"It's a funny thing about birthdays." he said without preamble.
I was on the red line to the airport on my way to a red-eye flight to a meeting that everyone thought was a waste of time when he made his way up the car and sat down next to me. The one thing I hate about mass transit is random weirdos who want to talk to me. So of course, he chose me.
But I was bored and he seemed harmless. "How so?" I asked, feigning interest.
"Well, it's funny how not everyone has one," he said, looking at me expectantly, as if to gauge my reaction.
I chuckled. Oh lord, the people you meet on the proletariat chariot. "Well that can't be true. They exist don't they? They have to have a birthday."
"Well, you would think," he said, "but things can get complicated when you're dealing with irrational math." He was still staring at me a little too intently.
"Oh, of course, math ruins everything," I said good-naturedly. There was no reason not to humor him and by god that was tweet-worthy. "It's just that I've never met anyone without a birthday before, so I haven't thought much about it." I grinned, "And I certainly haven't done the math."
"Ah, you jest," he said, grinning widely, "but you would be surprised. You strike me as someone who doesn't think of birthdays much anyway, would you say that is true?"
I paused. "I suppose?" I admit, I was a bit taken aback.
"Well," he said cautiously, watching me, "that's because you don't have one."
I sat there for a few seconds, processing that statement, and then laughed. "Oh don't I? Of course I do. You know, I think I might have misheard you earlier, did you say you were good at math or meth?"
"Meth?" He held up a finger, "One second, please," and fished a curiously shiny smartphone out of his pocket and typed rapidly with his thumbs. He squinted at the display and then looked at me, "Ha, no not meth." he squinted at the display again, "You can tell by how good my teeth are." He gave me a big, toothy grin to demonstrate.
"Ah, well that proves it!" I affirmed, glancing at the arrival time. We were 2 minutes away from the airport. Saints be praised.
He noticed my glance. "Look, I know you think I'm crazy. And I promise I'll leave you alone if you just answer this question: What did you do for your last birthday?"
Finally, a chance to exit this conversation gracefully. "Well, that's easy, I . . . " I trailed off. What had I done? Was it drinks with Steve and Emily? Or had my sister made me a cake? Wait, maybe I had gone to see my parents? I honestly didn't know. I never thought about birthdays much.
"You can't remember, right?" He cut off my objection, as if reading my mind, "And I can tell you, it's not just because you're not the kind of person who remembers birthdays. Can you even tell me when it is?"
I sat there thinking, and realized with some consternation that I could not. The MAX had pulled into the airport station, and I started rustling around getting myself ready to leave, avoiding his eyes, trying my damnedest to remember my birthday.
"You can't, can you?" he said, not unkindly. "Look, I know you have a few minutes before your flight leaves, and I know you think I'm strange, but can I buy you a drink at the bar to explain?"
"Well . . . " I hemmed, I was pretty sure I just wanted this conversation to end, strange gaps in memory notwithstanding.
"I get it: this is weird, and you're upset that you can't remember your birthday. But aren't you curious why you never think about your own birthday? Have you ever wondered why no one else ever asks when yours is? Have you ever really looked at the birth date on your driver's license?"
Ah, of course, this would settle it. We left the train car, and stopped on the side of the platform. I pulled out my wallet, flipped it open, pulling out my license with impatience. "You see? It's . . ." I trailed off again. It was blank. The part labeled "Birth Date" was just empty.
The strange man who was ruining my evening let it sink in and then quietly asked, "Do you want to know why?"
February 12, 2013
January 9, 2013
To Live and Blank in L.A.
Mr. Blank
by Justin Robinson
It's the end of the world. Again. Maybe. In any case, it's quite possibly the end for Mr. Blank, the nameless agent who moonlights as a henchman for every secret group in L.A.. Why? Because they put ads in the paper and he has to pay the bills. Which is problematic, when half of them are at war with the other over arcane artifacts, alien technology and ancient grudges. Somewhere around the time a manchurian candidate tries to smash his brains in with a curious home-made meteor hammer on a routine delivery, it seems the jig is up. From there, the chase is on as Mr. Blank follows the trail of the one conspiracy aimed at removing his head in a sea of routine and malevolent L.A. conspiracies already in progress. Have the servants of Shub-internet, V.E.N.U.S., the Masons, the Templars, the Clone Wolves, the russian mafia and, of course, the Little Green Men finally caught on to his game? Or are they patsies in some larger conspiracy that only he has the perspective to untangle? Mr. Blank uses all his henching, fast-talking, cryptid-taming and dame-rescuing skills to keep his bosses at cross purposes, off balance and disinclined to kill him while he desperately sorts fact from fiction in order to put it all together. Who is Mr. Blank? Which conspiracy wants him dead? The only thing we know for sure, is it isn't the vampires. Because, as everyone should already know, vampires are bullshit.
- - -
Mr. Blank was a whole lot of fun. The conspiracies were clever, both in name and description, and the action relentless. One of my favorite things about Justin Robinson's writing is his focus on keeping the plot moving, taking time only to snark when appropriate. And considering this is a story about a sardonic, skeptical henchman on the run from the fantastic, the snark is fast and facetious. And I loved the end, the who in the "who done it" which I won't spoil.
The dark, secret side of L.A. is considerably stranger, more dangerous and more incompetent than you might imagine. Buy this book today and find the secrets that only a conspiracy insider would know. But maybe use cash. You never know who's watching and the truth can be a dangerous thing.
by Justin Robinson
It's the end of the world. Again. Maybe. In any case, it's quite possibly the end for Mr. Blank, the nameless agent who moonlights as a henchman for every secret group in L.A.. Why? Because they put ads in the paper and he has to pay the bills. Which is problematic, when half of them are at war with the other over arcane artifacts, alien technology and ancient grudges. Somewhere around the time a manchurian candidate tries to smash his brains in with a curious home-made meteor hammer on a routine delivery, it seems the jig is up. From there, the chase is on as Mr. Blank follows the trail of the one conspiracy aimed at removing his head in a sea of routine and malevolent L.A. conspiracies already in progress. Have the servants of Shub-internet, V.E.N.U.S., the Masons, the Templars, the Clone Wolves, the russian mafia and, of course, the Little Green Men finally caught on to his game? Or are they patsies in some larger conspiracy that only he has the perspective to untangle? Mr. Blank uses all his henching, fast-talking, cryptid-taming and dame-rescuing skills to keep his bosses at cross purposes, off balance and disinclined to kill him while he desperately sorts fact from fiction in order to put it all together. Who is Mr. Blank? Which conspiracy wants him dead? The only thing we know for sure, is it isn't the vampires. Because, as everyone should already know, vampires are bullshit.
- - -
Mr. Blank was a whole lot of fun. The conspiracies were clever, both in name and description, and the action relentless. One of my favorite things about Justin Robinson's writing is his focus on keeping the plot moving, taking time only to snark when appropriate. And considering this is a story about a sardonic, skeptical henchman on the run from the fantastic, the snark is fast and facetious. And I loved the end, the who in the "who done it" which I won't spoil.
The dark, secret side of L.A. is considerably stranger, more dangerous and more incompetent than you might imagine. Buy this book today and find the secrets that only a conspiracy insider would know. But maybe use cash. You never know who's watching and the truth can be a dangerous thing.
December 29, 2012
Dancer in the Dark
Dollmaker
By Justin Robinson
I wasn't sure what to make of this book initially. All I had heard was it was about a guy who made some life-sized dolls he had a disturbing relationship with. Having read it, I can affirm it is definitely a disturbing story about some life-size dolls. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you that if you don't have a relatively strong stomach for disturbing concepts and gore, you probably won't make it past the first 10 pages. Although, if that's the case, I'm not sure why you would come waltzing into the horror aisle looking for some reading. Your tolerance for disturbing must be THIS high to go on this ride.
It's not all gore though, of course. The truly disturbing scenes (either in concept or graphic detail) really just exist to punctuate a truly great story about losing oneself to obsession, unrequited love, being different and the dangers of bringing golems to life with perverse Hebrew sex magic. I'm not sure how to describe my favorite parts of the book without completely spoiling the plot, but I will say I found the dolls enjoyably imaginative, creepy and alien. And I enjoyed the overall structure and character development of the story. It starts with an introduction to the protagonist, which will give you the unsettling feeling that it is not likely to work out well for him. And after the main characters and their flaws are introduced and set in motion you'll be mumbling, "well, that can't be good." as you keep flipping the pages forward, wondering which weak link will be the first to snap. The finale, when it arrives, is strange, oddly beautiful and terrifying. There's a peculiar kind of fascination in watching Stephen, the dollmaker, lose bits of himself to The Work out of an unquestioned compulsion to create, even as it spirals out of control all around him.
Justin, much like Stephen, has carved a body of words for you, splattered it with blood and gore and brought it to life. Do yourself a favor and dance with it for a while.
November 21, 2012
Total Recall of the Heart
I have a serious problem, in that I am compelled to watch every terrible translation of a Philip K. Dick story to the big screen. I am a huge fan of Dick, Philip K., I've read most of his work, and it's always exciting to watch a new director tear a quirky, paranoid story into bland strips of Action! with mass market appeal. To be fair, some of movies most true to the story have flopped terribly (*cough* Imposter *cough*), an others have turned out pretty decent despite broad liberties taken in translation. My favorite example of the latter for a long time was Total Recall. The movie starts roughly similar to the short story, and then flies away madly with Arnold Schwarzenegger bouncing a bloody path through typical 80s SF goons like a inflatable, musclebound clown, culminating an amazingly ridiculous scene where his eyes are bulging oh-so-believably out of his head (oh no, inflatable Arnold is going to pop!), before being saved by a gust of wind from a terraforming machine and a brief departure from the laws of physics. So, when I saw they were remaking Total Recall, and it was being helmed by Colin Farrell, I just kind of sighed, because of course I was going to watch it.
The setting is, unsurprisingly, completely different from either the first movie or the original story, although that's not a huge problem. In order to make writing the rest of the script easier, the world of the future has been demolished by some chemicals or something, rendering most of the planet uninhabitable (unless you're wearing army surplus gas masks), except for England and Australia, which have been given futuristic names clearly not worth remembering. England uses the Australians for cheap labor and resources, and transports goods and people between the two nations using a system called "the Fall", which is a train that runs through the center of the earth between the two nations. This is an idea that appeals to the nerd in me, but digging a hole down to the earth's core and then up the other side seems like an odd investment of resources in a post-apocalyptic hellscape.
The beginning of the story, again, is the only part that remains true to the original Dickian tale. A guy walks into a memory store (and asks, "do you know why I'm here?" Wakka, Wakka!), ahem, and asks for a fake memories of a vacation as a spy, which may or may not be what the viewer watches for the rest of the movie. This is not much of a spoiler, as the central conceit is not really important to how the movie plays out. It is more of a casual nod to the source material, after which the narrative again flies away madly with Colin Farrell parkouring a relatively bloodless path through the leftover robots from I-robot and some dollar-store stormtroopers like an expressionless, magically animated mannequin discovered shortly before shooting began, culminating in the same generic running, gunning, punching and jumping sequence that we've all seen several times over every summer for the last 15 years (give or take).
The core of the story is Farrell's Douglas Quaid running and gunning from his slim, pretty, brunette wife (Kate Beckinsdale) to his slim, pretty, brunette co-conspirator/lover (Jessica Biel), both of whom I have a hard time telling apart and spend the rest of the movie fighting over him in scenes that confused me greatly. The action sequences are okay. There are robots, and cool shark helicopters and hot wheels race tracks for grown ups that go upside down and a bomb throwing contest in a completely impractical elevator maze in the least space efficient hotel in the known universe and the oh-so-subtley foreshadowed zero-g shooting sequence in the Fall elevator as it passes through the earth's core. It's the same stuff you've been seeing for a while now, but at least the props are fun. Farrell does a passable job as handsome action actor, but fails to deliver any emotional resonance or even facial expressions that might give the audience a reason to care about the character. Bryan Cranston was okay as the villain, and I was pleased to see him here, but wish he'd been given more to work with.
Have you ever listened to an album so much, that it becomes hard to focus on the music/words at all, because you've heard it so much your brain wants to classify it as white noise and ignore it? That's what this movie felt like to watch, from shortly after the beginning, all the way up until Cranston's character pays for the sins of his TV counter-part in the same fiery explosion we've all seen hundreds of times before. It's the same explosions, same sequences, same CGI and same actors that you've seen jump, hump, fight and pose in a summer movie, remixed slightly for your amusement, excitement or, failing all those things, distraction and mild titillation. Which, surprisingly, isn't to say I hated it, there were some neat ideas in the props department and world imagining, but this one's really only for the die-hard SF, action and parkour enthusiasts. It's mostly just a generic mash-up of I-robot, Mass Effect and Tron. I give it a two sigh rating. In the end, I think I was just hoping for a lot more Dick, Philip K..
The setting is, unsurprisingly, completely different from either the first movie or the original story, although that's not a huge problem. In order to make writing the rest of the script easier, the world of the future has been demolished by some chemicals or something, rendering most of the planet uninhabitable (unless you're wearing army surplus gas masks), except for England and Australia, which have been given futuristic names clearly not worth remembering. England uses the Australians for cheap labor and resources, and transports goods and people between the two nations using a system called "the Fall", which is a train that runs through the center of the earth between the two nations. This is an idea that appeals to the nerd in me, but digging a hole down to the earth's core and then up the other side seems like an odd investment of resources in a post-apocalyptic hellscape.
The beginning of the story, again, is the only part that remains true to the original Dickian tale. A guy walks into a memory store (and asks, "do you know why I'm here?" Wakka, Wakka!), ahem, and asks for a fake memories of a vacation as a spy, which may or may not be what the viewer watches for the rest of the movie. This is not much of a spoiler, as the central conceit is not really important to how the movie plays out. It is more of a casual nod to the source material, after which the narrative again flies away madly with Colin Farrell parkouring a relatively bloodless path through the leftover robots from I-robot and some dollar-store stormtroopers like an expressionless, magically animated mannequin discovered shortly before shooting began, culminating in the same generic running, gunning, punching and jumping sequence that we've all seen several times over every summer for the last 15 years (give or take).
The core of the story is Farrell's Douglas Quaid running and gunning from his slim, pretty, brunette wife (Kate Beckinsdale) to his slim, pretty, brunette co-conspirator/lover (Jessica Biel), both of whom I have a hard time telling apart and spend the rest of the movie fighting over him in scenes that confused me greatly. The action sequences are okay. There are robots, and cool shark helicopters and hot wheels race tracks for grown ups that go upside down and a bomb throwing contest in a completely impractical elevator maze in the least space efficient hotel in the known universe and the oh-so-subtley foreshadowed zero-g shooting sequence in the Fall elevator as it passes through the earth's core. It's the same stuff you've been seeing for a while now, but at least the props are fun. Farrell does a passable job as handsome action actor, but fails to deliver any emotional resonance or even facial expressions that might give the audience a reason to care about the character. Bryan Cranston was okay as the villain, and I was pleased to see him here, but wish he'd been given more to work with.
Have you ever listened to an album so much, that it becomes hard to focus on the music/words at all, because you've heard it so much your brain wants to classify it as white noise and ignore it? That's what this movie felt like to watch, from shortly after the beginning, all the way up until Cranston's character pays for the sins of his TV counter-part in the same fiery explosion we've all seen hundreds of times before. It's the same explosions, same sequences, same CGI and same actors that you've seen jump, hump, fight and pose in a summer movie, remixed slightly for your amusement, excitement or, failing all those things, distraction and mild titillation. Which, surprisingly, isn't to say I hated it, there were some neat ideas in the props department and world imagining, but this one's really only for the die-hard SF, action and parkour enthusiasts. It's mostly just a generic mash-up of I-robot, Mass Effect and Tron. I give it a two sigh rating. In the end, I think I was just hoping for a lot more Dick, Philip K..
October 1, 2012
Programming note
You might notice the reviews fluctuate a bit in form and content. I am experimenting with styles, length and intent in some of them. I think I am more and more realizing that I'm not much interested in a "quick review so you know whether to buy the story" kind of site, because there are millions of those already littering the internet. I think I'm more interested in simply writing essays about the stories to pick apart the themes, form and plot and glean what I can from it and maybe give it an overall thumbs up or thumbs down. And, as always, to practice my writing. Although, having said that, I have an idea for a multi-part review/synopsis of one of the career of one of the most influential TV creators of my youth: Glen Larson, of Battlestar Galactica and Buck Rogers fame (among many others). So that might happen.
All of which is to say, still sorting some format issues out. Contents may continue to settle.
All of which is to say, still sorting some format issues out. Contents may continue to settle.
September 29, 2012
Upon a Dark Horse
*as always, the spoilers galore*
I'm not going to lie, Dark Horse kind of wrecked me for a while. Not so much in the sense that I was left crumpled on the floor weeping, but I was unsettled for about a week after. If you've ever seen a Solondz movie, you might understand why. He has a knack for crafting dark, depressing comedies, all set in the same bleak, sitcom-esque suburbia, that tends to leave the viewer chuckling uncomfortably and shifting in their chairs at the antics therein. I had only seen Happiness before this, and Dark Horse, while nowhere near as uncomfortable as Happiness, is still an awkward, if compelling watch.
The story centers around Abe, a perpetual man-child who lives with his parents, in his childhood bedroom cocooned with Lord of the Rings action figures, Absolute Vodka posters and Doctor Who merchandise. He drives a ridiculous yellow hummer to his dad's office, where he pretends to work at a job his dad gave him, in a career he seems to have just about zero interest in. He's over-weight, under-socialized and going nowhere. In short, he is failing to thrive. Not that you could tell it from the way he carries himself. Abe acts as if he is both the most interesting and inspiring person in the room at all times, while simultaneously blaming the people around him, especially his father and his brother, for all the things wrong in his life.
And this is where I started to resonate uncomfortably with the movie. The most interesting part about Abe in this movie, is he KNOWS all this. It's just rather than confront the problem, he drowns himself in nostalgia, optimistic teenage pop aimed at young girls, and gets very upset at even the merest hint of a question about what he's doing with his life. Sadly, I am familiar with this state. The most interesting and resonant moments for me personally were the scenes where it has become clear in some fashion that he hasn't been on top of some perfectly normal, easy and necessary thing and his immediate reaction is to get huffy about it, blame everyone else, and then stomp out of the room, tears in the corner of his eyes. I have been that guy, and good god is it uncomfortable to see that portrayed so accurately on a giant screen in front of you. Fellow man children (recovering and otherwise) beware, this movie may speak to you a little more directly than you would want.
His relationship with Miranda, while extremely awkward and painful to watch in just about every way, is also by far the funniest part of the movie. His obliviousness to her emphatic and repeated signals of disinterest is entertaining, if creepy. Honestly, he's basically a stalker, but you'd never be able to explain that to him in a million years. But it quickly becomes clear that Miranda is just as much a mess as Abe is, which is the only way it's possible to understand her acceptance of his proposal a week later. But compared to Abe's "oblivious and rolling quickly downhill" kind of mess, we get the sense that Miranda might turn out okay once she stops taking so many meds and starts respecting herself a little more. She also has a lot of the best lines in the movie. Her reaction to their first kiss. "Oh, that wasn't as bad as I expected it to be." kind of sums up everything about her feelings for Abe. She's settling for a guy she's known for 2 weeks, lives with his parents, pays very little attention to her, and somehow manages to make it sound like this is a sensible and beautiful decision for her life. Amusingly, that's what it turns out to be for her.
What really interesting about this set-up, is that it takes one simple thing to ruin everything, and it takes about 2 minutes: Abe gets called on his shit. His father, gently but firmly calls Abe into his office and basically fires him, but with a purpose. He points out, quite rightly, that Abe has never wanted this job, Abe doesn't like the business, Abe is drifting along, self-soothing his lack of achievement with his childhood, his consumerism and Katy Perry, and his dad just wants to help push him out into the world and help him find a career he might truly find rewarding. What he doesn't realize is Abe's world is held aloft by a thin, but oft-reinforced illusion: that Abe is doing great at his job, is an awesome person that girls want to be with, and has a brighter future just around the corner. And when his dad, in attempted kindness, attempts to point out that Abe is in fact suffering, the whole thing falls apart. And again, I can relate. It's extremely difficult to look back at the last ten years of your life and realize you haven't made a lot of life decisions that you're proud of. The enormity of that wasted potential is too big to look directly into, and Abe basically flees in blind terror. And then things get worse.
Not that it isn't fascinating to watch, train wrecks are hard to look away from, but it's more or less a series of vicious punches to the stomach from there. He basically retreats almost entirely to a fantasy world where his dad's secretary (Marie) is a worldly, sensual Elizabeth Taylor type, helping him become a man, and where he argues with phantom versions of his family. Which would be sad enough to watch, until you realize it's all a coma dream. Abe got in a terrible accident the moment he stormed out of his dad's office. And between that and complications from the hepatitis he picked up from Miranda, he is slowly dying. It's a little hard to tell what's real and what's fever dream in the last few minutes. Does he kiss Marie at the end? Does his skin really turn yellow? It doesn't matter, because he doesn't make it. His fiancee' ends up with his brother (happily by all appearance), and it ends on another fantasy scene of Abe and Marie Dancing to some gentle swing music, which turns out to be the kind of thing Marie has been dreaming about all these years. Ouch.
Those of you who don't identify quite as strongly with Abe, will probably not find this as much of a downer. It's dark, it's funny and in a lot of ways, doesn't take itself too seriously. Solondz's world is cartoony and unrealistic in a way that lets the viewer examine really uncomfortable characters without getting dragged down too much by them. Still, if you're in your mid-thirties, have a bedroom full of action figures and Doctor Who posters, have been stumbling along for years at a job you never really wanted, trapped by your insecurities and increasingly aware that all the little lies you've been telling yourself to prop up your self-esteem are starting to wear thin, this movie may wreck you a little bit.
Which isn't to say Dark Horse is intended to be a morality tale, that's just how it looked through the lens of my own damage. Regardless, whether you're looking for a lesson on how NOT to be a geek-culture enthusiast, or simply like to watch uncomfortably damaged people make a slow-motion mess of their lives, Dark Horse is worth a watch.
I'm not going to lie, Dark Horse kind of wrecked me for a while. Not so much in the sense that I was left crumpled on the floor weeping, but I was unsettled for about a week after. If you've ever seen a Solondz movie, you might understand why. He has a knack for crafting dark, depressing comedies, all set in the same bleak, sitcom-esque suburbia, that tends to leave the viewer chuckling uncomfortably and shifting in their chairs at the antics therein. I had only seen Happiness before this, and Dark Horse, while nowhere near as uncomfortable as Happiness, is still an awkward, if compelling watch.
The story centers around Abe, a perpetual man-child who lives with his parents, in his childhood bedroom cocooned with Lord of the Rings action figures, Absolute Vodka posters and Doctor Who merchandise. He drives a ridiculous yellow hummer to his dad's office, where he pretends to work at a job his dad gave him, in a career he seems to have just about zero interest in. He's over-weight, under-socialized and going nowhere. In short, he is failing to thrive. Not that you could tell it from the way he carries himself. Abe acts as if he is both the most interesting and inspiring person in the room at all times, while simultaneously blaming the people around him, especially his father and his brother, for all the things wrong in his life.
And this is where I started to resonate uncomfortably with the movie. The most interesting part about Abe in this movie, is he KNOWS all this. It's just rather than confront the problem, he drowns himself in nostalgia, optimistic teenage pop aimed at young girls, and gets very upset at even the merest hint of a question about what he's doing with his life. Sadly, I am familiar with this state. The most interesting and resonant moments for me personally were the scenes where it has become clear in some fashion that he hasn't been on top of some perfectly normal, easy and necessary thing and his immediate reaction is to get huffy about it, blame everyone else, and then stomp out of the room, tears in the corner of his eyes. I have been that guy, and good god is it uncomfortable to see that portrayed so accurately on a giant screen in front of you. Fellow man children (recovering and otherwise) beware, this movie may speak to you a little more directly than you would want.
His relationship with Miranda, while extremely awkward and painful to watch in just about every way, is also by far the funniest part of the movie. His obliviousness to her emphatic and repeated signals of disinterest is entertaining, if creepy. Honestly, he's basically a stalker, but you'd never be able to explain that to him in a million years. But it quickly becomes clear that Miranda is just as much a mess as Abe is, which is the only way it's possible to understand her acceptance of his proposal a week later. But compared to Abe's "oblivious and rolling quickly downhill" kind of mess, we get the sense that Miranda might turn out okay once she stops taking so many meds and starts respecting herself a little more. She also has a lot of the best lines in the movie. Her reaction to their first kiss. "Oh, that wasn't as bad as I expected it to be." kind of sums up everything about her feelings for Abe. She's settling for a guy she's known for 2 weeks, lives with his parents, pays very little attention to her, and somehow manages to make it sound like this is a sensible and beautiful decision for her life. Amusingly, that's what it turns out to be for her.
What really interesting about this set-up, is that it takes one simple thing to ruin everything, and it takes about 2 minutes: Abe gets called on his shit. His father, gently but firmly calls Abe into his office and basically fires him, but with a purpose. He points out, quite rightly, that Abe has never wanted this job, Abe doesn't like the business, Abe is drifting along, self-soothing his lack of achievement with his childhood, his consumerism and Katy Perry, and his dad just wants to help push him out into the world and help him find a career he might truly find rewarding. What he doesn't realize is Abe's world is held aloft by a thin, but oft-reinforced illusion: that Abe is doing great at his job, is an awesome person that girls want to be with, and has a brighter future just around the corner. And when his dad, in attempted kindness, attempts to point out that Abe is in fact suffering, the whole thing falls apart. And again, I can relate. It's extremely difficult to look back at the last ten years of your life and realize you haven't made a lot of life decisions that you're proud of. The enormity of that wasted potential is too big to look directly into, and Abe basically flees in blind terror. And then things get worse.
Not that it isn't fascinating to watch, train wrecks are hard to look away from, but it's more or less a series of vicious punches to the stomach from there. He basically retreats almost entirely to a fantasy world where his dad's secretary (Marie) is a worldly, sensual Elizabeth Taylor type, helping him become a man, and where he argues with phantom versions of his family. Which would be sad enough to watch, until you realize it's all a coma dream. Abe got in a terrible accident the moment he stormed out of his dad's office. And between that and complications from the hepatitis he picked up from Miranda, he is slowly dying. It's a little hard to tell what's real and what's fever dream in the last few minutes. Does he kiss Marie at the end? Does his skin really turn yellow? It doesn't matter, because he doesn't make it. His fiancee' ends up with his brother (happily by all appearance), and it ends on another fantasy scene of Abe and Marie Dancing to some gentle swing music, which turns out to be the kind of thing Marie has been dreaming about all these years. Ouch.
Those of you who don't identify quite as strongly with Abe, will probably not find this as much of a downer. It's dark, it's funny and in a lot of ways, doesn't take itself too seriously. Solondz's world is cartoony and unrealistic in a way that lets the viewer examine really uncomfortable characters without getting dragged down too much by them. Still, if you're in your mid-thirties, have a bedroom full of action figures and Doctor Who posters, have been stumbling along for years at a job you never really wanted, trapped by your insecurities and increasingly aware that all the little lies you've been telling yourself to prop up your self-esteem are starting to wear thin, this movie may wreck you a little bit.
Which isn't to say Dark Horse is intended to be a morality tale, that's just how it looked through the lens of my own damage. Regardless, whether you're looking for a lesson on how NOT to be a geek-culture enthusiast, or simply like to watch uncomfortably damaged people make a slow-motion mess of their lives, Dark Horse is worth a watch.
September 3, 2012
Undead on Arrival Delivers the Gory Goods
I posted this on my Goodreads account on August 15. My friend Justin Robinson wrote this book and honestly it's amazing. Cross-posting here.
********
I picked up this book last night, started in on the second chapter, and didn't stop turning pages until I was finished, if that tells you anything about how much I liked this book. It's a classic noir murder mystery set in the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse, chronicling the tale of Glen Novak attempting to solve his own murder before being devoured by the zombie plague he has been purposely infected with.
I'm not normally into noir or murder mysteries (I enjoy them, but I've never focused on them particularly), but this one was great. The writing wastes zero time. It is, in the truest of sense of the phrase, all killer no filler. The setting is a small coastal town in California that's managed to work out a semi-stable sense of order within it's walls, although one that turns out to be completely illusory. The tensions in the town are well balanced between the ever-present worry of an undead swarm and the political tension between the town's power players: the wealthy elitists on the hill, the religious tribe in the town, and Novak's smaller contingent of free-thinking, free-loving, free-maiming pragmatists. And the basic tension that kept me turning the pages, was wondering what was going to destroy Novak first: his bite, the undead, the bloody political machinations of the town, or the way he kept making bruised, enraged enemies with his fists.
If you're not into bloody depictions of gore and horror, then this may not be the book for you. Novak isn't really the kind of guy who fucks around, and once his death warrant is signed, less so. But, if that kind of thing is up your alley, Jesus does this book deliver. The zombie (or "geeks") mythology is well-designed, the action sequences are frequent and fun, and Glen's desire for bloody revenge eventually snowballs into a blood-soaked, body-stacked finale that left me wanting to smoke a cigarette. Or to take up smoking 5 years previously so I could close the book, light up, take a long drag and slowly exhale while saying, "Oh yeah, that hit the spot."
If you like zombies, if you like murder mysteries, if you light tight, well-crafted stories that don't waste your time, pick this book up immediately.
********
I picked up this book last night, started in on the second chapter, and didn't stop turning pages until I was finished, if that tells you anything about how much I liked this book. It's a classic noir murder mystery set in the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse, chronicling the tale of Glen Novak attempting to solve his own murder before being devoured by the zombie plague he has been purposely infected with.
I'm not normally into noir or murder mysteries (I enjoy them, but I've never focused on them particularly), but this one was great. The writing wastes zero time. It is, in the truest of sense of the phrase, all killer no filler. The setting is a small coastal town in California that's managed to work out a semi-stable sense of order within it's walls, although one that turns out to be completely illusory. The tensions in the town are well balanced between the ever-present worry of an undead swarm and the political tension between the town's power players: the wealthy elitists on the hill, the religious tribe in the town, and Novak's smaller contingent of free-thinking, free-loving, free-maiming pragmatists. And the basic tension that kept me turning the pages, was wondering what was going to destroy Novak first: his bite, the undead, the bloody political machinations of the town, or the way he kept making bruised, enraged enemies with his fists.
If you're not into bloody depictions of gore and horror, then this may not be the book for you. Novak isn't really the kind of guy who fucks around, and once his death warrant is signed, less so. But, if that kind of thing is up your alley, Jesus does this book deliver. The zombie (or "geeks") mythology is well-designed, the action sequences are frequent and fun, and Glen's desire for bloody revenge eventually snowballs into a blood-soaked, body-stacked finale that left me wanting to smoke a cigarette. Or to take up smoking 5 years previously so I could close the book, light up, take a long drag and slowly exhale while saying, "Oh yeah, that hit the spot."
If you like zombies, if you like murder mysteries, if you light tight, well-crafted stories that don't waste your time, pick this book up immediately.
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