Evil's a foot

Messiah of Evil is a film that SHOULD be a cult film. Not because it is good, but because it is a unique little film that at least gives you some interesting (allbeit creepy) thoughts. That it isn't a cult film shows the inherient unfairness of cult status. Cult films are awarded such a status based on either nascent popularity or an aggressive public relation campaign. In that sense, its sort of like picking the prom queen. Certain cliques mean more than others.
At any rate, I find Messiah of Evil to be interesting on several levels. First there is the casting of Royal Dano and Elisha Cook Jr. Both wonderful character acters, and both add to the film even in basically cameo roles. One thing about modern movies is there is a distinct lack of such wonderful character actors. Maybe in five years or ten we'll see a mew breed emerge, but right now the pickings are slim.
The narration is centered around the old saw of the "narrator in the looney bin." It's a cliche, but an effective one. Afterall, what can we really be sure of if our guide is deemed by others to be mad? In politics this is called "plausible deniablity."
Our narrator is a rather sweet young woman who goes to a little town on the coast of california looking for her daddy. Before we are ten minutes into the film we know one thing that our narrator doesn't: This town is truly screwed up. We see at least two people slaughtered for no reason whatsoever. One by a very sweet looking girl, the other by an albino(?) huge black man. These killings are brutal and seem to have no reason to them. They are shot in an amateur fashion yet by that fashion they are all the more disturbing.
Our narrator reaches her daddy's house, but he's not here. What is here is his art on every wall. Why is it disturbing? It's nothing different from what you see at an airport: Faces and escalators. Maybe because it is in a private house it seems odd and ominious.

Daddy left tapes hinting at some event/disease. Our narrator also discovers an odd man who seems to 1) collect stories, 2) collect clothing, and 3) collect young women. An old drunk in this man's company tells a story of a hundred years ago and a blood red moon. Our narrator is attracted to the man, but can he trust her?

It becomes clear soon enough that every one in the town is infected, though whether it is a disease or a malady of the soul is left open to question. Our narrator and comrade are soon the only ones left, and she herself has become infected. They try to escape as the dead look to the shore for their messiah, a suvivor of the donner party who promised to return.

We are are warned that our cities will become places of slaughter, and who is to say this hasn't at least partially come true. Given what we know, maybe that's not so crazy.
`

The Thief Lord

Ah yes, I am old. Well... oldER. I remember a time before cable when people walked the earth. Saturday mornings were for kids, and kids alone. Of course there were the cartoons, but after the cartoons generally there would be some "special" story book hour or something. Generally, in about five seconds you could reach two conclusions: 1) whatever was being shown was usually made somewhere in europe (curse you BBC!) and 2) it was better to be outside even if it was raining. Not always mind you, sometimes there was something good. I remember one where the kids found a prehistoric fish and they were trying to catch it. At the end they blocked the cove and tried to fish it out, but it escaped through an undersea cave almost dragging one of the kids along.
The Thief Lord plays like one of the good one of those specials. Of course the box and intentions of the those behind it are to invoke Harry Potter, but remember I'm I've an earlier generation. The story is of two brothers (one would get his ass beat in the states because with his hair cut I would swear he was a girl) who run away from their prunish (not really evil just morally ugly) aunt and uncle. They run away to venice which IMMEDIATELY makes them ten times smarter than most runaways.
By the way, Venice. I could live there. Just a note to God in his heaven.
Meanwhile, the kids fall under the protection of the brave masked Thief Lord, a teen who protects other children on the the street with his Robin Hood antics. Add in a comedic (but not bumbling) detective, some nefarious rogues, bad parents, a sweet woman, and a mysterious merry go round for a full and amusing story. I liked it, though it does get a few points docked for some blantant theft from Ray Bradbury.

The Midnight show, a tale

It's the cold...
despite a warming globe
in winter
in the city
the streets are hardcore cold
So they
the houseless
well, they have their ways
the shelters
the underground.....
(Don't get me started...what some saw...what dark names they screamed out...the horror ... the horror)
....
and the midnight show
.....
some theaters are infamous
open all night and cheaper than a hotel
piss stations
and flickering flop houses
with even a bit of most dubious entertainment thrown in for laughs
.......
But one place is not infamous
it studiously avoids it
Nearly nameless
only tired neon
and faded posters
mark this most unlikely haven
and the admission is only a buck five
.......
(unless you are a memberthen you pay the special rates).
.....
The midnight show
never
ever
advertises
is usually at three in the morning
the dark night of the soul so say some
......
the few unfortunate
the houseless
the feckless
the hookers
the junkies
the runaways
the mad
oh so many of the mad
they come in in a dribble
just a fewjust enough
.....
And then come the members
dressed as casually as they can understand
but if you look you can tell
men of substancein long coats
.....
The show begins
the theater is warm
warm specifically to body temperture
the film is blurry
the sound is low
and they are put at ease
they doze
or nod
except the members
.....
The members stay in the back
backs straight as rails
eyes bright
this is the first part of the show
the waiting
then the stalking
.....
down row by row
split into smaller groups
no one sees
knives gleaming
....
And then it is truly the midnight show
the reels are spliced
and the patrons sliced
and the blood comes out black
.....
the staff is helpful
the doors are locked
and a sniper
in the projection room
just in case
.....
in the end
the members leave
and the staff clean
and all that can
..........sleeps
.....
change the reels
fin

To Blake

Blake you flake
you splinterer
of innocene
and experience
Did you have to...
really have to?
expose the worm
when you pluckedthe bloom?
Blake you fake
holy rolling
as heaven elopedwith hell
Did you really mean...
or just really mean
when the sheep
looked up
listening?
blake you darling rake
with a dragon in your eye
Your dress of iron has rusted
and your heart the once firery gorge
is now cold
yet the embers
genius sparks
still remain
unchanged.

I am

I see the form
divine
entwined
in each leaf
and every vine

The Cat of God

He saw it was good
can't you tell?
All is well
Even after we broke
and fell

I am
The Cat of God

I watch from on high
never coy
to enjoy
the things he made
from angel to toy

I am
The Cat of God
and a cat
may look upon a king
if that is the thing

I am
The Cat of God
and this is part
of God's Catalog
it is

Why I'm not given millions of dollars and the key to the restroom

I'm crazy, that's the short answer.
The ideas that flit through my head are nuttier than a squirrel's pantry. Here's an example. I'm visiting my mom and she's watching the (it takes a....) lifetime channel. The particular movie of the some week that was showing was a women's prison movie. I was kidding my mom over the various cliches in the script (though admitted it avoided the cliches you'd see in say a Roger Corman women's prison movie, say "Jail House Hussies" but I digress...) At any rate, Mom finally gets annoyed and said men's prison films have many if not the same sort of cliches.
I could have kissed her just then as the light went on in the back of my head.
If I had the money I would:

Collect names like Pat, Terry, and yes even Leslie. Nicknames like Butch would be good too. Then I'd write the ultimate prison script. Nothing like "Airplane," no I'd play it totally straight.

Then.....

I'd film it not once but twice. The first time with a male cast. The second time with a female cast. With absolutely not one change in the script!

Then...

I'd release both films with the same title, and mix it up so one reviewer gets one and the other would get the second version. I'd do the same thing in the metroplexes, and on video I'd have a box with no pictures and mix randomly. If I could i'd try to get the actors to go without initial billing, to go in on the joke.

I can only wonder what sort of chaos I could create with that project. And that is why I'm not given millions of dollars and the key to the restroom.

The night tonight

the moon
like the yellow song
is beautiful
The time has passed
of pumpkin faces
making faces themselves
But the moon is lovely
full and bright
and I can't resist to go out tonight
The old haunts beckon
soft bricks black in the night
buildings like old men
Yellow lights
in the windows
shine like dog's eyes
...
...
...beautiful

Lost?

a bit of an FYI

I'm not currently rich

so right now the good old public library

is significant source for right now

the trouble

if that's the word

is that due to the system

it is somewhat feast or famine

this week is

FEAST

Lost has been quite a ride so far. Just recently got the entire second season on DVD and watched it pretty much in one sitting. I recommend this if you are able. Watching a series in such a big heaping lump is a total immersion experience. I once watched a japanese show in this way and after eight hours, I SWEAR I was speaking japanese.

Don't worry after therapy I'm feeling muuuuuch better (a nod to Night Court, thankee much.)

Anyhoo, the best thing I can say about Lost's second season is that it didn't do what Twin Peaks did in its second season. Don't remember the sencond season of twin peaks? That's sort of my point. It was a concern that the series would play itself out after one season. I mean let's be realistic, Lost plays like gilligan's Island done in a serious manner. Can you be serious about that for any length of time? Also, there is the feeling that there is no real master plan that the writers and creators are sort of making it up as they go along, hence my comparison to twin peaks.

I think the main difference is that Twin peaks was very defined in the first season, it was Agent Coooper trying to find who killed Laura Palmer, and this left no where to go in the second season. In Lost there is still the mystery of the island, the mystery of each character. There is no where to go but up and out. The second season tries mightily to examine, to explore, and of course to mystify further.

Sometimes it can get a little silly. Come on folks, there's a limit to the number connections people can have to each other. Six degrees of kevin Costner is fascinating, infinity degrees is not. Just a word to the wise.

For the most part the second season rocked. The hatch was a great addition to the show and one of those things that can mean almost anything on a metaphorical level. No doubt many a college paper has been written about it.

Now the only question is will eventually three times the charm? Or is it going down? Only time and sweeps week will tell.

4 lorn and lost
8 from the pantry or garden
15 three hands, one a dead man's?
16 Sweet and long lost
23 A very bad number, fnord!
42 The answer, need a towel

system failure
heiroglyphs
system failure
I was wrong

Kolchak the Night Stalker

We all have memories of shows we've seen in our childhood. I remember Speed Racer, and Lidsville, and Land of the Lost....and the Night Stalker. Generally, it's not a good idea to revisit the shows. All the things you never noticed at five, glaringly bad writing for example, hit you right in the face. It actually becomes sort of painful to watch. "Did I really like this shit? What sort of moron was I?"

So it was with a certain sense of foreboding that I went to watch the entire original run of Kolchak the Night Stalker. The results were not bad, not bad at all. Certainly there were instances of glaringly bad writing, and horrid production values. Yet, beyond that, there was still some good entertainment, and the character of Karl Kolchak.

Karl is a unique character among major television characters. Karl is that rarest of things on TV, a loser. True, he kills (neutralizes) the monster every week and survives, but he never achieves his true goal of getting the truth published. What's even more amusing is that Karl is truly the author of his own defeat. All the lies he uses to get his story is the very thing that enrages those in power to squash it. In this, Karl Kolchak, is like the coyote of the road runner cartoons metaphorically ending each episode with his face singed black from his own bomb.

Another thing interesting about Karl (specially as brilliantly played by Darrrin McGavin), was that he was a walking contradiction. Karl's great interest was in unconvering the truth, or as he probably thought of it; "TRUTH." Yet, to find the Truth Karl had to constantly lie. He was in fact more than a little of a con man. This is sort of the philosophical version of "we had to destroy the village to save it."

With less destroyed villages of course.

There are other joys to watching this old series. For example, I never noticed when I was a kid that one of Karl's coworkers, Updike, was most likely gay. Its interesting to see how such a character was handled in the seventies. The big clue was Updike declaring his city wasn't chicago but but rainbow city by the bay.

subtle.

And of course there were the monsters, witches and beasties Karl always had to deal with. There was also the equally odd band of guest stars. Does Phil Silvers really belong in an episode involving Indian demons? I don't know, but it was a joy to behold.

Kolchak

Whistling
lonely tune
in the dark night
Kolchak enters
the office
to do what's right

Coffee old and embittered
Clothes old and out dated
seated before typewriter
a qwerty confessional

Typing
What no one will read
He stays his own course
marked with words
like "victims," "bodies"
He punches the keys with force

Chicago night damnably hot
suddenly light fades
Fans Stops, Clock stops
Time stops

One last look
frozen
We never see
that which he flees