Posts Tagged ‘horror

20
Dec
24

Scooby Doo Has Timeless Style

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

****

There’s a reason Scooby-Doo lasted as long as it did and can still be seen on certain channels today. [If someone is currently making one of the countless versions of that concept, I apologize for being unaware.] The original cartoon series (and it’s “closest relatives”**) had style. It was a decent concept, riddled with questionable moments and potentially flawed resolutions. Certain running gags went on WAY too long and were used too often while featuring music that is supposed to make you feel “hip.” The faults weigh in favor of ending the whole thing, yet Scooby and some variety of his pals seem to keep resurfacing, just to do the same stuff with slightly different looks and slightly different crooks.

**I think my favorite, in terms of humor/enjoyment, might be the childish “Pup” series, in which Freddy is perpetually calling out Red Herring and getting served some silly explanation for why he is wrong. It’s not the best-looking series, but it’s amusing. There have been numerous incarnations of these characters, some drawn remotely like the originals. But, only the original versions seem to retain a certain timeless charm. They are the source material from which every reboot is drawn.

Celebrities making appearances in the show, helping the “gang” solve mysteries, prompted others to follow suit. So many want to be turned into a member of this odd group of friends. [It’s like being drawn as a Simpsons character or using a cartoon “filter” on your “phone.”]

I write this piece, now, because I’ve had time to watch some of the old episodes, again, and think about certain elements: Velma’s gender/sexual status and how she was represented, Daphne being portrayed a wealthy (Russian?) redhead who probably funded every excursion the group took and how anyone can tolerate Fred, who is as much of a pin-up as Daphne and similar in intellect (which is probably why they’re a subtle couple while Shaggy and Velma remain obliviously lost yet more successful in the end). What always stands out in my memory is how obnoxious and paranoid Shaggy and Scooby can be and how repetitive the plots become. I still wonder what these “freaks” do when they are NOT solving cases; how do they actually live their lives? Or, is every day just another mad case to solve? Who needs to worry about money and food when you’re perpetually unmasking people, saving property (deeds) and retrieving treasure.

I can’t recall one episode in which I didn’t feel like the dumbest detective. The culprit(s) may have been obvious, but I never seemed to care enough or got distracted by Shaggy, Scooby and Scrappy (the little over-confident runt of a dog) until they stumble upon a solution. Solving a mystery with stupidity or clumsiness isn’t exactly satisfying. It’s fortunate but foolish. Seeing someone, like Velma, take the cases seriously just to get surprised by the discovery two (or three) clowns make…is painful. Intelligence is surpassed by stupid luck. Some of the explanations for how the crooks did what they did were so bewildering and bizarre that I just lost interest.

[Sure. A projector and strings, again. That’s how it was done. Right. And, movie makeup. Whatever. Maybe a modern take could excuse a hologram, instead of an old film projector…if that could be believed.]

Yet, as I watch the latest sampling, I can’t help but admire the artistic style of the show. In a particular winter episode, Daphne’s blue coat and hat are very stylish (while Velma just adds a matching scarf and hat to her usual outfit, which feels a tad cheap and sad). It’s how the characters and moody sets are “drawn” that earns the most approval. [Actually, it might be Daphne, alone, who gets the most merit, not for her intelligence, which is questionable, but her fashion sense, her variety of outfits.] I’d still work on facial features (so certain characters don’t look so eerily dotty-eyed). But, the thickness of lines, the richness of colors, the baggy clothes (without shading^^), shapely figures and elaborate “ghost” (though some do get classified as “monster”) costumes are all treats.

^^If you watch enough cartoons, you’ll see how some get upgraded with shading (if they last long enough). The Simpsons started out as a very simple fill-in-the-lines cartoon but has gradually gained dimension and, in its own way, quality. The original Simpsons did not have great contrast between characters and background. The original Scooby-Doo series had cut-out characters with no shading set on very shady, watercolor-ish backgrounds. It was a bit strange, seeing such a striking difference…but it worked like an optical illusion, helping viewers focus on the characters (if they didn’t opt to ponder the shady scenery and ignore the antics). Once you add shading to this group, they start to merge with the scenery; everything becomes realistic. A little bit of the original charm is lost, even if the new version is an improvement in some way.

Other cartoons (that followed) can’t compare; they’re poorly drawn, hastily written, and it shows. Some might have better material and less “stock footage,” but they have to step up to compare with the “fashion” of Scooby-Doo. There have been MANY cartoons that tried to give characters iconic looks, which then get turned into countless toys that pass through the hands of “I want” kids. Yet, it’s these stupid freelance detectives that have undeniable style in their simplicity. I admire them for that…not for how they handle the cases they somehow accept and solve.

I grew up with siblings reading The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries (in their hardcover forms). And, I recall the live-action Hardy Boys TV series. The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew seemed to come from a similar time period and thus had similar (1960s-1970s) style. I wonder what those characters would have looked like if they received the same treatment as the Scooby-Doo gang. Could their animated adventures have been as colorful and more fun (without the paranoia and clumsiness)?

One other redeeming aspect about this particular cast of crime-solving characters is that they didn’t have to deal with MURDER. Not one case they solve involves an actual death (as far as I know). The villains (who must all have a creepy costume that often defies logic and ALWAYS scares the heroes) typically are after some source of wealth. The lack of grim details makes the plot more tolerable to watch, even if it becomes repetitive and bland like ABC gum. You don’t have to shield a kid’s eyes or explain much with awkward pauses (even if certain details–like those mysterious dog snacks–pose questions).

I imagine running into these characters when I finally get the nerve to try and solve a mystery of my own. I’d likely trip over and fuss with them about being so clumsy and foolish. And, if I’m lucky, I’d beat them to the solution just so I could stick it in their cheeky faces. But, if they got the credit, I’d go as far away from them as I could just so I wouldn’t have to look at them, again.

Damn it, Scooby-Doo gang. Stop distracting me with your overlooked style.

03
Sep
22

The Electronic Enemy of My Mental Enemy Is My…

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts, Confessions of the Rabbit Kind and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

****

Don’t ask me why, but I’m hearing Warren Beaty deliver that line from Dick Tracy, when he says, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” And, then he goes on to rattle off a few other possible combinations to the lock rattling in his detective brain.

You may have heard the expression, before, too.

Well, I’m starting to think that line is key to my relationship with television. [Or, maybe, I already started to have this feeling, years ago, and just need to scratch the itchy matter, again.]

When I was a child, TV was forced to be my best friend. I wasn’t a very socially liberated kid. I had a mother who kept me on a very short leash and a father who had no patience after a long day at work to be the sympathetic mentor I desperately needed. Neither gave me confidence to interact with other kids. So, I was “permitted” to sit in front of a damaged family TV and keep myself out of my parents’ way. And, for a while, that was just fine…until I spent so much time in front of the TV that my mother insisted I needed to mind the electricity bill and go outside, once in a while…but don’t go so far that she can no longer detect my presence with her surreal psychic power of awareness (which apparently has a limit of one suburban block).

In short, my youth was a colorful, wild ride of promotional animation, shows bent deceptively selling toys and comic books. There were also the occasional “adult” shows which prompted my “early maturity,” though I remained smaller than most kids in my class until I was just about a legal adult.

There were a few incidents, typically involving my older brother, in which TV became a nightmare. I’d been exposed to a few things definitely unfit for children with active imaginations. Scary clowns, dolls with eyes that glowed red, a madman chasing his wife and son with an axe, a kid opening a drawer of knives before stabbing his mother to death, a famous musician turning toward the TV to reveal scary eyes and cackle, young men drinking blood and eating maggots, etc.

My brother’s failing memory claims I used to laugh at scary movies; if that were true, I must have been wearing a monkey mask and defending myself against the true terror on that screen. But, the way I remember it…I was so terrified by blood-thirsty man-eating fish that I couldn’t cross a blue rug in my own bedroom (a rug I was forced to keep in place to cover a burn which my parents would repeatedly use to confirm their right to be angry and not trust me). I had to have my brother lift me into bed to avoid being devoured by what surely lurked in that rug.

During some of my most traumatic years, my high school disaster, television left me feeling like a troubled drug addict. I was losing sleep and unable to concentrate on schoolwork. I tried my best to continue enjoying my “friend,” especially when I continued to fail at establishing good friendships at school and couldn’t talk to my family about the problem…because they were either never quite “available” to talk or claimed/proved they could not relate. When family conflicts arose or school gave me a panic attack, turning to TV felt like popping open a bottle of pills and gulping them down or jabbing myself with a needle just to release the “pain.” I began to feel guilty (like Adam and Eve taking the forbidden fruit) when I turned to TV.

As adulthood was finally opened to me…at least, according to law (not necessarily in the minds of my restriction-crazed parents)…television became an increasingly hazardous drug addiction. While others turn to alcohol or any number of other recreational (and typically illegal) substances, I clasped onto TV for dear life. I practically prayed to the TV to spare my sanity from the family that refused to understand and respect me as a person and as an adult not nearly ready to take off on his own (for obvious reasons). And, the more I tried to continue enjoying TV, the more I was made to feel like a junkie and a freak.

[There’s more to this second chapter of the story, but it’s a bit of a touchy subject. In short, I was trying to also protect my investments much the way I was told to respect the investments of my family…family who now thought they were free to treat my investments any way they chose, even when I wasn’t home to see what they did. Had I done that as a kid, I’d have a permanent tan on my bottom; enough said.]

I didn’t notice much of a change in the quality of television, between youth and adulthood. Commercials changed a bit. I was able to watch more adult programs without missing the jokes; I could finally understand most of the humor used by Bugs Bunny and his pals (comments that made no sense to me as a kid). But, in general, TV was still the same influence it was in my youth, an inspirational friend. [Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Yada yada.]

And then, IT happened. 9/11. It might as well have been D-Day at Pearl Harbor. Something definitely changed. Heck, the whole world started to change…and seems to keep changing after that event, not for the better.

Actually, TV in the USA didn’t drastically change until 2008, when “antenna TV” got an eviction notice and was replaced (to some extent) by “signal boxes.” [Pardon me if I turn into a conspiracy nut at the thought and wonder if shady military operations are not involved.] But, it’s quite likely 9/11 was the flip of a crucial switch in the hands of those who hold the most power/control.

After 2008, television not only started to lose its charm, replacing “live studio audiences” and laugh-track-nonsense with “reality TV,” it started to lose its voice, completely. When “rabbit ears” and dials were all I had to tune a TV, you could put up with a little static noise and fuzzy picture. But, with the new “signal boxes,” suddenly I had to put up with losing even more of the picture and hearing either nothing or horribly broken sounds.

Imagine having a real, human friend who suddenly could not speak clearly with you, as if they suffered a horrible brain/physical jaw injury. That’s what my relationship with TV had become, living with a horribly handicapped friend. [Some improvement (I say sarcastically, in case you cannot hear the tone).]

Around 2009, coworkers started saying they no longer looked at commercials; they relied on their DVRs to skip the ads. You can imagine the panic advertising agencies must have felt (and still feel, if they still exist), knowing the growing audience was no longer interested in watching their work. So, it seems reasonable–yet tragic–for commercials to dwindle and falter into repetitive cycles of maddening proportions. Just as just about every fun treat in the world gets reduced at inflated cost, what were once cute, colorful ads in a wide variety (though dominated by one monopoly of a brand) become a handful of concepts no one needs to see a thousand times a day.

But, the true ugliness didn’t become apparent until after 2012 (when the Mayan calendar says the world supposedly ends). It was around then that drug ads became more common than ones for toilet paper and restaurants. And, the restaurant ads that remained dwindled in variety, becoming what they are today. I think I can count on one hand how many restaurants still air ads on broadcast TV. [On cable TV, I see more ads for the shows on those channels than anything else, and even those repeat until you want to scream.]

[On that note, I’m about one step from strangling certain ad voices on sight, if the voice talents are ever so unfortunate to cross my path. Papa-John-Cee-Lo (or whoever that voice is) is marked for getting a pepperoni fist shoved down his throat; he can rot with a certain lisping lawyer who refuses to shut up and who plasters his face on every channel, every hour of the day. If a scummy lawyer can afford that, what does it say about the cost of airtime and whoever controls commercial breaks? Not to mention…why is the scummy lawyer allowed to be a “proud investor” in so many companies? If I was a company of any sort, I’d refuse his investment; he’s annoying and unsettling.]

So, lately, television, if I can still enjoy any of it, is like picking fruit from a questionable tree. Pick at the wrong time from the wrong place, and I’ll get stuck with something sour and/or otherwise unpleasant. And, even if I pick a good “fruit,” something typically spoils the moment…family, signal loss, annoying visuals…take your pick.

Don’t get me started on game shows. Okay. Too late; I’m starting. Game shows used to bewilder me, as a kid. I couldn’t understand how all the flashing lights and rotating platforms actually changed people’s lives. But, there was magic in play. And, the winners certainly looked happy. Microphones were–and still are–a bit of a mystery. [I’m still curious about them.] But, as an adult, most game shows become more and more dumb and foolish wastes of time with contracts and clauses that make you wonder how much joy really comes from winning. When I was a kid, I’d dream of being on a game show and winning some amazing prize or trip around the world. As an adult, people will tell me I should go on a game show…and I pause to question the idea. Sure, I might win something because I’d like to think–and they think–I would perform well on the show. But, during my pause, I start to wonder if there’s more to winning than meets the eye…because there surely is; it’s not as simple as turning on the TV and standing by a colorful wheel. You don’t just win a car and drive it home; you sign papers and accept the terms that come with collecting said prize(s). You probably have to pay taxes on your winnings; all of those other factors take a little bite out of the excitement (unless you’re oblivious, a “housewife” and/or already exceptionally wealthy).

All of the trips the game shows give away seem like restricted passes to visit locations reserved for those shows, as if you’d go on the trip and deal solely with people wearing the show’s logo, lest you step outside the permitted perimeter of what was awarded to you. [Oh, no. Don’t step across that line; you’ll have to pay separately for that.] The inflated prices (prize values) cover the excessively intensive private service you’re supposed to receive, if you like that sort of constant pampering/attention (whether or not you actually respect the staff) but probably don’t cover the tips that staff will surely still desire (unless tips are worked into the price of the trip…and then you might still feel awkward around the staff).

[I could just as well spend a fraction of the cost, go without the pampering and find something to do with my time rather than lounge around, stuff my face, get drunk and maybe “dance the night away” at some crowded, noisy club (or gamble). I’d rather explore wilderness, isolated beaches and ruins with a trusted companion than be pampered, return to a life without pampering and feel like I lost something when I supposedly won. If you already live a pampered life and win one of those trips…what’s the point? You are ensured an oxygen tank to keep you alive when you get there? There is no break from being pampered?]

I have never been a fan of “local news” or world news, for that matter. I’ve been more like a big kid most of my life, bent on cheerful entertainment, adding a little “adult edge” as I “mature.” But, as I…get older…sigh…I start to notice the news, more often, and see only horrible crime stories (unless there is a festival in town). So, as soon as I become aware of…that…I change the channel or tune out, completely. I don’t need to know about every shooting, bombing, killing or suicide around the world. But, apparently, my family does. Isn’t that…sweet; one more reason to spend less time with family.

Sigh. What happened to my “old” friend?

[And, without a good family relationship…or other friends…who am I left with other than myself? ‘Not a good situation to be in, people. If anyone says the word “therapist,” I’ll just bristle and tell you to zip it. Your therapist is never going to be a wingman (or friend who isn’t restricted to a schedule and price).]

I begin to wonder if, all along, TV was like the tree of forbidden fruit or the temptation that led me to taking the trouble-causing “bite.” Was it ever my friend? Or, was everything I thought good about TV just an illusion?

“The television dreams of tomorrow; we’re not the ones who are meant to follow, for that’s enough to irk you.” [Could wiser words have ever been sung?]

[And then, I think about all of the famous faces (actors, actresses and professional athletes, including those who compete repeatedly just to have a chance at the Olympics, which only gives them a brief window of fame…and fortune…tied to other hands all wanting their pieces) who have come and gone…people risking their lives just to avoid “labor,” some committing suicide when they can no longer take what that lifestyle choice gives them. So many souls throwing themselves into the hope of entertaining someone only to put on masks and pretend everything is “amazing” when some idiot is pressed to interview them, when the truth is anything but “amazing.”]

What are we doing, people? What are we all doing? [As Jerry Seinfeld once said, “We’re not men.” We’re (dumb) animals, no better than the sparrows in the bush, no matter what texts like the Bible say.] I’m both full of words and without words. I think we all need to go back to farming and cultivate our planet so we can live off the land without fear of competition fueled by the currently (and continually) failing government and economy. Forget TV and become real good friends (not reality-TV friends).

OR…we scrap the whole current mess and start from scratch. Tear down the dinosaur entertainment system and build something new yet appealing with a certain familiarity, so we aren’t traumatized by the change in temperature or water quality. Scrap commercials, lest they rear their ugly heads, again, like weeds…as tempting as it may be to apply my creativity to some really amusing ads. No more cartoons built around toy lines just to fill wish lists, auction websites and landfills with yesterday’s craze. Burn all laugh tracks and anything remotely artificial, other than special effects, which could still be used to dazzle and enhance programming. [And, remain cautious about falsifying reality, lest all minds become so warped that they can no longer grasp what exists around them…yet not so “pious” that we come out with another “comics code authority”/FCC to white-wash and pigeon-hole entertainment.]

02
Jun
21

How Many Memorials Do You Need to Cover a Planet?

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

*****

That is my essential question.

If you watch enough TV, you see plenty of stories about REMEMBERING, preserving memories and erecting memorials to EVERY tragedy under the sun, big or small.  Someone died?  Make me a memorial.  A ton of people died?  Make  another memorial.  Someone did something really bad somewhere and trashed the place?  Make a memorial.  WE CANNOT FORGET WHAT HORROR HAPPENED HERE…OR ANYWHERE.

What sparked this focus?  Well, let me tell you a story…a rather long story.  So, you might want to get comfortable…

I found a weathered antique that I thought must be valuable…because it’s an antique…and people made a whole “Roadshow” about finding value in such things…sometimes values in the hundreds and thousands. It turns out the item is part of a terrible time in human history, a time when my ethnicity was dragged through the mud of ridicule and stereotypical abuse. [Then again…that sort of talk is STILL happening.] It gets a low auction rating/value, according to an appraiser. But, I’m told to display the item as if it were in a museum, to never forget that horrible time in history….

[Disclaimer:  The above story is true but not about myself.  It is my perspective on something I saw on TV.]

WHAT IS WRONG WITH HUMANKIND?!?!

BURN IT! BURY IT! DESTROY IT! DON’T PUT IT IN A GLASS BOX!

You know what typically happens in the movies when people put horrible things in glass boxes or on pedestals. Some dumb archaeologist or thief decides to take it and causes a catastrophe.

I’d ask the rhetorical question. Are you nuts? But, clearly, many if not all of us are if keeping the worst of the past alive to remind us all of the horrors is considered–by anyone–a good idea. So many damn memorials to tragedies, disasters and deaths of large quantities of people. How does anyone expect to see the sunny side of life if we are surrounded by and bombarded with tragedy and horror?

Where are the memorials of the good humans have done? Is the best example of good just the religious statues of supposed gods, saints and prophets? People we, who are currently living, probably never knew or can clearly say existed, yet we pray to and believe in them; we cherish them like a kid with his favorite stuffed animal. Where are the memorials of triumph and survival? Not trophies from sporting events where lots of money is passed around by those with greater resources while the athletes risk their lives on display. Not monuments made to men in high offices who may or may not have served their country well. Some…signs of good human nature and values. I cannot even name one, right now. Is there such a thing? Are they all hogwash, now?

I have a disfigurement that may or may not be associated with my parents’ neglect. I do not preserve it as a badge of honor or something to show people when I want to tell–one more time–how I no longer respect my parents the way I did as the “good little boy” I once was trying so hard to be. The only reason I haven’t had it fixed is a combination of sheer terror at the diagnosis I was given and some twisted self-therapy notion that I hope people will accept me for my personality and not be so concerned with my tragically flawed physique. Heck. I was flawed at birth because my parents let some doctor tell them I had to be born NOW, not later. And then, that same doctor said I should have surgery on my skull to prevent brain damage…damage he caused by pulling me out in haste.

I don’t want to show of my disfigurement and recant the painful stories of my youth over and over and over again. I’m sure as heck not going to stand naked on YouTube and talk about the horrors of my past. And, if there was a better way to fix the “problem” (than what I have been told and the cost I anticipate), I’d get it done.

But, I get it. Those who want this hot mess are angry and upset and sticking it to those who caused the hardship and those who turn a blind eye to crime and other troubles.

Yet, there are probably just as many who would like to live their lives in peace who had nothing to do with the trouble and are not so well off that they are trampling the victims of the past. Just because someone is “white” doesn’t make them a supporter of slavery or racial abuse.

As much as I might like to shake a furious finger at my parents and hope others share my scorn, that attitude is not going to help me get on with my life. I’m not going to be a better person by harboring resentment and toting the painful memory. Nor am I going to feel better 20, 30 or even 50 years from now, looking at that history in a book or museum. I’m not going to see that horror and say, “Mmm. That was tragic. It’s good I preserved the memory. Now, the world can relive my pain.”

Sure; it might be good to know if you were a “fan” and wanted to know the intimates of my life. But, who can predict the existence of such historians? And, who preserves every bad thing that happened in their life so future generations can learn about it?…considering, among those generations, there will be plenty of “bad eggs” who would misuse the information. History certainly shows how people can twist a story and use it for evil. Ask anyone who is skeptical about the history of popular holidays.

I think back to my school days. I had teachers trying to cram tons of–well–useless information into my young brain when what I really needed to learn was how to function in the modern world, how to take care of myself and fit in with people both younger and older than me. Instead, I received a diploma in all sorts of historical matters that might be good to replay in a museum if I was giving a tour…but otherwise are just skewed stories on rotting paper.

I am a fairly religious guy and give adequate respect to religious texts and places of worship. But, even I can tell the Catholic/Christian Bible is not a documentary on ancient Christian people. Many of the stories are more like fables than diary entries. Yet, the Bible is one of the most talked about and preserved books in human history. WHY? [Maybe people just looove storytelling.]

Now, imagine what is happening right now or even all the stories we’ve heard about things that happened in the 1960s…a few thousand years from now…being recanted in schools and museums. Do you really think any of this will matter? What if history repeats itself? What if humans continue to be ignorant and learn nothing from the abundance of history they are provided?

People today are not learning from the history I was force-fed. They aren’t much wiser. The weapons just get more destructive and sophisticated. Heck, the planet pays every day from past use of radioactive materials and chemistry that harms the environment. No museum necessary.

WHY WASTE THE TIME AND ENERGY ON PAINFUL HISTORY?!

[In April of 1986, the Chernobyl disaster happened, and, to some extent, it’s still there, still tragic.  In June of 1987, Peter Parker married Mary Jane Watson in Shea Stadium.  Yes!  There was a live staging of this blessed moment in comic-book history!  And, if you’re lucky, you’ll find a footnote in some book or on some website about it.  [I faintly remember seeing a blip on some morning news program about the wedding, as a kid who was just starting to like comic books.]  Is there a statue of Peter and Mary Jane anywhere near that stadium?  Does anyone talk about the wedding?  Probably not as much as they will talk about countless disasters and memorials to them.  You hear more about the tragic end of Princess Diana’s life than you hear about Pete and MJ.  Sure, go ahead and criticize me for favoring fictional characters.  😛 ]

We don’t have to glorify the fools of the present, either. But, we sure don’t need to carry all the horror behind us. If you were struggling to travel across a hot desert and could only carry so much on your back, would you take the pain you and your “family” experienced or just the essentials you’d need to survive the trip?

You’re alive. You made it through. If your family and friends were impacted, I’m not saying forget they suffered. But, don’t erect a statue for every person who died. And, even if you experienced tragedy, don’t let it stop you from living a good life. Don’t shove it in the faces of others who may not properly process the information, either.

Not everyone will respect your sorrow or understand. Eventually, the planet WILL run out of surface space. Even graveyards get run over by new generations and new developments. Did anyone erect a memorial for my favorite dinosaur when the meteor hit Earth? I don’t think so. And, as far as I know, no one’s working on a park exhibit to bring “her” back to life and protect the endangered species. I’d really freak out if anyone tried; and not in a good way.

So…I’m watching this episode of that “Roadshow” and seeing a famous person talk about a collection of historical items which are not doing any good for anyone and probably should not be discussed or displayed anywhere. If you knew nothing about the pieces, you might say, “Oh. Those are unique ethnic figurines.” But, once you hear the story behind them–if you have a conscience, at all–you might wince and wish to look away.

WHY do we need to preserve every bad thing or bad incident for future generations to replay? Is all of that really going to make a good impact on “kids” so they make smarter decisions? With the way the world is sinking into an abyss of technological distractions and everything coded under the silicon sun, who are we expecting to take a look at all of this painful history and make good on it?

What good is expected from preserving these nightmares and bad days in our history? More museum ticket purchases? Yes, please, take my money and let me stare for hours at tragedy and horror. Show me more people dying, suffering and being mistreated so I never forget.

I think my days in school with ancient history about the barbaric practices was quite enough to know humans can and have been quite horrible and probably should never cross paths with life from other planets, unless those lifeforms are as bad or worse. And, if they are worse, then we are all screwed, anyway.

SCREW YOU WHO FAVOR MEMORIALS OF EVERYTHING TRAGIC AND HORRID! You want to weep? Then weep and make peace with what happened before moving on with LIFE. Otherwise, you can spend eternity carrying a boulder up a slope before it pushes you back down to start the climb, again.

It happened. But, the rest of the world doesn’t need to relive it or review it the rest of their lives. And, Heaven forbid someone tamper with the evidence so the history becomes skewed. Oh no…humans would never alter history to make it appear different in future school books. [Can you detect my sarcasm?]

Stop preserving every little piece of painful history you find and LIVE your life or be buried and rotted with your STUFF you refuse to let go. A hundred years from now, what you value or refuse to leave behind won’t matter to anyone but the few descendants born with either miraculous memory or the acursed desire to hoard your past. If you feel the need to tell stories, you don’t need models and charts. That’s school and courtroom bullshit.

But, I get it. Ultimately, “to each their own.” I just don’t want to be bombarded with the horrors of mankind the way these rampant drug ads with horrific side effects keep dominating my TV time. Just because I know mosquitoes can be deadly doesn’t mean I need to hear it every day or year. Teach me how to protect myself, truthfully, don’t just tell me how horrible they are and what I should buy to feel safer (as if). Bring back those remotely charming “mascots” of commercial history and retire those F’n toilet-paper bears, already.

I’m not Andy Rooney, but, if you’ve read everything I have to say, you’ve probably been here 60 minutes, give or take.

Who’s Andy Rooney?

I dunno. Google it, maybe?

Tick, tick, tick, tick…….

14
Aug
19

Award Shows Are Bogus ver. 081419

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Movie Reviews and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

***

I’ve been fairly certain for a while. But, now, I am convinced; award shows are complete crap, utter rubbish, excessively expensive lies designed to look glamorous at the expense of souls.

All participants…all of those members of the “foreign press”…are either naïve or devious scum. Now, some of that naïve scum could redeem itself; there’s still hope. But, those who run the machines are surely black as sin or the thickest roots in an underground railroad to decide, like some Hunger Games contest, which celebrities and “little people” (the faceless crew members who outnumber the big names and slave over the projects of those who call themselves producers) get food and care for the year and who gets to fight over the scraps and eat shit. The lucky ones get their names attached to the next box-office big ticket while the bottom of the food chain gets to show of their bodies and talk stupid in the films that come out at the end of summer, when “kids” go back to school and no one gives a flying fook what they watch.

Now, breathe. And, let me shed a little light on the shape of this crap…or, rather, what supports my stomach-turning, fury-stoking feelings.

Every year, there’s that “best picture” film that takes one big award and another…and another…and gets so much buzz from all those cracked camera-toting tabloid freak shows who put every famous and not-so-famous face on the spot with stupid questions, testing them to see if they crack and say anything different from their last interview, anything negative about the people they recently knew as part of the crew. Everybody is “amazing.” Every experience is something good for the resume, even if the person secretly loathed or struggled through it. Every director is uniquely talented. Every interview is to make sure the next job goes smoothly and to collect a check; so don’t expect anyone to answer openly and honestly, even if you’re straight-shooting, expected-to-cuss Samuel L. Jackson.

So, why do we even do interviews?! It’s not for the fans. It’s for promotion…more and more promotion. An interview is a talking movie poster which can’t say anything about what happens in the movie, due to contractual threats that pretty much shackle all who partake in making the expensive torture package that actors refuse to watch because they struggled through it; they didn’t enjoy it. An interview is just a painful showcase of faces who habitually look down when they feel the urge to lie, to hold in the vomit and glaze over what they’d like to say. Hey! Look who’s in the movie! And, they’re talking without reading a script! How amazing…like watching animals behind glass in a zoo.

If you really enjoyed making something, wouldn’t you want to look at it, again? Or, do you go crazy because you find a mistake and realize you can’t correct it? Your hard work is now someone else’s baby, and you have no control. So, all your effort amounts to what someone makes of it. That’s rather cruel punishment in its own way and not respectful to the creative soul.

And, I have sampled a number of these “amazing” films. Not one has earned 5 out of 5 stars with me; they’re all lucky if they get a 3. I saw The English Patient, Schindler’s List, The Hurt Locker and, just recently, The Shape of Water. Oh, there was SO much buzz about The Shape of Water, not too long ago. And, I remember the high praise the rare FEMALE director got for The Hurt Locker. Of all the films I just mentioned, I guess The Hurt Locker was the best…but that’s not saying much. When you put Average Joe in a pageant with four corpses beaten to a bloody pulp, of course Average Joe is going to look good and smell all the sweeter. It’s like that one girl in school who gathers a cluster of less pretty girls around her so she stands out as the pretty one; it’s like some status tactic used by schools of fish.

Now, let me come right out and say I did not see these films in the theater for a good reason; I had my doubts from the start. And, again, it took just one lousy lie of a rental to sully my belief in all the award talk. But, I keep hope alive, and I…I guess maybe I’m a little naïve, too, yet, to give these other “hits” a chance. I want to see what makes them so great.

So, let’s talk about my latest mistake, The Shape of Water. Oh, how the director got lauded with praise and looked so sweet and innocent on stage, giving his grand speech and kudos to all who let him make such a…gruesome, rude and lewd film. If I may be so frank, it’s as if he was extremely horny and hungry while watching the old Creature from the Black Lagoon, late at night, and then had the nerve to think making a remake with more nudity and foul language was a great idea. What a damn creative fool.

Sally Hawkins is the poster woman for the demure, docile, closet freak. Thank goodness she didn’t go on some murderous rampage; that would have really ruined the part. All crap aside, she gave the film an ounce of redemption…well, aside from what she had to do in the first half-hour. Seriously, del Toro, excessive nudity…excessive because it had NOTHING to do with the story. Nada. You didn’t get a close up of her scars until the one guy examined her. No; you just had her get naked, over and over, again, for your personal amusement.

And, what was with the other sex scene? Why didn’t you go one step or two steps further? Why not have the gay artist–with his foul mouth and obsessive dialogue–take advantage of the pie guy? Come on, throw in some finger this and f-that while they indulge in some gay sex. Or, why couldn’t Octavia Spencer get naked with her husband? Why can’t black and gay folks get fair sex play? Booo! No, I’m just kidding. But, really, why include any sex other than what was the focus of the film? There only had to be one sex scene, and you spoiled it before they got in the tub.

I would not be surprised if you ended up in court with all the other poor and stupid men who are getting grilled for indecent actions. I would not be surprised if something popped out of your closet. Why can’t you keep certain lewd thoughts to yourself? And, why did you have to make the film so graphic when it could have been a much nicer and just as exotic love story?

You went down some Stephen King, Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino side street and drove through Frank Miller’s neighborhood. You took Splash and turned it into Sin City. Oh, sure the ending is bittersweet and finally happy; but I ate a ton of shit before I could even try to smile; so the whole experience left me queasy. You poured acid on my whipped cream sundae. You’re not the worst film maker out there…but The Shape of Water had better not be your opus. I’d like the water to wash it out of my memory so I can fantasize, again. Your “big hit” is a giant seagull dropping, not something I could comfortably watch more than once. It has little to no replay value; I’d snip off just the final ten minutes and call it a lovely short film that encompasses the best of the story…which pretty much makes the movie another Citizen Kane; just spare us the horrific two-plus hours and tell us it was your childhood sled.

You want my humble rating? Would that do anything for you? I’d give The Shape of Water 1 out of 5 stars, overall. I’d give Sally Hawkins 4 stars for being a beautiful, caring freak who thankfully didn’t do anything too gross or wrong to make me hate her; and I feel sorry for her, for having to expose herself the way she did. I’d give cinematography 3 stars, maybe 4, because the movie did have a decent colored noir quality to it; it suited a Dick Tracy sort of story. But, Octavia Spencer pretty much reprised her roll in The Help; so what can I rave about that? One black woman in an otherwise white world? And, the story? I already said; it’s The Creature from the Black Lagoon in modern 3-DUH, Dolby foul mouth, bloody Sunday whack-a-vision. You get no points for creativity other than visual artistry, period. You are just another big name with all of the latest tools in your kit, and when given the chance to build a sand castle, you played with mud pies. When you had the chance to focus on a Cinderella story, you chose to screw the docile doe in the dark room; you put the horny jerk in the same cage with the last unicorn (and thank goodness *that* didn’t happen). [And, FYI, oddities eating cats went out with Alf…and it wasn’t any funnier then, either…but it was suggested, not on camera.]

But, ya all come back now and watch my masterpiece, again, ya hear? This is a family show…not. It definitely earns its R rating, unlike some films that only get an R because of one lousy little cross of the line. I’d say The Shape of Water even edges an X rating…because there was more flashing of boob and overt sex than most R-rated films I’ve seen.

Here’s a brief lesson in the school of suggestion: Sex, nudity and gore can be veiled and still convey the message.
1) When Sally’s character takes a bath or shower, we could see her silhouette behind a shower curtain, and we’d still know she’s naked. Or, you could have her enter the bathroom and cut to her already covered in soap suds; no need to expose the actress or any body double you may have used…which would only make the whole effort even more stupid and pointless.

When I was in school, my English/writing teachers would draw red circles around portions of stories that didn’t contribute to the plot or characters and took away from the overall enjoyment. What you included (which turned me off and made me ill) was definitely not key to anything; I am sure most viewers would be aware of a person needing to get naked for a bath or having sex with a wife…or were you afraid people might think the creep’s marriage was void of sex?…hey, that might have made that other scene with the cleaning lady better; ya know?

2) A rather pointless sex scene could be conveyed with sounds and/or two flirty people slipping into a room together; ya don’t have to show the woman exposing herself and the cruel, creepy, FBI-ish, White-Collar-Bizarro guy throttling her on the bed!

[How to curb/replace the excessive foul and lewd language is another matter…I’d just omit it. It didn’t make the love story any prettier. It just lumped your enchanting crapper-piece with the likes of Superbad and…I can’t think of any other crappers at the moment…thank goodness they are washed from memory. I’ve seen movies with rape scenes that were just as creepy/unsettling but more suggestive than overt.]

3) When your feature creature wants to eat another animal… Couldn’t you have shown the creature holding the cat and then cut away to an audio clip of someone crunching celery. Then, when the owner returns, have him look down and recoil in horror…and we’d get it! We’d know why he’s horrified. Ya don’t have to show all the bits and blood. Bleh!

Can you imagine some steamy love story where the man makes the woman bleed in the you-know-what area and one or both lovers develop a scarring STD after they have their sweaty fun? [Ya know what; that just gave me a crazy idea for a sexual alien comedy that would still be far cleaner than your mess.] Would you enjoy that movie as much as a more suggestive one without the unfortunate side effects of some realities? There’s a line between realistic and horrifying reality…and you sure cross it, mister, but not for the benefit of the viewers…unless you want to scare people away from love fantasies and support eating disorders…because I could have developed one had I kept my eyes glued on the screen and not used the fast-forward button.

At this rate, I could lose my appetite for film, altogether, before I am old enough to be a cripple stuck in a wheelchair in front of some TV with a bunch of other elder folks losing their minds to medication abuse. Just think…what’s the use in going into movie-making, aspiring to create some soul-satisfying masterpiece when the whole industry is one more mine field of twisted metal, of warping your dreams into nightmares and slave labor? People are dying and committing suicide for some reason. And, it doesn’t surprise me when I try to grasp what all goes into this industry and the infuriating cover-ups that get splashed all over TV screens, even when some creative soul dies tragically.

Losing my appetite for film would be a serious crime against nature, against my creative soul. The water is so polluted, even I am having a hard time writing/creating anything spectacular; but, then again, I work alone, most of the time. I don’t have a clue what it’s like to be surrounded by teammates who can actually work together to make something run like clockwork and make people wonder what the budget must have been to create such a spectacle.

So, I must remind myself not to pay a lick of attention to award shows. Or, at least, I must go to bed before that final fifteen minutes into overtime when we viewers are supposed to be holding our breaths for the big reveal, the final envelope of crap. I must write them off and stick to the trailers that work for me.

Sell me a good trailer, and I’ll give you a chance. And, if you lie to me…..well, let’s just say my response will be…amazing, amazing crying crazy amazing. You’ll certainly find me writing you off my interest list. And, I have ways of swaying the masses. Not that it matters much when the majority seems to be losing all sense of creativity, as if they’ve become so numb from countless abusive images that they no longer have the brain cells to produce anything remotely as good as the stories they refuse to let go, stories from so long ago, they’ve been dragged behind cars for decades, tossing through one remake after another like tin cans on strings.

You know who the real losers are here (aside from creative souls)? The movie theaters and good people who appreciate them. All of the modern technology this world pushes for and all of the crappy, expensive films that get made…bump out all of the wonderful places that one could say feel like a second home. The day when someone decides to shut down the last movie theater in favor of some microscopic internet service station (ding! ding! goes the air tube keeping you couch potatoes alive), I’m sure to cry or have a considerably furious stomach upset because it will be like a nuclear bomb going off and destroying some serene tourist attraction. [Don’t get me started on the horrors of nuclear power pursuits.]

There wouldn’t be any concern for piracy if people didn’t introduce devices that could do such a thing. And, if movie theaters could afford better security without making visitors feel violated like other venues that practically X-ray you when you walk through, if people still cared, maybe thieves wouldn’t get away with what they still do, even after the days of VHS and the most primitive of camcorders. I don’t know why anyone cares about bootlegging, lately…because I am not sure what films are really worth stealing. Or, is that why so many films suck and twist the original story material?…is that why Michael Bay mangled Transformers?…because too many pirates were trying to make a buck off other people’s work? So, since the dawn of film piracy, everyone in the industry just started pumping out their worst, not their best? We settled into dependency upon whatever the latest technology is and putting up poster children as feature stars? Are we selling good stories or the latest model of movie camera you can only get at exclusive electronics stores?…on sale this week until tomorrow…flash sale!

And, breathe. I…don’t know how to wrap this up. The stench is just pouring out of me. So, I leave it as it is, like a broken garbage bag. I had to air it out, though, so I didn’t die from the stink in silence. Now, you know, and knowing is half the battle.

07
Nov
18

Wisconsin Needs a Hero

By writingbolt Leave a Comment
Categories: Concerns and Alerts and Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

****

Wisconsin needs a hero…and not another name or word that ends in -ero.  Does anyone hear a violin or see any fires?

I have family in Wisconsin, USA.  And, as I am visiting and up late last night, aware of all the heated talk of politics (which seems to go nowhere…or I just have no good interest in it, anymore), I flip the channels and catch an image of the voting map around midnight last night.  And, what I saw made me nearly wake the neighborhood with my outburst.

[Of course, if you bother to look at a more current map, it’s shifted a bit, like cloud animals falling apart in the sky.  But, this was ever so apparent last night.  And, it’s too bad I didn’t have a camera or internet access at the time.]

Here.  I’ll draw you a picture.

wisconsinvotingmap-monster-midnight-nov62018-1J

Do you see it?  Please tell me you’re not suffering from poor eyesight or you only see a red mitten with blue and white flecks on it.  And, what the heck are those white triangles at the top, anyway?  Independent pyramids?  I think there’s a nuclear power plant up there somewhere.  Maybe those are like Chernobyl, and no one is alive to vote.

Yeah.  You see it now?  I’d say it’s rather apparent.

Holy fark nards!  THIS is the bad place, Eleanor.  Who needs Midnight, Texas, when you’ve got this Halloween picture?  You shouldn’t need pot brownies or one of Eric Foreman’s clan to see it.  And, yes, Jeremy Bearimy, the dot in the “I” scares the crap out of me!

I think I’ve seen that image somewhere….

wisconsinvotingmap-monster-midnight-nov62018-compared-to-sorcery-2-cover_3J

Oh, yeah.  One of my ol’ favorite mini-series.  Damn, that thing is scary.

So, as I said, Wisconsin needs a hero.  And, I think I know just the guy for the job.

wisconsinvotingmap-monster-midnight-nov62018-compared-to-sorcery-2-cover-callLink4help_4J

SO…

Help?  Anyone got an ocarina I can borrow?  Cuz I wanna catch the first magic tornado outta here and go visit some elf people in the sky.  And, I don’t want some recreational drug to take–er, pretend I’m there.

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