Dark Horse Comics.
Dark Horse Comics.
I am grateful tonight to Editor Richard Edwards for publishing “The Writer” at Every Writer!
I’m quite happy that Mr. Edwards felt my poem might appeal to the readers of Every Writer — especially considering what an important resource Every Writer has been to the independent literature community since 1999.
You can find the poem right here:
Because I can’t sleep, and you’ve been dying to know. Here they are, in no particular order:
1) “Memento” (2000)
2) “Fight Club” (1999)
3) “American Psycho” (2000)
4) “Rosemary’s Baby” (1968)
5) “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” (1975)
6) “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” (1975)
7) “Natural Born Killers” (1994)
8) Lucio Fulci’s “Zombi” (alternately titled “Zombi 2,” 1979)
9) “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” (1982)
10) “The Big Chill” (1983)
And … worst of all … I’m kinda on the fence about the first two “The Evil Dead” films (1981, 1987), Stanley Kubrick’s “A Clockwork Orange” (1971) and John Carpenter’s original “Halloween” (1978). I am hanging my head in shame here over those last two. I know Kubrick’s film is considered a masterpiece. I saw it twice when I was a college student (once in a psychology class!), soooo … maybe I just wasn’t mature enough to grasp it? Mea culpa, people.
I left “Citizen Kane” (1941) and “Ben Hur” (1959) off the list, because I haven’t seen them in their entirety. I was nonplussed enough to turn those off after 40 minutes or so, but I’m weird about never saying I dislike a movie unless I watch the whole thing. You can add 1979’s “Phantasm” to this category too.
I know, I know … there’s nothing wrong with any of these films (except “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” of course, which is terrible). There are just basic ingredients in them that I somehow fail to appreciate.
Now one of you needs to e-mail me a cure for insomnia.
“Hereditary” (2018) is a difficult movie to review. It’s an exceptionally well made horror film, enough for me to rate it at least a 9 out of 10. But its content is so disturbing that I’m not sure that I can actually recommend it to others.
From a technical standpoint, the movie is almost perfect. It’s an astonishingly good first feature film for writer-director Ari Aster, it’s gorgeously shot in the hills and deserts of Utah, and it’s masterfully directed. The performances are uniformly perfect. If I were to name each actor who hands in a fantastic performance, I’d simply be reading its cast list. I can’t remember the last time I watched a feature film in which every single major performance was exemplary. And “Hereditary” gets damned scary in its third act. (Seriously, give it time.)
The only flaws that I can think of are extremely minor. The pacing isn’t perfect. (The story occasionally seems to slow when events should be accelerating.) I had problems with the way that one key character was portrayed, and there was one plot point that gave me trouble. (I can’t say more for fear of spoilers.) But these things are so forgivable that they hardly merit a mention here. You simply can’t argue that this movie was expertly assembled.
Yet I didn’t always enjoy “Hereditary.” I’d be lying by omission if I didn’t state that. I shut it off more than once, and then came back to it when I felt more able to stomach the brutal events it depicted.
“Hereditary” is more than a “dark” movie; it’s gut wrenching. Even if you have read its reviews and you’ve seen the movie’s marketing, then you still aren’t anticipating what will transpire on screen. (I’d even go so far as to say that the film’s marketing was misleading, but I can’t specify why here.) Yes, there’s a obvious “Rosemary’s Baby” (1968) vibe, and it’s sometimes reminiscent of “The Exorcist” (1973), but the movie pushes well past the boundaries of those films, and it does so fairly early on. If I, a lifelong horror fan, was turned off by this, then I’m willing to bet that it would also be too much for a lot of casual film goers. (And indeed, while critics loved this film, audiences last year generally hated it.)
I’m closing with a little bit of trivia. Toni Collette gives a tour-de-force performance here as the troubled mother. If she looks familiar to you, that might be because she’s also the mom in another well known supernatural horror film — M. Night Shyamalan’s “The Sixth Sense” (1999).
Ghosts seldom scare me, because I’m never 100 percent clear on what sort of threat they present to the protagonists of a horror film or TV show. They’re not like zombies, vampires, werewolves or serial killers, all of which will do predictably horrible things to their victims.
Can ghosts … kill you? Injure you? That usually doesn’t make sense, given their non-corporeal nature. Can they … scare you to death? How would that work? Would they cause a heart attack? Or drive you mad? That’s fine, I suppose, but here they’ve taken a back seat to the demons of horror films since 1973’s “The Exorcist” spawned a sub-genre with far more frightening supernatural baddies. Are ghosts supposed to inspire existential dread, by reminding the viewers of their own mortality? For me, that backfires — their existence would strongly suggest the existence of an afterlife, which would be paradoxically reassuring.
It’s therefore a testament to the quality of Netflix’ “The Haunting of Hill House” (2018) that it’s frequently so scary, even to me. We find out in the first episode that its ghosts indeed do more than frighten the story’s protagonists, but it’s the show’s writing, directing and acting that make it so memorable. It’s an a superb viewing experience, and I’d rate it a 10 out of 10.
The cast roundly shines — but especially Carla Gugino and Timothy Hutton (even if his performance was a little understated). Catherine Parker is deliciously evil in a supporting role as the house’s most outwardly vicious spirit. The best performance, for me, however, was the young Victoria Pedretti as the traumatized Nell — she was goddam amazing, and deserves an Emmy nomination.
Mike Flanagan’s directing was perfect — his use of long angles and colors to make lavish interiors disorienting reminded me of Stanley Kubrick’s similar sensory trickery in “The Shining” (1980). Michael Fimognari’s cinematography was beautiful. Even the makeup effects were damned good. (Nothing beats Greg Nicotero’s work in “The Walking Dead” universe, but the work here is sometimes horrifying.)
I’m not the only one who loved this show either. It is broadly praised in online horror fan circles (though I’d recommend avoiding most of those for spoilers). I haven’t read Shirley Jackson’s 1959 novel that is its source material, but a bibliophile who I trust assured me that the show is even better.
Sure, there were some things that didn’t work for me. “The Haunting of Hill House” actually does take a while to get where it’s going; it favors in-depth, flashback-heavy character development over advancing its plot, in much the same manner as “Lost” (2004 – 2010) once did. And some viewers might feel the same frustration here as they would for that show.
Its story and supernatural adversaries are also distinctly Gothic. (Your mileage may vary as to what’s a comfortably familiar trope and what’s an archaic cliche. I myself was more interested the more modern and three-dimensional interpretation of ghost characters seen in 1999’s “The Sixth Sense.”) I’d even go so far as the say that the first ghost that we see in any detail is actually disappointing — the otherworldly figure connected with the bowler hat felt too cartoonish for me, like something we’d see on Walt Disney World’s “The Haunted Mansion” ride. (Trust me, they get more intimidating after that.)
Give this show a chance — and stay with it if you think it’s too slow, or if you find its characters a little unlikable at first. You’ll be glad you did.
Weird world: if the diffident, sometimes off-putting character of Steven looks familiar to you, it might be because that’s none other than Michiel Huisman, who plays the charismatic Daario on “Game of Thrones.”
Here are a few more pictures of Washington, D.C. — you’ll notice the befuddling inclusion of a shot of a service station on Wisconsin Avenue. It was that location that clued me into the fact that I was near my old friend Nick’s neighborhood.
He’s a Mary Wash alum, and I met up with him and some other alums a few years after we graduated. It would have been … 1998? 1999? Anyway, I had an air conditioning unit in the trunk of my Ford Taurus, because I’d recently changed apartments myself, and I’d forgotten to take it out. For reasons I’ve never been able to determine, my friends found that uproariously hilarious. People called me “Air Conditioner Guy.” They asked about it in e-mails and calls. (“Is it still in there?”) They brought it up at parties.
To this day, I feel certain there is an element to the joke that I am unaware of.
I breaks my heart to say this, but 2016’s long-awaited return of “The X-Files” was not a triumphant one. (Indeed, I am writing this review nearly two years after its conclusion because I only recently got around to watching the last of its six episodes.) I’d rate the brief season a 4 out of 10 — the lowest rating I’ve ever given to a season of the show.
I hope this year’s Season 11 proves me wrong, but I’m finally starting to wonder of “The X-Files'” time has come and gone. (This is coming from someone who was a lifetime fan. I even thoroughly enjoyed seasons 7 through 9, which was when much of the show’s loyal fan-base began truly eroding between 1999 and 2002.)
So many of the show’s core elements seem outdated now. The character arcs of its two heroes and their relationship were resolved seasons ago. Its central overriding story arc — an elite cabal’s conspiracy about (and with) aliens — appears to have been milked for most or all all of its entertainment value. And the show’s format of mixing a handful of “conspiracy episodes” with standalone “monster-of-the-week” episodes feels awkward compared with contemporary programs that better integrate multiple plot lines. (Consider HBO’s “Game of Thrones,” for example, or even the various Netflix and television series that are part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.)
The truly fatal blow to “The X Files'” staying power, though, runs a bit deeper — network television just isn’t as positioned as it used to be to tell the scariest stories to a wide audience. There is too much competition from sources less beholden to censorship or to the milquetoast sensibilities of mainstream appeal. The first is easily accessible cable channels like HBO and AMC, which can shock viewers with visceral violence. The second is subscription services like Netflix.
And third is simply the Internet at large, with its endless cornucopia of morbid or bizarre content. “The X-Files” was created before the Internet was a common household utility. Part of the show’s appeal was that it offered people the creepiest stories they’d watch anywhere anywhere outside of a movie theater. And those stories at least seemed well researched by the program’s writers, who did a tremendous job for most of the show’s run.
Today’s Internet-connected entertainment marketplace is different. No matter how much weirdness “The X Files” can pack into a 43-minute episode, the average consumer can find material online that is darker or more frightening in less time than that. Compare the average “X-Files” episode, for example, to the array of material devoted to real-life “paranormal” subjects, like “Slender Man,” alleged UFO footage, or tragedies like the mysterious death of Elisa Lam. (That last one is truly shudder-inducing. Google it at your own peril.)
The only way a show like “The X-Files” can hope to compete is with excellent attention to tone, tension and character — something I thought that seasons 7 through 9 did pretty well with, despite a gradual fan exodus after David Duchovny’s awkward departure from the series. Season 10 just didn’t follow suit. It really was as though a range of previous “X-Files” episodes has been thrown in a blender, so that their component parts could be served yet again. The conspiracy stuff, in particular, was poorly executed, too hastily paced, and just a bit too campy for my taste. Mulder and Scully’s return was also too self-conscious — as though Duchovny and Gillian Anderson were reunited for a tongue-in-cheek reunion special.
It wasn’t all bad. These two leads are always fun to watch. The fourth episode was superb — “Home Again” served up both a creepy, macabre story and a meaningful character arc for Dana Scully.
Episode 3, “Mulder and Scully Meet the Were-Monster,” was also fun enough. But while a lot of other fans absolutely loved this humorous entry, I personally didn’t feel its central joke merited a full episode. Besides, this particular twist has been done before, in a 1989 book by a well known speculative fiction author. (I won’t name the book or the author here, in order to avoid spoilers.)
The rest of the episodes were … fair, I suppose. Oh, well.
I’m thrilled that we’re currently being given Season 11 of “The X-Files.” As someone who was a longtime fan, I never envisioned the show lasting this long, even after a hiatus of many years. I just hope the show matures and grows in quality after this disappointing rebirth.