The words felt stilted, broken, as if I was recovering from some kind of cranial disaster that Lifetime Movies seem to make a killing on. When the sentence was done, the lighting switched, the television came on low, and the bedroom lit up just enough on this rainy afternoon that I could change into my gym clothes without loss of valuable time.
I didn't want to go to the gym too late. The youth would arrive and hog the machines and make me horribly self-conscious.
As I dressed, I spoke to the Google Mini in my bedroom, but, this time, with a pace that was a bit more languid, I bit more natural.
"Okay, Google, message husOtter, that I'm on the way to the gym and the dogs have been fed."
"Sending message."
"Hey Google, play some dance music."
I need to move my feet more, being all tired from work.
But I was not truly tired. I was able to finish all those afternoon productivity chores that really do make your day go more smoothly. I made that coffee, while listening to NPR's most recent news. Then I had the television come on when I emptied the dishwasher, so I could hear the calming tones of Judge Judy-face it, you don't have to watch the show, it's not like there's action going on-and then able to prep the canines' various busywork/snacks before I even thought to mention I was home.
I am a proud owner of a smart home. I elected to treat myself last year, not sure of the ramifications of the purchase or how it would effect me. I was able to listen to music, set reminders, but not much else until I actually sat down and ordered up a few YouTube videos. I thought some of the actions were fun easy to do, and, if I didn't use them? Heck, no worries, life was already underway.
My husOtter, though I asked for his opinion, didn't seem to mind at first. And when the youngest corgi decided to lunch on the cable to the floor lamp, I rewired it and then added a wifi plug.
And I was hooked.
A Smart Home was born. Completely. The television. Radios. Alarms. Video cameras to watch the corgis.
Everything.
It's been a year, and the integration is definitely here.
But I'm noticing it more and more lately. There's something going on. I'm noticing that there's a generation gap with my colleagues at work and persons in my neighborhood. One day, during a particular boast, I heard one person say, "you've gotten so lazy, haven't you?"
It got me thinking.
In life.
And on this blog.
I haven't gotten lazy. I'd gotten productive.
I noticed it immediately.
I had gone in the other direction. Now? When I sit to write? A series of activities are now stopped. Turning off the light, turning off the tv, turning on another light....now, with one mention, "I'm going on the computer," this causes a series of events to happen and I'm able to focus on what I was going to go on the computer for.
This confidence has released my energy. Now? Coming home? Lighting is automatic, and the decisions come more readily. Like that 'message,' I can send a text immediately, not having to change what I was doing.
And the speech pattern.
It was observed several times that, unlike most hearing folk, my signs move faster when I use my voice at the same time.
And I talk fast.
To the point that, if you have ADHD, you ain't following.
But that was then. In order for this blasted contraption to follow through, I have to be conscious of the message I'm communicating to it. That means, slowing down and saying what I mean.
Something I probably should be doing for the humans in my life. My corgis, strangely, seem to understand me better.
But as I clear up my diction, I noticed that means I have to suppress those impulsive ideas that plague my rambunctious noggin. That means stop thinking about the crap at work and focus on what you want to happen...RIGHT NOW.
That kind of thinking is very Zen, in my humble opinion. Too often, we have to train our selves to meditate. To just sit and think about the moment. And we lose sight of that. We drive home never noticing the drive home. It is difficult. But with the Google home in place, I'm able to take my time and think about what I want.
And it goes beyond that, just barking commands and trying to get Google to find out the answer of a Jeopardy question before the contestants do. I mean, like, what's the weather going to be this weekend. Like, what time is it in Sacramento (couldn't remember the time zone). The thought arrives, I'm able to act on it, and then it disappears. When I announce I'm going home from a writing group and it tells me that there's an accident on the way. Details and details.
Home has become more relaxing for me.
And, weirdly, productive.
Like I've found some kind of micro-chipped Zen or something.
Start with a Dad joke and just move into the post.
Right after Dad's day, too.
The fact is, I've been thinking of reboots for some time now. I was knocking Hollywood's massive proliferation of them and my annoyance with them. However, the straights with kids were all over me. They complained on that board that they would rather take their kid to a reboot where there's a possibility their kids might like it over something that may or may not be suitable.
Fuck. There's a point.
But, when you think about it, aren't, like, most Disney movies, like, a reboot? They always have the same formulaic pieces, they same outcomes. And, when it comes to horror (more of the horror porn variety), every sequel is a reboot. Or James Bond? Those are all reboots, too. Heck, and every picture in the Marvel Studios repertoire should probably be considered reboots, as they take the basic character from the previous film and reinsert their existence in a different manner.
But for me, I really, really wanted to like the reboot of Ghostbusters. I don't care about the gender of the character, I like ghosts and comedy and the cast. But it just didn't gel for me in a manner that was cohesive. Now? There's Oceans 8 in theaters. Reviews are good, the film seems strong. But, like, The Mummy? I so wanted that to work. It sank like Cruise's beards. I had a whole series of tales worked out for the Dark Universe. And they couldn't even make that work.
So what is a reboot we need?
Maybe? A good movie is still, in the end, a good movie. If Shakespeare can be presented over and over again in a creative manner, then yes, reboots are fine. Let's bring it to a different audience. Let's try something new.
For this reviewer, I look to reboots as a chance to do just that. Let's let another audience dance with the famed stories of the past
5. Hitchcock.
Okay, let's look at the Master of Suspense here and first figure out some main points. Hitch always had stories about the loss of self. The loss of identity. A majority of his characters were never themselves. Janet Leigh's Marion Crane in Psycho, becomes a thief and victim, but that is not where she starts. Roger Thornhill, Cary Grant's character in North by Northwest, is mistaken for a spy and people are trying to kill him. Barry Kane, Robert Cumming's character in Saboteur, is mistakenly accused of arson of military airplanes and his adventure trying to find the true guilty party is the basis for the film.
If we need a reboot, I see a trend here between his older titles and today. The fact is, we're losing our identity, both in reality and figuratively, over the internet. We post everything about ourselves, to the point were the 'self' is really a public thing that can be cut, edited, photoshopped, and utilized. Therein lies the power link between Hitchcock's symbolism and today's milieu.
Why aren't we revisiting these famous titles, but with the addition of cell phones, Google maps, and Lyfts? I can see Mr. Grant's businessman always on his cell phone, and the panic that sets in when the nation sees him on YouTube murdering an associate diplomat at the UN. His comfortable digital world suddenly being set into physical motion. Having to flee into a world he's never truly experience.
I'd buy tickets to that. Who would star? You need someone that grows into likability, and keeps the picture flowing as a kind of everyman, who, when he escapes his phone and his confines, finds that inner strength needed for basic survival as the government hunts him down for a murder he never commited.
Let's bring back North by Northwest!
Or, my other idea is pure gimmick, but, then again, so was Avatar. Let's use that Imax and 3D tech.
Make it for the Birds. With climate change? Finally we have a reason for the coordinated attacks at the small Bodega Bay, and can finally flesh out that final act that sucked so much in the end of that movie. But let's have some fun with the set pieces.
On a really big screen. I know they did a snippet at Universal Studios Orlando, way back when.
Again, someone posts the attacks online and people drive out to see what the deal is, and BOOM everyone is attacked. A higher body count.
Now those are reboots I'd like to see.
Or my favorite? Strangers on a Train. Two gay men have a delicious tryst on an overnight train up the California coast. One is married; one is in unfortunate relationship with his mother. In fact, one has been cyberstalking the other and has a bunch of ideas. Since they just met, he can remove his wife, if he'd remove his mother. Since they aren't linked outside of the brief tryst. When his wife is removed in a mysterious accident, the now-widowed man has to complete his side of the bargain. What he thought was a mere drunken dialogue is now a full blown story. If he goes to the police? Then he's part of the problem and could lose everything. Maybe he should follow through.......and we're off.
4. Classic Horror
I'm sorry, I just won't get off this kick. Horror films today are so redundant that, well, a classic can never die. Zombie movies proliferate, gore is the norm, and bad guys tend to be repeat offenders.
Vampires also glitter. Werewolves have abs.
Great.
Turn back now, folks.
What I had professed so long ago about Dark Universe was what they suggested in that rancid turkey of The Mummy. They established an organization, run by the doctor Jekyll, that rids the world of such known horrors. Let's return the horrors back to where they are unseen. We know they exist. Just like we know the horrors of Washington DC. They are there, but away from us. As if untouchable. But they are out there and can do some serious damage.
Dracula? Maybe he did make it to the states and keep politicos in power. Good luck getting rid of him without creating a firestorm. The Gillman finally freed from his imprisonment due to climate change? The werewolf is a familial disease? There's something in all this.
3. The Thin Man
Comedy mystery about alcoholics. No. Seriously. Written "Pre-code" meant that it was witty and hard-boiled, a dose of married life long before the television fun of "Moonlighting." In fact, "Moonlighting" is a terrific example of this story and how it works.
However, it's time for a reboot. Meaning, why couldn't it be a gay couple? They way I see it, is they are an older couple, finally retiring. And, since Nick Charles isn't on the force any more, he's out of the closet and ready for a holiday with his partner. They are from a different time and a different place, where everyone is out of the closet. Nick is dragged back in by the daughter of one of the men he helped find not guilty. That 'thin man' of the title is now missing, days before the daughter's wedding.
The running gag is, of course, they're hesistancy as they follow the trail of missing person-and not wanting to be as out as they should be. And finding the world has already moved on to the new normal.
2. Screwball Comedies
I'm still working on this one and it reached outline forms. How many times has a gaydar clinked for me, only to find out that the man I thought was gay had a girlfriend. Of course, when I saw them later at the gay bar, I'd scream, "I knew it!"
In the 30s and the 40s these movies proliferated and were wonderful fun.
Then.
Now they borderline on sexist tales, and that's the trouble of it.
But, in my favorite, "Bringing Up Baby," Katheryn Hepburn knows she is destined to be with Cary Grant, who is engaged to someone else. She just pines for him and decides to use her wealthy to woo him in the most inappropriate manner. Of course, he really digs her, too, but he resists, for the has to stay at the status quo. He's engaged. His marriage has been arranged.
Let's queer it up, shall we?
Sure, the marriage will be to a nice young lady.
But the protagonist's gaydar is pinging left and right, and had been since they were in undergrad in college. He sticks to his charge like glue, saving him and saving him, until, of course, the marriage is toast.
All the while, making witty comebacks. Eventually, the focus of his love comes around.
And no drag.
1. 1984.
Here's the thing. Keep the basic premise. But? Use today's imagery and trajectory as your placement. Show what happens when the President blindly accuses foreign counties to war. That disregards humanity. That is pressured by big business. I see it as a horrifying amalgam of advertising that is played out Back to the Future 2 (projecting a false happiness), technology that has gone from helping to monitoring everything we do, and the tragic end of the workers who keep supporting people that have no care for them in any manner. This is the movie we need to revisit. Of course, the people I'm kinda targeting, will see right through it and scream afoul.
Can you imagine a person riling up their base to hate a group of people via technology so that it goes on throughout their lifes? Some say it would never happen. But there it is, in print, in 1984. Everyone has their morning education on who they are to be mad at.
Making the very point I'm making, very, very true.
But 1984 has come around. A president who wants nothing more than to make more war. Ignorance is strength? Of course it is. With anti-intellectualism on the rise to the point where people are telling me how to do my job even though I've studied it my whole life? Destroying schools so that public school results in good workers, and not free thinkers? That only the wealthy are in control? Yeah. We're there. Freedom is slavery.
Art has finally reflected life which is reflecting art. Ugh. It's time has finally come. Even if the date is off.
I am always a bit more open minded than my critical cohorts when it comes to the differences in media, like books, movies, stage, and television. Each one has its merits; each one has its drawbacks. When it comes to scares? Books are able to get to the nitty-gritty; movies, with a touch of close up and a blast of instrumentals, are the way to go; comedies are terrific on the stage, where the actors can use their skill to keep us giggling, television works slightly better, due to the fact we’re all so comfortable on our couches at home.
These are observations of mine. Not science. But it seems to work in theory. And for every rule there is a delicious exception. Have you seen Deathtrap? A thriller on the stage. And I felt that Chicago, the famed musical, surpassed itself on the movie screen, even though it was quite good on stage-a place where musicals can wonderfully flourish.
However, today’s movie list gives us something that I can only see on the big screen. Movies have an ability to transport us to a different time moreso than any other media. It encompasses two of senses and, given an immediate image, our brain shortcuts to that space. Recently, I had treated myself to a binge-watch of the series of MindHunter on Netflix.
It was excellent.
However, as an ex-smoker, I craved cigarettes. For in the seventies, when the series was based, smoking was completely allowed. Even on airplanes.
ON AIRPLANES.
Right there, an ashtray in the armrest. And it was there. Right there, on my Vizio.
To say I was transported is an understatement. I mean:
The characters rode around without seatbelts.
There were no metal detectors in the prisons.
I was transported. I remember those times, if only in glimpses. I was alive, to be sure, and remember my mother never insisting seatbelts until they became law in the late eighties. The images carried away my existence.
Special effects transport us. That's my point.
Which brings us to today’s topic. One of the weird criticisms I’ve had of the original Star Wars trilogy was that the movies were a bit too perfect. George Lucas had intended to create great drive-in space operas from the fifties. He didn’t. Instead, Fox, seeing the rough footage, saw the potential and, yes, special effects shot up. There now were no strings holding up the Death Star, wheels on the landspeeder, and the whole thing went from cult possibility to fandom. Such mistakes would have pulled the audience to the reality of the flimsy, repetitive tale, and the powerhouse would have never lifted off the ground.
Special effects have an incredible impact on the film world. The thing now? You can do them on your home computer without incident. Even I, with my mediocre talent and motivation, can make a total travelogue that roughly cobbles together with a clear beginning, middle, and end.
That’s awesome. Special effects have become part of our language of movies and I’m not complaining. So much part of our language, that even movies that would not benefit from them, still get some treatment. Make up is not more of a special effect. Costumes can even be special effects. To be clear, I define special effects are choices made by the filmmakers beyond the scope of the performers and script to enhance the overall tale.
Trust me, some directors never used special effects in a way that should be merited. Hitchcock surely stabbed someone in the shower in a barrage of effects to communicate the horror of the moment, but, overall? His films relied on your imagining what they were talking about moreso.
My, have times have changed. Below? You’ll find movies where the special effects brought a film to life in manners that you never knew possible, to the point where my socks were, literally, blown off. Some of these movies, if it weren’t for the special effects, I would not have watched otherwise.
5. Forrest Gump
Here’s an idea, let’s bring a drama to the screen that is also a history lesson. But not only that, let’s show how each event flows to the next, in an unending series of luck. It was a massively tall task that was given to Robert Zemekis with this title and he worked his magic. Bob had a skilled ability to take massively human stories and put special effects around them with such confidence, that the effects were taken for granted. He was not the first to do this (I’m looking at your Speilberg), but he was the first to do it with such number and with such calm that, like with this film, you would forget that special effects are even happening.
He cut his teeth on his first big title with Romancing the Stone, another example of this kind of filmmaking, where the wonderous and the banal meet and it’s perfectly normal. He ratched up a sweet comedy like Back to the Future and turned it into a summer festival with too much sugary food, but we bought it, due to the fact that, again, he rooted the special effects in a heartfelt story, with engaging characters and strong performances.
With those moments, he came to the top of his game with Forrest Gump. A story about a man with an intellectual disability who the audience would naturally sideline to institutions and pressed him a focal lense to see American history without opinion. Mr. Gump meets JFK, going to Civil RIghts Marches, fights in Vietnam, runs across America, and still maintains a sense of innocence that carries him through the horrors and the highs.
Here’s where the special effects come in.
He MEETS JFK.
I mean it. He walks in, in ‘found footage’ and shakes his hand. Now, in 1994, when the movie came out, the whole photoshop thing was a rarity, new to the scene. We were aware of it, but only true geeks had computers with the skill and cash could access the memory eaters that were needed to edit pictures flawlessly on computer. So we were vaguely aware. But these special effects were seamless at the time.
For example, Mr. Gump saves five people from enemy fire, and, the camera moves through the shot, with tracer bullets FLYING AT THE CAMERA. The sensation is that we are there, just moments from Mr. Gump’s nose, in as much peril as he is.
Actor Gary Sinise, one of the best actors in Hollywood, goes from having legs to losing them in that firefight. The argument could be made to hire an actor missing his lower claves, but, having the able bodied actor go from having legs to not, means we feel his misery and see the pains of the process. Special effects, coupled with a highly capable performer, means that we were able to join the character on that journey.
Amazing stuff.
4. Death Becomes Her
Okay here is my first title where the movie was...meh, but it was so beautiful to look at, you can’t help but get caught up in the famed fight scene that houses the end of the first act. The fact that it is also direct about Bob Zemekis is also saying something. But, here, he cranks up the violence, but, to balance, he makes a real life cartoon, where the hits don’t kill, but, instead, twirl the head. It gets to the point where you can’t stop watching and, again, with strong performances of Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn, you want to see where they go.
Why is the movie meh? After the incredible fight scene? The film loses momentum and you can’t really get over what you say. There is something called, “too good to be true.”
3. TRON/TRON: Legacy
What if you just did motion capture? What if there was not a single set piece or costume in the entire movie? What if you just filmed actors, and inserted EVERYTHING afterwards? You’d save money, one would think.
But they didn’t, because, when Disney brought this concept to the table? This idea of a completely digital fabrication of the scene? It had not been invented yet. They had to make the computers and figure out to make the tale happen.
Tron was an incredible piece that, for many in the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences, the filmmaking community looked at as a cop out. Little did they know that, even today, with movies like the Avengers and Avatar, this is the way movies are made. You film the performers and insert them into various scenes and costume them as you see fit. But at the time, a weak story (waaaay ahead of it’s time, as the internet was only available to the chosen few in the early 80s) and some story plotholes (if a person is playing a video game, how can the programs have any kind of free will or choice in their digital world?), made the film flop. The sequel was also a bit heady and lost many audiences.
But even the sequel did something unique. Took one of the protagonists from the first movie, digitized his voice and his looks and inserted him into the sequel. While it had been done before, like in movies like The Crow and Sky Captain: The World of Tomorrow’s already dead villain, it had never been done with so much verve and length prior to TRON: Legacy. What ends up?
A visual feast.
2. An American Werewolf in London
Here’s another title that, when removed from the famed sequence at the end of the first act, you realize the film never really goes beyond what we’ve already seen in so many other titles.
But I’m posting it because it does something many of these other movies did not. In a world of visual effects, lt went a different route.
Practical. This movie uses effects that are real, not digital. And, in the middle of the movie, we have the actor endure a series of make up changes that only show up in the film for several seconds. Hair is pushed out of fake skin. Contact lenses are used with a sudden eye opening. He yells in pain, rolls over, and more latex is applied and we what do we get?
A young man turning into a werewolf.
And it is, truly, amazingly terrifying. The art has been lost. Unless you go to Universal Studios Orlando, where they still do a show about the viseral power of pratical movies, especially horror movies. I guess the shock of fake blood causes the expressions that keep us riveted to the screen.
HONORABLE MENTIONS:
Speaking of practical effects, I really could not decide between Jaws or Werewolf. Jaws, because of the malfunctioning robot that was the antagonist, used the beast as little as possible, but every expense was made for the machine. Speilberg made the decision to just hide the technical snafu and it made for Hitchcock-esque suspense, as it wasn’t until the final scenes we saw the monster in all its glory. But the special effects were shuffled aside, in my humble opinion.
I would mention Star Wars, but that’s just low hanging fruit.
Who Framed Roger Rabbit is another one, but I realized, slowly, this is a live action/cartoon. Special effects abound, but I found that its uniqueness took it in a very different direction. You are, basically, watching two similar movies at once.
1. Terminator 2: Judgement Day
Mr. Cameron used to work in special effects and, with each picture, he wants to push the envelope. Avatar is his pinnacle so far, Titanic is an amazing visual piece, centered in a terrific, old-school romance.
But those were like drinking Jolt cola. It was too much sugar and too much caffeine, to my brain. I kept being pulled out of the title to marvel at the set pieces, which meant I had to work my way back to the tale at hand.
Alas, before he got full of his own confidence, he kept it deceptively simple and wonderfully horrific. Two killer robots hunting down an innocent kid and his survivalist mother. We had all the tropes of a feminist slasher movie, only now, with Arnold Schwarzenegger’s terrific charisma and a liquid (!!! that’s the special effect) metal robot that can change shape.
Oh, how I've missed you. I've not a clue as to why I've not published here, Fate knows, I've had ample opportunity to do so. I just, I don't know, not there? I tried my best to retool a short story I had created into a novel, and it slumped with purple prose and just wasn't all that interesting to me, so I knew it could not have been interesting to any kind of reader. From there? I kept trying to pick up topics and write about them--and nothing stuck.
And that was in the novel-writing department. So you can only guess how hard it hit me here, in the blogging department.
Then? Inspiration as I cleaned up my office this morning, in an attempt to fitness my aching and harmed back: several listology books my friend in Colorado had sent.
And I was inspired.
At least, yes, for today. Until my back aches from this horrid office chair.
See, because I've not been writing a novel, I was reading them. Several. Not in the mood to list them, as they were cheapies that keep the mind sharpened on what not to pen-but also have delicious, fun tales (read: prurient or fascinating).
Books. It's all about the books, isn't it? Either reading or writing.
Or watching. One of the questions the listology books asked, "what are five of the best movies based on books you can think of?"
I'm on it. Books on my brain, books in my heart.
I did, however, give myself some parameters. I elected to not put down theatrical literature. Grant you, in my English teacher noggin, Streetcar Named Desire and Death of a Salesman are incredible books, in my humble opinion, and I teach them as such in my classrooms. But given the nature of the medium we are discussing here, I elected to leave them off the table, to challenge my thought processes and be more creative.
And, here's the other twist I gave myself. They had to be books I read, either before or after, that made it the film, somehow, more worthwhile.
5. The Silence of the Lambs, based on the novel of the same name, by Thomas Harris, published in 1988.
I had loved Red Dragon, Mr. Harris' previous title, having come across it in my more macabre teenage years of Stephen King and Dean Koontz. So it was only fitting that I floated over to the, even better, sequel that same year. The book is unimaginably horrific and, surprisingly, in the hands of such a skilled filmmaker, most of the integrity of the title is kept with powerhouses of Jodie Foster (can she do no wrong?) as Clarice Starling and, of course, Tony Hopkins as the famed Dr. Hannibal Lecter. This is one of the few films that appears in my top ten films of all time, I believe.
4. Brokeback Mountain, based on the short story of the same name, by Anne Proulx, published in 1997.
This movie changed the game for me; it changed the game for American cinema. Surely, gays had been represented as the victim and the side character enough by this point; they had also had been the lead, but those titles were far and few between for my humble viewership. I kept having to float over to the international sections of video stores to find titles that spoke to me on a level they spoke to others. Yes, I cried the first time I saw Casablanca, because I understood what happened during that picture, I know the stakes for those characters. But I SOBBED at this movie. Because, when I watched it, I was not looking at it as a watcher, a voyeur, a film critic. I was watching it as a gay man. There, before me, was all the pathos of a tragic romance. I had seen this storyline 100 times before.
But with straight characters. With the protagonists being gay? I became lost in the story. Suddenly, all those predictable twists and turns were gone and I was taken up and taken away from being a lowly educator, to the high plains of Wyoming.
This, I realized, was way people were really crying during a sad story.
I got it, I finally got it.
I had read the story in secret, too, a foray into the corners of the library (God-fucking-bless American libraries and my tales of coming out) and found it in a series of gay fiction. Incredible.
3. Jurassic Park, based on the book by the same name, by Michael Crichton, published in 1990.
To combat the oodles of reading in college, my mother gifted me a book of the month club when I was a sophomore in undergraduate. Loved it. And in that pile, arrived this title. I was not really into reading science fiction, only hitting up the popular stuff and the recommended. However, the club sent me this copy and I figured I'd give it a go.
Could not put it down. Here's the thing, the book, as always, was much better than the movie-borderline horror. Most of that is lost on the current franchise, which bothers me some, but not totally. The first movie was solidly made and, though the body count is surprisingly low, entertaining to a fault. I really liked it.
2. Misery, based on the book by the same name, by Stephen King, published in 1987.
I liked, but did not love, Misery, as it was a turn from the author's strengths. He knew how to create tension, but he usually added that wonderful dose of supernatural and this book was different. It was more of an ode to Hitchcock, and, while entertaining, I found it not in my favorites by him.
Until, of course, I saw the actual movie.
Then it made sense. Two characters. Isolated ranch house in the Rockies. Death will come soon, if Paul Shelton doesn't escape. The movie has something Hollywood doesn't always have. A female antagonist you actually feel sorry for. A lonely woman, to the point of being unable to filter reality, she dives into the books by her favorite author. The themes pull themselves out moreso in the film than than the book, which is ironic, given the book is about a writer.
1. The Exorcist, based on the book with the same name, by William Peter Blatty, published in 1971
As I just moved to Florida, this paperback tumbled out of a book on my first day in our new apartment. I had no idea how it got there, I had read it eons ago. I figured it a sign, to get back into the writing that I do, so I sat down and piled through in one weekend.
And it's prose rang right through me. I had read it to be scared the first time. Now? I knew the turns, and could appreciate the respect that Mr. Blatty had for his subjects, creating a truly horror story that symbolized what people were seeing in the 1970s.
They thought their kids were out of control. Little demons, if you will.
The movie, of course, cuts to the quick and is juicy and riveting. I remember talking to my janitors how they had to prepare for each showing, should someone vomit or pass out. Alas, it never happened, but it all played into the mystique the movie aroused. It was, after all, going against the conservative images and thought processes of religion and, for many, that was scary enough.
Something not on this list? The Amityville Horror. I loved the book. But I came to the movie too late, and, by then, all of the scary moments had been beaten out of it in comedy skits and quotes throughout popular culture. It was the only one I was unsure about putting on here. The prose is riveting, and, I'm sure, the movie WAS when it first came out. But, I was too young. When I finally saw it, it had shown too much of its age.
Considering elsewhere I've listed my favorite books here on these pages, I think I'm going to approach this with immediate memory and forethought. That list was pondered and milled over by several months of research, narrowing and narrowing my literary stupidity into one, fine, focus.
Hey, I admit it. I like to read. But, well, my tastes are rarely sophisticated.
I even, on occasion, will listen to country music.
Remember, I grew up on a steady diet of Stephen King as a teen. And since I discovered him, like, after all of his really good books were published, it was easy to find reading material. And I tried to find other books that kept me interested, but the pacing, the verve never really caught on for me, so I was forced to branch out into books that weren't that scary. Sure, I tried Dean Koontz, and he was okay. But, when I tried to read the second one, I noticed that the plotline was pretty much the same as the first. As was the third attempt.
Then? My beloved Penelope moved across that great ole Rainbow Bridge.
And I needed to fill a void in my life. I started reading dog fiction, while wisely passing by Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows. I found The Art of Racing in the Rain, and it was beautiful. Because of Winn-Dixie was a fun re-read, especially as an educator.
Then I stumbled across the Watchers.
A friend of mine recommended it. I made sure to ask her if the dog died in the end.
She didn't answer and I wanted to smack the shit out of her, but she did the right thing. Horror. Check. Canines. Check. Two in the right direction.
And Dean Koontz wrote it and pulled it. The book really captures the power of a dog and the relationship. Not only that, it goes one step further-it gives the tale a twist, the kind of dream that all dog owners would love to have happen to them.
The dog could communicate. Not talk, but communicate.
And I was hooked. It was a page turner, too.
A book I loved: The Watchers by Dean Kootz
Another I didn't? I could be blasphemous and mention that Harry Potter, though written well, is not a favorite. However, over the years, I've begun to think that I'm just tired of the hype and the fame. Maybe it is the hipster in me, because, in reality, they are good books. Twilight gave me the willies, too. I was proud to see my students, so low on language, finally want to dog ear pages. They would become violent when I told them they had to pay attention in class instead of looking at their book fair books. "You told us you wanted us to read!"
"I KNOW! But not now! Do you see anyone else reading?????"
The texts of these titles merely reinforced the narrative structure to vital for our communication patterns, I cannot completely curse them to oblivion.
There was one that I read in one night. And not because it was good.
Have you ever read the Da Vinci Code? The concept behind it, that Jesus has secretly fathered a child and this bloodline lives on, was daring do-and the secret code to find the supposed children the stuff that SHOULD become a page turner. The analysis, with pictures, really gave old-timey art a boost and made any patron really study imagery for something small and important. I get that.
The whole time I was reading it, I was thinking, "gee, this would make a better movie than a book."
It is just so COMPLICATED. It's like a sophomoric endeavor during 3rd period Advanced Expository Class 201b, the one with that really tiny but loud teacher who the others keep closing their classrooms to. That one student, so motivated has to put every-single-bit-of-research into their paper and, while important, the presentation goes from an arrow of truth to a labyrinth of juvenile concept art. Dan Brown wants to show you EVERYTHING, and, well, things like character and plot are hurled to the sidelines like a cigarette butt.
As a movie? The title worked a bit smoother and it was good to see Tom Hanks as an action star, but one who thought about what was happening, every step of the way. It worked--as a movie.
But, oy, who said this would be a good book? The pages are short (I said I read it in one night), the depth shorter. What a piece of drivel.
I don't have many scars, however, so I really have to rely on my tattoos in many ways. And, since I've been known to hack a yarn or two, the tattoos, I'm thinking, are the way to go.
Today's writing challenge is talk about my tattoos.
So I guess the one who started this challenge is a millennials. I remember in the 70s, my babysitter got a tattoo and it was something of a scandal. Now? When I'm at the gym and there's men in various states of undress, I've noticed a specific pause when I DON'T see a tattoo. I have to ponder. Is he a mere youth? Is it something who a fitness model? Are they just broke?
Cause tattoos, being unregulated, are fucking expensive.
I actually like to think I was ahead of the curve. I remember discussing, over coffee at Paris on the Platte coffeehouse the kinds of tattoos and where they would best. Now, understand, I have severe body image issues. I always have. And, experience has shown me that many who are obsessed with tattoos tend to. Not in a negative way, either. I find that those who are obsessed, you know, the "big"-oerexics that proliferate at the gyms, also seem to be obsessed with body modifications. The fifteen or so people I have known as transgendered? Inked to the point that Bic ballpoints could call them for spare color should they run low on inventory. Bodybuilders? They keep bronzer companies employed with the amount of Trump tanner they have to rub over themselves before each competition.
This is insulting, what I'm saying. But this is my observation.
The worst part? I love tattoos. And when anyone has one, I want to lean over and ask, "what's the reason for this one? That one?"
And no, I'm not staring at you because you are buff. I'm staring at you because you have poor choices in clothing and without sleeves, I see a tattoo with a radio microphone and penis and I'm dying to know why you elected to wear that in front of the middle schoolers here after class!
You? Dear reader, you are lucky. I'm going to cut out your ponderances and just say outright....I have tattoos and here's what they mean.
I am not including actual photos, however. Mine? They are mine, alone. Besides, given my profession, there are too many people asking questions. So they will remain hidden until otherwise stated.
I knew I was of Celtic blood as a child, mother unit informed me so. So I began to read about them on my weekly trips to the library, how they drove the Romans mad and the English as well. They inked themselves, their faces, they skins, everything. Like the Polynesians, they saw it as instruments of power and fear and used it against the organizations at large.
Yes, much like the millennials.
Keeping that in mind, I designed my first.
Japanese kanji. I doubt it says, "soy sauce," but it might.
From my understanding from the library, it is the title of a Japanese tale.
"In the Water, the Fish Shall Dream."
Thing is? I've not found the tale again, since, well, then. The gist was I read it and it had components that rang deep in my soul. It had dreams. I had fish, and I'm a Pisces.
I know, I should have gotten an image of a fish, dreaming, right?
I was young. Forgive me. On my right shoulder blade, I pay homage to that story. In it, a fish become so pious with his prayers and meditations, keeping the ancestors venerated, so much so, that it catches the eyes of the seven immortals. The fish? his heart wishes that he may walk among men. So they descend to the side of the pond and tell the fish that his faith is to be rewarded. Seeing his dreams about to come true, the fish stops.
"But, then, what will I dream of?"
The immortals are unable to answer. The looked to each other, failing in every aspect of their power, other than to provide.
Dreaming, it seemed, is the purpose for faith and belief. Like the yin and yang, they cannot exist without both aspects.
An aspect, as it were, of the Tao. The story stuck with me in my youth (I had to read something between the LGBT books I was reading in the back of the stacks...) and I knew I wanted to keep it with me. And, at 22, as a celebration of getting my first career job, boom. My first tattoo on my right shoulder blade.
With a yin and yang, of course, the symbol of my chosen faith.
Then, in 2009, I left that job. I felt it vital to celebrate this profound transition in my life. Now, I've long adopted the Irish Bear as my symbol. I'm big and round, and, physically, most people, including my husOtter, have compared me more to the grand mountain gorilla. Makes sense. Barrel chested and arms that drag on the floor, always hunched over. But the bear? that's also part of the LGBT community and I found it something I really agreed with. Bears are large and furry men, approachable and accepting of race and, yes, flexible body image. Even if I wasn't in the dating pool any more, I found that this grouping was something I supported.
I needed the bear, like the fish, to become my totem in some way. So? That first week at my new job, I tattooed a Celtic knot to my shoulder, another link to my past, but also, to the bear-as it is a bear claw.
And as complicated as I like to think I am.
Last?
I knew, when I got to Florida, I wanted to celebrate by getting another permanent marker. What to do? What could cover the depth I choose? I kept with the Celtic faith, but I also expanded it. The older flag of Ireland (and was on their dollars for a short time) is the harp. There's a reason Irish writers are so celebrated. They have the gift of the bard, the gift of storytellers. I mean, when your entire island is constantly invaded, yet idyllic, you get sense of poetry. Opposites play upon the souls of the Irish. The symbol of the Irish, other than probably the whiskey bottle, is the harp. The song of angels comes from it, but the lowly bard, traveling from town to town to herald the news and tales of the day, could bring bad news in the form of song and cheer. This is a skill of the artists of all kinds. This is the symbol of storyteller, truly, and I really connected that.
The location was vital for this tattoo had to be on a nexus. I figured on the breaking point of nerves from my skull to my hands was very important, for with my hands I talk (sign language) and tell tales (as I type). So, there, between my shoulder blades, stands the famed harp.
Oh fuck, it's on the Guinness bottles too.
Yeah, cool, I don't mind.
So, there. Three tattoos and three stories.
And it's time for a forth. I need another fish, because Pisces is, in the end, a pair. A shark or a ray. Perhaps a dragon. My love of Disney? Maybe some ears? Whatever it will be, it will have a story.
