Movie Review: The Conjuring 2

There was a ghost story in the news.  I remember it vividly. Every night, the buzz over the book, “The Amityville Horror,” made all the crime and economic woes of the seventies pull into a very different perspective.

“You could be living down in Amityville.”

Oh, how my morbid soul would have loved it.

My older brother even read the book. This was a big step. He didn’t even read the directions on the shampoo bottle.

I was hooked.

Then? Then there was a Halloween documentary special on ghosts. Right there on HBO. My mother treated us to cable upon the passing of my father-it made sense, for soon we’d be latchkeys and need something to do.

And I watched that ghost video show a few times.

A precursor to YouTube videos, I’m sure.

On that little movie, they played back the tapes from a very documented case.

The Enfield Haunting.

The fact was, the tapes had just been released, and, due to the proximity of the famed Amityville haunting, the press was keeping the attention up and as strong as possible.

I was enthralled. My mother was hesitant. She noticed something was up when, instead of heading downstairs at the Emma S. Clark library, to the kiddie stacks, I instead went to the Dewey triple O’s.

I was researching. I found out the tales of Bell Witch Haunting. The Amityville Horror. The Borley Rectory.

And Enfield. Information about that was still short. But it would keep my interests for quite some time.

Until this Christmaskkah, when a friend told me about a special right there on BBC. I had to watch.

And I remembered. The chills and fascination returned.

It’s with this visage I came to watch the The Conjuring 2. I absolutely loved The Conjuring. Yes, it take massive dramatic license with the books I had read. But? The tale was full. And this was not a dead teenager movie. This movie (the Conjuring) truly was like the Amityville Horror. There were no dead bodies. But there were scares; pale faces; spooky rooms; ripped wallpapers. I loved it for the same reason I loved the Haunted Mansion. The long drawn out sequences and the feeling that there’s just something spookier around the next corner. There’s something creepy going on. And the audience was drawn in.

I was annoyed that they made a sequel.

Then we saw it.

Okay, they should have called it The Conjuring 2 as a subtitle. Because, what James Wan has done? He’s recreated the first scary tale, keeping all the fun creepy stuff and the two main protagonists, and plopped them down in a new, ‘true-life’ ghost story.

And this movie is actually pretty good, believe it or not.  The only drawback? Well, the sequences are a bit drawn out. It’s evident to me that he’s got experience enough that he knows the audience expects a jump with every specific, lingering camera angle. So those moments tend to be longer and longer,

But I will admit, at least twice, there were scares that had NOTHING to do with jumping, but were so deliciously creepy that I applaud their use. In fact, at the conclusion, I realized that special effects were pretty much not uses. Instead, a production design that kept us well aware of the house’s mapping and claustrophobia; actors that telegraphed their concerns so well, that I was a bit worried.

Do you like the Haunted Mansion at the Disney parks? You like the mood and atmosphere over just the standard dark-ride scares or those cheesy Halloween prank houses with teens in bad make-up? Then you’ll like this movie.

Ugh.

I shouldn't write about this. I'm, by no means, an authority on guns, or violence. Heck, I don't anyone who survived, and I don't know who was slaughtered.

I'm not the correct choice, but, at the same time, I feel compelled to author something. 

Cause I'm here. I'm a member of this nation, this planet. And I'm gay. 

There was a massacre at a gay nightclub. 

Not only that, I've been here before. 

Nathan Dunlap, upset over being fired, walked into a Showbiz Pizza place and shot up the place.  Article

The same place behind my middle school where, when I had extra quarters, I'd walk over and play video games at. 

That was close. Too close. 

See, there was a shooting in Colorado-as a school a friend of mine had just finished student teaching at. I had driven by and talked to her while she was there.  Yes, it was Colombine.

I knew that school.

That was close to home, emotionally, physically.

And then there was a shooting in a Colorado movie theater, during the The Dark Knight Rises.

The same...too close. That was the theater I had seen numerous movies, including taking my tyke of niece to see various cartoons with large popcorns; my dad and I escaping to see The Blair Witch Project to see if it was real or not. 

There's a humor in all of this. It may seem like I'm the harbinger of death, doesn't it. But the fact is, I don't own a gun, never will. In fact, it's something my husOtter completely agree on. We're men of faith. Thou shall not kill. 

Neither will we. 

No guns. 

I mean, what good will they do? I love hearing how great they are and how people are so proud of having them and keeping people safe. I have YET to hear of one story where a mass murderer was stopped by a bystander with a handgun.

You're going to google to prove me wrong, which is interesting. Because it says something more about you, the reader, than my statement. You need to justify yourself. As if the piles of dead bodies aren't enough to convince you that there's a problem. 

Two wrongs don't make a right.

Where was the Pope's gun? Just curious. I saw 10 men with guns around Reagan. And they were trained. And they fucked up big time. 

Now? Let's stop for a minute. When did it become a conversation about weaponry? 

And when the fuck are we getting to Orlando?

There was a shooting in Orlando. The thing I thought I was unqualified to talk about. But, like the other shots that were fired, are waaaay too close to my heart. I am gay. 

I know, surprise.

And I've been to gay clubs. Our safehouse. Before I came out, it was the only place I could others of my tribe, my color, my community. I got my first apartment across the street from the gay bar and would go there to watch football and play pool. It was a place where I could be, where many could just...be. To hear it shattered, again, by a religious nut is, at once, upsetting, and strangely, predictable. 

The fact is, we got marriage rights, but we're far from out of the woods yet. I mean, if the governor can declare a state of emergency without mentioning the word lesbian, gay, or anything about a sexual minority ONCE, you know, still, the state of Florida hates you. Even if it happened in a gay club. They don't even acknowledge that you exist. Lest we forget, Florida was one of the few states that didn't want to issue marriage licenses. 

Reminds me of the 80s, which I also lived through. When no one seemed to want to mention anything about the AIDS epidemic.

*)  EDIT:  I found this. Please notice who DIDN'T acknowledge the LGBT community: https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/national/how-lawmakers-responded-to-the-orlando-mass-shooting/

In fact, fucking Fox News with their ongoing coverage. That media outlet, which has singlehandedly kept gay rights at bay for the past few years is reporting about this, the fucking dingletwats. This is the channel that would invite Ralph Reed and Dobson on as "experts" on all things nongay.

And they're getting ratings.

Or my friends who, instead of checking on me or my friends, posted about, "here comes Obama, watch, he'll want our guns!" Not...are you okay?

And I'm not okay, not one bit. Pile this heap with shit from my nieces (yes, plural) dying in a car wreck, being robbed, both the cat and the dog dying, and then 10 weeks of the flu-and you have me in a corner, so I'm going to get all catty. Sorry.

I'm just so sorry.

No, I'm not blaming Islam, either. I did have some pause that, after 4 days of visiting us in Orlando, President Obama met with the Saudi princes at the White House-a country that executes gays. Yes, that's state business, but....come ON. 

Yes, I'm venting. The fact is, gun control may not be the answer, but I do believe, strongly, that research needs to be completed. Something that the NRA refuses to allow so they lobby against it. Makes sense. With every shooting, people buy more guns. Less violence in media? Sure, that's an old chestnut, but if it were totally true, there'd be MORE violence, not less. I do like the idea of doing background checks. That doesn't keep guns from people, IMHO. But, like, what the fuck do I know. I want something to happen, but my head's too wrapped up in everything to really know what course of action to take.

Here are some actions you can take, however:

One Blood

Please donate blood. Of course, I'm a bit peeved about this too. Imagine if my husOtter was dying and needed blood. But the gays? We can't donate. Fuck!

Pulse Tragedy Fund through the Center of Orlando

Pulse Victims Fund via Equity Florida

But enough with the prayers. If the community wasn't already in your prayers, then you don't start now. DO. Let's DO something.

A Different Kind of Review

I lean on the shoulders of giants.

Seriously. Not a Thursday night goes by where I don't find myself sitting in for a decent reading session with Rogerebert.com, even after the master of film criticism has passed. His progeny proliferate and I sit in respectful awe of their talent. I try to copy their style, their wordings, here.

I know. Good luck with that.

But the writing is good, if not great. These are people who find homes in writing, places I can only dream of.

I've also leaned on the New York Times to find the ins-and-outs of restaurant writing. The fact is, I'm not a very good cook, so, nope, that's where I fail, horribly. I don't know the kinds of flavors I'm tasting. Adjectives allude me and it's rough.

Then there's this review.

And I have no active examples on what to say or do in terms of authoring a review of specific attraction at the Disney Parks. Oh. Sure, yeah, there's a few hundred blogs.

But they pretty much suck moosepenis. They're yahoos who are in it for the free tickets. So it's not like I can copy them. They'll just throw words at the screen and use the adjective "good," ten to twenty times.

And I'm not content to tow the party line on this. I love Disney, don't get me wrong, but there's also a reason I'm not clamoring for the free tickets. Same for when I was a movie critic. I requested my publisher give me money and head to the ticket booth and I see it when everyone else.  Probably would do the same thing today.

Basically, does this moment in art hold up to scrutiny? Does the meal satisfy? Does the music linger in the heart and mind? Does the painted image hold some kind of emotional resonance?

And does what Disney create transport us to another reality?

See, here's the deal. I live an hour from Disney. Best place, ever, if you want a "stay-cation." And it's always there, especially if you have no relative nearby and an annual pass to burn. However, like the sun, the moon, and the stars, it's always there. See, like, I lived in the shadow of Pikes Peak. Did I go up it? No, not very often. I did and I enjoyed it, but, there were times, when people came to visit and, I was, like, "yeah, not happening."

Either the crowds were too thick. The sun was too strong. That extra helping of whatever didn't agree with me and I felt safer with the can nearby.

So when Disney does it's media blitz for this novelty and that new thing, I perk up, and I do listen and get all excited. But this isn't going to make it or break it for me. EVERYONE and their trophies are going to be heading over to the crowded parks en masse and I have no urge to subject myself to that abuse. We'd tend to wait, see when anyone else is going and then jump on that bandwagon. I like the situation of it, the feel of it.

Disney's Animal Kingdom, I will mention, is not my favorite park. I find that the attractions are few, and the animals, once great and numerous, were emptied when Disney realized no one was walking over to see them. Of course, now that Hollywood is basically down for the count for the next several years, they have to make something worthwhile for people to head to. Animal Kingdom is huge, but really the animals were only out during the day; the naturalistic feel of the park made fora  hot, steamy afternoon. Bamboo thickets crowd the walkways, and the crowds press into each other. It was created with the idea that the guest was the explorer, but time and an increase in visitors have left that concept in the lurch. Disney was content to change very little about the park. The numbers were high and attendense hasn't slowed in many moons. Why change a thing?

Then people started cutting down their vacations to head to Universal.

And then the Hollywood Studios elected to become Star Wars land.

Animal Kingdom was ripe for the change. Magic Kingdom just got a new Fantasyland, and so that budget was moved away.

Animal Kingdom has some interesting choices coming up and I support the creativity. For one, they're getting an environmentally themed Tomorrowland, in the shape and scope of James Cameron's Avatar. A facinating choice, and I commend them on the attempt.

And this past Saturday, they started offering night activities. Right at the start of summer.

I was content to wait. Things get edited as the nights carry on and Disney learns what's popular and what's downright stupid.

But I have smart friends.

And they jumped when they saw that the backdoor was left open, as it were.

Ahem.

They snagged fastpasses galore for the biggest item of the night.

Nighttime safaris.

Yes, Kilimanjaro safaris is now open at night.

Now, understand, Disney has won awards for providing such care of their animals. They had them trained to come in at night from their huge savannah and into paddocks where vets could check on them and make sure their needs were being met. They could count the animals and all those things that needed to happen. But with wanting to stay open later, they had to retrain the beasts to stay out far from their cages and still feel safe.

The safari was interesting for me. You can see the same animals in a zoo, and, if needed, linger over them and study them, see them slightly closer than a ranger-lead open bus. However, with Disney's experience there's something about seeing the relaxation of the animals. They're moving about in huge, open areas, as they would be in the wild so the image they create is much more natural and realistic. Not only that, the herds move about the vehicles, giving the guests the feeling that they are part of the attraction.

But Florida is fucking hot. You're sitting with a few hundred strangers and they're sweating, we're sweating and everyone is looking over everyone.

So is the night any different?

Yes, actually.

First off, there's a quiet to the whole shebang, so as not to spook the animals. The lights are a deep red on the vehicle, helping your eyes adjust to the surroundings. The headlights are on, creating shadows and, yes, quite a few horror film references were made, but that meant we were there, in that moment. The animals, now cooled from the day or more docile, more relaxed, ready for sleep. We noticed that that comfort translates to them really not caring for the slow moving ride vehicles as they pass. They yawn, stretch and mumble past.

Now, this being Disney, there was a theme about saving the elephants when the attraction first open. Made sense. They were afraid that the animals might not be seen and were afraid that your trip would be a waste, so they shoehorned a tale in about "Big Red" and poachers and you had to go save the day.

It was nixed.

Something similar happens here.

No story, but, instead, two beautiful set pieces. A scrim created sunset greets you upon entrance to the larger holding area. At the end of the tour, there's moonlight. As if you've traveled through the lowlands of Africa in one night. The feeling you've gone on a journey.

So? Is it good?

Yes.

It's cooler, for one thing. And two, we noticed some of the animals just seem to be about more. Especially the rhinos, jiminychristmaskkah, the rhinos. In fact, I noticed three different trucks guarding the huge beasts, their eyesight being terrible in the dark. But still, they were there, and in greater number than the day. The lions were roaring (however my husOtter insists that was piped in); the gnu just sauntered past.

I also noticed that lamps were hidden in the trees. When animals drew near, they came on, but very slowly, so as not to scare the creatures. This means we had the deliciously creepy experience of seeing moving palm trees in shadow suddenly sprout ears and spots and become giraffes. This was not a special effect. It was our collective minds playing tricks on us.

We also got to see the famed Tree of Life come to, well, life. Disney is now using the projections that they use on the castle curing the Magic fireworks, to make each sculpture come to life on that immense centerpiece. And, about every fifteen minutes or so, a small tale is projected, using characters that are strangely similar to Bambi or Todd the fox from The Fox and the Hound. Strangely, this seemed to be largely experimental, without mention of when the vignettes were going to happen. So your chance to see it is really hit or miss, which is too bad, because the surface area of the tree is HUGE and so the images are a bit easier to see.

No fireworks. Animals nearby, remember?

But that aspect seemed also pretty much too new to totally be enjoyed. I know I'll have to go back and see how it works. And if I had spent a few gazillion bucks to fly out with my family to see it, I might miss it and be bothered by that.

Some other night items? A new Bollywood presentation, ala Fantasmic, based on the The Jungle Book. However, it was packed as well.

And, as I started this documentation, I can wait, sometimes.

Unless my really smart friends get more fast passes and force me out of my sluggish comfort zone.

And here's my dilemma. As a critic? Yes, I feel this moment, this piece of artistry is evident and truly magical. However, I kept thinking that there was something unfinished, something like hitting a stream already flowing to the sea. The sense of journey is present but not totally ironed out to make it accessible to a large audience. I'd be curious to see if changes are implemented in the near future, to make the story and imagery stronger and more accessible.

Of Mice and Men, Of Actors, Stars, and Icons

I listen to NPR. I suppose that's a given. I spend a good deal, a sizable chunk of my day, within the confines of my car, going from worksite to worksite. No complaints, but commercial radio, as we know, is bunk. In fact, I was forced to listen to it when given a new work car and I heard only two songs in over 45 minutes. Audiobooks are incredible, but I like the immediacy of podcasts and PopCulture Happy Hour is one of my favorites.

Recently, they were talking about how, by the casting of Tom Hanks in the film "Captain Philip," half the work was done, since his 'starlight' already informed the film's audiences with what to expect. The comment bothered me, for some reason, the failings of the show's hosts falling into the same pit I've fallen into many times. As critics, we tend to play fast and loose with the seriousness of so much art and that was a bit of a flippant comment, even for my sensibilities.

But, well, the host did have a point. The fact is, the whole world of film is really teeny-tiny and so, well, I started analyzing the impact of the statement. Now, perhaps, I think what bothered me is that inability for the critic to see beyond the face of Tom Hanks and see a nuanced performance, especially understated in the final moments of the film. I've been an actor, I know that there is, yes, some work that's going on. It's like a person with an invisible disability. A terrible analogy, but it works-there's work going on, you just don't see it.

And that's acting. Heath Ledger locked himself into a hotel room for three days to memorize his lines for the movie The Dark Knight. He exited and became the Joker to the very end of the end. He even convinced the filmmaker himself to allow him to direct a small handheld film that appears (a horrifying torture scene) in the picture, while in character.

Dustin Hoffman, dressed as woman in Tootsie, walked around town and felt the stares and realized the plight of women in the 80s (and, yes, today) and used it to color his character. Marlee Matlin took all of her own personal torment living as a Deaf woman in a hearing family and channeled it to an Oscar; watch Cher, seen as a joke in acting circles, literally (see the movie and watch her walk down the street) throw her cares to the win and literally become an Italian-American woman trying to thrive within the parameters of Old World rules.

All of them. Actors.

And that's when I noticed something. There are three performers in Hollywood.

Actors (actresses, but for here, I'll use the term interchangeably)

Stars

Icons

Tom Hanks, to me, is one of those actors. He preps his work. And he acts in movies. The tabloids rarely target him, when they run into him, he's friendly and not very exciting. There's a myriad of pictures of him on the interwebs, crashing weddings and getting selfies over drunk people-passed out so they can't meet him. His wife, Rita Wilson, is also an actor. There are no hidden camera shots of her at the corner of Hollywood and Vine playing with her wedding ring.

These people take their craft seriously. I watched, last night, a cute little ditty I probably should review, called "GBF." Crappy title, great little script, cute little flick. These people, I'm sure, would like a bigger paycheck. But they were all actors. They are trying.

But there's something else. Here, do you want to see the full spectrum of my world? Roo also watches TMZ. I don't like them. I don't approve of their massive invasion of privacy.

However?

I fucking love the movies.

And, yes, I'm aware that these actors? They have something they are selling. They are, in the end, their own product. And with that, there's a way to make yourself more marketable.

The press. Tabloids.

It's fucking parasitic.

TMZ catches them in public, being themselves. SIDENOTE: What I like about the show has nothing to do with the images...and everything to do with the hilarious office banter the team discusses. They've all become characters by being themselves. It's reality tv without the need for scenarios.

Now we're moving into stardom.

There's a world built around the actor and it's not always pretty or appropriate. I think of poor George Clooney.

Okay, so he's not exactly poor. Born into the media world, he could never escape it, like a Kennedy on a private island. But he can act, he's quite good. And it's not like he has to, but he likes to. Either the part is challenging enough, or that he likes the thematic representation of a given piece. I think that's why he took (the dude's father was in the press, Nick Clooney) the currently playing Money Monster. It's a strange movie, but it's about the banking's investment in the government and media's love for violence.

George is an actor, but his face on this kind of picture will drawn people in-and maybe they'll vote for Hillary, er, learn something about our flawed systems. My point being, even unwittingly, George is a movie star. He's married to one of the most intelligent women in the world.

And you don't even know her name. Because? She's not part of the scene.

Nor should she-because she's an attorney for the fucking UN.

Her name is Amal Alamuddin. Probably more important than he is.

Brad Pitt's in the same boat. Watch his early career. He's brave and bold, taking diverse roles.

And he's beautiful.

George and Brad--actors and stars.

Now, trust me, there are those who are just stars.

Adam Sandler.

And he's got nothing outside of the screen, but he's up there and he keeps clearing budgets. I'm also reminded of many others who crossed over into film. Prince? Not an actor, but every bit a star. Barbara Streisand? An actress who became a star. And then star kinda blinded out the acting part. There's a reason she hides nowadays. She's talented. But she's bigger than her roles.

Now, I probably should mention, being a star is totally cool and there's nothing wrong with that. I look to people like Pamela Anderson. She continues to be marketable. Can she act? No. But she's more than willing to be seen and game to poke fun at herself.

But her movies? Meh.

And, remember, there's two layers here. You can be both.

Or neither. See:  Any Lifetime movie.

I guess I should point out the Kardasians. They aren't in movies. And they shouldn't be stars. Still, applause must be given to them, yes. They made themselves a marketable product and keep a buttload of people employed with it. I get angry with their no-talented-ness, but understand they have a purpose.

Maybe I should create a subgenre:  celebrities. No talent wannabes.

Fuckers.

But as I did all of this mental sorting, I came across something that I didn't think could be addressed with my interactions with "Actors" and "Stars."

I look to those movies where I went to see the performer. I knew them; I trusted them.

Like Jackie Chan. Grant you, his recent turn in the shitty Karate Kid showed he actually has some decent acting ability. I guess a lifetime on stage and screen will do that to a man. But is he an actor? Technically? No. And his life beyond the corners of the screen? Not really star-material.

I created a third column.

Icons.

He's an icon. When I see his movies, they're consistently challenging me to see his craft but also see an insane amount rapport. He is so wonderfully friendly, you want to take the journey with him. I noticed this was the case with several of my favorite martial arts performers.  Jean-Claude Van Damme. Jet Li. Michelle Yeoh. And, to some extent, Chow Yun-Fat, but he does cross over, frequently, to acting territory.

The camera lense for this group really can expand, too. Look at Arnold. Yes, the biggest action star of all of the 80s. His later works, and his recent turns have actually been performances, but, let's face it, he's not going to get an Oscar. And a Star? Yes, but he seemed to come out pretty squeeky clean outside of the usual infidelities.

Marilyn Monroe is another good example. She was, believe it or not, a classically trained actress. However, the public refused to see her talent, and just wanted to stare at her. It led to her eventual meltdown. But this woman can actually act. But you see an image of her and you see everything. You know every line; every moment.

And it's beautiful.

James Dean could also act around some of the performers of today, but his short life and high cheekbones moved him into a silver screen history few have joined. Clark Gable? Cary Grant? Alfred Hitchcock?

As I look at this thought process, I realized one thing.

Barbra Streisand fits into all of these categories, doesn't she? She's awesome.

Movie Review: Captain America-Civil War

You know that moment, when you're cleaning out your pockets before you do the laundry and you stumble across a crumbly twenty dollar bill? One that you don't recall putting in there but, somehow, as if by magic, it appeared, as if you make your day?

Yeah, keep that feeling in mind. I've not wrapped my head around the movie Captain America: Civil War just yet, but that's not the point. I have to strike while the iron is pretty hot.

This is a nice find, as if out of the blue.

Disney has pretty much given up on advertising, when you think about it. They have so many shitty little bloggers (ahem, see recent post) out there they don't have to pay for a single commercial if they don't wan to. The trolls devour all of their tidbits that it saves cash and let's Disney/Marvel actually do stuff. Heck, even this blog post is a bit of an advert. This movie, I don't recall, really had an advertising push, not unlike the recent Batman v. Superman, so when I finally found time to head to the local flicka, it was, well...

....like finding that twenty dollar bill.

A nice surprise. The Disney machine has been marching on for some time, but, like all good soap operas, the comic book empire they purchased pretty much writes itself with an intertwining, multi-plot story. Heck, they just announced a Black Widow possible spin-off movie. Does it fit in the canon? Nope. But it does line the pocket.

And I'm one of those bloggers, so I'll go see it too.

This movie is part of the universe that is Marvel, if ever there was such a movie. Nothing character wise is emphasized here. Instead, the movie, like a good sequel should, carries a full storyline about all the previous movies.

No, really.

It's about how the world is starting to react to the saturation of heroes on Earth and the violence they are carrying out. In fact, after a particularly jarring opening act catching supervillains during a heist, goes sour and it suddenly makes sense. The Avengers are starting to feel some form of remorse. New laws are being made, sponsored by the UN and will hold all heroes accountable from here on out. Captain America, played again by Chris Evans, believes they should operate freely, instead of a political entity or a policing agent. Iron Man, played once more by Robert Downey Jr., feels guilt when a specific death is brought to his attention and believes this might be the way to remove himself from a certain culpability and agrees to oversight.

The ruse works to making a full movie. It's surprisingly lavish production, with a few dozen of key players from several of their titles. This is the same team that constructed Captain America: Winter Solider, which I consider one of the best in their canon, and I'm starting to think that Disney might want to consider paying them more.

This movie is long, but it doesn't feel long. Nor is it designed, in any manner, to get your goat and have you cheer for the four seconds your favorite character is on the screen. They did what a movie should do-every character, and I mean EVERY character has an agenda and it plays to a specific and logical end, success or no. Even brief cameos, with Ant-Man and Spider-man, are not forced in any manner, but, instead, feel like they should be there and fit in like a missing puzzle piece.

I'm doing my best to avoid spoilers here, and, luckily, the plot is complicated, but not contrived or wooden. More like clockwork. And because of that, trying to summarize it would be like trying to review the last 20 years of the comic books itself.

I think it's interesting that it comes on the heels of the Batman/Superman fiasco (okay, sure, I didn't think it was bad, but next to this? It's bad). Warner Bros is so scared of opening up their property that it comes off as a cold art movie. Here? The movie's pacing is like a decent novel, with a plot twist at the end of every chapter. That movie was massively awkward. Two heroes fight. A villain is rewritten. But the concoction comes off as maladroit.  This movie? Totally opposite.

I am being really vague, aren't I? Sorry, but if you like the MCU, you'll like this movie, but, believe it or not, there's something to be said about the quality-this picture moves like the Winter Solider and should be recognized as something slightly above the genre.  The only drawback? Well, it doesn't really work if you're not sure what's going on with previous ticks. Of course, that can only happen if you live under a rock or you have little exposure to popular culture. That's where this movie does fail. It's like starting StarWars at the Empire Strikes Back level.

I also have to point out, as I have numerous times, I'm a strong believer that art reflects life reflects art. I think it's fitting that we're seeing two heroes go head to head in an election year. No one can be sure that one or the other is worthy and the fight ensues. I'm also drawn to parallel the recent transphobic bills that are splattering all over the place. Where people are trying to legislate even there's no need or no ability to do so. How, in Fate's name, are they going to keep heroes in check? More heroes, which seems kinda wrong. How are Earth are they going to keep bathrooms checked? By putting police in there to look under stalls? Sick. Weirdness.

Go, enjoy.

Musings on Animal I Thought I Didn't Like

We had to put my cat down yesterday.

Surely, since we just put down my dog just two months ago, for pretty much the same reasons, that was why the tears, when they arrived, weren't as profound or powerful.

But they were there.

I suppose emotions, like so many other things, cannot be measured on any kind of a scale.

Cause, for some reason, when my dog was put down, I was able to function on some level.

I can't move today. Everything aches. I'd long heard of depression.

And I think I'm there.

Let me start from the beginning.

I had been talking to this guy for, like MONTHS, almost a full year. We had been trying to meet up for eons, but this was in the space before instant mobile closed gaps in seconds. He lived in Sioux Falls and I was miserable in Colorado Springs. Eighteen hours of driving, if I was in the mood. And I still had to pay by phone call with long distance, even had a special credit card.

Well? It happened.

I have to say, I was happier dating people who had kids or animals. I showed me something about their ability to be compassionate and caring. It informed my primal man that, yes, this person was probably marrying material, basically. They could care for something other than themselves.

And Mr. Long Distance had a cat. A slight animal, no more than the weight of an envelope, she was what they labeled a 'tuxedo' cat. A strong and pure black and white, her heft meant that she could dance on the back of the couch and be on the counter in short thrift.

After we dated for a while, time passed and, well, I spent the night. The Man Who Would Become HusOtter left and two distinct moments happened. He worked all night, so I slept late, moving to the couch to greet him with smiles when he returned.

A warm spot formed on the small of my back. I thought that perhaps that confounded cat had peed on me. Betty was her name, "Elizabeth" when she was in trouble. But I reached back, as I lay there on my then-trim abdomen, and felt her purring away. I was a cushion.

I took this as a good omen. The cat liked me. So? I had an in with this guy.

The second incident happened with I made breakfast. That wonderfully confounded beast smoothed herself behind me and sat in wait as I sat down with my bagel and cream cheese. This guy had NO cable (not a deal-breaker, yet, as television was still not switched over to HD....but that would have to be remedied if the relationship was to go any further!), so I had to squeeze my vision into squints to see the shaky image and I heard a licking and munching. My arm, to my right and out of my field of vision, was treating the cat on the armrest to a breakfast snack of cream cheese.

She stopped and looked me in the eyes, as if a silent accord had been achieved. Within a step, she was forward and under my chin, with a purr and a waltz away.

I realized, for one, that she was now going to put in a good word for me. I snoozed with her and I gave her cream cheese. I had to be in her favors now. And, secondly, I had always seen myself as a dog person, even now.

But something inside my heart changed when I married this guy.

And he brought the Betty with him.

Moving in together was a process, where he had to quit his job and finish out a term. That meant, he had time to sell his house and move into my flat in Colorado Springs.

Yes, things were going well.

He moved his furniture in. And the apartment took cats, so she could stay with me, a better choice, since the house was being put on the market and the front door might open and close. She learned I was an author, and, as the world knows, cats are pretty literate. They have to be, given their airs. As I sat long hours in front of my computer near the window, she would join me as I chainsmoked.

Eventually, she'd start to cough. Here I was, killing the animal my future husband held so dear. So I would hike down the three flights of stairs to smoke, outside in the doorway of our old apartment building. Sometimes in my underwears at 3am.

The cat survived.

And I elected to quit smoking. Especially when the snows came.

The years passed and she became something of a confidant. I moved again, here to Florida and she came with me as the house, again, was put on the market. Meowed all across the nation. My husOtter had yet to find a job, and so we were stuck apart, him with the house, and, yes, me with this cat. Only now? Years had fostered a connection and we were bound. Greetings when I came home, curiosity when I arrived home with packages,  ongoing superfluous naps, and many late nights sitting on my lap when I was typing.

Like now, only she's not here.

I thought I was a dog person. I love my dog.

But I've come to realize through the generosity of a specific feline-cats are pretty awesome too.

There weren't as many tears because, like the dog, you had passed some time ago, and was just hanging on to keep us from being in despair. I get it. And our own selfishness was blind to the fact that you had aged and might have been suffering. To see you sleep one final time, to see you finally rest, made my heart happy. You needed to stop all the work you were doing, my dear old Gumby Cat (see the play, "Cats," and you'd understand!).

Rest in Peace.

Z is for Zombie

Really? Is there any more fitting way to end this? I mean, for reals, "Z?"

Of course, for me, it's going to be zombies.

And I can never explain it, that fascination.  I will admit, as of late, my interest has been wanning. I mean, seriously. I've been such an avid watch of The Walking Dead. But this season? I gimmicks kept coming and coming it was less about creativity and more about broadcasting 101. I remember hearing about how soap operas only got interesting before a commercial.  Made sense, so you'd not walk away. But their storylines were in the 100s and they were always evovling.  TWD? Look, three "almost deads" in six weeks!

And then they did it as a season finale.

After a much ballyhooed exit from the season that promised an hour and half of the show. I later realized, it was the same fifty minute program, stretched out over commercials. Yeah, broadcasting 101. Not only that, the commercials! The same ones! Over and over! Like we're idiots!

I seriously contemplating leaving the show. I constantly end days at Disney World on Sundays to race home and make dinner so I can watch it, since we're a bit too cheap to actually have DVR. But we figured it was okay, given I had to get up at the crack of dawn every morning as it was the next Monday.

As this tirade does attest, I like me some zombies. I mean, I just started whining about commercial television.

I had heard, once, that during times of GOP dominance, vampire movies reign. And when Dems are in control? Zombie movies. Now, that doesn't go so far into my belief system, but I kinda giggle at the thought process behind it. And, yes, the craptacular "Twilight" tales did really get some traction during the Bush tyranny.  So that could mean something. Look at the symbolism. Night creatures that suck the livelihood out of normal humans:  GOP and their ideals.  Zombies? Blind followers who don't think things through under an unknown agenda.

LOL. Seriously.

My love for the horror genre of "zombies" comes from the great Night of the Living Dead. Saw it when I was in high school, still in black and white, a late night rental. I used to actually work on Saturdays nights, when things like renting movies were popular in the 80s and it made sense to me. I didn't have to go on dates like all the straight folk. I could be alone with the movies that fascinated me. If my mother was going to be home I tried to find something wonderfully black and white and written about, expanding my mind on the classics-a boon with her ongoing narration. This night, she elected to go to bed early and so I hit up the nightmare of a monster movie.

It struck a cord with me. Given my horror movie chops, understand, I cannot, possibly, swallow disaster movies. They freak the living heck out of me, for some reason. 2012 sent me into spasms. Even the beauty that is the Dwayne Johnson in San Andres, no matter how tempting, could not draw me in.

I even tried to author a screenplay for an Earthquake movie that would be in 3-D and on Imax. Even that gave me the whoozies.

However, this little zombie movie, about one horrific night during a zombie outbreak struck a cord. It almost reminded me of a play, the way it worked itself out. The tale of a single farmhouse were survivors were trying to get through the night. Of course, it was a microcosm of the world; single woman; African-American gentleman; nuclear family; old school farmer with many guns. The symbolism was palpable, but due to the onslaught of potential violence, even in an underground movie from 1968, kept it from becoming overt.

Like Psycho, the movie cut new ground with certain realities that hadn't been shown on screen before, making this a cult film before the critics really got a good hard look at it. The dead were shown as our forgotten folk, the first to suffer from this 'affliction' and people no one would acknowledge. Homeless people who had died in the cold of the night and such. Also? The first body seen has his clothes merely strapped on in the back. No one to that point had realized that, when rigor mortis had set in, clothing is difficult to place on the body, so it's usually just laid across and strapped across the back.

In fact, this becomes a point in the film. Most of the dead cannot move quickly because of this, a fatal flaw that leads to wonderful dramatic tension. You have time to fight as they advance. Leaving long periods of the audience saying things, like, "aw, fuck, DO SOMETHING."

Grant you, time flew and eventually, they moved quickly, if they were 'newly dead.'

They made a wonderful sequel, Dawn of the Dead, where the Dead, having finally consumed so much of the population, basically went to mall, because they were wired to do that, socially congregate. More delicious symbolism. SIDENOTE: There's an awesome remake, too, of course, they go there because there's survivors. And, yes, those survivors make up a composite of humanity.

There's also a really cool book, Monster Nation, by David Wellington, that even elaborates more for the zombie ideal. Those zombies just seek LIFE, and will eat anything LIVING. They even start to eat grass at one point, because it's the only life-sense. It's actually kinda cool how the concept works. There's sequels, but I found the originality is really only held to that first tale.

I also totally devoured the book World War Z, because, like Orson Welles' famed War of the Worlds, it's told through news reports and paperwork about the zombie attack. What's better? They made a movie that was loosely based on the book and it was just as good, using the same ideals from the literature.

Yes, I like zombies. Seeing them on television, well, that's been a short lived boon, but a boon, nonetheless. I think it's a wonderful way to see the world. Heck, I think I see zombies every day. Have you see the Tea Party? Brainless brain-eaters? Have you see the GOP? Talk about mindless....

....and, well, I guess that little saying about zombies being seen during the dem years might actually go the other way, too.

Sleep with your lights on.

AND????

That's it. That's the end of the month. I did it and I survived, even with sweltering fevers and the flu, I made it through the month. I give myself credit, yes, I can, if I want to, live the author's life. I don't think I want to do it daily, but I can. I might be more motivated if I were getting payment for it, other than kudos-which are deliciously rich, but doesn't put bacon on the table, as it were. Tonight is Beltane, tomorrow the symbolic first day of spring and it's rebirth. I think I like what I've accomplished here and I think I need to keep writing. Not daily, but weekly. I'll try to give it a go and see what's happening. If I can do it nightly, why couldn't I do it weekly? 

We'll see. Thanks for the notes and the kudos. 

Please, KEEP WRITING.

Peace!

Y is for Youth

Kids!? What's a matter with kids today!

Recently, there was a rash of fights breaking out at a local high school. I'm going to keep mum on the location for privacy issues, but, needless to day, the argument from the meeting?

"It's the parents fault!""

"It's social media!"

I was struck by the familiarity of the situation. It's like I was in the 70s when I heard about how "MUSIC!" was making kids do drugs. Or, even today, where my pastor just posted about the evils of porno.

That's an easy fix. With the amount you can get for free on the internet-the numbers don't really add up, but that's just me.

It's always a complaint about kids today and, how, when the current adults were kids, they didn't have these issues.

We make fun of texting, " Whr R U?"

But, really, "Y'all" was a shortened way of saying "you all."

And, really, how far is this:

From this:

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

People will complain, but, rarely, will they accept the changes necessary to keep today's youth out of trouble. The fact is, there are a great many dangers in the world; there always was. But in today's immediate access, those dangers are delicious headlines that are splattered all over the screens and talked about by teachers over the water coolers. Kids hear these dialogues, and aren't really happy to begin with. 

The one school shooting is profiled over the lower gun rates. What to people and, especially today's youth hear? But adults can pick and choose. An unformed brain doesn't have that ability and it sucks. 

So we yell about the kids. 

Do we turn off the media? No. We educate about it. We balance it. Cause they want it. 

I mean, look at the picture above. 

I love the phrase, "Youth is wasted on the young," and never before has this been more evident. They're missing out on being a kid. We need to put that back, somehow. Change schools from being testing machines and places where learning, even social learning is positive with dances and art, as well as basic skills and access to higher learning for those who want it. 

X is for Crossovers

Seriously. Think about it. X. What the fuck goes with X? I mean, I could write about porno, but that wouldn't be very good without pictures.

Ya know what I mean?

But, let's face it, I will always be an entertainment writer and here is something I can actually sink my canines into.

Cross (the "X" part, get it?)overs.

When I was in high school and fancied myself a possible future filmmaker, I would wonder, out loud, why my precious comic books hadn't been snatched up. They have prewritten, mulitple storylines; vaguely familiar characters; and a crapload of action.

Of course, I would counter myself. Special effects would have to be out of this world, origin stories, and youth culture. Surely, the penetration of the superhero genre would be huge, from elementary to fanboys in their fifties, but it would have to be, like Star Wars caliber.

Up to that point, Superman was really our only successful superhero movie, and rightfully so. The story was massively flimsy, surely, but the actors were all taking it seriously, and, yes, they invested everything into making the flying look as good as it could get.

Time flies and I'm an adult with a blog.

Thank you Disney, for proving this little author correct.

Last month, we were treated to Batman v Superman and, next week, Captain America:  Civil War.

Proving, again, that no one actually listens to me.

No wonder I find hope in working with the Deaf.

But the part I pointed out in the late 80s?

Multiple storylines. The fact is, there's money to be mad in fan-boy-ism. The drawback, however, can be seen in Trekkies.

These are not stupid people. If they were? Their addictions would be drugs and alcohol. Instead, if anyone's noticed, these are highly qualified professionals with slight (and, many times, not so slight) expendable cash. They read books. They scan the internet. Star Trek movies may sometimes suck, but they'll go and post about it and discuss it.

But such intelligence means family and lack of time for vice. They want to see the movies, surely, to keep up on their fan-boy-ish-ness (that was a mouthful), but they're not going to waste money on another Batman and Robin, no matter how gay they are and it having George Clooney.

So if you make sequels and crossovers, they have to have a reason to exist, other than the profoundly obvious-to give studio exes another house in Mexico.

The reason this is on my brain is the latest bit on the interwebs. There's a crossover story coming from Disney, called A Star Wars Story:  Rogue One. The rumors are delicious, regardless of their validity. It's a tale that runs parallel to the original Star Wars, taking people like me back to those wonderful moments of discovery from the seventies and early eighties. Get this, an entire movie based on the line in Star Wars, "a great many spies died to get this message to us." (sic)

The movie might have Darth Vader and is a mediation on those spies. It might even contain the TIE fighter pilot who clips ole Darthy's wing in the final seconds.

And it has eye level AT-ATs attacking the Yavin base from Star Wars.

Crossover joy, right there.

Crossovers are fine. Sequels are fine. But, take us places we've not gone. It's what I love about Disney. Monsters Inc? Fuck it, let's do a prequel..about them in college with Monsters U!

Creative.

But here's the thing.

Bury it. Don't make it look like a plain old money grab. Look at the trailer for Rogue One. Every. Dollar. On. The. Screen.

W is for the Writing Life

The experiment is almost to a close.

See, this was a bit a different than NaNoWriMo, wasn't it? I have about, what, three more days of this? And I wanted to see if I could do it. Really, just do it. Sorta like running a marathon and coming in number gazillion and fourteen. But, I was there, ya know? Everyone climbs Mount Everest. Tell me the last guy who climbed it. See? Not important to us immediately. But for that woman or man? The world. Just to stand there, realizing we're basically nothing on this earth and there's no oxygen left, but, for that one individual who put the time in and climbed all the way up? It was everything for them.

I looked at this challenge several times. But, here, let me back up. This NaNoWriMo (see earlier posts), I finally finished my darn book. The tic was, of course, it was my seventh, but the first one I really enjoyed writing and plotting out. The first one that I thought I might have a future with. So that means, for seven Novembers prior, I wrote and looked like an unclean toilet.

I consider those warm up runs.

Heh. "Runs" and I made a toilet metaphor. I crack me up.

I've never really done this whole Blogging from A-to-Z bit and this was the first time, or seems to be, the first time I've actually carried through to the (almost!) end. I think that's vital-probably moreso than the result that you see before you. The goal was to see what writing everyday and posting every day resulted in.

Basically, I lived the Writer's Life. And, now this month has begun to draw to a close, I can put up some observations I've collected. I've always wanted to live a Writer's Life. Quit this working shit and just sit at my desk, and, well, author away, corgis at my feet, coffee and tea only steps away--and a reason to keep that blasted kitchen clean.

Some observations:

1.  I can write at home. I can. When I lived in Colorado, I could, too, because, well, blizzards. It kept blizzard. So we set up one of the spare rooms as writer's pad, complete with corgi bed and desk facing the window. This also became the place where I gave out my first interviews over the phone for a possible job. Yes, fond, fond memories. However, our space here in Florida is wonderfully minuscule. But I can author on the patio in basic comfort, just shushing my husOtter's inks, brushes, paints to the side. But it was difficult. I developed a horrible case of the flu, so I could not just vamoose to my favorite java hut. I had to find a way to stop coughing and tough it out. It can be done. And I noticed it takes up less time.

2.  Momentum. I stockpiled the first few articles, but I noticed that if I miss one day writing SOMETHING, I'll miss more than one. And, yes, editing, to some extent, keeps your relationship to your authorship-but the momentum has to be maintained for consistency in the author's voice. The more frequently you write? The more the verbage stays the same. I know, that sounds kinda like a killer, that consistency is the death to all good art, but that's not what I'm addressing here. I noticed it moreso during the NaNoWriMo, as the characters can stay more consistent. But here? When it's my "voice?" Even that becomes a character here on the blog and I have to maintain it's presentational aspects.

3.  Tea and coffee work the same. Actually, I found, since I was writing at home, I tended to get into a terrible rhythm that maintained poor posture and heavy panting. Water. Coffee. Tea. It forces you to break, turn your head, sip and shake the muse a bit.

4.  Fiction and nonfiction come from different parts of the brain. I journal for myself, not for others, daily. Just my thing to reflect on the day. It's not for others consumption, heck, I don't even reread it myself. But to publish something, daily, in a forum such as this? That's a whole different ball game. I realized, well, I must be boring. I noticed repetition on ideals and philosophies which are wonderful if you're proving your a fellow Democrat, but lousy in terms of trying to keep a writer engaged in the same message on a different day. Fiction? One character, ongoing. Easy. And if I sour of them? I kill them off. Horribly. Here? Not an option.

5.  The Censor lives on. On social media, I tend to censor myself, muttering to myself about the stupidity of my fellows on the their various pages. I have to, not so much because society dictates I do, but because, frankly, I go there to relax. I'm not in the mood to argue with people who define themselves as friends-but who still might be slightly misaligned-and keep them as such. That means keep the apple cart pretty steady and having convivial chats about fart jokes. And it's easy. privacy is a breeze, if you want it to be. Then there's here? I've learned to turn off the censor in my head for creative writing...in fiction. But not so much on the nonfiction side. I have to learn how to be able to let the words fly and land where they may, as it were. Strangely, I have no problem doing this with movie criticism and literary criticism. After all, I doubt I'll ever meet those movie stars and published authors. Here? That's a different game. But if they're smart enough to read this blog, they're smart enough to handle the truth. I jsut have to be willing to turn that little switch in my noggin and just be direct.

There. Some observations from this past month. Enjoy? Peace....

V is for Villains

My MOUSE DIED AND I CAN'T SEEM TO HANDLE IT...so there should be a big V logo RIGHT HERE!!!!!!

Since this, well, a blog about writing and writing more, I'm sad to point out this moment and the next will focus on just that.

My passions.

Still, I cannot help thinking that such discussion about the craft of my art really does have an appeal beyond my fellow authors. I know crap about music, but, with the passing of very incredible Prince, I've been really getting into his process as an creator of some of the better tunes of the past few decades.  My brother once had a biography on Frank Zappa and I chowed that puppy down.

So, the process does define the individual in a manner that I don't think we readily realize. I believe it is because not everyone can create. We feel inadequate, since we've not written that third Great American Novel and we're petrifed that we'll discover that there's no magic bullet, no special "thing" that causes awesomeness.

It's kinda what I've always believed. We're already awesome. The spotlight hasn't found our corner of stage left yet. Just after this next big number.

I have a feeling, due to the limited vocabulary utilizing the letter V, I have a feeling we'll all be reading a bunch of "villain" commentaries today.

Wait. Vocabulary starts with a V.

Aw fuck.

Go with this, Roo, go with it.

As an American kid, our first taste of villainy tends to be of the Disney variety (another V word...good thing I don't always think about vaginas...).  Very clear cut. It's pretty obvious. They wear black, they sneer. They speak in low tones. I won't point out the killing part, because, many times, the heroes do pretty much the same.

But it helps the formative mind understand the tropes as they get to adulthood.

When they learn that Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, really was a good person who was treated badly. But such complexity let's hold off for a bit, here, folks.

Also, we should point out, in those training narratives to young minds, villains are not the McGuffin. They are not the thing the story seems to be about. They are the antagonist, who make the protagonist's journey so much more difficult getting to...well, whatever.

I have to point this out, because there's a learning curve. Kids see movies like Star Wars and think Kylo Ren is kinda cool. They don't realize the full potential of the viciousness (another V word) before them...yet.

And that's okay.

For myself, as I author, I tend to start with the bad guy.

Safe to say, I loved Darth Vader. And I knew Cruella DeVil before she took over the drag show over at Parliment House in Orlando. These were my peeps, if I may.

Cause they had rough childhoods? Sometimes. But their journey, almost always parallel to the protagonist's, always ends up in separate away place. Reading Dracula, I felt sorrow, knowing that love can truly destroy a person; I read Magneto and understood his angst angst a society that did nothing while his family was killed.

And that's where I start most of my fiction. A bad person that didn't set out to be that way. Where did they go wrong?

And why won't they sit quietly?

And this goes for tales that you wouldn't expect. Love is elusive, it's inherent. It can be, very much so, an antagonist. But why does it elate some and make others so bitter? Ahhhh, yes, there's the rub, is it not?

I was sad when the famed fictional serial killer was explained in the novel, Hannibal.  All my readings on serial killers was thrown out the window. Up until that point, he had filled a gap. A good man who just was-bad. Luckily, it was buried in some of the best writing and plot development that Thomas Harris could create, but the villainy was gone. In it's place was a victim (another V word) who behaved very badly.

By eating his victims? It's a stretch, but it's there.

My point being, there's a moment in our lives as we grow up when the Disney villains, and ourselves, realize the horrors of the real world and the narrative changes for the characters we read, watch, and love, as well as, for ourselves. Seeing the vileness (another V word) of teen age angst acted out in high school hallways, the potential for evil is born into every one. Horror movies (good ones, at least) become popular for most youth as this concept of villain bursts into our consciousness.

Yeah, it did to me too. I just never let go.

Villains are the place were all stories start for me and for all of us.

Now, there's a trend that I do enjoy, however, lately.

Superhero movies.

It's like those Disney animated films, all over again.

And it's reflecting a change in popular culture, if not the culture itself.

These villains seem clear and obvious and very much jsut being bad because it looks good in the costume. On an aside, Bond used to be like that, but have been so absorbed into fabric of society, that's not the case. His villains reflect a more personal concern than ever before, but it's something I've also noticed. But Marvel's cast?

We're looking at their heroes also coming into their own...by fighting each other. Yes-the true villain is ourselves.

How delicious of a tale is that? Try giving yourself a black eye. Or tickling yourselves.

Villains are vital (dang, another V word), but a necessary evil, as it were. Even if it's a twister. Or a lost dog. A dead dreams. Or past decisions.

Start there. The story writes itself.