Gallows Humor

Centertown: Corn Maze

2010-10-29T14:37:00.001-05:00

Things You Should Know About, Volume 17: Balling the Queen

2009-06-20T16:30:00.014-05:00

Here's the Deal:

Insects are freaky. From the Hulk-like strength of ants to the bloodsucking antics of mosquitoes to the bondage-devouring propensity of spiders, bugs are fucking weird and off-putting. I mean, imagine if any of those above traits were applied to large land animals. It would be terrifying. Like, if we had bloodsucking elephants and gorillas that could lift city bridges... actually, I wouldn't mind seeing that, as long as they were properly controlled. Come on genetic engineering, give me some spider-giraffes!

Annnnnyway, the point is that bugs do some odd things, even within that wild kingdom known as nature, and quite often bees come in amongst the oddest of the odd. Now, most people know a fair amount about bee activity. From their hivemind to their comb-building to their royal jelly Jacuzzis, bees display some fascinating behavioral traits. They have a class-based society. They die after stinging an enemy (possibly the most ridiculous evolutionary leap ever). And most importantly, they produce a substance that tastes great on Bob Evans biscuits.

They also like Balling the Queen.

Now, before you Sex Pistols fans get your grungy panties in a bunch, I am not talking about a lost acoustic ballad by Sid Vicious. Balling the Queen is much more entertaining than that. What happens is, when a queen bee is determined to be too old or sickly by the hive, a replacement is created with the use of royal jelly. As the new virgin queen becomes ready to ascend to the beeswax throne, the other hive members surround the reigning queen and form a ball around her. This ball of bees effectively smothers the queen by causing her to overheat from the mass of bee body heat. At this point I assume they turn her carcass into a stew, or some other such barbaric act. The virgin queen then celebrates by going out for a night on the town and getting pumped by numerous drones. Taking the title of Queen Beatrix IV, she begins her rightful reign as the dominant royal bee and the whole process starts anew. Oh, the circle of life!

Apparently, balling is not limited to just the queen, however. Queen bees from other hives who enter a new hive in an attempt to overthrow it--Seriously. I really wonder if they have bee armadas and bee secret service, too--as well as predatory wasps, are in danger of being Randle P. McMurphyed by any number of busy little bees.

But seriously, I hope they incorporate this aspect into the next Alien movie.

Check This Shit Out.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_bee

Grade "A" Beefs with Sacred Cows: Scooby-Doo

2009-04-21T13:00:00.007-05:00

Fuck Scooby-Doo.

Nobody expects Saturday Morning Cartoons to hold James Joyce levels of complexity. Once the heyday of Warner Brother's Looney Tunes ended, cartoons began to suck mighty hard. Production values went from reasonable film budgets to paltry TV budgets, animation got shipped overseas (often producing knee-jerk, humdrum styles instead of carefully rendered ones by the likes of Chuck Jones), and story lines became, well, cartoonish. And not in a good way. There are many sins committed by post-50's to modern cartoon makers, as well as many places to lay the blame. But Goddammit, Scooby-Doo is the lynch pin of animated garbage.

I used to like Scooby-Doo. I really did. When I was a kid, I watched it regularly the same as anyone else. The thing is though, that while I actually enjoyed Looney Tunes and DuckTales and Batman: The Animated Series, Scooby-Doo was watched out of habit. It was watched because it was "on." Looking back, I can see the quality that resonated with me in those other shows, even though I couldn't articulate it at the time. Looney Tunes is inspired artistry and insanity. DuckTales is a rip-rollicking adventure. Batman: The Animated Series is superbly drawn with challenging story lines. But Scooby-Doo, for all its pop culture cred and lunchbox marketing, at the end of the day, simply blows. Some small part of my ten year old self knew that.

First off, the animation is terrible. While I would argue that the animation is not as bad as some cartoons of its era, like say, Mr. Magoo, Scooby-Doo really brings nothing to the table. Sure, Scooby himself is a recognizable character, as is Shaggy--I recall Matt Groening once saying that all good cartoon characters should be recognizable in silhouette, and Scooby and Shaggy fit that bill--but the rest of the gang, the villains of the week and the backgrounds are all clearly churned out necessities, not pieces of art. That is the core problem with Scooby-Doo: It lacks any artistic vision.

Now to the gang itself. Daphne, Fred and Velma really don't do anything. Sure, they "solve" the mystery each week--though that's more Fred and Velma, Daphne's just along for the ride--but again, this is mere necessity. They're walking plot points. They serve to support the antics of one Norville "Shaggy" Rogers and his good pal Scoob. So if this is the case, one would think that Shaggy and Scooby must be a laugh riot, right? Welllllll... I would say no. They aren't particularly interesting or funny characters. They're court jesters. They run around, fall down, get scared and eat. They are very similar to Abbott and Costello in this regard. Bugs Bunny has character. Daffy Duck has character. Shaggy and Scooby have a TV show.

But hey, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe what keeps the public happy are the mysteries. Yes, the mysteries. Tired, contrived devices that week-in, week-out never fail to produce asinine plans by the same usual suspects of amusement park operators and real estate agents. Everyone knows the formula: The gang investigates a Yeti/ghost/totem pole/vampire/Cthulhu that is wreaking havoc upon a small town/logging business/marsh/campground and eventually discover that the monster in question is no monster at all--at least, not a mythical one. In fact, the monster is MAN!--some money-hungry, cigar-chomping side character that was introduced around six minutes into the episode. I'm all for rooting for the little guy, but Scooby-Doo's heavy-handed anti-capitalistic stance, whether it springs from a genuine place or not, is simply bad storytelling. In fact, I would actually be fine with this device if the audience was given a fair shake. Let's say, instead of EVERY episode revealing the monster to be a dude in a mask, (because really, how many evil land developers can come up with that same brilliant scheme) Scooby-Doo left the possibility for the monster to be a fucking MONSTER. What if every episode was a toss-up, where sometimes it's a dude, and sometimes it's just a fucking werewolf. Perhaps this breaks the vivid and continuous dream that Scooby-Doo's team of Alan Smithees so carefully wished to create, but at least then there would be some sort of payoff in watching through to the ending.

Obviously being formulaic is not something that is limited to Scooby-Doo. Gilligan's Island springs to mind as another asinine show that always results in the same conclusion: They don't get off the island. But at least with that show, new things would happen to the cast--whether it be a hot air balloon mishap or the Harlem Globetrotters--that kept the show watchable in the loosest sense of the word. Scooby-Doo just keeps making the same episode again and again--not to mention all the clones it produced, like Josie and the Pussycats and Jabberjaw--'cause a buncha kids driving around in a van solving mysteries, whether they have cat ears or can somehow breathe underwater, is apprently just what the public wants.

Hanna and Barbera were hacks. They were two old codgers that hid behind the masks of animated characters and tried to swindle the public with flashy baubles and zany hijinks. Their legacy is still going strong, and we can't allow their watered-down product to fill the airwaves any longer. We must unmask them for what they are. All us meddling kids must do our part.

Animation Fans of the World Unite!

Grade "A" Beefs With Sacred Cows: Special "You're So Vain" Edition!

2009-03-16T23:59:00.015-05:00

Fuck "You're So Vain." Fuck, fuck, fuck "You're So Vain." Fuck it!

I am a musical gent. I have it in my power to like nearly any style of music. My iTunes contains everything from the Beatles to Joe El-Sonnier to Rondellus to Da Costa Waltz & the Southern Broadcasters. In short, lotsa tunes, some 'standard,' some batshit crazy. I dig me some indie, bluegrass, pop, jazz, easy listening, (real) country, classical, soundtrack, blues, punk, reggae, rock, metal, hip-hop, (some) rap, disco, R&B, soul, funk, folk, surf, world, dance & novelty. But I fucking HAAAAAATE "You're So Vain."

The thing is, this may actually be the only song I truly hate. Oh sure, there are plenty of songs I don't like, and oodles more that I am completely indifferent to. Some of these are classics like "The Long and Winding Road" (I find it kinda humdrum and boring as far as the Beatles go) and "You Can't Always Get What You Want" (I am amazed and appalled that there are people on this planet who would put this song anywhere near, let alone above, "Paint it, Black," "Jumpin' Jack Flash," or "Gimme Shelter"), but for cases like these I mostly feel like there is either something I "don't get" or I end up just shrugging off the song in question. Even bad songs like "Bye, Bye, Bye" or "I Will Always Love You" I am able to enjoy ironically. I can sing along to these tossed-off pop hits in spite of myself and not feel totally dirty. But "You're So Vain" demands my hatred. It asks for it. If "You're So Vain" and I were in a marriage in the 50's, it would have overcooked my breakfast sausage and shrunk my favorite trousers before the big meeting and thus would have had this beating coming. "You're So Vain" makes me take off my belt.

There are several reasons for my intense (and to outsiders, more than likely horrific) hatred for this song. One reason is Carly Simon's voice. I can usually accept unique and offbeat vocals in my music, but her voice is a maelstrom of whiny and grating noises. It's never worse than on the chorus itself when she hits "vaaaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnn" and sounds like a bobcat put through a combine. Her voice in this song is my ultimate 'fingernails on a chalkboard.' The next reason would be the music of the song itself. It's sickeningly catchy, and yet, isn't a "fun" song. I can handle the fact that "Walking on Sunshine" gets by on just being one big wad of bubblegum, but "You're So Vain's" subject doesn't quite fit with the method of telling. Some would say that this makes the song GENIUS, but I just say that it's odd and clunky and at the end of the day, annoying.

And now we move onto the subject matter itself: I cannot stand the "mystery" of the song. For one thing, as far back as the 80's Simon more or less said that the person that was 'so vain' was Warren Beatty. True, she has never explicitly said it for sure, merely danced around it, but I'd say it's at a good 90% certainty. But more importantly is this: WHO GIVES A FUCK? I mean really, the whole "Is it James Taylor? Is it Mick Jagger?" bullshit is the stuff of tabloid headlines. "Layla" isn't famous for being about Pattie Boyd--that's just music geek trivia--it's famous for being a fucking monster of a song. "You're So Vain" isn't particularly deep, it doesn't contain any insights or memorable lines, it's just like Paris Hilton--it's famous for being famous. So basically, I cannot stand that Carly Simon created this "mystery" in a sub par pop song and coasted into fame and fortune all due to some smoke and mirrors. Just look at the rest of her career--it's a joke. The woman has "Mockingbird" and "Nobody Does it Better" as her other major hits. When your two best songs are either a) better when they are poorly covered in Dumb & Dumber and b) a James Bond theme song, I think you deserve to be in the 9th circle of the Wal-Mart bargain bin.

"You're So Vain" haunts me and will continue to haunt me for the rest of my days. Every Memorial Day classic rock countdown and every karaoke night is almost certain to contain it on the playlist. But finally, at long last, I have spoken my piece against all that is unjust and unholy about this third trimester abortion of a song. In closing, I say this to you, Miss Simon: You're so vain. And I mean that in the following senses:

Main Entry: Vain
Pronunciation: \ˈvān\
Function: adjective

1: having no real value : idle , worthless <vain pretensions>

2: marked by futility or ineffectualness : unsuccessful , useless <vain efforts to escape>

3: archaic : foolish , silly

Grade "A" Beefs With Sacred Cows: Tintin

2009-03-10T01:03:00.004-05:00

Fuck Tintin.

Ever since the Steven Spielberg/Peter Jackson Adventures of Tintin trilogy was announced, I have read nothing but love for the namesake ducktailed youth. For those of you who don't know, which is pretty much everyone in North America, Tintin is a long-running comic series about a friendless, sexless, characterless boy reporter, who never appears to do any reporting and really loves colonialism. The series, created by Belgian cartoonist Hergé, ran from 1929 to 1983 and is apparently adored the world over.

Why is that, exactly?

As a kid, I remember seeing the HBO cartoon The Adventures of Tintin on TV and being wholly indifferent. Keep in mind, that this me was the same fresh-faced youth who watched hours upon hours of The World of David the Gnome--I don't believe he was too discerning. But even at that young age, I couldn't for the life of me see what was appealing in that show, and now, looking at the comics that spawned it, I feel the same way.

What is the big fucking deal? I am baffled. In the comic, the main character runs from adventure to adventure in various countries, so I suppose some sort of globetrotting appeal could be argued, but Tintin is no Indiana Jones or James Bond--he's not cool, badass, suave, etc., and more importantly, he basically gets out of any problem he's in within two to three panels. There is no real suspense and thus no payoff. The comic isn't funny, either. It's best described as what a friend of mine once called certain 80's movies: A Comedy That's Not a Comedy. It's lighthearted, sure, but there's no real humor to be found. And then there's the matter of the artwork: It's ok, I suppose. It fulfills its function. But when you compare Tintin to the work of Will Eisner or Windsor McCay--contemporaries of Hergé--it's somewhat appalling that Tintin is lavished with such praise when the work is so humdrum in relation to those two masters.

Because of the upcoming film, I thought I would give Tintin a shot. I downloaded the complete series and tried to read it. I got five books in before I decided to quit. Normally I am one who sees things through to the bitter end, but I saw nothing rewarding about this comic and thus, called it a day. The early issues are especially shitty, for not only are they blasé, but they are fraught with paternalistic racism, the aforementioned old world colonialism and flat out and perplexing animal cruelty--For example, in one comic, Tintin decides he wants to kill a rhino. Being unable to simply shoot it due to its thick hide, Tintin BORES A HOLE into the rhino's BACK and plants fuckin' DYNAMITE there. The rhino explodes. No irony or subversion is intended, we've just got a hero who is a sociopath.

If anyone can enlighten me as to the value of this comic, go for it. I am willing to be convinced. But at the moment, anything short of a dissertation revealing Watchmen-like layers of complexity would leave me with the same feeling I have at present. Tintin is comics' "Emperor's New Clothes."

Watchmen

2009-03-06T15:44:00.014-06:00

*Spoilers for both the comic and film adaptation lie ahead*

Following my viewing of Watchmen last night, the thought that crept into my head the most was that I miss Stanley Kubrick. Watchmen, the comic, presented a world that was cold, haunting, and morally-ambiguous--all elements that were favorite subjects for Kubrick. I have no idea if Stanley Kubrick was aware of the comic, nor if he would have been interested in making a film from it, but my instincts tell me that he at least would have found the material fascinating. Had a film been made, I am confident that Stanley Kubrick's Watchmen would have stood more than a chance at capturing the poignance and horror that Watchmen contains. Zack Snyder's Watchmen, sadly, captures very little.

It's not that the film is unwatchable. Snyder does manage to conjure up certain scenes and characters that feel true to the source material and pack the expected punch. Rorschach's prison sequences, for instance, puts the audience right inside those moments. For that matter, Rorschach in general is excellent. Jackie Earle Haley embodies Rorschach, from the voice to the tone to the character movements. Billy Crudup is also fine as Dr. Manhattan, his soft voice serving as a nice counterbalance to Manhattan's God-like power. I had always imagined a deeper voice for Manhattan, but this choice won me over. Patrick Wilson also does some fine work as Nite Owl, although, in the end, his efforts are essentially lost in a mess of spectacle. Other portions that succeed? Jeffrey Dean Morgan as the Comedian works about half the time, and in a better film, would have worked more. The effects, for the most part, do a good job of translating the comic to the screen, from the "bleeding" effect on Rorschach's mask to the CGI Manhattan to Bubastis. Sure, there's some CGI-wonkiness going on at times, but on the whole, the effects shine through as high points in the film.

So that's the good stuff. This film is almost 3 hours long. What of the rest? Malin Akerman as the Silk Spectre is terrible. The character was always the weak link in Watchmen (Moore has basically admitted this in the past), but here she is just awful. Her mother, played by Carla Gugino is worse. There is not a shred of depth to these characters. Matthew Goode as Ozymandias? Flat as hell. He hits the right beats, sure, but this is not a man who has enough screen presence to be a James Bond villain, let alone the orchestrator of the events in Watchmen. The actor who plays Nixon and the other supporting characters? Mostly humdrum. Matt Frewer does a surprisingly good job as Moloch, but the rest of the side characters feel like they are going through the motions.

In fact, almost the entire film is an exercise in going through the motions. I see two ways of explaining this. The first is this: Imagine a play by, let's say, Shakespeare. How about Hamlet? Going into Hamlet, you know the story, you know the weight, you know what it can be when done properly. Now imagine seeing Hamlet and instead of watching Kenneth Branaugh and Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan, etc., you get the understudies. That's what Watchmen feels like. Despite the performances of Haley, Crudup and Wilson, everyone else seems like they're filling a part for one night only. And with such sub par performances filling up screentime, the real efforts by the other, much better actors are significantly damaged.

The other way to explain why this film is going through the motions is this: Imagine someone telling you a story. Let's stick to Hamlet. They tell you that Hamlet's father is killed, that Hamlet returns to his homeland, that Claudius ascends the throne, that Hamlet plots his revenge, etc. You would get an idea of what the story is, sure. But would you get any of the emotional pull or the pathos just from hearing a play-by-play? Of course not. And Watchmen, while "faithful" to the comic in the sense that all the "right" scenes are there, contains next to nothing to hold up those scenes and give the film any weight. It's as though Snyder is telling us the story of Watchmen, but has next to no idea how to convey what the story means. I know that people will fall in love with this adaptation and say "It's so true to the comic--they did such a great job." The problem with this idea is that it implies that the only important components of Watchmen lay in its comic-bookiness. The entire purpose of Watchmen is to be more nuanced, brooding and deep than average comic book fare. I understand that the constraints of a 3 hour film involve the cutting of material, but emotion should not have been on the chopping block at any point in the editing process.

Essentially, everything felt rushed. Snyder tried to shove as much in as he could, and either focused on the wrong elements, or the limits of a 3 hour film mean Watchmen could never truly be adapted. I am confident Syder was dedicated and tried as hard as he could to pull this off. But I was never convinced that this man should have been at the helm for the film, and after seeing the finished product, I can simply say, "Trying does not equal succeeding."

There are many other issues--like the added violence (which seems to counter almost everything being said in the comic), the elongated sex scene, the "humor" (Watchmen isn't funny, it's deathly serious--the only "humor" should be uncomfortable, not gut-busting), the occasionally awkward soundtrack, the effect removing the squid has upon the narrative, etc. But those are mostly smaller issues in comparrison to the larger flaws of the film that aren't worth developing. At its core, Watchmen is hollow. It contains less emotion than Dr. Manhattan himself. It favors the "cool shit" over the substantial, challenging concepts of the comic.

Zack Snyder broke from Rorschach's solemn oath. He compromised.

Grade "A" Beefs With Sacred Cows: Abbott & Costello

2009-02-21T21:04:00.022-06:00

Fuck Abbott & Costello.

If you're a fan of comedy, from its "earliest" days in Vaudeville to its current incarnations, there are some comedians you are just expected to respect and/or enjoy. Some examples from the silent era and early talkies are Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, The Marx Brothers, and, *shudder,* Abbott & Costello. The thing is though, that when these two court jesters are put side by side with the other names mentioned above I am instantly transported to that great American standard: "One of These Things is Not Like the Other One, One of These Things Just Doesn't Belong." Abbott & Costello blow.

Now, I know what you're going to say: "'Who's on First' is genius!" Yes, it is. "Who's on First" contains clever lines, great wordplay and a memorable situation--all things that are vital to an iconic comedic bit. But how these two hapless no-trick ponies ever stumbled into that comedic masterpiece and carved a niche for themselves in the pantheon of Funnydom is beyond me, because that is all they've got.

I have, to date, watched three of their films: Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein, Abbott & Costello Meet Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde and Abbott & Costello Meet the Keystone Cops. Of these, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein is hailed as a comedy classic, while the other two are seen as run-of-the-mill Abbott & Costello fare, I believe.

These films are a black hole of comedy. They lack the tight construction and execution of "Who's on First"and lack anything else that could be viewed as remotely funny. Consider the comedians above. Charlie Chaplin created carefully rendered scripts containing elongated sequences of whimsy and absurdity. Buster Keaton constantly put life and limb in harm's way and arguably did more for physical comedy than any single person before or since. The Marx Brothers, meanwhile, had the triple team effect--Groucho had the lines, Chico the wordplay, and Harpo the wild card. And what did Abbott & Costello have? Abbott hit Costello over the head with a hat quite a bit.

Yes, the biggest source for "laughs" in these films is in their piss-poor excuses for physical humor, which are nothing short of insults to the work of Chaplin, Keaton and Harold Lloyd. These include: Falling down, running into doors, running away in terror, running away in fright, running away in fear, running away in horror and then hitting a door and then falling down, and lastly, long, awkward Costello masturbation sequences.

I know people just assume Abbott & Costello are funny because they are well-known. Even those who watch them now and don't like them more than likely think "Well, I just don't get it." But trust me, these guys were the Wayans Brothers of the 40's and 50's--popular beyond all reason, and lacking in any shred of talent.

Reportedly, Lou Costello's last words were "That was the best ice-cream soda I ever tasted," before keeling over in front of said ice-cream soda. I can only hope that lurking in the shadows was Charlie Chaplin, twirling his tiny mustache and slipping a bottle of rat poison back into his pocket.

Things You Should Know About, Volume 16: Giraffes on Horseback Salad

2008-11-20T14:04:00.005-06:00

Here's the Deal:

The Marx Brothers were nuts. Salvador Dalí was insane. Thus, if we follow the if/then rationale of high school geometry we can conclude that if the Marx Brothers were nuts, and if Salvador Dalí was insane, then a pairing of these two forces would create a perfect storm of batshit crazy.

Giraffes on Horseback Salad, or The Surrealist Woman, was an attempt to create just that.

The prospective film, which never got beyond the scripting/planning stages, would have been a joint effort by the comedians and the artist. Dalí, a fan of the brothers, wrote a surrealistic script for the team and presented it to them in 1937. Reasons for the film remaining in the seventh circle of Development Hell vary, but it's possible that MGM, the brothers' employer, felt the project was "too surreal," i.e. unmarketable, or simply that Groucho Marx found the film unfunny.

Believed to be lost, the script was eventually found amongst Dalí's personal papers in the nineties, but has not been released publicly. There is, however, an article from Harper's Magazine that details the (fittingly bizarre) plot points of the film.

More than likely, this would have been terrible. Salvador Dalí was a master at his craft, but does that mean he could write a script or construct a joke? Probably not. His most famous foray into cinema, Un Chien Andalou, is hardly what one would call coherent or a laugh riot. However, there remains a slim chance that this collaboration could have produced a wild and inventive film, and I need to get in contact with Quinn Mallory so that we can slide into the parallel dimension where this exists.

But seriously, one morning I shot Salvador Dalí in my pajamas--how he got in my pajamas is a matter for the courts.

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.miskatonic.org/dali-marx.html

Things You Should Know About, Volume 15: Raymond Scott

2008-11-14T23:10:00.018-06:00

Here's the Deal:

Unsung heroes are plentiful. Far too often, people know a song, film, short story, etc. without knowing much about the artist's body of work, or, in some cases, without even knowing who the artist is at all. In these instances, name brand recognition becomes next to irrelevent, for the work itself is what grabs people, not their label. Your Rembrandts and Shakespeares certainly have their place, but sometimes it's the people and work that's a little more off the beaten path that has that little extra something--that je ne sais quoi--that makes art so exciting in the first place. This blog, as I'm sure you're aware, is very much dedicated to that idea, and today's thrilling post is no exception.

Allow me to introduce you to Raymond Scott.

Raymond Scott is a name that you should know, as you already know his music. Ever watch Looney Tunes? Or The Ren & Stimpy Show? Or basically any mainstream American cartoon? Then you're familiar. Remember that "assembly line/chase music" from the Warner's toons? It's called "Powerhouse." How about the pleasant, poppy trumpet piece in Ren & Stimpy--it's "The Toy Trumpet." There are numerous others, including "In an 18th Century Drawing Room," "Dinner Music for a Pack of Hungry Cannibals" and "Twilight in Turkey."

Although known for his contributions to animated soundtracks, Scott never actually composed for the medium. He was a jazz performer, band leader and musical pioneer, and the reason he became associated with cartoons is because Warner's purchased his catalogue to attach to their animated shorts. Aside from his jazz pieces, Scott was an early supporter/innovator of electronic music, creating several devices that laid the groundwork for various synthesizers and studio soundboards. Essentially, this guy is probably one of the most important musicians you've never heard of.

I've not been able to locate much of his work, and as I understand it, it became increasingly experimental as he went on (whether that's good or bad, I have no idea), but what I have heard is a lot of fun and it's easy to see why pieces this catchy were selected for such vibrant and lively cartoons. Start attaching a face to these songs. There's a creative dynamo behind them.

But seriously, that's all, folks.

Check This Shit Out.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raymond_Scott

Things You Should Know About, Volume 14: Life at the Outpost

2008-11-06T14:37:00.016-06:00

Here's the Deal:

Camp is all the rage today. Imagine going back a few generations and trying to find a large group of people who loved the absurd and terrible. Is it possible? Were people's grandparents getting a kick out of the horrendous styles, songs and personas of the twenties and thirties? Maybe so, but today, our generation has a mass communication tool undreamed of by mom-mom and pop-pop. I am, of course, talking about YouTube.

Yes, YouTube, a tool that represents both our proudest accomplishments as well as our worst societal values. God Bless America. Without YouTube, one wouldn't have the Dramatic Chipmunk, Afro Ninja, or the doomed-to-social-ineptness-for-the-rest-of-his-days Star Wars Kid. And yet, among these fine examples of camp, if there is one thing our generation has surely brought to the forefront it is the appropriation and redistribution of 70's and 80's culture--chock fulla irony, or course.

Enter Life at the Outpost.

Life at the Outpost is a late 70's dance song recorded by the obscure band Skatt Bros. The band only made two albums, of negligible quality I am sure, but also saw fit to release a video for this track. It. Is. Ridiculous. If you think you have seen the worst music videos MTV and VH1 have to offer, you are mistaken. The previous frontrunner, Journey's Separate Ways, cannot compare to the ludicrously abysmal quality of this video.

It is also incredibly gay.

Words cannot fully describe this piece. It is a perfect object. It must be seen. There are so many questions that run through a viewer's mind--ranging from Who the hell was the projected audience? to, Who the fuck hired that choreographer?--that any attempt to sum them up here would be a futile and painstaking effort.

But seriously, this may have been Annie Proulx's inspiration for "Brokeback Mountain."

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34sqrLWF_tQ&feature=related

Things You Should Know About, Volume 13: Gates of Eden

2008-10-31T17:57:00.004-05:00

Here's the Deal:

The Coen Brothers own Hollywood. And no, it's not because they're intelligent, business-savvy Jewish men. It's due to their near-celestial amount of talent. The boys have been working for over twenty years, and in that time they have been not only prolific, but also consistent with the quality of their work. Even their missteps are still watchable, even debatable--a feat that greats such as Hitchcock, Spielberg and Altman never quite attained. Thus, the promise of a new Coen Brothers film tends to get cinema junkies to start jonesin' for some malicious madcap mayhem and salivating at the mouth for a few spools of celluloid.

So, how 'bout a new book?

Gates of Eden, while not new, is something that doesn't seem to be on anyone's radar, and until last year, was absent from mine as well. I have no idea why this is, except that the general public doesn't give a shit about literature, and so, no one buys/talks about this. Maybe? Anyway, the book was released in '98 and is a collection of short stories that Ethan Coen wrote and published in various sources throughout the eighties and nineties. The stories tend to take the form of snippets of the Coens' films, featuring gangsters and detectives thrown into ridiculous situations. Basically, all of these stories feel like leftover or dead end ideas that never became full length films, but that is not to say that the stories themselves are lesser in any way. Almost all of the stories are entertaining, and some certainly reach the level of the Coens' longer-form work.

I'm not sure if short stories or novels are things that continue to appeal to Ethan Coen, but I hope that he gives them another go. The Brothers Coen are two of the finest writers working today in any medium, and any new Coens is good Coens--that is, until they make their first film "for their kids." Then it will be time to send them out to stud. Or to a woodchipper.

But seriously, okay, then.

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.amazon.com/Gates-Eden-Stories-Ethan-Coen/dp/0061684880/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1225497650&sr=8-1

Things You Should Know About, Volume 12: The Nietzsche Family Circus

2008-10-23T23:46:00.020-05:00

God is dead.

Here's the Deal: To make this work, I had to center the text.
Damn you Family Circus! And now, le content:

Newspaper comics blow. Take a gander at any Sunday gazette sometime and scan through the comics section. What have you got that produces a laugh? The Boondocks, Dilbert, FoxTrot, and maybe the odd Sherman's Lagoon. So what of the rest? Are there any Ziggy fans below the age of 80? Is there anyone who anxiously awaits the next Hägar the Horrible? Does the creator of the deplorable Wizard of Id have a Vic Mackey-sized blackmail box with every newspaper editor's secrets inside? Just how the fuck does this "work" pass for entertainment, much less a thriving career? But, o, whatever particular bane one believes to be the comics page's most egregious affront upon humor, whether it be Born Loser or Andy Capp, all strips pale in comparison to the true Defiler of Worlds:

The Family Circus.

The strip, as I'm sure most of you know, is a sappy, pandering exercise in family values and slices of life. Over the years, it has featured such genius additions to pop culture as "Not Me," "Dotted-Lines to nowhere followed by asinine punchlines," and "Dead Grandpa who apparently finds heaven boring." Unlike some strips, like say, Garfield, that tapered off in quality over time, The Family Circus has kept a sure and steady suckitude throughout its run. I defy you to find a genuinely funny comic from this strip.

Now, I believe my hatred of The Family Circus has been made clear. But I wish to take a step back from beating this dead horse so that I may begin to mutilate this dead horse. If I found out a friend of mine was a fan of The Family Circus I'm not sure if our friendship would ever recover. Always lingering over my head would be the knowledge that childhood malapropisms and the dramatic motif of cookie jars really does it for ________. *Shudder* Hell, I'll take it one step further. Suppose a comely young lass enters my life, and I find her to be intelligent, charming, and attractive. How am I to react when, taking a look-see into her bedroom, I find numerous collections of The Family Circus on her bookshelves? What other secrets could she be hiding from me? Could she also be a Creed fan? This comic is the dealbreaker of dealbreakers.

Thus, The Family Circus had it coming, and The Nietzsche Family Circus took it to task.

This webcomic is a "parody generator" of sorts which takes a random strip of the original comic and pairs it with a random Nietzsche quote. The result often ranges from so-so to amusing, but every now and again the two match up in such a way that perfectly counters the sugary dreck that Bill Keane has seen fit to thrust upon the populace for decades. Here are some fine examples:

Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings-
always darker, emptier and simpler.

Not necessity, not desire - no, the love
of power is the demon of men. Let them
have everything - health, food, a place
to live, entertainment - they are and
remain unhappy and low-spirited: for
the demon waits and waits and will be
satisfied.

When one has not had a good father,
one must create one.

Is man one of God's blunders?
Or is God one of man's blunders?

Women are considered deep - why?
Because one can never discover any
bottom to them. Women are not even
shallow.

I am not a hateful man. But I take special exception when it comes to The Family Circus. Far too many youthful hours were spent staring at a Far Side comic next to a Family Circus comic and wondering what went wrong in the ensuing inches. Feel free to vent your similar frustrations by putting some bleak, polysyllabic words into those punchable little mouths.

But seriously, we're one step closer to my Beetle Bailey POW comic.

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.losanjealous.com/nfc/

And if you gaze for long into an abyss,
the abyss gazes also into you.

Things You Should Know About, Volume 11: Frozen Peas

2008-10-16T22:18:00.007-05:00

Here's the Deal:

Orson Welles ran the gamut of quality. This is a guy who directed Citizen Kane and Touch of Evil, two masterworks of film, and also spearheaded the 1938 War of the Worlds broadcast that purposefully incited a panic. Talent and balls are words far too weak to describe the beginning of the man's career. In his early days, he had it.

His later days, though, are a bit more desolate.

If you want to see how far an artist can fall, there are many prime examples out there--Steve Martin, Paul McCartney, George Lucas, etc., etc., etc. But Welles' fall differs in that he not only waned in artistic merit but also in public perception. He essentially became a joke, popping up in just about anything for cash, most of it abysmal. When the man who created Charles Foster Kane ends his career by voicing Unicron for Tranformers: The Movie, you know something bad has happened.

Frozen Peas.

Frozen Peas, AKA Yes, Always, and In July is a collection of outtakes accrued during a recording session Welles participated in for Findus, a frozen food company. The recording was released following Welles death, either to avoid lawsuits or embarrassment or both, and has become an underground phenomenon during its 20 year lifespan.

In the piece, Welles expresses frustration with the demands of the director, often making himself into a more pompous ass than one would already assume him to be. He does have a few statements that sound justified, but essentially, this is a master artist fumbling, drowning and dying. The handling of the session itself may be a hell of a way to run a railroad, but Welles' arrogant proclamations amount to a Casey Jones-like train wreck that is fascinating and hilarious to listen to.

Some golden nuggets within:

"Get me a jury and show me how you can say IN July and I'll... go down on you."

"Impossible. Meaningless."

"This is a very wearying one. It's unpleasant to read. Unrewarding."

This is geek stuff, folks. It's the kind of backstairs, crawlspace entertainment that is a joy to uncover, but admittedly, takes a certain mindset to enjoy. However, the lovers of this piece are varied, stretching beyond the odd college student/dropout/grad. The makers of Pinky & the Brain produced a parody, replacing the swear words with more kid-friendly fare, but retaining a good 90% of the content. Their version is fun, but this, like a fine, Paul Masson wine, is vintage.

But seriously, people will think--What I tell them to think!

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcYCccE9ziU&feature=related

Things You Should Know About, Volume 10: Banksy

2008-10-09T00:18:00.014-05:00

Here's the Deal:

I don't know art, but I know what is awesome. No, wait, I do know art. And I also know what is awesome. Sweet.

Banksy, incidentally, qualifies as both.

The man is a graffiti artist based in England, who has also taken his unique brand of self-expression across the pond and elsewhere. Utilizing stencils, spray paint and more than likely, some dedicated lookouts with walkie talkies, Banksy plays with the concepts of pop culture, war, corruption and social injustice, all with acerbic wit, irony and irreverence. Here are some fine examples:

Unknown to the public at large, Banksy's work has met with significant praise as well as blustery critism. The former mainly comes from people with eyes, while the latter arrives by way of British street cleaners and the art world. For Bansky's works have not only been deemed acts of vandalism by people sharing office space with the Ministry of Silly Walks, but also by Sherry-sipping snobs at the Louvre--a venue he chose to showcase an example his work, that of the Mona Lisa brandishing a yellow Smiley Face, by illegally fastening the painting to one of the museum's walls.

His works sell, though. Several art shows have featured Banksy's works, the highest bidder being left with the confounding duty of finding a way to transport the artwork--usually in full, brickwall format--to a more private locale.

The guy is ballsy, and embodies everything that art should, especially in a post-Duchamp world. A couple choice quotes show his outlook on modern art, which I feel couldn't be more telling:

"People say graffiti is ugly, irresponsible and childish... but that's only if it's done properly."

"Think outside the box, collapse the box, and take a fucking sharp knife to it."

Art should, and does, come in any form. Expand your mind, man. Pretty paintings and Grecian sculptures are not the limits of great work. This guy has it going on.

But seriously, the writing is on the wall.

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.banksy.co.uk/

Things You Should Know About, Volume 9: The Amber Room

2008-10-02T14:10:00.014-05:00

Here's the Deal:

Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. So says Michael Douglas in that oft-quoted deconstruction/glamorization of 80's culture known as Wall Street. But as most know, the reach of avarice is something that extends far beyond so-so Oliver Stone movies and Reaganomics. Which is why treasure, be it lost or buried, is an appealing concept for most folks. And yet, I would claim that greed alone does not produce the allure attached to this phenomenon. Quite often, the story at the center is much more appealing than the riches themselves, if only for the fact that most people who learn about famous booty are never going to share in the eventual spoils. Lousy Democrats.

But I digress.

The Amber Room is such a treasure, now lost to the sands of time and the dust bunnies of cliche. It was constructed in the early 1700's for the Prussian monarchy, crafted out of glass, gold, and fittingly enough, amber. As you can see from the picture above, the room was awe-inspiring, capturing beauty, elegance and opulence in one golden package. Truly this was a marvel of artistry. The room remained in Prussia until 1716, at which time King Friedrich Wilhem I bestowed it upon his friend and ally Tsar Peter the Great of the Russian Empire, taking it apart piece by piece and transporting it to its new location. Pretty nice present, if you ask me.

Mother Russia kept the room for over two centuries until those blasted Nazis decided to take over the world and reduce the Jewish population to say, 0. In a raid, the Nazis gained control of the palace housing the treasure and, ipso facto, the room itself. The Russians tried to disguise the room before the Nazis arrived with the cunning use of wallpaper. Their brilliant strategy did not succeed. The Nazis then removed the room in sections and skipped off for tea with the Fuhrer.

Here's where the plot thickens.

Nobody knows what happened to the room following its removal from Russia. It's possible that it was destroyed in the course of battle, or may have met a watery grave by way of being held on a (soon to be) sunken German submarine, or it could have wound up in one of Hitler's underground sugar caves, looked after by giant ants payed off by Nazi gold. Nobody knowwwws...

Since that time, amateur and "professional" treasure hunters have scouted expeditions to discover the location or resting place of the room. The potential riches abound if the room is actually discovered, but the story--that of one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture ever constructed being lost due to the actions of some of the most vile human beings to ever live--is what is key here. I wouldn't hold out hope for the room's discovery, yet I implore all of you to check your attics. Grandpa Fritz may well have been lying when he said he spent the war years in Switzerland.

But seriously, someone needs to find this thing so we can get to all the dinosaurs inside.

Check This Shit Out.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amber_room

Things You Should Know About, Volume 8: The Mighty Boosh

2008-09-23T16:40:00.007-05:00

Here's the Deal:

Damn those Brits. When you look through the history of colonialism, the perpetrators are often downright terrifying. The Russians? Vodka tonics and AK-47s. The Japanese? Rigid honor and kamikazes. The Americans? Manifest Destiny and the White Man's Burden. But those British are a different animal altogether... In an immensely mixed metaphor, they were the date rapist to other countries' lurking-in-the-bushes rapist. Maybe they were able to take over most of the globe because they were and are just so damn dashing, charming and funny. Who knows... except for the slaughtered innocents screaming for justice from the history books... Oh, well.

Anywho, the point is, British people know funny. Peter Sellers, The Pythons, Rowan Atkinson, Simon Pegg & crew... the list goes on and on. And now, there is a new name to add to Her Majesty's Scroll of Higher Amusement.

The Mighty Boosh.

The show is an absurdist sitcom, which owes a lot to the randomness of Flying Circus, that finds the bulk of its humor in the form of surreal, fantasy-based scenarios. It chronicles the events of Howard Moon and Vince Noir, two rather inept English gentlemen who find themselves trapped everywhere from the arctic tundra to Purgatory. Their shaman friend, Naboo, and his "other," Bollo--a man in a gorilla costume--add to the mix of lunacy and often spur the plot onward. Both Moon and Noir are interesting characters, their actoric counterparts having developed them over the years from stage and radio shows, and the audience takes a shine to them easily.

Of particular note, however, is the mass of one or two-shot characters. In nearly every episode there is some form of "unnatural" life that appears, wreaking havoc upon the duo's lives, and chalking up joke after joke. These characters, normally played by one of the main set of actors in different makeup, almost always steal the show, delivering some of the best moments of the series. Trust me, Old Gregg, Milky Joe and Crack Fox are difficult characters to shake once seen.

There are three short seasons currently available on DVD and in torrents, as well as the aforementioned live shows and radio broadcasts. Talk has been ongoing about a fourth season, or more likely, a movie. Here's hoping something comes down the pike. These are some guys to keep an eye on.

But seriously, don't kill me, I've got so much to give!

Check This Shit Out.

Things You Should Know About, Volume 7: Rocket 88

2008-09-12T16:28:00.010-05:00

Here's the Deal:

In the days before American Idol and MTV Countdown ruled the airwaves, there was a little thing called Rock and Roll. For those of you unfamiliar, it was a genre of songwriting which, more often than not, contained steady beats, challenging lyrics, and raw, unbridled power. It's gone now, mostly dispersed through splinters like "alternative," "metal" and "hip-hop," or otherwise watered down by every band working shy of Green Day. This now defunct genre had its roots in such archaic stylings as "Jazz," "Folk," "Blues," "Country," and "R&B," and used those diverse influences to create something lively and fresh.

"Rocket 88" is where it all began.

Recorded in the music hub of Memphis, Tennessee by Ike Turner's band Kings of Rhythm--but attributed to Jackie Brenston & his Delta Cats--this tune set down the rules for Rock and Roll. Upbeat tempo, tickled ivories, saxophone licks, exuberant vocals, and most importantly, distortion. For the song features a guitar riff that, for 1951, sounds significantly altered. Apparently, the amplifier used for the session had gotten wet, creating a muffled sound in the final track. This distortion is what propels the song from R&B to Rock and Roll, for it leads the way for the experimentation of the Beatles and the wild thrashing of Hendrix.

Clearly, any song being dubbed the "first" of a certain styling is a bit problematic, as it calls into question just where the lines fall between genres--something none too easy to determine. But whether this song predates all others, or is simply an early example of the genre, seems irrelevant. The bottom line is, this is a great tune that you never hear, unless you take a trip down to Sun Records in Memphis. Something, by the way, that everyone needs to do.

But seriously, you know that new sound you lookin' for? Well, listen to this!

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gbfnh1oVTk0

Those Who Do Not Learn From History Force the Whole Class to Take it Again

2008-09-08T02:54:00.006-05:00

Mostly I want to avoid politicizing this blog, but come the fuck on. Do we need to see Hoovervilles before we collectively wakeup? Christ.

This Country Deserves What it Gets.

Things You Should Know About, Volume 6: Bluebeard

2008-08-28T21:46:00.004-05:00

Here's the Deal:

Kurt Vonnegut had it going on. With Cat's Cradle, Sirens of Titan, Breakfast of Champions and Slaughterhouse Five, he, along with a few others, redefined what science fiction could be, catapulting it from its usual status as "penny dreadful" fodder and into a literate and compassionate realm. His novels were crisp and acerbic, funny and cautious, and more often than not, foreboding. He kept this tendency towards Gallows Humor well into his later years of writing, which, unfortunately, tended to only produce works of a "ho hum" malaise, lacking much of the power of his early pieces.

Bluebeard is an exception.

The novel is one of Vonnegut's most human works, focusing upon more personal subject matter than his more sensational books. Essentially, it is about art; both the role and responsibilities of the creator and the goals and purpose of the finished product. With the protagonist, Rabo Karabekian, Vonnegut at long last developed a character that was less than a cartoon. That is not to say that I don't love his more absurdist fare--just that I merely respect that Vonnegut could delve deep and deliver something a little bit different at that late stage of his career (1988, nearly forty years after his first novel).

In many ways, this is his swan song. He wrote two more novels following this, as well as some essays, but this book can be held up with his well-known works any day of the week, while those others, for the most part, cannot.

He's left us now. Yet another hero of mine returned to the murky twilight of the unknown. But his work will live on, inspiring and challenging generations far into the future. That may sound cliche, but after reading this book, you'll realize just how important making your mark can be.

But seriously, so it goes.

Check This Shit Out.

Things I Will Defend to the Grave, Volume 1: Bette Davis Eyes

2008-08-26T16:33:00.004-05:00

Love this song.

It is pure pop, but it is undeniable proof that pop does not have to be bad. Now, I'm not going to claim that the song is inescapably deep, nor that the lyrics are anywhere near profound, but I would say that they are clever. Also, the steady beat and memorable atmosphere the song creates propels it from the dregs of Casey Kasem's Top 40 and into another, more personal realm.

I have been listening to this song on a CD of mine recently, and it occurred to me that there is a slight sinister undercurrent in this track, and how it would be perfect for the opening of a film.

Picture this: The steady beat plays over black, then a close up on an old, beat-up boombox playing a cassette tape is shown. The camera pans across the room, uncovering blond hair curled against the floor as the lines "her hair of hollow gold" comes in. More panning, as "lips a sweet surprise" and "her hands are never cold" are heard, as we realize we are seeing the body of a dead woman. And when "she's got Bette Davis eyes" plays, we focus clearly on the woman's wide, lifeless eyes. As the song goes on, we see the killer, smoking a cigarette, staring down at the body from a chair, light slicing across his face from half-open Venetian blinds.

Cinematic Gold.

Now don't steal my idea, Hollywood Execs.

Water + Technology = OH, GOD, SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS!!!... Who knew?

2008-08-20T00:24:00.002-05:00

Computer may be dead.

Will return soon.

Things You Should Know About, Volume 5: The Spirit

2008-08-16T16:32:00.009-05:00

Here's the Deal:

Comic books are the new black. With nearly every major comic book character either adapted for the big screen, or well on their way to being, comic books for the first time in history are being seen as less than taboo. Graphic novels like V for Vendetta, Watchmen and 300, once known only to the legions of Parents' Basementites, are now being sought after by quote unquote normal folk. And while those works are indeed great in their own ways, there is a series that is a good 60 years old that can go toe to toe with just about anything modern.

I am, of course, talking about Will Eisner's The Spirit.

Will Eisner was a comic book artist and writer from the early days of the medium. He created the Spirit, a somewhat bluecollar guy-turned crimefighter, who wound up immersed in intrigue, corruption and adventure on a weekly basis. The comic consisted of seven illustrated pages, the content of which would vary from week to week. For Eisner refused to be pigeonholed into one genre. Though The Spirit could most easily be referred to as noir, certain strips focused upon comedy, others horror, while some even featured science fiction elements. The genre-bending was not the only aspect of Eisner's work that was ahead of its time, for his art, lively and nuanced, displayed a wealth of facial expressions and body positions--things that may seem mundane at first glance, but when compared to the rather crude artwork of many early comics, the man's care and dedication becomes evident.

The Spirit himself is interesting as well. As Denny Colt, a former police officer, the character is drenched in chemicals, apparently prolonging his life (it's never confirmed). He then dons a mask, like you do, and begins dispensing justice with his chosen moniker. What sets him apart from other heroes of the day, however, is that he never goes back to being Denny Colt. From then on, he is in full-swing hero mode. Also, the guy takes a lot of punishment. In nearly every strip the Spirit is roughed up in some way, never winning the day without acquiring a few bruises. Quite a bit different from the plethora of invulnerable capes and cowls out there.

Another fun fact: The concept of the evil mastermind in the shadows? You know, that archetype seen in everything from James Bond movies to Police Academy 6: City Under Siege (Deal with it)? Started here. One of the Spirit's nemeses was The Octopus, a crimelord who was never illustrated fully, being identified only by his purple gloves. These are called "roots," folks.

There is a movie on the way. It's by Frank Miller. And dare I say, it is going to suck. Miller's work on Sin City and The Dark Knight Returns is fine and dandy, game-changing even, but from everything I have seen released online, this film will not be Will Eisner's The Spirit, it will be Frank Miller's The Spirit. The tone and style are completely off. If Miller had wanted to do a version of The Spirit, I believe he should have stuck to his medium of choice and created a limited series... but taking an influential and beloved series and stamping it with your mark and not that of the creator's for its first major adaptation? Kinda screams of arrogance to me.

Maybe the movie will be passable, but either way, I recommend giving the comic a read prior to its release. Don't let this film be your introduction to the character. A Best Of is available in most comic shops and on Amazon, or, for the more adventurous, there are always torrents.

But seriously, where the hell is my Namor movie?

Check This Shit Out.

http://www.amazon.com/Best-Spirit-Will-Eisner/dp/1401207553/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1218928944&sr=8-1

Things You Should Know About, Volume 4: The Great Silence

2008-08-14T22:42:00.013-05:00

Here’s the Deal:

Spaghetti westerns kinda saved movies. If you look at the history of film, there is a dark era from the 30’s to the 60’s in which the Hays Code hovered over cinema like the blazing sun at High Noon. The Code made sure that sex, violence, profanity and drug use stayed firmly in check and out of the public’s eyes and minds, protecting them from that nagging little phenomenon known as reality. But after a few dead presidents and civil rights leaders, things took a bit of a turn. A bevy of new and challenging films started to appear in the mid-sixties onward, and spaghetti westerns, with their violence, sexuality, and moral ambiguity, were some of the most entertaining of the lot. Sergio Leone, director of the “Dollars” trilogy, was the master of the genre.

Sergio Corbucci got the shaft.

Corbucci was an Italian director, who, along with showing that the name “Sergio” must be like “John” over there, was a filmmaker of considerable talent constantly in the shadow of Leone. His career never reached the same heights as Leone’s did, but some of his work matches, if not exceeds, the work of his rival.

The Great Silence is a fine example.

The film is set in the snowcapped Utah mountains and features a mute gunslinger, a sadistic bounty hunter, a ton of bloodshed, and a really hot widow. To say too much is to ruin a lot of the film, but let me state that Klaus Kinski, the villain of the piece, is mesmerizing, and that the score by Ennio Morricone, while a bit more subdued than his well known works, is atmospheric and memorable. The winter setting adds a certain presence as well. Corbucci stated that he disliked the fact that all westerns looked the same, due to always featuring a dry and arid climate. Thus, he changed the setting for this film accordingly, much as he did for his film Django, another enjoyable and grisly western that finds its hero stuck in a rain-drenched and muddy locale.

There is some rawness to be found within the film, both positive and negative. Corbucci’s visuals can often lack the grandeur and exactness of Leone’s steady eye, but the sheer brutality of the events shown onscreen, some of which put anything seen in the “Dollars” trilogy to shame, more than makes up for the occasional lack of polish.

The Great Silence is Netflixable, and if you find yourself interested in seeing it, I suggest avoiding reading anything concerning the film beforehand, including any blurbs found upon packaging. The wrong comment can really hurt your enjoyment of the piece, as I myself knew much more going into it than I would have liked.

But seriously, since when are wolves afraid of wolves?

Check This Shit Out.

Things You Should Know About, Volume 3: Garfield Minus Garfield

2008-08-14T00:18:00.003-05:00

Here’s the Deal:

Garfield sucks. And has for some time. I know, I know, we all loved the strip as a kid along with the Saturday Morning Cartoon Garfield & Friends, but tastes mature, and people sell out. Namely, Jim Davis.

See, some time back, Davis did what no other cartoonist has done: He made his strip corporate. Guys like Gary Larson and Bill Watterson fought to maintain the integrity of their little squares of creativity, but Davis happily pawned his off, shoving an Odie in the back of every minivan and slapping a Garfield on the front of every lunchbox. After the success of Garfield in the 80’s, he created Paws, Inc., which handles the oodles upon oodles of Nermal memorabilia, and then, some time later, he took a step back and let others run his strip. He has a staff who makes Garfield now, and he pretty much just signs his name in one of the little panel corners. This might not be so bad if you didn't take into account that most famous cartoonists work completely independently on their strips well into their 80’s, even people as saccharinely disgusting and untalented as Bill Keane.

There Jim Davis. You just sunk below The Family Circus. Happy?

But most problematic is that the strip just isn’t funny. Yes, it could be, as I noted above, that we’re all older and Garfield just doesn’t do it for us anymore. But a major overhaul of the creative talent behind any project (See: Caddyshack 2, Halloween 3, and Critters 4) can certainly have a negative, if not disastrous effect on the outcome of an artistic endeavor.

Thus, Garfield has been treading water in a sea of stagnation. Dan Walsh threw it a life preserver.

Walsh is the creator of a semi-parody webcomic called Garfield Minus Garfield, the premise of which is that upon removing all traces of the character of Garfield from his namesake strip, the comic takes on a darker, more subversive tone. In Walsh’s comic, Jon Arbuckle is the main, and usually sole, character, and instead of having conversations with his pets (something odd to begin with, but this is a cartoon after all), he rants to himself, fluctuating between bizarre highs and crushing lows. The character, once a simple buffoon, is turned into a bipolar schizophrenic. The strip is wildly depressing, and quite surprisingly, hilarious.

Some prime examples:

The best thing to come out of all this is the fact that Davis, despite his years upon years of being on creative autopilot, is actually enamored with the strip, finding it “fascinating,” and apparently, at times superior to his own. His decision to not be a dick and try to fight parody laws is his best one since the introduction of Pooky. I feel I must give credit where credit is due: At least Jim Davis has a sense of humor, even if it is rarely used. His publisher even just announced that they are planning on releasing a collection of the strips, featured side by side with the original, unedited versions for comparison. The fact that creativity and funny won the day here is amazing to me, as usually these types of things end up in the “What Might Have Been…” category.

But seriously, now I want a strip where Beetle Bailey is a POW.

Check This Shit Out.

http://garfieldminusgarfield.net/

Things You Should Know About, Volume 2: The Blue Fugates

2008-08-13T03:36:00.002-05:00

Here's the Deal:

Things are a bit different in Kentucky. There's bluegrass, blue moons, and, wouldn't you know it, blue people. That's right, we're talking folks with complexions that would put Violet Beauregarde and Nightcrawler to shame. It's all because of something I can't spell without copy and pasting called Methemoglobinemia. What happens is that the blood of those affected receives an abundance of methemoglobin, changing its consistency, which in turn, alters skin tone. For folks of the Caucasian persuasion, this results in skin that according to the color wheel would be referred to as "blue."

The gene can be carried by males or females, and if recessive, there is little danger of any cerulean hue arriving on the cheeks of little Vera, Chuck, or Dave. If, however, two carriers or recessive folks get together on some starry night in the backwoods of Appalachia, drunk off of moonshine and love of their fellow man, and engage in what old-timey novels call "congress," then their inevitable offspring could come out quite tangled up in the aforementioned shade.

This is where incest enters the picture.

The Fugates were carriers of such genes throughout the 19th century, living in rural Kentucky, who had many a shotgun wedding where the bride and groom's guest seating contained significant overlap. Since they stayed within their own gene swamp, the disorder had little chance to become recessive, and thus, generation after generation had that healthy, struggling-to-breathe tint upon exiting the womb. The family was well known within the surrounding community, no doubt being the butt of jokes such as mine for the remainder of their days. It wasn't until Science and Medicine were discovered sometime in the early 20th century that the Fugates learned their color was caused by a biological mishap rather than tiny demons burrowed deep within their flesh.

As World War II arrived, the Fugates were forced to set their navy hides into action in an attempt to defeat the Yellow Peril, thus thrusting them out of their azure love nest and into peach and eggshell society. The inbreeding (mostly) stopped after that, though there were some cases that sprung up within the family as late as the 1980's.

But seriously, isn't The Blue Fugates like the coolest fucking band name ever?

Check This Shit Out.

Things You Should Know About, Volume 1: Israel Kamakawiwo'ole

2008-08-12T02:41:00.001-05:00

Here's the Deal:

This guy was the biggest thing Hawaii ever saw. Standing 6'2'' and weighing 758 lbs., he played music in the 80's and 90's, releasing several CDs, one of which, Facing Future, is the only Hawaiian album to go platinum. His musical weapons of choice were the ukulele and the human trachea. Nicknamed both "Iz" and "The Gentle Giant," the latter for fairly obvious reasons, he became a (Wishes it Was its Own Nation)al Treasure.

Talent.

You've probably heard his cover of "Over the Rainbow" mixed with "What a Wonderful World" which has cropped up in some movies and TV shows, one of which is the ending of You've Got Mail, I believe. But he also has some other great covers, originals, and traditional Hawaiian songs. Covers would include "Take Me Home, Country Roads," "You Don't Know Me," "Sea of Love," and the "Gilligan's Island theme," all delivered with a quirky, poppy sensibility mixed with a South Pacific flair. Others, more true to his ethnic roots, include "Maui Medley," "Uilili E," and "White Sandy Beach of Hawaii."

He died in '97 due to complications from his weight. It's sad. The guy had a soft, charming voice and some serious skills on the uke. Great stuff.

But seriously, picture the most morbidly obese person you can imagine holding a tiny, tiny guitar.

This being the first time for this feature, I'll cue you in on the drill: Check This Shit Out.

Post the First

2008-08-10T15:51:00.000-05:00

Welcome,

Herein you will find all my clever witticisms and observations about day to day life. Consider yourself lucky. I'll try to funny it up, but from time to time a sermon and/or lecture may fall your way. Thus, enjoy the ensuing infotainment.

And in light of my chosen title, I decided to offer up a little concoction of morbidity and levity for this initial post:

Funniest Last Words; Intentional and Unintentional

10. "That guy's got to stop... He'll see us."
- James Dean, coming upon another vehicle while driving his Porsche Spyder, moments before not being seen by said guy.

9. "Don't leave me."
"No."
- Mabel Bell, to husband Alexander Graham Bell, on his death bed, and his response. Way to go out on a dick move.

8. "I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis."
- Humphry Bogart. On screen or off, this guy was a badass.

7. "Thank God. I'm tired of being the funniest person in the room."
- Del Close, Improv Teacher; Comedy Guru. This may well be borderline serious.

6. "Codeine... bourbon..."
- Tallulah Bankhead. Classy to the end.

5. "More weight."
- Giles Corey, 71, being crushed to death by stones for two days during the Salem Witch Trials for refusing to enter a plea. Perhaps he was just pressed for time. ZING!

4. "Why, yes, a bulletproof vest."
- Domonic Willard, a gangster during prohibition upon being asked if he had any last requests before being executed by firing squad. Seems unfair to make the offer and not live up to it.

3. "Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies."
- Voltaire, upon being asked by a minister to renounce Satan. Gotta love the audacity.

2. "You certainly can't say that the people of Dallas haven't given you a nice welcome, Mr. President."
"No, you certainly can't."
- Nellie Connally, setting up the greatest punchline in history, and J.F.K.'s response.

1. "Uh oh."
- Michael J. Smith, astronaut onboard the Challenger.