Sunday, October 28, 2007

The Movie I Wish I'd Never Seen

Do you have a movie in your past that you wish you'd never seen? I don't mean just some bad movie that was a waste of your time, I mean something that you truly regret watching and forever etching the memories of said film onto your grey matter.

I love movies, so I generally wouldn't think there could be one with that sort of parasitic hold on me. A few years ago, I reviewed movies on the Internet and saw my fair share of crap. Daredevil comes to mind, a film so bad in so many ways that it was physically painful to watch. But still, I'm not overcome with a burning need to vomit when I think about it. In fact, it led to my writing one of my favorite reviews of all time, so all told that horrific waste of celluloid leaves an almost nostalgically positive imprint on my memory.

But there is a film that does, in fact, induce in me a vibrant need to spew chunks whenever I think about it. I try not to think about it much, forgetting it for months at a time, while filling my head with the latest and greatest pop culture icons on the screen. But eventually, without fail, something will remind me of that one, fatal film and I'll be overcome with thoughts and images and nausea, becoming almost sick to my stomach.

I've discussed this in the past with friends. It's a good conversation starter. "Is there any film you honestly wish you'd never seen?" Some answers from others have included Faces of Death, 2,000 Maniacs, and Caligula. Each, in their own way, extremely disturbing. I myself have issues with the opening sequence in Cube, which is otherwise not a very disturbing film. However, the film which haunts me to this day is a little-known independent film called Frankenhooker.

Perhaps you've heard of this film, perhaps not. First, it's not porn or anything, it's rated R. Nor is it straight horror, not by any means. It's a very dark comedy. Basically, a guy's girlfriend is dismembered in a lawnmower accident and he decides to rebuild her body using all the best parts he can find from various hookers. He lures all the hookers into a room and haves them smoke special crack that makes them explode. Then he gathers the body parts, goes home, and rebuilds his girlfriend.

There ya go. A keeper.

I don't know why I agreed to see this film way back when (it was released in 1990). I certainly didn't suggest it, but it must have been someone else's turn to pick a film. So for some reason, they picked this one. And I went. And have regretted it ever since.

Why does this film disturb me so? I'm not sure. But I get two different scenes flashing into my mind when the film springs into my brain. The first is when all the hookers are exploding. The last one knows she's going to explode, and she's pissed, so she straddles the guy on the bed, leering at him, taunting him, dressed in skimpy lingerie. And then she explodes all over him.

For some reason, the harpy-like look on her face just before she explodes has always been, for me, the epitome of evil. That faces haunts my nightmares.

The second flash of imagery that gets me every time is the fully-completed, rebuilt girlfriend. It's ridiculously slapstick, every limb and body part stitched together in the worst homage to Frankenstien. The crowning glory is her head with a huge, zipper-like stitch all the way around it, where he's sown it to the torso with the biggest boobs he could find.

I see that in my mind and want to puke.

I really have no idea why I get such a visceral reaction to the memory of a film I saw 17 years ago. I've seen hundreds of films since then, most much better. There are plenty of those of which I have no recollections at all. I'd be surprised to learn I'd ever seen them. But this one, this one sticks with me. Popping up every few months for no reason other than I haven't been internally horrified enough lately.

Not sure if there's any way to cleanse the images from my mind. I could find a copy of the film and burn it in effigy, hoping to symbolically purge it from memory. I could watch it a thousand times until I either move past it or fall into a catatonic trance. Either one would work.

But that's all fantasy. The truth is, Frankenhooker is with me to stay. For the rest of my days. My own personal motion picture Demon which cannot be exercised, will not be forgotten.

It is the movie I wish I'd never seen.
The Self-Made Critic reviews Daredevil
(Circe 2003)

Now they're just getting sloppy.

I enjoy a bad movie as much as anyone. I'll happily sit through an abomination such as Dungeons & Dragons or Supernova and revel in the excruciatingly painful level of suck while the poor folk I pay to be my friends squirm in their seats in utter agony.

What makes these private Hells tolerable is the knowledge that everyone knows the movie is bad. Dungeons & Dragons stunk to high heaven and everyone from Alaskan hermits who hadn't stepped foot outside their igloo in decades to the potted fern in the lobby of the local Hilton knew it, and stayed away in droves. D & D made all of $50 and its creators are now serving you decaf lattes in a Starbucks near you. (Or at least, they should be.)

But when an equally bad film approaches the $100 million mark, it's time to head for the hills. The sad, sad, sad success of the truly horrible film, Daredevil puts us one more step on the path to the end of civilization as we know it. Money talks. A bad movie making $100 million means studios will be inclined to make more bad movies. When those bad movies fail to make $100 million, they'll blame the marketing and make more bad movies. This hellish cycle will continue until the end of time, and we may well have Ben Affleck to blame for the downfall of human existence.

Why is Daredevil so very, very bad? Have a seat, this could take a while.

It's a comic book film, so you have to give it some leeway. But one thing every film, everywhere, MUST do is stick to its own rules. In DareDevil, our hero is blind, therefore all of his other senses are extraordinarily heightened. He can hear everything in the world at any moment, he can smell colors, his sense of touch manifests itself in his amazing balance, agility and strength, and of course, his heightened sense of taste allows him to.. I dunno, enjoy a Happy Meal like no one's business.

His weakness? (All superheros have a special weakness, it's part of the deal, along with the tights and the snazzy catch-phrase.) Really loud noises. Since he can hear so very, very well, loud bursts of noise cause him great discomfort. This is repeated time and again during the film. So then, would someone care to explain why, during the requisite montage of "Look How Cool I Am Getting Up in the Morning," he walks by his stereo and turns the volume dial up way past eleven? Is there some rule that loud noise doesn't effect him when it's serious heavy metal?

That's what I'm talking about. Follow your own rules.

Also, I hate any movie that creates drama by not having the hero defend himself against incorrect accusations.

"You killed my father!"

"You're in a bad mood, so I'm going to run away like a coward and look guilty."

And now we have conflict, because the two characters who really like each other are kept apart by this mistaken assumption. When what the guy should have said was:

"You killed my father!"

"No, I didn't. That guy did. Over there. The bad guy."

"Oh. I didn't see him. OK. My bad. Let's go get him."

"Aces!"

If Daredevil were only sloppy in these story-related areas, I could begin to forgive and forget. But Dudes!!! When Colin Farrell reaches down to his left in the wide shot and then you cut to the close-up and he's reaching down to his right, I have to draw a line.

It's called EDITING! And I should NEVER, EVER notice it in a film. I've seen home movies of newborn babies with fewer continuity mistakes than this thing. Stop being sloppy! Take a damn film class next time you're given the keys to a multi-million dollar blockbuster. Have some pride in your work. Please! We beg of you!!!

I'm not even going to bother to go into detail of the story of Daredevil. Blind guy fights freaks. End of story. Ben Affleck is wholly useless as Daredevil. Jeniffer Garner is slightly less useless, though very, very pretty as Elektra. Michael Clarke Duncan is a mistake as whatever the Hell he was and Colin Farrell is surprisingly ugly as Bullseye. As one of the women I paid to be my friend said "They made both Ben Affleck and Colin Farrell ugly. That's hard to do."

In case you haven't guessed by now, don't go see this movie. Don't even rent it. Don't even watch it for free on cable next year. Instead, pick up your shovel and torch and storm the Fox lot asking for a refund, or the director's head on a stick.

Daredevil gets 1/3 of a Babylon. Why not 0? Because I watched the whole thing, and Jennifer Garner IS pretty. You don't have to be blind to figure that one out.

------------------------------------------------------

Daredevil
Rated: PG-13
Directed By: Mark Steven Johnson
Starring: Ben Affleck, Jennifer Garner, Colin Farrell, Michael Clarke Duncan, Jon Favreau, Joe Pantoliano and, according to IMDB, Coolio, in scenes which were deleted. You wonder just how bad Coolio's scenes had to be to get deleted from a movie as bad as this. What, did they cut out a dance number or something?
Get Your Damn Hands Off My Pumpkins!

I have a bunch of friggin' gnomes mucking up my Halloween decorations.

Last weekend, 4-year old Daughter helped me carve some pumpkins. We did a happy face (two eyes, nose, smiling mouth), a scary face (two eyes, nose, frowning mouth with sharp teeth), and a silly face (one eye, no nose, mouth open in a delirious grin you'd likely find on a mental patient who's just been given his daily dose of Mirtazapine).

We carried them down to the end of our driveway and set them up in a loving Halloween nativity scene, threw in an uncarved pumpkin to even the display out, and left it at that.

They are gone. Not taken, mind you. Decimated. The happy and scary faces (which were the largest two pumpkins) are a mass of splattered pumpkin gore, as if Gallagher held a comeback tour in my driveway. The silly face remains intact, though shoved to the side, not worthy of the Gnomes' time or effort. It still smiles blankly, though now that it has stared death in the face and witnessed acts of brutal pumpkin horror, it is forever scarred, its gaze a glassy-eyed stare through which no reality can penetrate.

I'm pissed.

I don't know the names of these pumpkin-killing gnomes. I suppose it could be deer. The local herd likes to nibble from time to time at just about anything that isn't wrapped in chicken wire, but the carnage of the crime scene points towards a tool-using animal. Perhaps the same ones that bolted for safety in the glare of my oncoming headlights the other night, leaving behind a plastic bag filled with pears from my pear tree. I don't think deer use plastic bags. I could be wrong, but that's a guess.

Why have these truant gnomes decided to take out their angst on my pumpkins? I'm not sure. I have noticed that ours were the first, and so far only, Jack-O-Lanterns on display in the neighborhood. It's our first Halloween here, so perhaps there is some curse on the street that afflicts those who dare carve a face in the Holy Gourd on All Hallow's Eve. Everyone else is aware of the curse, nobody bothered to fill in the new family. It's the perfect recipe for a Clive Barker story. Don't put out the Jack-O-Lantern, you'll only attract the Demons from Beyond the Grave.

More likely, a bunch of damn kids are going around smashing pumpkins and their parents have given up trying to stop them.

I could go to the authorities. I suppose random acts of vegetable violence could be cause for a community task force. But the truth is, this is a private matter, and I need to take care of it myself. Plus, they'll probably just say something like, "Oh, you live up there? Well, there's that curse and all. Sorry, you're on your own."

The Gandhi option is to sit down with my pumpkins, wait for the vagrants to come by, and explain to them the errors of their ways. Jack-O-Lanterns are God's creatures, and they live a short but fruitful life. I can try to convince these hoodlums that it is in their soul's best interests to leave these smiling and frowning and drugged-out faces be, and to wander away from temptation.

But that avenue will probably lead to me getting beaten senseless by a bunch of High School Musical wannabes. Screw that.

I'm not going down without a fight.

I don't mean to turn into Old Man Withers, but I have every intention of shoving justice into the faces of these damn, meddlesome kids. I have a plan.

This weekend, we're carving more pumpkins. I'll let Daughter choose the faces, but we'll probably end up with another round of happy, scary, and silly. Though this time, I think the silly face is gonna have three eyes and a mouth open in surprise like on a blow-up doll.

Next, we'll place them in the same area, baiting the trap. I'll probably spray them with hairspray to help preserve them from the weather. You know, take care of my pumpkins. They're my babies. I love them.

Next, I'll install a series of semi-automatic turret guns that'll pop out of the ground and start blasting when anyone triggers the motion sensors. I may have to warn the mailman.

Then I just sit back and wait.

If I kill a deer or two, my bad. If these four-footed herbivores are the true culprits, I will feel a sense of shame wash over me, and I will lower my head in sorrow at their passing.

But if I come down the next morning to the broken bodies of a couple of punks with a mallet, I'm dancing a jig, chopping off their heads, and propping them up on stakes behind my display to ward off further interlopers.

Don't mess with Old Man Withers.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Mike Gravel is Not Running for President

Outside of Ron Paul, and maybe Dennis Kucinich, the hottest presidential candidate for either party these days seems to be, on the Web at least, Former Democratic Senator Mike Gravel.

Which is weird, because near as I can tell, he's not actually running for president.

As an aside, what does it say about the Internet that the most enthusiasm is found for candidates who poll just slightly above a lamp post?

Anyway.

As an open minded American voter (well, mostly open-minded. A pack of wild, rabid, leprous Jehovah's Witnesses couldn't get me to vote for Fred Thompson: Male Prostitute. No offense to any Jehovah's Witnesses out there.), I decided to learn all I could about this unheralded phenomenon. Who is Mike Gravel? And should I be rooting for him to steal the jeweled crown of the Democratic Nomination out from under the National Media Approved Three-headed Clintobamadwards behemoth?

So I went to his web site to find out where he stands on the issues.

That was my first hint that he wasn't actually running for president.

See, when you go to Mike Gravel's official web site, you get a chance to sign up for Mike Gravel's email newsletter, a chance to donate money to Mike Gravel, a chance to volunteer to help Mike Gravel, and a chance to "learn more" about Mike Gravel.

Learning more about Mike Gravel means you can read his bio- which includes high praise from Ralph Nader, or join Mike Gravel's YouTube Channel. Or interact with Mike Gravel's friends at MySpace. Or meet other Mike Gravel supporters at Meetup.com. Or talk about Mike Gravel at Google Groups. Or check out Mike Gravel on Facebook, virb, or Second Life.

Curious what his position on SCHIP? Look elsewhere. Curious as to his views on all the FISA hullabaloo? Out of luck. Wonder if he would support raising taxes on beef products in order to fund a massive Thunderdome-like facility that would serve as the final destination of all Death Row inmates? No clue.

But wouldn't that be really cool?

The point is, there's not an ounce of information on Mike Grave's website that tells you what he'd like to do as President.

Because he's not running.

But he has an official campaign website, you say. That's proof enough, right?

You know who else has an official campaign website? Stephen Colbert. And Christopher Walken. And McGyver. And, naturally, General Zod. Are they running for President? Like, with aspirations of winning? But they have official campaign websites!!!

Ah, but running a campaign is more than just slapping up a fancy website. You need ads. Mike Gravel has ads. No really, he does. You can see them on YouTube. In fact, two of his ads have caused quite a stir.

In "Rock" Mike Gravel stares silently at the camera for a few moments, then picks up a rock and tosses it into a pond. In "Twigs" he walks through woods, picking up branches. Then he makes a fire. Then the camera stays on the fire for seven minutes.

Are you ready to cast your vote yet?

When asked about his enigmatic spots, Mike Gravel explained that they were a metaphor. The ripples of the water represent the ripples that a small group of dedicated people can have on the larger world. The branches and twigs he collects represents wisdom, accumulated over a lifetime, and with the wisdom, he builds a fire of "light, heat, warmth. It's the sustenance of life."

Now he may have a beautifully poetic point to make, but in an interview with MSNBC, he admitted that his campaign didn't generate the idea for these spots. Two young teachers approached him and asked to shoot the commercials. He didn't even understand what they were doing, or what the point of the spots were when he shot them. For all he knew, these two teachers thought Mike Gravel's candidacy was about helping pedophiles find new targets. I mean maybe throwing a rock into a pond is a secret pedophile symbol for sex with young boys. He had no idea, he just went along with it and let them shoot him. He didn't care.

Because he's not running for President.

In fact, a vast majority of his "campaigning" has been on the Internet. It's hip. It's now. It's getting the attention of the Under-30 crowd. If he were doing this in addition to regular campaigning, it would be a brilliant way to expand his base and reach new voters. But this is it. He can corner the market on the Under-30 bracket, but even he knows that won't win him anything.

Taking the long-range look at the situation, one could say he's building momentum for a later bid. John Edwards ran in 2004 partly to build his name recognition so that now that he's running in 2008, we know who he is. Al Gore ran for President long before Clinton tapped him to be his VP. Politicians do it all the time. Run and lose now with the hopes of running and winning later.

Except Mike Gravel's 77. Maybe he builds an audience this year, then someone else wins, possibly wins re-election, and then 8 years from now, Gravel's ready to jump back in the show, now with extra name recognition. And he's 85. You're gonna vote for an 85-year old man to lead America? Heck, we all thought Cardinal Ratzinger was pretty dang old for a Pope, and he was only 78. And he just has to sit in the Popemobile and wave. President of the United States at 85? I don't think so. 2008 is Mike Gravel's last hurrah. And at this point, he really doesn't have a snowball's chance in Baja California to win.

But that's OK. He's not trying to win anything.

So what's he doing?

I think he's building a movement.

It's similar to the way the Deaniacs have gone on to upend and alter the Democratic party, even though their guy lost (and truth be told, I think he was actually trying to win). Mike Gravel is an old, old man who represented Alaska in the Senate for 12 years. Think about that. A Democrat was elected Senator in Alaska. Not all that long ago. Today, that seems absurd. Alaska is a Republican state, one of the strongest, various scandals not withstanding. Yet he was a 2-term Democratic Senator.

So he's taking one last trip into the spotlight to build up a movement of ideas that he can leave to an heir apparent, or maybe just help energize a generation to his way of thinking.

I have nothing to say pro or con about what he stands for. For me, this isn't the point. The point is, we should recognize what he's doing. It's not running for President. It's trying to shape the electorate. This is the long haul. It took Republicans 20 years to hone their brand down to the success they had in the 90's. It may take even longer for them to recover from the damage of the Bush years.

But every journey starts with a single step.

Or a single stone thrown into the water.