#or if we got another movie as great as 2001: a space odyssey

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

some “writers” should starve actually

[balioc]

Thoughts on the Barbie Movie

Hoo boy. Here we go.

This is long. Spoilers abound.

I

The movie is not, in any normal sense, a Barbie movie (like this or this or this or whatever). It is not a story of Barbie doing the kinds of things that Barbie does in stories. It is an endlessly postmodern and self-referential movie about Barbie, which is to say, about the Barbie franchise and its role in culture. Which is, at least plausibly, an interesting thing for a movie to be.

You probably knew all that already. But it does give us a baseline of "this movie kind of had to be political and discourse-y, one way or another." Or even, to be more specific: "to some large extent this movie had to be about feminism, explicitly, if it was going to exist at all." How could you talk meaningfully about Barbie's role in culture without touching on that stuff?

II

The evaluative TLDR:

Barbie is very ambitious, and in many places very fun. It is also deeply confused, and fragmented, about what it's trying to say and do. Often it raises genuinely interested problems/scenarios and then totally fails to address them, or else addresses them in ways that are incoherent. The text knows that it's doing this, and on several occasions kind of apologizes for it; a couple of times it more or less looks into the camera and says "sorry, we're not going to deal with this properly;" but, well, that's not a substitute for dealing with things properly.

There is also a streak of genuine political nastiness running through the film, in a place where the story really cannot afford it. It...doesn't match up, tonally or thematically, with some of the surrounding material. I have no background at all in cinematic stratigraphy, but I would be fascinated to learn about Barbie's editorial history, because I have the vague sense that a more-cogent (and more-interesting) story got hacked apart and then Frankensteined together into something much cheaper and worse.

III

The opening sequence of the movie is wild. You've seen most of it -- or you can, if you haven't, and you want to -- because it is the film's first teaser trailer. Girls are playing listlessly with baby dolls; a giant Barbie appears like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey; and then the girls enter a frenzy of destruction, bashing their baby dolls' heads against the ground.

I don't know whether I would have found it as disturbing as I did, if I didn't actually have a baby of my own. But speaking from the standpoint of a parent...yeah, wow, it's more viscerally horrific than most actual horror I've seen recently. The narration says some stuff about Barbie providing a new and more rewarding set of imagination games to play, but the visuals by themselves tell a message loud and clear, which is: Barbie will turn your daughters into infanticidal maenads. It wouldn't need any editing at all to be part of a shock-you-silly Reefer-Madness-y moral panic film.

Which is really good! And really interesting! It starts us off on an undeniable thematic note: there is something primal and powerful and very dangerous about Barbie.

IV

The very best part of the movie is probably the part that comes right after the opening, when we explore the movie's depiction of "Barbieland" by going through Barbie's Typical Day, before we get into any of the notional plot or metaphysics. It's joyful and charming in a consistent way. The gags are (mostly) great. The movie is in love with its base premise, and that love is palpable.

This sequence makes one thing very clear:

Barbie treats Ken like absolute dogshit. She is a bad girlfriend.

And it's taken seriously. I mean, it's played for laughs, almost everything in this movie is played for laughs, but...it's not mean-spirited, not here. It's not, like, "ha ha, Ken, what a contemptible loser." He's Pierrot, asking for very basic forms of affection and attention and respect, and getting the door slammed in his face over and over. It's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

That colors everything that comes later.

The movie doesn't forget this, or fail to acknowledge it. At the end, after everything, Barbie does apologize to Ken for her treatment of him. It's a halfhearted and supremely unsatisfying kind of apology, especially in context, but...it's there, in so many words! I'm not making it up! This thematic foundation was laid down, not-very-subtly, right at the beginning!

V

This movie, which is at least trying to be ambitious, is juggling a million themes. Many of them are dumb at their core, and have no real promise; many of them lack any kind of narrative synergy with the others. But there are at least two which, I believe, (a) are genuinely worthwhile individually and (b) work well together in a story.

One is: What does it mean to be a symbol rather than a person? To exist, not for your own sake, but for the sake of influencing the dreams and culture of entities that you don't know and can't really understand?

The other is: What is the proper ordering of the relationship between Barbie and Ken?

I've seen a number of Takes in which people say, essentially: Couldn't this have ended with the Barbies and the Kens just being decent to each other and treating each other like humans? Couldn't there have been equality and mutual respect, instead of the weird uncomfortable girlboss-supremacist stuff that we got? And I sympathize with that impulse tremendously, but the honest answer has to be: No. We cannot have simple equality and esteem between Barbie and Ken, not in a movie like this. That would be a lie. Because this is a movie about Barbie-as-symbol, and when you're looking at Barbie through that lens, it is true and unavoidable that Ken is an appendage and an afterthought. You can have toys for boys; you can have dolls for boys (even if you call them "action figures" or whatever); for that matter, you can have dolls of boys for girls, so that girls can tell stories centering on male characters; but that's not what Ken is, and never has been. There are no Ken stories, and no one particularly wants them. Ken exists to be Barbie's boyfriend.

(One of the most painful moments of the movie comes during the resolution wrapup. Ken wails to Barbie that he has no identity outside her. She says, basically, "you have to find one, because I'm leaving you." And he...acts like he's had an epiphany, and does a little silly celebration. But his "insight" is just literally "I'm Ken," there's absolutely nothing there, and of course it's the most hollow and awful thing in the world because he really does have no identity outside her.)

VI

The movie's metaphysics are not even slightly consistent. The nature of Barbieland, and the ways that it affects and is affected by the real world, are completely different in every scene. In large part because the film can't ever pass up a gag, whether or not it's funny, no matter how much damage it does to the narrative and the theming overall.

The worst part is that the movie is not capable of saying anything remotely coherent about the real world, because its version of the "real world" is as weird and fake as its Barbieland. Will Ferrell's CEO of Mattel character is more of an absurd cartoon than any of the Barbies or Kens. Mattel HQ is some kind of surreal labyrinth tower out of The Matrix. A random receptionist can handle herself like James Bond in a car chase, for reasons that are [handwaved in a gag].

VII

So. Yes. There is the sequence in the third act where Ken takes over Barbieland with the power of patriarchy. This is pretty much as bad as it can be. And I say this as someone who thinks that the movie probably did actually need a plot thread doing roughly that kind of thing.

Almost as bad as it can be. The wannabe-patriarch Kens are gleefully goofy in a way that you can't help but love, or at least, I couldn't help but love it. Which has something to do with the writing and something to do with the charisma of all the Ken actors. The main Ken, Ryan Gosling's Ken, really seems to believe that being a successful patriarch has a lot to do with riding majestic horses and wearing a giant fur coat without a shirt, and when he takes over Barbie's Dream House he names it Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House -- that kind of thing.

But. Apart from that, it's real unfortunate. The justification for Ken's ability to conquer Barbieland with patriarchy, instantly and effortlessly, is -- in almost so many words -- they had no defenses against it, it was like the American Indians encountering smallpox. I...don't think I need to spell out the problems with that.

Worse yet, the whole sequence is soaked in, uh, let's call it "2014-era upper-middle-class social-status-oriented feminism." The real bad behavior on the part of the Kens, the stuff they do when they're not being adorably weird, is: mansplaining their extensive opinions about cars and movies, and wanting to show off how helpful and knowledgeable they are to "damsels" who are having trouble using machines or computers. Apparently that's the real problem at hand, the causus belli of the gender wars. The way that you deprogram a patriarchy-brainwashed Barbie is by...ranting to her about the stereotypical social irritations of upper-middle-class women (e.g. "you have to keep yourself thin but not act like you care about being thin," "you have to be a confident leader but also be nurturing and supportive," etc.) [note that the Barbies of Barbieland have never encountered these irritations, at least not at the hands of men]. And the girlboss victory montage consists of having the Barbies put on deceptive manipulative bimbo acts to stroke the Kens' egos, which sure is one way to depict girlboss feminist victory.

But the most unforgivable thing of all is the depiction of the patriarchy-brainwashed Barbies. They're lad-magazine caricatures, endlessly offering their Kens "brewski beers," dressing up as French maids, gazing on in cow-eyed adoration as their Kens mansplain stuff to them.

Barbie does, in fact, have a problematic history with the patriarchy. And it does not look like that.

VIII

@brazenautomaton:

Barbie isn’t someone who had to fight through the patriarchy to be seen as good enough to be an astronaut even though she’s a woman. Barbie’s a fucking astronaut because she’s fucking Barbie of course she’s good enough to be an astronaut.

That is...one aspect of the deep Barbie lore. It is the Barbie-nature that Mattel was trying to push, as far back as my own childhood; it's certainly the Barbie-nature that Mattel is trying to push in this movie. But there is another side to Barbie, even older and even more fundamental than Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie, and you can't make a postmodern movie-about-Barbie without addressing it.

This is Barbie the fashion doll. The Barbie who is an icon of ultra-consumerist teenage girlhood, whose life is defined by her fancy clothes and her fancy car. The Barbie whose most salient traits are her hourglass figure and her long blonde hair and her feet that are always posed to fit into high heels. The Barbie of "math class is tough!" The Barbie who is kinda vapid and shallow and, yes, boy-crazy.

How can you tell a story about Barbie wrestling with the culture of patriarchy, and not talk about that? How can you depict Barbie falling victim to the patriarchy and have it look nothing like that?

...the movie does bring up the specter of Vapid Consumerist Barbie, briefly. When Margot Robbie's Barbie first comes to the real world and meets with the sullen teenage daughter character, she has a litany of That Thing thrown in her face, and it makes her sad. But nothing is ever done with it, and it goes nowhere.

IX

And it could all have fit together so well. That's the hell of it.

You can imagine the version of the story in which Ken conquers Barbieland with patriarchy, because the Barbies are actually vulnerable to patriarchal narratives, because Vapid Consumerist Barbie is the chthonic serpent that gnaws at the foundations of Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie civilization. He successfully makes them all forget that they're senators and astronauts and veterinarians, and turns them into airheaded teenage fashionistas who think that math class is tough.

And this avails him, and the other Kens, nothing. Even within the "patriarchal" version of Barbieland, Ken is still an afterthought and an appendage. He still gets treated like dogshit, just in a different idiom.

Because the thing that has always been true of Barbie, though every age and every phase of her mythos, is: she is the main character of her own story.

This is what the movie was telling us all the way back in the horrific 2001-pastiche prologue, right? Even when Barbie was just a swimsuit model, the point was that she let girls tell stories about themselves (or idealized/aspirational versions of themselves), not about boys or babies. That is a truer, and more powerful, feminist message about the meaning of Barbie than any message the movie actually bothers conveying.

The gag scene practically writes itself: the brainwashed Barbies are sitting around in a giggly slumber-party huddle talking about how dreamy Ken is, and actual Ken cannot get a word in edgewise, he can't even get them to notice he's there, because even Vapid Consumerist Barbie is fundamentally centered in her own life. Her narrative is not about a boy, it's about the experience of being a girl (mostly engaging with other girls) who likes thinking and talking about boys. Which is very much beside the point, if you started out with the complaint that your girlfriend never paid any attention to you.

Patriarchy hurts men too, indeed.

X

The movie ends, as I've intimated, in a disappointing squidge of thematic confusion. Barbie announces that she never really loved Ken, and leaves him, because...well, because these days the smart-set target audience is allergic to romantic narratives that Produce the Couple, as far as I can tell. Then she goes to the real world and becomes a real girl, a move that means nothing and is nonsensical even by the standards of the Barbie metaphysics, because the storytellers don't know how to end her arc and Becoming a Real Girl is the sort of thing that feels like a meaningful conclusion.

The Kens...sigh...the Kens ask for equal rights in Barbieland, more or less, and get told, "nah, but we'll throw you some bones." And they're happy with this, more or less, because they're dumb and don't really care. The narrator says, approximately, "maybe someday they'll make as much progress as women have in the real world." Haw haw.

It's probably too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something substantive about responsibility and kindness in relationships. It's almost certainly too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something about the nature of love symbols and love narratives. But all the pieces really were there, laid out very conspicuously. The movie could have wrapped up with: Ken doesn't need to be more important than Barbie, he doesn't even need to be as important as Barbie, he just needs to be treated with human decency. And if little girls are going to play with Barbies, and fantasize about having cute guys hanging all over them -- maybe they should have functional models of romance and human connection in which to root their fantasies, and not terrible ones.

[kitschke]

just saw the substance.

- talk about a movie that doesn't know when to end holy shit

- i liked how it played with color even if it was beating u over the head with it

- there were a lot of parts that really beat u over the head with it & felt unnecessary. e.g. at the end when they replay all the misogynist comments made throughout the film while focused on the spotlight babe we got it already. take it thru another round of editing pls

- scene where elisabeth tries to go out with fred but keeps stopping herself when she sees images of sue and goes back to the bathroom to try and improve her look and then just ends up staying at home was by far the best scene of the whole thing. it'd be a great thesis moment it's just too bad the rest of it didn't really live up to that

- can we stoppppppp using Sunrise from Thus Spake Zarathustra in every movie ever. lazy music choice even if it's a reference to 2001 a space odyssey (which i don't really see the connection where it's used here) and even if it's trying to be a bit camp, which

- I think it really wanted to have campy comedic relief moments but they all fell flat for me

- love lies bleeding did it better

[denimbex1986]

'At the outset, it felt like the cinemas of Pakistan were just as excited for Barbenheimer as the local movie-goer community. Local theaters were offering two-for-one deals – cheaper tickets for one of the biggest movie events in recent memory. The fact that they were even acknowledging the existence of the dual release of Oppenheimer and Barbie felt promising: if you could buy tickets, that had to mean you would get to see the films, right?

Cinemagoers weren’t so sure, since the local censor board can be volatile. It’s usually safe to strike anything that isn’t a four-quadrant blockbuster off the calendar, and even local films aren’t safe: last year, Saim Sadiq’s Joyland, a film that won the Jury Prize at Cannes, was banned from screening in the Punjab province. That movie, which touches lightly upon queer issues, has nothing on the full-frontal nudity and controversial maps of Oppenheimer and Barbie, and the prospect of both films being banned felt depressingly conceivable.

It was a pleasant surprise, then, that tickets for Oppenheimer and Barbie went up for sale a full three days ahead of July 21. What’s more, Oppenheimer wasn’t marked with a red 18. That implied they were screening a censored version cleared for exhibition – a guarantee of sorts. As we got closer to release, however, my friends in Punjab got antsy: they’d been told that the tickets they’d purchased for Barbie were at risk of being refunded, since the censor board hadn’t cleared the movie. The anvil dropped on Friday with the announcement that the Punjab Censor Board had banned Greta Gerwig’s latest for featuring “objectionable content.” Early screenings were cut short and audiences were told to leave after sitting through half the film.

The ban, temporary only in name, is limited to the province of Punjab, and it hasn’t stopped people from buying tickets in droves throughout the rest of the country. In Islamabad (where I live), showings for the weekend were completely booked, and we barely got tickets for Sunday. When our group arrived at the theater, it was swamped with people in pink (there was even a group of boys wearing suits with pink ties, Gentleminions-style), and we found that most of our crowd was there for the double feature. The atmosphere was electric.

Our screening began at 4:30 with Barbie, and we tried to catch the objectionable content Gerwig had snuck into the Mattel movie. The film was fun, and completely uncensored – by its end, we were perplexed as to why the censor board had taken issue with a film whose closest aesthetic reference point is Lazy Town.

Oppenheimer was another story. Usually, when the censors need to prune a film, they make brutish cuts that make the omission obvious. The censorship in this case is different. It’s an international hatchet job, and the censors appear to have appreciated the painstaking care Christopher Nolan and editor Jennifer Lame put into the edit. That’s why, instead of upsetting the rhythm, they decided to try their hand at post-production.

This distracts most during the two sex scenes. The censors have zoomed into the background of certain closeup shots, while wide shots have their nudity concealed behind fuzzy black columns. A friend of mine thought the first such column was a wall in the foreground, mistaking it for a strange aesthetic decision on Nolan’s part. To me, the columns look more like the monoliths from 2001: A Space Odyssey (which Barbie does such a great job of spoofing).

The most technically innovative censorship occurs in the scene where Murphy and Pugh are seated opposite one another in the nude. The censored version drapes Pugh in a pitch-black shift dress that looks like it was applied by a gifted artist working in MS Paint. The inclusions obviously rob the scenes of their intimacy, but they at least allow them to remain legible. I was partially grateful for the cuts – obtrusive as they were, they had allowed me to see the film on the big screen (albeit while seated next to a 10-year-old who asked his parents if the bomb had gone off during the silent part of the Trinity Test sequence).

Barbie’s banning feels more disturbing, since our censor board doesn’t usually ban films with messaging as innocuous as Gerwig’s. It sets a dangerous precedent, even though it’s become clear that the censors aren’t nearly as influential as they think they are. Banning a film these days is the same as giving it free publicity for the home video release, and even now hardcore Barbie-heads have been embarking on cross-province road trips for the movie. I’m sure a few of them must’ve been present during the screening I attended on Sunday.

I’m glad for them, since the phenomenon has been a joy, and not just because the films are excellent. Cinema culture in Pakistan has been in the death throes for ages, and it’s been amazing to see people come together in their appreciation of the medium. Case in point: my audience broke into applause as the credits for Barbie rolled. I saw the boys in suits get up, and thought they were going to give the film a standing ovation. But no; they were changing their pink ties to black ones. And nobody batted an eyelid.'

[burritosandpeppermint]

Spoilers below if you haven't watched 'The Green Knight' yet, which wasn't quite what I remembered it to be.

I really wanted to re-watch 'The Green Knight' recently and last night I got my chance. And...it's hard for me to disagree with a lot of this criticism. I think I wanted to re-watch it because I remembered the striking visuals, the fantastic performances, the journey, the sense of hopelessness. And they're all still there, wrapped up in one of the weirdest and most re-told Arthurian tales, but I think that David Lowery was really trying to channel Kubrick so much that he succeeded in just straight up taking something (the thieves from 'Barry Lyndon,' which I haven't seen but this is referenced by more than one critic) to a bit of a recreation of the "star gate/light tunnel" scene from '2001: A Space Odyssey' with the camera flying along over Gawain after the interaction with the giants, which then inverts as it continues on. I'll even note that Lowery also takes from Scorsese's 'The Last Temptation of Christ' with the alternate life scenes. He's literally at the point of his life where he knew he would be, and before he fully commits to the end of what he understood his journey to be he explores the repercussions of his life if he decides not to go through with it, he explores it, finds it wanting or terrible, and decides to commit to his original plan to the end. I mean, at least Lowery's inspired by two great directors, it's just that lifting from them is pretty obvious.

I hate to say it but I think there's more to style than substance going on here, and I'll narrow it down to my two biggest takeaways from this film.

The first is that this movie felt long, and I shouldn't feel that. Rather, I'm fine with a movie taking its time to tell its story, but this film had the feeling that we were supposed to ponder something more than "yup, this sucks for him right now, it's really difficult" or "man, he's spent a long time in that water" or "she knows how to make a camera! cool!" I don't need an action scene every minute, and the journey is half the story, so we have to watch it, but there's more lingering and, perhaps, voyeurism, than we might need as an audience.

The second is that this movie really does all boil down to Arthur asking Gawain for a story of his life, Gawain responds that he has none, he is then thrown into one, and presumably he comes back to King Arthur's court and says "Alright, NOW I have a story to tell."

And that's what we got: a story to witness. It's not about how good or classic or to what degree it is faithful to the original it was, it's about how the story was told, and the answer is "Beautifully, and confusingly."

I won't say that the movie isn't worth watching, because it is - indeed, I think it could serve as a point of inspiration, and if nothing else it's another attention-grabbing A24 film - but I will say that after two viewings a year and a half apart I don't think there will be anything more to glean from it with future viewings. It's a film that feels 90% complete, and I'm not going to spend the energy to make up for the last 10%.

[greensparty]

Coolidge Corner Theatre Expansion

This past December, the Coolidge Corner Theatre in Brookline, MA celebrated its 90th birthday! It is one of my favorite movie theaters in the world and more than a few cinephiles agree with me on that. It is one of the most prominent and respected independently owned and operated indie movie theaters in the U.S. I first went there as a teen around 1991 when my friend brought me to see Spike and Mike’s Festival of Animation there. It was such a cool grand cinema and they play older films as well as indie films. Over the years, I’ve seen countless films there including the re-release of The Graduate, a midnight showing of 12 Monkeys, anniversary screenings of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and 2001: A Space Odyssey, a concert that followed Echo in the Canyon, and of course Independent Film Festival Boston screenings. But of all the awesome films I’ve seen there over the years, my favorite was in 2018 when they did a special one-night sold-out screening of my documentary Life on the V: The Story of V66! Another very special memory I have of Coolidge Corner Theatre happened in June 2021: I hadn’t been to a movie theater in over a year. My return to the cinema happened a few weeks after I had gotten my COVID vaccine and I went to the Coolidge to see one of my favorite movies of all time, David Lynch’s Blue Velvet! So I guess you could say I'm a big fan of the Coolidge!

ribbon cutting at Coolidge Corner Theatre's new expansion

But this week the big news today is that Coolidge Corner Theatre has unveiled their new expansion. The existing Coolidge Corner Theatre we know and love is still there (the big movie house, the three smaller cinemas), but now they have and extended lobby and concession stand near the back entrance by the municipal parking lot, two new cinemas (movie house 5 is red and 6 is blue!), as well as an education and community engagement center for classes, private events and more! It opens to the public today with both The Wizard of Oz and 2001 screening in the new cinemas.

Coolidge's new movie house 5, lobby, movie house 6, and reception area

Yesterday I got to attend the ribbon-cutting of the new expansion and look at the new space. The common theme from everyone's remarks was how lucky we are to have Coolidge Corner Theatre in this area. It's very true! At a time when so many movie theaters are closing, Coolidge Corner Theatre isn't just swinging it out of the park with their projection, sound, curation of old movies and new indies, they are actually expanding and going to be able to show more films and be a place for more art and culture in the area. Great news all around!

For more info on Coolidge Corner Theatre and their expansion

[dolphs-world]

August 26th, the Pikmin 4

Anyways, the actual movie itself. Main criticisms was that it was too on the nose and too expository. Again, is this for kids or adults? Because this made it feel dumb. There should not have been a narrator, I honestly think that the 2001: A Space Odyssey scene would have been so much cooler without the narration, people making their own interpretation. You know, like 2001: A Space Odyssey?! The worst scene in the movie was when Barbie said she didn't feel pretty and then Helen Mirren as the Narrator butted in to say criticise the filmmaker's choice to have Margot Robbie make this point. I hated this for so many reasons. 1, nice lampshading idiot. I was kind of invested in the scene when you had to break my immersion. 2, Helen Mirren is also very beautiful. When women support women, women win. 3, it also just undercut the moment. Even beautiful women don't feel beautiful all the time and it was nice that someone brought it up without being judged, IN THE WORLD OF THE FILM. 4, this got the biggest laugh out of the second audience I saw. That audience was packed but even in the first theatre I saw it in 2/6 people laughed. I really wish the film was more funny. I did find it pretty funny and I didn't think it had the issue of quippy dialogue undercutting the emotion, but all the lines I was smiling at weren't the ones the audience were. I wouldn't consider myself a cinephile, I'm probably on the same level as Doug Walker, but being in a theatre made me realise what like the average person's sense of humour was. Barbie crying about being called a fascist was the funniest line and I wish I hadn't been spoilt on it. Would have had the same reaction as I did when the asshole waiter in Dirty Dancing tells Baby to read The Fountainhead. The second best thing I can say about the movie was the attitude. Even if I think it was messy, we need more movies like this. We need more movies that are serious in their sillyness. The best thing I can say is the acting. I was surprised how much I liked the mum, she was great and also pretty funny. I like that she just has a husband. Although her idea at the end does suck, what if instead of sonic you played as a man who wears blue pants and has to collect rings to pay taxes. Also liked seeing Rhea Perlman. Tax evasion jokes would have been funnier if they weren't played out. Will Ferrell was also really funny. He does have Jewish friends. But Ryan Gosling stole the show. I'm sorry Margot Robbie but I think she's done better acting in every other movie I've seen her in. I do think that Ryan Gosling should win best actor. And now I think he's one of the best actors. Search up "best acting comps" on the internet and you'll find a lot of men screaming. Whilst dramatic acting is great, I prefer comedy. So when someone can perfect both, such as Bryan Cranston in Malcolm in the Middle and Breaking Bad, that's perfection. And Ryan Gosling is now perfection. The Ken song was the best part of the movie. I have more to say on the ideology of the film but I'll save that for later, along with A.I.

But in terms of my actual week, it's been fine. That girl I was talking about at work, I think we're friends now. She's in one of my classes at school and I'm going to play Board Games with her after exams. I also bumped into another coworker at school who I only worked with twice, I think, but he was really cool. Oh, my mum has decided that we're going to stay here. That didn't resolve all our problems though. She's been worried about me a lot, that I'm becoming more detached, more suppressed, unhappy with school, even less likely to stand up for myself. Surprisingly me writing about how annoying it is being surrounded by people complaining about their lives and critiquing mine didn't cause me to have a revelation, talking about it with my mum did. Started crying after I realised that I don't really like talking with my friends. After secondary school I just started losing more and more, they just responding to my messages, and now I'm realising that there's only a few who I can really talk to. Only some that are more than just laughing, something deeper, something real. Kind of like the Barbie Movie! But I have a great life. School is easy, I just don't like it. This is the most stressful it's going to be and I just gotta write a couple of essays. I hope Psych will be more interesting next year. I love my work. Everyone in my personal life seems to enjoy my stories, except those who hate children, maybe I'll share some anecdotes. I do like my friends. It's just tough. I don't know. I don't like complaining. Really, the only thing I dislike is my familial tensions. But I don't want to talk about that. I just want to write about movies.

[the-firebird69]

Watch "My God, it's full of stars!" on YouTube

I think these five people are hiding something that they found in 2001 one thing is the ship. I believe that happened in 2001. The other elements were discovered during their flight out there and that was about the same flight actually in 2001 and they brought one of the computers back and I believe that John remillard is threatening it to do stuff and thinks it works and people are checking it now and Chicago we're supposed to be inside of a building because he's been screaming you're not going to use my method on me to have me make it do stuff. It is a transformer computer it's for robots and there's a large one it was about 10 miles long between EO and another moon off Jupiter. That computer has been noted as missing for some time now and if some things that Alice took it over on Titan and it's true that's what she did and we have been intercepting signals and blocking them but the curious part is Dave's computer is in Chicago and everybody's been looking for it and he knows where it is and it took out the program modules and he put them somewhere and people say on the moon and that's true and he's been trying to retrieve them ever since and his friend trying to study the computer I can't seem to get to it. These are things that people know about and they're studying him I'm trying to figure out what he's doing is trying to grab our son in order to grab Jesus Christ and Mary and other people like ghwb to examine their computers but others are trying to do that too knowing where they are and there are five of them. But will and Bill wants a computer back cuz they put inside. And the two computers have idiot fights all day long. But nobody but us have to listen to it's extremely aggravating space Odyssey 2010 is a movie about them returning and going nuts because they are nuts and we need them to die because of their behavior especially John remillard who thinks that the things doing what he wants and it's his people it is not even in contact with it the signal is jammed and yeah using the building

Thor Freya

I was speaking as well and this is the most annoying thing I've ever heard of in my life and the Sun is is enamored by it because it's ruining them and I do see how good it is for him it's extremely dangerous but he thinks it's really really nice here the world rulers fall into their knees over these objects which they can't use and can't figure out how to use it is not a normal occurrence and in front of me and I can't believe that their best advice but they're being destroyed by anything greed and more cuz they've seen what it can do

Zig Zag

If it's not diminish me or it's not great this over me it's something I created with her in a few minutes to cause the effect it's occurring now but no way you people are so stupid and you're way out there you're thinking it's God on the floor or something we can't do it we can do I can't do it Goddesses can do, and oh yeah you're lunatics because you think it does and generally thinks it's doing stuff now most people know that signals blocked and they're saying you're insane cuz you mostly are.

I think that the transformers retrieve their hardware I could be wrong, that does show in the movie.

Zues Hera

And chosen the movie and they retrieve it and they have data from the other robot computer on how it operates in signal and so forth and everybody goes after us afterwards cuz these guys have huge mouths I've been trying to retrieve it for a long time I can't stand it anymore it's such an assholes but this place is going to go down the hole down the drain and we have to do it it's going to be a war up there and you're going to see real transformers I'm going to kick your ass you got to see his version and other people's versions and they are wicked but his are massively fast and powerful even Billy z has some kick ass versions but you don't have hardly anything and there's a pitiful and don't do anything and we've seen them John remaLord and you're a piece of crap we want you out and we need you out our friend here is probably going to take the module and we certainly don't need that but he does and he needs a program computer too of Dave's and he needs it badly for some reason he thinks he has to find the devices that might be implanted in something you can't figure it out you're such an idiot

Billium we're together but not that close but really this is terrible what are you saying is that everybody's going to go after the stuff and we're going to pummel you tonight

[redantsunderneath]

When they first announced that the two movies we're going to open on the same day, I got a chill down my spine, because, what's the phrase, the Kabbalistic implications are immense? The first thing we knew about Oppenheimer is that they were doing a "real" batter-my heart-three-personed-God nuclear explosion because Nolan needed to get it practically. The first thing we knew about Barbie is that the opening of 2001 a space Odyssey was important enough of a reference point to place it front and center in the first trailer. Both of these things smack of the fall of man. One of the great mimetic moments of the last decade is the sequence in Twin Peaks the Return part eight where the Trinity event is depicted, following which there is a unleashing of certain elements on the world, including a coarsening of the masculine spirit, a perversion of the feminine spirit, and the putting of some intrinsic American soul to sleep. There is a clear indication of the event as some sort of Jack Parsons style rite ripping open the veil between dimensions, and allowing some taint in. On the one hand this is about the postwar years as a slide into something somehow less noble, more base, distracted, and narcissistic. But part of it is envisioning the coming of age of the boomers as weaning on the fruit of this time specific "tree of smoke," the produce section of the knowledge of good and evil. Both these two movies are probably going to do something similar, imagine an symbolic order derived from the postwar period, our ideas of "the 50s" when we think of positive (America at the top of the world! modern design! nostalgia for cool progress!) and negative (alienation! conformity! disposability!) of the era, and both of them are going to be deeply gnostically indebted to a moment of "waking up" into the chaotic world that has been unleashed by stealing fire from the gods. Wait that's another metaphor, but you can throw Pandora in there too.

Oppenheimer centralizes the event, and I'm assuming they're going to ignore his communist party flirtations in the 20s and 30s at the beginning of the movie, and focus on will and achievement against the odds in the black-and-white world of da' Nazis, and then something bad creeping into the American psyche in its aftermath: J Edgar Hoover, the military industrial complex getting out of control due to Truman having the management style of boss baby, the general atmosphere of fear and distrust, etc. Meanwhile Barbie, keeping that 2001 intro in mind, is going to be about a version of the garden of Eden (one where Adam was created from the rib of Eve) where there dawns a kind of consciousness that this paradise is a demiurgic illusion. Ticky tacky, pink and purple boxes, all the same. This results in a journey out into the American desert southwest (of the real) which is somehow the heart of our collective 20th century fall from grace (too much to go into there).

The idea that Barbie is going this way is supported by many interview quotes and comparason points from people who have seen some of it, but it remains to be seen whether that whole thing will wash or not. I disagree that Oppenheimer is intrinsically uninteresting to a broad audience, as I'm old enough to remember when that shit was still really vital in the American consciousness (and I'm not that old), plus I think there's a good number of people that have read the Pulitzer Prize winning American Prometheus biography and see something in it that lines the horizons of Oppenheimer to something in our culture today (whether it's something is pedantic as global warming, or deep-seated like neoliberalism, the idea that a principled man is essentially powerless against the prevailing winds of how everything just is at the moment, and the futility of trying to turn the boat around before it goes over the waterfall).

Anyway, Kitty Oppenheimer didn't dress like that, but I assume they're going to touch on some of his habitual womanizing and her alcoholism, so i t's got some of that biopic juice to it, and it's not like anybody cared about John Nash. The focus is pretty squarely on the fact that it's a Nolan movie where he gets to do Nolany stuff.

can anyone explain all the buzz around Oppenheimer? why is a biopic about a theoretical physicist (!) generating this much interest, I’m confused

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish​ pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John! 

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic). 

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​ @rhapsodyrecs​ ​​​ @joemazzmatazz​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​ @namelesslosers​​ @inthegardensofourminds​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hardyshoe​​​ @sevenseasofcats​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @madeinheavxn​​ @whatgoeson-itslate​​​ @herewegoagainniall​​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​​ @pomjompish​​ @allauraleigh​​  @bluutac​​ @johndeaconshands​​ 

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.  

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.  

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.  

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.  

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.  

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”  

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.  

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

[rubykgrant]

I made a slightly condensed version of my Spooky Ref list; it still has a heck ton of movies and books, but now I combined certain categories, eliminated a few, and removed some of the titles that don’t quite fit. If you are looking for things to watch or read so you can get into the Halloween mood (or of you just like some creepy content), here you go!

Movies and Books for October

These range from children’s media to adult content, so be sure to check the ratings/reviews, this way you’ll find ones that are suitable for the right viewers. The dates of movies and names of authors for books are included to make searches easier

(a * symbol is for when a title is in both sections, a book that got made into a movie, ect)

Halloween and Ghosts

Movies- Hocus Pocus (1993), *the Halloween Tree (1993), the Nightmare before Christmas (1993), Trick r Treat (2007), Monster House (2006), Halloweentown (1998), the Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1949), Scary Godmother Halloween Spooktacular (2003), Poltergeist (1982), the Haunting (1999), Casper (1995), Ghostbusters (1984), the Haunted Mansion (2003), Thirteen Ghosts (2001), the Others (2001)

Books- How to Drive Your Family Crazy on Halloween by Dean Marney,*the Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury, the Haunted Mask (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, Dark Harvest by Norman Partridge, Stonewords a Ghost Story by Pam Conrad, Deep and Dark and Dangerous by Mary Downing Hahn, Ghost Beach (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, All the Lovely Bad Ones by Mary Downing Hahn, the Crossroads by Chris Grabenstein, Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn

 Witch/ESP/Mental Powers

Movies- *Practical Magic (1998), *the Wizard of Oz (1939), *the Witches (1990), Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), Scooby-Doo and the Witch’s Ghost (1999) *Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001), the Craft (1996), the Witches of Eastwick (1987), *Carrie (1976), *Firstarter (1984), *Matilda (1996), the Last Mimzy (2007)

Books- *Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman, *the Witches by Roald Dahl, Charmed Life by Diana Wynne Jones, *Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by JK Rowling, *the Wizard of Oz by L Frank Baum, T*Witches by HB Gilmour and Randi Reisfeld, the Worst Witch by Jill Murphy, *Carrie by Stephen King, *Firestarter by Stephen King, *Matilda by Roald Dahl, Scorpion Shards (Star Shards Chronicles) by Neal Shusterman, the Witch’s Boy by Michael Gruber

 Vampire and Werewolf

Movies- Blade (1998), the Little Vampire (2000), Hellboy Blood and Iron (2007), *Hotel Transylvania (2012), Fright Night (2011), What We Do in the Shadows (2014), Alvin and the Chipmunks meet The Wolfman (2000), Ginger Snaps (2000), Van Helsing (2004) Wolf Children (2012), the Wolfman (1941)

Books- Bunnicula by James and Deborah Howe, Dracula by Bram Stoker, ‘Salem’s Lot by Stephen King, Red Rider’s Hood by Neal Shusterman, the Werewolf of Fever Swamp (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, Werewolves Don't Go to Summer Camp (Bailey School Kids) by Debbie Dadey and Marcia Jones, Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause, Night of the Werepoodle by Constance Hiser

 Zombies and Slasher/Gore

Movies- Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island (1998), ParaNorman (2012), Night of the Living Dead (1968), *Pet Sematary (1989), Zombieland (2009), Resident Evil (2002), Dawn of the Dead (2004) Scream (1996), a Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), *I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997), Kill Bill (2003), Happy Death Day (2017), the Hills Have Eyes (2006), US (2019), Friday the 13th (1980), the Thing (1982), *the Girl with all the Gifts (2016)

Books- *Pet Sematary by Stephen King, the Haunting of Derek Stone by Tony Abott, Welcome to Dead House (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, *I know What You Did Last Summer by Lois Duncan, the Dark Half by Stephen King, The Dead Girlfriend (Point Horror) by RL Stine, Another by Yukito Ayatsuji, the Prom Queen (Fear Street) by RL Stine, *the Girl with all the Gifts by MR Carey

 Demons/Possession/Afterlife

Movies- the Omen (1976), Insidious (2010), the Exorcist (1973), *Christine (1983), City of Angels (1998), All Dogs go to Heaven (1989), Fallen (1998), *Rosemary’s Baby (1968), Bedazzled (2000), What Dreams May Come (1998), the Book of Life (2014), Flatliners (2017), *the Lovely Bones (2009), Coco (2017), Jennifer’s Body (2009), the Mummy (1999)

Books- *Christine by Stephen King, Needful Things by Stephen King, HECK where the bad kids go by Dale E Bayse,* Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin, Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Paradise Lost by John Milton, Inferno by Dante Alighieri, *the Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

 Monsters/Mythology/Dangerous Animals

Movies- Monsters Inc (2001), Godzilla (1998), *a Monster Calls (2016), *Jurassic Park (1993), King Kong (1933), Doug’s 1st Movie (1999), Darkness Falls (2003), Atlantis the lost empire (2001), Sinbad Legend of the Seven Seas (2003), *the Last Unicorn (1982), Urban Legend (1998), *How to Train Your Dragon (2010), the Flight of Dragons (1982), Shrek (2001), *the Hobbit (1977), Quest for Camelot (1998), Ferngully the last rainforest (1992), Lake Placid (1999), Jaws (1975), *Cujo (1983), Deep Blue Sea (1999), Anaconda (1997)

Books- *a Monster Calls by Patrick Ness, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, *Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton, Sasquatch by Roland Smith, *the Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle, the Moorchild by Eloise Jarvis McGraw, the Lightning Thief (Percy Jackson and the Olympians) by Rick Riordan, the Boggart by Susan Cooper, *How to Train Your Dragon by Cressida Cowell, Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville, *the Hobbit by JRR Tolkien, *Cujo by Stephen King, Cat in the Crypt (Animal Ark Hauntings) by Ben M Baglio, Congo by Michael Crichton, Watership Down by Richard Adams, the Dark Pond by Joseph Bruchac

 Dolls and Toys, Circus/Carnival/Clowns, Comedy Horror

Movies- *Coraline (2009), the Adventures of Pinocchio (1996), Child’s Play (1988), Toy Story (1995), 9 (2009), We’re Back a dinosaur’s story (1993), the Care Bears Movie (1985), Little Nemo adventures in Slumberland (1989), *Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), *Big Top Scooby-Doo (2012), Killer Klowns from Outer Space, *IT (2017), *Beetlejuice (1988), Army of Darkness (1992), Gremlins (1984), Arachnophobia (1990), Jawbreaker (1999), Tremors (1990), the Frighteners (1996), Twilight Zone the Movie (1983), Little Shop of Horrors (1986), Eight Legged Freaks (2002), the Goonies (1985)

Books- Frozen Charlotte by Alex Bell, *Coraline by Neil Gaiman, No Flying in the House by Betty Brock, Doll Bones by Holly Black, Joyland by Stephen King, *Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, the Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, *IT by Stephen King, the Cuckoo Clock of Doom (Goosebumps) by RL Stine, a Dirty Job by Christopher Moore jr, Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy, Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (Treasury) by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Stephen Gammell, JTHM (Director’s Cut) by Jhonen Vasquez

 Gothic/Dark Fantasy, Curse/Transformation

Movies- *the Addams Family (1991), Rebecca (1940), Edward Scissorhands (1990), Mama (2013), the Phantom of the Opera (2004), Crimson Peak (2010), Legend (1985), the Dark Crystal (1982), Labyrinth (1986), *the Neverending Story (1984), *the Secret of NIMH (1982), Anastasia (1997), Howl’s Moving Castle (2004), Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), Willow (1988), *the Last Unicorn (1982), the Princess Bride (1987), *Legend of the Guardians the Owls of Ga'Hoole, Beauty and the Beast (1991), the Princess and the Frog (2009), the Swan Princess (1994), the Thing (1982), the Mask (1994), Freaky Friday (2003), Song of the Sea (2014), Pirates of the Caribbean the Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)

Books- the Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, the Shining by Stephen King, Remember Me by Mary Higgins Clark, a Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket, Well Witched (Verdigris Deep) by Frances Hardinge, Poison by Chris Wooding, *the Neverending Story by Michael Ende, *Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C O'Brien, a Tale Dark and Grimm by Adam Gidwitz, the Dark Portal by Robin Jarvis, Zel by Donna Jo Napoli, *the Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle, *Guardians of Ga’Hoole by Kathryn Lasky, Owl in Love by Patrice Kindl

 Mystery/Thriller/Psychological/Suspense

Movies- Clue (1985), *Holes (2003), Get Out (2017), Hot Fuzz (2007), Minority Report (2002), Kidnap (2017), Saw (2004), Wind River (2017), Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), the Great Mouse Detective (1986), Eve’s Bayou (1997), Breaking In (2018), Cube (1997), *Secret Window (2004), Silent Hill (2006), the Sixth Sense (1999), the Good Son (1993), Psycho (1960), Donnie Darko (2001), Fargo (1996), the Game (1997), the Invisible Man (2020), Breaking In (2018)

Books- *Holes by Louis Sachar, the Lost (the Outer Limits) by John Peel, We’ll Meet Again by Mary Higgins Clark, When the Bough Breaks by Jonathan Kellerman, *Secret Window Secret Garden (Four Past Midnight) by Stephen King, House of Stairs by William Sleator, Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, Dolores Claiborne by Stephen King, Tangerine by Edward Bloor, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, the Girl who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King

 Sci-Fi/Space Aliens, Robots and Technology

Movies- I Robot (2004), the Iron Giant (1999), the Terminator (1984), AI artificial intelligence (2001), the Stepford Wives (2004), Wall-E (2008), *Screamers (1995), *Sphere (1998), *Blade Runner (1982), *2001 a Space Odyssey (1968), MIB (1997), Mission to Mars (2000), Galaxy Quest (1999), Alien (1979), ET the extra terrestrial (1982), Independence Day (1996), Spaced Invaders (1990), Buzz Lightyear of Star Command the Adventure Begins (2000), Chicken Little (2005), *War of the Worlds (1953), *Contact (1997), Signs (2002), Treasure Planet (2002), Frequency (2000), Back to the Future (1985), the Time Machine (1960), Planet of the Apes (1968), Lost in Space (1998)

Books- the Terminal Man by Michael Crichton, Feed by Matthew Tobin Anderson, *Second Variety (Screamers) by Phillip K Dick, *I Robot by Isaac Asimov, Cell by Stephen King, *Sphere by Michael Crichton, *Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep (Blade Runner) by Philip K Dick , *2001 a Space Odyssey by  Arthur C Clarke, a Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle, Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card, the Dark Side of Nowhere by Neal Shusterman, *War of the Worlds by HG Wells, *Contact by Carl Sagan, Childhood’s End by Arthur C Clarke, Aliens Don’t Wear Braces (the Baily School Kids) by Debbie Dadey and Marcia Jones, the Invasion (Animorphs) by KA Applegate

 Dystopia/Disaster, Other Worlds

Movies- Waterworld (1995), the Matrix (1999), Escape from New York (1981), *Demolition Man (1993), the Day After Tomorrow (2004), Volcano (1997), the Fifth Element (1997), Titan AE (2000), Armageddon (1998), Twister (1996), the Birds (1963), the Book of Eli, (2010) Spirited Away (2001), *Alice in Wonderland (1951), Pleasantville (1998), *the Phantom Tollbooth (1970), *the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005), *Hook (1991), the Pagemaster (1994), *James and the Giant Peach (1996)

Books- Among the Hidden by Margaret Peterson Haddix, Uglies by Scott Westerfeld, the Road by Cormac McCarthy, the House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer, 1984 by George Orwell, Armageddon Summer by Bruce Coville and Jane Yolen, the Giver by Lois Lowry, the City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau, *Brave New World (Demolition Man) by Aldous Huxley, Malice by Chris Wooding, * the Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, *Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, the Golden Compass (His Dark Materials) by Philip Pullman, *The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe (the Chronicles of Narnia) by CS Lewis, *James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl

 Anime/Manga and J-Horror

Movies- Akira (1988), Perfect Blue (1997), Ring (1998), Dark Water (2002), Ghost in the Shell (1995), Tokyo Godfathers (2003), Cat Soup (2001), *Cowboy Bebop the Movie (2001), Blood the Last Vampire (2000), Pokemon the First Movie (1998), Sailor Moon R Promise of the Rose (1993), DBZ the World’s Strongest (1990), Digimon the Movie (2000), Ju-On (2000)

Manga- Claymore by Norihiro Yagi, Death Note by Tsugumi Ohba and illustrated by Takeshi Obata, *Yu Yu Hakusho by Yoshihiro Togashi, *Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa, *Blue Exorcist by Kazue Katō, *Soul Eater by Atsushi Ōkubo, *Inuyasha by Rumiko Takahashi,

Anime- *Yu Yu Hakusho, *Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, *Soul Eater, *Blue Exorcist, *Inuyasha, *Cowboy Bebop, Mob Psycho 100, .hack//SIGN , the Promised Neverland, Paranoia Agent, Tokyo Ghoul, Hellsing Ultimate

 Super Hero

Movies- Hellboy (2004), Ghost Rider (2007), the Incredibles (2004), Batman Beyond return of the Joker (2000), TMNT (2007), Logan (2017), Black Panther (2018), Sky High (2005), Spider-Man into the Spider-Verse (2018), Justice League Crisis on Two Earths (2010), Batman Under the Red Hood (2010)

Comics- Animal Man (New 52, 2011) DC Comics, Swamp Thing (New 52, 2011) DC Comics, BPRD Dark Waters (2012) Dark Horse Comics, Nextwave (Agents of HATE, 2006) Marvel Comics

Animated Series- Batman the Animated Series, X-Men Evolution, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2003), Darkwing Duck, the Powerpuff Girls, Teen Titans (2005), Static Shock, Green Lantern the Animated Series

 Cartoons and TV shows

Over the Garden Wall, The Simpsons (Treehouse of Horrors), Regular Show (Terror Tales of the Park), Adventure Time (Stakes), Scooby-Doo Where Are You/What’s New Scooby-Doo,  El Tigre the Adventures of Manny Rivera, Phineas and Ferb (Night of the Living Pharmacists), Gravity Falls, Good Omens, Miracle Workers, Grimm, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, What We Do In the Shadows, Hotel Transylvania the series, Wolf’s Rain, Danny Phantom, Aaahh Real Monsters, the Munsters, So Weird, Tutenstein, Gargoyles, Xena Warrior Princess, Are You Afraid of the Dark, Tales from the Crypt, Goosebumps, Samurai Jack, Metalocalypse, Super Jail, My Life as a Teenage Robot, Futurama, the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, *Beetlejuice (animated series), Sabrina the Animated Series, the Owl House, Bewitched, Growing Up Creepy, the Addams Family (animated series), a Series of Unfortunate Events, Courage the Cowardly Dog, Star VS the Forces of Evil, Amphibia, Infinity Train, Penn Zero Part-Time Hero, Murder She Wrote, the Venture Bros, Avatar the Last Airbender, Invader ZIM, People of Earth, Star Trek Next Gen, Rick and Morty, Buzz Lightyear of Star Command

[crowdvscritic]

round up // JANUARY 21

New year, not-so-new Crowd vs. Critic! It’s another batch of films, TV, music, and reads that were new to me this month and think you would enjoy, too. As we cozy up inside for the winter, nothing warms you up like a good piece of pop culture.

January Crowd-Pleasers

Wonder Woman 1984 (2020)

Does this sequel reach the heights of 2017’s Wonder Woman? No, but I wish more superhero movies were like this one. I explain why at ZekeFilm. Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

21 Bridges (2019)

A solid action crime thriller with a solid Chadwick Boseman at the center. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

The Lethal Weapon Series (1987-98)

I watched the first Lethal Weapon in 2017 for ZekeFilm, but now I’ve a decade’s pleasure of progressively over-the-top action sequences and progressively more absurd ways to destroy Roger Murtaugh’s (Danny Glover) house. The Murtaugh/Riggs bromance holds this progressively sillier series together, and an supporting cast of charismatic actors (Jet Li, Darlene Love, Chris Rock, Rene Russo) are game for whatever comes their way. Joe Pesci is the true MVP. Series Crowd: 9/10 // Series Critic: 7/10

The High Note (2020)

Tracee Ellis Ross’s Grace Davis is a diva in every sense of the word. A high-strung and highly successful singer, she’s also highly demanding of her assistant Maggie (Dakota Johnson), who wants to step out of her shadow and become a music producer. This rom-com-adjacent flick is one of the most fun escapes I’ve had from a 2020 movie, and it’s perfect for a girls’ night in. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10

Double Feature—Rom-Coms With a Magical Twist: Just My Luck (2006) + When In Rome (2010)

Disclaimer: These movies are not good. In fact, they’re junk, but they’re my kind of junk. In Just My Luck (Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 6/10), Lindsay Lohan loses her life-long lucky streak when she kisses schlimazel Chris Pine. And When in Rome (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 6/10), Kristen Bell attracts unwanted admirers (Will Arnett, Danny DeVito, Josh Duhamel, Jon Heder, and real-life future husband Dax Shepard) after she steals their coins from a wishing fountain. To their credit, both of these movies know they’re silly, which means you have permission to just sit back and laugh along with (or, honestly, at) them.

WandaVision (2021)

I sometimes fear for the world of entertainment when I think of how much intellectual property Disney has gobbled up, but WandaVision is evidence the company is a benevolent dictator at least for now. This odd delight is a send up and a tribute to sitcoms like I Love Lucy, I Dream of Jeannie, and The Brady Bunch, and Paul Bettany and Elizabeth Olsen are so charming and weird I don’t need whatever mysterious sub-plot they’re building.

Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

If you want to make the most of watching Robin Hood: Men in Tights, first watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991), an action flick I saw last February and didn’t include in my monthly Round Up. This Mel Brooks spoof is a direct response that self-serious Kevin Costner adventure, even down to copying its costumes. While I wish I could find a Mel Brooks comedy with any substantial female character (in every movie I’ve seen so far, the joke is either, “She’s got a great rack!” or “Wow, she’s an uggo!”), I still couldn’t stop laughing at this 104-minute version of the Robin Hood scene in Shrek. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

Aliens (1986)

Peak ‘80s action. Peak alien grossness. Peak girl boss Sigourney Weaver. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/.510

Big (1988)

After talking about Laverne & Shirley with Kyla on SO IT’S A SHOW?, I had to check out Penny Marshall’s classic. While a few moments haven’t aged so well, its heart is sweet and the script is hilarious. And that Tom Hanks? I think he’s going places. Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

Unstoppable (2010)

I’ve laughed at SNL’s spoof of this movie for a decade, so it’s about time I got around to enjoying this action thriller very loosely based on the true story of a train that got away from its conductor. Denzel Washington (“You’re too old!”) and Chris Pine (“You’re too young!”) are our heroes in this over-the-top ridiculousness, and their chemistry is so extra it makes me hope they team up for another movie again. Crowd:  9/10 // Critic: 7/10

January Critic Picks

Double Feature—‘90s Space Adventures: Apollo 13 (1995) + Contact (1997)

I have no desire to join Tom Cruise as he films in space, but I know I’ll be pumped to watch whatever he makes because I love sci-fi and space  adventures. Apollo 13 (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10) tells the story of an almost-disastrous NASA mission in the ‘60s, and it taps into our hope for the human spirit to overcome obstacles. Contact (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) surmises what might happen if we received communication from extraterrestrial life, and it taps into our struggle to reconcile faith and science.

McCartney III by Paul McCartney (2020)

I spent January catching up on the albums on Best of 2020 lists, and the one I listened to for hours and hours was Paul McCartney’s latest solo album. Catchy, thoughtful, and musically surprising, it ranges from pop to rock to folk in 45 minutes and still feels like it’s over too soon. Like Tom Hanks, this Paul McCartney guy is going places!

The Thin Man Series (1934-47)

Like Lethal Weapon, I watched the first installment of The Thin Man awhile back, and Kyla and I even covered the series on our podcast. But thanks to a full series marathon on TCM earlier this month, I’ve now laughed through all five. When you talk about great chemistry, you’ve got to talk about William Powell and Myrna Loy, who make Nick and Nora’s marriage feel lived in and romantic as they solve crimes together. Witty, suspenseful, and jaunty, this series is still sexy cool over 80 years later. (Also, Asta? Still one of the cutest dogs in cinema.) Series Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

The King and I (1956)

Here’s your regularly scheduled reminder Hollywood works differently now, and many casting decisions of the ‘50s wouldn’t fly today. What has aged well in this film: The Rodgers and Hammerstein music and the sumptuous costumes and set design. I love extravagant musicals of yesteryear—perhaps it’s time for Hollywood to revisit and remake The King and I for modern audiences?

Inauguration Day

In a year with no major televised events with celebrities in a room together, Inauguration Day felt like the most exciting cultural event in ages. We’ve been missing major fashion, but then we got Lady Gaga! We’ve been missing live performances, but then we got Amanda Gorman! And I got a lot of tears during that poem—not just me, right?

Good Reads

Writing that made me think and smile this month:

Steven Soderbergh’s list of everything he read, watched, and listened to this year, Extension765.com (2020) – An indirect inspiration for these monthly Round Ups!

“My Year of Making Lists,” NewYorker.com (2020) – I made a lot of lists in 2020, so I feel this author’s #mood

“Betty White Says She Will Spend Her 99th Birthday Feeding Two Ducks Who Visit Her ‘Every Day,’“ CBSNews.com (2021) - “Betty is a treasure,” I say as I watch The Proposal for the 99th time

“A Sculpture’s Unusual Journey to SLAM [St. Louis Art Museum],” SLAM.org (2020) – With a casual mention of an attraction I never knew about in St. Louis

“The Culture Is Ailing. It’s Time for a Dr. Fauci for the Arts.” WashingtonPost.com (2020) – An idea that occurred to me a few months ago: Why don’t we have an Arts Cabinet?

“The Arts Are in Crisis. Here’s How Biden Can Help.” NYTimes.com (2021) – Partly in response to that Washington Post piece, a historical look at how artists have made it through difficult times in the past and how we can revive artists’ livelihoods mid- and post-pandemic

“The Right’s Message to Silicon Valley: 'Free Speech for Me, But Not for Thee,'” TIME.com (2021) – A more thoughtful and less reactionary take on a volatile moment in the history of modern technology

“'It Makes Me Sick With Grief': Trump's Presidency Divided Families. What Happens to Them Now?” TIME.com (2021) – A study on how politics has done damage to family dynamics in America

“Help, the Only Cinema I Can Handle Is Zac Efron Prancing Angrily in High School Musical 2,” Vulture.com (2021) - In a lot of ways, same

“50 Easy Things To Do When You are Anxious,” ShopTwentySeven.com (2021) – I especially endorse coloring, puzzling, and watching happy movies!

Double Feature—Miss Marple Mysteries: Murder at the Gallop (1963) + Murder Ahoy (1964)

Remember when I was all like, “Watch these Agatha Christie movies so you’re not sad Death on the Nile is delayed”? Remember when I said I was just a few movies away from becoming an Agatha Christie junkie? Well, I think I’m there because I can’t stop with the murder mysteries! Margaret Rutherford is a treasure whether she’s solving a murder at a horse ranch or on a boat, and a cast of colorful supporting characters (including Rutherford’s husband) makes these breezy instead of heavy. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8/10

8½ (1963)

File this with 2001: A Space Odyssey—I don’t know if I really understood this film, but I think I liked it? Federico Fellini’s surrealist, male gaze-y drama blurs the lines between reality and imagination, love and dysfunction, and the past and maybe some future that involves clowns? What resonated with me was the story of a director with creative block, wondering if he’s already peaked and if he’ll create anything worthwhile again. Crowd: 6/10 // Critic: 9/10

Sense and Sensibility: The Screenplay and Diaries by Emma Thompson (1995)

Sense and Sensibility is not just one of my favorite Jane Austen adaptations—it’s one of my all-time favorite films. One of the co-hosts of one of my favorite podcasts has raved many-a-time about Emma Thompson’s journals from the making of film, so it was only a matter of time before I read them myself. Witty, informative, and all-around lovely, Thompson’s journals are an excellent insight into the filmmaking process and how novels are adapted.

Also in January…

I reviewed the new-ish documentary Flannery for ZekeFilm, which is all about the writer Flannery O’Connor and feels a little like going back to high school English class.

In addition to the Lethal Weapon and Thin Man series, I rewatched all of the X-Men series this month. You can see everything I am watching on Letterboxd, including favorites I love returning to (i.e. X-Men: Days of Future Past) and the movies I try that don’t make my monthly recommendations (i.e. The Wolverine).

Photo credits: Paul McCartney, Zac Efron, Sense & Sensibility. All others IMDb.com.

[aion-rsa]

Coming to America: The Secret Shared Cinematic Universe You Forgot About

https://ift.tt/3bcJ0Cq

When one thinks about 1988’s Coming to America, a few things stand out: James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair as the King and Queen of Zamunda speaking to their son Prince Akeem (Eddie Murphy) at a breakfast table with intercom radios; the opulence of Zamunda’s palace, which represented an idealized African nation to 1980s audiences the way Wakanda does today; and of course Murphy and Arsenio Hall’s Semmi fresh off the plane in Queens, New York with no idea what “common” means—or also Murphy and Hall under pounds of makeup as the argumentative old-timers at the nearby barbershop.

The film has many great elements that make it a comedy classic. However, what’s often overlooked is that the picture is not-so-secretly part of a shared cinematic universe. Indeed, Coming to America is the film which confirmed several of director John Landis’ films all occur in the same world: One with another Eddie Murphy as Billy Ray Valentine, a small time hustler who gets one over on some rich old racists and winds up nouveau riche in Trading Places, and one with carnivorous lunar activities in An American Werewolf in London. Weird, right? 

The more overt and official of these is the callback to Murphy and Landis’ previous collaboration, Trading Places (1983). In that film, Murphy’s Billy Ray Valentine is an unimpressive grifter who’s trying to get by on a put-on about being a Vietnam vet without legs. Obviously Billy Ray has never had the opportunity to achieve more, and two corrupt blue bloods named Randolph and Mortimer Duke (Ralph Bellamy and Don Ameche) think it would be funny to give Billy Ray that chance to succeed—if only temporarily, after all they don’t want a Black man actually flourishing at their company—while throwing their silver spoon lackey, Louis Winthorpe III (Dan Aykroyd) into poverty.

It’s a cynical racist game they’re playing, and it ends up blowing up in their faces, with Billy Ray and Louis eventually joining forces to get rich while bankrupting the Dukes. In other words, it’s a perfectly ‘80s comedy in tune with that decade’s values: humor based in a lot of stereotypes that ends with the good guys getting rich. Still, it’s a charmer which, alongside 48 Hrs. (1982), proved Murphy was a bona fide movie star outside of Saturday Night Live. Hence why Murphy and Landis are so keen to call back to it in Coming to America.

Late in the 1988 comedy about Prince Akeem traveling to New York City in order to meet a nice American girl, the prince and Lisa (Shari Headley) are taking a walk in the promenade near the Brooklyn Bridge when Akeem gives a handful of rolled up hundred dollar bills to two homeless men. Committed to embracing a life of poverty, Akeem tells Lisa he just gave away pocket change. However, when the camera returns to the two old-timers beneath blankets and cardboard, we learn that (gasp) it’s Ralph Bellamy and Don Ameche! It seems Billy Ray and Louis really did thoroughly put these capitalist vultures out on the street. But the two grumpy old men are thrilled with this newfound investment.

“Mortimer, we’re back!” Bellamy announces with a Cheshire grin. The two then show up again to bang on Akeem and Lisa’s window as they have dinner, shouting, “Let’s have lunch.”

It’s an amusing and impossible-to-miss Easter egg for fans of Murphy’s films. Although given how rotten the Duke brothers are, we fear Akeem has done more harm than good. The moment also makes the two films a rare thing in 20th century Hollywood cinema: a shared cinematic universe. While the Universal Movie Monsters did this 40 years prior to Trading Places, we were still a long way from Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith’s independent world-building in their 1990s films, never mind the Marvel Cinematic Universe popularizing the idea a decade after that.

However, what many miss is that Trading Places isn’t the only Landis movie that Coming to America also calls back to. Later in the 1988 movie, Akeem is chasing Lisa, and the two run through an appropriately scuzzy New York City subway. There are real posters from that time period on the walls, such as one for August Wilson’s Broadway play Fences, which starred James Earl Jones and Frankie Faison (both players in Coming to America). But there’s also a poster for See You Next Wednesday.

This fictional title does not correspond with a real movie, however it does match a running joke throughout Landis’ filmography, including most famously in The Blues Brothers (1980) and An American Werewolf in London (1981). Consider a nondescript billboard for a movie called See You Next Wednesday also appears in The Blues Brothers, with Aykroyd and John Belushi driving right past it in Chicago while on a mission from God. In American Werewolf, meanwhile, there are posters scattered throughout the London tube system for a movie of sorts also titled See You Next Wednesday.

The title is a play on the dirty turn of phrase “See You Next Tuesday,” and actually originates from a line of dialogue spoken in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. Landis, however, enjoys sprinkling it throughout his work, suggesting it’s the name of a fictional movie, one with a significant underground advertising budget between Werewolf and Coming to America.

The movie-within-a-movie is revealed in Werewolf’s third act to actually be a seedy porno film playing in London’s Piccadilly Circus. It’s there that the poor schmuck David Kessler (David Naughton) transforms into a werewolf one last time, and kills some perverts on his way out the door.

Admittedly, this is not an official connection between Coming to America and An American Werewolf in London, or The Blues Brothers. For starters, it legally has to be slightly different since Werewolf and Brothers are Universal Pictures releases while Coming to America (like Trading Places) was produced by Paramount. Additionally, the See You Next Wednesday poster in Coming to America is not for a porno film, but a glossy sci-fi cheesefest apparently starring Jamie Lee Curtis, who also happened to appear in Trading Places. But we suspect these superficial differences in the posters (that you have to squint to notice) are concessions to the legal need to differentiate the running joke.

Like the fan theory that Ridley Scott’s Alien and Blade Runner occur in the same universe—a theory Scott himself has publicly supported—despite the sci-fi films being produced by different studios, Landis seems to invite folks to imagine Coming to America and a number of his other films are also part of the same universe.

It’s a funny thing to imagine that there are two Eddie Murphys out there, one yachting with Aykroyd’s Louis and Curtis’ Ophelia around the world, and the other a kind hearted if overly naïve African prince. And while Zamunda is a kind of paradise (at least for the men in its highly patriarchal society), demons and cursed devils like David Kessler prowl the moors of England, picking off American tourists too dim to beware the moon and stick to the road.

Read more

Movies

Coming 2 America: How Wesley Snipes Got Into Rhythm with Eddie Murphy

By Tony Sokol

Movies

Coming to America: Ranking Every Eddie Murphy Character

By David Crow

Of course these are more winks and nods than concrete world-building, and they’re masterminded by one of the most controversial directors of their era. In fact, it is hard to consider these connections and not also recall the director’s complicated past. For a short time, Landis was on top of the world when he made Animal House, The Blues Brothers, and An American Werewolf in London back-to-back-to-back. But by the time of Coming to America’s release, fewer and fewer colleagues were working with him due to the tragic and entirely avoidable disaster on the Twilight Zone: The Movie set, an accident which led to the deaths of three people, two of them children. Murphy, however, was one person who continued to work with Landis.

And the two worked exceptionally well together, indeed. Landis’ specific brand of outlandish, sometimes fratty humor complemented Murphy’s big swings as a performer, including beginning to experiment with makeup comedy. He never more adeptly used prosthetics than in Coming to America; and much of this film’s iconography comes from Landis and his wife, costume designer Deborah Nadoolman, who imagined Akeem and Semmi’s now iconic Zamunda winter wear.

Whatever else, Landis helmed some of the most popular comedies of the 1980s, with four of them apparently existing in the same universe. Remembering that these days can still crack a smile. Or at least a howl.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Coming to America: The Secret Shared Cinematic Universe You Forgot About appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3bbdPaF

[buzzdixonwriter]

The Rise Of Skywalker Review [SPOILERICIOUS]

=0=

I’m going to post all the SPOILER stuff way below in section 3, so as not to ruin anything for anybody who hasn’t seen the movie yet.

You’ll get plenty of warnings.

=1=

In my old age I’m starting to divide creative works into three groups:  Good, bad, and not-so-good.

A good creative work is any where the strengths overwhelmingly outweigh the weaknesses; a bad one is the obverse.

A not-so-good work is one where the strengths and weaknesses balance each other out.

It’s the kind of a work that will doubtless please those audience members who really enjoy the strengths in it, and equally irritate those annoyed by the weaknesses.

In my estimation, a not-so-good work is one done with straight forward intent and as often as not, a fair degree of technical and aesthetic competency, but fails to jell as a cohesive whole.  

No one need feel ashamed for enjoying a not-so-good work, and no one involved in the making of a not-so-good work should feel bad about their contribution (unless, of course, their contribution turns out to be one of the weaknesses that should have been avoided).

Theodore Sturgeon famously observed “90% of everything is crap.”

I think that’s a little harsh.

I agree with him that only 10% of anything is good, but think only 40% falls into the crap bin.

Most stuff falls in the 50% I call not-so-good.

Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise Of Skywalker is in that 50%.

. . .

The good stuff is really good.

Elsewhere I’ve posted my enthusiasm for Star Wars Episode VII:  The Force Awakens and Star Wars Episode VIII:  The Last Jedi hinge in no small part on just how emo Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) could get, and holy cow, does he ever deliver in The Rise Of Skywalker.

Easily my favorite parts of the picture.

Doesn’t really mesh with anything else in the movie but, hey, ya can’t have everything, right?  (I’ll discuss his performance in a little more detail in section =3=.)

Other performances range from adequate to doing-the-best-they-can-with-the-material to okay-smartass-you-try-recreating-a-dead-actress-via-CGI.

The dialog in The Rise Of Skywalker is the worst of any film in the series, with the possible exception Star Wars Episode III:  The Revenge Of The Sith, which I haven’t seen and have no intention of seeing (but more on that below…).

It’s not an attempt to depict characters talking, it’s a series of shouted declarative sentences.

Elsewhere I’ve referred to The Rise Of Skywalker as the best Jason Of Star Command episode ever made.

For those who don’t get the reference, Jason Of Star Command was a low budget albeit imaginative Saturday morning kid-vid Star Wars rip off by Filmation Studios.

To make sure the youngest kids in the audience understood what was going on, they tended to hammer home plot points repeatedly.

  DRAGOS Jason!  In just sixteen hours my space fleet will destroy Star Command!

  STAR COMMAND Jason!  Dragos is going to destroy us with his space fleet in just sixteen hours!

  JASON Don’t worry, Star Command!  I’ll stop Dragos from destroying you with his space fleet in sixteen hours.

  NARRATOR (i.e., Norm Prescott) Jason has only sixteen hours to stop Dragos from destroying Star Command with his space fleet!

  There is far too much of that in The Rise Of Skywalker.

Ten minutes into the movie, and there was already far too much of that…

The opening credit crawl reveals an off camera plot development that literally deserved an entire film of its own to fully explore.

There is no sustained coherent plot to The Rise Of Skywalker:  

Well, we gotta do this,

now we gotta do that,

first we gotta find this thing,

then we gotta find that thing,

now I’m feeling blue,

now I’m gonna get encouraged,

etc., etc., and of course, etc.

Everything feel frenetic, not fast paced.

There are far too many scenes that exist just to sell action figures and toy vehicles.

There was a desire to tie off loose ends and say good-bye to favorite characters and that was a mistake.

It undercuts the urgency of the story (or rather, the desired urgency; the fact the film is called The Rise Of Skywalker means everybody in the freakin’ audience ALREADY KNOWS HOW THE DAMN THING IS GONNA END!

(This is not a problem unique to Star Wars.  Gene Siskell famously upbraided Roger Ebert for spoiling the ending to the third Star Trek movie, to which Ebert retorted, “Oh, come on!  They’re going to call a forty million dollar movie The Search For Spock and not find him?!?!?”)

There is one nice little breather scene (“little” only in screen time; visually it’s pretty big and impressive):  The Festival of the Ancestors on the desert world Pasaana that gives a nice touch of exotic space opera flavor to the proceedings.

All of the Star Wars movies offer really great art direction and visual design, and The Rise Of Skywalker certainly delivers in that category.

Which makes the occasional mediocre special effects shots all the more obvious.

The Rise Of Skywalker has a few painfully obvious matte shots, a few shots obviously composed in post-production, and a few shots where the audience becomes aware the actors are performing in front of a greenscreen. 

You can get away with mediocre visuals so long as there is consistency in their mediocrity.  

If everything else consistently looks great, a so-so shot spoils the illusion; if everything consistently looks so-so, it’s simply part of the work’s look.

Indeed, you’re better off with consistently mediocre work highlighted by a few great shots than consistently great stuff undercut by a few mediocre ones.

Best thing about the movie is the complete lack of Jar Jar Binks.

=2=

Before diving deeper in The Rise Of Skywalker, let’s look at the series as a whole (just the numbered theatrical episodes, not standalone films, TV series, video games, comics, novels, etc.).

I’ve said the original Star Wars was the movie an entire generation had been waiting all their lives to see.

George Lucas wanted to do Flash Gordon but when Universal turned him down, created his own space opera.

Lucas, it needs be noted, is not a good writer.

Whatever visual talents he has, they don’t extend to telling a good story.

One can easily find early drafts of Star Wars online, and while they all share certain elements, they’re all pretty bad.

The development of Star Wars the movie grew organically with storyboard and production art, characters and incidents changing and evolving along the way.

It’s long been rumored that a more skilled writer than Lucas came in to do the final draft; one thing’s for sure, the shooting script is head and shoulders above the earlier drafts.

Star Wars the original Han-shoots-first-dammit theatrical release is very much a product of the 1970s.

20th Century Fox thought they had a good enough kiddee matinee movie for summer release; they expected their big sci-fi blockbuster of the year to be Damnation Alley.

Instead, they hit a nerve and found themselves with a blockbuster on their hands.

Lucas did show one great example of foresight:  He trademarked all the names / characters / vehicles and held the licenses on them, not 20th Century Fox.

This gave him the war chest he needed to build the Lucasfilm empire.

And let’s give Lucas and his crew their due:  They added immeasurably to the technical art of film making, as well as making several entertaining films.

What Lucas did not fully envision was how to mold his Star Wars material into a coherent and thematically cohesive saga.

He started out with grandiose plans -- four trilogies with a standalone film connecting each for a total of 15 movies -- but that gradually got whittled down to 12, then 9.

After Star Wars Episode VI:  The Return Of The Jedi, Lucas put the Star Wars movie series on hold, waiting for film making technology to develop to the point where he could tell the stories the way he wanted to tell them.

Okay, fair enough.

But the problem is that while the film making technology improved, the technology of the Star Wars universe didn’t.

As I said, the original Star Wars is very much a 70s movie in taste / tone / style / sensibility.

While the designs look sufficiently sci-fi, they reflect robots and spacecraft designs of the 1970s -- in fact, even earlier in many cases.

That fit in with Lucas’ “used universe” look and the tag line “A long ago in a galaxy far, far away...”

But compare the original Star Wars with Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Kubrick spent a lot of time researching where technology was heading.

Long before visual displays and vector graphics became commonplace in real world aircraft, he showed them being used in the future.

The first example of what we refer to today as a computer tablet appeared in 2001 as a throwaway background detail.

Kubrick’s next film was A Clockwork Orange and he successfully predicted punk culture a decade ahead of reality (his only mistake being the assumption white, not black, would be the base color).

Star Wars Eps I - III take place a generation before the original Star Wars movie.

Star Wars Eps VII - IX take place a generation after.

Name a two generation span since the start of the industrial age that is not marked by radical technological change that produces an ensuing change in the social order.

Now I grant you, the Star Wars universe isn’t trying to tell that kind of story, but the story it is telling is static.

Characters in The Rise Of Skywalker talk about cloning as if it were A Really Big Deal.

Cloning today is cutting edge bio-tech, to be sure, but it’s already common place.

It’s as if the Star Wars characters were getting worked up over steam engines.

One can intercut scenes from the movies and, unless one is a familiar with each movie, it’s impossible to tell one film from another.

Lucas’ financial success enabled him to issue edicts re Star Wars (and other Lucasfilm projects) that undercut the strengths of his projects.

Lucas is a technological guru and a savvy businessman, but he really struggles to tell a story.

Frankly, I think he would have been a better film maker if he’d spent a decade or so making American Graffiti scale movies, not space operas and epic fantasies and adventure movies.

His decision to make the original Star Wars the fourth episode in his saga and going back to start his story with his villain was fatally flawed.

I grant following the Skywalker saga from Anakin to Luke to Rey could work if it started with Anakin.

But what he did was the equivalent of the James Bond movies jumping back in time to follow the pre-Bond career of Ernst Stavo Blofeld.

(And the Bond movies, at least up until the Daniel Craig era, are all standalone films insofar as one does not have to see any of the previous films to understand and enjoy the one being watched, not does the sequence they’re viewed in matter.  And the Craig films were conceived from the beginning as having a coherent overall arc, so in that case they are the exception to the rule.)

The joyous whiz-bang space opera of the original Star Wars got bogged down in a lot of meaningless politics and talks of trade treaties, none of which explained why anyone would want to conquer the universe in order to rule it as a decrepit, diseased dictator in a dark hole.

Look at Hitler and Stalin and Castro and Mao and the Kim family in North Korea.

These guys enjoyed themselves (well, Hitler did until things went south for him).  They loved the attention and went around preening themselves in public.

The off screen Empire (and implied Emperor) of the original Star Wars served that film well:  It was a story about a tactical conflict, not a treatise on the philosophy of governance.

Lucas’ universe does not make sense even in its own context.

And because of that, it becomes harder and harder to fully engage with it.

A sci-fi movie doesn’t have to explain everything, but it has to at least imply there is an underlying order that links up.

Lucas began subverting his own universe almost immediately.

The Force was originally presented as a spiritual discipline that any sufficiently dedicated intelligent being could gain access to.  (Robots seem to be specifically excluded from The Force, implying it needs a biological connection.  But that would seem to exclude intelligences that may not be organic in the commonly accepted sense of the word, which means such beings cannot appear in the Star Wars universe, which means…well, I digress…)

That was a big hunk of the original Star Wars’ appeal, the thought that literally anybody could become a Jedi if they so desired.

It speaks to a religious bent in audiences from many different cultures around the world, and it offers up an egalitarian hope that allows everyone access to the Star Wars fantasy (“fantasy” in this context meaning the shared ideal).

But already in Star Wars Episode V:  The Empire Strikes Back Lucas began betraying his original concept, sowing the seeds for self-serving deception and innate superiority as endemic in The Force.

By the time he got around to Star Wars Episode I:  The Phantom Menace, Lucas abandoned the hope established in the original Star Wars movie.

Now one has to be a special somebody, not just dedicated.

Mind you, that sort of story has its adherents, too.

Way back in the 1940s sci-fi fans were saying “Fans are slans” in order to claim superiority over “mundanes”.  Today many Harry Potter fans like to think of themselves as inherently superior to “Muggles”. 

It’s a very appealing idea, so appealing that the United States of America is based on it, the assumption being that white people are endowed with more blessings -- and therefore more rights -- than non-white people (add force multipliers such as “rich” / “male” / “Christian” / “straight” and you get to lord it over everybody).

Lucas with his stupid midichlorians robbed audiences of their healthy egalitarian fantasy and replaced it with a far more toxic elitism.

It appeals to the narcissistic stain in the human soul, and encourages dominance and bullying and cruelty and harm as a result.

It’s an elitism that requires a technologically and sociologically stagnant society, one where clones and robots and slaves can all co-exist and nobody points out they are all essentially the same thing.

A progressive society -- and here I use “progressive” strictly in a scientific and technological sense (though as stated above, advances in scientific fields invariably lead to changes elsewhere) -- does not let such conditions exist unchanged for generations.

As technology changes and improves, the culture/s around it change (and hopefully improve, too).

As I mentioned above, I’ve never seen Star Wars Episode III:  Revenge Of The Sith.

My reason for not seeing it?  Star Wars Episode II:  Attack Of The Clones.

Little Anakin Skywalker and his mom are slaves in The Phantom Menace.

He saves the Jedis and Princess Padame’s collective asses in that movie.

Okay, you’d think at the end of the movie that Padame would hand Qui-gon her ATM card and say, “Here, go back to Tatooine and bail the kid’s mom out.  He did a solid for us, it’s the least we can do for him.”

No, they leave her there because there is no desire to change the underlying social order of their universe.

There can be no changes in Lucas’ bleak, barren moral universe.

There can be no help, no hope, no improvement.

When an edict is issue -- be it Jedi council or Emperor (or president of Lucasfilm) -- it is to be obeyed without question or pause.

Daring to say one can change their status -- change their destiny -- results in tragedy (and ironically, proof that is their destiny).

It’s dismaying enough that a large number of people enjoy cosplaying Star Wars villains, especially storm troopers, as that seems to indicate they’re missing the whole point of why the rebels were striving against the Empire in the first place.

Originally that could be written off as (at best) just enjoying the cool costumes and props or (at worst) finding an excuse for bad behavior (i.e., “I vuz only followink orders”).

But Lucas’ tacitly endorsing a sense of innate superiority pretty much destroys everything about The Force that the original Star Wars audience found enlightening and ennobling.

The Star Wars universe has become at its core a very ugly thing, and The Rise Of Skywalker doesn’t really clean it up.

SPOILERS ahead.

=3= 

Seriously, SPOILERS follow.

Holy crap, The Rise Of Skywalker is a damn mess.

Nice eye candy, but a mess.

It pretty much undoes everything good in the previous two episodes.

I’m glad it’s the “official” end of the original saga because now I never need to see another Star Wars movie ever again.

(Oh, I’ll keep my DVD of the original Star Wars and if I find Solo in a bargain bin somewhere I might pick that up, but as far as the rest of Star Wars goes, I am D.O.N.E.)

The series stopped making sense long ago, so I’m really in no mood to analyze why nothing links up or really works.

It’s full of absurd, stupid ideas, such as space barbarians galloping across the deck of a star destroyed on their space horsies.

The whole back and forth between among Palpatine / Kylo / Rey goes on for two long.  If hating somebody is bad because it sucks you over to the Dark Side, then why doesn’t somebody start building Terminators that can track down beings with midichlorians and kill them?  (They’ve got the technology to detect midichlorians, that’s canon.)

It’s not anywhere near a good movie.  It’s not as bad as George Lucas’ Star Wars Episodes I - III, but it’s clearly the worst of the last trilogy.

The scene where Rey gets off camera encouragement from all the dead Jedi?  It seemed awfully familiar to me, as if the writers consciously or unconsciously remembered the John Wilkes Booth / Lee Harvey Oswald scene in Stephen Sondheim’s Assassins where all the presidential assassins and would-be assassins past and future encourage him to plug Kennedy.

Not what I want in a Star Wars movie.

I think we may be seeing the end of Star Wars.  It’s been crammed down our throats for too long.  I’m aware of The Mandalorian series and how insanely popular it is, but y’know, sooner or later every pop culture craze dies out.

Star Wars has nowhere to go.  Star Trek is hemmed in, too, but nowhere nearly as bad as Star Wars.

We’re about to enter a generational shift in America, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a badly dated 1970s sci-fi concept fails to make the cut.

It ends on a frustrating note, taking much too long to come to a close, far too much self-congratulatory bullshit, and the deliberate planting of clues for a future set of sequels should the Mouse start jonesin’ for that sweet, sweet Star Wars franchise money fix.

It’s a really bad script, and dragging Carrie Fisher’s digitally reanimated corpse into it and then killing her off by suicide is a damned stupid / offensive idea.

Mark Hamill’s ghost walking out of the flames of Jedi hell (thank you for that analogy, David Brin)?  Wow, who didn’t see that one marching down the avenue?

Harrison Ford coming back as a memory / hallucination to tell Kylo to do the right thing?  Skrue dat noiz.

(Though I have to say Kylo Ren is the best thing about the movie and his character turn parallels both Luke’s and Vader’s in The Return Of The Jedi only his is much more believable and poignant so dammit, Disney, you could have done a much better job with this movie than you did.)

The plot and pacing is straight out of a video game.  First do this, then do that, now ya gotta do another thing -- feh!

And unless I misheard the dialog, this whole film supposedly takes place over a span of sixteen hours!!! 

They visit a half dozen worlds, crash and repair spaceships, go undercover, get captured and escape, fight duels to the deal -- all in sixteen hours?!?!?

Yeesh.

And I’ll say this, the last line is wrong wrong WRONG.

If the Star Wars saga has taught us anything, it’s that Force users are a threat to everything.

They should be eliminated for the good of the universe.

Rey shouldn’t have buried the Skywalker lightsabers.

She should have destroyed them -- and the one she made, and any others she found lying around.

And when she’s asked at the very end what her name is, the answer should have been:  “Rey…just Rey.”

I know I put The Rise Of Skywalker in the not-so-good bin, but truth be told, that’s the nostalgia talking; it’s only a eyelash away from being bad.

The whole epic saga is a failure as far as I’m concerned.  One and done is the way to go; the moment it started making money as a toy franchise it went south.

  © Buzz Dixon

[bookandslugclub]

literary first lines

Pride and Prejudice: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Moby Dick: Call me Ishmael.

Anna Karenina: Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

1984: . It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

A Tale of Two Cities: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

Farenheit 451: It was a pleasure to burn.

The Time Machine: The time traveler (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us.

Catch-22: It was love at first sight.

The Bell Jar: It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York.

David Copperfield: Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.

Slaughterhouse-Five: All this happened, more or less.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small, unregarded yellow sun.

The Martian: I'm pretty much fucked.

The Great Gatsby: In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

The Catcher in the Rye: If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how

my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.

I Capture the Castle: I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.

Scaramouche: He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.

Cat's Eye: Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space.

Don Quixote: Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.

The Princess Bride: This is my favourite book in all the world, though I have never read it.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: Mr and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Peter Pan: All children, except one, grow up.

Howl's Moving Castle: In the land of Ingary where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three.

The Hobbit: In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'?.

The Color Purple: You better not never tell nobody but God.

One Hundred Years of Solitude: Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.

Scaramouche: He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.

Notes from Underground: I am a sick man... I am a spiteful man.

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea: The year 1866 was signalized by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and inexplicable phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten.

Charlotte's Web: 'Where's Papa going with that ax?' said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.

Frankenstein: I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic.

Of Mice and Men: A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe: Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmond, and Lucy.

The Trial: Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested.

Gone with the Wind: Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it was caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were.

The Stranger: Mother died today.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest: They're out there.

Neuromancer: The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.

2001 A Space Odyssey: The drought had lasted now for ten million years, and the reign of the terrible lizards had long since ended.

Jane Eyre: There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.

The Outsiders: When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I only had two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.

A Clockwork Orange: That was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie and Dum, Dum being really dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard through dry.

To Kill a Mockingbird: When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.

The Hunger Games: When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.

Life of Pi: My suffering left me sad and gloomy.

Invisible Man: I am an invisible man.

Mrs Dalloway: Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

The Old Man and the Sea: He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.

Cat's Eye: Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space.

Midnight's Children: I was born in the city of Bombay...once upon a time.

Good Omens: It was a nice day.

The Handmaid's Tale: We slept in what had once been the gymnasium.

The Hunger Games: When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.

Kindred: I lost an arm on my last trip home.

Never Let me Go: My name is Kathy H. I am thirty-one years old, and I've been a carer now for over eleven years.

Gravity's Rainbow: A screaming comes across the sky.

Lord of the Flies: The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way towards the lagoon.

Ulysses: Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.

Rebecca: Last night I dreamt I want to Manderly again.

Murder on the Orient Express: It was five o'clock on a winter's morning in Syria.

In Cold Blood: The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call 'out there.'

The Picture of Dorian Gray: The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

The Knife of Never Letting Go: The first thing you find out when yer dog learns to talk is that dogs don't got nothing much to say.

IT: The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years - if it ever did end - began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain.

[lindsaynsmith]

10 Mind-Bending Cosmic Horror Films

10 Mind-Bending Cosmic Horror Films https://ift.tt/2NMS16d

A peek behind the curtain: this bracket gave us the most trouble out of all the 31 Days of Halloween lists. Definitions were tossed around, examples were given — but the more we tried to define what made a “Cosmic Horror” film, the more confused we got. Which is, of course, deeply, hilariously ironic.

Cosmic Horror is tied in the popular imagination to horror’s racist uncle H.P. Lovecraft, who defined it as “the fundamental premise that common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large.” But things start to get confusing when you realize that Lovecraftian Horror and Cosmic Horror aren’t the same thing. And likewise, that merely being set in the cosmos does not a cosmic horror make. All told, Lovecraft’s definition is best: that cosmic horror fundamentally involves a terror predicated on the dislocation and dwarfing of human sense and understanding. Simply put, it is the disorienting horror of bumping up against something you don’t understand. That you can’t understand.

If gazing slack-jawed into the unknowable sounds like a fun night in, have we got the list for you. Keep reading for a look at the top ten cosmic horror films as voted on by Chris Coffel, Kieran Fisher, Brad Gullickson, Rob Hunter, Jacob Trussell, and myself.

10. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

The dawn of man. We get by with a little help from our friends. Our ancestors took a little bit of knowledge from beyond the infinite and transformed it into a killing blow. From our ability to take the life of another we rose out of the primordial ooze. Our great intelligence transformed into a series of potential catastrophe. A bone club launches into space and orbits the earth with enough firepower to obliterate our third rock from existence. With one small step, we create artificial life and become victim to its judgment. 2001: A Space Odyssey is a staggering work of cinema in which Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke track humanity’s evolution through its great leaps in terrifying technology. Will we ever be worthy of the intelligence gifted upon us? Are our great brains doomed to descend rather than ascend? Is the Star Child a momentous triumph or just a next stride to doomsday? We are but apes forever reaching for the moon – Brad Gullickson

9. The Endless (2017)

What’s effective in The Endless is what is unknown, and for a large part of the movie, everything is unknown. What happened at this UFO death cult so many years ago that made two devotees leave? What is lurking out in the woods that have caused so many earthly anomalies around the community’s campgrounds? And why has no one aged? At the core of Justin Benson and Aaron Moorehead‘s sci-fi/horror tale are two brothers attempting to make up for the arrested development of their lives, but the scope of the story explodes as their work melds with their past filmography in a wholly unexpected way. Fatalistic and heady, The Endless is a curious look at thoughts and ideas just beyond the spectrum of our imaginations — Jacob Trussell

8. Event Horizon (1997)

A surface glance at Paul W.S. Anderson‘s Event Horizon might seem to argue against its inclusion on this list as rather than face an unknown the characters here are faced with hell. But in addition to the mystery of the black hole — is it a purely scientific anomaly, or is it a gateway to true evil?— it’s clear that these are hells of their own design. They can’t understand or comprehend their fates, and that fear of the unknown is exactly what terrifies the crew members. What is hell, after all, but the things that cause us our own greatest pain? It’s different for each of us, and as characters are subjected to a glimpse into this void their attempt at understanding comes in the form of unique suffering — Rob Hunter

7. Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)

Peter Weir’s gauzy Aussie period piece might not have any of the traditionally tentacled cosmic horror hallmarks. But upon closer inspection, it absolutely fits the bill. Hanging Rock concerns a group of boarding school girls who disappear during a school outing. Time gets funny, and as if drawn by some magnetic force, they climb the outcropping and never return. Whether the girls were raptured, lost, or suicidal remains a matter of mystery. It’s a lack of certainty that Weir never resolves; that, instead, exposes the fragility and impotence of the film’s authority figures in the face of the unknown — Meg Shields

6. Uzumaki (2000)

Based on the manga of the same name, Uzumaki is an overlooked gem that didn’t gain the international recognition it deserved during the J-horror boom of the late 90’s and early 00’s. While the rest of the world was transfixed on the nation’s cinematic ghosts, this weird movie about a small town population being turned into spiral-shaped monstrosities flew under the radar. This is a nightmare on film— but that’s the beauty of it. The horror that unfolds is otherworldly and unexplainable, but it merely enhances the notion that the universe works in mysterious and terrifying ways. The inhabitants of the town in Uzumaki are tormented by the unknown and the film never clearly states why or how it’s happening. One day we’re all going about our business. Then, before we know it, we’re snails. – Kieran Fisher

5. The Cabin in the Woods (2012)

Taking a meta approach to filmmaking is a risky proposition. There’s always the possibility the film veers off into the mocking parody territory and if you’re dealing with a genre film that can elicit a negative reaction from the hardcore fans. Drew Goddard and Joss Whedon tiptoed this tightrope perfectly with the wonderfully entertaining, and incredibly bloody, The Cabin in the Woods. This is a movie that takes all the horror tropes that have been established over the years and uses them just as we know them while also managing to flip them on their head. It’s geared specifically towards those that love horror movies and those that hate them. As the film playfully toys with every genre convention imaginable it tries to get to the bottom of why all those terrible things that happen in horror movies happen. Turns out there are some evil gods that need appeasing. I knew it — Chris Coffel

4. Annihilation (2018)

If the crux of cosmic horror is a dizzying sense of established order coming apart at the seams— Annihilation takes the cake. Some unknown thing has landed in the wetlands. What it wants, and why its presence has caused reality to fold in on itself, is a mystery. Its presence has turned madness into a matter of proximity. By the end of the film, we’re none the wiser about the entity’s intentions or the kaleidoscopic fractals at its epicenter. What we’re left with is disorientation; vertigo after bearing witness to the collapsing of all things — Meg Shields

3. The Mist (2007)

If you’ve spent any amount of time in a busy supermarket then it’s highly likely that you’ve felt like insignificant meat in the grand scheme of things. But when you’re trapped in one because there’s a spooky mist outside that’s harboring creatures from the unknown… well, that’s pretty brutal as well. This is also the basic set-up of this Stephen King adaptation from Frank Darabont. It’s a simple story about monstrous invaders in many ways. At the same time, it’s also shrouded in mystery and ambiguity and feels apocalyptic. And while the overarching terror may be cosmic, the film also told us that the real horror was George Bush’s America. The shocking ending also contains some of the funniest gallows humor you’re ever likely to see. It’s such a shame that the TV show isn’t very good. — Kieran Fisher

2. Pulse (2001)

No film, whether from the horror genre or not, has captured the concept of loneliness with as painful a precision as Kiyoshi Kurosawa‘s Pulse. The film gives new meaning and power to the word “haunting” as it shows us a world where even the undead have come to dread the feeling of being alone in the universe. Ghosts are forcing their way back into our world, the living are committing suicide, and the world is crumbling beneath the weight of misery and ambivalence towards this thing we call existence. The film is equal parts terrifying and fascinating, but both feelings are layered with the depressing fear of not feeling anything at all — Rob Hunter

1. In the Mouth of Madness (1994)

Words are dangerous. With the click of a keypad or the flicker of a pencil, lives can be made or unmade. But the creator at the desk is not you. Do you read Sutter Cane? Crack the spine and discover your place in the universe. Skip to the end – you’re both the pawn and the star of your own story. In the Mouth of Madness is the closest cinema has ever come to capturing the existential dread upon which H.P. Lovecraft built his church. While others have attempted to directly adapt the unimaginable/unshowable horror of “The Lurking Fear” or “The Call of Cthulhu,” John Carpenter wisely sidestepped direct reference by focusing on his engine of cosmic paranoia. From space, humans are but a speck of insignificance, and yearning beyond such lowly station can only result in catastrophic knowledge. You are less than a fly. You’re a meaningless accident of biology. At best you are the butt of a joke to a creature raising its foot above your head – Brad Gullickson

Read more entries in our 31 Days of Horror Lists!

The post 10 Mind-Bending Cosmic Horror Films appeared first on Film School Rejects.

via Film School Rejects https://ift.tt/23tjcnD October 19, 2018 at 10:05AM