0y6vY1kOY9WUqiChy3UK1KMWucZtzJUU_Lcq6pB1Kvhzo9nqu_FfiuFsIvrtSq9Uwyc90j0ibA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><b>9. MALIGNANT (2021, dir. James Wan)</b>: A woman begins to have strange visions of people being brutally murdered, and soon finds out that not only are these murders real, but that she and the killer are somehow connected. Director James Wan gives in to his inner overly caffeinated 14-year-old self with this very entertaining mix of Dario Argento, Stephen King, 80s Italian horror flicks, and 90s American slasher movies.<br /><br />Some might be put off by its gleeful, unapologetic wackiness, but yours truly was in Good Times City, population: Me. But c'mon Wan -- why did you have to cast your wife in a supporting role?<br /><i><br />Crikey! No mate, my Sheila's very talented, mate, she co-produced the movie with me and, uh, koalas and Outback Steakhouse and shr--<br /></i><br />Sure, Jimmy, I don't know why you're wasting your time jawing at me, when I know you're already late for your weekly meeting at the Good Hollywood Husbands Club. Yeah, that's right, I've seen you guys hanging out together: you, Rob Zombie, Judd Apatow, and David Mamet, all holding your wives' purses. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwsnB59iOTxsB1Tja3_2z2Cxhu3iDRQAwINflOZgsU_OOcB4hLR1XLWA554vjZg8dr90TO3K2x_jBqvIA4Sbw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><b>8. THE VIGIL (2019, dir. Keith Thomas)</b>: Yakov, a former member of the Orthodox Jewish religion, has been convinced by his mentor to be the Shomer for a recently deceased man. What that means is that he's to sit vigil overnight, praying for the dearly departed, protecting him from evil. What follows is a long night full of evil spirits who don't take No for an answer. </p><p>Mostly set in one darkly lit room, this slow-burn old-school creeper can be at times borderline monotonous, but it's done with purpose -- and when those scares hit, they hit hard. It helps that I genuinely cared about the main character, so big props to Dave Davis as Yakov, who really does get run through the wringer -- both physically and emotionally. This was originally placed at #10, but I was able to Jew it down to #8.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx2e_zvxdpCgmi-0zPMqko_Uqqvu2nApAGjE5ftrEkOt8WrUMGbtJe5ZW_XoaAncWACgt-4jdm2yLvTlZBGbA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><b>7. THE MEDIUM (2021, dir. Banjong Pisanthanakun)</b>: This one's a fake documentary that follows a local shaman in Thailand; her name is Nim and when she was a young woman, she was possessed by a goddess, granting her the supernatural ability to heal people. But during a family visit, Nim begins to notice strange behavior from her niece that echoes the behavior she had pre-possession. Could this mean that the niece is next in line in the shaman business?<br /><br />A canny riff on <i>The Exorcist</i>, <i>The Blair Witch Project</i>, <i>Poltergeist</i>, and <i>Paranormal Activity</i>, this movie is not unlike what my ex-girlfriends have said about spending the night with me: Long, slow, increasingly disturbing, and when it was over I didn't want to go through it again. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw_Bz47b-LVfpK2vdDygT-iMSwzBRLoBJRZ0Zb1JeyASS7BI-0sHmCAm8SAnkPSKjsjq65w8PMQSAImVepgdQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>6. CENSOR (2021, dir. Prano Bailey-Bond)</b>: Set in the United Kingdom during the 1980s "video nasty" period, this film focuses on Enid, whose government job is to watch horror films and then tell the filmmakers what parts to cut out in order to make their work safe for the general public. Her flavorless life gets an unwelcome spicing up when the news comes out that a man murdered his family, after watching a film that she had approved for release.</p><p>This very effective mix of mystery and psychological horror not only convincingly recreates the 1980s in its settings, but in its representations of the kind of lower-tiered horror films that were often censored or outright banned in the UK during that time. I think this would sit nicely alongside David Cronenberg's <i>Videodrome</i> in that very narrow video store shelf labeled "mind-fucking flicks about about mind-fucking VHS tapes".</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dys86H867BM2XCTp_Cy9piB4t-c_qDoBMowUGo9tL-LqymzZVOfZoHr5YxL1meEVyKG61V7MEMJo8477vj4Vg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><b>5. SAINT MAUD (2019, dir. Rose Glass)</b>: Maud, a hyper-religious hospice nurse, takes the assignment of caring for Amanda, a terminally ill dance choreographer. As this short, sad, and scary character study continues, we find that Maud's beliefs are less about faith and more of a fanatical certainty. <br /><br />The way this portrays the character of Maud, I'd place this in the sub-genre of "God's Lonely Man", although in this case it would be "God's Lonely Woman", as it puts to mind similarly-structured films like <i>Taxi Driver</i> and <i>First Reformed</i>. This was an A24 release, but I like to imagine an alternate universe where Troma got a hold of it, and changed the title to Jesus Freak Nurse or something. Anyway, it's a great film and Morfydd Clark is stellar in the title role.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxISoLQYa458AONlDv6eYL8YwiHQzbfGdGYQQ_FPUYruvCZiq3-5z1E90x4EAOOx4qV_sI1VSdhGjKwZFj4NQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><b>4. THE EMPTY MAN (2020, dir. David Prior)</b>: A widowed ex-cop named James is on the search for the missing daughter of a family friend. Along the way, he learns of the legend of "The Empty Man"; if you blow into an empty bottle on a bridge, he is summoned, and three days later, you are irreversibly and permanently fucked. Figuratively fucked, I mean, not literally. Anyway, guess what the fuck James ends up blowing?<br /><br />This is a deliberately paced work of detective fiction with a strong supernatural bent and plenty of creepy atmosphere, reminiscent of something like the 1987 film <i>Angel Heart</i> or even 1973's <i>The Wicker Man </i>(the non-bee, non-Cage one). It features a strong lead performance by James Badge Dale, and I was surprised to see Nietzsche-an and Schopenhauer-esque concepts and beliefs being thrown about. I did kind of groan upon seeing a high school named "Jacques Derrida High School", but hey, I still appreciated the effort. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw0G1PHuZrGdbWPHH-PsguOu9TNICdbifv4TtBhsOgadz4LkQR1O7CVqISVzT6XbVhjmpbCFHHYAg4pBIvrqA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><b>3. VICIOUS FUN (2020, dir. Cory Calahan) </b></p><p>and<b> </b></p><p><b>WEREWOLVES WITHIN (2021, dir. Josh Ruben)</b>: I'm cheating here and putting two movies in the same spot, but that's because I feel they were both equally fun viewings and they'd make a cool horror-comedy double feature. <br /><br /><i>Vicious Fun</i> takes place in the 80s and follows Joel, a horror magazine writer, who accidentally ends up sitting in at a support group meeting for serial killers. This one is a borderline cartoon with just the right amount of blood and goofiness. It's very funny, and it's one of the few films I've watched during the pandemic that I wish I could've seen in a packed theater, because I think this would play great with an audience.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dynbhMdVkCOJJwvbvSQ5fdItMRCogPXjoKaxTOz_TqiVpr6JXkmW5-OoRvGP2QqNBx-sAXt7vKFpgkisULDXw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br /><i>Werewolves Within</i> is about the new forest ranger in town, Finn, and his attempts to keep everybody safe and sane during a rash of attacks that appear to be the work of a werewolf. Populated by wacky characters, who I found all so entertaining, this light-hearted movie could've forgotten about the werewolf and I still would've found this to be a very good time. It also features a very 90s-tastic bar that I wish existed in my neighborhood; I would've become a alcoholic for sure, but man, what better way to pickle your liver than to have <a href="https://youtu.be/iqu132vTl5Y" target="_blank">Ace of Base</a> blaring in your ears while you're doing so. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx6c5o2qf-VkVkCp5SpruBVedee6AfnBG-MkxQWH7nIg6cv4WA1PbfYuDaJTXzNfDL4mB_hmBfXchNjWsQE7g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>2. COME TRUE (2020, dir. Anthony Scott Burns)</b>: Teenage runaway Sarah takes part in a sleep study where her dreams will be recorded and studied. Sleep paralysis and visions of dark figures with glowing eyes ensue. <br /><br />This is less of a horror film and more of a mood piece, but man, what mood! It's an incredibly stylish film with arresting use of sound and visuals; I loved the way this film looked with its very sharp angles, precise framing, and colored lighting, and the music by <a href="https://youtu.be/lOAu-GGzg_E" target="_blank">Electric Youth and Pilotpriest</a> is retro synth heaven. There's even great use of a song from the soundtrack to Michael Mann's <i>Manhunter</i>, I mean, that's the kind of movie we're talking about.<br /><br />This is also one of the few films I've seen that comes close to capturing the feel of a dream, specifically the kind of bad intangible dreams I've had, where I'm not sure what I had just slept through, but it left me feeling unsettled upon waking up -- that's how <i>Come True</i> felt to me. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz7OQZrcw1eV7P5kV1gM-XjEgSB5car_svw5tT05klAgQZTLEZ8MwOjgXDGA9kWdufJL7lNCGUw7A2fJNPtjQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>And now, for my number one Trick or Treat Radio film of 2021...<br /><br /><b>1. LAST NIGHT IN SOHO (2021, dir. Edgar Wright)</b>: Small town girl Eloise moves to big city London to study fashion design; she rents an old room that has clearly not been changed since the 1960s, which is fine with her because she's obsessed with the 60s. Soon, she begins to have way too lucid dreams about a girl from that decade named Sandie, and so Eloise begins to experience Sandie's life as she makes her way in the city as a nightclub singer. This all sounds pretty cool, except for the fact that Eloise's late mother suffered from mental illness, and so there's the possibility that these nocturnal visions she's having are doing her some similar damage.<br /><br />I'll be honest, this one took a little while to grow on me, but once the plot kicked in, I was absolutely committed to this excellent psychological thriller. Even though he's best known for comic riffs on genre movies, <i>Last Night in Soho</i> is Edgar Wright's most serious film to date, putting the screws to both the main character and the viewer, with only the occasional moment of humor to break the tension. <br /><br />Considering the director and this premise, I expected a visually exciting movie with plenty of cool 60s Britpop tunes on the soundtrack, and that's what I got. But what surprised me was how much I cared for the characters of Eloise and Sandie; as written by Wright and Kristy Wilson-Cairns, and performed by Thomasin McKenzie and Anya Taylor-Joy, I found them painfully sympathetic and wanted them to come out OK at the end of their journeys. I plan to watch this again soon, but I feel this one ties with <i>Hot Fuzz</i> as my absolute favorite film from this director. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwFHarbJOATOjFPX_8Sq6q2LUpXJi6eGIWgtxCfPW1g-EduCfSCz8FU6-tx1XZLH2ak9eVJwRJS6aMWDyax7Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br />Now, the Trick or Treat Radio boys also gave out their honorable mentions, so I'll go ahead and give you my two honorable mentions. The first, just barely missed the list at #14: the 2021 film <b>Titane</b> by Julia Ducournau, and it's an incredibly strange and original tale about a very odd duck who models at car shows (she's a chick, not a duck, though). It starts out as one kind of movie and then turns into another, and my interest throughout was never less than 110-percent. It's certainly not for everyone, with off-putting audaciousness involving body horror and the intentionally unlikable lead character, mixed in with dark comedy and genuinely emotional moments. But it definitely worked for me.<br /><br />The second honorable mention wasn't covered on the show, but it was recommended by former co-host Monster Zero, and that's the 1981 film <b>Evilspeak</b>, directed by Eric Weston and starring Clint Howard in what is basically a male version of <i>Carrie</i> -- except I think I prefer the climax of this film to <i>Carrie</i>'s. We watch Howard's put-upon nerd get the full bully treatment by his classmates, but thankfully, he's able to get back at them with the power of the dark lord Satan, and when he does, it is b-e-a-utiful. During this particular time, it seems more and more that the real world is lacking in justice, as the assholes in society keep getting away with things scot-free. And so, if it takes an otherwise cheesy movie to feed my justice demon, so be it. </p><p>Well, that covers my Top 13 of Trick or Treat Radio movies of 2021. And because one bad turn deserves another, here are the rest of the films covered that year on their podcast, placed in order from best to worst: <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><b>14. Titane (2021)</b></p><p><b>15. The Last Broadcast (1998)</b></p><p><b>16. Spare Parts (2020)</b></p><p><b>17. Caveat (2020)</b></p><p><b>18. Willy's Wonderland (2021)<br /></b></p><p><b>19. Promising Young Woman (2020)</b></p><p><b>20. The Green Knight (2021)</b></p><p><b>21. Wolf Guy (1975)</b></p><p><b>22. Sons of Steel (1989)</b></p><p><b>23. Kandisha (2020)</b></p><p><b>24. The Advent Calendar (2021)</b></p><p><b>25. Army of the Dead (2021)</b></p><p><b>26. Hunted (2020)</b></p><p><b>27. The Boy Behind the Door (2020)</b></p><p><b>28. V/H/S/94 (2021)</b></p><p><b>29. The Deep House (2021)</b></p><p><b>30. Martyrs Lane (2021)</b></p><p><b>31. In the Earth (2021)</b></p><p><b>32. The Tunnel (2011)</b></p><p><b>33. Knocking (2021)</b></p><p><b>34. Sator (2019)</b></p><p><b>35. Antlers (2021)</b></p><p><b>36. The Banishing (2020)</b></p><p><b>37. Two Heads Creek (2019)</b></p><p><b>38. Raw Force (1982)</b></p><p><b>39. The Stylist (2020)</b></p><p><b>40. Jakob's Wife (2021)</b></p><p><b>41. Koko-di Koko-da (2019)</b></p><p><b>42. Lucky (2020)</b></p><p><b>43. Son (2021)</b></p><p><b>44. The Queen of Black Magic (2019)</b></p><p><b>45. Fried Barry (2020)</b></p><p><b>46. Primal Rage (2017)</b></p><p><b>47. The Spine of Night (2021)</b></p><p><b>48. The Last Matinee (2020)</b></p><p><b>49. Black Friday (2021)</b></p><p><b>50. Sound of Violence (2021)</b></p><p><b>51. The Dark and the Wicked (2020)</b></p><p><b>52. Psycho Goreman (2020)</b></p><p><b>53. Demonic (2021)</b></p><p><b>54. Clapboard Jungle (2020)</b></p><p><b>55. Dachra (2018)</b></p><p><b>56. Skull: The Mask (2020)</b></p><p><b>57. Honeydew (2020) </b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p>Well, there you have it. Here's to another year of movies; I intend to watch along with Trick or Treat Radio during 2022 as well, but who knows what awaits all of us. And in that spirit, here's to another year of uncertainty, and here's to the foolish but sincere hope in the high unlikeliness that when we make it to the end of this horror movie, there will be a post-credits stinger. You know, something like The Avengers eating shawarma, but forever.</p><p></p>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-29021617808990179012021-12-11T10:46:00.003-08:002021-12-11T10:46:53.709-08:00Maybe even a *little* better this time.<br />One of my favorite podcasts that doesn't make me wish I can go over and throat-punch the hosts is <a href="https://trickortreatradio.com/" target="_blank"><b>Trick or Treat Radio</b></a>, a weekly movie podcast that focuses on horror and genre fare. The episodes usually run anywhere from 2 - 3 hours, with the first hour having a kind of morning radio vibe as they just talk about various things (usually pop culture related) while getting on each others' nerves. Then they move on to discuss that week's film, rating them as a Trick (bad) or Treat (good).<br /><br />As a Patreon patron, I've been invited as a guest on their program, to discuss two movies of my choosing. My first time was last year, where <a href="https://trickortreatradio.com/episodes/episode433" target="_blank">we discussed <i>Phantom Thread</i> and <i>Death Wish Club</i></a>, and a couple of days ago I joined them for a second time to discuss the 1968 Mexican ghost story <b>Hasta El Viento Tiene Miedo</b> (aka Even the Wind is Afraid) and the 1978 thriller <b>The Silent Partner</b>. <br /><br />You can listen or download the podcast by <a href="https://trickortreatradio.com/episodes/episode489" target="_blank">clicking this link</a>. You also have the option to watch the archived live stream from that evening, where you watch as I nervously fidget in my chair, drink coffee & bourbon from a New Beverly Cinema mug I received after <a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2017/01/smokes-and-red-bull-and-cherry-coke-and.html" target="_blank">a Dario Argento all-night movie marathon</a>, straight bourbon from a glass, and just plain water from another glass. I also make things uncomfortable for them with my asshole sense of humor, as is my wont. But overall I had a good time. <br /><br />We get into vague spoilers on the Mexican film, but kinda skirt them for the Canadian one, so if you haven't seen either one, perhaps you should. They're both good films, so you should watch them anyway; <i>Hasta El Viento Tiene Miedo</i> is <a href="https://tubitv.com/movies/532872/hasta-el-viento-tiene-miedo" target="_blank">currently on Tubi</a> (at least in the United States), and <i>The Silent Partner</i> is available to stream on most of the major sites and is also available on Blu-ray (again, I can only speak for Murican availability).<br /><br />My apologies for the occasional sound of my fuckin' nose breathing into the microphone, by the way. I was on some <a href="https://youtu.be/q3BEUX5n0nY" target="_blank">Sweet Dee doing open mic stand-up</a> shit with that, which makes sense because she's my spirit animal whenever I have to do public appearances like this -- it's also why I opened with "Howdy howdy howdy" like she did -- and so it makes sense that I also nose-breathed into the mic like her as well. All that's left for me is to dry heave like her as well. I'll probably save that for my third appearance.<br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://youtube.com/embed/3_rV13c2H6Q" width="400"></iframe>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-86820630927967427162021-11-20T20:13:00.011-08:002023-02-25T12:56:50.103-08:00Zero percent APR or I start dropping bodies<br /><br />
<iframe title="#13 - A Hidden Life (2019)" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=f8nek-113a05f-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe></iframe><p><br /><br />Car salesmen are creepy. Now, if <u>you</u> are a car salesman, please understand that I understand. You are someone who is just trying to make a living, and you probably have bills to pay, a family to support, tables in constant need of food to be placed upon. You are a human being, I know this. We are all human beings.<br /><br />But all of you are fucking creepy. <br /><br />Now, DMV employees are rude, TSA officers are assholes, and fast food workers are indifferent. But you car-selling motherfuckers are creepy. </p><p>You're creepy in the way cult members are creepy, or gym employees.<br /><br />That's just how it works. I don't make the rules, I just do my best to keep my interactions with your type to an absolute minimum -- as in, hopefully fuckin' never. <br /><br />It's why I dealt with private party sales for most of my life. There isn't a need to be fake with one another in those situations, just one person looking to buy a car from another person, and you can be as real and honest with each other as you want.<br /><br />But you go to a dealership, and they are overly fakeity fake fake with you, and I'm like "Dude, dial it the fuck down". Don't get me wrong, I believe in polite customer service, and I believe that whether you want to or not, if you're an employee in a field that involves dealing with people, you put on a happy face. <br /><br />But car salesmen, they dial it up in such a patronizing manner, like borderline sarcastic. Because I know, man, to them you're just another sucker, just another notch on the belt. To them, you are the bitch of the hour who will cough up the sweet commission that you were born on this planet to give them. They won't even remember your name later that night at their weekly jerk-off session, where these wannabe Joe Girards get together at someone's house and collectively beat-off to <i>Glengarry Glen Ross</i> or <i>The Wolf of Wall Street</i>, jizzing on the photo they took of you that morning when they shook your hand while handing you your keys to your new car -- the same hand they jerk off with, by the way.<br /><br />In return, I then have to up my normal everyday politeness to their exaggerated scumbag levels. Now we're just fakes faking it up in the fake Olympics, and depending on how the sale goes, one of us will get the fake gold and the other will get the fake silver. And for some inexplicable reason, I find myself talking differently, using words I normally don't use in response, like "Beautiful" or "Top notch". The motherfucker's telling me how on a beautiful day like this, I should take my new ride on to PCH and I responded with a Tom Cruise-style smile, saying "Oh yeah, nothing like cruising down Pacific Coast Highway with blue skies and not a care in the world, brother!" <br /><br />Huh? What the fuck? Why did I say that? Why can't I just go "Yup", or better yet, nod in the affirmative with a simple "Hm", like the unemotional manly-man-man of few words that I wish I could be? <br /><br />No, instead here I am not being myself, and the worst part is that the salesman knows this, and I know that he knows, and he knows that I know, and that knowledge will only make his dick harder at tonight's meeting. <br /><br />Now I say all of this to you, despite the fact that things worked out for me in the end -- oh yeah, I bought a new car, by the way. I walked in that place with the swagger that only an 800+ credit score can provide, and got what I wanted on my terms. <br /><br />But it took forever and a day to get my way, and I know -- I fucking know -- that they already knew how this was going to play out. They were prepared to give it to me but they were gonna make me work, and these sleazy fake-ass fucks threw as many bumps, spikes, and roadblocks in the way, just to bolster the impression that I got one over on them. Hell, they were probably ready to knock a couple thousand more off the price, had I more stamina. <br /><br />Speaking of stamina, notice I've said "salesmen" this whole time, and not "salespeople" or "salesperson". That's because I've only dealt with men in these horrific trials. For all I know, female sellers of vehicles can be a whole other ballgame. I doubt it, though. They probably do the same shit, but because they have vaginas and I have a penis, I'm sure I would have the opposite opinion. My 800+ credit score would be powerless against them. I'd probably love it -- and if these ladies were to draw a heart or smiley face on the invoice, I'd probably love them.<br /><br />Speaking of car salesmen, the Terrence Malick film <b>A Hidden Life</b> has absolutely nothing to do with them, which is one of the many things that works in the film's favor.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qJXmdY4lVR0" width="320" youtube-src-id="qJXmdY4lVR0"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This film is based on the true story of Franz and Fani Jägerstätter, an Austrian couple who live in the beautiful village of Radegund, where they spend their days working their balls off as farmers, and all that that entails. They have sheep, they have fields to plow, there's plenty of wood to gather -- sometimes in the snow. They have long hours, is what I'm getting at. What they don't have is a Walmart, and so one had to work a loom to create the fabric necessary to make clothes, and one actually had to grow fruits and vegetables, because what the fuck is a Whole Foods? But these people, they enjoy it -- because this is the early 1940s, and well, if that's the only life you know, well, that's the only life you know. <br /><br />But the Jägerstätters really do appear to have no issues with it, and in between their duties and chores, there is also plenty of time spent enjoying their lives together, and with their three young daughters. What I see, or at least what I see as Malick presents it, is a genuine honest-to-goodness life of contentment. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now maybe you noticed that I mentioned just a few seconds ago that this film takes place in the 1940s. In Austria. As in, the birthplace of one Adolf Bernadette Hitler. <br /><br />Yup, World War II is in full effect and the Nazi party is always in need of new dudes to step up and defend the offensive regime trying to take over the world. That really wasn't a problem early on for Franz, who had undergone his conscripted military training under the impression that, well, he's not ever gonna be called up for service, right? <br /><br /><a href="https://youtu.be/v8K87H3T1UU?t=26" target="_blank">Wrong</a>. <br /><br />But I'm jumping ahead here. For a while, we watch as the Jägerstätters frolic through and around nature, as expected in one of these movies. Franz is played by August Diehl, and Fani is played by Valerie Pachner. Up until this film, Malick's projects were cast with universally-known stars and up-and-comers, but I'm glad he didn't go that way for this one. <br /><br />Now, I was familiar with Diehl, having seen him as Major Hellstrom in Quentin Tarantino's WW2 film <i>Inglourious Basterds</i>, while Pachner was a new face to me. But they might as well have both been new to me, so good are they at portraying these characters, there's no trace of artifice or theatricality in their performances. It felt as I were watching real people, not actors. They're fucking great, is what I'm saying.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />So we watch as the Jägerstätters live, love, and laugh, but the looming specter of induction hangs over the couple, while little by little, the beautiful landscape surrounding our couple gets soiled by brown-shirted followers prowling the village, looking for donations to the cause. These strangers wear red, white, and black armbands featuring a bastardized symbol of peace. Even the town's formerly level-headed mayor begins to parrot the same kind of hateful statements made by the monotesticled vegetarian helping to Make Germany Great Again. <br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzf_7E9CarWw8tcHdWLtNoDTpJZuFFYgTilFJQariLauEiXjKlXBQ2Xs_zvAVoWmGJC7HTDMOrfkDv_SQ4zXQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />It's bad enough for the Jägerstätters to watch as their fellow villagers take their masks off to reveal their true selves, but it's worse for them to imagine what these same people will think if they were to find out that Franz isn't too hot on the idea of doing his part for the Motherland. See, Franz and Fani are devout Catholics, so there's the whole killing-is-a-sin thing that he's not too hot about. But as more than one person tells him: <i>OK, fine, you don't want to go into battle? I get it. So go in as a conscientious objector, and do your service as a nurse or orderly at a hospital. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />Sounds like a simple solution, right? Except there's more to it than just a simple matter of To Kill or Not To Kill, there are a couple little pesky problems that stand in the way of just going about his service the non-combatant way. First, all soldiers much take an oath and swear allegiance to Hitler; as far as Franz is concerned, that ain't gonna happen, because his allegiance is to the Big Man Upstairs. Second, Franz has been wondering that maybe, just maybe, the Nazis are evil motherfuckers doing the Devil's work -- so why would he want to throw in with those assholes?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You know what's another name for a village? Small town -- and all that <u>that</u> entails, which is to say eventually everybody knows your business. It's why I could never live in a small town, I'm a psychotically private person, and I'd hate to imagine a bunch of these local hens gossiping about every fuckin' fart I let out. They say "no man is an island", to which I respond: No fuckin' duh. But one man can <u>buy</u> an island, and as soon as I make my fortune, I'm buying one and ridding the rest of you people of me.<br /><br />But I digress; this village, Radegund, with all of its loose-lipped residents soon gets the word out on the street that Franz is not down with the cause. This is initially met with indifference, but then becomes creeping resentment, and not too long after that, outright hostility -- most towards Franz, and some towards his family. <br /><br />I can see how some are offended by his refusal to serve, if they truly believe in what the Germans are fighting for. But I feel others are pissed for different reasons, like, maybe some kinda wish they had the balls to do the same, and maybe some are unsettled by someone daring to break the status quo. Because that's a thing: People hating on others who break from the mold, who do not fall into line like easily led automatons. <br /><br />Man, you want to read some fucked-up shit? In this Foul Year of Our Lord 2021, there are people out there who feel persecuted because they refuse to get vaccinated and they don't want to wear a mask when going to a public place. Some even have the audacity to compare their plight to those of the Jews during World War II, if I can somehow connect this digression to the movie I'm rambling about. <br /><br />For the record, I am vaxxed and I have no problem wearing a mask. But I can see those people watching this film and thinking to themselves "Man, I know how that guy feels. Why won't these people see that they are being just as harsh on us as the villagers were on poor Franz?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />And now some of you might have the temerity to say something like "Uh, I don't think those people are watching Terrence Malick films" and to that, I have to say, if you're being serious, c'mon man. Because what makes this whole fuckin' pandemic even scarier is that it's not just the morons, there are plenty of otherwise intelligent people who do not see the point in getting vaxxed up and/or wearing a mask. They feel it's overblown, or it's part of some conspiracy, or they just feel that science can get it really fuckin' wrong sometimes. If you see it from their perspective, people like you and me are the weirdos. <br /><br />I mean, shit, for all I know, Terrence Malick himself is out having drinks with Letitia Wright and Gina Carano and tossing babies out of windows with Eric Clapton while they all bemoan the obedient sheeple who are having poison willingly injected into their bodies because The Government told them to. I would like think he would know better, or maybe he does and <u>I'm</u> wrong.<br /><br />Fuck, man. I fucking hate this digression. <br /><br />So anyway, "Different" is bad, no matter how you slice it. That's not my opinion, I'm saying that's what People say. That's why some get bent out of shape about, I don't know, people who don't eat meat, or people who identify as a different gender. I think they see it as a challenge to The Way Things Should Be, because it's too much work for them to go "Hey, maybe things aren't as simple as we want them to be". <br /><br />In World War II-era Austria, Franz Jägerstätter is definitely different. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx0IgI7rRQZhxH32ESuBdY8BEhZq7-kNFcbaW0rZdSVGh-j3MBu9um-AxufmN4ZI15aehoPg3x2bD5c212Srg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />So yeah, Franz eventually gets called up for service. And upon arriving for his induction, when it comes time to say "I pledge allegiance to our one-nutted nut of a leader", he says No Thank You, and then the military police say "Come right this way, sir", and take him to prison with the rest of the traitors, captives, and mentally unwell. As expected, of all the residents, Franz gets the worst treatment, with the kind of physical and psychological abuse that we humans are just aching to dish out, if given the opportunity -- as the 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment proved to us back in, uh, 1971. <br /><br />But I think it's more than just power-tripping sadism that the prison guards are getting off on, I think they share a similar hostility towards Franz that the villagers had towards him, and again, it stems from not being able to understand why and how Franz is able to march to the beat of a different drummer. How can he not simply go with the flow on a purely surface level -- you know, wear the swastika, stick an arm out for the Führer, occasionally shoot a Hebe in the face -- it's not like he has to really mean any of it. As we find out later in the movie, some people find or make up a justification for taking part, even if they don't agree with the war or its policies. <br /><br />Later on, Franz is offered multiple opportunities to take the oath, and in exchange, all will be forgiven. He still refuses. Even his priest tells him something to the effect of "Dude, God doesn't care what you say, or what you sign on an earthly piece of paper, He only cares about what you mean in your heart". In other words, just sign the paper, and let these assholes think you're all about this Charlie Chaplin-looking motherfucker, while remaining true to your Lord and Savior. <br /><br />Nope. He still won't do it. And so he's in for a fuckin' ride, lady and gentleman. <br /><br />I've covered Terrence Malick's films on this blog before, such as <i><a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/05/days-of-running-around-unwashed-and.html" target="_blank">Days of Heaven</a></i> and <i><a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/05/next-to-message-boards-at-yahoo-news.html" target="_blank">The Thin Red Line</a></i>, and he is one of my all-time favorite filmmakers; the visual beauty of his work pulls me in, and his existential, philosophical, and outright spiritual themes hit me hard. Over the last few years, I've lost faith in humanity and I've lost faith in God -- and it was nice knowing both while it lasted -- but if anyone has ever come close to convincing me that maybe, just maybe, there is somewhere we go after we die, and that perhaps there is a higher power watching over us, it's this motherfucker. <br /><br />Because these stupid fuckin' preaching-to-the-choir lowest-common-denominator products like the <i>God's Not Dead</i> franchise or anything Kirk Cameron is involved in, they have the gall to call themselves Christian movies, but I feel what Malick puts out is the real deal because it's never just, you know, "Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people" answered with "Well, He moves in mysterious ways and you should never question Him because He's God and He loves you and by the way, don't be gay" followed up with some shitty low-rent country song on the soundtrack. Our boy Terry, on the other hand, knows goddamn well that Faith is a completely different thing than Certainty. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's why this film never answers the questions that Franz has about the pain he's about to undergo, there's never a moment or sign that there's somebody up there to give him a wink and a nod to encourage him or give him a heads-up that all his suffering will pay off in the afterlife. If anything, there's more evidence in this movie of there being <u>no</u> God, if one chooses to ignore half of what is being shown to the audience. Because as with most of his other films, Malick is contrasting the ugliness of humanity against the natural beauty of the world, like "Look! Look at the playground God has set up for us -- and watch as we play in it for a while, only to eventually fuck it all up by our damn fool selves!" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />This is the first time in a long time that he hasn't worked with master d.p. Emmanuel Lubezki, instead it's his longtime cameraman Jörg Widmer in charge of the cinematography, and yet his visual style hasn't skipped a beat. As with his previous films, most of the events are covered in wide angle handheld shots, under natural lighting. In this film it appears that the lenses employed are even wider than usual -- some shots border on looking like they've been captured with a fisheye lens. But it still looks good, it enhances the hyper-real vibe he's going for, and so long as he skirts the fine line between overwhelming deep focus and Wash Out's point-of-view from <i>Hot Shots!</i>, I've no complaints. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />In the past, Malick's approach was one of an artist discovering his film through the process of collaboration, rather than someone with a strict blueprint for the cast and crew to work from. The cast would often work without a screenplay, instead playing moments as if they were free-form jazz, with variations upon variations for each scene. <br /><br />This extends to the editing process, where he has been known to not give his editors exact directions as to how a scene should be put together, but allowing them to put a scene together however they'd like. It's been said by many filmmakers that one actually makes three films in the process of making one: The film that was written, the film that was shot, and the film that was edited together. Never has that adage been truer and more fitting than in reference to the works of Terrence Malick. <br /><br />His freewheeling visual manner, with an always roving camera following the characters, remains the same, only this time he is telling a linear story, rather than a stream-of-consciousness study of the soul. <br /><br />While I believe part of this was due to wanting to change things up a little and not get stuck doing things the same old way, I also feel this approach was a respectful choice by Malick to tell this true life story about real life people without the risk of straying too far off the path. Maybe some filmmakers wouldn't give a fuck about completely bastardizing some dude's actual trials and tribulations, but not our boy Terry, he manages to stay true to the events while still telling the story very much in his inimitable fashion. <br /><br />That means there are still plenty of parts where we watch characters go through their lives while we listen to their inner monologues (which in this film are passages from actual letters written between the Jägerstätters), and there are plenty of jump-cuts during scenes, as if Malick was giving us the greatest hits of this particular album -- that is, if dialogue scenes were albums, and uh, you, uh, aw man you know what I mean, bro. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />I suppose I'm not spoiling anything by telling you what became of Franz Jägerstätter, because the shit happened back in the 1940s. He was declared a martyr by the Catholic Church in 2007, so I guess you can guess the end result of his refusal to fight for Team Nazi -- and if you still can't put <i>zwei</i> and <i>zwei</i> together, Franz was executed for the crime of not being a piece of shit. They guillotined the poor soul. <br /><br />I'm not one to get visibly moved while watching a film. I don't cry at movies, and I don't really laugh out loud at them either -- I'm like Daria Morgendorffer in the movie theater. But I do feel and I feel well, it's just that I delay my emotions until I'm alone and then I express them -- unless the emotion is rage, of course, that is an emotion I will gladly make public. And yet, when I first saw this film in a movie theater back in January 2020, I found myself trembling during the sequence leading up to Franz's execution, and my eyes eventually got a little watery.<br /><br />Part of it is that Malick has always had that effect on me, in addition to knowing exactly which philosophical buttons to push, he also has a way to build up a scene into a kind of crescendo of catharsis that I find exhilarating. Another part is just a reaction of pure empathy, as the sequence cuts between Franz being sent towards his final destination, while his wife back home reacts to the news that he won't be coming back; on the soundtrack we hear Franz reading out his last letter to his loved ones, while Henryk Gorecki's "Symphony No. 3" plays in the background. It was all very overwhelming to me. This entire film was very overwhelming to me, which is par for the course with this filmmaker, and so, I loved it, and by the end of 2020, <i>A Hidden Life</i> remained my favorite film of the year.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx6BkSqnnXjK7f77T7O7whEJPRc4NuZd--bLpH-Fpk79bGnPROPsUi4f5DVMddBsO1Dkb7GR6TcnTWnuVnu5A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I mentioned before, I first saw this in January of 2020, which meant I watched both on-screen and in real life, the citizens of a country giving in to their worst impulses and inclinations, due to the deranged ravings of a man in power who shared their ugly thoughts. Meanwhile, certain dark clouds from the East were beginning to spread their contagious gloom Westward. And so this film also had the unintentional effect of helping to prepare my mind and warn my soul for the absolute shit show that was about to unfold from that point forward to, well, whenever the fuck this ends -- that is, if it ever ends.<br /><br />I'm not talking about COVID-19, I'm talking about the way we wonderful human beings are handling COVID-19, I'm talking about how when given the opportunity to roll up our sleeves, stand tall, and show the goddamn universe the best version of ourselves during a global emergency, we instead have become an even worse version of ourselves. Somehow, millions confused their childish "I don't wanna" temper tantrums with a rebellious stance not seen since The American Revolution. <br /><br />Hell, I suppose I should be grateful for this goddamn virus because it led to the ultimate confirmation I needed in my life: That people indeed fucking suck. Content with this knowledge, I no longer need to waste any energy or faith or tears on these people. No longer will anything regarding humanity ever surprise me, and the occasional exhibition of empathy, gratitude, and all around good manners will remain a freakish occurrence to me -- or a miracle, the way I consider someone saying "Thank you" after I hold open a door for them a miracle. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Or maybe I'm full of shit, and there's still a pesky dot of light of faith in my heart that I can't put out. Because if I had completely written off my fellow man, I wouldn't have even bothered with those goddamn creepy car salesmen, I would've known better. I'd be riding a bike. <br /></div>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-59153750382091329702021-08-03T07:57:00.010-07:002023-01-18T19:11:25.778-08:00Don't let your aim ever stray<br /><br /><iframe title="#12 - Hillbilly Elegy (2020) - The Woman in the Window (2021)" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=7e2xs-10b2289-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br /><br />
I was long overdue for a new wallet.<br /><br />As I entered my local mega-chain retailer, I noticed a lady of the Hispanic persuasion at the customer service section. She looked to be in the hardest version of her late fifties, and she had a sizable assortment of pants and shirts on the counter. Behind the counter, were two employees; the male employee was translating what the lady said to the female employee, and all I caught was something about not having tags for the items.<p></p><p>I continued my merry way, and picked up a wallet -- one of those RFID-blocking jobs. Then I went to the self-checkout line, and I heard a commotion. It was the two employees politely-but-firmly telling the older lady that she could not take those shirts and pants back to the clothing department. She angrily shrugged them off and tried to make a beeline to her intended destination, but the male employee blocked her, and she tried to push the man out of the way. The female employee then got on a walkie-talkie and called for security, and I think she may have thought she was far enough from earshot or she just didn't care, because I distinctly heard the employee refer to the lady as "this bitch". <br /><br />The lady became increasingly unruly, her voice got louder, and this was now becoming A Scene. The security guard -- all ninety-eight pounds of gangly shy teenager -- arrived and politely-and-only-politely asked her to leave, or at least that's what I could make out, over the lady's much louder and angrier voice. <br /><br />I was only able to make out the occasional swear word from the lady's mad invective, because despite being a Spanish-speaker myself, my Spanish is Mexican Spanish, which is to say, slow enough to be able to comprehend the fully-pronounced words being spoken. Her Spanish, on the other hand, was Non-Mexican Spanish aka Cuban, Puerto Rican, Colombian, Dominican, etc., a fast-paced onslaught of partially-completed dialogue which is where the stereotypical rat-a-tat-tat speech you hear in such funny movies come from.<br /><br />There's also a third kind of Spanish: Castilian, which is what you hear Gwyneth Paltrow speak impressively in interviews. It's what they speak in Spain, but they speak it with a lisp. Imagine Ice T speaking Spanish, and that's Castilian. <br /><br />Anyway, our Non-Mexican Spanish speaker was vocally motherfucking the employees, while slowly but surely inching closer to verboten clothing department. She, like everybody else, had her mask on, so I was grateful for that, but I kept expecting her to pull it off to do something stupid, like spit at people. Instead, she violently shoved the boy guard, nearly toppling him over a display stand containing discounted Blu-rays and DVDs.<br /><br />Listen, I'm not really an anxious person, or at least, I only get anxiety when I have to go to parties or get-togethers or any other kind of otherwise friendly situation with friendly people. But as far as negative scenes go, I'm surprisingly chill. I've had firearms aimed at me by cops and non-cops alike -- those are long stories for another time, preferably after you've bought me dinner -- and I was either too calm and/or stupid to freak out about it. <br /><br />But this situation with the lady literally made my heart beat faster and harder with every passing second. I also began to sweat despite the excellent air-conditioning in the building. At that point, I just wanted to leave, and every cell in my being started to scream GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. But the lone stubborn cell located somewhere in my testicular area responded with "Nah, buy the wallet, then leave." </p><p>So I waited as the guy six feet ahead of me began to check out his various household products, all the while reasoning with my heart and my sweat glands to please -- please! -- keep it together for a couple more minutes. And that's when I heard the unmistakable sound of the absolute worst thing for me to hear. It is the sound that had, has, and will drive me into Lovecraftian depths of insanity, if I hear it long enough. It is my vocal Kryptonite, this sound, and it makes me feel helpless, anguished, scared, and enraged all at once:<br /><br />It was the sound of a crying baby.<br /><br />A placid-looking Asian woman and her well-behaved daughter had just entered the store, pushing a baby cart containing a toddler who should know better. But the spoiled boy on the overworked cart was pitching the biggest of fits. <br /><br />I desperately scanned the vicinity for an available register elsewhere, and there certainly were some available, if one wanted to wait behind scores of other customers. I even thought about just leaving while tossing a random employee twice the amount of the wallet's cost -- after all, I've pulled similar moves at restaurants, leaving money on the table mid-meal because of inconsiderate parents bringing their screeching spawn -- but I knew that would just cause more drama. <br /><br />Lady and gentleman, I had managed to make it for nearly a year-and-a-half of this goddamn pandemic without losing my shit, yet here I was, about to punch that clock. Because I don't believe in God, I could not pray to Her. Because I don't believe in people, I could not depend on anyone else doing the right thing. But I still believe in myself! And so, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, and I transported myself somewhere else -- anywhere but that store.<br /><br />I don't know where I went, all I remember is that it was not unlike the darkness, quiet, and serenity I fantasize about taking myself everyday. It was nice. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder and I opened my eyes and my ears and the baby was still screaming and the lady was still angry. I turned around to see who the tapper was; a young Asian woman, holding a basket, smiling while motioning towards the now-available register.<br /><br />So I stumbled over to checkout my item, and looked over to see the angry lady with the clothes, now being walked off the premises while screaming mashed-together way-too-fast Spanish, but I was able to make out the swear words, and she would end every sentence by pointing at each employee and screaming: "Corona-vee-ruuus! Corona-vee-ruuus!" They managed to get her out of the store, and as she angrily walked out with the clothes, she gave out one last gesture of defiance by slamming her fist twice against the front window. <br /><br />As soon as the register spat out my receipt, I grabbed that and ran out the store with my new wallet, while making sure I was going the opposite direction of wherever she was going. When I got home, I still felt kind of rattled, so I turned on the Roku and looked for something to watch, and that's when I remembered: Oh my goodness! The Adorable Amy Adams had two films released on Netflix in the past year, and I've yet to watch them. Then it all made sense; the angry woman, the crying baby, the anxiety, the despair, all of that was the universe punishing me for ignoring our dear Triple A. <br /> <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KW_3aaoSOYg" width="320" youtube-src-id="KW_3aaoSOYg"></iframe></div><p><br /></p><p><br />Based on the memoirs of author/venture capitalist, J.D. Vance, <b>Hillbilly Elegy</b> begins in 2011 with young Yale law student Vance burning the candle at both ends. In addition to doing the school thing, he's working three jobs to make up for what financial aid won't cover.<br /><br />Money is definitely a big issue for the man, who in true modern-day American spirit, pays for things with multiple credit cards of varying limits and overextensions. It's too bad I didn't know him back then, otherwise I could've preached him the gospel of micropayments, but I'm sure he'd dismiss me on account of being a dirty ethnic and what do I know? <br /><br />Anyway, you'd think with his workload, Time is something of which Vance has little to no amount, and yet, he also has a girlfriend. I guess it wasn't enough for this asshole to have his hands full, he just has to have them fuller, and just as he's about to begin a week of interviews for a potential paid summer internship at one of the big law firms -- RING RING goes the celly. It's a call from his sister back home with the bad news that his mom has not only gone back to bootin' up that damn heroin, the dumb bitch has gone and gotten herself OD'd.<br /><br />And so Vance drives his fried baloney sandwich-lovin' ass back home to Ohio in an attempt to get help for his absolute mess of a mother, and the film flashes back to Vance's youth in 1997, a year that shall remain forever glorious because that was the year that <i>Good Burger</i> graced silver screens all across this great nation. Unfortunately, this movie never acknowledges the release of that film, but at one point they do play "My Boo" by Ghost Town DJs, so I'll let it slide.<br /><br />We watch as younger tubbier 1997 Vance lives with his mother Bev, played by The Adorable Amy Adams, but in the case of this film, I will have to refer to our Triple A as The Aggravating Amy Adams, because my word, what a goddamn trial! As we find out throughout the film, Bev wasn't always a completely addled chore of a human being. Having graduated high school, she went on to have a respectable career as a nurse, but somewhere along the way she started sneaking away an extra pill or two from her patient's prescriptions, and so on and so forth.<br /><br />Faster than you can say Mommie Dearest, Bev displays magnificent feats of head-spinning manic-depression; she'll start as a happy loving mom who will gleefully drive her son to go buy some baseball cards, then one wrong word about one of the latest in a long line of boyfriends later, she'll stomp on the gas pedal and wonder aloud about just ending it for the both of them in the kind of fiery car wreck that would make Duane Hall jizz in his pants. <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyKojy63HmnXy0F9Cb2HlMB-42YDAim-M4_GbZUv5JqXtCVrYmBn2IKP7Bv5qjjlWjguQ__wZ7zIvX1GmSO0Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br />I think it's supposed to be frightening to watch, but as someone who hates kids -- especially crying ones -- I got a huge kick out of watching Amy Adams beat the shit of this child. She's raining down thunder and calling him names and while I'm sure other viewers might be thinking "She's a monster!", I was like Go Amy Go! <br /><br />(By the way, the opening of the film features another adult punching another child, and that was also something I applauded during this film and will applaud in any other film.) <br /><br />Adams is pretty amped up throughout this movie, and that's both a highlight and a lowlight. To clarify, I don't think it's Adams' fault and I found it easy to find the truth in her portrayal of a boyfriend-hopping drug addict with emotional issues.<br /><br />OK, I know what you're thinking, you're thinking "Well, of course you don't think it's her fault, it's never your precious Amy Adams' fault". First off, get your fuckin' head -- get your fuckin' head straight -- she's not my Amy Adams, she's her own Amy Adams, thank you very much. And second, nobody's perfect and everybody is fallible, even The Triple A. <br /><br />But I don't think it's a bad performance, it's a lopsided one -- and I don't blame her so much as the filmmakers for that. See, the problem is that the movie doesn't give us nearly enough of sober even-tempered Bev to compare & contrast with the drugged-out hotheaded Bev that we see, like, ninety percent of the time -- and so, where are we to find any range, where are we to find the tragedy in what her character has become, if we don't ever really get to see that much of the better angels of her nature?<br /><br />When you look over at the comparatively subtle performance by Glenn Close as Vance's grandmother Mamaw, I don't think it's a surprise that she ended up being nominated for an Academy Award while Adams wasn't nominated at all. Of course, I use the word "subtle" for lack of a better one. Maybe "nuanced" would be a better one? Maybe not?<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GXwlsfvu-rE" width="320" youtube-src-id="GXwlsfvu-rE"></iframe></div><p><br />What I'm saying is that as Mamaw, Close plays a tough-but-fair granny with a cigarette practically fused to her hand. But she's not just playing a one-note type, we get to see more of what makes her tick. For example, we find out that in her earlier years she ran away from a troubled home, only to have found herself in a brand-new version of the same thing.<br /><br />On the other hand, we're mostly told that Bev grew up observing some of this turmoil, and we're told that she was particularly close to her father, despite the growing rift between the family. It would've been nice to actually see some of this, the way the film was eager to have us see Bev's wild and crazy antics, giving us plenty of Effect but very little Cause.<br /><br />I get that there's only so much to get across in under two hours, so what I'm saying is maybe director Ron Howard and screenwriter Vanessa Taylor should've worked more on finding the right balance before committing anything to celluloid -- ahem, I mean digital files.<br /><br />It's too bad because here and there we see hints of Howard and Taylor's potential in making a very effective film; for example, the flashback format enhances the heartbreak because when we see a scene of Bev choosing to clean her act up, it only hurts more, because we know from the present day scenes that it didn't work out that way for her. </p><p>But overall I was left feeling as if I had watched an early rough cut for what could've been a really good movie. Instead, <i>Hillbilly Elegy</i> is kind of a mess that's less a proper adaptation of the book and more like a haphazard dumping of all the book's various threads into Thunderdome and forcing them all to fight each other for narrative supremacy: It's a mother & daughter story, a mother & son story, it's a fish out of water tale, a fish back in water tale, it's a drama about dealing with an addict in the family, a comedy about cultural differences, and an overall lesson on how one must not fall into the same rut that previous generations fell into because of family trauma. <br /><br />Regarding that last part; I did feel that the running thread about characters being placed at the crossroads of doing the right thing, and sticking with family, right or wrong, was something Howard and Taylor did get 100-percent right.<br /><br />Now I haven't read the book and for all I know, it handles all the above-mentioned themes, topics, and plotlines a lot better. Not that I'll ever find out, because I'm not gonna read that fuckin' book. I mean, the only reason I watched this movie was because The Adorable Amy Adams starred in it. But I don't give an inkling of an iota of a shit about J.D. Vance, and I know the ending already: He goes on to become an ardent chugger of Orange MAGA-cock. The End.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XXWZrvCITB4" width="320" youtube-src-id="XXWZrvCITB4"></iframe></div><p><br /><br />The second Amy Adams film I watched on Netflix is also an adaptation of a book by a morally questionable author, (and where she also plays an unstable character): <b>The Woman in the Window</b>, written by A.J. Finn -- and I was about to do an entire bit about how that's not even his real name, and what kind of cowardly douchebag would write under a pseudonym?<br /><br />Uh...<br /><br />While we're talking similarities, I found myself way beyond flattered upon realizing that my favorite living actor is playing...me! I mean, look, Adams' character, Anna, is a shut-in who keeps her human interactions to a minimum, preferring to plant herself on her comfy couch drinking and watching movies all day until she passes out. <a href="https://www.getyarn.io/yarn-clip/7be67927-c9d6-4c8e-b41a-812cc406bc45" target="_blank">It's like looking in a mirror, only not.</a><br /><br />Obviously they changed many details, like the name, gender, and occupation -- for the record, I am not a female child psychologist recently separated from her husband and child. I don't live in a NYC brownstone, nor do I rent out the basement of my brownstone to some dude played by Kurt Russell's son.<br /><br />Speaking of that dude, there's a scene between him and Adams that shows quite possibly the biggest difference between the movie's version of me and the real me who is currently talking to you, and that is the way we celebrate my favorite holiday, Halloween. Let's just say we wouldn't see eye to eye on that issue.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyY_UHAhElTuhUxhx8O_Co4jMPor6z7WUR6kZr6qHW2jKBH9mBKTKbBT8XS4gx7arLR1rH9MdjGRxntj4fiTw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p><br /></p><div><br />Also, Anna suffers from genuine agoraphobia, whereas I am just insufferable. Anna's attempts to step outside result in her getting overwhelmed by her phobia, whereas my attempts result in me getting overwhelmed by my hatred of humanity, then returning home to bitch about these people on various social media posts and blog/podcasts. <br /><br />By the way, my misanthropy is why I didn't have as difficult a time as others during this pandemic, because as much as I enjoy going out to eat and going to movies, I enjoy not going out even more. If anything, the outside world completely showed me its whole ass during this past year-and-a-half, the outside world confirmed my worst suspicions about it, the outside world said "It's OK to stay inside". <br /><br />The plot begins a-brewin' when Anna partakes in her other usual pastime: Being a fucking snoop, which is something that I would never do. But here she is, spying on her new neighbors across the street, played by Gary Oldman and Julianne Moore.<br /><br />They have a son, played by somebody's somebody, and he's one of those shy awkward teens that make you either want to hug and tell them It's OK, or you want to slap the shit out of them and order them to stand up straight and Speak Loud Enough So Everybody Can Hear You.<br /><br />Anna gets friendly with the son, becomes wine buddies with the wife (who's amusingly named Jane Russell, like the actress), and is the requisite minimum of polite with the husband. But soon Anna finds herself in a <i>Rear Window</i> kinda situation, except in this case, it's more like Front Window, because it appears that she spies with her little eyes the husband doing something really bad -- maybe even permanent -- to the wife. But good luck convincing everybody else, Anna. <br /><br />See, something happened in Anna's recent past; it is the reason for her agoraphobia, the separation from her family, and the lovely prescription drugs that she washes down with vino. Anna is all kinds of all over the place, and even her shrink is kinda getting tired of her shit. The shrink, by the way, is played by Tracy Letts, best known for writing the plays "Bug" and "Killer Joe" and for writing the screenplay to this movie.<div><br /></div><div>Director Joe Wright makes a pretty canny choice of having Anna's everyday movie-watching consist of Alfred Hitchcock classics. Normally I'm against this sort of thing, because showing classic movies within your movie usually results in people wishing they were watching the classic instead. But I think it works here -- regardless of how you feel about this movie -- because it allows the viewer to consider the very real possibility that Anna is just seeing things.<br /><br />Hell, I remember spending a three-day weekend at home fucked up on booze, weed, and shrooms, watching nothing but Shaw Brothers kung fu films all day and night. By Tuesday, I was convinced everybody around me had disgraced me and the Shaolin Temple. So why wouldn't Anna think she's in the middle of some real Hitchcockery?<br /><br />Oh, that's another difference between Me and Anna; you can straight up O.J. a bitch six feet in front of me, and as far I'm concerned, I didn't see shit, I don't know shit, I don't want to know shit. I was busy tying my shoes the entire time, officer. But no, Anna's calls the pigs over and digs herself an increasingly deeper hole with a She's Imagining Things shovel. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw3BiCovOMa2G1FxDxaRexSYzFnj7ORNx3ByS-jMZJSfrs1V82BLEbEt8cEj9vv2ifHjZEMwHLNP29bRVrXWA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /></div><div><br />Now the movie is referencing Hitchcock, and it's aping Hitchcock, but the end result actually felt more like Dario Argento. This felt kinda/sorta like an American giallo at times, with a wonderfully garish mix of colors and lighting, a pulpy plot that favors trash over class, and where emotion beats out logic -- it just needed an extra on-screen murder or two or three. I don't think it's as good as early Argento joints like <i>Deep Red</i> or <i>The Bird with the Crystal Plumage</i> -- this is an American distillation of an Italian genre, after all -- but it's still a fun watch, if watched in that context.<br /><br />I understand the reviews for this are pretty terrible, and I kinda get it; with a prestige cast and crew of award-winners and nominees behind it, one might expect something a bit more hoity-toity, and this ain't that. But I will not stand anybody who might have the audacity to say that Amy did not come to play.<br /><br />She is excellent as Anna, and she manages to come off as both prickly and wounded -- probably from being so prickly, she can't help but hurt herself the most. She has a couple of certified emotional bangers late in the film; both are monologues, one given to a group of people, another to a camera, and either one would've made for a great Oscar clip in the category of Best Actress in a Fun Trashy American Sorta-Giallo. <br /><br />The film was delayed multiple times -- much to my dismay -- partially due to COVID-19 making a theatrical release not the most eligible option, and partially due to reshoots. I don't know what came out of the reshoots, but if I had to guess, the climax of the film was one of the results, because it does feel the most out-of-place with the rest of the movie. I've nothing against the climax, but I wished the film would've slowly worked its way to that wildly different tone, rather than suddenly whiplashing the audience into it. <br /><br />Also, I wonder if the reshoots are the reason Jennifer Jason Leigh's role seems so minor for someone so major; she doesn't really get much to do with a role that could've been given to somebody cheaper for the same effect.<br /><br />Actually, her role isn't that much smaller from the rest of the supporting cast, who definitely live up to the "supporting" part, because this really is The Amy Adams Show. If Anna can't leave her house, that means the movie doesn't leave her house. She spends most of her time alone, and so the other characters are left to be occasional visitors or intruders. If I hadn't known about the novel, I would've totally assumed that this was based on one of Tracy Letts' plays, because this story could easily play out on a stage.<br /><br />While the movie is expertly made and very well-acted, I couldn't help but think that there was an even crazier and better version of this story begging to be told, just aching to let its freak flag fly, and I'm afraid Joe Wright was just a bit too buttoned up a filmmaker for the job. This needed someone like Brian De Palma or Paul Verhoeven or Julie Taymor -- someone with a strong sense of the operatic, absurd, and theatrical. They also would've known how to make the climax and the rest of the film feel like one and the same.</div><div><br />Hell, why not give it to Argento himself? It could've been his best American work -- or his worst movie ever, although I don't know how the latter would be possible, unless he had Brian Tyree Henry's character turn into a praying mantis somewhere along the way.<br /><br />Minor complaints aside, I thought this nutty little ditty fit the bill, and it passes the test as actual entertainment and not simply an Amy Adams thirst watch, because I'm pretty sure I'd still dig this movie if it instead starred, uh, I don't know, uh, maybe, uh someone like Isla Fisher, or Karen Gillan, or Jessica Chastain, or Emma Stone, or Christina Hendricks, or Bryce Dallas Howard -- you know, <a href="https://youtu.be/8Oon5ZDjgcU" target="_blank">any random actress would do. </a><br /><br />Well, it was nice while it lasted. I don't mean the Amy Adams double feature, even though that was nice as well. I'm talking about my brief post-vaccinated return to the outside world. I got to eat in a couple of restaurants, went to see a couple movies in actual movie theaters. But I'm going back inside. Not because of a virus or its various variants, no way. My reason is something else, something that I feel was best expressed by one America's last great poets of the late 20th century, Andrew Dice Clay, in his 1993 special <i>No Apologies</i>: "...'cause people are scumbags". <br /></div></div>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-34666211739413161312021-03-22T04:31:00.008-07:002023-01-18T19:16:27.315-08:00Touché.<br /><br /><iframe title="#11 - Femme Fatale (2002)" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=3qa2c-fe786e-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><div><br /><br /><div><br />I'm officially out of the movie rambling request business -- or so I thought I was, until I remembered that I still had one request left, and it was from my friend Alec who asked if I would ramble about the 2002 Brian De Palma film Femme Fatale. I said "sure thing buddy", because it would be a good one to go out on, and it was a film I had already seen and watched, having seen it twice on opening weekend in the Fall of 2002.</div><div><br /></div><div>And as luck would have have it, the <a href="https://drafthouse.com/los-angeles" target="_blank">Alamo Drafthouse in Downtown Los Angeles</a> was about to have a 35mm screening of the film, and I thought "perfect, just in time for my ramblings about the film".</div><div><br /></div><div>Except this was February 2020, and it was no longer Fear that was infectious, and what was Over There was now coming Over Here. Priorities changed fast, and I felt my time was better spent panic-stocking on food, water, and ammo, rather than jerking off about a movie for a friend. Wait, that didn't sound right, I don't mean I was literally jerking off for my friend, I mean -- you know what, let's just move on.<br /><br /></div><div>So, speaking from the relatively calmer waters of March 2021, I can say it's been one hell of a year, even for those who weren't personally affected by The Virus That Will Not Be Named, and while it's certainly not over yet, at least...um, at least we can....um...</div><div><br /></div><div>Ah, I know. At least I won't have to shake anybody's hand anymore. I was never a fan of handshakes to begin with, partially because of my existing germophobia, and because I hate having to squeeze the other person's hand so hard, lest they think less of me. Silly me, I always thought you got to know somebody by how they treated people, and not by the strength of their grip.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I'd get a person practically crushing my hand with their grip, and then I would have to respond by whipping out my dick to show him who's boss. Which nine times out of ten, would mean they were boss. So I'm done with handshakes forever. From now on, it's namaste & bowing and if you don't like it, you can take that bigger cock of yours and go fuck yourself.</div></div><div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AtOwOF3t59M" width="320" youtube-src-id="AtOwOF3t59M"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The film opens with Billy Wilder's 1944 film noir classic <i>Double Indemnity</i> playing on the tee-vee, and I always felt that showing a classic film within your film is a move as dicey as Andrew Clay, and more often than not, the unintentional result is that the viewer is reminded that there are better films out there that he or she could be spending their time on, rather than the film on which they're currently wasting their time.<br /><br />In the case of <i>Femme Fatale</i>, it works. Not that I feel they're equals, because I don't -- sorry Bri, but I gotta go Team Wilder on this one. But what De Palma is doing by showing you a scene from that film is making it very clear to the viewer that he knows damn well that he's not reinventing the wheel, but rather, doing his own spin on a genre. And by introducing the main character of his film watching <u>that</u> film, he's planting some seeds that will sprout big time by the end of <i>Femme Fatale</i> -- and based on the constant liquid motif that runs throughout this picture, De Palma is watering the hell out of those seeds. </div><div><br />And who is this main character, anyway? Well, she's Laure Ash, played by Rebecca Romijn, who is credited as Rebecca Romijn-Stamos on account of her being married to John Stamos at the time. She has since divorced Stamos and is currently married to Jerry O'Connell, and so she now goes by the name Rebecca Romijn-Fat Kid-From-Stand By Me.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So Laure is introduced watching <i>Double Indemnity</i> in her hotel room, but is then interrupted by a dude who turns out to be her partner in a heist they are about to pull off at the Cannes Film Festival located conveniently across the street. What follows is a fifteen-minute sequence that I feel fits very comfortably among De Palma's best set pieces; it takes place during a movie premiere and involves Laure, her partners-in-crime Racine and Black Tie, and a model named Veronica who is wearing a gold and diamond number that, uh, I don't know if it qualifies as a top or is just a piece of jewelry, but whatever it is, it leaves very little to the imagination as far as tits go. It's like, I guess I'm left to imagine what her nipples look like? But aside from that, I can draw this chick from memory; it would be a stick figure with long hair...<br /><br />(I never said I was Bazille.)<br /><br />The movie being screened at this premiere is the 1999 film <i><a href="https://youtu.be/wSa5ZCYIcGA" target="_blank">East/West</a></i>, directed by Régis Wargnier and starring Sandrine Bonnaire, and I guess De Palma is a fan of this movie about Russian expats returning to Soviet Russia only to realize you really can't ever go home again. Whatever the case, both Bonnaire and Wargnier appear as themselves in the film, and I like to imagine De Palma telling Wargnier about his idea to include him in this movie where he's going to play a dude who is unknowingly cucked by a tall blonde.</div><div><br />See, Veronica is Wargnier's date at the premiere, and Laure's part in the plan involves seducing her away from the director, so they can have some We Time in the ladies room. And so, Wargnier's left in the screening room, watching his film play to a captivated audience -- but what's the point when you don't have a sexy broad sitting next to you to impress with such an experience? This poor man was depending on the thunderous applause to get this chick wet, thereby doing half of the work for him, and thereby making it easier to slip in the saucisse later that night.<br /><br />Instead, he can only politely smile at his leading lady Bonnaire -- who he either already banged during the making of his movie, or he fucked it up and got friend-zoned somewhere along the way -- and he can only sit impatiently while both Veronica and Laure are in the restroom, dyking out harder than a couple of Tegan and Sara fans hopped up on Ecstasy. And while Veronica is caught up in the rapture of lady love, Laure slowly strips the diamond-encrusted coils away from the model, and drops them to the floor, while Black Tie waits in the next stall to swipe it all away.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is all hypnotically shot by Luc Besson's regular cinematographer Thierry Arbogast, and it's lushly scored by composer Ryuichi Sakamoto -- who is doing a little bit of swiping of his own with a <a href="https://youtu.be/qdzT7rUW4jw" target="_blank">track</a> that sounds very much like <a href="https://youtu.be/r30D3SW4OVw" target="_blank">Ravel's Bolero</a>. While there is dialogue spoken during this sequence, the visuals are strong enough that one could watch this with the sound off and understand it 100-percent, as with most of De Palma's best sequences. One would understand the various actions and reactions by the perpetrators and victims of this heist, and one would definitely understand that both Romijn and the actress playing Veronica (Rie Rasmussen) are absolute goddamn smoke shows here. <br /><br />By the way, let's get this straight: With the constant fetishistic lensing of women and their gyrating bodies and lovingly filmed lips against other female lips, this movie is male gaze as fuck. And as a pig with a penis, I have no problem with it whatsoever. But if you have a problem with it, well, there are plenty of places on the Internet to go pitch a fit and bitch about it -- as for me, I'm just gonna sit back and laugh and thank God I'm a part of the patriarchy because <a href="https://youtu.be/wd1-HM234DE" target="_blank">this is a maaaann's world!</a> <br /><br />Suffice it to say, things don't go as planned, blood is spilled, and even worse, names are called. It ends with Laure skipping off with the diamonds, while a bleeding Black Tie informs his partner about this betrayal over the radio mic, telling him something in French that the subtitles translate as "The bitched double-crossed us". <br /><br />Now, that's not a typo on my part, that's how it's spelled in the subtitles: B-I-T-C-H-E-D. As in someone having complained in the past tense. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROldDug2QXy9qGA5lw1XNvmUepTFjZfUX9XUR2Tas8WVBjhT57wUbUaNudAd6xRWTvxIBLGM9jEZAKawX2isDTJJH-ZjUxAhFV_WhbZv_nagGhdU1PVsRdkkMLWgvj0Cx3JGM1VcCYfQ/s853/vlcsnap-2021-03-21-13h04m18s170.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="853" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROldDug2QXy9qGA5lw1XNvmUepTFjZfUX9XUR2Tas8WVBjhT57wUbUaNudAd6xRWTvxIBLGM9jEZAKawX2isDTJJH-ZjUxAhFV_WhbZv_nagGhdU1PVsRdkkMLWgvj0Cx3JGM1VcCYfQ/s320/vlcsnap-2021-03-21-13h04m18s170.png" width="320" /></a></div></div><p><br /><br /></p><div>I wondered if De Palma meant "bitch", B-I-T-C-H, but there was a mistake with the subtitle people. But then I thought, really? I mean, De Palma comes off as someone who'd be a bit of an exacting perfectionist in his work. Would he allow such an obvious error to slip by? Hell, it didn't so much "slip" as it fuckin' did a Michigan J. Frog "Hello My Baby!" dance across the stage. I've seen it spelled this way in the 35mm prints I've watched, it's spelled this way in the Region 1 DVD from Warner Brothers, and it's spelled this way on the version I watched last weekend on HBO Max.<br /><br />No, it can't be a mistake, it must be intentional, I thought. And so I looked up other uses and definitions for "bitched", and here's what I found as the top definition on Urban Dictionary: </div><div><br /><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jcotI8SBbDBzMFKZ4uzF7VaoN7gmyJWTUbItG81psI-26UunYWnl4MM9Docqq7-Pf5Ca7mnnmlV9iIvG4QLcgtMovEsxNB6R6zf0nr6qkQhMOMqNZbgP010ccGO_iAPShJjr5MbihZQ/s1146/Screen+Shot+2021-03-19+at+2.06.44+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="1146" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jcotI8SBbDBzMFKZ4uzF7VaoN7gmyJWTUbItG81psI-26UunYWnl4MM9Docqq7-Pf5Ca7mnnmlV9iIvG4QLcgtMovEsxNB6R6zf0nr6qkQhMOMqNZbgP010ccGO_iAPShJjr5MbihZQ/w400-h236/Screen+Shot+2021-03-19+at+2.06.44+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div><br /></div><div>Uh, so maybe it was a mistake. </div><div><br />A lot of Femme Fatale's fun comes from not knowing where it's going, and tripping out when it gets there. Granted, this film came out in 2002 and that's enough for me to recite my standard sarcastic asshole routine about how I don't want to spoil a film that is now old enough to vote. But this certainly wasn't some blockbuster movie that took the world by storm that everybody quotes from, nor was it spoofed in one of the <i>Scary Movies</i> or one of those Seltzer/Friedberg pieces of shit -- this movie bombed and was pretty much forgotten except by film geeks and maybe Mr. Skin types. <br /><br />So I won't get into it in any further detail that could potentially spoil it. But the funny thing is, there is an alternate trailer for it that rather cleverly spoils the entire film if you pay super close attention; it plays nearly the entire film from beginning to end in very fast motion, occasionally stopping for a moment at regular speed, before speeding up again, and it goes all the way to the end credits. It's one of my favorite movie trailers and <a href="https://youtu.be/LGttEqkwGBo">you can find it online</a>. <br /><br />Anyway, skipping some plot developments here and there, we jump ahead seven years, and the men Laure double-crossed are back on the search for her, and more importantly, the diamonds. We are then introduced to a photographer played by Antonio Banderas; his name is Nicolas Bardo (no relation to Brick), and he's not so much out-of-work as he's just not really looking for it. After a phone call from his manager (voiced by an uncredited John Stamos), he takes a quick-cash gig where all he has to do is take a photo of an ambassador's wife. <br /><br />This leads to Bardo making the acquaintance of Laure Ash, who is trying to lay low in an airport hotel. Bardo, thinking himself quite the slickster, barges into her room, taking on the guise of a very effeminate man. Some may find this portrayal offensive, and these same people may also find themselves unable to comfortably sit down for the rest of their lives, on account of the excruciating pain emanating from their backsides. <br /><br />Wait, I'm afraid that didn't come out right. I was trying to say that these people are butt-hurt, but not like something caused them to have a sore ass, such as an uncomfortable chair or a leatherman's fist. And I'm certainly not making the connection that the kind of people that would have a literally hurt butt would be the ones to get offended. I mean I'm talking about overly sensitive types, that's what I -- oh my god, first I quoted the N-word, now I'm implying that the homos can't take a joke, oh geez -- PLEASE DON'T CANCEL ME. <br /><br />I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Antonio Banderas worked with <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2013/apr/28/almodovar-my-gayest-film-ever" target="_blank">Pedro Almodóvar</a> before <i>Femme Fatale</i>, and he's continued to work with him after <i>Femme Fatale</i>. So I'm sure it's all good. <br /><br />As Bardo, Banderas plays someone who has probably gone through life being crafty in both the literal and figurative sense: as a part-time paparazzo, he knows all the tricks in getting the perfect shot from those who'd rather not have their picture taken, and he also has this giant collage of photos on his apartment wall, forming one giant landscape of the view outside his window.<br /><br />But soon Bardo finds himself in over his head, as it becomes increasingly clear that he is going up against someone craftier and who looks a lot better in a pair of panties. Or so I assume. For all I know, that sexy Spanish stallion might rock a French cut like nobody's business. But until I actually see that -- and god knows I've tried -- I will have to give the advantage to Laure. </div><div><br /></div><div>The second half of the film becomes a Parisian journey for Bardo in and out of sterile hotel rooms, standard police stations, and seedy night spots. I'm not kidding about those seedy night spots, by the way. I mean, one of the patrons at a scuzzy bar full of drunken, horned-up Frenchmen is none other than Le Tenia from Gaspar Noe's <i>Irreversible</i> -- so you know it's gotta be bad. <br /><br />Despite not being given any moments of what my friend Alec and I refer to as Pure Unadulterated Banderas (basically moments where he hams it up), Antonio Banderas is very well-cast and game for a role that requires no trace of ego, as his character finds himself increasingly humbled. A role like Bardo could be ruined by some actors who would try to maintain too much strength throughout, plus, going back to ego, there are more than a few scenes where it's very clear that Rebecca Romijn has a good three or four inches of height on the dude.<br /><br />I love that; because more often than not, Hollywood does that thing where they always have to make the shorter male actor appear to be as tall as his female co-star, or worse, taller. Because I guess the average moviegoer isn't ready for that idea, that women can possibly be taller than men. So points to Banderas and De Palma for not giving a fuck about Romijn looking like she could easily cradle Banderas and rock him to sleep. And I say this as someone who pays women to rock him to sleep. Don't kink-shame me.<br /><br />Of course, the tall woman/short man visual helps to further sell the idea that Banderas' character is outmatched compared to Laure Ash, but I feel that's more of an unintentional bonus that was realized after the leads were cast in these roles. <br /><br />Banderas is great as the schmuck, and Romijn is very good as the titular femme, doing a fine job with either being conniving or just simply not giving a fuck. Although to be honest with you, I actually thought she did a better job at playing hurt or fragile. And it left me wanting to give her a hug -- and not the kind of hug that I already want to give her, you know, a hug that allows me to perv out while feeling her body against mine while smelling her and all that, no. I mean, like a genuine hug of compassion and warmth. Or so I've been told about such hugs, if such hugs actually exist.<br /><br />Not that it matters, because if I'm not doing handshakes, that means hugs are out the window as well. Because while you motherfuckers are trying to go back to normal, I'm prepped for the <u>new</u> normal: I'm talking <i>Demolition Man</i> for real, which I knew was coming. I didn't go around saying "be well" all this time for shits & giggles, you know.<br /><br />I am not as well-versed in Rebecca Romijn's roles as an actor; most of what I've seen her in is from the late 90s and early 00s. I know her as Mystique from the <i>X-Men</i> movies, and I know her as <a href="https://youtu.be/nOkJXxd0cNg" target="_blank">The Bearded Lady from <i>Dirty Work</i></a>, and I know her from that <i>Rollerball</i> remake and the <a href="https://youtu.be/wAg1bnt2VW8?t=146" target="_blank">audio commentary</a> she did on said <i>Rollerball</i> remake. But this rewatch reminded me to search out any other movies where she shows a more vulnerable side, because I think that's what she does best. <br /><br />Something staring me in the face this whole time that I'm just noticing now is that Romijn's current husband Jerry O'Connell was in De Palma's previous film to this one, <i>Mission to Mars</i>. And at the time, Banderas was married to Melanie Griffith, who had worked with De Palma in both <i>Body Double</i> and <i>The Bonfire of the Vanities</i>. I don't know what my point is other than some random trivia with which to pad out these ramblings. But I'm sure they all at some time or another have compared Working With Brian De Palma stories at some time or another, I'm sure. <br /><br />Anyway, this is all just a long way to say that I've always really liked the film. It never tops its opening set-piece, but that's because it's really the only set-piece, and it's kind of a ballsy move by De Palma, as if he were saying "OK, normally this is what a movie <u>leads</u> to, but I'm just gonna go ahead and <u>start</u> with it, and then you're still gonna stick around to see what happens next because I'm gonna rock your world in a different kind of way"; and he does.<br /><br />That opening heist precedes a fun, sexy, and twisty joint, complete with the usual audacious De Palma touches here and there -- both in the screenplay and in the way he presents these scenes. There's split screen, slow motion, hypnotic camera movements, giddy splashes of blood, tits, and ass, Gregg Henry, and just the general overall feeling that De Palma is gleefully fucking with you -- the viewer -- the entire time. And you either go with it and enjoy the ride, or you feel strongly negative about the experience.<br /><br />In other words, it's 100 percent pure Brian De Palma, in the same way that films like <i>Blow Out</i> and <i>Raising Cain</i> are 100 percent pure De Palma. Movies like <i>The Untouchables</i> and <i>Mission: Impossible</i>, as awesome as they are, are more like 70-80 percent pure De Palma. <br /><br /><i>Femme Fatale</i> is also probably the last solid film -- pure or otherwise -- that De Palma has made, as of this Foul Year of Our Lord 2021. I remember liking his following film <i>The Black Dahlia</i> in 2006, but I also remember making a lot of excuses for it. Then came his 2007 found footage Iraq War movie <i>Redacted</i>, which wasn't my cup of tea. Then I saw his 2019 film, <i>Domino</i>, which felt less like a real movie and more like the pilot for an internationally produced television series, the kind that plays in syndication on weekend afternoons. I've yet to see his 2012 film, <i>Passion</i>, and so I hope that when I finally get around to that one, it will feel more like the De Palma I know and love. If not, well, you can't have everything, right? <br /><br />Well, I don't have anything else to say, so instead I'd like to close out by catching up on some comments and e-mail from my fans. I mean, I haven't posted a real rambling since December 2019, I'm sure I have some people out there who have wanted to stay in touch.<br /><br />So here's the first comment: It's regarding my post on the film <i>Righteous Kill</i>, starring Al Pacino and Robert De Niro. Oh man, I posted that one back in 2009! Anyway, this comment was left on my <a href="https://efcontentment.wordpress.com/2009/03/18/holy-shit-are-those-his-dentures-oh-sorry-nope-that-was-just-chewing-gum-he-was-sticking-out-of-his-mouth/" target="_blank">Wordpress site</a>, which is the same as the Blogger site, it's just a backup. Anyway, it's from someone named "George" and he says: <br /><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDM8jp6HmjnSHmP0rNeVKIc9ku6gRVzn37hDeGRchzt98kCu44bhNeWhyphenhyphenFqfWsJ9s0RBWI6J9n0SqqSMEmbUgFTkYseuyKNo-ypZRx_vkLOpH4ktGd2vy3Jr-zl3aWzlNBFgP4QXKpy5c/s464/Screen+Shot+2021-03-17+at+8.32.35+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="204" data-original-width="464" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDM8jp6HmjnSHmP0rNeVKIc9ku6gRVzn37hDeGRchzt98kCu44bhNeWhyphenhyphenFqfWsJ9s0RBWI6J9n0SqqSMEmbUgFTkYseuyKNo-ypZRx_vkLOpH4ktGd2vy3Jr-zl3aWzlNBFgP4QXKpy5c/w320-h141/Screen+Shot+2021-03-17+at+8.32.35+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div><br />OK, cool. He's clearly referencing the skater character in the film played by Rob Dyrdek, and he certainly was a moron, but I think he's a few years too old to be considered a millennial. But I get where you're coming from, George, and I appreciate the comment!<br /><br />Next, I have a comment left on my Instagram, where I leave much shorter ramblings on movies, and you can find me there at "<a href="https://www.instagram.com/efcontentment/" target="_blank">efcontentment</a>". And this comment is regarding my post on the Paul Thomas Anderson film <i>Punch Drunk Love</i>, starring Adam Sandler, and which came out the same year as Femme Fatale. 2002 was a good year for movies! Anyway, he says the following: <br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0IJ6Wk4iBA5SA1c5qxpSAw_Qp3XI4_Ho5Shs8GO-iX4UPFLqVNvqhmcdn441N6Cggxg8iry0MHSFtnmIW_QlbKqCvkdmJlEG2MmytVgNER51DUqjjsUbaczOLIP1XCGc1E-CEhRHKB18/s632/Screen+Shot+2021-03-17+at+8.38.10+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="632" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0IJ6Wk4iBA5SA1c5qxpSAw_Qp3XI4_Ho5Shs8GO-iX4UPFLqVNvqhmcdn441N6Cggxg8iry0MHSFtnmIW_QlbKqCvkdmJlEG2MmytVgNER51DUqjjsUbaczOLIP1XCGc1E-CEhRHKB18/w320-h116/Screen+Shot+2021-03-17+at+8.38.10+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I don't think Anderson was doing a review on Adam Sandler's character, but more of a study, and I felt this was a very interesting study on an emotionally fragile human being who was able find a meaningful connection with a lady who was able to understand him. And what you call "personal life crap", I call the intriguing drama that comes from Sandler's day-to-day interactions with others as he tries not to get emotionally overwhelmed. Anyway, thanks for the comment, oh and I almost forgot, in regards to your opening question, the WTF podcast with Marc Maron has nothing to do with this blog -- but I sure wish it did! <br /><br />And finally I have an e-mail sent to me by a "Jonathan Baker" and it's titled "amyadamsismywaifu" and it says: <br /><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NK3ncIe_We8MrJcfl7W6TVSoac-9EA4LMpsptZRxdzUZaEpV9NEMzPh655fHuT5RW4fxMIH7eRoH-Uh0_ymqE-TfEbY-GLN8Boh-X6_juENI2Ut7R56rxAyAlFE0yzh2RaBoLvFXP8Y/s1054/Screen+Shot+2021-03-17+at+9.05.44+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="786" data-original-width="1054" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NK3ncIe_We8MrJcfl7W6TVSoac-9EA4LMpsptZRxdzUZaEpV9NEMzPh655fHuT5RW4fxMIH7eRoH-Uh0_ymqE-TfEbY-GLN8Boh-X6_juENI2Ut7R56rxAyAlFE0yzh2RaBoLvFXP8Y/w320-h238/Screen+Shot+2021-03-17+at+9.05.44+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><p><br />And so I won't. Anyway, thanks for reading -- now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the bank! </p>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-50900696075183098352020-11-15T17:19:00.006-08:002020-11-15T17:19:51.618-08:00Not *too* bad. <div>This year for me has been about preparing for the worst during the first half, and then hunkering down and trying to distract myself from the worst during the second half. And while coming back to blog and podcast long-form style seems like the surest way to accomplish the latter, I find curling up into the fetal position and sleeping during every spare moment to be a lot easier. <br /><br />But I do intend to continue this in some manner, I really do. See, I have been posting mini-ramblings regularly on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/efcontentment/">Facebook</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/efcontentment/">Instagram</a>, and <a href="https://letterboxd.com/EFContentment/">Letterboxd</a>, and I've been thinking of intertwining them with the blog/podcast, if for no other reason than to stay in practice. Because I swear, every time I do a new episode, I have to learn the whole process all over again, having spent too much time between shows. I don't know where I got this idea that every rambling has be a fuckin' tome. If it's short, it's short, and if it's long, it's long -- that's what I tell the ladies and that's what I'm telling you. <br /><br />We'll see what happens. So long as things in the outside world remain shitty or get shittier, I'll probably need something to occupy my mind between now and whenever I catch the 'rona -- or the 'rona catches a loved one -- and then I'll either not want to do anything anymore, or I won't be able to do anything anymore. <br /><br />And while I'm not back on my own podcast train yet, I did hop on to someone else's for one night; I've been listening to the <a href="https://trickortreatradio.com/" target="_blank"><b>Trick or Treat Radio</b></a> podcast for the past couple of years and really enjoy it. The program consists of four friends reviewing movies (generally horror and genre fare) and it's lots of fun to listen to them discuss movies and get on each other's nerves. Usually when a podcast starts up a Patreon, I book from the motherfucker, but not with these guys. In fact, I became a Patreon, uh, patron. <br /><br />As a member of the higher Patreon tier, I was invited to be a guest on the show and pick the films they were to review. Because I was able to pick any movie -- not just relegated to the type of films they normally cover -- and because I was genuinely interested to hear their opinions on this movie, I picked the 2017 Paul Thomas Anderson film <b>Phantom Thread</b>. <br /><br />For the second movie, I picked the 1984 Philip Yordan production <b>Death Wish Club</b>, which I have rambled about before on this blog years ago, under the title <b><a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2014/06/kinda-young-kinda-wow.html">Gretta</a></b> -- one of many alternate titles for this film. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You can listen or download the show by <a href="https://trickortreatradio.com/episodes/episode433" target="_blank">clicking this link</a>. You can also watch me on the included YouTube archive of the live stream, if you feel the need to see me looking way too shiny -- but be aware that due to tech issues on YouTube's end, the three-hour podcast is a fifty-minute video with random skips along the way. (Naturally, seeing less of me makes it a better video.) <br /><br />Once the alcohol put my anxiety in a chokehold, I had a good time, and I'm sure I embarrassed myself enough during my ramblings to make it entertaining for others. I certainly insult many of you by calling you lazy bastards, but take comfort in knowing that as someone who has not posted a new blog/podcast entry in nearly a year, I am indeed the blackest pot among all you kettles. <br /><br />I also mistakingly confuse Peru for Uruguay somewhere during the show, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're just gonna have to go over and listen to the episode. See people, that's called a teaser. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-44160607450420510102019-12-08T20:35:00.001-08:002023-01-18T19:19:33.089-08:00I also suck at responding to e-mails.<br /><br /><iframe title="#10 - Doctor Who: The Movie" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=d5gek-cb587f-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><p> </p><p>I'm a shitty friend when you get right down to it, specifically when friends request things of me, like, I don't know, let's just say, uh, ramblings about movies on this blog.<br />
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The way it goes is this: a friend will ask "Hey, I'd like to read you talk about this particular movie" and I'll go "Sure thing, buddy" and my reaction should be "Holy cats, somebody actually reads this blog? I should show them my appreciation and get to work on this immediately!" <br />
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Instead, it'll be about a year before I go, "Well, I guess I'll blog about this movie now" and then I'll watch the movie -- which is the easiest part of the whole process -- and right after the movie, I'll sit down in front of the computer, open up the ol' Blogger, stare at the blank white page on the screen for a few minutes, and then I'll open up another window and spend the next few hours watching YouTube videos featuring cats or dogs or cats and dogs or videos about credit cards or videos about food reviews or videos about video game play-throughs and OK wait wait wait wait wait wait wait --<br />
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Don't get me wrong. I know watching-other-people-play-video-games sounds kinda lame, but let me clarify myself -- let me defend myself -- and tell you that I don't watch those stupid "Let's Play" videos, you know, the ones where people talk through their play-through, as if I cared about what they have to say as they play? No way! I just want to see somebody beat a game I've had difficulty with in the past, just so I can see how to go about it if I were to play that game again.<br />
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As for the food review videos, I'm very selective; I don't go in for those "mukbang" or gang bang or whatever they call those videos about people eating on camera. And I certainly don't go in for any of those videos featuring stupid fat fucks making stupid fat fucking faces on the thumbnail next to a picture of a slice of pizza. I'm not gonna click on that thumbnail just to watch some stupid fat fuck shoving pizza in his face and go OMIGAAAWWWD THIS PIZZA BE SEX ON WHEELS DOWN MY TRRROAT, SON!<br />
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But while I'm in Unreasonable Hater mode, you know which YouTube videos I will never understand actually having an existence? The absolute worst kind? Reaction videos. These are the ones where someone or a group of someones will sit and watch a clip of a comedian or a movie trailer or something like that, and these are easy to spot because their thumbnails always consist of that person or persons sitting next to each other making some goofy-ass reaction face -- maybe a couple with their hands up to their mouths while making the OMIGOD face, like people do in movies but never in real life -- and usually on the lower right hand corner is the video to which they're making said reactions.<br />
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Do you see what I'm doing here? Do you see? I'm procrastinating, I'm hesitating over here and that's how I do when it comes to other people requesting things of me. It's hard enough to sit my fat ass down to write about stuff I plan to write about, but it really comes down to the plain and simple fact that if I have a choice between spending my time talking about a movie I watched or using that time to just watch another movie? Well, sweetie, I don't know how to tell you this -- or actually, I do know: I'd rather use my time to watch more movies.<br />
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And by saying this, by confessing this -- I realize that the true enemy is not my procrastination, it is not what I choose to do with my time, but it is time itself that is the bad guy. If I had more time to sit around and watch movies and eventually get around to doing something, that would be great. But instead time is what it is: the ultimate prison, where I'm held in this cage of hours, minutes, seconds, and the clock just keeps ticking ever so forward towards finality. I need more time! Then maybe I can fit in all the stuff I want to do.<br />
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But alas, time remains something linear and fleeting, for it is but a strict progression of cause to effect -- it is not some wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff in which I can hop back and forth and up and down and everywhere else. Because I'm not a Time Lord, and that lady and gentleman, is how you make a clumsy-ass segue.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/42PIpYZsfmY" width="420"></iframe><br />
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Requested by my buddy <a href="https://migrantpublishing.com/">Kris Wallace</a> -- at least I hope we're still buddies -- the 1996 made-for-television film <b>Doctor Who: The Movie</b> begins with a Time Lord known only as The Doctor, who is transporting the remains of The Master, who is an evil Time Lord and also the Big Bad of this entire series.<br />
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Maybe I should take it back a little bit, in case you're too far from a phone to Google it; this is a show that's been around since the 1960s and it's about these beings known as Time Lords -- they're aliens or demi-gods or whatever, I don't know -- and they have the ability to do the hipping and the hopping around time and space. The series focuses on one particular Time Lord -- that would be our boy The Doctor -- going on many different adventures along with his Companion, which I guess is the proper English way to say "sidekick". <br />
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They get around in a time & space craft called a TARDIS, which looks like a British police box because those were a common sight back during the show's creation in the Jolly Old. Had the show been created today, he'd probably get around in a food truck.<br />
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Like James Bond, the Doctor has been played by various actors over the years, but unlike James Bond, they actually acknowledge the change by explaining that the Doctor has to regenerate into a new body whenever there's too much mileage and wear & tear on the current one. Like the James Bond movies, the otherwise consistently released series took a hiatus between the late 80s and the mid-90s. Unlike the James Bond movies, the mid-90s return of Doctor Who resulted in another hiatus that ended up lasting nine years.<br />
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Also, unlike the James Bond movies, Doctor Who is a television series. I don't know why I even compared the two when they are completely different things. Why did I do that? Because they're both from the U.K.? That's some embarrassing shit right there. That's like welcoming your British friend to the United States with a boxed set of <a href="https://youtu.be/IU28GHMcYxM">The Best of Benny Hill</a>, assuming your Limey pal is gonna dig it because Hey, Benny Hill is from the U.K. too! And let's go get some fish & chips too, because that's what <a href="https://youtu.be/xPxs0Qh72kY?t=32">you</a> <a href="https://youtu.be/FFf9zF9rVF4?t=31">people</a> eat, right? That's really fucking embarrassing and I apologize for that and so let's move on.<br />
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So the film begins with The Doctor chilling out in his TARDIS, the remains of The Master stored in a box, but because the Master is literal slime, he (or it) manages to ooze out the box and fuck with the TARDIS so that it has to make an emergency landing on Earth -- specifically San Francisco 1999 (as played by Vancouver 1996), where we are then introduced to some Asian-American bros having a shootout with other Asian-American bros. I assume they're bros, because after shooting at some people, they all give each other high-fives.<br />
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The Doctor arrives, stepping out of his TARDIS just in time to get caught in the crossfire and take a couple slugs to the chest -- that's just the preferred way for Americans to greet visiting foreigners -- and the sole surviving Asian-American bro on the scene, Chang Lee, gets him an ambulance.<br />
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Lee must've fallen out of bro-love with his bros, because despite his friends having just been killed in the shootout, he never even gives them a passing thought from this point forward. His priorities are on claiming The Doctor's personal belongings from the hospital, which really, that's just a shitty way to live your life, stealing the belongings from some dying Hobbit in an emergency room. Why does Lee not care about his dead friends? Who knows what had happened before we were introduced to his character? Maybe Lee's bros had just admitted to running a train on his mom and they even had the photographed proof of it?<br />
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That would explain why this young man never goes home at all during the entire film, even though serious end-of-the-world stakes do get raised later. I don't know about you, but even if I found out that my mom once let my closest friends give her the rotisserie chicken treatment -- if I knew that all of existence was going to end tonight, I'd still want to stop by and say Goodbye to her. I just wouldn't let her give me a kiss.<br />
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Anyway, The Doctor is taken to a hospital and he ends up dying in the emergency room, and this is where I tell you that up until this point, he's been played by Sylvester McCoy, who was the Seventh incarnation of the Doctor in the television series. But after he goes tits up, the baton is passed to Doctor Number Eight, who is played by Paul McGann, who I thought was not only fine as the Doctor, I actually preferred him to McCoy, if for no other reason than that I prefer my Doctors to be less Bilbo Baggins and more Aragorn. His introduction has a very Resurrection of Christ feel to it; he steps out of the morgue, still wrapped in a sheet, with flowing shoulder length hair -- but no Jesus beard -- and the sight of this causes Young and Fat pre-Mad TV Will Sasso to pass out.<br />
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The Master, meanwhile, ends up possessing a paramedic played by Eric Roberts, and when you consider the fact that Eric Roberts really likes to work and will take on any job handed to him, including advertisements for <a href="https://youtu.be/1hH0h5erqCY">motorcycle clubs</a> and <a href="https://youtu.be/i_80CjRMYl4?t=7">walk-in bathtubs</a>, it's not <a href="https://youtu.be/Azp1wm824Ug">hard</a> to imagine that maybe this paramedic is supposed to be the real Eric Roberts, making some extra dough between movies, commercials, television shows, and music videos, by helping to save lives. This is made even more believable when Eric Roberts' wife Eliza Roberts shows up later in the film in the role of Eric Roberts' wife.<br />
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I'm not bagging on Eric Roberts, by the way. I'm just pointing out that it's fairly obvious that if there's a paycheck attached, he'll take it. I think he's awesome and based on his appearance in Paul Thomas Anderson's 2014 film adaptation of <i>Inherent Vice</i>, he's still got it. Now you can argue that <a href="https://youtu.be/DAu0OajrO2s">his performance in this film</a> might not fit what you define as the word "good", but I dug, and you can tell he's having a blast doing it -- and typical of Mr. Roberts, he's puts in 100-percent.<br />
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<i><b>(UPDATE AFTER THE FACT DUE TO POOR RESEARCH: in 2019, Eric Roberts returned to the role of The Master for the Doctor Who audio story "Day of the Master", also featuring Paul McGann as The Doctor.)</b></i><br />
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So The Doctor sets off to find Eric Roberts, who is now decked out in a leather jacket and sunglasses ensemble that made me wish I lived in an alternate universe where Eric Roberts played The Terminator. With the help of stupid gullible Lee, Roberts opens The Eye of Harmony, which I guess is to the TARDIS what the Flux Capacitor was to Doc Brown's DeLorean. It also has the potential to mess with the fabric of time and space in the most severe manner possible.<br />
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Because this is all happening on New Year's Eve, The Doctor has until the stroke of midnight to stop Eric Roberts before it all goes to shit, as I alluded to earlier while talking about my friends banging my mom. By the way, it hurt to even write about that, but sometimes you have to commit to the nasty shit that spills out of your head in an attempt to make these ramblings remotely entertaining. This is what I do for you and my hungry ego.<br />
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Because this film was intended to revive and continue the Doctor Who series, it was also made as a sort-of re-pilot in an effort to garner new fans -- namely, the goddamn Yanks across the pond -- and so as a convenient way to explain the going-ons to newbies while not boring the seasoned fans, the tellers behind this story give the newly regenerated Doctor amnesia. As the plot thickens, The Doctor realizes what his own deal and reason for being is, in turn helping Joe and Jane Murica, who are watching this at home on the Fox network realize Doctor Who's whole deal and reason for being.<br />
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Oh, that Joe and Jane Murica, now that there is a couple made for each other. Love at first sight, it was -- they both grew up in a small town with true American values, working for a living unlike these lazy goddamn millennials who expect to have everything handed to them, and now here they are, in the current year of 1996 as they sit back and eat freshly popped Pop Secret movie theater flavored microwave popcorn, watching this weird movie on the tee-vee about some guy from either England or Australia -- it's the same thing -- and he's chasing after Julia Roberts' brother from <i>Star 80</i>, and hey, Jane, who's the lady he's with the whole time?<br />
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Well, Joe -- that there is Doctor Grace Holloway, the cardiologist who figured something was up with this gunshot victim because his x-rays showed that he had two hearts, and her suspicions were confirmed after said gunshot victim came back to life. So now you have Doctor Holloway helping out The Doctor, which I guess makes her his new Companion. <br />
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But here's my question, having only a passing knowledge of this television series: has the Doctor ever macked on one of his Companions before? Because that's what happens here, he and she have themselves a little kissy smooch-smooch action and if you'll excuse me, I'm about to shoot myself in the face for writing "kissy smooch-smooch action". <br />
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Ladies, if you're ever in the sad position of being my date and somewhere along the way I ask for a "little kissy smooch-smooch action", you have every right to cancel my creepy ass on some old Louis C.K. shit, as if I had blocked the exit and asked you do that for me -- not that I would ever have the balls to do something like that, cornering you and asking for a "little kissy smooch-smooch action". Besides, it's not like I'm in some position of power to help or hinder your career, I'm just me. So all a move like that would get me is a swift punch to the nose, and as I fall to the ground in a pathetic crumple, trying to stop the blood from gushing out my snout, you walk past me triumphantly to the strains of a Beyonce song, stepping out the door while calling me a "little-dick motherfucker". And I just don't need that kind of pain and humiliation in my life.<br />
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Not like Dr. Holloway is having any better luck on the dating circuit; early in the film, she gets paged during a night out with her boyfriend at the opera and has to leave to attend to her life-saving duties. This frustrates him and he ends up packing up his things from her place and walks out on her. This Val Kilmer's stand-in-looking motherfucker is a real lame-ass; I mean, dude, you could've married that chick and eventually you would've had some of the sweet, sweet doctor cash coming your way. <br />
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Of course, that's just what I think, and this is coming from a guy who would have no problem with my partner being the primary breadwinner in our relationship. The only time I'd have an issue with it would be knowing that every time we'd have a serious argument, she could always pull that card on me, and at any time she could be like "Then why don't you go get a fucking job and stop leeching off of me, how about rather than writing those stupid ramblings about horror movie marathons, you go fucking get a job so I don't have to support your lame ass. My father was right, I never should've dated outside of my race!"<br />
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Speaking of race, the two doctors race their way towards the film's mid-90s television-budgeted computerized special effects extravaganza -- aka the climax -- but then a motorcycle cop gets in the way, stopping them, and so the Doctor pulls out a bag of jelly beans from his coat and offers it to the policeman in order to distract him. It's a good thing the Doctor is as lily white as the cop; if the Doctor were a man of the darker persuasion and instead of Doctor Who it was Doctor Bho, I'd think there are about <a href="https://youtu.be/aQMqWAiWPMs">41 ways</a> -- all of them the same -- that it could've gone as soon as the Doctor reached for those jelly beans.<br />
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I'm going to go ahead and spoil a big part of this, so just skip ahead a paragraph or two, if it really makes a difference to you. But by the end of the film, a number of people have died during this adventure, including Lee and Doctor Holloway. After The Doctor defeats The Master, he then turns back time, and suddenly this golden mist comes out of the Eye of Harmony and goes into the dead bodies of Lee and Holloway and shazam! His friends are now alive again.<br />
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So wait a minute -- what was that golden mist and why did it come out of the Eye? Was that mist supposed to be their souls? Is the Eye a gateway into the afterlife? Are Heaven and Hell just a big part of the whole timey-wimey wibbly-wobbly mess? Should I really just relax?<br />
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To add further confusion, The Doctor then sends them to the first day of the year 2000. So does that mean he only brought Lee and Holloway back, while all the other poor schmucks like the various security guards, the non-possessed version of Eric Roberts, and even Eric Roberts' wife stay dead? That's not fair, dude. Either change all of it or none of it, don't just pick and choose what to fuck with -- determining who gets to live and who has to die, I mean, who the fuck are you, Doctor Who? OK, enough of that.<br />
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So here's the deal, folks. I am not what they call a "Whovian", but I have seen a few episodes and like I said earlier, I have a passing knowledge of the program, at least enough to be able to sound like I know what I'm talking about, should I find myself in a conversation with real Whovians -- and I can always bullshit the rest. But what I'm about to say could possibly expose me as a fake to those people<br />
-- <i>Doctor Who: The Movie</i> doesn't feel that much different from the series.<br />
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I can't fault the film for not letting us get to know the characters beyond a basic surface level that is relevant to the plot at hand; had this Doctor Who reboot/continuation been picked up as a series, I'm sure they would've delved deeper into what makes the characters of Lee and Holloway tick -- to say nothing of The Doctor himself. As for everything else, I don't know what the general consensus among Whovians is when it comes to this movie, but I thought it was just fine. I mean, I've seen better episodes than this film, but they're all about the same when comes to their overall entertainment value.<br />
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While I'm at it, let me piss off another group of hardcore fans of a popular science-fiction fantasy property: the <i>Star Wars</i> movies are all more or less equally good to me. I swear to you, I'm not trying to be a contrarian -- if anything, it's an opinion I've kept to myself up until now, because I'm not looking for a fight. I paid good money to see every one of those movies in the cinema and I always felt I got my money's worth. Now please leave me alone, I don't want trouble, just get out.<br />
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Anyway, I'm guessing one reason <i>Doctor Who: The Movie</i> might not be seen in as bright a light as everything else in the Who-verse -- or whatever the hell you nerds call it -- is that the producers were not only intending to introduce Doctor Who to American audiences, but that it was also going to be an American-centric program (despite being shot in Canada) and the Brits could either love it or leave it and it wouldn't mean a goddamn thing because what's a little place like the United Kingdom compared to big bad America, right?<br />
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But, like soccer and the metric system, America rejected this television movie/backdoor pilot, because we had better things to watch on television like <a href="https://youtu.be/4HcPvMYSz_U">"Suddenly Susan"</a>. But it did do well on the correct side of the pond, to which I'm sure these same producers then did a 180 and used the U.K. numbers as a selling point in a desperate attempt to have the show picked up. It wasn't, and it took nearly a decade before it came back and stayed for good, currently featuring a female incarnation of The Doctor, which you know has to be pissing off somebody out there.<br />
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And that's all well and good, I'm glad the show has a huge following and all, but when it comes to watching a time-traveling do-gooder on television, give me "Quantum Leap" any old day. That's right, I said that shit: Quantum Leap, bitches! I lied about not wanting trouble -- NOW FIGHT ME COWARDS<br />
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<br /></p>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-42150372309896735622019-11-19T07:29:00.001-08:002023-01-18T19:22:45.683-08:00Comb your goddamn hair.<br /><iframe title="#9 - All-Night Horror Show 2019 at New Beverly Cinema" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=mtjsk-c81fca-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br /><br />
It was Saturday October 19th and I was at the <a href="https://t.co/HAiigjtNJi?amp=1">New Beverly Cinema</a> in Los Angeles for the 2019 <b>All-Night Horror Show </b>and I was worried that all the good seats would be taken by the time I got in. But considering that tickets to this event sold out in mere seconds, I thought to myself "Hey, at least I <u>have</u> a ticket, good seat or not".<br />
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I define a good seat as one with quick access to the aisle, that way I wouldn't have to inconvenience my fellow moviegoers by doing the whole "excuse me pardon me sorry excuse me pardon me" thing all night every time I needed to go to the restroom to snort a line or two. Luckily, I found a good seat despite having a guy with bedhead sit in front of me, which meant that every once in a while he would sit up straight, his wayward strands sticking up through the bottom of the screen every which way but loose, resulting in me watching the films as if I were viewing them through a creepy cornfield -- which kinda added to the whole Halloween vibe, he said while trying to make a positive out of the overwhelmingly negative.<br />
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The night began with an intro by host/programmers Brian Quinn and Phil Blankenship; they gave us a quick rundown of what to expect: six horror films -- all secret surprise picks of which we would not know until they played -- and as is the custom with the All-Night Horror Show, the movies would not be old or new favorites that are often seen around this time of year, they would all be films that were rarely screened in this neck of the woods, that is, if they were ever screened at all. Brian credited Phil for doing ninety percent of the work for the last couple All Nighters; Phil then said to us that if we loved any of the films shown tonight, they were his choices, if we hated any of the films, it was all Brian.<br />
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The lights went down, and we were treated to a Mighty Mouse cartoon called <a href="https://youtu.be/-W_HZIdYjxM">"The Witch's Cat"</a>, about a witch flying around town on a broomstick, looking for mice to feed to her cat, who is also along for the ride. They find a group of Halloween-celebrating mice, and the chase begins. Now it's been nearly a month, so my memory is kinda hazy, but I think that at some point Mighty Mouse eventually came in to save the day.<br />
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Following that, we watched a trailer reel that included the films <i><a href="https://youtu.be/dfp-9xv1Dqk">Meat Cleaver Massacre</a></i>, <i>Deadly Games</i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/tpL2a0h-WDE">He Knows You're Alone</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/msgam8fzzi4">Silent Scream</a></i>, and <i><a href="https://youtu.be/kQCIpvkd_Ls">The Final Terror</a></i>.<br />
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The first film turned out to be 1988's <b>Edge of the Axe</b> directed by Joseph Braunstein, which is a funny way to spell Jose Ramon Larraz. Senor Braunstein helms this movie about a mask-wearing axe murderer going around axe-murdering all the ladies in a small woodsy town somewhere up there in the mountains -- and good luck convincing the sheriff about these murders, by the way. He's more concerned about keeping the pristine reputation of his town, so if, let's say, a woman's rotting corpse is discovered hanging upside down from the attic of a bar, well, that there is clean-cut case of suicide. Say, wasn't that part-time hooker found dead near the train tracks with multiple wounds that look to have been done with an axe? Nope, that there is just another everyday case of someone walking onto the tracks and getting hit by a train.<br />
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But I can't blame the sheriff. I can only blame the people who go along and enable his bullshit, like the owner of said bar and the conductor of said train and the deputy who picks up evidence with his bare hands before taking it to get dusted for fingerprints. Most of all, I blame the people who voted for this man to become sheriff in the first place. They should've seen this coming, but no, they liked him because to quote one of these assholes in an anecdote I just made up, "He speaks just like I speak".<br />
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If you like giallo-ish movies that make little to no sense and feature laughable dialogue and performances, then give <i>Edge of the Axe</i> a try. It was a hit with the crowd, getting big reactions from scenes like the one where the hero's love interest tries out his fancy computer -- a computer that has the ability to speak in an echo-y voice that sounds like a bored narrator -- and she types in a question. The hero asks her what question did she ask the computer, and she replies "I asked it if you were gay."<br />
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A fair question to ask, because considering how shitty the women get treated in this film, all the men in this town must either be super gay or ultra hetero -- that's right, kids, here no penis resides in the middle.<br />
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The answer the computer gives to the love interest's gay question, by the way, is "Data incomplete", and that's why I miss the 1980s. Because nowadays you don't even have to ask your computer, it's already volunteering those answers to you whether you want to know or not.<br />
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After a trailer reel that included <i><a href="https://youtu.be/dn2QmJRgnR4">Dracula: Prince of Darkness</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/lHaClZaXoJk">When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/UeQTmGt-7wE">The Gorgon</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/4MZVT5oqRXk">Night of the Blood Monster</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/ojPz6TbkEyg">Frankenstein Created Woman</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/ojPz6TbkEyg">The Mummy's Shroud</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/3_Ri5W6GmHU">Twins of Evil</a></i>, and <i><a href="https://youtu.be/duaH3nPO98s">Hands of the Ripper</a></i>, the second film turned out to be a rare Technicolor print of the 1967 Hammer production, <b>Quatermass and the Pit</b> (or as it was known in the United States, <i>Five Million Years to Earth</i>), which takes place in the land of free healthcare and bad teeth and evidently worse public transportation, because a bunch of these Brits have to deal with the temporary closure of one of their subways.<br />
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You know how it is, it's the same everywhere; every year these different city departments want to ensure they get the same (if not more) amount in their yearly budget, and if they haven't spent it all, they won't get it. So down they go, tearing up perfectly fine places while leaving the areas in need of fixing alone. Well, these clowns are in for a surprise, because they end up finding the skeletal remains of, get this, ape-men.<br />
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Yeah, right. I don't know about you, I didn't come from some ape. I came from the first two humans placed here on this planet by God -- and their names were Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve! Yeah, that's right, I heard about you. I asked the computer and it told me everything I needed to know. <br />
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You know who would probably agree with me? (About the ape-men, not your sexual preference.), Professor Quatermass, who is pretty sure these supposed ape-men are actually aliens from five million years ago, and he's probably right on account of the giant metallic vessel they end up digging up. Gradually, weird and crazy stuff happens, and at one point -- if this is a spoiler, then you have clearly discovered the time travel and you need to go back 52 years to when this movie was new -- Martians get mixed up in the plot, and when you see them during a sequence that involves recording someone's deeply hidden psychic thoughts, well, it's not quite the video log from the <i>Event Horizon</i>. Based on some audience members reactions, I wasn't alone in thinking, how, uh, quaint these Martians looked.<br />
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OK, fine, they look like grasshoppers. I don't mean the drink, either, I mean like the insect Johnny 5's stupid ass crushed before realizing he couldn't reassemble it. Hey, I mentioned the drink just a sentence ago and speaking of drinks, there's a part where one dude working at the pit starts losing his shit, and so this lady pulls a flask out of her bag to give this guy a shot of Calm The Hell Down. I want to party with this chick, who's more down with the spirits than Quatermass, who prefers not to drink before noon; he sounds like a man who's never had the pleasure of a 7am beer, if you ask me. Ah, there's nothing like a 7am beer -- except a 7am beer while taking a shower ohhhhh<br />
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I had never seen the BBC serial this all originated from, but I have seen the previous Quatermass films, <i>The Quatermass Xperiment</i> and <i>Quatermass II: Electric Boogaloo</i>, and I got a kick out of them. They're all so properly British while everything around them gets increasingly nutty. I liked this film the most, and if you like ultra-serious, deliberately paced sci-fi films with touches of horror here and there, you might dig this too. Or check out the 1985 Tobe Hooper movie <i>Lifeforce</i>, which I see as an unofficial Quatermass film that's doped up on cocaine, mescaline, and Ecstasy.<br />
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Before the third film, we were treated to <a href="https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6cbb20">an episode of The Beatles television cartoon series</a> from the 1960s, which included a story about a mad scientist who tries to force Paul to marry a vampire bat woman, and another story where the Fab Four are messing around in a wax museum. I didn't even know The Beatles had a television series, and I wish I could tell you that it was good, but aside from the use of actual Beatles songs on the soundtrack, it was really nothing to scream about, not unless you were a teenage girl in the 60s who would scream for anything Beatles related.<br />
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That was followed by a trailer reel that included <i><a href="https://youtu.be/x73kkuy45KA">The Beast with Five Fingers</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/ek43qsMoiUw">Attack of the Giant Leeches</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/PCEM0zBMuUQ">I Was A Teenage Werewolf</a></i>, the original <i><a href="https://youtu.be/U-5kuxXQg1M">Little Shop of Horrors</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/T5dwbZKd64Y">The Thing from Another World</a></i>, and <i><a href="https://youtu.be/lOzgz1Ddmz8">White Zombie</a></i>. <br />
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After the trailers, we watched a short subject titled <a href="https://youtu.be/35piJvqIFGQ">"Intimate Interviews"</a>, about a lady by the name of Dorothy West -- not to be confused with the Harlem Renaissance writer of the same name -- who goes to interview Bela Lugosi in his back yard. They discuss his Hungarian background, his study of American slang, and other things, before Bela suddenly stares off at the middle distance and says "I'm coming", which creeps Miss West out and she runs away.<br />
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We all had a good laugh with that one, before settling in for 1943's <b>The Mad Ghoul</b>, about a college professor named Morris who in between teaching pre-med students and future Big Pharma types about chemicals and their chemistry, likes to do things like kill innocent monkeys with nerve gas. This asshole didn't even come up with the recipe for this gassy concoction himself, he took it from the ancient Mayans -- as opposed to the modern Mayans -- who would use the gas to kill their sacrificial victims, before taking the sacrificial victims' heart out as part of some dumb ritual that is supposed to appease their stupid gods.<br />
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So Morris ends up using the gas on his big strapping lad of a student, Ted, on account of the good doctor having a thing for Ted's girlfriend, Isabel. The way it works is, he gassed this dude, effectively killing him. But then he juices him up with fluid from the hearts of the recently deceased, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you make yourself a mindless zombie who will do your bidding. By day, Ted -- more like Dead, am I right, people? -- is pretty much in regular person mode, still trying to work things out with Isabel, and by night, he is the titular Mad Ghoul, going on a killing tour with Dr. Morris, who instructs him to murder various people in order to continue with his experiments.<br />
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When he's in Mad Ghoul mode, Ted reminded me of the mind controlled assassins from the first <i>Naked Gun</i> film; I know they were referencing <i>The Manchurian Candidate</i> with that movie, but I wonder if maybe, just maybe, there wasn't a little subconscious pull from this movie as well? Or did the filmmakers behind The Manchurian Candidate take from The Mad Ghoul? Or maybe <u>they</u> didn't see The Mad Ghoul, but maybe Richard Condon, the author of the novel "The Manchurian Candidate", maybe he saw this film and stole from it, in between stealing from the Robert Graves novel "I, Claudius"? Or maybe I should just move on?<br />
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So, you hear Isabel sing a couple times during the film, and it reminded me of how lame music used to be until they invented black people. Don't get me wrong, her singing is pretty, I'm just saying it's the kind of singing that goes well with mayonnaise and watercress, washed down with a weak cup of tea. Is this the time period certain people refer to as to when America was Great? If so, are these the same people who talk about "taco trucks on every corner" as if that were a bad thing? Because that would make sense, I mean, what I'm saying is, I can see those same people growing up in New Hampshire or wherever the fuck they all come from, these Dartmouth attending fucks -- the men in plaid suits and straw boater hats, the women in tennis dresses and saddle shoes -- and they're all strolling down the streets snacking on toasted cheese sandwiches while snapping their fingers because everything is Mighty Fine? Is that what we are supposed to want to come back to? <br />
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I don't know, man. I don't even like watercress.<br />
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While no unforgettable classic, The Mad Ghoul is an entertaining "programmer" -- to use the parlance of the times -- and it's good times in a second-half-of-a-double feature sort-of-way, and if you're the kind of person who has Turner Classic Movies on all day in the background, you'll probably like this movie. I am that kind of person, and so I did.<br />
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During the intro to the next film, Phil told us that with only three movies left, we would be watching the three best Ghoulies films, he then told us, all kidding aside, that the film we were about to watch would also be first ever repertory screening, and that it took some legal wrangling in order to pull it off. We watched a trailer reel featuring <i><a href="https://youtu.be/qk9fevPv_ew">Scream 2</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/yiAlcLlJpQE">I Know What You Did Last Summer</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/ipcvwwIoEHo">Disturbing Behavior</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/rmSvqfwFWDI">Urban Legends: Final Cut</a></i>, and <i><a href="https://youtu.be/aHASWXlET04">Don't Say a Word</a></i>, followed by a U.K. print of the fourth feature of the night: The 2000 film <b>Cherry Falls</b>, and this is where I give out a long sigh because this stars the late Brittany Murphy, who honestly should still be here with us being goofy and adorable and talented as hell and all that, but she isn't, what are you gonna do? Well, for starters you can remember her by watching some of the better movies she was in, such as this one. Murphy plays Jody, your typical small town teenager living your typical teenager small town life, except things are getting decidedly non-typical when someone starts murdering her fellow typical teens for the sin of not sinning. What I mean is that this wacko is killing virgins.<br />
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It's such an inspired premise; usually these slashers are about the punishment of deviants who lay down with the demons of drugs, alcohol, and premarital sex, but in this film, it's the chaste who are getting chased and once the town sheriff played by Michael Biehn discovers this, he's faced with quite the conundrum. I mean, how does one tell the entire town that a serial killer is targeting virgins, and if so, will you even get taken seriously, and if one is taken seriously, what then? Will this mean all the non-experienced are gonna running out the door in some kind of wanna-bang frenzy? You'll have to watch the movie to find out.<br />
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Personally, I think you'd have to tell everybody this, not just to save lives but because as someone who owns stock in both Durex and Trojan, I would appreciate all the extra money I would make off of all these kids. In fact, I think if I had the wherewithal to do this, I'd fund some tactical assassinations in small towns all over this great country of ours. You'd find the virgins through Reddit and 4Chan and trick them into thinking they're gonna get some, then you'd give 'em all Colombian neckties, and spraypaint the word VIRGIN on their chests so there'd be no mistake. No one would miss those kids except their fellow miscreants and maybe their parents. And how the money would flow.<br />
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As the trailers that preceded this alluded to us, <i>Cherry Falls</i> is very much of-and-from the glut of teen slashers that came out post-<i>Scream</i> in the late 90s to early 2000s, but it's also one of the better post-Scream-ers. It's closer to that Wes Craven joint in tone, in that there's just as many laughs as there are scares. But while it's very much a smart-ass satire at times, there are also very strong and sincere dramatic moments that might catch you off guard; for me, it was specifically an exceptionally acted scene between Murphy and Candy Clark taking place in a library that reminded me: Oh yeah, this is from the director of <i>Romper Stomper</i>.<br />
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But by the time of the -- ahem -- climax, the film pulls out all the stops and based on the reactions from the audience, they were digging it as much as I was digging it. It certainly seemed to wake them up from what I could sense was a bit of slumber time with the last couple deliberately paced films. I realized how lucky we were to get to see <i>Cherry Falls</i> in a movie theater, considering that it didn't even get a theatrical release in the United States, where instead it premiered in an edited-for-television version on the basic cable USA network; reportedly, it was a toxic combination of a change of distributors plus the United States Senate shining an unwanted post-Columbine spotlight on teen violence in movies that sinked it. That's too bad, because I think among all the <i>Scream</i> wannabes out there making tidy profits, <i>Cherry Falls</i> coulda been a contender.<br />
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We were then told that there were free doughnuts outside the theater, and I decided not to partake as a way to demonstrate to myself that I did indeed have willpower and that I was indeed a man of strength. That, and I also didn't want to risk the sugar crash that would make it tougher to get through the night. It was a noble experiment that resulted in failure, when after holding out for the entire break, I went ahead and grabbed a delicious old fashioned before the next trailer reel began. <br />
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Before the lights dimmed, we were told by Brian and Phil that the last two films would play back to back, with no intermission between them, as there had been between the previous films. They then thanked the projection staff for keeping things running smoothly, as well as the audience for keeping up with all the craziness of the evening. Then we watched old previews for the films <i><a href="https://youtu.be/tkGMQdAh-Vo">Mark of the Witch</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/H7SPTDwX6-M">The Witch's Curse</a></i>, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/Fax1uhZxvEA">Simon King of the Witches</a></i>, and <i><a href="https://youtu.be/jyW5YXDcIGs">The Exorcist</a></i>, so it wasn't too hard to guess that the next movie was going to involve witches and devil shit.<br />
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Sure enough, the fifth film of the marathon, the 1975 Spanish production <b>Demon Witch Child</b>, also known as <i>The Possessed</i> or <i>La Endemoniada</i>, involved both subjects. Man, this movie does not mess around; it lets you know how hard it intends to play right from the very beginning, as we watch an old lady walk into a church and proceed to knock things over as if she were a common house cat, then she steals a chalice and walks over to a statue of the Archangel Michael slaying the Devil, where she leaves a candle next to the dark lord, as if he needed any more fire in his life.<br />
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See, this old lady is an evil Satan-worshipping witch who is getting all set up for a good ol' human sacrifice for her master, and she makes no bones about her intentions. The witch gets taken in by the police, they give her the third degree because said human sacrifice is a local baby she kidnapped! They even bring in the baby's mother to beg and plead for her son's return, and the witch calls her a bitch, straight out telling her that it ain't gonna happen, and that baby's as dead as my faith in humanity. And while the witch's faith in her master is strong, it's evidently not stronger than sodium pentathol, and upon finding out that the cops are gonna dope her up with truth serum in order to get the boy's location out of her, she exits stage right -- right out the window and falls to her bloody death.<br />
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This news does not go well with the deceased's fellow witches at the coven; after the sacrificing the baby -- I told you this movie doesn't mess around -- they end up giving the police chief's daughter Susan a necklace that allows the spirit of the dead witch to possess her, leading Susan to raise proverbial havoc. First she starts off nice and slow by talking back to her family, then she moves on to playing some of The Exorcist's greatest hits like levitating and swearing up a storm -- she's particularly fond of using pejorative terms for people your computer would identify as gay -- then she moves up to expert level tricks like changing her appearance so instead of looking like the Spanish version of Young Briony Tallis from <i>Atonement</i>, she looks more like the ugly balding witch who resides within, before <a href="https://vimeo.com/139855775">chopping a dude's penis off and sending it to his lady in a container</a>.<br />
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There are a lot of surprisingly harsh moments in this film, and they all sound shocking when described, but the movie goes about them in such a goofy low-rent manner, I mostly laughed through all of it. On top of that, the English dubbing is just as goofy and low rent, and for all I know, watching it in the original language could improve the overall film. But really, I don't think it could improve it by <u>that</u> much. But the important thing is that it's never boring, and that's all you can ask for when watching anything, really. By this point in the marathon, there were quite a few snorers in the audience, so maybe it wasn't as entertaining for them as it was for me.<br />
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By the way: if you're predisposed to be snoring, how about you just leave? That's assuming you're by yourself at this marathon -- if you have a friend with you, and he or she is awake, then I'm even angrier that they didn't wake your loud ass up. I usually go to these things with a buddy who does snore, and I am so on top of that shit it's not even funny. I'll start with a nudge, then a shove, then I'll punch you in the arm if that's what it takes, because you are not going to intrude upon the audience's enjoyment -- or mine, for that matter. The rest of you solo snorers and snore-enablers, on the other hand, I'll punch in the fucking face if I had the money and the clout to get away with it.<br />
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That's why I have to give it up to the gentleman who sat a couple seats down from me; he started with that snoring during this film and despite being a stranger, I got up and nudged, then shoved him awake. He was up for a while, then he started nodding off -- but he caught himself. So he then got up and left for the rest of the film for what I can only assume was some fresh air, coffee, or a bump, because he came back before the next film and was back to being bright eyed & bushy tailed. At least until he nodded off again and then just took off for good. As he should.<br />
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After a sci-fi remake trailer reel that included John Carpenter's <i><a href="https://youtu.be/5ftmr17M-a4">The Thing</a></i>, David Cronenberg's <i><a href="https://youtu.be/Z-V3X963DRI">The Fly</a></i>, Jim Wynorski's <i><a href="https://youtu.be/XWqsh4xRnyc">Not of This Earth</a></i>, and Chuck Russell's <i><a href="https://youtu.be/vq0our4mceQ">The Blob</a></i>, the sixth and final film of the night turned out to be 1993's <b>Body Snatchers</b>, the third adaptation of Jack Finney's novel about humans being replaced with alien duplicates hatched from pods. This version of the story takes place in an Army base and focuses on teenage girl Marti (played by young adult Gabrielle Anwar), who along with her dad, her stepmom, and her half-brother, are new to the whole place.<br />
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While Dad's out literally testing the waters on behalf of the Environmental Protection Agency, Marti's doing the out-of-place youngster thing: not being cool with her stepmom (played by Meg Tilly), making friends with fellow teenage girl Jen and making googly eyes at dreamy helicopter pilot Tim, the entire time trying not to get too weirded out by the occasional odd sight and strange behavior among the soldiers. It's already a creepy enough place knowing that <a href="https://youtu.be/SxwMTAy1gP0">Forest Whitaker</a> is stumbling around the place.<br />
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The audience applauded quite a bit during the opening credits, because plenty of genre favorites were involved in the making of the film: among the screenwriters you have B-movie legends Larry Cohen, Stuart Gordon and Dennis Paoli, and frequent Abel Ferrara collaborator Nicolas St. John, which makes sense because Abel Ferrara directed this film. What doesn't make sense is that Abel Ferrara directed this film.<br />
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<a href="https://youtu.be/aY7yyhjOXWw">If you're not familiar with Mr. Ferrara</a>, he is definitely someone I feel comfortable calling an auteur, because his films are very much in a class of their own and they always leave you wanting to take a shower after watching them. He's probably best known for the 1992 film <i>Bad Lieutenant</i> and remains a legend in the independent filmmaking scene and so it's very interesting that Warner Brothers hired the guy to make this mainstream horror movie for them. Based on accounts by Mr. Ferrara, it went about as well as expected, which is to say, not well at all. And in the end, it got thrown away by the studio and remains, in my opinion anyway, criminally underseen.<br />
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Of its many qualities, I feel the look of the film is one of them. The cinematographer was Bojan Bazelli, who had shot Ferrara's previous films and this appears to have been their final collaboration, which is too bad because they made beautiful visual music together. It's all creepy shadows mixed with shafts of lights coming in through window blinds or cracks in doors, and the widescreen compositions have this way of making me feel claustrophobic, where even wide open spaces leave one feeling like there's nowhere to escape.<br />
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Which is the whole point, right? It's like one pod person says to some humans attempting to escape: "Go where?" <i>Body Snatchers</i> has such an overwhelming sense of doom to it, where perhaps the aliens have a point and they're not bullshitting when they tell you how screwed you are, because there's nowhere to go because it's happening everywhere, so why not just give up and let it happen, baby.<br />
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And the messed up part is, maybe they're right? I mean, look at us. Really, look at us. We fight over everything. We fight over politics, we fight over parking spaces, we're shooting each other at schools and stabbing each other for chicken sandwiches. Why not let the aliens take us over so we'll all finally be one happy family! Well, minus the "happy" part, because these pod people don't do emotions. But hey, I'm too emotional anyway, so let's pod me up so I can be rid of these pesky feelings!<br />
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The film is deliberately paced (in other words, slow) and I can see that being tough on a sleepy audience around six in the morning. But that's also kind of the fun part, trying not to fall asleep during a film where characters are warning others not to sleep, because that's when the pod people take you over. It's pretty much broken into two acts, with the first act being all creepy setup, then at the midpoint there's a real banger of a scene featuring Meg Tilly's character, and as that concluded, some of the audience couldn't help but applaud because the scene is <u>that</u> good and Tilly knocks it right out the park! From that point on, the second act is quite the ride and it's fun to watch what Ferrara is able to pull off with big studio money and big studio drugs.<br />
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I had seen this film once before on Cinemax back in '94 or '95, and I enjoyed it, but it was a lousy pan-and-scan transfer that really hurt the film, because a lot of the inherent creepiness of this movie comes from the way the shots are composed. Watching it in its full aspect ratio in a dark theatre during the transitional period between night and day, well, it really amped up the chills for me and it was like watching it for the first time, only better.<br />
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After the film, it was straight to a Disney cartoon short, <a href="https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6c2wu1">"Trick or Treat"</a>, starring Donald Duck as a miserable asshole who pranks his trick-or-treating nephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie, rather than give them candy. I get it -- it's a choice, right? It's right there in the phrase, "trick or treat". But who actually goes with the "trick" option? Miserable assholes, that's who. Thankfully, there's a witch who witnesses all of this and she decides to help the three little ducks out in doling out some much needed payback to that son-of-a-bitch.<br />
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Because nothing makes one feel more patriotic about the United States than watching a piece of shit named Donald get a well-deserved punishment, the marathon then concluded with a film of "The Star Spangled Banner" that included on-screen lyrics.<br />
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Then the<span style="text-align: center;"> lights came up, and another All-Night Horror Show had come to an end. Before stepping outside to the bright morning light, we were each given a special drink coaster for making it through the night. I grabbed yet another doughnut for the ride home, a glazed. It was now about seven on a Sunday morning, which meant that there was only one thing left for a God-fearing man such as myself to do on a Sunday morning. </span><br />
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It's the only thing a God-fearing man could do on a Sunday morning, and the only thing a God-fearing man should do on a Sunday morning: I went home and slept.<br />
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<br />EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-2489478195206353742019-05-10T21:12:00.004-07:002023-01-18T19:23:40.327-08:00An uncomfortable motif. <br /><br /><iframe title="#8 - Mid90s" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=vyj4k-b0db3d-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br />
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It was the Spring of 2017 and there I was at the family reunion talking to my cousin, and he asks me if I've heard anything about this skateboarding movie that Jonah Hill was going to make. I only knew what he knew, which was that Jonah Hill was planning to make a skateboarding movie -- and that it took place in the 1990s. <br />
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That got both of us interested; as a child of both the 80s and 90s, I looked forward to looking back. As for my cousin, he not only shared the time period experience but was part of the skateboarding scene back then as well.<br />
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My cousin asked me if I had any idea when the movie would come out; I told him that usually these things come out about a year, maybe a year-and-a-half after they're announced -- so I figured sometime in 2018.<br />
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Allow me to give you some background about me and my cousin. He's a few years younger than me, and because we lived no more than ten minutes away from each other back in the 1980s, we grew up together. We hung out, played with action figures, graduated to video games, watched the WWE back when it was the WWF, and cheered on the latest Schwarzenegger and Stallone flicks. (My first viewings of <i>The Karate Kid</i>, <i>Big Trouble in Little China</i>, and <i>Robocop</i> were with him.)<br />
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Then he moved to Mexico in the early 90s, and from then on I'd only see him whenever I was visiting over there or he was visiting over here. We'd stay at each other's places and catch up while taking in all the wonderful pop culture the glorious 90s had to offer us. As we got older, I saw him less and less because that's what happens; I'd only see him at family functions or weddings or funerals or all that other fun stuff.<br />
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So back to 2017 -- back to us talking about this Jonah Hill 1990s skateboarding movie. I can see how excited he was getting because of the subject matter and time period, and while I was only half interested, the half that I was interested in was a pretty big half. He knew this and I knew this, and so he said something like "It'd be cool to see it with you whenever it comes out" and I immediately jumped in with "So let's do it. When it comes out, I'll come down and see you and we'll make a day of it."<br />
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By this time, he and his family were now in San Diego, which from my Los Angeles County location is only a two hour drive. My cousin loved the idea and so I told him I'd hit him up the closer we got to the film's release date, which was to be sometime in late 2018.<br />
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Now cut to early 2018, when my sister asked me if I had anything I wanted to say to my cousin for a special going-away message the rest of the family was putting together for him. It turned out that my cousin was moving out of San Diego, California and moving into San Antonio, Texas.<br />
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Which meant that he would go from being a two hour drive away to a twenty hour drive away.<br />
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After picking up the nearest pillow and screaming into it, I then wrote my cousin a message wishing him and his family all my best with San Antonio -- and that I still planned on meeting up with him to see this goddamn movie called <b>Mid90s</b>.<br />
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A few months later -- November 2018, to be exact, I flew to San Antonio. I checked into my hotel room, and yeah, I got a hotel room because I didn't want to put my cousin out like that, plus he has kids and they're young and I fuckin' hate kids and I don't want to be jerking off in the guest room while watching YouPorn and all of a sudden here comes my cousin's six-year-old barging in catching me off guard just as I shoot and WHAP he gets nutted in the eye and great, now I'm a sex predator.<br />
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Fuck that shit, I like my privacy. I like to have a nice hotel room where I can comfortably walk around naked with the curtains open, just in case there's a voyeuristic woman or man in the next building who's looking for something to wish for. <br />
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Anyway, before unpacking I had DoorDash bring me a double cheeseburger and a Monterey Melt with an order of fries and an order of onion rings from Whataburger as a nightcap. The following day, I went to <a href="https://www.2msmokehouse.com/">2M Smokehouse BBQ</a> where I had some incredible beef brisket and a side of "chicharoni macaroni" for breakfast, then I did the tourist thing by visiting <a href="https://youtu.be/0PdeHy_87OM">The Alamo</a>, got myself a hot towel shave and a haircut at a place where they served me Shiner Bock while I waited, and then I had dinner on a riverboat at <a href="http://www.boudros.com/">Boudro's</a> over on the Riverwalk, where I had a lovely conversation with the only other single person on board, a woman who appeared to be in her 70s and who was there to watch her grandkids perform in a band for some function at the Alamo.<br />
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Somewhere during this conversation, I mentioned to her that I always wanted to eat on a riverboat on the Riverwalk ever since I saw Steve McQueen do it in the 1972 film <i>The Getaway</i>, and that's where we both discovered we were both movie geeks. She was particularly fond of the works of Paul Schrader. I asked her if she had seen his latest film <i>First Reformed.<br /></i><br />
She said she hadn't. Neither had I. <br />
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And that's when we locked eyes and I remembered earlier when she mentioned being divorced and I knew right then and there that we were only four glasses of wine between us from having a little May-December action in one of our hotel rooms later that night.<br />
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Having reached that ratio by the end of the meal, I waited for everybody else to exit the boat before hitting her with the big question: Would you like to join me for another drink or three? I hadn't finished my proposition when I saw her slowly reach into her purse and pull out a whistle, to which I immediately said "Good evening, ma'am!" and stepped off the boat and walked straight to the Coyote Ugly Saloon next door. I ended up having a couple beers while watching girls stand on the bar while doing PG-13 dance routines and giving both men and women their version of "body shots" which consisted of one of the Coyote Ugly girls tying the lucky man's hands behind his back while she put a shotglass of tequila into her mouth and tilt it so that the contents poured into the James Franco-in-Spring-Breakers lookalike's mouth -- again, that's if the customer is a man.<br />
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For the female customers, the body shot consisted of the Coyote Ugly Girl bringing the lucky lady onto the bar, laying her down face up on said bar, and grinding her body against hers and somewhere along the way, the lady gets her drink and we're all supposed to act like there isn't a double standard going on and this is of course called "experimenting" because it's OK for women to fuck around with other women all they want and it doesn't mean they're dykes but if I say something like "Hey, I have no problems sleeping with a transgender chick provided she doesn't still have a dick -- and if she does, OK fine, as long as it isn't bigger than mine" NOOO, I'm the biggest homo this side of San Antonio! <br />
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You see, old single grandma on the riverboat? I wasn't trying to sleep with you, you're not customized with the proper add-ons! So put away the rape whistle, honey, and let's get back to talking about that one movie where George C. Scott watches his daughter get banged in a porno!<br />
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The next day, I met up with my cousin at the AMC Rivercenter 11 and we spent a couple hours catching up, and then spent another ninety minutes watching the film we'd been talking about for the past couple years. So I guess I should talk a little about the film, huh?<br />
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<i>Mid90s</i> follows a young kid named Stevie somewhere in Southern California circa 1995 who has a typical lower middle class lifestyle, that is, if your lower middle class lifestyle included having a young single mother who has no problems discussing her love life in front of you, and having an older brother who regularly beats the ever-loving fuck out of you for sneaking into his room while he was out.<br />
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Me, I didn't have to deal with that kind of bullshit back then, I realized way too late in retrospect that I had it really fucking good back then family-wise -- my parents were straight arrows and the worst thing that ever happened between me and my sister was when we watched the Corey Haim and Corey Feldman movie <i><a href="https://youtu.be/jLV0X7Efru0">Blown Away</a></i>, which we thought would be good for a laugh but it turned out that the joke was on us when half of that movie consisted of watching fuckin' Lucas over here bang Nicole Eggert over and over again, and I don't know if my sister and I were trying to tough it out, figuring that watching The Lost Boy show Charles who <u>really</u> was In Charge would eventually give way to, you know, the fuckin' story, but no, it didn't. <br />
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Anyway, Stevie doesn't have to watch Nicole Eggert get passed back and forth by the Coreys much like they used to pass needles and STDs to each other. Instead he takes his beatings, and one gets the sense that perhaps he feels he deserves it, because on occasion Stevie will do the self-harm thing with such lovely household items as a hair brush, the cord of a Super Nintendo controller, and his own fists. This is his life, he has to deal with it, he's used to it, and maybe it's because he doesn't know any better, he just knows what he knows.<br />
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So one day, Stevie walks into the skate shop that had previously caught his eye and slowly ingratiates himself into the small tight-knit crew of skater boys that hang out there. It's four guys and half are assholes and half are all right, which sounds about right. I'm glad they weren't all assholes, because otherwise I'd have to say about skaters and this film what Quentin Tarantino said about surfers and the John Milius' film <i>Big Wednesday</i> -- that it's a better movie than those assholes deserve.<br />
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But no, the few times I hung out with my cousin when he was with his skate-bros, half of them were decent dudes, while the other half I wanted nothing more than to see a fucking truck splatter them all over the pavement, followed by listening to the sweet screams of their worthless mothers wailing to their former sons/current street pizzas.<br />
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I can joke about that because I almost got hit by a truck when I was six years old. I was being a little fuck and I ran out of the house and into the street and a semi-truck almost Gage'd my ass. My mother nearly had a heart attack at the sight of this, but she recovered quickly enough to regain the power to inflect major damage on my hindquarters with her immortal <i>chancla</i>. Some of you fuckin' hippies can call it child abuse if you want, but it was the only time my mother ever hit me and I feel I earned that beating, and you know what? I don't run blindly into streets anymore.<br />
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Maybe Stevie could stand for some chancla action, rather than his usual brotherly beatdowns, because maybe that would've taught him not to scream at his mother to "shut the fuck up!" I shit you not, he actually does that, <a href="https://youtu.be/baDWzuYotJo">in one scene he goes off on her</a>, repeatedly screaming that shit at his mom over and over again. That really is some white people shit, right there. I've never heard of any Hispanic or Black kids yelling at their moms like that, probably because those that did -- if they ever did -- never got more than two words into their tirade before every trace of their existence was immediately wiped off the face of the Earth by their moms.<br />
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I love my mom and I think she's awesome, but I also respect the fact that inside that increasingly tiny old woman beats the heart of a lioness and I would never dream of screaming at her as if I were some spoiled ass white boy. You can point all the guns and knives in the world at me, but threaten me with telling my mom about something I did and I'll drop to my knees faster than a 14-year-old boy auditioning for the next Bryan Singer production.<br />
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Stevie soon scores a skateboard of his own and discovers a new way to escape from the realities of his life via rolling down streets and sidewalks on a board that has a dinosaur saying "Cowabunga" on it. Rather than having movie night in the living room with his mom, Stevie enjoys the simple pleasures of finally pulling off a trick move at the end of a night full of failed attempts. This is an awesome new thing for the little dude, who is soon given the nickname "Sunburn".<br />
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No longer alone or depending on the kindness of an abusive older sibling, Stevie has a second family to hang out with and now he also has access to cool things for little children like 40-ounce beers and cheap weed and older girls who are into you because you're too young to ditch them for someone hotter later on.<br />
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About that last part, this girl -- who looks Hispanic and I'm assuming is under 18 -- ends up chatting Stevie up and eventually takes him to her room where she ends up kissing up on him. First off, I bet you that chick grew up to become one of those teachers you hear about on the news, the ones who hook up with one of their students, and me and my fellow men react with the same bullshit half-joking comments about how we wished we had a teacher bang us when we were kids because it would instill in us a confidence well beyond our years, and that this confidence would probably have made us into goddamn winners in life.<br />
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Second, this scene between Sunburn and the creeper chola feels kinda weird because she looks older than her age and he looks younger than his age, and it's shot in a way that I didn't find exploitative, but it does feel like you're peeking into something that you shouldn't be peeking into, like you're hiding in the closet with Kyle MacLachlan's character from <i>Blue Velvet</i> watching this scene go down.<br />
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Also, I had a bit of a debate with my cousin after the film about that scene, about whether it was some kind of weird wish fulfillment trip from Jonah Hill, like, maybe when he was that age he fantasized about some older chick preying upon his tubby little body, the way I fantasized about Mrs. Kennelly in my seventh grade science class telling me to stay after school so we can discuss what an impotent piece of shit her husband is, I don't know. Or maybe that situation between Sunburn and the chick really happened, being that this is -- well, I'm assuming, anyway -- kinda autobiographical for Hill.<br />
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Whatever the case, the girl -- and the other girls in the film -- took me back to my junior high school days, or more specifically, my junior high school weekends. The way they were dressed and the way they wore their hair, wow, I was reminded of all the girls I was too chicken shit to talk to, as well as the ones that I managed to work up some balls to chat up but then fucked it up by being myself.<br />
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I would've been fine with the film being a time capsule dripping in Hey, Remember the 90s? if it were just that. But it's not. Aside from the opening five minutes in which we're inundated with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bedsheets, Street Fighter II t-shirts, and CDs by <a href="https://youtu.be/ICgt6Up06Uk">"Tha Alkaholiks"</a>, <i>Mid90s</i> creates nostalgia in more of a matter-of-fact manner -- much like watching an old VHS home movie from that time period where things don't look too much different except every once in a while you'll notice things about a person's clothes or the way somebody's living room looks like every lower middle class living room from back then.<br />
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What adds to this rather casual presentation is that the film is presented in the 4x3 -- or 1.33:1 -- aspect ratio, or in other words, it's a square box with black bars on the left and right sides of the screen, because you see, kids, in the good old days, we watched television from a square box that was front heavy as fuck and took at least two people to carry around if it was a big size. <i>Mid90s</i> was also shot in Super 16mm, giving a nice grainy image with the occasional scratch here and there, which combined with the 4x3 aspect ratio makes the film look like an independent film I would've rented from Blockbuster Video or Hollywood Video back in the 90s.<br />
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So in that context -- as an independent film from the 90s -- what would I have thought if I had rented this at a video store back then? Pretty much the same way I feel now, minus the nostalgia parts. It's an interesting character study of the kind of person who would devote his free time to increasing his chances of getting harassed by security guards, running from cops, and breaking bones. My only real complaint is that it feels too bare bones for this kind of film; I got the impression that there was probably a lot more footage shot for every scene but Hill and his editor knew it was best to get to the point of a scene and make said point as quick as possible. Now that definitely works with some scenes in the film, but there are other scenes that I felt definitely could've used some more breathing room. Nevertheless, Jonah Hill makes an impressive debut as a filmmaker here. <br />
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With the exception of Lucas Hedges who plays Stevie's dickhead brother Ian, and Katherine Waterston as Stevie's hot mom, the majority of the cast appear to be real life professional skaters rather than real life professional actors -- although the kid who plays Stevie, Sunny Suljic, is both a pro-skateboarder and an actor -- and these non-actors do pretty well just being themselves rather than shooting for the actorial stars -- which works for a film like this where just playing things natural enhances the verisimilitude.<br />
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I have to give props to Hill and his music supervisor for the eclectic mix of tunes that pop up throughout the film; you want to talk about taking me back, well, it seemed like every other song in this movie gave me serious I Remember Way Back When type of feels, stuff from <a href="https://youtu.be/8v5VIzhlxLs">Wu-Tang Clan</a>, <a href="https://youtu.be/Bb31sIC-CeM">Pixies</a>, <a href="https://youtu.be/Hzy_FyJ4oUI">Jeru The Damaja</a>, <a href="https://youtu.be/Jybpepm0DQs">Morrissey</a>, and <a href="https://youtu.be/uGb5wxT8E0U">The Pharcyde</a> among others.<br />
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After the film, my cousin and I walked around Downtown while discussing the movie; he gave me some good background on certain things in the movie that had flown over my head, on account of not being familiar with the skating scene back then. He talked about how the filmmakers did a great job with such details as the kind of clothing the characters wore; he said that one character wore stuff from a certain skate company that you'd only see people with money wear, which makes sense considering that this character did in fact come from money. My cousin loved the movie, by the way -- he ended up watching it twice.<br />
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I also ended up watching the film twice during its theatrical run, but not so much for the same reasons as my cousin. While I liked the film enough to watch it again, it was really more because my first viewing did not go as well as it should've. For one thing, I can hear whatever bullshit blockbuster playing next door booming its bass through the walls. But even worse, a couple of rows behind us sat a mother who brought along her kids who happily walked up and down the theater and stomped around on the row behind us and did that fucking annoying mumbling thing that these little snots do and the whole time nobody else -- not my cousin, not the people in front of us, not the lady in her Air Force blues -- seemed fazed or bothered by it. I was the only one and it was driving me mad. And when I brought it up with my cousin after the movie, he said he didn't notice. What the fuck? Am I the asshole? Am I losing my mind? Or is this how movie audiences in San Antonio get down? I don't fucking know, man!<br />
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But it's OK because I ended up seeing it again a few days later back home practically for free (thanks AMC Stubs A-List!) and this screening was especially peachy because I was the only one in the theater. Which is really the best of both worlds for me, to see a movie in an empty theater because that's where I am in life, that's the fuckin' misanthropic piece of shit I grew up to be. I wasn't always like this, but you know, fuckin' people, man. Maybe if I spent my youth watching less movie rentals at home alone and more time hanging out with asshole skaters more I'd have a different outlook by now. But I didn't, so I don't.<br />
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But I guess Jonah Hill did and that's how this movie came about. I think. I mean, I don't know how much of is based on his life, and I really don't care -- because it doesn't matter and because I don't give two shits about that creepy fuck. <br />
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Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that little detail -- I fucking can't stand Jonah Hill. He seems like he really is the characters he plays, or at least he is most convincing as an actor when he is playing fat scumbags, and I'm sure it's a matter of time before it comes out in the news that he Cosbys chicks or something. I see him in <i>The Wolf of Wall Street</i> and I don't see him playing a character, I feel I'm seeing the real him. I bet you this motherfucker has screamed at his mom to shut the fuck up too, and he's probably graduated to yelling that shit to whatever desperate wannabe starlet is currently blowing her way up his casting couch. It wouldn't be so bad were it not for him being in cast in movies that I want to see, because then he would be easily avoidable.<br />
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So think about the good laugh God is having at the fact that I dropped serious ducats to fly 1200 miles away from home just to see a movie written and directed by a probable piece of shit in an everyday multiplex occupied by rowdy roaming children who made sure I couldn't even really enjoy the movie. Well, laugh all you want, ma'am, because in the end I got to hang out with my cousin and watch a movie with him, just like we did in the good old days -- and that's what really matters.<br />
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OK, OK, I know what you're thinking after hearing my Jonah Hill rant. You're probably thinking, "Ah, you're just jealous because he's rich and famous and working with people like Martin Scorsese and the Coen brothers and Quentin Tarantino and he's probably living an awesome life and you're stuck in your dead-end existence and with each birthday you're getting farther and further away from your dreams and let's be real, your window of opportunity passed about ten years ago and you're gonna probably die poor and miserable and full of regrets and bitterness, so all you can do now is talk shit about the goddamn winners in life while they continue to win and you remain stagnant in your pool of failure, you fucking pussy."<br />
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<br />EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-34668343378007686402018-12-25T13:08:00.002-08:002023-01-18T19:24:34.184-08:00The tin duck<br /><br /><iframe title="#7 - A Christmas Carol (1999)" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=zru93-a30819-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br />
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About a month ago, I was eating lunch in the park when this man who appeared to be in his sixties walked up to me with a notebook and a pen. I looked at him in his white button-down shirt and black pants and figured, oh great, what is this asshole gonna try to sell me.<br />
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The man was very apologetic and proceeded to give me this whole tale about how he needed to pay for a procedure he was going to have or already had, I don't remember, because by that point I was too busy noticing that the man only had half a jaw and I'm guessing the procedure had something to do with that. I'm sure I also heard the word "cancer" somewhere during his spiel, but I couldn't be too sure because I was too busy processing the overwhelming sight of a man with HALF A FUCKING JAW.<br />
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Now I don't know if this was special effects, maybe it was. But it looked real. This guy was trying his best to talk and he did pretty well considering his condition. What he was asking for was a loan of any amount to help pay for the procedure. He needed something like $1500 and he already collected about $1100. He showed me that he had the names and addresses of the people who loaned him money in his notebook, plus the amount they loaned him. It was a thick notebook and nearly all the pages had been filled out. He said he was going to make it his mission in life to pay everybody back as soon as he could.<br />
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For all I know this half-jawed gentleman was full of shit. I mean, he probably was, he probably got half his jaw shot off in a gang fight or something and now he was using this as a way to make some money off of people and he'll probably then have one of his buddies break into these people's houses and steal shit or kill them or rape them or all of the above.<br />
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But if there's any possibility of his story checking out 100-percent, well, I'd rather err on the side of wanting to be helpful.<br />
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But there was something else -- a nagging feeling somewhere within, and it always comes up when someone comes up to me and asks for help or charity of some kind. It's a kind of fear, a fear of I don't know what, maybe fear of some kind of karmic retribution or something. Maybe the person asking me is really a beautiful enchantress with the power to turn me into a beast or a gypsy with the power to curse me to keep losing weight until I'm nothing but skin and bones.<br />
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Or maybe I really am a sucker who wants to help. Whatever the case, I ended up giving him $20 but I didn't give him my name or address. I told him there was no need to pay me back; he could pay me back by doing a kindness for somebody else who needed it. Also, I didn't want to risk being home invaded by his friends. <br />
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Whether it was true or not, his story felt real enough and if it wasn't, at least he put in some effort into the ruse, and that's all I ask for. Just make the effort. Don't just walk up and be like "Hey man, got some money?" This dude gave me a notebook, a story that worked on my emotions, and oh yeah, HALF A FUCKING JAW.<br />
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But I don't think all the Greg Nicotero special effects makeup in the world could convince somebody like Ebenezer Scrooge to give any amount aside from the grand total of jack shit, based on how I saw him treat a couple of dudes taking up donations. But more on that a little later.<br />
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Well, thanks for the trailer, TNT, I guess nobody has to see this movie anymore, now that you've told the whole story. Don't see any point in rambling about this. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everybody!<br />
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I'm kidding. Most of us know the story already, so it's really about the telling, right? There are many film adaptations of Charles Dickens' immortal classic <b>A Christmas Carol</b>, and in her second long-unfulfilled request, Karen from Florida has asked me to ramble about one of them. With her help, I narrowed it down to either the 1984 version starring George C. Scott or the 1999 version starring Patrick Stewart.<br />
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I ended up going with the Stewart film because I'd never seen it, and also because if I went with the Scott version, the entire time I'd just be making references to <a href="https://youtu.be/7u7Pv1lAqD4">that scene in the film</a> <i>Hardcore</i> where he watches a porno starring his daughter. Trust me, I can make lots of references to that. I suppose I could do the same with Stewart by making "Star Trek" references, so I'll do my best to keep them to a minimum.<br />
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All right, so for those who came in late, I was saying earlier that the main character of this tale, Ebenezer Scrooge, is pretty harsh with a couple of dudes who are looking for donations to help supply food and warmth to the less fortunate in this cold and bleak 19th century London. They tell him how tough it is our there and that people can die from such poor conditions, and this piece of work responds with something like "Well, they should die as soon as possible, that way can stop suckling on the city's titties."<br />
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To be fair, these donation dudes kinda brought it onto themselves; when they visit Scrooge and give them the whole spiel about helping feed and shelter the poor and hungry, they end it by asking how much money he plans to give. That's mighty presumptuous, guys. You can't assume everybody is going to want to give, you gotta close it out by saying something like how appreciative you'd be and how helpful it would be if the person could donate any amount if possible. No matter what, you have to ask, just to be polite -- kinda like the no-jaw dude who hit me up. He had no jaw and he still asked politely, he didn't assume.<br />
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If I had to guess, I would say Scrooge is the kind of person who throws in the word "bootstraps" a lot. Usually, you can tell who is and isn't a jerk is by whether or not they use the word "bootstraps" preceded by something like how a person should pick him or herself up by them. Not that I'm against working hard in an attempt to elevate yourself to a better station in life, I mean, I have no issues with the concept of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.<br />
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It's just that in my experience, the people who usually say that are people who didn't actually have to do that. It's usually those who were born into money or had more than a few other hands pulling their bootstraps for them. Now, I'm not saying that those who were born into privilege or were closer to achieving their goals should feel some kind of shame or guilt or should have to keep their mouths shut about how others should be working hard for what they want. I'm just saying there's a way to say all of that without sounding and looking like an asshole.<br />
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Scrooge doesn't say "bootstraps" but he does have a moment later on where he remarks on how a young girl already has a job, and he's saying it like Wow, this girl is a real go-getter! and he doesn't understand that this girl has no choice but to work because her family is dirt poor. Because there's a big difference between getting a part-time job after school so you can buy sneakers, and having to get a full time job -- forget school at this point -- in order to help feed the rest of your family because your father's employer is a lousy skinflint named Scrooge.<br />
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Yeah, Scrooge only has one employee at his money-lending firm, his clerk Bob Cratchit -- played by his future antagonist in <i>Logan</i>, Richard E. Grant -- and while it seems like this place does all right, you wouldn't know it from how stingy he is when it comes to keeping the place warm; Cratchit wants to add a couple of measly chunks of coal to the fire and Scrooge is like, you better put some water on that damn shit -- no, no, he says to just poke the current coals and keep what little fire there is barely burning.<br />
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It kills Scrooge to spend money, it just kills him that he has to give Cratchit a paid holiday on Christmas Day -- and he has to say this poor old Bob, he can't keep it to himself. Why do people do things like that? Let the poor guy enjoy his one paid day off, man.<br />
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On top of that, Scrooge has no use for Christmas. No, he's not Jewish or a Jehovah's Witness or Phoebe Cates in <i>Gremlins</i>, he's just a miserable man; a group of Christmas carolers know better than to go sing in front of Scrooge's place -- except for one poor child who learns that to go sing to Scrooge is to invite a possible Singapore-style caning.<br />
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I love Christmas but I might be with Ebenezer when it comes to carolers. I figure back then carolers were like the flash mobs of their day, which is to say that it's really more about themselves than in the people they're purporting to be entertaining.<br />
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Anyway, Scrooge's nephew Fred shows up all joyous and triumphant about the holiday and Scrooge doesn't want to hear it, it's like it irritates him that other people have hope and joy during this time of year. He apparently doesn't know about the high suicide rate during this time, otherwise he'd probably dig Christmas a lot more.<br />
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I wondered why Scrooge was so cold towards his nephew, he seems to be upset that Fred is able to enjoy the holiday season despite not being as up on the monetary hustle as he'd like to be. Scrooge also seems to disapprove of Fred's marriage. Like, why does it bother him so much that Fred is married? Does Scrooge have a bit of a thing for Fred, like some pervy forbidden taboo love between uncle and nephew, or is it more of a player hater kind of thing, because Scrooge messed up his chance at true love right around the same age that Fred found his? I'm thinking maybe the latter. But I won't count out the former, because a very sick man like me loves the idea that Scrooge dreams of making his nephew cry uncle, if you know what I mean.<br />
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I mean he wants to bang his nephew, is what I mean.<br />
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Fred, by the way, is played by Dominic West, or as I prefer to call him, <a href="https://youtu.be/sIvsTXnik7Q">McNulty from the HBO series "The Wire"</a>. Man, I'd been hearing about the show for years, and it wasn't until a couple of years ago that I finally got around to seeing it, and you know what? It's as good as everybody says it is. Although considering how things are going nowadays in this wonderful big blue world, I don't think I will ever give a series as cynical and depressing and true to life like that one a rewatch ever again.<br />
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Speaking of depressing and true to life, you could've made a 19th century version of "The Wire" with this London setting. It's very glum and there's no chance of Christmas cheer in how things look, which I think is the idea -- I mean, I think that's the idea, you know, finding the ability to enjoy this time of year regardless of your surroundings. We see that in the way Bob Cratchit and his family are able to make the most of what little they have during their Christmas dinner, and how appreciative and happy for what they have, as meager as it is.<br />
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Then there's a sequence where Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Present watch as various people celebrate Christmas by singing "Silent Night"; the keepers of a lighthouse, the crew on a cargo ship, workers at a mining facility -- not the most ideal of conditions to be in good cheer, and yet, they are able to have the Christmas spirit. Even if the conditions were better, these people are working on Christmas Eve, which has to be a little bit of a bummer -- for those who celebrate the holiday anyway.<br />
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Oh yeah, I forgot about the whole Ghosts of Christmas deal. OK, for those who aren't familiar with A Christmas Carol, what happens is that Scrooge gets visited by his old business partner Jacob Marley, which sounds all fine and dandy except for the fact that Jacob Marley has been dead for seven years. Marley tells Scrooge that the afterlife sucks because he's forever tortured by his past actions -- or more like his past inactions, because like Scrooge, Marley didn't do shit for his fellow man and was just as much a tightwad as Ebenezer. Now he's wearing heavy chains he can't take off and walking around all morose and shit, being as much a drag as those heavy ass chains.<br />
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Scrooge tries to dismiss this as hallucinations brought on by indigestion or maybe someone dosed his stew, the same way somebody dosed James Cameron's clam chowder on the set of <i>Titanic </i>in a possible attempt to Christmas Carol that Hollywood Scrooge. But Marley doesn't let up, and he has some tricks to really get into the old man's head that this is in fact The Real Deal.<br />
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Marley then gives Scrooge a peek into the lives of the dead, specifically those who like Jacob Marley, led selfish and uncaring lives. Now they have to spend the rest of forever watching the living who in need of help, and these sad specters are unable to do anything about it because they're dead. Their opportunity to do something has passed. This is a lesson they've learned too late. But it's not too late for Scrooge!<br />
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At least that's the idea, and to help prevent Scrooge from getting fitted for his own chain ensemble, three ghosts will visit him: The Ghost of Christmas Past, The Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. The Ghost of Christmas Past is played by Joel Grey, who looks like a pale transgender in mid-transition here. That's not a knock against transgenders, by the way, I've met plenty of transgenders at functions and parties and they've all turned me down.<br />
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Anyway, GC Past shows Scrooge his, uh, past as a little Scrooge, taking him back to his old school -- which Ebenezer seems pretty jazzed about. I don't know, man, maybe you had a better time back then than I did. You take me back to my old school and I'd probably start going into convulsions before reaching towards the small of my back for a pistol that I'm not carrying. The fun ends for Scrooge, though, once he sees himself as a sad little boy all alone in class because his father is a piece of shit.<br />
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This is the second film in a row that I've rambled about featuring grown-up assholes who were raised that way by their asshole fathers. The first was both versions of <a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2018/12/not-worth-wait.html">Disney's <i>Beauty and the Beast</i> </a>-- which I guess makes this movie the third film in a row -- and now this one. And both were requested by Karen from Florida. If you're trying to tell me what I think you're trying to tell me, well let me make it clear, ma'am: I wasn't raised to be a douchebag, my father was great to me -- as is my mother. No, ma'am, my high level achievements of being A-Prick-Number-One are a result of being a self made kind of shitheel. Now this could mean one of two things: the whole "bad father equals bad son" thing is bullshit, or maybe I, much like Michael Myers, was just born under a bad star.<br />
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I'm pure evil, is what I'm trying to tell you good people. It's why I keep to myself. I'm a loner, Dottie, a rebel. And you don't want any of me. Unless you're ready to give up the goods. And by goods, I mean sex and/or food, but not both at the same time.<br />
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GC Past then shows Scrooge an older younger version of himself, back when he was working for Mr. Fezziwig. Now that's a cool boss, right there; Fezziwig is very cheerful -- at least during his company's Christmas party -- and he insists that all employees who are still working to stop what they're doing 'cause he's about to ruin the image and the style that they're used to: that is, if the image and style is of a Scrooge type who won't take a break to enjoy life every once in a while. You see Fezziwig and his family getting down with their bad selves on the sing & dance floor, and even Ebenezer knows to have some fun because he hasn't grown into old Scrooge yet.<br />
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Let me talk about office Christmas parties. I can do without those too. In fact, I have been doing without them for most of my work life, as well as any other social functions and gatherings at my places of employment. I'm polite to my co-workers and treat them with kindness and respect, but I don't want to be reminded of work during my free time. It's my time! It's why I've turned down company softball games and work picnics and Christmas parties. I don't want any of these assholes to see me drunk -- hell, I don't want anyone to see me drunk, and I certainly don't want to see any of those assholes drunk, fuck those guys.<br />
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Old Scrooge gets to observe Young Scrooge fuck it up with the love of his life, but is it really his fault? I get where he's coming from -- he's not ready to marry poor because he's trying to make that fuckin' money, bro. It's like the great Tony Montana once said: First you make the money, then you get the power, and then you marry your sweetheart. Stewart is great in the film, but I really liked his performance during this scene, as he witnesses one of the biggest -- perhaps <u>the</u> biggest mistake of his life -- and starts talking back at his young self like some overly emotional housewife watching her "stories".<br />
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After that, comes The Ghost of Christmas Present, who's a big dude in a robe, looking like party animal from a frat house movie. He ends up showing Scrooge that whole deal with the various people having Christmas spirit, singing "Silent Night", despite of or in spite of their situations, preceded by the whole Christmas dinner at the Cratchit crib, where the lovely family digs into their meal -- Christmas goose with all the trimmings, followed by plum pudding. It all looks nice but it's all too small for a family that big -- which is what an overeater would say.<br />
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Because when you really look at the portions given to the Cratchit clan, that really is the ideal serving size. It's how much we're all supposed to eat -- particularly we heavy Americans, who eat our food in way too large portions. Also, why so many kids? Great googily moogily, Bob, couldn't you keep it in your pants a couple times here and there? You know what, I take that back, Bob -- I can see why you and Mrs. Bob would do so much fucking. I mean you have to keep warm in that cold weather somehow.<br />
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Scrooge, this fuckin' miser, he asks GC Present about the infirm Cratchit boy Tiny Tim, he wants to know if things will get better for him and GC Present responds with something like "I see an empty seat and a crutch without an owner....something something if the future doesn't change, the child will die". That line and the delivery of that line, left me thinking what a great public service announcement it would make, preferably played on digital over-the-air television. <br />
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Have you ever watched digital over-the-air television? I'm talking about those stations that have dashes between the numbers, the ones that show cool old programs and cool old game shows. They're really cool but then come the commercial breaks and it's always a horror show filled with injured old people, dead old people, mistreated animals, dead animals, and kids with cancer. So an ad for some kind of charity towards helping little gimpy kids would be great with that line about the empty chair and crutch.<br />
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GC Present then takes Scrooge over to Fred's house where they're all having a great time, friends and family alike. "It's been so long" says Scrooge, regarding the old timey Christmas dinner party games being played. Man, it's been so long for me as well. The last time I played a game at a Christmas party, it was 14 years ago and we played Jenga Truth or Dare.<br />
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It's a good thing they didn't have Jenga Truth or Dare back in Scrooge's day, because one of the guests is this fuckin' panty-sniffing creep named Topper, who should be thanking his lucky stars they hadn't invented sex offender registries yet. Although considering how long ago this story takes place, they probably hadn't invented the term "sex offender", that was just how gentlemen rolled. You had to be Jack the Ripper to be considered doing something wrong to a lady back then. God, Topper made my skin crawl, talking to ladies about their "pretty little mouths" and making sure there's mistletoe in the immediate vicinity of his most likely syphilitic johnson. Who knows what this bucket of unwanted sex would've done with something like Jenga Truth or Dare.<br />
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Following all that pervitude, Scrooge gets the ghost he fears the most: The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, looking like a half-decent Halloween display outside one of those Halloween stores that only operates during September and October out of some recently closed business. The Ghost shows Ebenezer how his homies at the stock exchange will not really give much of a care about him after hearing news of his death. They'll only attend the funeral if food is being served, which I kinda understand too, provided we're talking about serving the food after the funeral. That would be weird to eat during the actual service.<br />
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It all bums Scrooge out, the way people react about his him going tits up. Some of the help from his house end up selling his silk shirts and bed curtains, and even the undertaker makes some money off of him. Nobody seems particularly bothered, save maybe Fred, but in most cases, people's lives are improved, such as the couple who were in debt to Scrooge, but now that he's merged with the infinite, they have time to save up and pay the new piper.<br />
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I think at this point, Scrooge would've been like "Fuck it, if these assholes are going to ditch my funeral and sell the fillings from my teeth, I might as well keep up the shitty attitude and really earn my postmortem disrespect!" but then of course, here comes Tiny Tim to gum up the works with his own death, and now Scrooge is super bummed. Then he catches the sight of his sad-ass tombstone and his cold-ass corpse in the coffin and for some reason he embraces his own corpse and off they go, swan-diving cheek-to-cheek into the black void like a couple of twin fruits.<br />
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But it was all a dream! Scrooge used to read Word Up magazine! And now he's awake, back in the real world and he hasn't missed Christmas! He's so overjoyed at this, he tries to laugh but it's such an alien reflex to him at this point, it takes him like half a minute of choke-filled attempts before he finally gets it right and laughs like a goddamn human being again. He then pays some street urchin to buy the biggest goose this side of Footloose and send it over to the Cratchit residence -- but he makes sure that it's done anonymously, so that Bob and company don't know who the goose is from.<br />
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I like that, it shows real altruism, that move. Most people in Scrooge's place would've made sure that Cratchit would know who got his goose, for the same reason I want the baristas at Starbucks to see me when I put a buck in the tip jar. Scrooge is so beyond that bullshit by this point, he doesn't care and maybe it'll have Cratchit believe it was some kind of Christmas miracle HAHAHAHAHAHA miracle.<br />
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Scrooge then goes to church because He is the reason for the season, you know. We gotta remember who put the Christ in Christmas, and that's something you heathens don't understand and will never understand unless you give yourself to the one true God. Instead, you try to make it secular for all the libtards who hate my Christ, love paying taxes, and want to take my guns away. Well to that third part, I quote my good boys from Gonzales, Texas: Come and take it.<br />
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The following day, Scrooge pulls one of those bullshit pranks where he acts like he's pissed off at Bob for coming in late, and he talks all serious to him, until he pulls back the false dickhead facade and reveals himself to be the new and improved Scrooge by giving Cratchit a raise and allowing him to warm up the place with all the coal his heart desires. Then McNulty narrates over footage of the Cratchit family visiting Ebenezer -- including Tiny Tim, who did <u>not</u> die -- talking about how "ever afterwards, he knew how to keep Christmas well" and I start tearing up and getting choked up because that's where I am in my life, I fuckin' cry at everything, especially with stories like this, because the older I get and the more I experience in this life, the more these tales about people changing their negative ways to become better people increasingly feel like science fiction.<br />
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What they don't show us is Scrooge visiting his supposed pals at the stock exchange, followed by giving them a solid thrashing with his cane for being fake people showing fake love to him, straight up to his face, straight up to his face. But I guess I'll have to make that version myself, where I devote a good twenty minutes to Scrooge taking care of business with those stock exchange fucks by giving them a little stick time.<br />
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OK, well, I pretty much went through the whole movie but you already knew the story -- so the question is: how does this 1999 adaptation of A Christmas Carol do in telling it?<br />
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Pretty damn well, I think. This has less of a Christmas-y feel to it compared to others, but I think in exchange for that, there's a bit more of a, I don't know -- real tone to it? The setting is suitably bleak and a good part of that should be credited to the production designer, Roger Hall, who had previously worked on such classics as <i>Chariots of Fire</i> and <i>Highlander II: The Quickening</i>. One of those films won the Academy Award for Best Picture, by the way.<br />
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I haven't read the Dickens story in nearly two decades, but based on what I remember of it, this adaptation is very close, including things like that "Silent Night" sequence, which I don't remember ever being in other film versions of the Scrooge story.<br />
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The film was directed by David Jones, a stage director who went on to work on television shows like "Law & Order: SVU" and films like <i>Jacknife</i> starring Robert De Niro. He does a fine job telling the story, moving things along at a fine clip and getting good performances from his cast. Speaking of which, Patrick Stewart is solid as Ebenezer Scrooge, but I feel his doesn't quite match up in comparison to previous Scrooges like Alastair Sim and George C. Scott. He doesn't seem as particularly upset by the otherworldly sights he's treated to, it's a little too stiff upper lip compared to the way other Scrooges handle seeing ghosts and freaky mutated ghoulish children named Want and Ignorance and Tiny Tim. I think what he does best is show us the regret Scrooge feels over his past mistakes during the Ghost of Christmas Past sequence.<br />
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More than anything, I was left wishing I had seen one of Patrick Stewart's one-man performances of A Christmas Carol, where he played over thirty characters without the use of props or costume changes. He's performed the play on and off since the late 80s, but it doesn't look like he's going to do it again anytime soon, which is too bad because it sounds fascinating. I now kinda wish they filmed one of his shows rather than make yet another standard film version of the Dickens classic. But they <u>did</u> make another standard film version of the Dickens classic, but it's a good one, so I'm not complaining. I can definitely see myself checking this one out again come next December.<br />
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OK, that's it. I haven't done a rundown like that in a while, where I pretty much just go through the movie from beginning to end, but I figure it's no secret to most people how this story plays out, so why not.<br />
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Anyway, if you happen to be reading this during the holidays, have fun and be safe.<br />
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Also, this won't mean anything to those who are listening to the podcast which is only a few episodes old at the time of this recording, but the day that I'm putting this out, December 25th, in this foul year of Our Lord 2018 also happens to be the tenth anniversary of the Exiled from Contentment blog, from where these ramblings come from. I can't help but feel it's all been a colossal waste of time. But hey, it beats sitting on my ass and doing nothing, right?<br />
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Don't answer that.EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-47388119208915294632018-12-22T17:22:00.001-08:002023-01-18T19:25:50.661-08:00Not worth the wait.<br /><br /><iframe title="#6 - Beauty and the Beast (2017) & (1991)" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=ewy65-a29555-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br /><br />
There was an advertisement from one of those charities that help out wounded veterans, and I felt both sympathy and a great feeling of gratitude to all those brave men and women who served in the military and fought in the name of this great country that I was lucky enough to be born in -- the United States of America.<br />
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They are the ones who were sent to fight, and while some were wounded physically, others came back with wounds of the soul, returning home only to find that the sunlight was no longer as bright as it used to be.<br />
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I knew a man like this. We weren't close friends, but he lived in my neighborhood and I'd run into him from time to time. I never knew his name but everybody knew him by the nickname "Easy", because he always took life that way. After high school, Easy joined the Marine Corps, and a year-and-a-half later he was sent Over There. I didn't hear about him after that, having moved on from the neighborhood myself.<br />
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A few years later, I was back home for Thanksgiving, and before meeting the family I had stopped at a bar for some liquid fortification. As I exited the bar, I saw Easy standing by himself across the street, his head tilted upwards, staring out at something apparently only he could see. He was unshaven, wearing a stained shirt, wrinkled worn out cargo shorts, and was now about a hundred pounds heavier.<br />
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I called out to him but he did not respond. I called out again -- louder this time -- and he looked over in my direction, a medicinally glazed look in his eyes. He slowly nodded to me while giving me a weak open-mouthed smile. Easy did not recognize me but had done his best to give a polite acknowledgement.<br />
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"It's no use, bro" said the man standing a few feet behind me, smoking a cigarette. "Easy hasn't been the same since he came back from Afghanistan. Something there broke him."<br />
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I looked back at Easy, who had gone back to staring at the invisible, and I nodded back to him before walking away.<br />
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Wow. This guy, Easy -- he seemed so together and now he's barely a shadow of his former self. The stuff he saw over there must've really messed him up, and if so -- what a fuckin' pussy.<br />
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Shit. It's one thing to have experienced war back in the 1930s and 40s when all Johnny America knew was small towns and Daisy the high school sweetheart, who he was going to marry as soon as he came back home. It was so innocent back then, when American ingenuity and know-how were Number One. <br />
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Back then, America was great, Negroes knew their place, and all Our Boys knew before going to battle was apple pie and "Moonlight Serenade". Back then everybody wanted to fight the Krauts and the Japs -- and they had no idea what was in store for them, so of course it made sense that they came back with scarred souls after seeing their friends lose arms and legs and their dying buddies piss and shit themselves while crying for mommy. But c'mon, man. Since then, we've had countless films that have presented war in the most vividly graphic terms -- exploding heads, severed limbs, miles of exposed guts, rape, murder, suicide, dehumanization, atrocity after atrocity, and the screaming OH MY GOD the screaming.<br />
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After all those movies and television shows and documentaries with old survivors, how can someone still come home all fucked in the head? You've been fuckin' programmed to be desensitized to it by now, how the fuck can you come home all wacky in the <i>cabeza</i>?<br />
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Jesus Christ, Easy -- you played hours and hours of "Mortal Kombat", "Grand Theft Auto", "Call of Duty", you watched fake death on <i>Faces of Death</i> and real death on YouTube and yet somehow the sight of Private First Class Duggan shoving the barrel of his M4 up some Haji's rectum is gonna give you nightmares?<br />
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Yo yo yo yo yo Easy Easy Easy -- how is it that you, a fuckin' failed cholo millennial who's seen all those movies and actually trained for that madness still come back a shell of your former self, while a soldier in the 18th Century -- a Frenchman, of all people -- not only came back OK from his battles, but still had a thirst for killing that he satisfied by being a badass hunter? I'm talking about Gaston, you fuckin' Hispanic Birdy, I'm talking about the motherfucker from the 2017 film <b>Beauty and the Beast</b>.<br />
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This is a request from Karen from Orlando, Florida and I will withhold her last name to save her from both public humiliation and possible loss of employment due to being associated with me. Karen has requested this film over a year ago and like everything else, it took forever but I finally got around to rambling about this film -- thanks to it being available on Netflix, which I was able to easily access through my sister's account.<br />
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<i>Beauty and the Beast</i> is a live action adaptation of Disney's 1991 animated film of the same name<i>. </i>Yes, I know about the 1946 version directed by Jean Cocteau, but that wasn't part of the request, so you film geeks can quit your whining and go back to throwing yourselves off bridges because they got rid of Filmstruck.<i> </i><br />
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It's directed by Bill Condon, who also directed the Oscar-winning film adaptation of <i>Dreamgirls</i>, the Oscar-nominated film <i>Kinsey</i>, and a movie that I'm sure someone with the name "Oscar" really liked, <i>Candyman: Farewell to the Flesh</i>. He also won an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for the film <i>Gods and Monsters.</i><br />
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This is a tale about a strapping young beast of a man named Gaston, a former captain in the French army turned current animal hunter who has the whole town of stupid peasant proles wrapped around his strong finger. This man knows he's the shit and everybody else agrees, as we see and hear during one of the film's many musical sequences, <a href="https://youtu.be/F16O5OAK2K8">this one focusing on the man himself.</a><br />
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Gaston has everything he needs: the admiration of an entire town, the company of his close gay friend Lefou, and all the single ladies are on his jock 24/7. But like most of us human beings, Gaston doesn't know how to appreciate what he has and instead wastes his time and energy on going after what he doesn't have -- some weirdo bookworm named Belle.<br />
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She's played by Emma Watson, who turned down the lead in <i>La La Land</i> to do this movie, which financially was a good move on her part; <i>Beauty and the Beast</i> didn't get the Oscar attention of the other film, it ended up making about three times more at the box office -- profits of which Miss Watson was contractually entitled a decent chunk.<br />
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Meanwhile, Ryan Gosling turned down this movie to do <i>La La Land</i>, and so he and Watson passed each other like two pretty ships in the night going opposite directions.<br />
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So yeah, this chick thinks she's too good for my boy, she has this whole thing about wanting to leave the village she lives in because she thinks she's too good for this town. I don't get people like that, but maybe it's because I never grew up in a small boring ass town either. I grew up in a decent suburban area with malls and mini-malls and plenty of chain restaurants and movie theaters and bars and that's really all I needed. If I wanted to see a beautiful view from a mountain side, I could go the local library and rent <i>Cliffhanger</i>. Nowadays, I can just look that shit up online.<br />
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Eventually, I moved but I always remained in and around Southern California because I like the weather and I like the women. The women don't like me -- neither do the men, for that matter -- but that doesn't stop me from introducing myself to new ones at a friend's baby shower and making a bigger ass than usual: <i>Oh hi guys, I'm Princess Sparkle, oh hi I really appreciate how you would thank me by my name when I picked up my tickets at the booth, oh hi there, you go to the New Beverly Cinema too? Did you hear about how the owner Quentin Tarantino installed new cameras on the floor, that way he can see everybody's feet a-hyuk a-hyuk a-hyuk hey, where's everybody going? Hey sir, can I borrow your gun, I just need it for a second *gunshot*</i><br />
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Then the pain ends. <br />
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Except it didn't, because nobody had a gun -- this is pussy ass Southern California, after all, the only thing these liberals carry concealed is their medical marijuana card.<br />
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Anyway, yeah, Belle -- a name that sounds a lot like Bella, the name of the girl from the <i>Twilight</i> books and movies. No wonder they got Bill Condon to direct this -- he also directed some of those <i>Twilight</i> movies. But don't hold that against him, I mean, homeboy's gotta make those mansion payments somehow.<br />
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So Belle is bored with her small town because they don't have Applebees or a Sonic, and she's not down with the same routine day in and day out, and reading all those books have infected her brain with the idea of a great big old world out there filled with so much to do. She wants a life like the ones in the books she reads, and well, guess what, honey -- it is! This film and the 1991 animated joint are based on the French fairy tale <i>La Belle et la Bête </i>and if you only knew what was going to happen to you, girl!<br />
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And what does happen to her? She ends up in this spooky run-down castle somewhere out in the boondocks because that's where her goofy-ass father ended up. The poor old man was trying to get some peace and quiet because he can't even fix a goddamn clock at home without hearing his daughter sing all over town, so yeah, he took off with his horse and then some wolves try to eat him and now he's locked up in a dungeon and his jailer is this big ugly beast named Beast.<br />
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We never know what Beast's real name is but I'm guessing it's Prince Douchebag, because the opening scene shows us that before he was the Beast we all know and fear, he was this young handsome wealthy prince, and like most handsome wealthy princes, this guy was a douchenozzle twatface asshole who wouldn't know empathy if it came into his home on a dark and stormy night asking for shelter. Nope, he would look at this old lady and laugh in her face -- this fucking human garbage who grew up with everything and yet that wasn't enough for him, he's taxing people and using the money to buy more stuff he doesn't need. Yeah, not only does he laugh in her face, even his servants and employees laugh at her. <br />
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It fuckin' figures it'd be that way; we all want to be the motherfucker, and if we can't, we'll settle for riding the motherfucker's coattails because even being on the motherfucker's coattails is a higher level than the rest of the peons. And I'm like OK fine, if you want to be that way, then enjoy your slightly higher status in life, but don't look down on those below you as if you were King Shit of Fuck Mountain, because you're not. That's the same kind of unearned asinine behavior exhibited by maitre d's and house n's.<br />
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But if you are gonna be that way and join your master in Ha Ha Ha-ing the poors, then you better be ready to take any possible punishment headed your boss' way. Because this old lady? This old lady that the prince and his people are laughing at, well, she actually happens to be a beautiful enchantress -- and these people are so fucked, it's fucking beautiful, man.<br />
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The enchantress curses the prince and his servants and makes it so that the people who knew them don't know them anymore, so basically these assholes won't be missed. Prince Douchebag is turned into a beast and the servants are turned into walking/talking furniture, appliances, and various other housewares -- even the dog gets it, which I'm fine with because I'm sure that dog ate human food everyday like a king and ran around biting beggars in the butt.<br />
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This prince tried to beg forgiveness from the enchantress, but when it comes to this chick once you're fucked, you're fucked and there's no turning back, you can't even offer an insincere apology the way most celebrities do on social media after they've been caught being scumbags.<br />
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I like that because that's how I roll. I don't believe in forgiving pieces of shit. Like the song says, it's easy to be hard -- and that's why I use up so much energy everyday in not being an asshole. It's why I get so exhausted at the end of the day and go to sleep after I get home from work, causing me to not work on this blog/podcast and next thing you know, I have a backlog of three or four of these goddamn things and I still haven't written about the Aero Horrorthon back in October even though it's just about Christmas right now. But as tired as I get, I still manage to say Please, Thank You, and Excuse Me to people -- people who don't even have the common courtesy to return the favor. <br />
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Everyday I have to see these people living awesome lives despite having zero empathy or sympathy or any pathys for their fellow human and very rarely do these amoebas get their comeuppance -- so when I see or hear of actual justice being served to these people, well, lady and gentleman, to be as delicate as I can be with what I'm about to say:<br />
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It gets my dick hard.<br />
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So imagine how much Viagra I didn't need seeing what happens to this dude -- cursed to live as a Beast all alone in that castle -- talking furniture doesn't count, chief -- and nobody from the outside world even remembers that he exists. <br />
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Later in the film, we find out that his assholishness wasn't something he was born with, he was raised to be a shit by his shit father -- much like our current president. But unlike *that* walking shit stain, Beast eventually shows himself later in the film to be a kinder and deeper person than we took him for -- which I think is supposed to be a way to get the audience to be more sympathetic towards the guy, but I don't buy it. I think that's just what the curse did to him.<br />
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What I'm saying is, if you live an awesome life with zero consequences, you're not going to change. If anything, you might actually start pushing it to see how much you can get away with, because that's just human nature. But if something or someone knocks the wind out of your sails and your awesome life isn't so awesome anymore, you're going to eventually have to adapt to a new way of living, not out of a sudden realization that your fellow man deserves respect and kindness, no -- but because you have no choice.<br />
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It's like this: say you're a hot chick, right? You're a hot chick and so your life is pretty cool because everybody wants to bang you. But then somewhere along the way, you hit the wall and guess what? You don't look like Ava Gardner anymore. <br />
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Suddenly your jokes aren't so funny, you start getting called out on your lack of manners, and your questionable personal hygiene isn't acceptable anymore. No longer fuckable, you have to adapt your way of life and be nice to people, and you better learn to juggle or play the piano or something because these bills aren't gonna pay themselves either.<br />
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Well, the Prince was a hot dude and so there you go. <br />
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So Belle goes to the castle to free her father and ends up taking his place as the Beast's prisoner, but ends up getting to know the Beast better in his adapted state and she starts digging the dude and he's starts digging on her because she's a nice person who appreciates his immense library -- plus it's been a long time since he banged a lady, and I'm sure he hasn't even been able to get rid of the poison on his own, on account of all this sentient furniture in his castle. <br />
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I mean, I wouldn't be able to jerk off knowing that my bed is alive and can see and hear what I'm doing. I can't go the bathroom to do it because the sink, toilet, and shower can see what I'm doing. I can't go outside because then one of those wolves will bite it off and even if they didn't, I certainly can't convince one of them to let me put it inside him, because I don't know if you know but wolves are extremely homophobic.<br />
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In the meantime, my boy Gaston tries to help free Belle, but when her stupid father tells Gaston that she would never marry him, Gaston leaves his ungrateful ass out in the weeds where he belongs. <br />
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But I think the movie is trying to say that what Gaston did was wrong.<br />
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Once I got over the fact that the film was going to focus on Belle and the Beast and not on the awesome Gaston, I was able to enjoy what played out for the most part. The new songs didn't really do it for me but the songs from the 1991 film still sound nice. Emma Watson does a fine job singing them but she was nothing spectacular, either. But hey, she doesn't embarrass herself and I think the dude playing the Beast is a better singer overall but maybe I'm the last person you'd want an opinion on singing, considering that I thought Pierce Brosnan did OK in the <i>Mamma Mia!</i> movies.<br />
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Acting-wise, I thought Watson and the Beast were pretty good together, there's nothing wrong there.<br />
I also dug the interactions between all the items in the castle; they're voiced by Ewan McGregor, Stanley Tucci, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Ian McKellan, and Emma Thompson. They were my favorite characters in the film, and I honestly would've preferred a lot more of them and less of Belle and the Beast because there scenes are a lot more fun to watch. What I'm saying is that I felt that in their attempt to make a more grown-up version of the animated film -- specifically during the scenes between Belle and Beast -- the filmmakers sometimes confused "grown-up" with "dull" and so I found myself checking the time more than I should.<br />
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It's not like I had anywhere to go or something, but I kept checking my non-existent watch as if I did. This film is about forty minutes longer than the animated film, and I definitely felt the extra running time without feeling I got much out of it. It felt less like a deeper and more detailed version of the story and more like a simple story being padded out for reasons I don't understand. If I did understand, I'd be making these goddamn movies rather than bitching about them.<br />
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Things get a lot more interesting in the final third, when things come to a climax with the stupid villagers storming the castle and getting their asses handed to them by a candelabra, a harpsichord, a feather duster, and a teapot and teacup. They'll never be able to live that embarrassing shit down. <br />
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But a few of them will leave the experience wiser and happier; three of these assholes are Gaston's friends, or as Cogsworth the walking/talking clock calls them, "third rate Musketeers". And when they end up getting swallowed up by a walking/talking wardrobe, they are spat out dressed in women's clothing. This freaks out two of the Musketeers, while one is left digging his new look -- a moment that I'm sure left the more conservative members of the audience walking out in a huff over what they feel is Disney's pro-perversion propaganda:<br />
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"How am I supposed to explain to my child why there are Men who like to dress up as women?!"<br />
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It's easy, sir. In the same manner that you take your kid aside to tell him or her why the Chinese can't be trusted or that the Jews control the media, you tell this fucking tyke that much like there are people who like Coke over Pepsi and vice versa, there are dudes who go out as dudettes and some of them still dig women while others dig on each other, and there are also chicks who dress like guys and some still dig guys and some dig on each other, and there are both guys and girls who don't even dress like the opposite sex but they play for the home team, and that's just the way of the world. <br />
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Then you can go back to telling your kid Obama almost turned the entire country into Muslims.<br />
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By the time the closing credits come up, things have ended happily ever after for the characters and if you think I'm spoiling the movie, then you need to go blame your parents for homeschooling your sheltered ass and leave me alone. Now I'm gonna spoil something else -- the end credits look like the opening credits to a soap opera. OK, I'm done.<br />
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Between watching the film nearly a month ago and rambling about it today (thanks flu!), my opinion more or less remains the same -- leaning towards the "less" section. The reason for that is because after watching the live action <i>Beauty and the Beast</i>, I wanted to make sure if this version did in fact suffer in comparison to the 1991 film or if I was just looking back at it with rose-colored contacts. Because it's easy for me to say "oh, the original was better" when the last time I watched the original, it was 17 minutes to midnight on the Doomsday Clock.<br />
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And so, I immediately went to the movie site Vudu and plunked down twenty bucks on the 1991 version because Disney doesn't believe in a Rental option when it comes to streaming, the greedy fucks.<br />
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Well guess what? Not counting the hooker in San Antonio last month, this was the best twenty dollars I spent in a long time. The 1991 version is the same story as the 2017 one, only before that one gained all that extra fat over the years. This one is lean, mean, and damn near obscene in how goddamn good it is. When you compare this one, the 1946 Cocteau joint -- are you happy now, geeks? -- and the 2017 version, what you'll get is one that's more fun, one that's more dreamy, and one that's more, well, uh, blah.<br />
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Holy cats, does this sucker move! Maybe it doesn't feel that fast, but after watching the slower current version, the '91 film feels like you're riding shotgun in one of Dominic Toretto's muscle cars and he just unleashed some NOS. It gets down to the nitty gritty -- the brass tacks, as it were -- and brings you up to speed in a couple minutes by telling you about the whole backstory between the Beast and the Old Lady; how he turned down her request for shelter, and how she cursed him and gave him a rose as a kind of countdown in which he'd have to find a woman who will love him for who he is before all the petals fall, otherwise he's cursed forever.<br />
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We get our introduction to Belle which is similar to the live action version only this one is better; it's a lot more energetic, a lot more entertaining, and Paige O'Hara is a far more talented singer than Emma Watson, who has a nice voice <a href="https://youtu.be/tTUZswZHsWQ">but is no Paige O'Hara.</a> I turned on the subtitles and started singing along to the songs in this version, it was so infectious! My neighbor started shouting at me to keep it down but then I stepped out with the Sig Sauer P320 and continued singing while waving my piece around like a conductor's baton, and that bitch went back inside to watch the rest of "America's Got Talent" faster than you can say "justifiable homicide".<br />
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Not only is Paige O'Hara a better singer, everybody's a better singer in this version, like Angela Lansbury as Mrs. Potts, and my man, muthafuckin' <i>Walk Proud</i> himself, Robby Muthafuckin' Benson as the Beast. I know, he was the bomb in City Limits, but you gotta see my Semitic brother Robby B play a Chicano gang member in <i><a href="https://youtu.be/p5sN7lCQnQw">Walk Proud</a></i>. As far as I'm concerned, he's got a permanent invitation to my Sunday afternoon carne asada backyard cookouts.<br />
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This Belle is a better Belle, that's what I think. She just comes off more likable, while Watson carries too much of that snotty English girl vibe, which to be fair is probably closer to fitting the character of a French village girl than some All American type like O'Hara's portrayal, but hey, this is merely my opinion. I like nice people or at least people who exude the illusion of being nice and 1991 Belle does a better job of that. I mean, look at how everybody seems to like her, despite being a weirdo bookworm.<br />
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In this version, Gaston comes off more -- ahem -- cartoonish, like some big dumb oaf who thinks he's the shit, and he doesn't seem particularly threatening, but that's why his heel turn later on is far more effective than in the 2017 film. You look at the live action Gaston and you don't have to had already seen the '91 movie to know this guy is trouble, you just have to look at this guy's face to know you don't say No to him. Or you just had to have seen <i>Fast & Furious 6</i>.<br />
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There's more humor in this, compared to the more recent film, which does feature the occasional gag but they all stand out like studio-mandated sore thumbs, whereas the older film does a better job segueing between the moments of levity and the stronger emotional scenes. Plus, the jokes are better here, they hold up. The live action version has jokes but they already feel old seconds after they play out.<br />
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Look, I'm not bashing the newer film, I think it's fine. But watching the older film immediately after, reminded me how much more lovely and magical it is in comparison. Your mileage may vary, but I feel this one goes a lot farther in a lot less time.<br />
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By the way, if you're gonna watch the animated film, may I suggest you watch the Special Edition cut? After watching the movie, I looked at the accompanying special features and saw the Special Edition was one of the viewing options. Still under the film's spell, I ended up watching it again for the first time and I found out that in addition to fixing some continuity issues and mistakes here and there, this cut also includes an extra musical number, adding some welcome character detail to the Beast's cursed servants. This isn't a George Lucas kind of Special Edition, it's more like what Ridley Scott did when he released the Final Cut of <i>Blade Runner</i>, and I think it's the one to check out -- but it's good times with either cut, either way.<br />
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Both films will appeal to most people; if you're a comic book nerd, you can pretend that the castle in the film represents your house and that the rose the Beast keeps protected under glass is like your most prized issue of Spider-Man, that way when the scene comes up when Beast loses his shit over Belle fucking with it, you can nod your head and be like "I know what that's like".<br />
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I figure ugly people can also enjoy watching a beautiful woman learn to love this hideous smelly hairy fuck for the good person he supposedly is on the inside. And if you're half a fuckin' furry, I already know you love this movie. You probably dress up like the Beast all the time or have your significant other dress like the Beast before you guys get it on -- doggy style, of course. AWOOOO!<br />
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In conclusion, grow some fucking balls, Easy.<br />
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<br />EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-33861800071203084532018-10-27T05:21:00.003-07:002023-01-18T19:26:46.618-08:00Two weeks late and a dollar short<br /><br /><iframe title="#5 - Camp Frida 2018" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=f2erd-9ddc1c-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br />
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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 <i>Invasion of the Body Snatchers</i>. (Spoilers.)<br />
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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 <b>Camp Frida</b>, an all-night horror movie marathon being held at <a href="http://thefridacinema.org/">The Frida Cinema</a> 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.<br />
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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 -- <a href="http://shempcat.com/camp-frida-outing/">I highly recommend that you give it a read.</a><br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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First up on the menu was the 1996 film <b>From Dusk Till Dawn</b>, 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. <br />
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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 <a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2015/10/when-you-cant-sleep-and-decide-to.html">New Beverly Cinema in 2015</a> -- 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!<br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>Pet Sematary</i> could stay in the Main Lodge while those who wanted to see the 2004 rom-zom-com <i>Shaun of the Dead</i> would have to go to the Graveyard. I went with Shaun because I had already seen <i>Pet Sematary</i> in the past and have even rambled about it in a <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/11/people-dont-say-excuse-me-anymore-they.html">past blog entry</a>, 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.<br />
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<b>Shaun of the Dead</b> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>Baby Driver</i>. It's good stuff and the dude's already had cinema running through his veins.<br />
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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 <i>Dawn of the Dead </i>or go back to the Graveyard to watch the 2010 film <i>Insidious</i>. I had never seen the latter and had been meaning to see it, and so eight years after its release, I finally did.<br />
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<b>Insidious</b> 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".<br />
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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. <br />
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The son, he deals with it even better than the others -- he falls into a coma.<br />
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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.<br />
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<i>Insidious</i> was director James Wan and writer Leigh Whannell's return to low budget independent filmmaking following the failure of their big studio fright flick <i>Dead Silence</i> 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 <i><a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/08/we-do-not-want-you-here-we-do-not-like.html">Saw</a></i>? That was their first film and I watched it back in 2005 and I liked it. I liked <i>Insidious</i> 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).<br />
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Halfway through the film, Insidious turns into the cinematic equivalent of Wan and Whannell asking the audience "Hey, did you ever see <i>Poltergeist</i>? 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 <i>Poltergeist</i>. In fact, one of them shows up having brought a Hot Pocket. That to me shows a person who is prepared and considerate.<br />
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The next guessing game revealed the choice of either <i>Friday the 13th Part III</i> in 3D or <i>Beetlejuice</i>. As much as I love me some Winona Ryder, I had already seen <i>Beetlejuice</i> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I bring this up because I'm not 100-percent sure whether what we watched of <b>Friday the 13th Part III</b> 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 <i>Captain EO</i> on top and the Nintendo game "Rad Racer" at the bottom, this film would reside right in the middle.<br />
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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 <a href="https://youtu.be/E6P4iatMl7M">gives us the theme song</a> 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 <i>Friday the 13th</i> 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 <i>Friday the 13th Part II</i>, 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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This also might be the first <i>Friday the 13th</i> film that introduces <i>raza</i> 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. <br />
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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. <br />
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Anyway, Vera is saved by her fellow camper Shelly, who according to the <a href="http://fridaythe13th.wikia.com/wiki/Friday_the_13th_Wiki">Friday the 13th Wiki</a> 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 <i>kishka</i> into her <i>mole</i>, maybe he wasn't really giving the money away so much as he was paying for something he hoped to get in return.<br />
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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 href="https://youtu.be/5EhO5Zj5UFU">a reporter for KNBC-TV Los Angeles</a>, 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 <i>Friday the 13th Part III</i>, 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.<br />
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At one point, Savage herself <a href="https://youtu.be/1LdS_yrrf4k">was called to the witness stand at the trial,</a> 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?!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Anyway, for the final choice of films we were given either <i>Blade II</i> or <i>30 Days of Night</i>. I've always wanted to see <b>30 Days of Night</b> and so it was back to the Graveyard for me.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>Phantoms</i> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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So yeah, vampires. They're led by Danny Huston and I'm guessing this film takes place in the <i>Blade</i> 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".<br />
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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 <i><a href="https://youtu.be/-yxsmYZGYGc">Track of the Cat</a></i>, starring Robert Mitchum, another snowbound film with a similar visual color scheme. <br />
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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 <i>John Carpenter's The Thing</i> -- had that film been randomly hacked down by about forty-five minutes. And there's the rub; the more <i>30 Days of Night</i> 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.<br />
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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".<br />
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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 <u>all</u> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Everybody gathered at the Main Lodge to watch the final film of the marathon: the 1982 Steven Spielberg production of <b>Poltergeist</b>, directed by Tobe Hooper.<br />
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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. <br />
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I harbor no delusions of <i>Poltergeist</i> 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.<br />
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So give the man his due.<br />
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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 <u>you</u> the life of the mind.<br />
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As I mentioned earlier, the film <i>Insidious</i> 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 <i>Insidious</i>, it's the kid's consciousness that is taken, and in the case of <i>Poltergeist</i>, 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.<br />
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<i>Insidious</i> does a pretty good job at remaking <i>Poltergeist</i> -- 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? <i>Poltergeist</i> 1982, baby.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>Poltergeist</i>, 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. <br />
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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. <br />
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The fucking balls on this guy!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Following the picture, we all stepped out into the lobby where we were greeted by the sounds of <a href="https://youtu.be/xGytDsqkQY8">Semisonic's "Closing Time"</a> 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.<br />
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I then went down the block to <a href="https://www.eatchow.com/santa-ana/">Eat Chow</a> 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.<br />
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<br />EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-25478457381992915592018-09-30T22:16:00.003-07:002023-01-18T19:28:04.228-08:00The disappointed optimist<br /><br /><iframe title="#4 - Paulie" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=cu8dz-9b99c1-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br />
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I have friends and coworkers who will bring up a movie and then tell me what <a href="https://www.rottentomatoes.com/">Rotten Tomatoes</a> has given it, as if I care. I'm far too nice to tell them that I don't give two shakes of a lamb's tail what Rotten Tomatoes has to say about a movie I want to watch. I have no use for that stupid critical barometer because I want to know as little as possible about a movie -- aside from what I already know that got me interested in the first place.<br />
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Also, I really don't care what other people think about a new movie that <u>I</u> want to see. At most, I'll search out a couple reviews from critics I respect, but it'll be after I see the movie. So I don't waste my time with Rotten Tomatoes. Get out of my face with that garbage.<br />
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So I was on the Rotten Tomatoes website one day when I noticed a feature there called <a href="https://editorial.rottentomatoes.com/five-favorite-films/">Five Favorite Films</a> where whoever was promoting a movie on the site would give his or her list of, yup, you guessed it, their five favorite films. They had Amy Adams there promoting a film, and of the very few people in Hollywood that I can stand, number one with a polite bullet on that short list is the lovely and talented actress known here as The Adorable Amy Adams. Regular readers of the blog have known about my admiration of Ms. Adams for years, and new listeners of this podcast have known about it as of about five seconds ago.<br />
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As for <a href="https://editorial.rottentomatoes.com/article/five-favorite-films-with-amy-adams/">her five favorite films</a>, The Adorable Amy Adams gave the following: <i>Gone with the Wind</i>, <i>The Wizard of Oz</i>, <i>Vertigo</i>, <i>The Shawshank Redemption</i>, and the 1998 family film <b>Paulie</b> directed by John Roberts. </div><div><br />
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In the interview, Adams admitted that <i>Paulie</i> stood out like a sore thumb on that list but she wanted to be honest and include a film that she's watched many times. She also brought up <i>Paulie</i> in another more recent interview on Leonard Maltin's podcast <a href="https://nerdist.com/maltin-on-movies-106-amy-adams/">"Maltin on Movies"</a>; in that interview, both Maltin and his co-host Jessie Maltin gave Ms. Adams plenty of praise for her performances in her new films <a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2016/11/no-one-ever-uses-turn-signal.html"><i>Arrival</i> and <i>Nocturnal Animals</i></a> and they were sure Oscar was going to finally -- finally! -- give her her long overdue gold, Best Actress-style. Which of course, did not happen because Emma Stone won that year for <i>La La Land</i>. <br />
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But I don't blame Emma Stone; she did a great job and I guess all pale redheads look the same to the racist Oscars. No, I blame the Academy for instead giving Our Amy's nomination slot to the much-ignored Meryl Streep, finally giving that criminally underrated starlet some much-needed awards attention for some movie called <i>Florence Foster Jenkins</i> about an old lady who can't sing and it's funny funny funny oh ho ho she can't sing! It's com-e-dy!<br />
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While I had already seen the other films she mentioned on the list, I hadn't seen <i>Paulie</i>, and so I put it on my watchlist along with the thousand other movies I'm sure I'll get around to as soon as I win the lottery and then I can just stay home all day & night catching up to these movies and not have to worry about how I'm going to pay my rent. <br />
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Oh, it would be beautiful too, I would just sit there and watch movies and eat and watch movies and eat and occasionally use the bathroom and if there's company coming over, I guess I could take a shower. Then I can become one of those fat hogs who are too big to leave the house, then my body will give and I'll die and my fat 800-pound corpse will be somebody else's problem. Ha ha ha, kiss my fat dead ass, you skinny necrophiliacs -- and don't forget, I want to be buried, so good luck recruiting six pallbearers with both the strength and disregard for the concept of hernias.<br />
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So I was reminded to watch <i>Paulie</i> when I saw my friend Cathie mention it on her Twitter timeline, and so I tossed away the movie I had intended to watch that night -- take a hike, <i>The Rules of the Game</i> -- and here we are.<br />
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The film begins with Tony Shalhoub as Misha, a Russian immigrant in the United States, beginning his new job as a night janitor at the kind of research laboratory where animals of all species are kept in cages that I'm sure in no way affects their well-being and therefore ensures that any research done to them is 100-percent accurate. I'm just saying, if you want to know what shoving an electric prod up a monkey's ass will do to the monkey for the purposes of research, maybe you want to get a monkey who's been living a comfortable life in something remotely resembling the monkey's natural environment. <br />
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Because if you take a monkey that's been living in a small cage in a strange room and shove an electric prod up its ass, I'm guessing at that point the monkey has already given up on life and is all like "eh, my life has been shit ever since they took me away from my family in the jungle, my confusion and fear of this new place has faded, and now I'm just resigned to this hellish existence of having different shampoos applied to my fur and being injected with various experimental vaccines until I'm embraced by sweet, sweet death and the rest of my eternity is in a black void because animals don't get to go to Heaven or Hell because apparently only humans have souls. What's another twelve inches up my ass?"<br />
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No monkeys get electric-prodded up the ass in this film, by the way. I'm just saying. And for the record, animals do have souls and they all go to Heaven. All of them. They're too pure to ever end up in Hell. Fight me on this and I'll make it so that you find out personally whether you're going to Heaven or Hell.<br />
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Anyway, a couple of nights into the job, Misha is by himself and he's busy Good Will Hunting the floors when he hears somebody singing from the basement. He goes downstairs to this dark dungeon and finds out that the singing is coming from a conure (or parakeet or parrot, if you want to be that way) who is all by himself in a cage that is chained with a padlock, as if it were resided by some kind of psycho Hannibal Lecter of birds. <br />
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Soon he finds out why the caged bird sings -- courtesy of the bird himself, whose name is Paulie and he not only sings but he can talk, and I don't mean the standard bird talk where they're just mimicking what they hear, this bird is capable of having conversations and can even be a real smartass at times, or maybe that's just a side effect of having Jay Mohr provide Paulie's voice.<br />
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As Paulie proceeds to tell Misha his story, the film flashes back to when he was born and given to a little girl named Marie, played by Hallie Eisenberg, best known for a series of <a href="https://youtu.be/3C1I-IrOgyg">Pepsi commercials</a> that ran in the late 90s. Everything is great between Marie and Paulie; they enjoy each other's company and Paulie even helps her with her stutter as they both teach each other words and how to pronounce them.<br />
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The film never explains why Paulie has the gift of speech, or if they did, I missed it. He just can. The best I can come up with is that the power of pure unadulterated love can make the miraculous happen. Yeah, sure, whatever. Tell that to Nadia Sandoval. I loved her so much, that if you were to harness the positive energy I gave, you'd be able to power rockets with it -- and yet all the e-mails and the letters and the songs in the world couldn't convince her that I was the one. I even held up a boombox in front of her house like my man John Cusack in <i>Say Anything</i> but then a Chinese dude came out and he told me that not only did she move to Paris five years ago, but she also makes a six-figure salary and is married and has two kids and there's no way I can compete with that, not unless I get a big raise at El Pollo Loco or Taco Bell or whatever taco truck I'm working at, like, right now.<br />
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I told him I couldn't get a raise and that not only was that statement about me working in a Mexican fast food establishment racist, it was also the truth. Then I asked him if he wanted to go out for coffee and he told me that he was gay but not desperate. Or at least that's what I think he said, I mean, he had both the Chinese accent and a homosexual lisp, so excuse me for not having the best ear in the world to be able decipher Gaysian.<br />
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Speaking of speaking, I told you that Paulie not only talks, but he can carry a tune. He and Marie even share a song together, the Randy Newman classic "Marie". If you've never heard it, it's a beautifully depressing tune about some neglectful asshole who doesn't have the balls to express his deepest heartfelt emotions to the woman he loves unless he drinks enough liquid courage to do so.<br />
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What this has to do with the love between a girl and her bird, I don't know. I never saw Paulie sip on bird-booze from a bird-flask nor did he ever ignore her. If anything, he couldn't let her out of his sight, he loved her so much.<br />
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That leaves another disturbing possibility when you consider that the song was taught to Marie by her mother. So maybe the mom's a drunk, like one of those secret boozer housewives that used to run rampant back in the day, because there was only so much one can do to keep from going mad staying home all day because they hadn't yet invented the Internet or youth soccer organizations. There's only so many dishes you can wash, and there's only so many loads of laundry to launder, and there's only so many pot roasts to make. Soon you're gonna want more than just your common everyday Benzos to help you deal, you're gonna want to wash those down with some white wine. And then some more white wine.<br />
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Eventually nothing matters in your numbed state anymore except for your little girl Marie. But even then, you know she's not gonna stay little forever. Marie will eventually grow up. And then what? I'll tell you then what -- you keep drinking and you keep pilling, because the more you do, the easier it'll be to push the thought of the inevitable to a far off foggy place in the back of your mind.<br />
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Or maybe they just sing the song because the girl's name is Marie.<br />
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We soon find out that mom, Marie, and even Paulie have totally legitimate reasons to hit the bottle; one day, the father comes home and that's when we find out that we have a goddamn Great Santini on our hands with this military motherfucker. Marie goes up to him and this piece of shit actually tells her to shake hands with him first, then eventually they'll work up to kisses later. That left me immediately asking two questions: What the fuck? and Why the fuck?<br />
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Dad apparently was gone for a long time, because upon his return he's upset that Marie still stutters. He can't handle that, and after Mom puts Marie to bed, she then has to go downstairs and catch an ear-beating from him about Marie's uncured speech impediment, as if that was an issue he set his wife to fix while he was out killing commies for his country. Poor Marie might have a stutter, but she's not deaf, she has to hear all of this and the poor girl can only escape by dressing Paulie up as her fairy godmother and hoping he/she will grant her the ability to speak without stuttering, and it breaks my heart, man.<br />
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I don't care how many yellow or brown throats you slit in the name of Freedom, don't be like that with your daughter. Don't be a distant fuck. All right, look, ladies & gentlemen, if you're gonna have kids, please don't. But if you still are, at least be good to those little fucks once they're born. When I see shit like this in movies and especially in real life, it makes me thank God/Allah/Yahweh/Xenu/whoever-the-fuck for blessing me with the parents I ended up being life-saddled with.<br />
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I still remember this one time, way back in the day that I stopped at a friend's house and I listened to the way his mom was saying some fucked-up passive aggressive shit to him about what a fuckin' loser he was in her eyes. No wonder he had an underage drinking problem and seemed increasingly depressed with each passing day. I swear I wanted to run home to mommy and daddy and give them a big hug and apologize for whatever fuckin' bullshit I might've bitched about that morning. I can't handle seeing that shit, especially if its happening to the little girl from the Pepsi commercials. The fuck did she do? She never bothered me, she's not her brother Jesse.<br />
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By the way, this movie was made in 1998 but I bet you if this were made today, you'd have "patriots" losing their shit about how this military dad was represented. God forbid if this dude wasn't portrayed as a beautiful saint with red, white, and blue wings and an erect penis in the shape of the Holy Cross. I can see those diddle-faced twats on "Fox and Friends" bitching the live long day about how terrible it is that liberal Hollywood is making Our Boys looks like assholes. <br />
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Oh my god! Can you believe this? They're disrespecting our troops in this talking parrot movie! Of course what else would you expect from Hollyweird!</i><i> -- wait, what? -- another school shooting</i><i>? Yeah, whatever, anyway,</i><i> for our last story of the day, </i><i>America haters are now saying Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas! Can you believe that? </i><i>We've made three God's Not Dead movies and <u>they still don't get it!</u></i><i> </i><br />
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Anyway, this piece of work father buys a cat and is somehow surprised that Paulie and the cat mix about as well as oil and water, and he has the gall and the balls to be upset by that. Next thing you know, Lieutenant Fuckface over here puts Paulie in a cage and takes him away to God-knows-where despite Marie's crying and pleading for Paulie to come back to her.<br />
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What follows is a kind of bird version of <i>Au Hasard Balthazar</i>, in that we follow Paulie as he goes from owner to owner across the country -- that is, if Balthazar the donkey talked and actually participated in the lives of his owners instead of being an overall passive lunk who observed things and let things happen to him.<br />
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Nah, Paulie doesn't go out like that, he takes action -- he talks, he sings, he kinda dances, and the only time people get the better of him is when he's overpowered or as in one unsettling scene, he gets his wings clipped while he's screaming in pain and I'm like "this is for kids?!"<br />
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Yes, it is for kids -- there's an unnecessary fart joke that comes out of nowhere to prove that. It feels like something that was added in post-production at the last minute because the studio got all cowardly about sending out a family film that didn't satisfy every quotient including the scatological dollar.<br />
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Among the people he encounters on his travels: Jay Mohr in the flesh as a douchebag, Buddy Hackett as a pawn shop owner, Gena Rowlands as a widow, Cheech Marin as part of the problem in this great country, Jay Mohr again as a douchebag, and Bruce Davison as -- holy shit, Bruce Davison? I just talked about you in the last blog entry, the one about <i><a href="https://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2018/09/relax-they-left-long-time-ago.html">Crazy/Beautiful</a></i>! Welcome back, bro!<br />
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So how are you doing, Bruce? You're playing the head of the research facility where Paulie ends up? That's cool. Are you as understanding and compassionate as the guy you played in <i>Crazy/Beautiful</i>? No. Ah man, fuck you then. Nah, you're cool with me Bruce, you were in <i>Willard</i>, bro. Remember that, when you were dealing with all those rats? And then they made a sequel without you and Michael Jackson sang a song about one of the rats? Now here you are dealing with birds, and unfortunately they didn't get Michael Jackson to sing a song about Paulie. That's kind of a missed opportunity, don't you think?<br />
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But that's OK because -- talk to you later, Bruce -- that's OK because they do have Cheech Marin sing <a href="https://youtu.be/w5fLGWrHouk">"Cancion del Mariachi"</a> from the film <i>Desperado</i>, which I thought was a great choice because it meant the filmmakers didn't have to rack their brains too long while trying to look for a good Latin song for Cheech and Paulie to perform. That movie was probably playing on television in the background while they were having a script conference -- it would've been a dead heat between that song and <a href="https://youtu.be/rAV3bOJaQuY">"Babalu" by Desi Arnaz</a>, if it weren't for that stupid intern accidentally changing the channel before "I Love Lucy" came on.<br />
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So let me talk about the Cheech stuff; he plays Ignacio (which they pronounce Anglo-style), the owner/operator of a taco truck that specializes in burritos. He and Paulie meet in East L.A. and become friendly business partners in performing song & dance routines for the patrons. I'm watching this and going, OK, this is cool -- Cheech is just a good dude running a business, nothing too unusual or stereotypical about him aside from the fact that he's played by Cheech. So I'm watching and I'm digging this, and then later it comes out that he's an illegal alien. Because of course he is. <br />
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At one point, somebody tries to fuck him over by falsely reporting to the cops that his business is unsanitary and that he's serving alcohol to minors -- hey, I wonder if he sold any to my friend with the shitty mom? You'd think that should be enough. But no, they had to add the most important detail that he's here without papers, and have that be the true part of the bogus police report.<br />
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Fine. Be that way, movie. At least Ignacio came off as a nice guy. I guess I should be grateful for that.<br />
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Speaking of nice immigrants, Misha the janitor is a really nice guy as well. Once he gets over the shock of meeting a talking parrot, he makes for a very patient and understanding person for Paulie to talk with. Everybody in this movie gives really good performances, including the 14 or so birds they used to portray Paulie before they threw them into an incinerator or wherever you put out of work birds. But Tony Shalhoub stands out in particular with his exceptional work here, especially during a <a href="https://youtu.be/XXqV3vMCNBA">monologue</a> he gives Paulie about the regret he has for not talking to a girl from his past with whom he had fallen in love.<br />
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I want to give the writer of this film, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0185934/">Laurie Craig</a>, extra points for the connection between Misha's inability to tell a woman he loved her and Randy Newman's song "Marie", which if you remember what I said a few years earlier during this blog entry, is about being unable to tell someone you love them. Except of course, in the Marie song, that problem was solved via the miracle of alcohol, while apparently Misha is the one Russian on planet Earth who doesn't drink. Let that be a lesson for you sober straight edge motherfuckers.<br />
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There are other examples throughout the film of characters who have hesitated in doing something they wanted to do, and how the passage of time ultimately fucked them in the ass for not going through with it: <br />
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Misha didn't speak up to the woman he loved, and so she went on to marry his best friend. <br />
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Paulie was afraid to fly, which led to an accident that resulted in his separation from Marie. <br />
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Gena Rowlands' character gave up on her dream of going to the Grand Canyon after the death of her husband, and ended up spending the rest of her golden years going nowhere.<br />
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Ignacio never fixed his pesky naturalization issues and is now back in the old country teaching OTMs how to say <a href="https://youtu.be/-zgTVBtA-iI">"Waas Sappening"</a>. <br />
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And Marie's mom hesitated in tying her piece of shit husband to a bed before setting that motherfucker on fire. <br />
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I was surprised by how Paulie was able to sneak in such serious internal struggles in a goofy family movie about a talking parrot. Yeah, I know, you're right -- it's a stretch. Speaking of stretching, you should really limber up before you go fuck yourself.<br />
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Amy Adams has said that this movie makes her cry, and my friend Cathie on Twitter warned me that I would get teary-eyed while watching it. While I enjoyed the film and was touched by certain moments, I did all right in the Man Up department and was ready to call out both The Triple A and Cathie because not a single tear was shed -- and then the ending happened. Upon watching the final revelation that hammered home the film's running theme, my balls faded away as I gradually turned into Matthew McConaughey during those couple of scenes in <i>Interstellar</i> when everything was not alright alright alright.<br />
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<i>Paulie</i> is a sweet-natured film with the occasional laugh and a couple of tearjerker moments. It is truly a movie that the entire family can enjoy; the kids will like it and the adults won't feel like hostages while watching it with them. And it's good enough for grown-up solitary shut-ins like myself. It's a nice movie. It put a smile on my face. And it makes such precious sense that who I perceive to be The Adorable Amy Adams would call <i>Paulie </i>one of her favorite films.<br />
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I'm happy that I finally saw the movie, but if there's one thing that disappointed me about <i>Paulie</i> is that it failed to wipe away the memory of my old neighbor who had gotten a parrot of his own and took to having it perched on his shoulder. Everyday, I would arrive home after work and run to my door before the newly retired gentleman across the street noticed me. Because if he did, he would call me over for a little chit chat, which would mean I would have to talk to him and try my best to ignore that the man's shoulder was always caked with bird shit. He had to know what he had going on there, he had just had to! And yet he did nothing about it, which meant that he didn't care and he was consciously or subconsciously getting off on being nice to me in behavior while being incredibly hostile towards me in appearance.<br />
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In conclusion, I'm glad I called the cops on his drug-dealing son. That's what the little fucker gets for not giving me a discount.</div>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-89642292810066220782018-09-12T22:32:00.003-07:002023-01-18T19:31:45.463-08:00Relax. They left a long time ago.<br /><br /><iframe title="#3 - Crazy/Beautiful" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=pnh5u-99fe95-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br /><br />
The past few months I've been in the process of digitizing my DVD collection because I like the idea of taking of all my easily available movies to a distant hard-to-reach location. That way, if I want to see one of these movies, my only choice is to try to access them on an incredibly finicky storage format that is not at all known to crash depending on what day it happens to be.<br />
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While going through my movies, I came across a DVD for a film I hadn't seen in quite a while, and by merely holding the box, I had taken a bite out of Proust's Madeleine, whisking me back to the year 2001 -- a year I look back on fondly.<br />
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A year of fun.<br />
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A year of love.<br />
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A year of hope.<br />
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A year of dreams.<br />
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Yup, 2001 was a particularly awesome year bursting with nothing but great times.<br />
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Well, uh, except for the <u>other thing.</u><br />
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But let's just, uh, forget about that one unfortunate event for a moment and focus on the --<br />
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</i> <i>WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT DO YOU MEAN FORGET, MOTHERFUCKER?! YOU WANNA FORGET WHAT HAPPENED? HUH? DO YOU? YOU GODDAMN FUCKIN COMMIE SOCIALIST TERRORIST FEMINIST SJW DINDU NUFFIN LOVING KNEELING FOR THE NATIONAL ANTHEM FAGGOT CUCK FUCK?! WELL YOU GO AHEAD AND FORGET. GO AHEAD, IT'S A FREE COUNTRY. A COUNTRY MADE FREE BY AMERICAN SOLDIERS WHO SACRIFICED THEIR LIVES SO YOU CAN HAVE YOUR PRECIOUS FREEDOM AND SO THEY CAN GET THEIR COLLEGE EDUCATION PAID FOR. BUT THERE'S ONE THING YOU CAN'T FORGET. </i><i>ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT LOOK, YOU SEE THIS? YOU SEE THAT? YOU SEE THAT? DO I DO I HAVE TO ASK YOU AGAIN? YOU SEE THAT? </i><i>YOU SEE THESE COLORS? THESE THREE COLORS OVER HERE? LOOK AT 'EM. I SAID LOOK AT EM. YOU SEE THIS? DO YOU SEE THIS? I SAID DO YOU SEE THESE COLORS? YOU DO? GOOD. CUZ LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING ABOUT THESE HERE COLORS. SOMETHING I BET THOSE LIBTARD PROFESSORS IN THAT FANCY COMMUNITY COLLEGE OF YOURS DIDN'T TEACH YOU. THESE COLORS? THESE THREE COLORS? LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING ABOUT THESE COLORS. </i></div>
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THESE COLORS? </i><br />
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<i>THEY DON'T RUN. </i></div>
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<i>YOU GOT THAT? THEY DON'T RUN. </i><i> </i><br />
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<i>DON'T MESS -- DON'T MESS WITH THAT. </i><br />
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<i>NOW YOU GO AND TAKE THAT BACK TO HOLLYWEIRD COMMIE MEXI-CALIFORNIA AND DON'T YOU FUCKIN' FORGET IT. </i></div>
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I sure won't, sir. Perhaps "forget" was the wrong word. What I meant was, let's not dwell on that, let's not make that the topic of this particular blog entry/episode. I'm just trying to set up my ramblings about a movie.<br />
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I'm just saying -- what I'm trying to say -- is that I remember that time -- most of that time -- being a particularly free-flowing fountain of fun for me and my fellow fellows. It was during those wonderfully irresponsible limbos between high school, college, and the real world, when those of us who had jobs used our paychecks towards financing our weekends -- weekends that weren't necessarily relegated to Friday and Saturday. And yet, despite the parties and the drinking and the drugs, my fondest pastimes involved none of those. The experiences I remember the most involved seeing movies or hearing live music or going to museums.</div>
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Oh, and banging chicks.<br />
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Now if we must go back to the September-sized elephant in the 2001 room -- one can almost look at what happened on that fateful day as a cold hard slap of Reality to remind the rest of us lucky enough to continue our existence that everything is finite. <br />
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So enjoy the good times while they last, motherfuckers.<br />
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I have no idea what I'm trying to say with all of this or if I'm even trying to say anything with all of this. I think I'm just trying to put you in the same frame of mind that I was when I found this DVD of a movie that was released in the summer of that awesome/horrible year: Nostalgia. It hit hard and refreshed my memory of the first time I saw this movie.<br />
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It was a warm July evening when my friend and I went to a classmate's apartment with hopes of convincing her to appear in a short film that we were making for a student project because she was taking acting classes, but more importantly, she was attractive. After walking up three flights of stairs, we arrived at her place and were greeted by the scent of long-extinguished marijuana and the sight of this lovely-looking woman and her skater boy minions gathered around a 27-inch Philips CRT television set watching amateur video of long-haired, cap-wearing White boys trying to land various tricks on skateboards with a success ratio of 30-percent.<br />
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The girl -- who we'll call Avril -- noticed that I was particularly winded and I immediately gave a chuckle, and with the little breath I had to spare I said something incredibly witty and on point like "You sure have a lot of stairs."<br />
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Avril smirked and responded with "Looks like <u>somebody</u> has to hit the gym" and I'm sure her skater boy minions would've high-fived her and each other, were they not already entranced by Jonny D-Boy Deez pulling off a sick Sigma flip on the television.<br />
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(Avril didn't end up in the film.) </div>
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Preemptively defeated, my friend and I decided to end the evening by taking in a movie. We stopped at a local AMC theatre and decided on the film starring that cute snaggletoothed chick from <i>Bring it On</i>, co-starring some dude who was a friend of a friend from high school, and directed by Cougar from <i>Top Gun</i>.<br />
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Originally titled <i>At Seventeen</i> before being changed to something more stylish, <b>Crazy/Beautiful</b> stars Kirsten Dunst as Nicole Oakley, a teenager who goes to a very nice high school and lives in a very nice house in the very nice L.A. coastal region known as the Pacific Palisades. Financially, she has zero problems. Emotionally, the bitch got issues. Her mother died a few years back and it seems like the only way Nicole can deal is by getting wasted -- whenever, wherever.</div>
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Meanwhile, there's Mexican-American Carlos Nunez played by Jay Hernandez and he's from the brown side of the tracks aka the barrio. He lives among mi hard working <i>gente</i> who wake up early every morning to go to work even though your average Hispano-hater would call them lazy. And yet at the same time they'll complain about these people stealing jobs. Well, which is it, you indecisive fucks? Are these dirty wetbacks lazy or working? Because they can't be both. Pick one reason to hate and stick with it, you fucking cunts.<br />
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Anyway, Carlos also wakes up early, except in his case it's not to be a lazy beaner working an eighteen hour day in this country made great again. He wakes up at five in the morning so he can catch a bus that takes him to the same high school Nicole attends. See, the thing with <i>mi hermano</i> Carlos is that he has aspirations. He has dreams. He wants to attend Annapolis and he wants to become a Navy pilot. And that means busting his ass harder than your average student -- not unlike how immigrants to this country, legal or illegal, tend to put more effort in comparison to people who were born here.</div>
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I like how a sequence early in the film reflects this, in a way, sorta, kinda. I mean, Carlos is a born American but I'm gonna go ahead and still use this as a metaphor because I need something to talk about. What I'm saying is that at the beginning of the film, you see Carlos going through his way-too-early-in-the-morning-for-a-teenager routine. You can tell that he doesn't waste a second to lolly-gag; his mom wakes him up, he gets dressed, he eats a fast breakfast, and then takes off in the pale blue early morning light for what looks like a long walk to a bus stop for what is clearly going to be a long commute to school. </div>
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Then we cut to Nicole's bedroom to see how the other half gets ready for school. Now we're at a much more reasonable morning hour and the sun is as out as a homosexual in the Castro, but Nicole is still in bed, wide awake. Like Carlos, a Latina is there to make sure she's up. Unlike Carlos, the Latina is her housekeeper. Wearing the wrinkled shirt and drawstring pants ensemble she was sleeping in, Nicole eventually gets up and shuffles herself over to the kitchen where she then serves herself a bowl of cereal with a Paxil chaser before sitting down to enjoy the cartoon "Ed, Edd N Eddy". She then gets picked up by her best friend Maddy, and off she goes to school -- in the same clothes that she slept in. I'm assuming she took a shower the night before, but that still doesn't excuse going to school in dirty clothes, especially a girl in her income bracket.<br />
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But hey, that's America for you. Regardless of race, gender, or ethnicity: the privileged are really all just a bunch of dirty White girls.<br />
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And Nicole is most definitely a dirty White girl. The overhead shot that establishes the filthy bedroom she sleeps in -- it's just a mess with clothes and various rich girl knick knacks filling the place up and there's mud tracked in on the floor. Who knows how long that's been there. Clearly, Nicole's bedroom is the one room the maid is not allowed in. And yet I bet you it's Carlos who will more likely be called "dirty" by someone because he's a Brown and people are fucking assholes. </div>
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But that's OK, because I'm an asshole too and I'm going to continue to demonstrate that by bringing up just how fucking greasy Nicole looks with her oily skin and unwashed hair. I think that's the point though, because later in the film, there's a part where she's at a quinceañera and as she passes by a couple of guests, you can hear them refer to her as <i>sucia</i> which is Spanish for dirty. </div>
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By the way, I remember someone in the movie theater say out loud "man, she's greasy" and my friend and I tried our best not to laugh. Afterward, we wondered if that person was referring to Nicole's shiny skin or the fact that her character had just finished scarfing down tacos. Maybe she hadn't wiped her mouth completely.<br />
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The film underwent reshoots -- more on those later -- but you can tell which scenes were reshot because Dunst not only looks a lot cleaner and fresh-faced in them, but her hair is styled differently and it's clearly dyed red despite the attempts to light her in a way that you wouldn't be able to tell. But you can still tell, you can still tell that she just walked in from shooting the first <i>Spider-Man</i> where she was Mary Jane Watson, a character who probably showered and changed clothes more often than Nicole. </div>
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All right, so I mentioned Nicole being at a quinceañera earlier and you're wondering how she ended up there. See, this is a love story and so Nicole and Carlos end up hooking up -- and all that that entails. They first meet at the beach where Carlos and his homies are chilling out and she's there doing community service by picking up trash, because drinking and driving is against the law and you should never do it unless you know for sure that you won't get caught. <br />
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I remember when I once had to do community service; I wasn't driving drunk or anything like that, I got caught by a red light camera at 3 in the morning. Being unemployed and broke, I took the option to work off my fine. By the way, you still have to pay to do community service. One way or the other, they're getting some money out of your criminal ass. <br />
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So I was given fifty hours to work off, and I ended up doing those hours folding clothes at a local Goodwill, but after nearly murdering the bitch-whore manager and her pig fuck assistant manager, I was then transferred to a church where I picked up trash and cleaned tables. Unlike the Goodwill store, they let me listen to my iPod while I worked and they would give me double, sometimes even triple hours credit for a day's work and so I was able to fulfill my fifty hours rather quickly. It was a Catholic church, so for all I know, they were banging altar boys two at a time, but because they were super chill and nice to me, I didn't give a fuck.<br />
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So anyway, yeah, they hook up, and what's interesting is that despite Carlos being from the poorer streets of East L.A. and Nicole actually being a resident of Pacific Palisades, he appears to be more of a well-oiled cog in the social machine of this high school than she is. Whereas Carlos is a straight-A student and star athlete on the football team, Nicole is more the type to ditch class just so she can drink and get high in the school parking lot with her equally dirty hippie druggy friends.<br />
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In her defense, Nicole isn't a total useless layabout. She's an intelligent girl and really into photography, specifically making scrapbook art using her pictures. When she's not getting wasted, you can find Nicole developing her photographs in the darkroom at school. You can also find her making out with Carlos in the darkroom at school.<br />
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So yeah, they're both ethnic and social opposites, and as Paula Abdul and her lover MC Skat Kat told us long ago: opposites attract. You have Carlos who has been toeing the line and following the rules for most of his life and you have Nicole who doesn't seem to give a shit about anything resembling Responsibility, and I guess they each want what the other has -- his dick and her vagina.</div>
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Maddy understands why her friend is into Carlos -- "Break me off some of <u>that</u> shit!" she says -- but Carlos' friends and family don't get it one bit. At home, his mother and brother are friendly to Nicole but they're also clearly wary of this <i>guera</i> who seems too wild a force for Carlos to reckon with. At school, his football teammates are befuddled as to why he would blow off an after-game party with them just so he can hang out with a couple of drunk damaged goods like Nicole and Maddy instead. They're probably thinking, why the interest in the skanks when there will be cleaner higher quality trim at the party?<br />
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I get it. I mean, Nicole and Maddy are already drunk and therefore halfway there. These other girls at the party, I mean they're clean and all, but they are gonna make you work for that shit, and if I just played four quarters of good old American football, I'm gonna be too tired to have to make with the charm when I shouldn't even be going through all that rigamarole. Fuck, I'm a goddamn football star! You and the rest of the potentials should all be lining up for this fuckin' chorizo, and if I make it into the NFL then maybe -- maybe -- I'll take one of you with me, and as soon as I start making the big bucks, you can buy yourself all the stuff you want while I go bang some broad behind your back at whatever hotel I happen to be staying at after a game. And if you think I'm being a pig about this, shit, you go right on ahead and bang Paco the pool boy, Terrence the trainer, and Danny the Dietician if that's what you want to do. That's your prerogative. If I'm cheating on you, you can cheat on me, because I believe in equality! </div>
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The one person who really doesn't want Carlos to go out with Nicole is her congressman father, Tom, played by Bruce Davison. But it's not for the reason you would think because you've seen movies before. It's not because of Carlos' social standing or his being a goddamn Messican. In fact, as Nicole points out earlier, her father is such a fuckin' libtard social justice warrior who will show off pictures of himself with Jimmy Carter and Father Greg Boyle whenever possible, he probably wouldn't be able to contain his boner upon finding out his daughter is banging <i>raza</i>.<br />
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I appreciate the sentiment, Tom, but you can't be happy just because your daughter is fucking <u>any</u> brown dude, because what if she ends up banging Hector the cholo who just got out of Chino? <br />
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<i>"Why Hector, it sounds like you and my daughter are quite the couple now." <br />
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"That's right, puto, Nicole's wit me now, ese. Chee don't belong to you, mang. Chee's my hina, now." </i><br />
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That wouldn't be so nice, now, would it, Tom?<br />
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Thankfully, Tom can unclench his sphincter because Carlos is one of the good ones. And that's why Tom wants Carlos to stay far away. See, Tom doesn't want Carlos to go near his daughter because he knows Carlos is headed for a bright future, and that hanging out with his dark cloud of a rebellious daughter will only fuck all of that up for him. It's actually a very heartbreaking scene when Tom tells Carlos this, and Davison's performance during it is excellent; here's a father who you can tell has aged considerably in the past few years as a result of trying to put back the pieces of his broken daughter, and now he's resigned to hoping that she merely keeps the damage to herself. </div>
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It's not just Bruce Davison putting in quality work here in the acting department; Kirsten Dunst is legitimately fucking great in this movie, and I would put her performance here right up there with some of her other acclaimed roles like <i>The Virgin Suicides</i> and <i>Melancholia</i>. (Man, she sure likes playing depressed.) And all I knew about Jay Hernandez before this film was that he was on one of those wannabe Saturday morning "Saved by the Bell" fraud perpetrators on NBC called "Hang Time" and that a friend of a friend went to high school with him -- which practically makes me and him fuckin' related, bro. But he knocks it out the park here too.<br />
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I understand Hernandez is going to be the new <a href="https://www.cbs.com/shows/magnum-pi/">Magnum P.I. on CBS</a>, which I don't know how to feel about. On the one hand, it's great to see him get a big role like that, but on the other hand, there's only one Thomas Magnum and his name is Tom Motherfuckin' Selleck. On the one hand, his ethnicity is gonna be more fuel for the kneejerk types who love to bitch about what they perceive to be everything becoming P.C., including the casting on the reboots of their beloved favorite shows. But on the other hand, fuck those guys in their secretly bigoted mouths with their fathers' openly racist cocks.<br />
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Eh, what do I care. Shit's probably gonna get cancelled after two weeks, anyway.<br />
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When my friend and I went to see this movie back in the awesome/horrible year of 2001, we were just looking to kill a couple hours watching what appeared to be a throwaway teen flick. By the end, we were surprised by how good it turned out to be. <i>Crazy/Beautiful </i>was more mature compared to its contemporaries, which were mostly goofy comedies. OK, yeah, I know <i>Ghost World</i> came out that same summer but that film is in a class of its own, and if I'm gonna be real with you, I feel like that one is not so much a film for teens as its really a film about teens but for adults. But this one felt more like an actual teen film that took its target audience seriously.<br />
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Even the style of the film was different from other teen films of the time, with a kind of moody blue-ish look to some scenes and a harsh hyper-real lighting to others; the cinematography was done by Shane Hurlbut, a man who has worked on many Hollywood films and television shows but you will know him best as the subject of <a href="https://youtu.be/0auwpvAU2YA">Christian Bale's wrath</a> on the set of <i>Terminator Salvation</i>. I can only assume Kirsten Dunst did not threaten to trash Hurlbut's lights on this movie.<br />
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Some of the songs used in the film led to me buying the soundtrack -- and by "buying the soundtrack", I mean I downloaded it illegally on one of those Napster wannabe sites. One of the songs on it is called <a href="https://youtu.be/9eUJqrCG4tI">"Shattered" by Remy Zero</a> (remember them?), but to be honest that song worked much better in the 1998 film <i>Suicide Kings</i> starring Christopher Walken. But there were a couple that were far more fitting and evocative, and they sounded like they wouldn't sound out of place on some cool public radio music show like <a href="https://www.kcrw.com/music/shows/morning-becomes-eclectic">Morning Becomes Eclectic on KCRW</a> -- which is why I wasn't too surprised when they <u>did</u> pop up on that radio station: <a href="https://youtu.be/9WiEUuBDR5A">"To Be Free" by Emiliana Torrini</a>, and <a href="https://youtu.be/dSArqZIOhl8">"I Want to Believe You"</a>, a collaboration between singer/songwriter Lori Carson and the film's composer -- former member of Tangerine Dream, Paul Haslinger. There's also another one I really like called <a href="https://youtu.be/4DP5qyZg478">"Who Am I"</a> by Lily Frost (no relation to <a href="https://youtu.be/bZ8AS300WH4">Kid Frost</a>). It's such a chick song, but I don't give a shit. I like chick songs and I like chick movies, bros, come at me.<br />
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<i>Crazy/Beautiful</i> is very well-acted and directed from a sensitively written screenplay that treats everybody in the movie like human beings -- even Carlos' douchebag teammate who introduced the pejorative "browntown" into my lexicon. He's a douche, all right, but I've known douches like that douche. All that plus the stylish music and atmospheric visuals turn this teenage love story into a genuine mood piece.<br />
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Having said all that, I also feel that the film has some serious flaws. Yes, it's better than most films of its type that were released back then. But it doesn't ditch all the pitfalls of the genre either. Most of the problems are relegated to the final act of the film, where you can tell that the studio wanted everything to wrap up quickly and in a neat little bow. But there are also scenes that pop up during the rest of the film that feel as if the studio had been asleep for most of the production until they finally woke up and freaked out over what was being made: a serious teen drama that respected the intelligence of the people watching it. And they certainly couldn't let that happen.<br />
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There are a couple scenes -- one of them an obvious reshoot featuring a red-haired Dunst -- that damn near make me cringe from watching the characters as they practically spell out and draw on a map what they're going through. Without spoiling anything, there's one scene where you can see everything you need to know about what a character is feeling just by looking at the actor's incredibly emotive face. Then in the very next scene, you have that same character practically explaining for the people in the cheap seats what just happened.<br />
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There are also way too many montages for my taste. Unless your name is <i>Rocky IV</i>, cool it with the montages, people. Having said that, there's one montage that features Maddy trying to cheer up a morose Nicole by playing her a song on the guitar, and that always makes me laugh even though I don't think I'm supposed to laugh.<br />
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Anyway, a lot of my suspicions about the film were confirmed in the DVD audio commentary by director John Stockwell and Kirsten Dunst; during production, the studio informed the filmmakers that <i>Crazy/Beautiful</i> had to be released with a PG-13. This meant scenes were changed and/or shot differently than originally intended in order to ensure that the film would receive the family friendly rating. But even that didn't save them, because after the film was shot, it turned out that the film was still considered too strong for the rating and so then they had to edit stuff out. Mostly, what ended up being taken out was Nicole's propensity for strong drink and illicit substances. But also removed was dialogue considered too strong for PG-13 ears and some sweet sweet physical blending of brown and white flesh aka fuckin'.<br />
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Reportedly, Stockwell's cut was over thirty minutes longer and featured the stuff that was deemed too much for the average teen who was probably no stranger to alien concepts like drinking beer and pulling out. It's too bad this wasn't a Miramax or Dimension film because that would mean they would've released that cut on DVD after the Weinsteins -- <i>oy vey! what a shanda!</i> -- left that company, the way they finally released the director's cuts of <i>Bad Santa</i> and <i>Copland</i> as a final fuck you to those departing asshole creepers. <br />
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So now I'm just left with the option of breaking into John Stockwell's house and stealing what I'm guessing is the only available copy of the director's cut, and I bet you it's on VHS. I'll go in prepared; if suddenly the lights turn on and I'm facing down John Stockwell in his underwear, aiming a Glock 22 .40 caliber and he asks me just what in the fuck am I doing in his house at 3 in the goddamn morning, I'll pull out a Sharpie and my DVD of <i>My Science Project</i> and tell him "I just came to get your autograph, my man!"<br />
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Even with studio interference, the final cut of <i>Crazy/Beautiful</i> is still a much better movie than it has any right to be, and it's too bad the filmmakers weren't allowed to see the true vision of the picture all the way through. But what are you gonna do? It was the early 2000s, the beginning of the end for this type of big studio movie and the only choices left would've been to hop in a time machine with the screenplay and jump forward fifteen years in the future where it would've gotten some love as a lower-budgeted R-rated indie that premiered on VOD, or take that time machine back to 1980 back when studios would've been like "Teenagers drinking and drugging and fucking and using the F-word? Sure! Here's a million bucks, have at it!" and it would've starred Jodie Foster and Danny De La Paz.<br />
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But I'm gonna be even more real with you and admit that maybe, maybe the movie is good but it isn't <u>that</u> good. Maybe in the same way that re-watching this movie in 2018 took me down Nostalgia Road, watching<i> Crazy/Beautiful</i> for the first time in 2001 took me back to an entirely different lifetime that was a mere two years earlier: I'm talking about high school when I was dealing with my own Nicole experiences.<br />
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I don't mean that she was fucked up on drugs, booze, and mommy issues. I'm just saying that in high school I dated out of Browntown a couple times and that was kind of a big deal. I mean, today that means nothing to me. If I like a girl, and her standards are lowered and she likes me, race and ethnicity and nationality don't figure into it -- at least not until it's time to visit her parents. But that's another story -- a story that ends with: I never get myself far enough into a relationship to visit any girl's parents. Fuck that shit. I don't need some asshole playing the passive aggressive Are You Worthy Of My Daughter game, or worse, if they're not a Brown, the How Different Are Your People From My People game with special guests Well-Meaning Liberal Mom, Distrustful Conservative Dad, and Asshole Brother & His Equally Asshole Friend.<br />
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Anyway, watching <i>Crazy/Beautiful</i> back in 2001 brought back those high school memories. There were a couple things that kind of cut a little deeper than I was expecting, like the part where Nicole puts her pale arm next to Carlos' tanned arm and says "Look how good our skin looks next to each other." I actually had a girl of the porcelain persuasion do that to me. She didn't say anything, she just put her arm against mine and I guess she loved the contrast? I'm not sure. All I know is that I then showed her what a smooth motherfucker I was by immediately complaining about how thin my wrists were -- and still are, by the way. I don't know what to do. I've been doing wrist curls, knuckle pushups, to say nothing of constant masturbation. And still, my middle finger and thumb can practically touch each other if I wrap my hand around my wrist. The fuck, man.<br />
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There's also a part where Nicole and Maddy insist that Carlos order from the taco truck in Spanish for them, because they like the sound of that language, and that's happened to me a couple times with the non-Spanish speakers I dated back then. They'd want to hear me speak Spanish, particularly in food ordering situations. I don't remember if any of the wait staff rolled their eyes at my dates, the way the lady in the taco truck in this film did to Nicole and Maddy, though.<br />
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And you wanna hear the most Twilight Zone part of this whole deal? The Anglo girls I dated back in high school were named Nicole and Kirsten.<br />
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What am I saying? Movies are subjective. And if a movie can create <i>Inception</i>-style multi-level waves of nostalgia that causes the viewer to feel nostalgia for the movie that made him or her feel nostalgia, then that's a top notch mind & emotional fuck of a cinema experience, right there. Even with the lame narration, one-too-many montages, and that cringe-worthy final shot, even with all those flaws, <i>Crazy/Beautiful</i> <u>is</u> that good -- to me. Because it's ultimately about how movies make <u>you</u> feel, right? Many movies bring back memories, and this is just one of them.<br />
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By the way, big ups to my sister for naming my niece Nicole, effectively ruining that name for me. But what was I supposed to say? Don't name your daughter after a girl I had a semester long relationship with in high school who certainly doesn't remember me but I sure as heckfire remember her because my heart is cursed with goddamn Marilu Henner's disease? <i>Chale</i>! </div>
EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-89093990262264174662017-12-01T06:10:00.001-08:002023-01-18T19:32:37.279-08:00Very late but worth the -- no, not really.<br /><br /><iframe title="#2 - Aero Horrorthon 2017" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=juytw-7e7ed4-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i>
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It was the evening of October 28th in this foul year of our Lord, 2017, and the weather in Santa Monica was finally feeling something resembling "autumnal". The marquee over the entrance to the <a href="http://americancinemathequecalendar.com/aero_theatre_events">Aero Theatre</a> said that this was the <b>12th Annual Dusk Till Dawn Horrorthon</b> and I thought Wow, I don't even know how many of these I've attended by this point -- which is really my loss, because the Horrorthon is always a good time.<br />
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Not that I always 100-percent felt that way. If you read my <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2016/11/u-sad-bro.html">earlier</a> <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2015/10/but-i-forgot-to-buy-shirt.html">blog</a> <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2014/10/late-night-and-theres-tom-snyder-sized.html">entries</a> on <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/11/people-dont-say-excuse-me-anymore-they.html">previous</a> <a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2010/11/to-phil-blankenship-sorry-about-giving.html">Horrorthons</a>, you'll find that it took me a few years to get the stick out of my ass about the full freak flag flaunting at these fine festivities -- the screaming host, the audience members wearing costumes, the call-and-response gags between the screen and the audience during the on-screen interstitials, the on-stage theatrics featuring characters with names like Corn Gorn, Abraham LinkedIn, and Wizard Policeman -- but I can now assure you that a combination of age mellowing me out as well as an overwhelmingly apocalyptic sense of the outside world has taught me to enjoy myself whenever and wherever, making this particular exit cavity stick free.<br />
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Stick.<br />
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Once we were all inside and ready for the 12 or so hours of horror films both goofy and non-goofy -- intentional and unintentional -- the evening began with our host, Mr. <a href="https://twitter.com/GrantMoninger">Grant Moninger</a>, running up on stage, mic in hand, welcoming us the same way he's welcomed us in past Horrorthons: with explosive energy expelled at the audience as if he had too much in him and had to make room for even more building up within him that also had to come out violently. Of course, it riled us all up and so we responded in kind with cheers and hoots and hollers -- maybe not at him but at something, that's for sure.<br />
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The marathon began with the now-traditional use of the 1980s television series T.J. Hooker, starring William Shatner, where we watched portions of an episode while fake credits featuring the names of Horrorthon attendees popped up on-screen. Following that were the first round of interstitials that would play between films throughout the night, beginning with some of the old favorites such as the <a href="https://youtu.be/kK7D3L4duNI">Corn Gorn prayer song</a>, the <a href="https://youtu.be/wH1YoxbqgXc">"Alan"</a> marmot, the <a href="https://youtu.be/LIr9SOpGhJM">Red Roof Inn</a> commercial, <a href="https://youtu.be/Ydvt7YRTF4c">both</a> versions of Dennis Parker's song "<a href="https://youtu.be/Ehxyt5kNrvo">Like an Eagle</a>", the <a href="https://youtu.be/EwEyIH8ZJzU">Energizer</a> commercial, and <a href="https://youtu.be/MwEpBwVrSJ4">Brent</a>, among others. There were some new ones too, such as the takeoff/recreation of old advertisements for 1-900 or 976 numbers that featured the song <a href="https://youtu.be/9UNBiqK_xtQ">"Library"</a> from the album "Floral Shoppe" by Macintosh Plus; the music is from the Vaporwave genre, and I think they came up with the name "Vaporwave" because "White People Appropriating The 'Chopped & Screwed' Genre From Black People" was too long.<br />
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This year, Telly Savalas was introduced into the Horrorthon cast of characters; we watched on-stage as the Bride of Corn Gorn ran off with the bald-headed actor (portrayed by a volunteer wearing a Telly Savalas mask), and we also watched the real Mr. Savalas on the big screen in a couple of clips. The first was from some 70s television program -- which had a distinctly European feel to it -- where our man Telly stood before a black void, smoking a cigarette and wearing a black velvet jacket with matching shirt that was unbuttoned to expose both his manly chest and various gold necklaces, as he performed his spoken word cover of the song "If" by the group Bread.<br />
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The second Telly clip was from an Australian television series called "<a href="https://youtu.be/Axdkv0_kJZQ">The Extraordinary</a>", one of those shows where people tell stories about their experiences with the paranormal, otherworldly, and yes, extraordinary. Celebrity guest Savalas told a story from his younger days -- accompanied by a cheesy reenactment -- where he found himself stranded in the middle of the night on a highway in an automobile with no gas, even though he had just come from a date and you would think he'd make sure he had more than enough gas to cover any possible detours, I mean, who knows how fun this date could've ended up, you have to be prepared for such possibilities. <br />
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So Telly's walking down the road, gas can in hand, when a Cadillac pulls up and a creepy high-pitched Good Samaritan offers him a ride to the nearest filling station. The man offers to lend Savalas' broke ass some money to pay for the gas, and again, I have to chide Mr. Savalas for not thinking ahead, because he clearly only had enough money to cover the date -- barely, at that, and I'm sorry, but if you can barely afford something, that really means you cannot afford it. <br />
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That goes for dates, that goes for car purchases, that goes for buying a house, buying clothes, all of that. Trust me, lady and gentleman, always give yourself financial breathing room before going in on any kind of purchase: it'll keep the repo man away, it'll keep your inbox clear of Past Due notices, and most importantly, it'll keep you from catching a late night lift from some creepy high-pitched Good Samaritan -- who turned out to be a ghost, by the way, there's the ending to that story.<br />
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The first film of the evening was <b>An American Werewolf in London</b>, from 1981, written and directed by master decapitator John Landis. Oh, I kid the head chopper -- I used to be hard on the poor guy about that snafu on the set of the Twilight Zone movie that ended three lives and ruined countless others, but now that it's coming out how frighteningly rape-tastic Hollywood is, I find his crimes are now rather innocent in comparison. Dude pulled the Fuck It card as far as safety was concerned, but who hasn't thrown caution to the wind when it involved somebody else's life? It's not like he grabbed Vic Morrow by the pussy and he certainly didn't fuck those little kids -- well, not sexually, anyway.<br />
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David Naughton and Griffin Dunne are two young dudes out backpacking in England's countryside, and for a couple of guys talking about chicks they want to bang, they're actually kinda likable, all things considered. I bet you if they were to make the same movie today, they'd be douchebros right out of an Eli Roth film. Anyway, they end up veering off the road and out comes el hombre lobo to massacre one of them, leaving the Dr. Pepper guy barely breathing.<br />
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The rest of the film involves David recovering from his wounds in London, where he hits it off with his nurse, followed by just straight up hitting it. The nurse is played by Jenny Agutter, and if you've seen her in <i>Walkabout</i> or<i> Logan's Run</i>, you'd want her as your nurse too. I'm not into the domination thing -- on either end -- but that part where Agutter is trying to get Makin' It over here to eat his food at the hospital and she says "Shall I be forced to feed you, David?", ay dios mio. I started feeling really weird in a good way and when she says after that, "Will I have to take such drastic action again, David?", I don't know why, but I felt like she was talking to me and my response was YESSSS YES YOU DO NURSE JENNY AGUTTER FORCE ME TO EAT.<br />
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I'm just kidding, you never have force me to eat. I eat everything, man. Anyway, David turns into a werewolf.<br />
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I first saw this in 2004 and hadn't seen it since, but my opinion remains the same: when John Landis was on, he was ON, and this might be my favorite of his films. Landis balances horror, comedy, drama, and sex with Jenny Agutter in a shower all so effortlessly. Lots of credit of course goes to Rick Baker and his terrific effects work; the sequence where David goes through his excruciating transformation from man to werewolf still stuns, and by the end of it, when you see the shot of the full moon while hearing David do the Altered Beast howl, the audience broke out into applause.<br />
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The second film was the 1991's <b>Popcorn</b>, directed by Mark Herrier (who was replacing original director Alan Ormsby). Jill Schoelen stars as Maggie, a film student studying at a college in the Central Coast of California -- or at least that's what I assumed based on the look of the locations, so imagine my delightful surprise when I found out the entire film was shot in Jamaica.<br />
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Maggie and her fellow film students -- played by Profile from<i> Heartbreak Ridge</i>, Ellen Sue from <i>A League of their Own</i>, and the dyslexic girl from <i>Summer School</i> who was trying to get her driver's license, among others -- come up with the idea to raise money for the film department by throwing an all-night horrorthon at an old theater that is set to be wrecking ball'd in a few weeks. When the idea is brought up, the words "all-night horrorthon" are actually used, so of course all of us in the Aero cheered wildly upon hearing that.<br />
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You don't get much movie geek chat during the film class scenes, which in 1991 would probably consist of debating who was the better director: Orson Welles or Alfred Hitchcock. Maybe they'd go on about guys like Lucas and Spielberg too. Had the film been made a few years later it would be Quentin Tarantino, or it would be like the film class scene in Scream 2 but less insufferable. You make <i>Popcorn</i> today at this very moment, you probably couldn't get them to shut the fuck up about Edgar Wright and <i>Baby Driver</i>.<br />
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While cleaning up the place to make it all presentable for the people who are going to spill popcorn, soda, and god knows what else all over the place on movie night, the students and their professor discover an old film that contains a legitimately freaky short called "Possessor", made by a cult leader who went on to pull a Shosanna Dreyfus by setting fire to the theater playing "Possessor". So maybe that has something to do with the murders that occur later on during the Horrorthon, right?<br />
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I remember seeing the television ads for this film back in '91; it was sold as a straight-up horror film worthy of being included with <i>Halloween</i>, <i>Friday the 13th</i>, and<i> A Nightmare on Elm Street</i>, I mean they actually mention those films in the ads; I dismissed it as some wannabe slasher that clearly wasn't going to be as good as those films. When I finally caught it on HBO a year later -- where it played back-to-back with the Tom Savini remake of <i>Night of the Living Dead</i> -- I was surprised by how much I liked it. I was also surprised by the tone; <i>Popcorn</i> qualifies as a slasher, but not a particularly bloody or brutal one. It's a much lighter -- even comedic -- film compared to the one that was advertised.<br />
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The films-within-the-film that play during the horrorthon are the biggest source of humor in <i>Popcorn</i>; they are all from the 50s and 60s and include William Castle-style gimmicks; the first is about a giant mosquito, which means a fake giant mosquito flies over the audience; the second is about an prison escapee going on a rampage with his new power to kill with electric shocks, so of course there are shock buzzers placed under the theater seats; and the third is a dubbed Japanese movie about a killer gas (?) which plays while nasty odors get pumped in through the air vents of the auditorium.<br />
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I liked it even more during this second go-round; watching it with an audience at an actual all-night horror movie marathon added to the fun and I recommend it as part of your own all-nighter playlist. Or maybe as part of a double feature with Joe Dante's <i>Matinee</i>, which also involves William Castle-esque gimmickry.<br />
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Speaking of William Castle gimmickry, our third film of the night was an actual William Castle joint: 1959's <b>The Tingler</b>, directed by Castle and starring Vincent Price. The film begins with a prologue where Castle tells the audience how there's nothing wrong with screaming if the fear gets to be too much, because sometimes screaming might save your life. See, in the world of The Tingler, we all have a centipede living on our spine, rent-free, never so much as taking out the trash every once in a while and god forbid it remembers to replace an empty toilet paper roll with a new one. <br />
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I mean, really, what kind of fucking asshole doesn't replace the toilet paper? I don't get it. It takes two seconds to take the empty roll out and put a new one in. This is why I prefer the company of myself -- I wash dishes as soon as I'm done using them and I replace the toilet paper roll. Whenever I see an empty toilet paper roll, I can only assume that the lazy motherfucker who used the toilet last is walking around with a shitty ass because he or she prefers to stay dirty down there rather than put up a fresh roll so they can finish the job properly. Anyway, motherfuck a Tingler.<br />
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A Tingler lives on your spine and when you get scared it grows like my anger towards people who don't replace toilet paper rolls. It grows and grows and if you don't scream or stop being scared, the Tingler grows stronger and eventually crushes your spine, the way I would crush the spine of some motherless fuck who won't replace the goddamn toilet paper roll.<br />
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Price makes friends with the owner/manager of a silent movie theater, who like every other man in this film wears a suit to work. Even the middle-aged employee working the ticket booth is wearing a suit. Go to your average revival movie house today and if you see an employee wearing a suit at work, he's probably wearing it with a day-glo tie over a t-shirt displaying a rainbow or a unicorn, and he's probably sexually harassing the female volunteers. Anyway, that dude has a deaf-mute wife who figures into the plot, and his movie theater figures into the climax in a clever way that involves both the on-screen audience and those of us watching this in an actual movie theater.<br />
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This was lots of fun; even the non-Tingler stuff is a hoot, like the scenes between Price and his unpleasant wife where everything they say to each other is dripping in Fuck You. Or the scene where Price takes acid as a way to work up his fear to test his inner Tingler, giving a play-by-play into one of those old-school dictation machines the entire time. That reminded me of the time I recorded myself on a microcassette recorder after I took shrooms. I ended up composing some weird Bobby McFerrin-esque tune with gibberish lyrics. Then I lost the tape. <br />
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I got a kick out of how everybody in this movie operates on various levels of Asshole; Price can be short with people who ask simple questions, his wife's a bitch, the deaf-mute woman refuses to shake hands with people, and Price's partner leaves a poor dog in the car with the windows rolled up and because it's the 1950s nobody cares.<br />
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This was originally released with a Castle-designed gimmick called "Percepto" with seats in the theater that would give out a vibrating buzz in order to freak the audience out into thinking that the Tingler was doing its thing on them. The screening at the Aero didn't have that setup, so instead they had volunteers walk up and down the aisles whipping out these long furry snake-like vibrators onto our laps. At least I hope that's what it was, and not a bunch of well-endowed pervs having their way with us.<br />
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Anyway, get a bidet. They're awesome.<br />
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The fourth film was the 1988 masterpiece <b>Hack-o-Lantern</b> (aka<i> Halloween Night</i>), directed by Jag Mundhra, a name that should be familiar to anyone who has watched more than his or her fair share of late-night Skinemax in the 90s; with titles like <i>Night Eyes</i>, <i>Last Call</i>, <i>Sexual Malice</i>, and <i>Improper Conduct</i> under his belt, Mr. Mundhra gets my eternal respect for riding in like a knight in shining armor wielding the legendary Shannon Tweed sword to slay the dragon that is Teenage Horniness.<br />
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The movie puts the name of actor Hy Pyke before the title, causing most of the audience to react like "Are we supposed to know who this guy is?" It wasn't until later that I found out Pyke appeared in <i>Blade Runner</i>, which I guess made him the default name actor for this low-budget production where he plays a piece-of-shit farmer type who once raped his daughter on her wedding day and then later went on to murder her husband.<br />
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He's also a Satan worshiper who often makes the sign of the horns with his hands, and every time he did, most of us in the audience would cheer because like him, we are all fans of Ronnie James Dio. I applaud the filmmakers for casting a guy who looks like a beer-swilling hayseed because I have a feeling that's what your average Devil worshiper looks like, not some sinister-yet-distinguished-looking gentleman like Christopher Lee.<br />
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Anyway, this grandpa now dotes on his daughter's kid (who for all we know might actually be his, the fuck) and while some grandfathers teach their grandkids how to fish or why ethnic people can't be trusted, this one is getting the little boy all up in the Devil business. Years later, the kid grows up to become Gregory Scott Cummins aka Mac's Dad from "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" aka The Devil in Snoop Dogg's "Murder Was The Case" video and I believe this marks the third time I've seen him pop up at one of these horror movie marathons. He was in <i><a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2014/10/someone-needs-to-give-anti-depressants.html">Phantom of the Mall: Eric's Revenge</a></i> at the marathon at the Cinefamily, he was in <i><a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2015/11/to-cathie-who-could-not-attend-all.html">Blood Games</a></i> at the New Bev all-nighter, and now here he is in this movie at the Aero.<br />
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Anyway, his character's got a pretty sweet life going; living in his mom's basement with movie posters and neon beer signs on the wall, wearing his black shirt with the sleeves cut off, sporting a pair of shades, smokin' cigs, working out on his weight bench while wearing a Rambo-style headband. All that's missing are some sweet nunchucks to practice some Bruce Lee moves with. I could see hanging out with him, spotting each other while we do bench presses, watching horror movies, smoking some of his weed (which is fuckin' schwag but it's free), and listening to fuckin' Slayer, man!<br />
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He has also has a hot 80s-style platinum blonde who doesn't believe in pants to speed off with in his bitchin' Pontiac Fiero. Unfortunately, he can't have sex with her because his grandfather insists that he has to remain pure in order to perform some Satanic ritual on Halloween night. So in the meantime, Mac's Dad has to release his pent-up I Wanna Fuck energy in other ways, like beating up his sister's boyfriend on some Tony Montana-shit, or worshiping the dark lord in his closet where he keeps a Helga Pataki shrine to Lucifer, or listening to that evil rock music on his Walkman, which causes him to have dreams about being in a rad band playing a guitar that turns into a pitchfork which is then shoved into his neck by an evil devil woman who also happens to be the only African-American in this otherwise lily White cast.<br />
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There are murders with decent levels of blood and gore, lots of scary rituals involving the Satanists giving props to their horned master, and most disturbing of all, a scene where a random character at a Halloween party makes a few casual comments, but rather than moving on, he keeps talking and that's when I realized that this guy is doing an honest-to-goodness stand-up comedy set! He goes on to make fun of strippers, asks why nude pictorials in adult magazines include bios, and acts out the plight of a turkey before Thanksgiving. <br />
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This movie is goofy as hell. It's also that special kind of bad, that <i>Samurai Cop</i> or <i>Dangerous Men</i> kind of bad that can only be achieved by having a foreigner with a shaky grasp of his or her second language in charge of the proceedings -- which makes me wonder if there are American filmmakers in other countries making terrible movies that people in those countries like to goof on.<br />
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Between films, as per usual, the volunteers at the Aero began serving out the free eats and drinks; pizza from Little Caesars, Monster Energy drinks, wraps, sandwiches, Rice Krispie Treats, candy, Hostess cakes, coffee. As in past Horrorthons, Grant threw and tossed various Blu-rays and DVDs and candy at audience members. With each year, there seems to be a larger crowd of people gathering near the front of the stage to catch movies or gather the ones that land on the ground -- and with special edition Blu-rays of <i>John Carpenter's The Thing</i> and <i>Society</i> up for grabs, I don't blame them. By the end of the night, it was mostly bargain multi-movie packs for public domain titles that were left -- plus a lot of Vicente Fernandez joints. I ended up with a DVD triple pack of Valentin Trujillo flicks; and if you don't know about him, then you don't fuckin' know, bro.<br />
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Two of those movies in my triple pack turned out to be among my brother-in-law's favorite films, so Happy Birthday to him, I guess. And Happy Birthday to my niece, who ended up with the Corn Gorn shirt I purchased in the lobby, which despite being labeled as X-Large, fit me like an O.J. Simpson glove. So my advice to any Horrorthon-ers who want to buy a shirt next year is to take that thing to the restroom and try it on before going home -- not that going to the restroom was an option for a few hours that night.<br />
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To the best of my knowledge, a water main broke or a major clog backed something up, and the upstairs restrooms had to be closed for a while -- another reason I was glad to have held off of eating that day. Eventually, plumbers were called in and the restrooms were reopened but the stairs leading to them were wet and sticky and it had made it's way down to the carpet of the Aero's lobby, leaving behind the unmistakable smell of water that should've remained in pipes.<br />
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On our way out for some fresh air between films, my friend guesstimated the high price for the overnight plumbing job; he also said that the carpet would have to be shampooed as well, adding more to the bill. I asked him how long something like that would take and he said it would take a while -- there's also the amount of time needed for the carpet to dry to consider. I told him that the Aero had a screening of the classic horror film <i>The Haunting</i> scheduled the following evening and his response was a look that I could only interpret as "Good luck with that".<br />
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The fifth film of the night was the 1989 Wes Craven picture <b>Shocker</b>, starring Peter "<a href="https://youtu.be/DRa4AoQYgV4">You gotta join the Army, motherfucker</a>" Berg as Jonathan, a college jock who gets mixed up with a serial killing television repairman played by Mitch Pileggi because they have some kind of psychic connection and what-not. This murderer has a thing for taking out whole families and he's so full of rage, this dude, he's not like some creepy calm type of psycho, he's seething and pissed off about who knows what. And he kills the shit out of them! He's just so mad! Angry all the time! He's like me, only I haven't started to kill people yet, but give me time. And your address.<br />
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During the opening credits sequence we watch inserts of a television set being repaired with various tools by a muttering, grumbling Pileggi -- so of course it's the angriest muttering and grumbling, and it's a pretty good sequence and I think a big part of it is the <a href="https://youtu.be/B9N2HJWAyiE">title song</a> performed over it by a band called The Dudes of Wrath that's comprised of guys from KISS, Whitesnake, Motley Crüe, and Van Halen. There's also a cover of "<a href="https://youtu.be/ZAfeCViJEK0">No More Mr. Nice Guy</a>" by Megadeth on the soundtrack, which you might want to look up the music video for because it's hilariously obvious that that lead singer & guitarist Dave Mustaine is so high on smack he can barely stand,so they never show him play guitar and sing at the same time, it's always in separate shots, and even then he's never in sync.<br />
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Anyway, the movie. I found myself feeling so sorry for Peter Berg's character for the multiple wringers he gets put through early on; I apologize for getting all spoilery here but the movie IS nearly 30 years old so here goes -- he loses his entire family save for one foster dad to angry murder-happy Pileggi, and shortly after they're buried, Pileggi leaves Berg's oh-so-pretty girlfriend dead in a bathtub of her own blood. Berg really plays the hell out of his despair, breaking into tears and rage at these situations, so when they finally catch the killer and Berg demands to his police lieutenant father that he be seated front row to the motherfucker's execution, I was like "Fuck yeah, son, you earned it! Watch that motherfucker fry like bacon, record the goddamn thing so you can watch it over and over again!" -- and I'm against the death penalty!<br />
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I feel OK spoiling this much of the film because this is really only a third of the entire story and where it ends up going after this left me incredibly amused and surprised at Craven's audacity. I heard of <i>Shocker</i> over the years but never bothered watching it, because I was under the impression that it wasn't one of Craven's better films -- the funny thing is, had I watched it back then as a kid, I probably would've felt that my impression was correct, and the culprit would've been the running time. You see, <i>Shocker</i> is nearly two hours long and half of it doesn't feel like a horror film at all but rather a very dark crime drama with a light touch of the paranormal -- or should I say, "extraordinary"? And little kid me would've been like "Hey, I thought this was supposed to be Freddy Krueger all over again!"<br />
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But as a patient adult who recently purchased Tarkovsky's <i>Stalker</i> on Blu-ray, I was able to enjoy this and go "Oh, this IS Freddy Krueger all over again, only this time we get the prequel to how he became the Freddy Krueger we all know and love for the first 45 minutes or so". Once Pileggi's character reaches his full horror villain potential, the movie gets downright nutty in where it goes. It really feels like the part of Craven's brain that would stop to question him on whether an idea made sense or not was on vacation while he was writing this script, and I really appreciate that because it makes for a fun movie that had me laughing and clapping at times -- actually, to be specific, it makes for a fun second half of the movie in which I laughed and clapped, because to be honest, that first half about Pileggi making Berg's life hell got a little too grim at times for my liking at four-in-the-morning and I was even considering stepping out for some fresh air. <br />
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By the way, I was so entranced by Peter Berg's girlfriend in the film that I looked her up like a goddamn Internet stalker. Her name is Camille Cooper and she no longer acts; she became a citizen lobbyist in the 90s and got the Commonwealth of Virginia to include women and African-Americans in their school textbooks, and has since gone on to become the Director of Government Affairs for <a href="https://www.protect.org/">PROTECT</a>, "a national bipartisan pro-child, anti-crime lobby whose sole focus is making the protection of children a top political and policy priority at the national, state, and local levels". And now I'm probably on some kind of list for looking her up.<br />
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From one attempt to create a new Freddy Krueger-style franchise, we went to another attempt to create a Freddy Krueger-style franchise with the sixth film of the marathon, the 1994 cyber-horror<b> Brainscan</b>, written by Andrew Kevin Walker of <i>Se7en</i> fame and directed by John Flynn of <i>Rolling Thunder</i> and <i>Out for Justice</i> legend. It stars Edward Furlong as Michael, this kid who I think is supposed to be a kind of withdrawn anti-social type except he has at least one friend and he has a horror movie club at his high school, which means one actual friend and a handful of acquaintances to me, and it sure as hell takes more than a modicum of effort to set up a goddamn club.<br />
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I don't remember there being anything like a horror movie club at my high school, at least not some kind of official deal that you could actually go to on campus. Shit, I wasn't able to find people my age who were into movies the same way I was into them, the best I could do was find a guy who was really into Sailor Moon. He would listen to the soundtracks of that series in his car, and he had posters of those anime chicks all over his room; there was one looming over his bed, so that was cool, knowing what he jerked off to.<br />
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And we all know what Michael is jerking off to: his video recordings from his peeping tom sessions of the girl next door played by Amy Hargreaves, an actress who was in her early 20s but she's supposed to be like 16 or 17 here which makes it weird to see these brief shots of her topless here -- and now that I think about it, wasn't Phoebe Cates in <i>Fast Times at Ridgemont High</i> supposed to be underage too, as was every other actress in a teen comedy or teen horror film in the 80s? <br />
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See, but that was OK for me when I saw those movies because *I* was underage, and when I first saw <i>Brainscan</i> on cable, I was still underage. But now, I'm an adult and I'm watching another adult show me her titties and we're supposed to be all tee-hee-hee about it because she's pretending to be a fuckin' kid. It's kinda why the whole schoolgirl thing bothers me -- and by bothers me, I mean makes me rock hard because I'm a man and the sooner the women of this planet turn Amazon and murder everything with a penis, the better.<br />
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Then it'll just be women preying on women.<br />
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Anyway, I'm like fuck this Michael, he's living the life, as far as I'm concerned. Sure, his mom died in a horrible accident and his father is never around, but he's still living the life. Wait until you see his room; his situation is like homeboy from <i>Hack-o-Lantern</i> except his room is in the attic, and it's one of those huge attics like that spoiled fuck Kevin McCallister had in <i>Home Alone</i>. This place is big enough to be the main set of a sitcom, that's how big it is. He's got the stereo, he's got the widescreen television -- which for 1994 is really bleeding edge -- and it's all hooked up to his voice-activated computer with the Internet hooked in and everything. You don't see him ever going online to chat or face off against Zero Cool and Acid Burn, though. I think he just sticks to computer games.<br />
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<div>The Internet was some slow dial-up shit back then, you couldn't download games the way we can now. Shit, back then it took me seven months to download Ini Kamoze's "<a href="https://youtu.be/eEJ2b6IaGWU">Here Comes the Hotstepper</a>" MP3, that shit was played out on the radio by the time I got the complete song, so who knows how long a fuckin' game would take. No, you needed a CD-ROM if you wanted in on some sweet computer game action -- which is what happens here when Furlong's buddy tips him off to a new game advertised on Fangoria. So he gets the CD-ROM and jacks in -- or whatever was the cool term back in '94 -- to this new experimental game called "Brainscan" which gets into the player's brain and scans it, I guess. Whatever the case, the player is sent on kill missions that require breaking into a house, finding a murder weapon, and taking out a chosen victim. So this movie kinda sorta predicted open-world assassination games like the "Hitman" and "Assassin's Creed" series.<br />
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Unlike those games, Brainscan does not result in shitty film adaptations but rather in the horrifying aftermath of the killings; after Michael takes out some dude in the game, he finds out that some dude in his neighborhood was killed in the exact same way. He immediately freaks out and tries to jack out, but that's when the mascot of the game enters the real world to fuck with Michael's shit big time. His name is Trickster and he's played by T. Ryder Smith, a stage actor who has a really good write-up about his Brainscan experience on <a href="http://trydersmith.org/film-tv/brainscan/">his website</a>.<br />
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As with most of John Flynn's filmography, this is a movie that is way better than it has any right to be. I liked the film when I first saw it back in '94 and I really liked it this second go-round; it's got a tiny little bit of a teeny-bopper <i>Videodrome</i> vibe going on with the main character's obsession to find the ultimate experience becoming way more than he bargained for. Or maybe I just got that vibe because it was filmed in Canada. Either way, it's a well-made film and it's early 90s as fuck -- which for me, is a big, big plus but for others could be a hindrance. But it's a hindrance that I feel the film manages to work with by telling an involving story and featuring good performances by everybody who isn't Edward Furlong, who is adequate at best. (Sorry, Edward.)<br />
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Unlike the previous six films which were all presented in 35mm, this seventh and final film of the Horrorthon was presented via DCP and I wouldn't be surprised if a 35mm print no longer exists, or ever existed, for the shot-in-16mm <b>Death Bed: The Bed that Eats</b>. Written and directed by George Barry, Death Bed began production in 1972 and was completed in 1977, just in time to show that Star Wars movie a thing or two about how to blow the minds of the audience.<br />
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The film mostly takes place in the basement of an old abandoned mansion where the titular bed resides, suffering from a chronic case of the munchies, with only the trapped spirit of an early 20th century artist chilling out behind a painting on the wall to keep it company. The artist narrates the film while occasionally making disdainful comments to the bed, which it deserves because the bed's an asshole.<br />
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The bed waits for any unfortunate schmucks who enter the basement for whatever reason -- in the case of the opening sequence, it's a couple looking for a place where they can fuck and eat fried chicken -- and once they get on the bed, yellow foamy liquid rises to the surface and suddenly the bed becomes a swimming pool of oblivion as they fall in and are eaten or digested or whatever it is the bed does to them because sometimes you hear chomping, sometimes you don't hear anything. I like that the bed is susceptible to indigestion and has to take Pepto Bismol, and at one point, the bed gets a bleeding ulcer. This helps to humanize the demonic man-eating bed.<br />
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The movie is broken up into several acts with cute title cards like "Breakfast", "Lunch", and "Dinner". We watch various people become food for the bed in between flashbacks to previous meals over the past few decades and it's all done in a goofy manner -- except for the parts where it's not being goofy and is being deadly serious instead. Because for every wacky scene of the dad from "Boy Meets World" sticking his hands in the bed and then pulling them out as skeleton hands, there's a sadistic moment of the bed using its powers to slowly saw into a sleeping woman's throat with her necklace. But the constant changing and blending of tones actually worked here and rather than being jarring, it created this unsettling sense of overwhelming creepiness with dashes of perversion -- like maybe the guy who made this is not all right psychologically and/or mentally. <br />
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I mean that as a compliment, by the way.<br />
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Based on what I heard about this film over the years, I went into <i>Death Bed: The Bed that Eats</i> assuming it was going to be a really shitty failure in the "so bad it's good" category, but I feel this is too strange and unique to be dismissed that way. It doesn't feel like weird for weird's sake, it feels like it comes from a sincere place and it's a genuine exhibition of George Barry's bonkers sensibility. It definitely suffers from the pitfalls of a first-time filmmaker working from a super low-budget; of its many flaws, I feel its biggest one is that even at 77 minutes the movie overstays its welcome. But that only left me wishing Barry was given a shot at making another movie with a bigger budget so we can really see him rock and roll.<br />
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Doesn't look like that'll happen, though. After completion, the film failed to secure distribution and languished in obscurity; Barry didn't even know there was a cult following until nearly 30 years later after finding out about his film making the bootleg circuit. I don't know how old Barry is but it looks like he gave the movie game a shot, it didn't work out for him and he's since moved on, which is too bad. Who knows what weirdo shit the guy could've been giving us for decades had <i>Death Bed: The Bed that Eats</i> been given a chance back in the 70s?<br />
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And so ended another Horrorthon at the Aero Theatre, sometime around 9 in the morning; of the remaining survivors, some got up and made their way out to the lobby, others walked towards the screen to plunder the leftover loot inside the cardboard boxes left on the stage, while my buddy and I surveyed the damage in the auditorium. So much trash was left between the rows of seats and throughout the aisles -- because apparently garbage cans don't exist -- plus the extra dirty business with the plumbing problems earlier that night, left me not envying the clean-up crew one bit. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmktad1v9SVoCB3Tg7OknUzuRxgAqt_lbV6HOYpFjg_uzaFLeTZBRZGzPAX3MxukfA7QhEZXz4r9yuIszqu4oINLxlafFGK6c6z5pBfUWXCNoV6WlsKPqx6l2KPkhN8vTW7tM8jwEIlY/s1600/Snapchat-1062083924-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="982" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZmktad1v9SVoCB3Tg7OknUzuRxgAqt_lbV6HOYpFjg_uzaFLeTZBRZGzPAX3MxukfA7QhEZXz4r9yuIszqu4oINLxlafFGK6c6z5pBfUWXCNoV6WlsKPqx6l2KPkhN8vTW7tM8jwEIlY/s320/Snapchat-1062083924-1.jpg" width="293" /></a></div><br />
We then left to have our traditional post-movie-marathon breakfast; this time we went to <a href="http://www.miloandolive.com/">Milo & Olive</a> on Wilshire and had their breakfast pizza which I highly recommend -- just ask them to add an extra egg to it, if you're like me and want more protein and calories. It's got some kick to it as well, so be sure to have something to drink to cool down. Then I went home and took a nap. When I got up later that day, I checked my Facebook and saw a post from the Aero Theatre. It said that the screening of <i>The Haunting</i> had been cancelled. So much for luck.</div>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-40382808967814016382017-11-07T00:11:00.000-08:002017-11-11T19:02:02.859-08:00Another country heard from<br />
Just an FYI for you all:<br />
<br />
Beginning with my most recent ramblings (the <b><a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2017/10/everybody-is-secret-scumbag.html">Tales from the Crypt presents Demon Knight</a></b> posting), for those who prefer to listen to my ramblings while you're in your car, working around the house, or out selling crack rock to feed your baby daughter, there will now be a podcast version as well.<br />
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You can stream or download here on the blog or you can go to the <a href="http://efcontentment.podbean.com/"><b>Exiled from Contentment page</b></a> over at Podbean. The podcast is<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/exiled-from-contentment/id1308045030"><b> also available on iTunes</b></a>. <br />
<br />
This was an idea I had been playing with for a while now, and I actually went as far as recording the Crypt episode in mid-October. Then I listened to it, found it to be hot garbage, and changed my mind about this whole podcast deal.<br />
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Then a few days ago, I received an email informing me that my free month at Podbean was over and my credit card would be charged -- which probably had something to do with all the wine I drank that night giving me the courage to open an account with a podcast hosting service and going through with this stupid idea in the first place.<br />
<br />
At that point, it's easier to just go through with this rather than try to fight that credit card charge.<br />
<br />
Anyway, that's why my<i> Demon Knight</i> episode came out in November, and I'm talking about Halloween as if it hadn't already come and gone. Or how I mention something about how "I'm sure someone will ruin October 31st for the rest of us" as if I wasn't aware that one of God's creations decided to rent a Home Depot truck and take it for a hell ride through Manhattan that day.<br />
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So it looks like I'm in this game now, at least until next October, when my year is up and I either re-up with the fine folks at Podbean or I finally throw in the podcasting towel for good.<br />
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I figure to do at least two of these a month to justify the whole caper. I'll try to up my postings, but maybe I'll also take the opportunity to revisit some old postings and do podcast versions of those as well.<br />
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You want my opinion? Stick with the written version if you can. Better to hear it in the mind-voice of your choice rather than my lame-ass vocals. But I'd rather you get some of this EFC action one way or the other, rather than not at all. I mean, hell, this Crypt episode is about 20 minutes long and I'm sure there will be episodes shorter than that, and the longer ones, shit, I'm guessing 30-40 minutes tops. (I hope.) This ain't no three hour party, I'm all alone here. I'M IN THE DARK HERE! <br />
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You can listen to my bullshit while you download a better podcast, and that's a pretty good deal, if you ask me.<br />
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In conclusion, this was a terrible idea.<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-68940406532351520412017-10-28T13:55:00.003-07:002023-01-18T19:34:04.365-08:00Everybody is a secret scumbag<br /><br /><iframe title="#1 - Tales from the Crypt presents Demon Knight" allowtransparency="true" height="150" width="100%" style="border: none; min-width: min(100%, 430px);" scrolling="no" data-name="pb-iframe-player" src="https://www.podbean.com/player-v2/?i=xjyz6-7a2caf-pb&from=pb6admin&share=1&download=1&rtl=0&fonts=Arial&skin=4&font-color=auto&logo_link=episode_page&btn-skin=9"></iframe><br /><br /><br />
Nearly every holiday has an element that fits awkwardly with my soul, causing my enjoyment level to drop down to the ninetieth, or god forbid, eightieth percentile.<br />
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For example, every Thanksgiving I'm hit at least once with what I can best describe as clouds of uninvited mantras blocking out the sunshine in my mind for minutes at a time. Mantras like: Somewhere There Are People Starving -- Somewhere There Is Someone Going To Work That Day For A Bullshit Pre-Black Friday Sale -- Somewhere There Are People Who Can't Spend Thanksgiving With Their Families.<br />
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Christmas? Forget about it; I think of all those people working their asses off to make enough money to get their kids some presents only to come up short. Or the poor fathers dressing up as Santa to surprise their children only to break their necks coming down the chimney. I think of them, and I think of Uncle Alfresco dead under the Christmas tree, shot through the back of the head. Plus, no bicycle.<br />
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But I don't get that way with Halloween. I'm not even sure Halloween is a holiday, but for the sake of my rant, let's say it is. I love Halloween and everything about it. On my way home tonight from work, I passed three houses that went All-In on the decorations: orange lights, black streamers, cobwebs, spiders, skulls, bats, rats, African-American cats, Jack-O-Lanterns, spooky ghosts, and that's the magic of the season right there.<br />
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There is no ninetieth or god forbid, eightieth percentile. I get to enjoy Halloween in its one-hundred percent pure uncut form. I'm sure if we give it time, someone will find a way to ruin October 31st for everybody, but until then, there is little to none to get bummed out about. For one thing, this holiday is friendly to all income levels, it can be as much fun for those with a lot as it is for those with very little. Let's say you can't afford to give out candy, then you can just turn off the lights and close your window blinds -- and if you're lucky, you'll have plenty of free toilet paper waiting for you in the morning to stock up on.<br />
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On the costume end, you can pull out all the stops and wear whatever you want or you can go trick-or-treating with no costume at all. Now if the reason you're not wearing a costume while standing on my front porch is because you can't afford one, I understand. But if poverty is not your reason and you're just some entitled pre-teen asshole in street clothes with nothing but a pillow case looking to score one of my fun-sized Snickers bars, bitch, you're getting a fun-sized stink-eye instead. You could've at least cut a couple eye-holes in that pillow case, put it on your head with the pointy-end up and go as a motherfucking Trump supporter, but no, you chose to put no effort into your lack of effort.<br />
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I'll say it again for the cheap seats: I love everything Halloween -- even the Rob Zombie remakes. Speaking of which, I also like to watch as many horror movies during October as my schedule will allow. One of which is a request from a reader by the name of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Chuck-Solace-Mystic-Meridian-Wallace-ebook/dp/B019EXFZR6">Kris Wallace</a>; he's requested my ramblings on the 1995 film <b>Demon Knight</b> aka <i>Tales from the Crypt presents Demon Knight</i> aka <i>Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight</i> aka <i>The Cruelest Story About The Saddest Man</i>. <br />
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You're asking me who the saddest man is and if you give me a couple seconds, I'll tell you: It's Wally the small town postal worker, played by Roger Rabbit himself, Charles Fleischer. Wally's recently been fired because of some bullshit about not being able to steal other people's mail, which I don't get. It's not like anybody is using the post office for anything but voter registration anyway and what little mail is going around is probably junk and ads and what not. If he wants to stock up on coupons to Pizza Hut and Subway, then it ain't nobody's business but his own -- and those whom he's stealing mail from. So Wally's fired and now he's at the local hotel doing the Feel Sorry For Me shuffle to local hooker Cordelia (played by Brenda Bakke) and she's listening to it all because it doesn't cost anything to listen. A sucker move on Cordelia's part, if you ask me.<br />
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I bet you Wally has been doing this shit to Cordelia night after night after night -- at the hotel or the local watering hole or wherever else she happens to be. Every night he's talking about the shitty day he's had while Cordelia sits there doing touch-ups on her make-up, brushing her hair, looking in her mirror. I'm pretty sure she knows Wally is sweet on her and if she wanted to she could probably charge him a few bucks for the privilege of flapping his lips at her. Not hooker prices, just a few dollars. Five bucks for every 20 minutes, something reasonable like that. And Wally -- sad fuck that he is -- would absolutely pony up the dough.<br />
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But no, Cordelia actually considers throwing him a fuck for free, never considering that beneath Wally's schmucky exterior is the demon of male entitlement. If Cordelia were to do the right thing and tell him "You know what, Wally? I'm fully booked tonight. I have a cocksucking coming up at eight o'clock and a pegging at eight-fifteen and I just don't have time right now to listen to how bad you're getting fucked in the ass. So how about I take a rain check on your bitching for later", if she were to say that, rather than let him hijack her time yet again, Wally's pent-up nerd rage would come bubbling up to the surface and he'd grab Cordelia's arms way too hard and respond: "You know what, Cordelia? I've always been nice to you. I don't know why you go out with asshole jerk types like post-"Wings"/pre-<i>Sideways</i> Thomas Haden Church who treat you like shit while I treat you like a queen!"<br />
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He'd never consider that maybe Cordelia goes out with post-"Wings"/pre-<i>Sideways</i> Thomas Haden Church because post-"Wings"/pre-<i>Sideways</i> Thomas Haden Church pays her for her time. Instead, Wally would force himself onto her and feel justified because of his self-perception as a wronged nice guy.<br />
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"I had so many other things I could've done with my life. I could've taken that job programming movies at the repertory theater, I could've been writing fuckin' movie reviews for a website, I could've been a movie producer and get all that actress snatch! But no, I zigged instead of zagged and now I'm a fuckin' postal worker, and all I have to get me by is the few minutes I get to be near you. I carried your guacamole-stained bedsheets up to your room with no complaint! I worshipped the ground your well-worn hooker shoes walked on! I carried an M-16 and you, YOU carry that -- that -- that -- purse! Who are you? Where do you come from? Are you listening to me? What do you wanna do with your life, you fucking cock-teasing bitch!"<br />
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Sorry about that. I couldn't help but sprinkle a little topicality on that rant back there, because the news this past month has really been ramping up with almost daily updates on yet another new member in the public chapter of the Sexual Offender Club - Entertainment Division.<br />
<br />
Look, I'm no paragon of virtue. I know I'm a creep and yet I've never had the balls to even remotely entertain the iota of a germ of an idea of sending a woman a text about how she can "have my vienna sausage anytime" like that scumbag Harry Knowles did.<br />
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And what the fuck -- OK, look -- back in high school, I spent my Friday nights watching "Friday Night" on NBC. While my contemporaries were out on dates pouring Stacy Joslin and Laura Sandoval paper cups of Cisco wine, I was at home raising my glass of Dr. Pepper to my television date Rita Sever. From back then to right now, my confidence levels remain in the negatives. But I'm pretty sure I'm better looking than Harry Knowles. At least I smell better, I'm sure. And yet he's rubbing up against ladies and giggling with no sense of shame. Me, I accidentally brush up against a woman in a crowded room and I immediately drop to my knees and cover my face and go "OY LAY-DEE PLEEEASE DON'T HIT ME IN DA FAAAACE!"<br />
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I recently wrote a comment on a female friend's Instagram and about a minute later I thought "Fuck, I might have just sent a creepy comment" and suddenly I could hear the faint sounds of "U.N.I.T.Y." by Queen Latifah from a distance. I began to panic and I sent a personal message to my friend, apologizing for what I wrote, all the while the song was getting louder and louder, and I knew in a few seconds my front door would be kicked down and in would walk Lexi Alexander like some Chris Hansen of Internet movie feminism. I started to sweat and my fingers fumbled all over my phone until I finally, frantically, repeatedly hit Send -- and then the music stopped, and I exhaled in relief.<br />
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So I don't feel I'm some kind of saint, I have the asshole gene too. But is it really that fucking hard -- OK, wrong choice of word there -- is it really that fucking difficult to not unapologetically over and over again be a piece-of-shit to the ladies? Or does the difficulty level in being decent get higher and higher the more power one gets, and maybe it's my lowly position in life coupled with a fear of people that keeps me in check.<br />
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Maybe that's why I think Wally would lose his shit to Cordelia, because as nice as he is to her, he probably still thinks in the back of his mind that even an unemployed postal worker is higher on the food chain than Cordelia the prostitute, and therefore, she is in no position to be what he would perceive to be ungrateful.<br />
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Not that any of that matters. Because they don't even get close to any of the bullshit I've been spewing, because everybody in the hotel is dragged into some bullshit involving William Sadler and Billy Zane, because this movie is called Demon Knight and not <i>The Cruelest Story About The Saddest Man</i>, like I was bullshitting you guys earlier. OK, so Sadler's a mysterious leather jacket-wearing dude named Brayker and Zane is some good-looking motherfucker in a duster and a cowboy hat known as The Collector, and these two assholes are facing off at the hotel over a key-shaped relic that contains the blood of James Caviezel among others and this key the, uh, key to controlling all of eternity for either better or worse. <br />
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Yup, we're talking some Good versus Evil, Heaven and Hell shit, and you know it's serious business because their tale begins with that rockin' song by Robert Patrick's brother I used to hear on the radio all the time in the mid-90s and before you can say "Oh man, Billy Zane can totally rock the bald look", this chrome-domed motherfucker is outside the hotel pouring neon green blood from his hand all over the ground and out come these impressively nasty-looking demon creatures and they all want In.<br />
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In addition to our hero Sadler and our couple Wally and Cordelia, there's Irene the hotel owner (played by CCH Pounder), my man Mr. Dick Miller as the town drunk, Wings Sideways as an asshole named Roach, Philbert from <i>Powwow Highway</i> as the deputy, and last but not least, Jeryline, the ex-con on work release played by Jada Pinkett (before the Smith, before the Xenu, and before their goofy son who will probably end up becoming President of the United States, given the way things are going in this goddamned country). <br />
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Oh and there's a little boy with little girl hair.<br />
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Let's talk about hair. According to the audio commentary by director Ernest Dickerson, Ms. Pinkett showed up with short blonde hair much to the surprise of the producers, who had been expecting her in her usual medium-length brown hair. The filmmakers had another hair surprise when Billy Zane showed up to their offices completely bald and carrying a small case containing an assortment of wigs. Zane, it turned out, had been losing his hair for quite some time and was giving Dickerson and company the choice as to which hairpiece they wanted him to wear. In the end, Dickerson felt Pinkett's new blonde look and Zane's naturally hairless pate were the way to go for Demon Knight.<br />
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So what we have here is one of those "people trapped inside while outside hostile forces are trying to get in" movies, or a "siege" movie, if you want to be that way. (On the commentary, Dickerson brings up <i>Night of the Living Dead</i>, <i>Prince of Darkness</i>, and <i>Assault on Precinct 13</i> as major influences on this film.) I'm a sucker for siege movies, maybe because as a shut-in, my life is a siege movie with all you motherfuckers on the outside trying to get at me with your fun activities like talking to people and having barbecues and checking out live music and going out on dates and all that bullshit.<br />
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Anyway, in between the sequences involving the skinny freaky demon crackheads getting inside the hotel to fuck everyone's shit up on a permanent level, you have scenes where Zane is going about it another way by trying to sweet talk these innocents into giving him that key (and their souls, I reckon) in exchange for a better life -- or in the case of that asshole Roach, just the mere opportunity to live his asshole existence because Roach is a fucking asshole.<br />
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I mean, shit, you have Brayker telling you that these things -- these creatures! -- that shoot green lightning out of their eye sockets after you shoot their eyes out are demons from Hell who want that key to bring Darkness back to all of Creation, and you're still going to be like "Nah, that's bullshit. I'm gonna go give that key to that evil Collector and I'm sure he'll let me move on while the whole universe turns to shit"?<br />
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Fuck, man. You tell me that the green lightning coming out of those slimy crackheads is their tortured souls and I'll believe you. I really will. I see that shit and I'm ready to believe ANYTHING. You can tell me the lightning is the evil engrams being purged from the now-clear thetans of these beings and I'll fuckin' believe it and I'll buy every fuckin' copy of "Dianetics" and give it to my relatives and all two of my friends while apologizing to Tom Cruise. I'll apologize to all of them. I'll be like "John Travolta, you and Kelly Preston are the gold standard of heterosexual marriages." I'll blow that creepy fuck David Miscavige, I'll do all that shit, if I see some shit like that, some fuckin' crackheads with green lightning.<br />
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They went old-school practical with the effects for this movie, but it's not like they had a choice. They shot this in 1994, after all, and they certainly didn't have the budget for CGI -- and thank the maker that they didn't, because I like the old-school shit. There's lots of old-fashioned prosthetics and real fake blood and latex and all of that shit for nice helpings of gore here and there. The opticals are just that -- opticals; we're talking matte paintings on glass, models being blown up, and footage being shot in reverse only to be played back forwards to complete the effect. There's another audio commentary on the Blu-ray by the special effects team and it's fun to listen to them talk about the nuts & bolts, pointing out the difficulties of setting up these old school effects and stunts on what was pretty much a 24/7 schedule. But judging by the satisfied tones these gentlemen have while watching it all over again, the end results were well worth the trouble. Also, they mention that William Sadler was the kind of good dude given to buying the whole crew pizza on occasion, just because. Fuckin' A, Mr. Sadler.<br />
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I felt the performances in this film made Demon Knight better than it really is. First, let me talk about our boy Billy Zane. The Phantom here is having himself a good time playing the villain; his Collector character is clearly from Hell but Zane mostly plays it goofball-style with lots of funny lines that I found out later were improvised, my favorite being:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" gesture="media" height="236" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LxhDLo8UOK8?rel=0&controls=0&showinfo=0" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
While he's doing his "in on the joke" thing, everybody else is playing this on a more serious tone with only the occasional moment of levity when it's called for. Sadler does very well in the role of Brayker; he has this mix of uneasy & weary that he pulls off. The more you get to know his character, the more his performance makes sense; he has the weight of the world -- of all worlds, on his shoulders. He's running the mother of all relay races and knows it's a matter of time before he loses his step and has to hand the baton to someone else. If I have any complaints, it's that I feel his role was sorely lacking in doing some naked tai-chi like in <i>Die Hard 2</i>.<br />
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Pinkett slowly gets better and better throughout the film, which I feel says more about the way her character was written rather than her performance. You couldn't really do more with her character without ruining the "who is gonna survive?" feel to the movie, so for most of it she's mostly relegated to reacting to all the blood and slime being thrown about.<br />
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And then there's the great Dick Miller being awesome as always just by being Dick Miller -- which is not to say that he's not acting, it's just that by simply being Dick Miller he exudes enough awesomeness. His face tells a million stories and there's a moment late in the film where he has this look that tells you one more: a story about a man who can't overcome his weakness even if it means making the most terrible decision of his -- and everybody's else's -- life. So don't ever let anybody tell you Dick Miller isn't that good of an actor, not unless you're gonna give them a backhand to the face in response.<br />
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The film looks good, as I suppose is expected when you have a talented cinematographer like Dickerson behind the wheel. He had just finished his second film <i>Surviving the Game</i>, when he got the gig for <i>Demon Knight</i>, and I'm guessing he got this job because anybody who's worked with Gary Busey is clearly a master of horror. <br />
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Dickerson and director of photography Rick Bota manage to use colored lighting, canted angles, and stylish shafts of light to convey an elevated EC Comics look throughout the picture; Bota was a regular cinematographer on the "Tales from the Crypt" series, and he definitely succeeded in carrying that look over to the big screen.<br />
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And I guess this is where I mention the film's connection to the television series; I'll be honest, the Crypt Keeper sequences that bookend Demon Knight were my least favorite parts of the movie. There's nothing particularly wrong with them, I mean, you do get to see tits and John Larroquette in the opening -- and as far as I'm concerned, when it comes to John Larroquette, I'd throw myself on the mercy of his night court anytime -- am I right John Larroquette's wife?<br />
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The plan was to make three of these "Tales from the Crypt" movies; at the very end of the end credits, the Crypt Keeper pops up to do one of those "James Bond Will Return" deals to the audience by telling us the title of the next film, <i>Dead Easy</i>, which as we all know, never came out in this particular timeline. I've heard two stories about that film: the one that gets told the most is that after many rewrites to nobody's satisfaction, the film never went past pre-production. <br />
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The other, more interesting story I heard in a couple places is that they actually shot the film but it was never finished because producer Joel Silver freaked out over how racially insensitive it was coming off, so it got shelved. I highly doubt the second story to be true, but holy shit, how cool would it be to know that there's an unreleased "Tales from the Crypt" joint languishing in some secret vault. <br />
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Instead, they made <i>Bordello of Blood</i> starring Dennis Miller, babe, and after that bombed, a third film called <i>Ritual</i> starring Craig Sheffer went straight to video in the U.S ten years later -- and that's your "Tales from the Crypt" trilogy right there, what can I tell you, I'm not King Hollywood, I don't make the rules.<br />
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<i>Demon Knight</i> is at heart a low-budget drive-in programmer, but because drive-ins don't really exist anymore, this almost became a straight-to-video feature for Full Moon Pictures when Charles Band and company had their hands on the screenplay. If it had gone that way, I bet you the demons in the film would've been 12 inches tall and Tim Thomerson would've played Brayker. Instead it was given big studio attention and bright Hollywood sheen and the end result is not the most original movie, nor does it really feel or encapsulate the Crypt comics and television series. But for what it is, it does it well and it makes for a dependable viewing choice during Halloween season. <br />
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Well, I have nothing else to say about this movie, so I'll close it out with this: I read somewhere that you are never more than a few feet away from a spider.<br />
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Upon reading that, two thoughts came to mind, the first being: <br />
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AIIIIIEEEEE!!!!! <br />
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My second thought was, Wow, I guess that means every time I see someone in a movie brush away cobwebs, like they do in <i>Demon Knight</i>, there must be a spider watching this from a few feet away, and the spider's thinking "GODDAMMIT!"EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-31303342376542455502017-08-02T06:51:00.002-07:002017-11-30T07:03:58.756-08:0025 Hour Fitness<br />
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As my friends and I sat down in our seats, Phil Blankenship came up to the front of the theater to tell the packed house the good news and bad news: "The good news is you're about to watch 12 hours of Arnold. The bad news is I picked all the movies."<br />
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We were at the <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwilpb64wLjVAhVKrVQKHWcWA4oQFggpMAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fthenewbev.com%2F&usg=AFQjCNHqboNL4PAVBU1WfrPAQZV-vUgD4A">New Beverly Cinema</a> for the <b>All Arnold Night</b> in celebration of Arnold Schwarzenegger's 70th birthday. Those of us lucky enough to score tickets within a minute of their online availability before they sold out were going to watch a 35mm marathon of films featuring the former Mr. Olympia. The concession stand even had a special hot dog available for the adventurous called the Arnold Dog, which was bigger and meatier than your average dog. Plus, free sauerkraut.<br />
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The lights went down and the first trailer reel began; every trailer reel between the films were all for Arnold films. I'm too tired to remember them, but if it was a movie featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger, they showed a trailer for it.<br />
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Following the grindhouse "Our Feature Presentation" bumper and a scratchy 20th Century Fox logo was a shot of a star field -- and that's all it took for some of us to began audibly geeking out in recognition of what was being projected onto the big screen: <b>Predator</b>, directed by John McTiernan. Once everybody else saw the title, the crowd went nuts because...why do I have to tell you what you should already know? If you don't know, get the video. Or DVD. Or Blu. Or digital download or whatever else you need to get with the goddamn knowledge of how great this movie was, is, and always will be.<br />
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This is where I would tell you things you already know about this film, about how it is more than one film; it's an 80s-tastic macho movie filled with macho men -- a team of Badass Muthafuckin Military who chew tobacco, tell pussy jokes, shave on dry skin, toss the word "faggots" around like so many hand grenades, and more importantly, kill the fuck out of all the brown people they are officially cleared to kill in the cine-jungles of Val Verde.<br />
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But it is also another film, a tense and horrific slasher body-counter featuring an outer space Jason who is here on Earth to practice his God-given right to hunt in this beautiful galaxy and ain't no libtard cuck gonna take away my rights as a Universal Citizen to hunt and use my here shoulder laser rig or my double-speared hands because if you take away our rights to kill lesser dangerous species and pull out their spinal cords and skulls out of their corpses and then polish off that there skull to mount on top of my space fireplace -- I mean, that ain't no universe I wanna live in, no sirree bob dobalina. #MakeMilkyWayGreatAgain.<br />
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One of my favorite sequences -- in this film consisting of nothing but favorite sequences -- is the raid on the evil people camp. That's where they terminate them with extreme prejudice (unless you're a girl, which in that case you just get a rifle butt to the face) and it's all slow-mo bullet hits and bodies falling from short heights and dudes on fire. On the audio commentary, McTiernan said he wasn't fond of this part of the film because it was all 2nd unit stuff and it was done in a typical "stuntman" style. Well, remind me not to invite McT to my next backyard screening of <i>Stone Cold</i> because the director of that film directed this action sequence, and sure there is a lack of stylistic finesse that McTiernan would've provided, but it still works as a straight-up shot of well-made Ownage.<br />
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The print was good; colors were perfect, it just had a little wear and tear with occasional scratches here and there (and for some reason, Elpidia Carrillo's credit in the end with her smiling at the camera was chopped off) but nothing to complain about whatsoever for this rare screening of Predator in 35mm. Phil told the audience after that Fox, for whatever reason, doesn't allow this print to go out for screenings, but it sounds like the New Bev people begged and pleaded to the point that Fox was like "OK fine".<br />
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Among the next batch of trailers were <i>Twins</i> and <i>Junior</i>; so when the 75th Anniversary logo for Universal Pictures came up, I bounced in my seat like some asshole kid who knows a secret he ain't telling, because I knew it meant we were watching <b>Kindergarten Cop</b>. For years, I associated this film with various quotes that would float about the middle school ether during lunch period and in between classes. Then in recent years, it seemed to be the main source for many an internet sound board.<br />
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Arnold is Detective John Kimble, a cop who Plays By His Own Rules with a hard-on for Richard Tyson -- which I can understand, I mean, have you seen <i>Two Moon Junction</i>? Rawr. But anyway, Kimble has been after Tyson's sweet ass for years and it looks like he's finally got his hands on both cheeks but it's gonna mean going to Astoria, Oregon and getting ex-Mrs. Tyson to testify against him. Comedic circumstances dictate that he will be going undercover as a substitute teacher for the K-grade children -- a Kindergarten Cop, if you will -- and then the laughs are scripted to ensue.<br />
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It's weird, man, how I thought this movie was OK back in 1991 when I saw it on video and was young enough to be all HWAH HWAH HWAH with the Arnold vs. Kids goofball-isms, and yet I remember being underwhelmed. My problem with it, I recall, was that the kid stuff was few and far between compared to the cop stuff between Arnold, his hypoglycemic partner, Richard Tyson in an ill-fitting suit and fake-looking real hair, and Carroll Baker as a mom who should just go out and live the single senior life while letting her murderous asshole son deal with his own goddamn problems.<br />
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This time I liked the film more because I found most of the non-kindergarten stuff interesting and/or funny. I really enjoyed Pamela Reed's performance as Arnold's partner this time, while the stuff involving pretty Penelope Ann Miller is where I started to feel the late night whisper into my ear things like "rest your eyes and save up your energy for the other movies". There's a part, the "who is your daddy and what does he do" scene that might be my favorite because there's a few nuggets in there where the kids sound like they're just being themselves, like the one who says that his father is a psychiatrist. It felt real and I was getting into that until they went to the next kid, a girl who is speaking Spanish which of course means Komedy! because it's so funny that this alien is speaking some weird language from some weirdo country, isn't it funny Ivan Reitman, you Czechoslovakian fuck?<br />
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Arnold does a really good job here; he's very funny with the kids, but I also liked the way he played those scenes where he mentions that he has a 13-year-old son somewhere out there, and it's interesting to see him do that middle-distance staring thing whenever he talks about him. I have to give the movie points for never giving us an ending to that little ditty; I'd like to think it was a choice to do it that way but it's probably more likely one of those "oh my god, our first cut is six hours long and we need to chop stuff out of this movie" decisions. They probably cast some kid as his son for a heart-to-heart scene and then they cut it out and sorry kid, there goes your big break, enjoy your drug abuse.<br />
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Anyway, the whole divorced dad detail made me look at that scene where he beats up some kid's dad for being a kid-beater differently, because maybe Kimble is also working out some I've Abandoned My Boy! issues on the dad, like "you son-of-a-bitch, I don't even get to see my kid and here you are beating on your kid?!" <br />
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The kid's mom, by the way, took this opportunity to change her life. She left her husband and dumped the kid at her mom's and drove south to Los Angeles. She crashed at her little brother's place and hit the ground running, eventually finding work as a receptionist at General Apparel West. Soon, things were going very well for our Carolyn, surpassing her brother who was still working at some hot dog joint as she went from pushover to go-getter; she was making money, living the trendy L.A. lifestyle, moving from her brother's couch to a new apartment off Crescent Heights, banging Bruce the head inventory clerk, and leasing a BMW with a CD player installed. Life was good and she was on the fast track to a promotion as the administrative assistant for GAW's head honcho, Rose -- until that bitch Sue Ellen came on the scene.<br />
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Carolyn hated this blonde bimbo with a passion, this strumpet who came in to apply for a job at GAW at her desk because she was too stupid to read the big "Personnel" sign on the first floor -- yet SHE got the administrative assistant job! Carolyn knew something was up and she would begin doing some detective work to find out what was really going on with Sue Ellen. But deep down she also knew that this change of luck was probably some kind of karmic retribution for the sin of leaving her son back in Astoria. She managed to keep it to herself, though, even when Bruce noticed the tears rolling down her face after a particularly passionate night of lovemaking. He knew he wasn't that good, so he would ask her what was wrong and every fiber of her being wanted to scream "I'VE ABANDONED MY CHILD" but instead she would take a deep breath and say nothing.<br />
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I remember a few years back when the Criterion Collection website announced this film as their latest release as an April Fool's Day prank. First off, fuck pranks and fuck pranksters even harder. Second, I wonder if that stung for director Ivan Reitman upon hearing that, because it's basically being laughed at like "As if we would ever consider making a special edition of that film and adding it to our illustrious lineup of excellence plus a couple of Michael Bay movies."<br />
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What would sting more, and for who: Ivan Reitman hearing about this prank, or the day Wes Anderson finds out his latest film will not end up on the Criterion Collection?<br />
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I would wager on Anderson. Reitman probably has a good sense of humor and realistic attitude about his films (plus he already has a Criterion laserdisc edition of <i>Ghostbusters</i> out there), while I can see Anderson -- standing dead center in the frame -- dropping his monocle, followed by him walking out of his Parisian apartment in ultra-wide-anamorphic-lensed side-profile slow-motion while The Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want" plays in the background, his mind reeling and memories flashing of the good times in New York, Rome, France, but never will he remember that he grew up in Houston -- no ma'am, he made sure that the visit to Lacuna Inc. would take care of that.<br />
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By this time it was around midnight and so it was July 30th and officially Mr. Schwarzenegger's 70th year on this planet. The New Bev crew came out with a birthday cake and we all sang "Happy Birthday" to the here-with-us-in-spirit Arnold, who according to Phil, was told about this event and responded with something to effect of "That's nice, have fun." I overheard some people say that they wished he would've stopped by. <br />
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First of all, it's his 70th birthday, I'm sure he has other places to be with friends and family to celebrate that landmark. And remember, Arnold told Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson to "have fun" at the beginning of <i>The Rundown </i>and where is Mr. Johnson now? Sitting on top of the fucking world. He just finished a movie with a short-shorts-clad Karen Gillan, and I bet you he hugged her every chance he had in a friendly type-of-way while thinking to himself "I would snap this girl in half, I'd bang her so good". So I'm not complaining. "Have fun" is being anointed king of your personal universe, as far as I'm concerned.<br />
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We then went outside to help ourselves to birthday cake; the flavors were Vanilla and Chocolate but let's be real, with birthday cake it might as well be the choice between White Diabetes or Dark Diabetes.<br />
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As we ate our sugar bombs and slowly became Wilford Brimley, my friends and I discussed the possible films that would be shown later. One mentioned the trailer for <i>Raw Deal</i> we saw earlier, wondering if that would be on the schedule. I responded that in my experience at these marathons, if you see a trailer for the film, you won't see that film in the marathon.<br />
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Which is why as soon as I saw the DEG logo come up, I knew I was about to look like a bigger asshole than usual, because that meant the third film of the night was <b>Raw Deal</b>. <br />
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Arnie plays Sheriff Raw Deal, an ex-FBI agent who now upholds the law at the kind of small town that probably has a roadhouse in need of a cooler. This is his reward for beating the daylights out of some evil man who pulled off the triple M: Molest, Murder, Mutilation. Poor Arnold has to recite the triple M in this movie and I bet you director John Irvin and the crew were laughing their asses off watching the dailies of this scene while producer Dino De Laurentiis was sitting in the back with his broken English wondering "why-a do they-a laugh-a heem?"<br />
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Thankfully, his old FBI boss's son just got whacked during a pretty awesome opening sequence that ends in an awesomely cold-blooded moment of Victor Argo forcing his mark at gunpoint to look at a mirror so the mark can see his own head get blown off. A dead FBI son means an opportunity for Deal to get back into the FBI by going undercover among the Chicago crime families as Joseph Pussy Brenner. It's also an opportunity for Deal to take a break from his wife, who has taken to getting sloppy drunk while making sloppy chocolate cakes because the small town life is killing the big city girl. If he comes out of this job alive, it'll be a win-win for the both of them.<br />
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A destroyed mob gambling den later, Deal is in with one of the families, run by Private Benjamin's Dad and Sosa from Scarface, with Robert Davi to do the dirty work. Most of the film is Arnold playing fast and loose with his new bosses, the Chicago authorities, and a lady (played by Kathryn Harrold from <i>Modern Romance</i>) who is just trying to pay off some kind of debt. This must've been an odd one for general audiences at the time, an Arnold movie where he isn't doing much compared to his previous roles. Up until this film, Schwarzenegger was making his name playing larger-than-life characters that pretty much only Arnold could've played; a Cimmerian warrior or a cyborg from the future, among others -- roles that one would've had to invent Arnold Schwarzenegger to play had he not already existed. <br />
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Here he's playing a role that doesn't feel like it was written with him in mind; the story is credited to Luciano Vincenzoni and Sergio Donati, who had written for Dino De Laurentiis and Sergio Leone in the past. I wouldn't be surprised if the original script was kicking around as far back as the 70s for someone like Charles Bronson to star in the Arnold role and his wife Jill Ireland in the Kathryn Harrold role (Maybe Riz Ortolani would compose the score. Michael Winner or Terence Young to direct.)<br />
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But they didn't go that way. They got Arnold to play this role (shit, even Stallone would've been more appropriate) and it's like giving the poor guy a suit three sizes too small for him to wear but with big-ass pockets, if that even makes sense. I mean, shit, you know something's amiss when Kathryn Harrold's character has more one-liners than Arnold's character. The one-liners, by the way, were written by the credited screenwriters, Gary DeVore and Norman Wexler. The former died under mysterious circumstances in the 90s, and the latter turned out to be the infamous "Mr. X" that Bob Zmuda told stories about to his buddy Andy Kaufman, who used some of Mr. X as an inspiration for his Tony Clifton character.<br />
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Anyway, they try to make up for Arnold's lack of action in the last twenty minutes by having him do a pre-<i>Commando</i> arming up routine where he puts on his best leather jacket and packs up his favorite shotguns and automatic rifles before he goes off to massacre -- holy shit, I mean it, it really is a massacre and it involves him going to two separate locations to murder everybody there. He's cleaning house and it doesn't matter if you're armed with a gun or a phone (which you were going to use to call the police) -- he's going to spray you with bullets. Even being an elderly man running away won't help -- Arnold will just pump shotgun shells into your old man back while generic badass music from the DeLaurentiis library plays in the background.<br />
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I can see Charles Bronson shooting an old man in the back and having it look awesome, I mean, hell, Bronson blew up an old man with a grenade launcher in <i>Death Wish 4: The Crackdown</i>. But when Arnold does it here, it just looks so fucking wrong that all you can do is laugh. <br />
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(On the other end of the spectrum, you have peak physical condition Jean Claude Van Damme beating up a dying Raul Julia in <i>Street Fighter</i>, which is just sad.)<br />
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The audience definitely did laugh (and cheer) at that old man death, as well as the touching ending that involves a teary-eyed nurse that had everybody in stitches while I laughed along because I wasn't ready to admit to anybody that the first time I had seen this film, I actually got legit teary-eyed at that ending because I'm a mess of a human being who in reality sees most of everything in the most overly sincere manner possible. But I'm not ready to admit it now.<br />
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Overall, this is not a must-see Arnold movie, but the last twenty minutes should definitely be watched on YouTube or wherever you can find it. It's not a bad film; it's well paced, the dialogue is pretty snappy, and I really liked the way it was shot (lots of nicely composed widescreen location-flaunting cinematography by Alex Thomson). I just think Arnold was kinda miscast here.<br />
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By the way, the print for this film was gorgeous. I recall the print for another DEG production that was shown at the New Bev years ago, <i><a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2010/10/savoir-faire.html">Trick or Treat</a></i>, looked just as good. What I'm getting at is this: If there are pristine prints of DEG flicks around, there has to be a good-looking print of <i>Traxx</i> somewhere out there, right?<br />
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Phil told us that we were now going to get into the weirder stuff, leaving me to rack my brain for "weird" movies that Arnold starred in. I couldn't come up with any, because I had never seen the sword & sorcery joint <b>Red Sonja</b>, the fourth film of the night. Mr. Schwarzenegger does not star in this even though his name comes up first and is printed in bigger font than star Brigitte Nielsen's name, so the powers that be must've literally wanted him to be the biggest name in the film. <br />
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Ms. Nielsen plays the title role, a gal living life in the Hyborean Age until Sandahl Bergman and her minions come in for some rape and murder. She's left lost and family-less until some special Girl Power specter tells her to get her shit together and so she does, learning how to slice and dice others via swordplay by some Mako-esque peacock of a master. She and him have a funny conversation that I interpreted as being about how she should give dudes a chance and <i>boy, Red Sonja, if I were 30 years younger I'd give you such a bangin', you wouldn't believe it</i>.<br />
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It all comes down to Sonja and company in search of a stolen ball filled with Predator blood that has the power to destroy shit -- a ball only women can touch, by the way. If a dude touches it, he's vaporized because fuck that shit, bro, why would you wanna touch a ball, that's fuckin' gay, bro. This ball's for chicks only.<br />
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I don't even think vengeance is on the menu until Arnold shows up as Not Conan to tell her something like "Red Sonja? I'm looking for Red Sonja. You're Red Sonja? Yeah, your sister? The one who's played by the chick from <i>City of the Living Dead</i>? You know, the one who does paintings of rhinos and ends up getting her brains squished out of her head? Yeah, her. Well, she's dying, I guess, whatever."<br />
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I'm guessing this was a contractual obligation for the Oak; his line readings are hilariously stiff and, well, "I guess, man" in their deliveries. The only time he seems to come to something resembling Life is when he's talking about getting with Sonja in the biblical sense; it turns out she will only give herself to the man who can defeat her, which I guess gets him hard because it's like "Oh wow, so I get to beat you and THEN bang you? Two for one, baby!"<br />
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Ernie Reyes Jr. shows up as a real brat of a prince, and it's to the movie's credit that as rude and punkass as he is, he never quite crossed the line into PLEASE DIE ALREADY, at least for me he didn't. Maybe it's because Red Sonja straight up tells Reyes' servant that he should give him a spanking, followed by her telling Reyes that his servant is a real man compared to the petulant fuck that he is. I'll take that as a reasonable compromise for justice, her making him feel like shit with words.<br />
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What a goofy movie. It's the kind of movie where they'll spend big money early on with impressive sets and costume design but then they'll start running out of money along the way and cheapen out on special effects sequences like, say, the destruction of a city, where they'll just have characters talk about it instead of showing you, or when the heroes fight this giant water serpent and you're left wondering why it looks all robotic and maybe it's a robot and then the characters say out loud "it's a machine" and you're now wondering if it was because the filmmakers couldn't afford to make a realistic looking serpent, so the filmmakers just said "Screw it, it's a robot serpent, then. Make sure to have the characters say out loud that it's a robot serpent". <br />
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It's the kind of movie where the villainess will stride into her evil lair and casually pets her Golden Retriever-sized pet spider -- a spider that looks so fake just standing there and kinda bouncing like it drank too much Red Bull. Silly spider, I know Red Bull gives you wings but you're a spider, you can just web your way around, you don't need wings. You never see that spider again, by the way. I guess it just walked away during the climax of the film, the same way one of Sandahl's ladies does rather hilariously while she and Sonja face off. This chick does that whole "Don't mind me, just passing through" in the background and goes off to who knows where.<br />
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It's the kind of movie Richard Fleischer would direct at the end of his career.<br />
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Nielsen does what is required of her in the role; she looks good and wields her sword well, and that's about it. If I had any real problems with this movie its that Red Sonja doesn't really get to do her own thing. She says she doesn't need a man, but there sure is a lot of Arnold coming in to save the day. Is the movie saying she (and all women) are wrong? It's like the movie doesn't have faith in her carrying it, because after all, she's just the titular character. Maybe I'm just spoiled by current movies like Wonder Woman, and this was as good as it would get for lady heroes in the 80s, at least in American cinema (produced by Italians).<br />
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But hey, it moves fast, Giuseppe Rotunno's photography looked nice and Ennio Morricone's music sounded nice. Morricone got a nice round of applause from the audience when his credit came up. Would I watch it again? No. But at least I can say I watched it once.<br />
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My friend had said earlier that night that she was hoping Red Sonja would be one of the films shown at the marathon because as bad and cheesy as it was, she had fond memories of it as a kid. When it turned out to be one of the films being shown that night, I believe I saw her raise the roof in my peripheral vision. After the movie, she told me that she didn't remember it being <u>this</u> bad and cheesy.<br />
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Phil told us the last two films would be shown back-to-back with no intermission, so I made sure to get a hot dog and settled in for the last leg of this Arnold cine-tour. The fifth film was <b>The Terminator</b>, a movie that is similar to <i>Predator</i> in that I'm going to have a difficult time writing about it because what can I add that hasn't already been said much better by so many? Then again, that's pretty much the same deal with all the other movies I've talked about here, so why am I worrying now?<br />
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Watching this film today, with the opening text telling us about the "ashes of the nuclear fire" brought back a Cold War chill in my system that I'm sure was gone for a couple decades. I mean, back in '84 people lived with a low-grade anxiety that Nuclear War could break out at any time, so it must've been interesting to watch movies like this and the countless other post-apocalyptic joints that were made back then. There was always that thought in the back of your mind that, shit, there's always that possibility, right?<br />
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Then the Cold War ended and people kinda forgot about dem nukes, didn't they? Even me, Debbie Downer that I am with my belief that nukes are the ultimate Chekhov's Gun and that it's not so much a question of If as much as When, even I forgot about them. Those were beautiful days, man. And now they're back, baby! Thanks to that scary motherfucker Putin and that fat motherfucker Kim Jong Un and that bloated walking shit stain some call President, it's all about clocking those N-Bombs -- and I ain't talking about the N-Bomb that supporters of POTUS probably throw around when they know there are no Black people in the room.<br />
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I wonder how James Cameron feels about the New Cold War (from the makers of "The New Odd Couple")? Between this film and the nuclear holocaust scene in the sequel, I'm sure it's something he's thought about more than once. I remember hearing a rumor long ago about how supposedly Cameron spent New Year's Eve '99 holed up in his private bunker with booze and an AK-47 in case the Y2K bug was legit and the world fell apart come midnight. Then nothing happened and he was probably like, shit, I guess I better get working on another movie now. Maybe that's why he's now dragging his heels on another <i>Avatar</i> movie. He's probably freaking out like Sarah Connor in T2 ranting about how people not wearing 2-million sunblock are going to have a really bad day.<br />
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So it's 1984 and thanks to time travel technology, Kyle Reese arrives naked as the day he was born and so he needs some clothes, right? He ends up jacking a pair of pants from a homeless dude and for years I was like Ewww because let's be real, man, those homeless pants haven't been washed in who knows how long. So many scents and textures and stains -- boy oh boy, the stories those pants could tell. Any port in a storm, though -- right Reese?<br />
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But it wasn't until this recent viewing, slow fuck that I am, that I thought it really doesn't matter to Reese because he just came from a post-apocalyptic world where the word "bath" probably doesn't even exist. OK, maybe they have do take baths between Hunter Killer attacks and eating slop in dark rubble-strewn hallways and just generally being miserable, but you just know those baths are few and far between. At most, maybe every other week. And it's probably by lottery. And the survivors live with dogs because dogs can tell who's human and who's a Terminator, so you know they got unwashed dog stink on top of human stink. Christ, the lucky ones did die in the blast.<br />
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And Sarah Connor -- freak that she is -- falls in love with this sweaty fuck! Me, I'm back to two showers a day now that we're not in a drought anymore, but I ask a lady for the time and she looks at me like I'm Willem Dafoe in <i>Auto Focus</i> asking her for the time. Me, I'm sitting here at the New Bev looking over at the male & female smoocher couple in the row in front of me and the dude's hair clearly hasn't been washed or combed in god knows how long WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING WRONG?<br />
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Lady and gentleman, allow me to talk about the smoochers. I always get these people sitting in front of me, and if it's not them, it's the sasquatch-sized motherfuckers wearing a hat. But for now, let me talk about these here smoochers at the New Bev that night. So earlier that night, a couple sat in the row in front of me and it's all good. Then the dude puts his arm around his lady and keeps it there. All night. And every five minutes or so, he would lean in and whisper or smooch or whisper then smooch. And I was able to see and hear every last one of them. Smooch. Smooch. Smoochity smooch smooch smooch.<br />
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I began a tally. Predator: 16 smooches. Kindergarten Cop: 8 smooches. Thankfully an opening a few seats down was available by the third film and so I moved over there. But every once in a while, I'd glance over to see if this dude still had his arm around her, giving her the smoochy smooch smooch smoocharoo, and sure enough he was.<br />
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I get it. As a perma-single, I'm probably jealous and a hater, right? Except I'm really not. I'm just not a fan of PDAs and I get it if that makes me an asshole, I'll accept that. But allow me to let you glimpse my diseased soul by telling you that I always found something of the "Hey everybody, you worthless sad fucks, look at how much in LUUUUUUV we are with each other, don't you wish you could be us" with the public smooching. And I'm a pretty lenient guy about this shit. It's one thing if they're smooching in a park or some nice area with a nice view or somewhere with the hint of romance or something like that. But right in fuckin' front of me at a movie theater or at a fuckin' restaurant or the fucking bank! The bank! THE FUCKING BANK, PEOPLE. WHILE WAITING IN LINE! AT THE BANK! SMOOCHERS!<br />
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But I'm the asshole here. That's cool. It's me, that's what it is. Maybe the sounds of kissing are like the smell of food: Wonderful if I'm partaking, disgusting if I'm not.<br />
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Speaking of food, back to Sarah Connor. Before all the shit goes down, she was planning to go out on a date but then her date cancels on her with some lame bullshit, so off she goes to see a movie by herself followed by dinner alone. Sounds like my kind of girl, right there. Anyway, she's at this pizza place, about to tuck into a whole pizza (again, my kind of girl) and she's about to bite into a slice but then she overhears the latest report of another Sarah Connor being murdered. She freaks out and never gets around to eating that pizza, which is a bummer. <br />
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I don't think she gets to eat anything for the rest of the film -- not even a bullet, much to the T-800's dismay, I'm sure. Later in the motel with Reese, I didn't see any food come out of that grocery bag of supplies he brings over, just ammonia and moth balls. The closest thing to food in that bag is corn syrup, but good luck with getting sustenance from that, chief. I hope she was able to at least scarf down a couple doughnuts at the police station.<br />
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Anyway, when the panic-stricken Sarah finally gets in touch with Lt. Traxler, she tells him she's at the Tech-Noir club and he tells her he knows where it is, which got laughs from the audience. See, that's what happens between watching a movie at home by yourself and in a movie theater with a sleep-deprived crowd: what I once interpreted as Traxler basically saying "yes, I know where that club is because I've had to go down there or near there before for law enforcement purposes" was now being taken as "Oh yeah, I know that place, honey. Ol' Traxler here likes to go down there on Saturday nights and teach those lame White kids a thang or two about real dancing."<br />
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"Hey man, you got a serious attitude problem" says the bearded dude in overalls, right after Arnold quite rudely pulls him away from the pay phone he was using. That's all he can say, and he knows it, and it amuses me to no end, as does the Bad Outfit moment late in the film when the Terminator walks down a motel hallway with his rifle in full view, passing by a guy who observes this with a "God damn!" <br />
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So, there you go. The Terminator. Lean, mean, and relentless action filmmaking from a hungry motherfucker with something to prove. Some of the effects are dated in a bad way, while others are dated in a charming pre-CGI way, but it's still all very impressive for the budget they were working with. It was awesome in '84 and it holds up now. Most of all, I was very happy to get to see this movie on the big screen in a spiffy 35mm print.<br />
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Before the trailer, there was an anti-crack ad featuring Rae Dawn Chong and a final reel of Arnold trailers. Then, the Fox logo followed by a shot of a garbage truck driving up a suburban hill and we all knew what that meant: <b>Commando</b>, the sixth and final film of the night. This is the one where ex-military badass Arnold is out to save his kidnapped daughter while killing lots of motherfuckers in the process. Also, there's a bad guy named Bennett who has a hard-on both literal and figurative for Arnold. <br />
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I already did a full way-too-long rambling on it years ago, and I'll post an excerpt from it below. But if you'd like to check out the whole deal,<a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2010/10/maybe-you-are-all-homosexuals-too.html"> you can click here if you want to destroy the rest of your free time</a>:<br />
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<i><b>People go on about Why Do People Love Commando When It's Just A Shit Movie and to that I respond with Silence You Commie Motherfucker. The movie is 92 fast-paced minutes of ownage, and if you didn't feel that way for the first two acts, you'll sure as shit feel that way about the last act, because that's all it is, ownage. Supposedly the original script for this had a more serious tone and I think it took place in Israel, which to me sounds like it would've played like The Delta Force -- not nearly as fun as you'd think it would be. Thankfully, Joel Silver stepped in and had Steven E. De Souza do his thing, which is take everything out but the bare bones, and put in a bunch of one-liners. Works for me.<br />
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This movie should please anybody <strike>who isn't an asshole</strike> who likes watching waves of bad guys getting killed. It becomes a video game in the way Matrix goes through each of his weapons -- assault rifle, grenades, machine gun, that bullshit Desert Eagle, shotgun -- firing bullets that cause the receiver(s) to perform acrobatics upon being struck. At this point Matrix is an invincible Angel of Death, nothing can touch him as he places periods at the end of the sentences that represent the soldiers' lives. I swear, at one point Matrix turns around, sees a bad guy coming toward him, ALLOWS the bad guy to get off a few shots, and THEN he fires back. He knows he's that fucking good. He knows how this movie will end, he's read the script.</b></i><br />
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I'll add this, though. Before, I thought Bennett wanted to bang Matrix and that's why he was so hard up for him. Now I'm of the belief that he and Matrix actually did have one sweaty night together long ago. I can see it now: They had already spent weeks doing recon, just the two of them, and here they were, the night before the Big Day, sharing a couple flasks of whiskey for warmth and preparing themselves mentally for a suicide mission. Next thing you know, they lock eyes, one hand ends up on another's thigh, another hand ends up on the other's shoulder, and soon it's Brokeback time.<br />
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Now, the mission goes through and it's a complete success and they survive. Everything's great, except Bennett caught feelings for Matrix and doesn't understand -- despite Matrix constantly telling him -- that what happened that night was just a one night stand and nothing more. And that was pretty much the beginning of the end for Bennett's time on Arnold's team.<br />
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Anyway, it was a great way to end the marathon, with a full-on display of Arnold being Arnold in the purest way possible: muscles, one-liners, and lots of killing. The movie ended and those of us left in the audience were given special Arnold pins as a gift on our way out.<br />
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My friends and I went to eat next door at Lulu's next door (I recommend the smoked salmon benedict); we talked about the movies and I brought up something my friend said earlier about how she associated Arnold Schwarzenegger films with her father, who was a big fan. They watched a lot of those films together. I brought up how they reminded me of my cousin and my father, who were the ones I'd watch those movies with back in the good ol' days: a simpler time of eating pizza and watching movies starring an awesome motherfucker named Arnold Schwarzenegger on a square tube standard definition television.<br />
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So I can't speak for everybody else but it seems like maybe that's what some of us -- if not most, if not all -- got out of the Arnold All-Night movie marathon. Not just 12 hours of entertainment Governator style, but a trip down childhood memory lane when we'd watch our movie heroes on-screen and we didn't have goddamn smoochers sitting in front of me with their goddamn smooching NO I STILL HAVEN'T GOTTEN OVER IT LEAVE ME ALONE<br />
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<br />EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953107778487378644.post-5090663443081569792017-04-10T03:40:00.000-07:002017-08-02T05:09:29.841-07:00Oh, and Assassin's Creed ain't shit, either<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My schedule has been/continues to be a real motherfucker and when Terrence Malick's new entry in the annals of cinema and the anals of your movie-watching ass <b>Song to Song</b> came out, it wasn't as easy to find time to watch it.</div>
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The days of a Malick joint hitting the local neighborhood cineplex are either on hold or long gone because after <i>The New World</i> in '05, I had to make the drive to an Arclight or a Laemmle to see what he was up to, and even then, these last three films (counting this one) have only had two-week runs. It's like the distributors are admitting out loud "this shit ain't gonna make money, let's just put it out there long enough for award consideration and for the sad people such as the Exiled from Contentment guy who are still on Malick's balls to be able to see it".<br />
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Oh hey, real quick: He made a fuckin' IMAX movie a few months ago, <i>Voyage of Time</i>, and for the record, I loved it but I feel I need to see all three versions of it before I even begin spouting my bullshit about it on the blog. I ended up catching the 45-minute IMAX version that had no narration and was presented in a weird super-ultra-widescreen aspect ratio that Malick preferred because homeboy's wacky like that. It took me longer to drive to a theater playing it than it was to watch it. My commitment is that deep.<br />
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Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, by the time I had time to see this one, the closest theater still playing it was about 40 miles away from me -- at least with this one I wouldn't have that same driving/watching time imbalance as with Voyage -- and they only had one showtime at 12:30pm. It was playing at a theater smack-dab in the middle of a college, so I had to deal with walking among young people full of hope and energy, which just made me want to punch all of them in the face.<br />
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I sat on the far left of the back row and on the far right was an old couple and to the best of my ever-decreasing hearing I could make out the dude saying something like "I like this theater, they have closhbuthawthawbulaw" and the lady curtly responded with "The seats are uncomfortable" and so her point was made: YOU AIN'T NEVER GONNA GET TO SAY ANYTHING WITHOUT ME SLAPPING IT DOWN. TILL DEATH DO US PART, BITCH.<br />
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To be real with you, I was both hyped and apprehensive about this particular film. I mean, I love Terrence Malick, and if you don't believe me, ladies and gentlemen of the jury I present to you:<br />
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<a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/05/days-of-running-around-unwashed-and.html">Exhibit A</a><br />
<a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/05/next-to-message-boards-at-yahoo-news.html">Exhibit B</a><br />
<a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/05/dances-with-jailbait.html">Exhibit C</a><br />
<a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2011/06/what-fuck-happened-to-you-arclight.html">Exhibit D</a><br />
<a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2013/05/rape-jokes-with-my-bros.html">Exhibit E</a><br />
<a href="http://exiledfromcontentment.blogspot.com/2016/03/i-shouldve-known-about-this.html">Exhibit F</a><br />
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This time there was something about this film -- the subject matter! -- that was kind of making me pause and move forward and pause and move forward, kinda like hitting the Slow Motion option on your NES Advantage or other super controller for your 8-bit system. That was some bullshit, wasn't it? It wasn't real slow motion, it just kept pausing the game or bringing up the menu. Did anybody ever really get any use out of that shit? I'm asking for a friend. (Just kidding, I have no friends.)<br />
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As with most films, I know little to none about them going in aside from the very basic premise, who directed it, and maybe the actors in it. In the case of <i>Song to Song</i>, I knew it was Malick doing his thing in Austin, Texas about musicians, and I don't know man. I like music and all but I'm not sure I'm a big fan of musicians. Shit, I'm not the biggest fan of artists in general even though I love art -- figure that shit out. But musicians? Ugh. I've worked with some in the past and we're just different species, but to be fair, I feel that way about most people I work with regardless of what they do. I don't like them. But that's OK because you know who I dislike most of all? Me.<br />
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I swear, if I were a Highlander, I'd kill myself so many fucking times because I'm that fond of myself. At the very least it would be an awesome way to relieve myself of the awkwardness of being, that's for sure.<br />
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So. <br />
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I went in with trepidation, and it turned out that I had nothing to fear because in this film, Malick does not really focus on the wankery involved in creating tunes, it really is just a background to what he is really interested in -- what he's always been interested in -- how we deal with our existence.<br />
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And a couple of paragraphs ago you found out how I deal with mine.<br />
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But how does pretty boy Ryan Gosling handle his? I don't know, you'd have to ask him. But as for the character he plays, BV, he seems to handle it in Gosling-esque ways by being kind of a goofball while trying to get his music career going. I like his musician character more in this film than the musician he plays in <i>La La Land</i>, because in this movie BV isn't trying to explain jazz to a lady while standing five feet away from a jazz band mid-performance who are probably wishing he would either shut the fuck up and let them play uninterrupted or just fucking die. He hooks up with a big time music producer, Cook, played by Michael Fassbender, who handles <u>his</u> existence in very Fassbender-esque ways by banging everything with a pulse. <br />
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My understanding is that despite (or maybe in spite of) writing a script, Malick pretty much tosses it away and just gives a few basic instructions -- if that -- to his actors and then has three-time-consecutive-Oscar-winning Mexican cinematographic wonder Emmanuel Mi Hermano The Muthafuckin' Chivo Lubezki Raza Cabron! run around filming them for as long as there is digital memory space available in the camera. And even then I'm sure there's some memory cards being constantly swapped for fresh ones. <br />
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What we see is what they came up with (Correction: what we see is the edited two-hour-plus result of miles and miles of footage; the original cut ran eight hours!) and mostly I feel what they come up with is as close to exposing the real them in the guise of being the character. It's some good shit, man -- both this process and the whiskey I'm currently drinking.<br />
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Anyway, things start off well -- Gosling and Fassbender are getting along, with the latter showing off his nice crib to the former and then saying some jerky shit like "I don't like it". Motherfucker. I'm looking at this awesome house and dreaming right there in the cinema about getting a place like that, but this guy is like EHHH I'VE LIVED IN BETTER and already I want to punch him in the throat on some Denzel/Liam shit. <br />
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During one sequence, Cook takes BV on his private jet to Mexico where they do the White Tourist thing by getting drunk and singing and rolling around on the ground, taking their shirts off while the locals continue playing <i>la guitarra</i> because they're so used to this kind of behavior from the Whites, they just want <i>El Presidente</i> to build that <i>pared</i> because the U.S. doesn't send us their best, they send us a bunch of cheap <i>gueros</i> who just want to get drunk and see a donkey show -- which was invented by some lonely <i>guera</i> who couldn't get a black dude and she just had to find a footlong one way or the other.<br />
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I guess it wouldn't be a surprise to tell you that somewhere along the way BV learns to regret letting Cook own the copyright on his work, because people are stupid enough to assume that the guy who promises to get you a house like his, or a closet full of suits just like the ones he wears, a guy who will jet you to Mexico and back for fun, is 100-percent trustworthy in business manners. And that's before Love gets in the way in the form of another aspiring musician named Faye played by Rooney Mara.<br />
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Ms. Mara is in town and she gets by with various odd jobs, including dogwalking and housesitting. At one point I thought she worked a gig as one of those sushi girls, but I guess these gamine types all look the same to me. She eventually gets a job with that asshole Fassbender, and from there hooks up with Gosling and then we get the usual Malik-ian scenes of walking around and frolicking and touching and looking at each other; it's like Malick took away most if not all things in a room or location that they could use to occupy their time with and instead instructed them to play with each other, like grown-up kids. <br />
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And maybe that's the idea; that when people are truly able to exist in a state of love with each other, only then can we actually become the pure and innocent creatures that God created us to be, before some apple-slinging asshole snake told us otherwise. The bitch of it is that these blissful moments are just that: Moments. And the snakes forever exist and don't have to be literal, they just have to be the things Life throws at us.<br />
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Like one example of a snake could be Fassbender's giant cock slithering its way into this A and B conversation of Love between our two, like "Hey, I want me some of that Rooney Mara action" and that's when things get complicated -- or should I say, <u>more</u> complicated because there's also Malick pulling his whole playing-with-the-concept-of-a-timeline tricks again, leaving me in the audience to go "Oh wait, so he's back with her -- oh no, this was before that happened -- oh wait why is this person still alive -- oh wait it's metaphorical --" before remembering that with a T-Mal joint it's just best to treat it like MST3K and really just relax.<br />
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By the way, speaking of "still alive", this motherfucker Malick kills off a character here and it fucking crushed me for what felt like twenty minutes, the sadistic fuck. I didn't even know this person's name -- by the way, I didn't know any of the character's names until I looked it up on IMDB because nobody ever calls each other by them, probably Malick's way of saying Fuck It They're Playing Themselves -- but I spent enough time with this person and watched this person change for the worse. I wanted the best for this character. I fucking cared for this character! It still pisses me off!<br />
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Anyway, yeah we follow these three along with a couple others -- Cate Blanchett! Holly Hunter! -- and then there's Natalie Portman as a waitress who has the pleasure of serving this unshaven fuck Fassbender and she falls for his bullshit despite having told him that she's busy and could get in trouble with her boss. She's all giggling and smiley but I bet you if I tried to pull that Fassbender shit with her, I'd end up being written about on fucking Jezebel or something. So many feminists would have a hard-on for me until someone else becomes Asshole Penis Of The Week and I'm left forgotten and crying about the attention I'm not getting anymore.<br />
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No sir, the best I could do with a waitress is get a smiley face on the check, maybe even a heart. Which I would then interpret as a sign that she loves me and there I go, beating off at home later that day imagining the life I could've had with her, if I had the balls to actually talk to her. But no, I pussied out and while I'm wiping the jizz off my blanket -- the fourth time this week! -- she's getting taken to Plow Town by Michael Fucking Fassbender.<br />
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As far as the music stuff in the movie, none of it really stood out for me. Despite there being many scenes taking place in and around concerts, music didn't feel that important a contribution to the film. It could've easily taken place at a food festival, really. It could've been about chefs. Ugh, no I take that back, because you know fuckin' Guy Fieri would show up and then I'd have to kill the world for allowing such a thing.<br />
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There are appearances by some real life musicians like Patti Smith, Iggy Pop, and Johnny Rotten (who for once isn't pulling that sad "I'm still an angry young lad" shit, siddown ya old bloated fuck). Oh and Anthony Kiedis pretends to beat up punk-ass Fassbender, which I guess I can pretend to applaud. And at one point we are treated to the sight of Val Kilmer on stage, losing his shit as he chainsaws a speaker, chops off his long hair with a knife, then throws what he claims to be uranium from his mom at the audience, before being escorted off the premises.<br />
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There are also non-appearances by Benicio Del Toro, Christian Bale, Arcade Fire, and Angela Bettis, who all had roles but were cut out of the movie. As I've said before in a previous Malick rambling, the list of people who were cut out of a Terrence Malick movie is just as impressive -- if not more impressive -- than the ones who made it.<br />
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(Oh shit, I mentioned Cate Blanchett earlier which means I have to make my mandatory "Cate Blanchett held open a door for me once" statement. Well, she did. Yeah, yeah, I know -- for her, it was Tuesday.)<br />
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I'm fucking around here with my ramblings on this movie, but the truth of the matter -- the brass tacks, as it were -- is that <i>Song to Song</i> was just as much an intensely introspective experience for me as every other Malick film since <i>The Thin Red Line</i>, and as such, it left me exhausted and in borderline tears sometimes. Some of it had to do with the relationship stuff, certain actions and lines felt too goddamn real and true in the worst way -- which just goes to show how naked these actors were in playing these parts, exposing probably a little more than they expected in these marathon filming sessions. And in addition to the death of a character knocking me off balance, there was also a scene between a character and an ailing father and you probably already know how I feel about THAT.<br />
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There's also a scene with a lady with what appeared to be acne scars on her face, and she just finished banging that fuckin' asshole Fassbender and sweet Natalie Portman in a three-way, and I think she was paid for it. Which I guess makes her an escort. Anyway, she starts talking about how she lost the man in her life to that piece-of-shit Death and how it left her psychically adrift, and how she's still kind of adrift but she feels that God has a plan for her -- as he does for all of us, I hope, if He exists, I hope -- and this must be part of the plan and OH MAN the shakiness in her voice felt too goddamn real for me. I felt I was watching a "real" person sharing something incredibly personal with all four of us in the audience and it made me tear up and I wanted to give her a hug before asking her what kind of action I could get for fifty bucks.<br />
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I know what kind of action I can get from a twelve dollar movie ticket, though;<span style="font-family: inherit;"> hot Bé</span>renice Marlohe from <i>Skyfall</i> shows up as a hot French lady who hooks up with Rooney Mara and here is another reason Terrence Malick is one of my favorite filmmakers EVAAAAR -- he gives us One Perfect Shot where the two ladies are passionately kissing each other on the left side of the frame right in front of us, while on the right side of the frame in the background is Marlohe's slightly out-of-focus dog who is basically frozen with his face all like OH YEAH and the only thing missing was for this dog to have on a pair of sunglasses so he can tilt them downwards while peeking his eyes above the frame, followed by the soundtrack cueing up "Oh Yeah" by Yello.<br />
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Listen, I've already gone on in other Malick ramblings about his style with the wide-angled ever-roving camera and the heavy use of inner monologue and the elliptical editing style and how the whole thing feels less like a story and more of a peek into someone's fragmented memories -- or shit, even their final thoughts before leaving this world -- or holy shit, God hitting the "shuffle" command on his iTunes playlist labeled "Human Beings". I've said it then and I'm saying it now. It's that same style and thankfully Malick has succeeded in whatever the fuck it is he was trying to do. All I know is that it feels like I get it.<br />
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Anybody could've taken the premise of following the love lives of three people in the Austin, Texas music scene and made more or less the same movie. Malick uses it as a jumping off point into something deeper. Or wankery. Your mileage may vary -- just make sure your mileage is as far the fuck away from me as possible.<br />
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At this point -- seven films in before this one -- if you're familiar with Malick and he just isn't your jam, then you should know by now to stay as far away from this film as if it had all of the Ebola waiting to creep into your open-wounds. To complain about Malick's filmmaking now would be like suddenly going "You know what, I regret voting for him".<br />
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On the other hand, if you were a fan of his work and have seen <i>Song to Song</i> and <u>this</u> was the one that made you get off the Terrence Malick train, it's understandable. You have my respect for making it this far. Now all I need you to do is ignore the tears rolling down my cheeks as I tell you to turn around and face the other way and close your eyes while I put the .22 to the back of your head. It will be quick, I promise.<br />
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But to the rest of you, you lucky few who are still on board with my man and haven't had a complaint yet? I say Welcome, brothers and sisters. And fuck Michael Fassbender.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="236" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/F-nuV36fvgQ?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>EFChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03707319383245900449noreply@blogger.com