At first, I really didn't want to like this song. Shit samples the "Numa Numa" song, for heaven's sake. And the beat is sort-of subpar for Just Blaze's single-standards.
But after numerous spins and hearing it blaring through a friend's car stereo earlier tonight, I've officially joined its team. Switched sides, leaving the haters' behind. This song knocks, and I love the ish out of it now. T.I. kicks some real spit here, which I hadn't realized after what-now-appears-to-be unfairly writing this record off prematurely.
Corny, I know, but the song actually makes me want to go out and play the lotto. Or some similar stuff. Kick it to that dime gal walking by, rather than letting her pull a Pharcyde on me. Walk into work and demand a raise....okay, that last one may be stretching it a bit, but God dammit, the song at least reminds me how much I deserve one. And that's instantly gratifying, I guess.
Sure people have already heard this by now, but if not, here you go. Play it, rock out, chant along to Rihanna's hook, giggle at the "Numa Numa" sample flippage, and notice Mr. Numa Numa himself as the homemade clip's first appearance.
Where's the video for this song, though? Taking some unnecessarily long times to come out, I think. Get on that, Atlantic Records. Because I know you have a smash on your hands here, considering that my opposite-of-hip-hop-py friends all love this shit---the tell-tale sign of through-the-roof-ness.
Word dash Word dash Word dash Word.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Blindness the movie = See My Middle Finger
I really wanted to love the film Blindness. Had been anticipating it for months. Tried ignoring the largely-negative reviews that had been trickling in since it premiered in Cannes back in like May or so. The book its an adaptation of, by author Jose Saramago, rocked my shit when I read it over a month ago---a powerful almost-horror-ish premise, fully-realized characters without actual names, a nice escalation of darkness-to-hope, and some pretty raw setpieces. Everything I'd love in a story, and it met all expectations and potential.
This flick, on the other hand, not so much. It's not that the movie is awful, or even piss-poor; it's just "okay," and considering the source material it had to work off of, just "okay" is shameful. Look at the acting talent here: Julianne Moore (who I've always really liked on screen, a fan since she killed it in both Boogie Nights and Magnolia, the great joints from my dude Paul Thomas Anderson), Mark Ruffalo (emerging as one of my top male thesps in the game), talented cutie Alice Braga, and others. The director: Fernando Merielles, who handled the face-smacker that is City of God. The pedigree was in place for a quality, hard-hitting time at the movies.
Problem is, though, none of the messages and/or allegory conveyed by Saramago in his 1995 book come across, at all here. It just plays as a bit of dystopian art, with Merielles flexing his "artistic prowess" to the point of overdose. Meaning, the blindness felt by those in the story is a "white sickness," where victims feel as if they're "swimming in milk." Getting a bit too post-production-happy over this detail, Merielles drowns the screen in thick, flowing whiteness for about 60% of the movie, a tactic that's pretty cool and effective the first couple of times, but after awhile, begins to reak of "look at me, I'm making an avant-garde, progressive movie here, because I'm edgy" rather than simply letting the narrative and characters themselves do the work. It's almost as if Merielles didn't have enough confidence in actor Don McKellar's script here, and felt the impulse to mask some of its drawbacks visually. Turns into a bit of a visual clusterfuck at times.
The storytelling, though, falls flat in the process. Shit just happens. Moments that should delicately plant emotional seeds come off as a tired, fed-up farmer throwing a bag of seeds in the air, letting the contents of the bag scatter across a concentrated area. None aiming for anywhere in particular. Just landing, one after the other, like the scenes here.
And about that script....I'm still trying to put my finger on why this is, but, seriously, none of the emotional impact felt in the book registers nearly half as much in the film. Sure, there's one button-pushing centerpiece that actually does hit its mark in the movie, and I'll get into that later. But when it comes down to the quieter, character interactions,they're nearly all botched. It felt like, other than Moore's and Ruffalo's characters, none of the people on screen were given room to grow, room to score sympathy; where as, in the book, each and every individual is fleshed out. Right, because of high page counts and written word benefits. But still, there's been book-to-film adaptations before that haven't sacrificed character for flare, like is done here.
In the book (and I hate to keep comparing the book to film, but when you have a book as dope as Blindness, a subpar movie take is inexcusable and needs to be compared, in my eyes), the character of The Girl with the Dark Glasses (played here by Alice Braga) was my favorite, and unexpectedly so. She's a prostitute with a heart of gold, and has a couple of choice moments in the text: in a moment of vulnerability, she sleeps with the The Doctor (played by Mark Ruffalo) only to be caught by his wife (Julianne Moore, whose character is the only person in the story who can still see), and then later, she has a heart-to-heart with The Old Man with the Eyepatch (played here by Danny Glover) where they profess earnest love for each other, despite the large age gap, a generational difference turned obsolete due to their shared blindness. But in the movie, neither of these moments (and both do appear) prove memorable at all. They both just happen, and then its on to the next scene.
[Alice Braga, clearly happy about something....I'm guessing it's not after seeing this movie]
And its not due to the actors' efforts, because I liked all the performances here. Especially that of Gael Garcia Banal, who gives the story's most despicable presence, its one true villain, a cocksure arrogance, but not of a purely-fiendish caliber. You get the sense that his dark side shown here is the result of giving up on life, due to the outspread of blindness. He figures, what good will kindness and compassion do now? Might as well go for broke and fend for self. And as flipped by Bernal, its a pretty impressionable white-flag-wave. At least that's how I saw it.
[Bernal]
To place blame for the movie's misfire, though, I have to sim my scopes at the pacing, the little force with which Merielles executes these moments in the narrative context. A big blunder on full display in the story's third act, where our focal-point characters flee from their quarantined-home/insane asylum, and venture out into a littered, chaotic, destroyed urban landscape. Visually, Merielles did nail this section---the ruined city is pretty chilling, and the blind denizens tripping and falling, some walking around nude, do evoke a rather creepy image of a fallen society trying to maintain. But in the book, there's so much character exposition and growth that happens once they leave the asylum, a majority of which is either clumsily-condensed or just outright deleted in the movie. Making the "hopeful"/happy ending seem rushed and not fully-earned. Its a shame, really, because the positive conclusion in the book was great to me, and we all know how much I prefer bleak, dark, dirty endings.
I have to get going to an engagement party now, so I have to wrap this up, sadly (this blog is all on the fly, freestyle shit). I didn't even get to show love toward a couple of great moments in the film: the deliriously-shot and pulled-off bleakness and perverted despair of the gang-rape sequence, and when Moore's character tries fleeing a barren supermarket with food bags and is attacked by starving blind folk, in an almost zombie-movie-like-moment.
But in the end, Blindness frustrated and disappointed a bit too much for me to recommend or salute.
**Now let's just hope that Quarantine doesn't do the same next weekend.....though, I did find out that super-fly Dania Ramirez is in Quarantine, a bit of casting I was totally fucking clueless about,that makes Quarantine even more promising. Just the sight of Ramirez sends my hormones into overdrive, can't lie. In terms of eye pleasures, she's Oscar worthy. Actual acting chops, however, well let's just say that she tries hard, I'm sure.
Hey, looks like I've found my next Quarantine Watch entry....Nice.
Friday, October 3, 2008
And You Thought Tina Fey Was Sexy.....
While I may not love Sarah Palin and all that she stands for (in fact, I loathe the such), I've made no qualms about my crushing on her hardcore. At least not to those who I've engaged in Palin-centric chatter with. And shit, am I so ready to stop talking about this fucking chick already. Palin this, Palin that. Enough is enough. She needs to lose this shit already, and hopefully retreat back to Alaska and watch her 15 minutes of fame wind down, in seclusion.
Unless, if my morbid suspicions serve me correct though I sure hope not, she sips the brave juice and uses her newfound momentum to run for office, sans old-white-blowhard-faux-"Maverick," in 2012. I quiver to think.
But anyway....yes, I think she's a MILF to the umpteenth measure, and I'll admit to being somewhat enchanted by her cute-factor while she was rushing through her carefully-prepped responses last night at the debate. But we're talking superficial shit here, not substantial issues.
That being clarified....the opportunistic sleazes at Hustler Video already have a Palin-pegged porn coming out in time for election (it's in pre-production now, but I'd imagine porno flicks take like three days to complete....we're not talking David Lynchian editing requirements, here), cleverly coined Nailin' Paylin. Yes, somebody was paid to come up with that title. And probably a rather-pretty penny, in the process. Go ahead, sulk for a second. (Oh, and is the "Paylin" spelling some sort of sexual innuendo I'm just not comprehending? Or perhaps a typo on TMZ's--where I found this bit of news--part?)
This sure-to-be-smuttastic best seller apparently focuses on Russians "knocking on [Palin's] back door," and will even have a three-way scene with Condi Rice and Hillary Clinton "look-a-likes." I put "look-a-likes" in quotation here because, obviously, these chicks will look nathan like either person. Just look at the gal they have playing Palin:
[her name is Lisa Ann, like it matters]
At the risk of losing friends and alienating people (Simon Pegg is the illest....that movie, though, most likely sucks), I must admit: I'm not a huge fan of watching porno. Rarely have, and when I have, its been at the forcing and beckoning of friends (not like that....but "pause" regardless). I'll save why for a future post, but I must also admit now, that chick playing Palin is a scorcher. Wouldn't mind watching her experience a rise in the poll(s) (sorry, couldn't resist). And I'm sure she'll really capture the essence of Sarah P.
Or maybe not....she'll be too busy taking that dildo from Hillary Rodham to truly "nail" the role. Duty calls, as they say.
Unless, if my morbid suspicions serve me correct though I sure hope not, she sips the brave juice and uses her newfound momentum to run for office, sans old-white-blowhard-faux-"Maverick," in 2012. I quiver to think.
But anyway....yes, I think she's a MILF to the umpteenth measure, and I'll admit to being somewhat enchanted by her cute-factor while she was rushing through her carefully-prepped responses last night at the debate. But we're talking superficial shit here, not substantial issues.
That being clarified....the opportunistic sleazes at Hustler Video already have a Palin-pegged porn coming out in time for election (it's in pre-production now, but I'd imagine porno flicks take like three days to complete....we're not talking David Lynchian editing requirements, here), cleverly coined Nailin' Paylin. Yes, somebody was paid to come up with that title. And probably a rather-pretty penny, in the process. Go ahead, sulk for a second. (Oh, and is the "Paylin" spelling some sort of sexual innuendo I'm just not comprehending? Or perhaps a typo on TMZ's--where I found this bit of news--part?)
This sure-to-be-smuttastic best seller apparently focuses on Russians "knocking on [Palin's] back door," and will even have a three-way scene with Condi Rice and Hillary Clinton "look-a-likes." I put "look-a-likes" in quotation here because, obviously, these chicks will look nathan like either person. Just look at the gal they have playing Palin:
[her name is Lisa Ann, like it matters]
At the risk of losing friends and alienating people (Simon Pegg is the illest....that movie, though, most likely sucks), I must admit: I'm not a huge fan of watching porno. Rarely have, and when I have, its been at the forcing and beckoning of friends (not like that....but "pause" regardless). I'll save why for a future post, but I must also admit now, that chick playing Palin is a scorcher. Wouldn't mind watching her experience a rise in the poll(s) (sorry, couldn't resist). And I'm sure she'll really capture the essence of Sarah P.
Or maybe not....she'll be too busy taking that dildo from Hillary Rodham to truly "nail" the role. Duty calls, as they say.
Child's Play That'd Leave Even Chucky Shook...
R.I.P.
Whoa.....this is one seriously evil little dude:
--from Guardian.co.uk:
"Australian boy feeds zoo animals to crocodile
Rare lizards and a turtle in Alice Springs reptile park were either eaten alive or bashed to death first.
A seven-year-old boy broke into a zoo in central Australia and fed several live animals to a crocodile while bashing others to death with a rock.
The boy killed 13 animals worth around A$7,000 (£3,070), including a turtle, bearded dragons and thorny devil lizards after scaling a security fence at the Alice Springs Reptile Centre in the Northern Territory on Wednesday, said the zoo's director, Rex Neindorf.
In 30 minutes he used a rock to kill three lizards, including the zoo's beloved 20-year-old goanna, which he fed to a 3.3m (11ft) saltwater crocodile named Terry that weighs 200kg (440lb).
The boy was caught on security camera as he threw live animals to Terry over the two fences surrounding the crocodile's enclosure.
At one point he climbed over the outer fence to get closer to the crocodile. Neindorf said the boy's face looked blank in the footage. "It was like he was playing a game."
The animals were not rare but some would be difficult to replace, said Neindorf. "We're horrified that anyone can do this, and saddened by the age of the child."
Alice Springs police said they had identified the local boy but could not press charges because of his age. Children under 10 are not criminally liable in the Northern Territory.
"By all accounts he's quite a nasty seven-year-old," said Neindorf, who plans to sue the boy's parents. "If we can't put the blame on to the child, then someone has to accept the responsibility."
The zoo's security system, which relies on sensors, probably did not detect the boy because of his size, Neindorf said."
One day, maybe yours truly, will use this twisted bit of actual fact and scribe one hell of an "evil kid" story. But man, his parents really need to head back to the drawing board with this dude. Shit.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Post VP Debate Reactions, from M.B's Cabeza....
I, like probably everybody else in the nation, just finished watching the sort-of-anticlimactic yet still pretty tell-tale Vice Presidential Debate.
Can't say that any my of original views and feelings have been changed at all, as a result. I'm still pro-Obama/Biden, though I don't hate Palin as much. Actually, let me rephrase that....I've never "hated" Palin; I just hate what she represents, and that is how little respect McCain and the his Republican cohorts have for us, Americans, in the way he chose a running mate simply out of desperation, a pure gimmicky ploy to sway the election in his way, knowing that he would've been crushed, likeability-wise, otherwise.
But enough about that....about this particular debate...
["Can I call ya Joe?"....slick ice-breaker, but did anybody else notice how she never once actually referred to him as "Joe" after the fact? Didn't think so. Hey, I'm just saying....]
Clearly, Senator Joe Biden knows tons and oodles more than Palin does, pretty much about every single thing. She's a total robot in this sense, when publicly speaking, simply regurgitating what her handlers cram into her head pre-speaking. And I honestly, in my heart of hearts, feel that this notion of mine was only strengthened tonight. She, at least for the firslt half or so of this debate, hardly ever answered the questions presented by the moderator Gwen Ifil (who, by the way, did a fucking terrible job as moderator. Why couldn't she ever challenge either candidate, specifically Palin, by saying, "Okay, but now answer my question this time...." Fuck, man). It was like she had a list of addressable topics and preferred talking points that she had to spit out, so she'd redirect whatever questions Ifil issued back to whatever prepared response she needed to deliver before it left her mind.
Chris Mathews, on MSNBC, said it best right after the debate, when he said that Palin reminded him of a kid in a grade school spelling bee, having crammed the answers in his/her head and spewing them out when asked, most likely forgetting them once the heat is gone.
I will say, though, that Palin didn't necessarily fail, miserably. She did just well enough to save some face, and to continue to assuage nervous American people, who are fucking stupid enough to value a candidate based off "gee, she seems swell and makes me feel cozy" rather than "is this person qualified, in every sense, to lead me." She most certainly is not, if you ask M.B.
Joe Biden, now, I think he played this rather wisely. Obama is ahead in the polls right now, so Biden bashing Palin in and going for her throat could've proven too risky for his ticket. It would've flirted with scaring and appaling indecisive voters, seeing him as a bully for poor ol' underqualified but charming and folksy Palin. So, he plays it cool and gentleman-ly, and focuses his gun's scope on McCain himself, continually bashing McCain and pointing out his fuck-ups and sore spots. And I think this was pretty smart.
You can't have left this debate disliking Biden, honestly. I mean, could you have, seriously? He did nothing to piss anybody off, or rub viewers the wrong way. Sure, he may not have blown everybody away and positioned himself as the Don Mega of politics, but he certainly didn't make any vehement enemies. And as long as McCain keeps reminding people of Bush, especially in this shitfest economy caused by Bush, I can't see how voters will go with McCain in early November.
And Biden surely knows his shit. He has the great deal of experience, he articulates his knowledge and POVs with strong acuteness. And at the end of the day, I'd much rather have him lead me, in the wake of a tragedy, than Sarah Palin. And no, it's not because she's a "she"; she just doesn't seem well-rounded enough, well-versed enough, and naturally able enough to do so. Sort of like George "Dubya" Bush, and he's a HE.
But God, this moderator was terrible. Maybe she took her title on surface value, and just "moderated." But, in my eyes, her job is to challenge the speakers, and make them go above and beyond the bare minimum, by putting them on the spot and not allowing them to simply regurgitate prepared rhetoric.
Palin, I'm sure, has re-injected some juice into Conservatives and the Republican party, which was definitely shitting bricks going into this debate. But, now most of them can sleep a bit more comfortably tonight. So, that have been said, I tip my hat, only slightly now, to Palin, for not blowing this one royally. She did what the McCain candidacy needed, and the ball is in her mate's corner now.
But really, the only person that Sarah Palin truly, undoubtedly, helped tonight was Sarah Palin herself. She made some people like her again,. She proved that she's not 100% inept at this stuff, at least from personality and poise standpoints. She somewhat exceeded what most expected of her, VP Debate-wise. But she did nothing to make John McCain look any better than he does now. It's fucking obvious that anybody voting for John McCain in November is voting for Sarah Palin, not McCain. He's basically her running mate now.
Can any Republican or right-winger honestly look me dead in my brown eyes and say: "I really like John McCain." Like, for real, for real? It's the Palin/McCain ticket now, my friends, and I really hope that people see and understand that. Barack Obama still looks strong as a result of his running mate's actions; McCain, on the other hand, is the exact polar Alaska-cold-like opposite. Word to Wasilla, son!
And honestly, I feel that McCain's true shit-brown-tinted colors will shine through in the coming weeks, hopefully in the upcoming two debates. I don't think Barack Obama is the perfect candidate, or our true saving grace, but I really do, passionately now, feel that he's the better of our only two choices. We need something new, fresh, and changing, and this doesn't mean a smiling, MILF-y, goofy, and likeable hockey mom.
***Wow, Matt Barone discussing politics with some real passion.....who would've ever thought, huh? Certainly not moi. I'm becoming bigger, faster, stronger, and now, smarter. Feels kinda nice.
This was all just immediate post-debate reacting, not a thought-out, in-depth analysis. I'll leave that to the dudes and dudettes who are paid to do so at CNN, MSNBC, The New York Times, Time, etc.
Oh, and by the way, did anybody else realize that Sarah Palin was the lead in a pretty exceptional movie at one point? From the Coen Brothers, at that? For whatever reason, though, she used a stage name of "Frances McDormand" here. Go figure. See for yourselves:
Can't say that any my of original views and feelings have been changed at all, as a result. I'm still pro-Obama/Biden, though I don't hate Palin as much. Actually, let me rephrase that....I've never "hated" Palin; I just hate what she represents, and that is how little respect McCain and the his Republican cohorts have for us, Americans, in the way he chose a running mate simply out of desperation, a pure gimmicky ploy to sway the election in his way, knowing that he would've been crushed, likeability-wise, otherwise.
But enough about that....about this particular debate...
["Can I call ya Joe?"....slick ice-breaker, but did anybody else notice how she never once actually referred to him as "Joe" after the fact? Didn't think so. Hey, I'm just saying....]
Clearly, Senator Joe Biden knows tons and oodles more than Palin does, pretty much about every single thing. She's a total robot in this sense, when publicly speaking, simply regurgitating what her handlers cram into her head pre-speaking. And I honestly, in my heart of hearts, feel that this notion of mine was only strengthened tonight. She, at least for the firslt half or so of this debate, hardly ever answered the questions presented by the moderator Gwen Ifil (who, by the way, did a fucking terrible job as moderator. Why couldn't she ever challenge either candidate, specifically Palin, by saying, "Okay, but now answer my question this time...." Fuck, man). It was like she had a list of addressable topics and preferred talking points that she had to spit out, so she'd redirect whatever questions Ifil issued back to whatever prepared response she needed to deliver before it left her mind.
Chris Mathews, on MSNBC, said it best right after the debate, when he said that Palin reminded him of a kid in a grade school spelling bee, having crammed the answers in his/her head and spewing them out when asked, most likely forgetting them once the heat is gone.
I will say, though, that Palin didn't necessarily fail, miserably. She did just well enough to save some face, and to continue to assuage nervous American people, who are fucking stupid enough to value a candidate based off "gee, she seems swell and makes me feel cozy" rather than "is this person qualified, in every sense, to lead me." She most certainly is not, if you ask M.B.
Joe Biden, now, I think he played this rather wisely. Obama is ahead in the polls right now, so Biden bashing Palin in and going for her throat could've proven too risky for his ticket. It would've flirted with scaring and appaling indecisive voters, seeing him as a bully for poor ol' underqualified but charming and folksy Palin. So, he plays it cool and gentleman-ly, and focuses his gun's scope on McCain himself, continually bashing McCain and pointing out his fuck-ups and sore spots. And I think this was pretty smart.
You can't have left this debate disliking Biden, honestly. I mean, could you have, seriously? He did nothing to piss anybody off, or rub viewers the wrong way. Sure, he may not have blown everybody away and positioned himself as the Don Mega of politics, but he certainly didn't make any vehement enemies. And as long as McCain keeps reminding people of Bush, especially in this shitfest economy caused by Bush, I can't see how voters will go with McCain in early November.
And Biden surely knows his shit. He has the great deal of experience, he articulates his knowledge and POVs with strong acuteness. And at the end of the day, I'd much rather have him lead me, in the wake of a tragedy, than Sarah Palin. And no, it's not because she's a "she"; she just doesn't seem well-rounded enough, well-versed enough, and naturally able enough to do so. Sort of like George "Dubya" Bush, and he's a HE.
But God, this moderator was terrible. Maybe she took her title on surface value, and just "moderated." But, in my eyes, her job is to challenge the speakers, and make them go above and beyond the bare minimum, by putting them on the spot and not allowing them to simply regurgitate prepared rhetoric.
Palin, I'm sure, has re-injected some juice into Conservatives and the Republican party, which was definitely shitting bricks going into this debate. But, now most of them can sleep a bit more comfortably tonight. So, that have been said, I tip my hat, only slightly now, to Palin, for not blowing this one royally. She did what the McCain candidacy needed, and the ball is in her mate's corner now.
But really, the only person that Sarah Palin truly, undoubtedly, helped tonight was Sarah Palin herself. She made some people like her again,. She proved that she's not 100% inept at this stuff, at least from personality and poise standpoints. She somewhat exceeded what most expected of her, VP Debate-wise. But she did nothing to make John McCain look any better than he does now. It's fucking obvious that anybody voting for John McCain in November is voting for Sarah Palin, not McCain. He's basically her running mate now.
Can any Republican or right-winger honestly look me dead in my brown eyes and say: "I really like John McCain." Like, for real, for real? It's the Palin/McCain ticket now, my friends, and I really hope that people see and understand that. Barack Obama still looks strong as a result of his running mate's actions; McCain, on the other hand, is the exact polar Alaska-cold-like opposite. Word to Wasilla, son!
And honestly, I feel that McCain's true shit-brown-tinted colors will shine through in the coming weeks, hopefully in the upcoming two debates. I don't think Barack Obama is the perfect candidate, or our true saving grace, but I really do, passionately now, feel that he's the better of our only two choices. We need something new, fresh, and changing, and this doesn't mean a smiling, MILF-y, goofy, and likeable hockey mom.
***Wow, Matt Barone discussing politics with some real passion.....who would've ever thought, huh? Certainly not moi. I'm becoming bigger, faster, stronger, and now, smarter. Feels kinda nice.
This was all just immediate post-debate reacting, not a thought-out, in-depth analysis. I'll leave that to the dudes and dudettes who are paid to do so at CNN, MSNBC, The New York Times, Time, etc.
Oh, and by the way, did anybody else realize that Sarah Palin was the lead in a pretty exceptional movie at one point? From the Coen Brothers, at that? For whatever reason, though, she used a stage name of "Frances McDormand" here. Go figure. See for yourselves:
Trailer Parkin' -- Let The Right One In
Just 'cause I've been talking about it here so much lately....the official U.S. trailer for Let The Right One In:
The movie's pretty damn great....trust me.
The movie's pretty damn great....trust me.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Quarantine Watch -- Why Not?
For the fuck of it, to keep my personal-hype-train chugging along:
.....man, I really hope this doesn't end up being trash-doodoo.
8 days left, and counting....just don't go see City of Ember instead that weekend. I know Bill Murray is the man, but its frikkin' October, dammit. The month of all months to see some horror in a real cinema, not an imaginative kids flic. Though I hear City of Ember is pretty solid.
Okay, okay....see City of Ember, but only after you see Quarantine. And make sure to tell them that M.B. sent ya.
Brothers Dowdle, please don't let your boy down with this one.
.....man, I really hope this doesn't end up being trash-doodoo.
8 days left, and counting....just don't go see City of Ember instead that weekend. I know Bill Murray is the man, but its frikkin' October, dammit. The month of all months to see some horror in a real cinema, not an imaginative kids flic. Though I hear City of Ember is pretty solid.
Okay, okay....see City of Ember, but only after you see Quarantine. And make sure to tell them that M.B. sent ya.
Brothers Dowdle, please don't let your boy down with this one.
More "Palin isn't qualified, dumbass" Goodness....
No, I don't watch The View.....not that there's only wrong with that, though. Just never home to actually see it while on the tube. But if this is the kind of goodness that's the norm, I may have to put my DVR to work once the roommate and I join the new technology circuit and actually purchase DVR.
Elizabeth Hasselbeck, or --back, or whatever your last name is (too lazy to Google research it at the moment, sorry).....you're cute, sure, but I'm sorry---you're one huge maroon.
Watch this Palin-Obama-minded heatrock of a discussion that went down on The View....and tell me, doesn't Hasselbeck perfectly encapsulate the retarded, non-existent logic those who defend Palin and bash Obama spew out like vomit?
Obama Fan: "Tell us one thing that Palin has done that qualifies her to be VP, and possibly Pres?"
Palin Head: "Well.....there's.....uhh.....well, tell me one thing that Obama has done?"
No-answering bullshit....following up a question with a question is the biggest exhibition of "I don't know shit about this shit" ever. Don't do it.
Elizabeth Hasselbeck, or --back, or whatever your last name is (too lazy to Google research it at the moment, sorry).....you're cute, sure, but I'm sorry---you're one huge maroon.
Watch this Palin-Obama-minded heatrock of a discussion that went down on The View....and tell me, doesn't Hasselbeck perfectly encapsulate the retarded, non-existent logic those who defend Palin and bash Obama spew out like vomit?
Obama Fan: "Tell us one thing that Palin has done that qualifies her to be VP, and possibly Pres?"
Palin Head: "Well.....there's.....uhh.....well, tell me one thing that Obama has done?"
No-answering bullshit....following up a question with a question is the biggest exhibition of "I don't know shit about this shit" ever. Don't do it.
Instant Quotable
Preach on, my Swedish brother.....preach on.
Tomas Alfredson, director of Let The Right One In, the great vampire flick that's being remade by America against Alfredson's good will, a sad truth that I complained like a pissed-off bratty pre-teen girl about here not too long ago:
”Remakes should be made of movies that aren't very good, that gives you the chance to fix whatever has gone wrong," he correctly pointed out to the site, Moviezine. "I'm very proud of my movie and think it's great, but the Americans might be of an other opinion. The saddest thing for me would be to see that beautiful story made into something mainstream."
--news item found at Dread Central
Speaks for itself, that quote. Needless to say, I concur.
**Speaking of Let The Right One In, I scored seats for myself and one lucky guest to see it for free on Monday, October 13, at 9pm here in Manhattan.....any one out there want to join me?
Who's coming with me?
Don't all jump up at once, now.
Damn, are those crickets that I hear? What the fuck.....a tumbleweed just blew by me, in my office. Strange.
Tomas Alfredson, director of Let The Right One In, the great vampire flick that's being remade by America against Alfredson's good will, a sad truth that I complained like a pissed-off bratty pre-teen girl about here not too long ago:
”Remakes should be made of movies that aren't very good, that gives you the chance to fix whatever has gone wrong," he correctly pointed out to the site, Moviezine. "I'm very proud of my movie and think it's great, but the Americans might be of an other opinion. The saddest thing for me would be to see that beautiful story made into something mainstream."
--news item found at Dread Central
Speaks for itself, that quote. Needless to say, I concur.
**Speaking of Let The Right One In, I scored seats for myself and one lucky guest to see it for free on Monday, October 13, at 9pm here in Manhattan.....any one out there want to join me?
Who's coming with me?
Don't all jump up at once, now.
Damn, are those crickets that I hear? What the fuck.....a tumbleweed just blew by me, in my office. Strange.
Chihuahua!!
Can somebody please explain to me why I'm actually pretty excited to see this shit???
And no, I'm not kidding. Something tells me that it'll be great mindless fun. Granted, I'm the same guy who in his younger days actually had a stuffed animal of that annoying Taco Bell dog.....perhaps that's the explanation? Some sort of long-lost reunited thing?
Admit it, though--this would be a perfect flick to smoke up to and watch. A true "stoner comedy," as New York magazine pointed out a few issues back.
And no, I'm not kidding. Something tells me that it'll be great mindless fun. Granted, I'm the same guy who in his younger days actually had a stuffed animal of that annoying Taco Bell dog.....perhaps that's the explanation? Some sort of long-lost reunited thing?
Admit it, though--this would be a perfect flick to smoke up to and watch. A true "stoner comedy," as New York magazine pointed out a few issues back.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Wolfman's Got Nards!!!
Having mentioned this in my last post, I felt compelled to share this wonder with those who visit this here site.
The Monster Squad = a chapter all its own within the story of my life.
If you've never seen it, The Monster Squad was actually finally released on DVD earlier this year, in a special 2-disc edition. Not saying you should just buy it off GP, but its a worthy rental, for sure. Takes its scares and monsters seriously, while mixing in slick teen-based humor when necessary. Just buckets of fun, and surprisingly has held up over the years. I re-watched it a year or so ago, in trepidation, fearing that it'd suck now and thus would decapitate my headful of nostalgia.
Not the case, thankfully. Love(d) it still.
Now, without further blabber.....
And surprise, surprise....a remake is in the works for this one, too, I believe. Though I do feel a remake of The Monster Squad could ideally be decent, my heart-of-hearts can't shake the "it'll blow chunks" feeling.
The Monster Squad = a chapter all its own within the story of my life.
If you've never seen it, The Monster Squad was actually finally released on DVD earlier this year, in a special 2-disc edition. Not saying you should just buy it off GP, but its a worthy rental, for sure. Takes its scares and monsters seriously, while mixing in slick teen-based humor when necessary. Just buckets of fun, and surprisingly has held up over the years. I re-watched it a year or so ago, in trepidation, fearing that it'd suck now and thus would decapitate my headful of nostalgia.
Not the case, thankfully. Love(d) it still.
Now, without further blabber.....
And surprise, surprise....a remake is in the works for this one, too, I believe. Though I do feel a remake of The Monster Squad could ideally be decent, my heart-of-hearts can't shake the "it'll blow chunks" feeling.
All Hallow's F'n Weak
Around the corner from where I work, a new Halloween-pegged costume store swung open its front doors a couple weeks ago. You know, the kind of business that stays open throughout October and then fizzles into oblivion around the second or so week of November. Sort of like a makeshift Party City, if you will. But month-long or not, I've always loved these places. Where else can you walk in from a routine city setting and be greeted by gents such as Leatherface, Ronald Reagan, and Dracula, or catch flirtatious glances from sirens the likes of Female Ghostbuster, French Maid, or Zombie Girl?
[if only these chicks actually did greet me, and not just their likenesses on packaging....oh, to dream a little dream]
I took a quick walk-through in this particular costume nook the other day, on my lunch break. Not to purchase a get-up or anything, though. Just to bask in the fun that is, or at least I'm starting to feel like was, Halloween, my all-time favorite holiday.
Growing up, most kids prefer Christmas, for the obvious toy-stocking-tree menage a trois of adolescent euphoria. And I sure did love Santa's busiest day of the year, too, don't get me wrong. But Halloween always appealed more to me, simply due to the imagination that oozes out of All Hallow's Eve. Think about it....I get to dress up as some sort of sick-looking creature, no questions asked, and then also get free candy for doing so?! Strangely, such a prospect possessed such a gleeful power in my mind, that mightily outweighed the toy-stocking-tree triple threat.
There I was, a pre-teen-age dude who'd rush home from school just so I could fast-forward directly to the third act of Dawn of the Dead, when the zombies finally overtake the Monroeville Mall and feast on those sleazy bikers. Or, I'd opt to re-watch The Monster Squad instead, cherishing such profound dialogue bits as "See ya later, bandie-breath!" or "Wolfman's got nards!" And if I wasn't watching one of my prized films on illegally-copied-VHS, I was toting around my toy rifle, acting out classic horror movie moments in my bedroom. Only, my bedroom would become something else entirely more-fantastical---sometimes a boarded-up farmhouse, other times an easily-penetrable cabin overlooking Camp Crystal Lake. The monsters would try breaking in, but I'd always buck 'em down with my Toys-R-Us-issued shooter, reloading at will as brains and limbs sprayed across my walls. In the best possible way, even, since no clean-up was required in a slaughter's wake. 'Twas only mind-spray, not actual organ-spray.
And Swiffers hadn't been introduced at the time, so that was for the better, anyway.
But, as I hovered around the costume store the other afternoon, I started realizing just how inconsequential Halloween has become in my life. Sure, some friends and I still dress up for the occasion, but its only to get free drinks at a holiday-minded bar the preceeding weekend. Trick-or-treating is no more, which certainly reaks. And my family stopped decorating somewhere around nine, ten years ago. And we used to get it in, decoration-wise. The front porch was guarded by foot-and-a-half moving statues of Frankenstein, Wolfman, Dracula, and the Phantom of the Opera, all moaning and groaning in hopes of scaring burglars away. Effectively so. And then there was the scarecrow-ish dummy we had sitting on the outer porch, stuffed with newspaper and made to look like a creepy hobo.
But those fun times are nil, now. I can't help but wish I was a kid again, just for one Halloween week, so I could put in heavy work on a kick-ass costume, trick or treat around my cousin's hilly-neighborhood. I was such a dumbass, I'd always fall for my one cousin's grimy trick....he'd notice that a house had left a basket on their porch of full-sized candy bars, with a note reading "Please only take one," and he'd be like, "Okay, you hit that house, I'll hit this house," and I'll fall into the trap, only to see his pillowcase overflowing with giant bars, with an empty basket left behind. Scoundrel. But that shame was endearing, in hindsight.
Pee-Wee Herman....Mr. Hyde....Jason Voorhees....The Mummy....The Three-Headed Werewolf....those were just some of the costumes I chose as Young Meezy. And even though Jason Voorhees seems a bit unoriginal, please believe, I made it my own, for real. Blood smears all over the hockey mask. Crimson-dyed plastic machete. The works......these days, I dress as either Napoleon Dynamite for two years in a row, or as a Ghostbuster. That's it. Fucking lame, right? Where's the fun in that?
[this is what I looked like for Halloweens 2005 and 2006....yes, it is]
In my newly-invigorated spirit of things, I'm now vowing to wow-and-whoa the celebratory denizens of Hoboken this year's H-ween weekend with a truly standout-ish costume. No clue what it'll be yet, but as Rod Serling as my witness, I'm digging deep into my imaginative melon to scoop up something show-stopping.
If the holiday itself is going to suck for me, I might as well give it my best shot of being good times, right? Granted, I'll get to see Gianna and Nick dress up, and smile and enjoy the wonders of youth. But as far as my holiday will be concerned, what's to get excited about? I drink every weekend as is, costume or not.
And there's hardly any good new horror movies hitting theaters, in what seems like the worst October in Hollywood memory....forget those fucking Saw movies, they're tired and should've stopped at the better-than-it-had-any-right-to-be Saw 2. The only other one worth seeing will be Quarantine, and the limited releases of Fear(s) Of The Dark and Let The Right One In. Last year wasn't much better, with the only genre flick I remember actually seeing and liking in a cinema was 30 Days of Night. Come on, Hollywood.....try harder, for fuck's sake!
Television better step up its G. There was a time when Channel 11 (way before its teenybopper-serving CW daze) held its yearly 'Shocktober' scheduling, where every weeknight at 8pm the network would air some older, infintely-entertaining horror joint, most likely made in the wonderous '80s....The Wraith...Return of the Living Dead 2....The Gate....Nightmare on Elm Street....Night of the Creeps...Creepshow 2.....Christine....Deadly Friend (starring Kristy Swanson, one of my original celeb crushes)....just to name a few.
Now, we get shitty H-ween-themed episodes of How I Met Your Mother and Gossip Girl. Scary, sure, but for all the wrong reasons. Thank the heavens for the Monsters HD channel, though. I'm sure the October programming on Ch. 777 will be a 666-injected dose of viewing goodness.
So, here, I say, definitively.....forget about all that "bring hip-hop back" mumbo jumbo, which seems to be working as well as a smashed cell phone these days anyway....let's all rally together and shout at the tippies of our lungs: "Bring Halloween back, for all ages!!!"
No? Okay, well, I'll just do it myself, then. Keep an eye out for me on the local news.
[And, just for good measure, why not one more "sexy costume," this time the girl from Harry Potter? Yay, I say. If Hermiona, or whatever her fucking name is, looked like this, I'd actually give a shit about the Potter movies]
Cast a spell on me, baby!
[if only these chicks actually did greet me, and not just their likenesses on packaging....oh, to dream a little dream]
I took a quick walk-through in this particular costume nook the other day, on my lunch break. Not to purchase a get-up or anything, though. Just to bask in the fun that is, or at least I'm starting to feel like was, Halloween, my all-time favorite holiday.
Growing up, most kids prefer Christmas, for the obvious toy-stocking-tree menage a trois of adolescent euphoria. And I sure did love Santa's busiest day of the year, too, don't get me wrong. But Halloween always appealed more to me, simply due to the imagination that oozes out of All Hallow's Eve. Think about it....I get to dress up as some sort of sick-looking creature, no questions asked, and then also get free candy for doing so?! Strangely, such a prospect possessed such a gleeful power in my mind, that mightily outweighed the toy-stocking-tree triple threat.
There I was, a pre-teen-age dude who'd rush home from school just so I could fast-forward directly to the third act of Dawn of the Dead, when the zombies finally overtake the Monroeville Mall and feast on those sleazy bikers. Or, I'd opt to re-watch The Monster Squad instead, cherishing such profound dialogue bits as "See ya later, bandie-breath!" or "Wolfman's got nards!" And if I wasn't watching one of my prized films on illegally-copied-VHS, I was toting around my toy rifle, acting out classic horror movie moments in my bedroom. Only, my bedroom would become something else entirely more-fantastical---sometimes a boarded-up farmhouse, other times an easily-penetrable cabin overlooking Camp Crystal Lake. The monsters would try breaking in, but I'd always buck 'em down with my Toys-R-Us-issued shooter, reloading at will as brains and limbs sprayed across my walls. In the best possible way, even, since no clean-up was required in a slaughter's wake. 'Twas only mind-spray, not actual organ-spray.
And Swiffers hadn't been introduced at the time, so that was for the better, anyway.
But, as I hovered around the costume store the other afternoon, I started realizing just how inconsequential Halloween has become in my life. Sure, some friends and I still dress up for the occasion, but its only to get free drinks at a holiday-minded bar the preceeding weekend. Trick-or-treating is no more, which certainly reaks. And my family stopped decorating somewhere around nine, ten years ago. And we used to get it in, decoration-wise. The front porch was guarded by foot-and-a-half moving statues of Frankenstein, Wolfman, Dracula, and the Phantom of the Opera, all moaning and groaning in hopes of scaring burglars away. Effectively so. And then there was the scarecrow-ish dummy we had sitting on the outer porch, stuffed with newspaper and made to look like a creepy hobo.
But those fun times are nil, now. I can't help but wish I was a kid again, just for one Halloween week, so I could put in heavy work on a kick-ass costume, trick or treat around my cousin's hilly-neighborhood. I was such a dumbass, I'd always fall for my one cousin's grimy trick....he'd notice that a house had left a basket on their porch of full-sized candy bars, with a note reading "Please only take one," and he'd be like, "Okay, you hit that house, I'll hit this house," and I'll fall into the trap, only to see his pillowcase overflowing with giant bars, with an empty basket left behind. Scoundrel. But that shame was endearing, in hindsight.
Pee-Wee Herman....Mr. Hyde....Jason Voorhees....The Mummy....The Three-Headed Werewolf....those were just some of the costumes I chose as Young Meezy. And even though Jason Voorhees seems a bit unoriginal, please believe, I made it my own, for real. Blood smears all over the hockey mask. Crimson-dyed plastic machete. The works......these days, I dress as either Napoleon Dynamite for two years in a row, or as a Ghostbuster. That's it. Fucking lame, right? Where's the fun in that?
[this is what I looked like for Halloweens 2005 and 2006....yes, it is]
In my newly-invigorated spirit of things, I'm now vowing to wow-and-whoa the celebratory denizens of Hoboken this year's H-ween weekend with a truly standout-ish costume. No clue what it'll be yet, but as Rod Serling as my witness, I'm digging deep into my imaginative melon to scoop up something show-stopping.
If the holiday itself is going to suck for me, I might as well give it my best shot of being good times, right? Granted, I'll get to see Gianna and Nick dress up, and smile and enjoy the wonders of youth. But as far as my holiday will be concerned, what's to get excited about? I drink every weekend as is, costume or not.
And there's hardly any good new horror movies hitting theaters, in what seems like the worst October in Hollywood memory....forget those fucking Saw movies, they're tired and should've stopped at the better-than-it-had-any-right-to-be Saw 2. The only other one worth seeing will be Quarantine, and the limited releases of Fear(s) Of The Dark and Let The Right One In. Last year wasn't much better, with the only genre flick I remember actually seeing and liking in a cinema was 30 Days of Night. Come on, Hollywood.....try harder, for fuck's sake!
Television better step up its G. There was a time when Channel 11 (way before its teenybopper-serving CW daze) held its yearly 'Shocktober' scheduling, where every weeknight at 8pm the network would air some older, infintely-entertaining horror joint, most likely made in the wonderous '80s....The Wraith...Return of the Living Dead 2....The Gate....Nightmare on Elm Street....Night of the Creeps...Creepshow 2.....Christine....Deadly Friend (starring Kristy Swanson, one of my original celeb crushes)....just to name a few.
Now, we get shitty H-ween-themed episodes of How I Met Your Mother and Gossip Girl. Scary, sure, but for all the wrong reasons. Thank the heavens for the Monsters HD channel, though. I'm sure the October programming on Ch. 777 will be a 666-injected dose of viewing goodness.
So, here, I say, definitively.....forget about all that "bring hip-hop back" mumbo jumbo, which seems to be working as well as a smashed cell phone these days anyway....let's all rally together and shout at the tippies of our lungs: "Bring Halloween back, for all ages!!!"
No? Okay, well, I'll just do it myself, then. Keep an eye out for me on the local news.
[And, just for good measure, why not one more "sexy costume," this time the girl from Harry Potter? Yay, I say. If Hermiona, or whatever her fucking name is, looked like this, I'd actually give a shit about the Potter movies]
Cast a spell on me, baby!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Memory Lane....Happier Times
I'm starting to feel like this blog has veered off into a dimension of negativity, where I come to as a space to vent in, or air people out indirectly, or bitch and moan about how tired I am of "the scene." And all of that remains true, whatever bitching and moaning I've typed into this here site. But really, I just hope whoever actually reads this thing consistently doesn't think that I've been a true sourpuss lately, dragging my Timbalands around the streets of the Flatiron District and Hoboken like some lost soul looking for a way out of his existence.
Couldn't be further from the case. In fact, I've been pretty content lately. Keeping a low profile, doing things that make me happy rather than just following the pack through a sense of "if I don't go with them, I'll be lonely." Pish tosh. I'm starting to become much more comfortable in my own skin, and "me time" has upgraded from umm, yeah, this could get depressing really fast to I haven't felt this natural and free in ages. It's a good headspace to be in.
And earlier today, something happens that triggered such a warm, amazing memory within my cone (sorry, roommate is currently watching the Coneheads movie....why, I could not tell you). I was walking back from the gym, carrying two heavier-than-they-first-seemed grocery bags back to the humble abode, when a kid, probably 12 or 13 years old, strolled by with his dog, a rather small German Shepherd, on a leash. And this brought me back to when Zoey was a younger pooch, in her crazier and Ritalin-ready days. The good old days, I like to label them.
This had me thinking.....man, there's been an endless amount of great moments in my nearly-27-years of lifespan. But some have truly broken away from the pleasant-pack. In leaps and strides.
I figure, writing them down here could do nothing but great for me. Giving me a place to come back whenever my urges compel me to do so, to hop into my mental-Delorean and re-enact those times when things felt like they'd never possibly improve. The perfect, wonderful times. The shit that folk singers write about, and coming-of-age narratives are centered upon. Let's revist two here, for now.
The Day That The Zoey-Matt Connection Officially Formed.....
.....the second day of high school, Freshman year. By day two, I really suspected that I'd have to become a teenage dropout, because the thought of returning that insitution of fear and insecurity was too much for my 14-year-old self to fathom. I was extremely quiet, nervous, soft-spoken, opposite-of-confident. All the other kids appeared to be so much cooler than me, and none of the cute girls even as much as glanced in my direction....This was how it all played in my head, at least.
But the night after my first day, my family and I went to the kennel (all four of us together, in a full-family event so rare I can't even recall another one happening during those years) and fell in love with, then subsequently bringing home, a three-month-old German Shepherd puppy, which we named Zoey, being that "Zoey" was the last name in the baby-name-book my mother had purchased to help our struggling naming process speed along.
That first night, Zoey was scared shitless, and rightfully so. Well, not exactly shitless, since she couldn't stop urinating and defecating all over our house. But she was a pup, and was in a new, big, scary place. But alas, that first night featured little kid-and-new-dog bonding. But the second day was a whole other happy story. I walked into our house, having stepped off a bus full of kids who scared the shit out of me, and let Zoey out of her cage. I'd expected her to run into another room, in fear of me. But she didn't. What she did was, she jumped square into my arms, licking my face and cuddling up, as if she'd missed me all day. As if we'd been best friends for years already.
The feeling that went through my heart and veins at that moment....I can't even explain. I'd spent two full days of awkwardness and seclusion, connecting with none of my peers and trembling at the notion of speaking to kids I felt were so superior to me in every way. But Zoey didn't care. To her, I was a new friend, a new caretaker. And she loved me, having only known me for less than 70 hours. You know how people ponder the reality of "love at first sight"? Who gives a shit that it was a dog....I felt that with Zoey the night we bought her, and this moment of her leaping to my arms sealed the deal.
And this is the memory that sonny-boy and his pet earlier today joggled in my cabeza.
The Moment I Realized That My Older Bro Actually Thought I Was "Cool"....
.....I spent the entirety of my adolescence thinking that my older brother saw me through "what a loser" glasses. Like beer goggles, except his were sober and cast me in a lame-light. He's six years older than I, so up until I entered the 3rd grade, he was in the same grade school as I, which meant that he'd have ample opportunities to heckle and tease me in public whenever our paths would cross. Spitting insults in the hallway as our respective classes walked in line-formation down the same hallway, especially. Did little for my already-fragile psyche. I
See, I was a big-bit heavier as a young bwoy. Not fat, just not toned at all and teetering toward the chubby side. And this was a characteristic that my brother loved to exploit, and remind spectators of. There's even more specific shit that existed within our "confident and popular older brother picks on shy and timid younger brother" dynamic. But that's not the point here, ultimately.
Needless to say, we weren't that close. The love was there, of course, but he was too "cool" to show it, I feel. Which is understandable. He was the big cheese, and a straight-A-student, goody goody little sibling didn't do much for his rep.
As my high school duration progressed, I did feel like he was slowly but surely seeing me in a much-more impressed light. Saw the successes I was having in sports. Noticed that I had plenty of friends hanging out at the house, even the occasional female friend or three(thought every single one of my lady pals had a crush on him, which only inflated his ego even more, of course. That shit always escalated my inner temperature varily). But still, that full-blown sense of "my brother really thinks I'm that dude" never materialized.
Until my first time home from college. Maybe once a month or so, I'd return home to hang with my family friends, leaving the St. John's campus in Queens for suburban Fair Lawn, Jerz. Always a nice way to recharge my batteries, rest my stresses.
That first Friday night, my brother had already been living on his own, so he wasn't around. But that Saturday, he stopped by to say "What up," and his one particular attire-choice of his struck a loud chord with yours truly. He'd been wearing a St. John's hat.....thing is, I never bought one for him. Or even heard him speak anything along the lines of, "Yo bro, can you grab me one of those Red Storm hats?"
He'd copped a cap all on his own. Maybe I was reading too much into things, but to me, that showed me how proud of his little bro he was, and what a tremendous feeling. Even though he'd picked on me tons, I always looked up to him. He got all the girls, and had all the friends, and lived the fast life I always wished I could, honestly, rather than focusing on my studies and actively-walking along the straight edge. But in this moment, the tables had turned. My brother admired me. Little old me. The one who took the leap and earned a college scholarship, and went to a major university, something nobody in my family ever did, or ever has since.
The one he was proud of. The one who hadn't felt so "cool" in a long ass time. A long ass time.
***More great memories to come in the future.....stay tuned. [if there are any typos in this post, please excuse them. I wrote it as it came to heart, and I'm a bit spent. Not in the mood to proofread right now. Maybe I will in the morning. I do have off of work tomorrow, courtesy of a Jewish holiday of which's name has escaped my mind.]
Couldn't be further from the case. In fact, I've been pretty content lately. Keeping a low profile, doing things that make me happy rather than just following the pack through a sense of "if I don't go with them, I'll be lonely." Pish tosh. I'm starting to become much more comfortable in my own skin, and "me time" has upgraded from umm, yeah, this could get depressing really fast to I haven't felt this natural and free in ages. It's a good headspace to be in.
And earlier today, something happens that triggered such a warm, amazing memory within my cone (sorry, roommate is currently watching the Coneheads movie....why, I could not tell you). I was walking back from the gym, carrying two heavier-than-they-first-seemed grocery bags back to the humble abode, when a kid, probably 12 or 13 years old, strolled by with his dog, a rather small German Shepherd, on a leash. And this brought me back to when Zoey was a younger pooch, in her crazier and Ritalin-ready days. The good old days, I like to label them.
This had me thinking.....man, there's been an endless amount of great moments in my nearly-27-years of lifespan. But some have truly broken away from the pleasant-pack. In leaps and strides.
I figure, writing them down here could do nothing but great for me. Giving me a place to come back whenever my urges compel me to do so, to hop into my mental-Delorean and re-enact those times when things felt like they'd never possibly improve. The perfect, wonderful times. The shit that folk singers write about, and coming-of-age narratives are centered upon. Let's revist two here, for now.
The Day That The Zoey-Matt Connection Officially Formed.....
.....the second day of high school, Freshman year. By day two, I really suspected that I'd have to become a teenage dropout, because the thought of returning that insitution of fear and insecurity was too much for my 14-year-old self to fathom. I was extremely quiet, nervous, soft-spoken, opposite-of-confident. All the other kids appeared to be so much cooler than me, and none of the cute girls even as much as glanced in my direction....This was how it all played in my head, at least.
But the night after my first day, my family and I went to the kennel (all four of us together, in a full-family event so rare I can't even recall another one happening during those years) and fell in love with, then subsequently bringing home, a three-month-old German Shepherd puppy, which we named Zoey, being that "Zoey" was the last name in the baby-name-book my mother had purchased to help our struggling naming process speed along.
That first night, Zoey was scared shitless, and rightfully so. Well, not exactly shitless, since she couldn't stop urinating and defecating all over our house. But she was a pup, and was in a new, big, scary place. But alas, that first night featured little kid-and-new-dog bonding. But the second day was a whole other happy story. I walked into our house, having stepped off a bus full of kids who scared the shit out of me, and let Zoey out of her cage. I'd expected her to run into another room, in fear of me. But she didn't. What she did was, she jumped square into my arms, licking my face and cuddling up, as if she'd missed me all day. As if we'd been best friends for years already.
The feeling that went through my heart and veins at that moment....I can't even explain. I'd spent two full days of awkwardness and seclusion, connecting with none of my peers and trembling at the notion of speaking to kids I felt were so superior to me in every way. But Zoey didn't care. To her, I was a new friend, a new caretaker. And she loved me, having only known me for less than 70 hours. You know how people ponder the reality of "love at first sight"? Who gives a shit that it was a dog....I felt that with Zoey the night we bought her, and this moment of her leaping to my arms sealed the deal.
And this is the memory that sonny-boy and his pet earlier today joggled in my cabeza.
The Moment I Realized That My Older Bro Actually Thought I Was "Cool"....
.....I spent the entirety of my adolescence thinking that my older brother saw me through "what a loser" glasses. Like beer goggles, except his were sober and cast me in a lame-light. He's six years older than I, so up until I entered the 3rd grade, he was in the same grade school as I, which meant that he'd have ample opportunities to heckle and tease me in public whenever our paths would cross. Spitting insults in the hallway as our respective classes walked in line-formation down the same hallway, especially. Did little for my already-fragile psyche. I
See, I was a big-bit heavier as a young bwoy. Not fat, just not toned at all and teetering toward the chubby side. And this was a characteristic that my brother loved to exploit, and remind spectators of. There's even more specific shit that existed within our "confident and popular older brother picks on shy and timid younger brother" dynamic. But that's not the point here, ultimately.
Needless to say, we weren't that close. The love was there, of course, but he was too "cool" to show it, I feel. Which is understandable. He was the big cheese, and a straight-A-student, goody goody little sibling didn't do much for his rep.
As my high school duration progressed, I did feel like he was slowly but surely seeing me in a much-more impressed light. Saw the successes I was having in sports. Noticed that I had plenty of friends hanging out at the house, even the occasional female friend or three(thought every single one of my lady pals had a crush on him, which only inflated his ego even more, of course. That shit always escalated my inner temperature varily). But still, that full-blown sense of "my brother really thinks I'm that dude" never materialized.
Until my first time home from college. Maybe once a month or so, I'd return home to hang with my family friends, leaving the St. John's campus in Queens for suburban Fair Lawn, Jerz. Always a nice way to recharge my batteries, rest my stresses.
That first Friday night, my brother had already been living on his own, so he wasn't around. But that Saturday, he stopped by to say "What up," and his one particular attire-choice of his struck a loud chord with yours truly. He'd been wearing a St. John's hat.....thing is, I never bought one for him. Or even heard him speak anything along the lines of, "Yo bro, can you grab me one of those Red Storm hats?"
He'd copped a cap all on his own. Maybe I was reading too much into things, but to me, that showed me how proud of his little bro he was, and what a tremendous feeling. Even though he'd picked on me tons, I always looked up to him. He got all the girls, and had all the friends, and lived the fast life I always wished I could, honestly, rather than focusing on my studies and actively-walking along the straight edge. But in this moment, the tables had turned. My brother admired me. Little old me. The one who took the leap and earned a college scholarship, and went to a major university, something nobody in my family ever did, or ever has since.
The one he was proud of. The one who hadn't felt so "cool" in a long ass time. A long ass time.
***More great memories to come in the future.....stay tuned. [if there are any typos in this post, please excuse them. I wrote it as it came to heart, and I'm a bit spent. Not in the mood to proofread right now. Maybe I will in the morning. I do have off of work tomorrow, courtesy of a Jewish holiday of which's name has escaped my mind.]
Bleeding Love
The rampant onslaught of horror remakes sucks. Balls. I've made no qualms about this feeling.
Doesn't mean that I'll ever stop shitting out hard-earned money to be anally-raped by the Hollywood studios responsible for churning out these imagination-free cash cows. Does that make me a submissive? No apple-in-the-mouth-latched-on-to-a-leather-strap, of course.
My Bloody Valentine wasn't a particularly good film. In fact, it was pretty much shit. But entertaining, cold-hearted, only-a-gorehound-could-love-this caca. Which means, I enjoy it, and have it tucked in snuggly within my DVD collection. What can I say? I got it for like $5 on half.com, and that's cyber-highway robbery, gladly perpretrated by yours truly's wallet.
The film is basically about some dude who dies in a mining accident, on Valentine's Day, and years later returns to the town (is it his ghost? or some sicko posing as the undearly departed? does it really make any difference anyway? no.) to pick off teen after teen after annoying, poorly-written adult character. Red stuff and horrible dailogue ensues. My smile stays firmly fastened on face in the process. The end.
And yes, as you've most likely figured out by now, the flick has been remade, in 3-D!!! That's right, the filmmakers have followed in the immaculate footsteps of such gems as Friday the 13th Part III and Jaws-3D. Boy, oh boy, I hope they give out those nifty glasses when I see My Bloody Valentine 3D!!! Kinda like the ones I was duped into using when watching that Nas video for "Nastradamus." Haha, Nas made a 3D video. Lame ass.
Any hoot, here's the actual point of this post....the newly-released poster for My Bloody Valentine 3D, which comes out this January (why not release it on Friday the 13th, you may ask? Simple---the Friday the 13th remake comes out on the candy-and-flower Hallmark holiday, and it seems the Bloody Valentine team tucked their peens between their legs and retreated to the cinematic wasteland that is the January schedule. Chumps). But at least the Bloody Valentine poster kicks some ass, in my pupils, at least. I think its surprisingly badass. Will its accompanying movie be the same? Not holding my breath.......
[worth mentioning, just to show lame the MPAA ratings and yay/nay board is: this poster was first shown online months back, only difference between that one and this was that the heart-shaped blood smear was bright glowing red, not the darkened black it is here.....how pussyfooted is that of the MPAA? I mean, seriously]
I do hate Valentine's Day with a fiery passion.....perhaps that's why the original film has always held a special place in my "heart."
Doesn't mean that I'll ever stop shitting out hard-earned money to be anally-raped by the Hollywood studios responsible for churning out these imagination-free cash cows. Does that make me a submissive? No apple-in-the-mouth-latched-on-to-a-leather-strap, of course.
My Bloody Valentine wasn't a particularly good film. In fact, it was pretty much shit. But entertaining, cold-hearted, only-a-gorehound-could-love-this caca. Which means, I enjoy it, and have it tucked in snuggly within my DVD collection. What can I say? I got it for like $5 on half.com, and that's cyber-highway robbery, gladly perpretrated by yours truly's wallet.
The film is basically about some dude who dies in a mining accident, on Valentine's Day, and years later returns to the town (is it his ghost? or some sicko posing as the undearly departed? does it really make any difference anyway? no.) to pick off teen after teen after annoying, poorly-written adult character. Red stuff and horrible dailogue ensues. My smile stays firmly fastened on face in the process. The end.
And yes, as you've most likely figured out by now, the flick has been remade, in 3-D!!! That's right, the filmmakers have followed in the immaculate footsteps of such gems as Friday the 13th Part III and Jaws-3D. Boy, oh boy, I hope they give out those nifty glasses when I see My Bloody Valentine 3D!!! Kinda like the ones I was duped into using when watching that Nas video for "Nastradamus." Haha, Nas made a 3D video. Lame ass.
Any hoot, here's the actual point of this post....the newly-released poster for My Bloody Valentine 3D, which comes out this January (why not release it on Friday the 13th, you may ask? Simple---the Friday the 13th remake comes out on the candy-and-flower Hallmark holiday, and it seems the Bloody Valentine team tucked their peens between their legs and retreated to the cinematic wasteland that is the January schedule. Chumps). But at least the Bloody Valentine poster kicks some ass, in my pupils, at least. I think its surprisingly badass. Will its accompanying movie be the same? Not holding my breath.......
[worth mentioning, just to show lame the MPAA ratings and yay/nay board is: this poster was first shown online months back, only difference between that one and this was that the heart-shaped blood smear was bright glowing red, not the darkened black it is here.....how pussyfooted is that of the MPAA? I mean, seriously]
I do hate Valentine's Day with a fiery passion.....perhaps that's why the original film has always held a special place in my "heart."
Shorter. Leaner. Just As Shitty.
This is pretty fucking amazing.....I don't know how these nerdy guys (or gals) do it, but some genius person with tons of useless time extracted all of the semi-shitty scenes from the abomination known as Batman & Robin and condensed the entire flick down to 9 minutes and 51 seconds of pure excrement.
I knew the movie sucked, but after watching this, I can finally comprehend just how truly terrible it was. And still is. I mean, George Clooney has even dissed it publicly to the press, though he seems like a pretty funny, or at least snarky, dude, so that may not be saying much. I wonder how the Governator feels about it nowadays, he must realize that he'll go down in history as having been responsible for one of the, if not THE, worst superhero film performances ever.
You'd think watching a clip of end-to-end cinematic puke would be painful, but on the contrary. It's quite a hoot:
I knew the movie sucked, but after watching this, I can finally comprehend just how truly terrible it was. And still is. I mean, George Clooney has even dissed it publicly to the press, though he seems like a pretty funny, or at least snarky, dude, so that may not be saying much. I wonder how the Governator feels about it nowadays, he must realize that he'll go down in history as having been responsible for one of the, if not THE, worst superhero film performances ever.
You'd think watching a clip of end-to-end cinematic puke would be painful, but on the contrary. It's quite a hoot:
Death to those The Hills chicks....or chick
Courtesy of the badass horror website Bloody-Disgusting.com, comes these promising pics from a preliminary mockup prosthetics test for 2009's in-production horror remake, Sorority Row, which is a pointless rehashing of 1983's The House on Sorority Row, a standard "hot chicks staled and stabbed" slasher that I can't say I've ever seen. Maybe I'll toss it into the 'Flix queue. Or maybe not. We shall see.
But, my reason posting these rather-morbid pics is actually a celebratory one....these are [SPOILER ALERT, FOR ANYBODY WHO ACTUALLY CARES ABOUT WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN SORORITY ROW] mockups for a doomed character played by "actress" Audrina Patridge, best known as one of the vapid chicks from MTV's The Hills. Now, if you've ever had an entertainment-based chat with me that's last more than 10 or so minutes, odds are that you know how passionately I hate The Hills and all it stands for. So naturally, anything related to the demise of those involved is welcome here. Such as, what Audrina Patridge would look like half her pretty face went the way of skeleton, as a result (I'm sure) of a particularly gruesome chain of events.
Hey, it's a bit twisted, I know. But when you hate something as much as I hate The Hills, your mind can go off the deep end at times. This is all fantasy, though, of course. I'm not saying I actually want Ms. Patridge to die or anything. Just that, cinema allows for celebs you despise to be offed from time to time, and that's pretty therapeutic, I'd say.
We all go a little made sometimes.....right, Norman??
Check out Audrina's worst day ever, in foreshadowing form, here (again, courtesy of Bloody-Disgusting):
Now that's a side-eye if I've ever seen one.
But, my reason posting these rather-morbid pics is actually a celebratory one....these are [SPOILER ALERT, FOR ANYBODY WHO ACTUALLY CARES ABOUT WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN SORORITY ROW] mockups for a doomed character played by "actress" Audrina Patridge, best known as one of the vapid chicks from MTV's The Hills. Now, if you've ever had an entertainment-based chat with me that's last more than 10 or so minutes, odds are that you know how passionately I hate The Hills and all it stands for. So naturally, anything related to the demise of those involved is welcome here. Such as, what Audrina Patridge would look like half her pretty face went the way of skeleton, as a result (I'm sure) of a particularly gruesome chain of events.
Hey, it's a bit twisted, I know. But when you hate something as much as I hate The Hills, your mind can go off the deep end at times. This is all fantasy, though, of course. I'm not saying I actually want Ms. Patridge to die or anything. Just that, cinema allows for celebs you despise to be offed from time to time, and that's pretty therapeutic, I'd say.
We all go a little made sometimes.....right, Norman??
Check out Audrina's worst day ever, in foreshadowing form, here (again, courtesy of Bloody-Disgusting):
Now that's a side-eye if I've ever seen one.
Trailer Parkin' -- Seven Pounds
Not much needed to be said here.....
Will Smith, one of my favorite actors, back in his dramatic zone, which always equals superb thesp-work.
Rosario Dawson, the self-admitted-nerd, comic book and horror-loving, dimepiece of an actress who rests comfortably in the top three of my "actresses I'd love to not only get down with, but also wife up" list.
Directed by the same dude with whom the Fresh Prince made the great The Pursuit of Happyness with....
Can't say that this trailer gives me any real clue what this flick is about exactly, but honestly, that's my kinda trailer. I'd much rather finish a preview intrigued and confused than having felt like I've seen the entire movie, condensed, which too many trailers do these days.
Here's the trailer for their latest, Seven Pounds, out in December.
Trailer, speak for yourself:
Will Smith, one of my favorite actors, back in his dramatic zone, which always equals superb thesp-work.
Rosario Dawson, the self-admitted-nerd, comic book and horror-loving, dimepiece of an actress who rests comfortably in the top three of my "actresses I'd love to not only get down with, but also wife up" list.
Directed by the same dude with whom the Fresh Prince made the great The Pursuit of Happyness with....
Can't say that this trailer gives me any real clue what this flick is about exactly, but honestly, that's my kinda trailer. I'd much rather finish a preview intrigued and confused than having felt like I've seen the entire movie, condensed, which too many trailers do these days.
Here's the trailer for their latest, Seven Pounds, out in December.
Trailer, speak for yourself:
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Meet my new friend Tim
Just finished watching this new show on HBO, The Life and Times of Tim. When was this show even announced? Seriously, I'd never heard of it until about 10:45pm tonight, and it premiered at 11pm, and I pride myself on being pretty on-point in terms of new entertainment.
But whatever. Glad I did catch it, because it's funny as shit. Sort of like an edgier animated Seinfeld, where nothing much happens, just everyday routine events given a droll and clever injection of funny.
I'm not in the mood to write about why exactly I'm loving this shit, so just watch a few examples. If you don't laugh, then you're clearly in a different humor zone than yours truly. I was literally LOLing the entire episode, to the point where my roommate questioned why I was busting such a gut.
These are random preview clips found on Youtube....with my luck, this show will be on for like three weeks and get cancelled prematurely.
Tim and the emergency exit row:
Tim and the homeless dude:
Tim and Gay Gary:
Tim and his boss:
Tim visits the doctor:
But whatever. Glad I did catch it, because it's funny as shit. Sort of like an edgier animated Seinfeld, where nothing much happens, just everyday routine events given a droll and clever injection of funny.
I'm not in the mood to write about why exactly I'm loving this shit, so just watch a few examples. If you don't laugh, then you're clearly in a different humor zone than yours truly. I was literally LOLing the entire episode, to the point where my roommate questioned why I was busting such a gut.
These are random preview clips found on Youtube....with my luck, this show will be on for like three weeks and get cancelled prematurely.
Tim and the emergency exit row:
Tim and the homeless dude:
Tim and Gay Gary:
Tim and his boss:
Tim visits the doctor:
Netflix Fix -- Diabolique
Watching horror movie after movie these days, courtesy of the 'Flix, I must say, my mind is seriously opening. Becoming a much more seasoned and wiser viewer, I am. I'm realizing that even if a "horror/thriller" movie doesn't exactly outright horrify and/or thrill me, per say, doesn't mean that the film has even-in-the-least-bit failed.
Case in point, Diabolique (the name given here in the States; when it was originally released back in 1955, however, it was Les Diaboliques, or, "The Devils"), a great old school French flick. The stories and critical word on this one are unanimously ecstatic, hailed as a true classic of the genre and even cited in the same league as Alfred Hitchcock's best work. Directed by a dude named Henri-Georges Clouzot, its one of those minimalist treasures---focusing more on character and narrative rather than spectacle or parlor tricks. And having now seen it, I've already cited about ten films in my head that owe a great deal of inspiration and attribution to Diabolique: examples being...Wild Things, Shallow Grave, and A Simple Plan.
Michel Delassalle is the principal of a private boarding school, and he's one giant scumbag. A real son-of-a-bitch, who treats his wife,a teacher named Christina, like dogshit, constantly belittling her verbally and openly cheating on her with another employee of the institution, Nicole. This slimebucket even treats Nicole like ass, so the two gals team up to murder the stone-cold womanizer. Their plan is pretty slick, too---spike his wine, drown him in a bathtub while he's passed out, and then dump his body in the on-campus pool, leaving no signs of struggle, making it all look like a fell-in-the-pool accident. Only, his body disappears from the pool, and signs of his presence (he's checked into a local hotel; his suit shows up in his wife's room; one of the students claims to have had a convo with him) pop up like heated kernels. Is his ghost on the prowl? He's surely dead (right?), so what the fuck is really happening?
The way this thing unfolds is a great lesson in subdued storytelling. Very little in the way of spooks and creeps takes place ultimately, but the small macabre touches are really effective. For instance, towards the end of the flick, the entire school takes an outdoor picture standing next to the building, and once the pic is developed, the wife notices Michel's spectre hovering in a window. And the film's infamous conclusion is a doozy of understated heebie-jeebies. The money-shot, long praised amongst film critics' circuits and genre enthusiasts, isn't necessarily a total surprise, but it still packs a bit of the good ol' gut-punch.
The only real problem I had here was that Diabolique is a bit overlong. Runs at five minutes shy of two hours. Easily could've trimmed 10, 15 60-second clips (or minutes...I just hate repeating words so close to one another. A bit OCD, I know) off, and wouldn't have suffered. A couple stretches seem to drag, particularly when this random detective enters the scene and does a bit of snooping around. He's super suspicious, and rightfully so. The wife's nerves are worn on her sleeve, though, showing that she's clearly guilty of something. But this game of "he knows I did it, but I must keep my composure, even though I'm losing my mind" is initially gripping, but loses its luster after about 10 minutes.
Actng across the board is pretty solid, especially by Paul Meurisse, who plays Michel. Hits all the right notes of douchebag-ery nicely. And the director's wife, Vera Clouzot, also scores as the battered and wavering wife, not to mention that she's damn hot, even in black-and-white.
Diabolique is definitely one for us film buffs, cinema lovers who crave great stories and appreciate when patience is practiced and exposition is held in high regard. There's zero blood shed and a scarcity of scares, so if you judge your genre fare on such shallow ground, go rent one of those hammer-over-the-head subtle Saw flicks. Masterful filmmaking and dandy scriptwork more than makes up for limited shrieks here.
Also worth noting....Diabolique is one of the original "keep your fucking mouth shut and don't reveal the ending" movies ever, where posters and press urged audiences to leave the theater with lips firmly sealed. And for good reason, because as I mentioned above, the ending is a hands-down winner. Didn't completely fool me, but still succeeded nonetheless.
Note, number two....Going into this one, I'd totally forgot that Diabolique was an early victim of the American-remake virus. Redone in 1996, starring Sharon Stone. Shit-tastic reviews show that this version was a true piece of fecal matter. Urine in celluloid form. I've never seen it, nor will I ever.
[sexy Vera Clouzot...is it weird to lust after an actress in a black-and-white film made over 50 years ago? No, says I. When you're fine, you're fine. End of story]
**Only like six or seven horror flicks left in the early section of my Queue before the genre shifts more to drama.
Yes, I do intend to watch more than just horror. Just don't expect any Disney or PG-ratings up in this bitch. "That's just not how I'm built." (anybody catch that last Jerry Maguire reference?? The endlessly-enjoyable Tom Cruise gem has been on TV all weekend, and I've watched it twice during this time-frame. I can admit it---when Zellwegere says, "You had me at 'Hello,'" I get a bit ferklempt. Man enough to admit it.)
Case in point, Diabolique (the name given here in the States; when it was originally released back in 1955, however, it was Les Diaboliques, or, "The Devils"), a great old school French flick. The stories and critical word on this one are unanimously ecstatic, hailed as a true classic of the genre and even cited in the same league as Alfred Hitchcock's best work. Directed by a dude named Henri-Georges Clouzot, its one of those minimalist treasures---focusing more on character and narrative rather than spectacle or parlor tricks. And having now seen it, I've already cited about ten films in my head that owe a great deal of inspiration and attribution to Diabolique: examples being...Wild Things, Shallow Grave, and A Simple Plan.
Michel Delassalle is the principal of a private boarding school, and he's one giant scumbag. A real son-of-a-bitch, who treats his wife,a teacher named Christina, like dogshit, constantly belittling her verbally and openly cheating on her with another employee of the institution, Nicole. This slimebucket even treats Nicole like ass, so the two gals team up to murder the stone-cold womanizer. Their plan is pretty slick, too---spike his wine, drown him in a bathtub while he's passed out, and then dump his body in the on-campus pool, leaving no signs of struggle, making it all look like a fell-in-the-pool accident. Only, his body disappears from the pool, and signs of his presence (he's checked into a local hotel; his suit shows up in his wife's room; one of the students claims to have had a convo with him) pop up like heated kernels. Is his ghost on the prowl? He's surely dead (right?), so what the fuck is really happening?
The way this thing unfolds is a great lesson in subdued storytelling. Very little in the way of spooks and creeps takes place ultimately, but the small macabre touches are really effective. For instance, towards the end of the flick, the entire school takes an outdoor picture standing next to the building, and once the pic is developed, the wife notices Michel's spectre hovering in a window. And the film's infamous conclusion is a doozy of understated heebie-jeebies. The money-shot, long praised amongst film critics' circuits and genre enthusiasts, isn't necessarily a total surprise, but it still packs a bit of the good ol' gut-punch.
The only real problem I had here was that Diabolique is a bit overlong. Runs at five minutes shy of two hours. Easily could've trimmed 10, 15 60-second clips (or minutes...I just hate repeating words so close to one another. A bit OCD, I know) off, and wouldn't have suffered. A couple stretches seem to drag, particularly when this random detective enters the scene and does a bit of snooping around. He's super suspicious, and rightfully so. The wife's nerves are worn on her sleeve, though, showing that she's clearly guilty of something. But this game of "he knows I did it, but I must keep my composure, even though I'm losing my mind" is initially gripping, but loses its luster after about 10 minutes.
Actng across the board is pretty solid, especially by Paul Meurisse, who plays Michel. Hits all the right notes of douchebag-ery nicely. And the director's wife, Vera Clouzot, also scores as the battered and wavering wife, not to mention that she's damn hot, even in black-and-white.
Diabolique is definitely one for us film buffs, cinema lovers who crave great stories and appreciate when patience is practiced and exposition is held in high regard. There's zero blood shed and a scarcity of scares, so if you judge your genre fare on such shallow ground, go rent one of those hammer-over-the-head subtle Saw flicks. Masterful filmmaking and dandy scriptwork more than makes up for limited shrieks here.
Also worth noting....Diabolique is one of the original "keep your fucking mouth shut and don't reveal the ending" movies ever, where posters and press urged audiences to leave the theater with lips firmly sealed. And for good reason, because as I mentioned above, the ending is a hands-down winner. Didn't completely fool me, but still succeeded nonetheless.
Note, number two....Going into this one, I'd totally forgot that Diabolique was an early victim of the American-remake virus. Redone in 1996, starring Sharon Stone. Shit-tastic reviews show that this version was a true piece of fecal matter. Urine in celluloid form. I've never seen it, nor will I ever.
[sexy Vera Clouzot...is it weird to lust after an actress in a black-and-white film made over 50 years ago? No, says I. When you're fine, you're fine. End of story]
**Only like six or seven horror flicks left in the early section of my Queue before the genre shifts more to drama.
Yes, I do intend to watch more than just horror. Just don't expect any Disney or PG-ratings up in this bitch. "That's just not how I'm built." (anybody catch that last Jerry Maguire reference?? The endlessly-enjoyable Tom Cruise gem has been on TV all weekend, and I've watched it twice during this time-frame. I can admit it---when Zellwegere says, "You had me at 'Hello,'" I get a bit ferklempt. Man enough to admit it.)
Vinyan Watch -- Opening Sequence
In addition to my now-ongoing Quarantine and Martyrs watch(s), I'm throwing a third anticipated flick into the shuffle on this here site.
Vinyan, a flick I've mentioned a couple times already here, mostly in passing, but now I'm focusing on it more, because all of the post-festival reactions I've been reading about it have really made my thoughts stand at attention. It's the work of a filmmaker from Belgium, named Fabrice Du Welz, a fella who seems to possess penchant for weird and abstract horror.
And of course, abstract films are some of my favorites, so naturally Du Welz ranks high on my always-keep-a-close-eye-on list. His debut, 2004's Calvaire, was one of my first "Netflix Fix" postings, and having re-read what I wrote, I've realized that my thoughts then bounced back-and-forth between mesmerizingly positive and head-scratchingly negative. But Calvaire is a film that really hasn't left my thoughts since I watched it over a month ago. And it's resting atop my checklist of DVDs to buy with the quickness. Just an insanely off-putting and unconventional little film, with no clear-cut plot or true point, but one that I'm sure I'll re-watching time and time again, if only to sink my brain deep into its surreality. That spells "fun" for me, what can I say?
Vinyan, now, is Du Welz' second full-length, and it's basically about this married couple who have recently lost their grade-school-aged son in a tsunami. While on vacation in some rather-scenic locale, the wife sees a little boy in some sort of tourist video that she swears is their deceased lad, so in a fit of hysteria, she and her hubby travel to a Thai-Burmese watered-area to search for the kid in the video. But, of course, shit hits the fan when the shady locals start to take advantage of the American tourists, and then this tribal clan of murderous children enters the picture. And tribal clans of murderous children can never be good, really.
Vinyan is said to be directly influenced by a pair of old chiller gems: Don't Look Now, which I own on DVD and love, and Who Can Kill A Child?, which is only two rentals away in my the 'Flix queue. I'm all about doing my cinematic homework, thoroughly, peoples.
From what I've read, Vinyan devolves into some truly tough-to-watch disturbia once the tribal tykes hit the lens. Specifically concerning the wife character, and some "unbelievable" shit she experiences. Boy, oh boy....I can not wait to see how it all goes down!!
Not sure when it'll be released here, but I do now that an American distribution company, which I can't recall at this very moment, picked it up for a limited capacity run at some point. Probably in early '09, if I had to guess.
But for now, the great international cinema site Twitch Film linked to a site that has Vinyan's opening sequence posted, and it's a doozy. Doesn't show anything, really, and I'm sure I'm one of the few who'd even be enthralled by this sequence, since its all mood, sound, and atmosphere. Nothing more, nothing less. But for me, atmosphere is always a ginormous factor.
Make sure your speakers are turned on and crispy-clear:
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