An Honest Feeling of Disappointment

Galactic Cowboys - Arrow

Better Used on My Dog

Galactic Cowboys - You Make Me Smile

God Bless Bobcat Goldthwait

The first time for me seeing Bobcat Goldthwait perform under any spotlight was in the Police Academy movies. His role was initially small although it got larger in one of the sequels. Me being only a child with no idea of good taste at the time, unless taste revolved around pizza, I was clueless that Bobcat Goldthwait was a touring comedian and a writer. When I saw the movie One Crazy Summer, a movie I love to this day, he offered more of the same slovenly, drooling, mentally unhinged character that most audiences were accustomed to, but wherever I saw him appear, be it in movies or on television, Bobcat was always entertaining. This was back in the 80’s when everyone wondered if he really spoke like a drunken seal. In actuality he is a very intelligent, eloquent human being and, in my unheard, oblivious opinion, has become a great filmmaker and keeps getting better with his growing stable of independent films.

In the late eighties, Bobcat maintained a steady amount of touring while tackling obscure film and television projects now and again while he refined his skills not only in front of the camera but with everything behind it as well, including the big three tricks - writing, producing, and directing. His first motion picture endeavor as a cinematic Jack of all trades was Shakes the Clown (1991); a dark comedy (Bobcat’s specialty) about an alcoholic party clown framed for murder. It gained critical success but fell off the radar almost immediately at the box office. Afterwards, Bobcat remained out of the spotlight while taking TV directing gigs and became the head director for Jimmy Kimmel Live back in 2004, which he still does today.

Bobcat was one of the first entertainment personalities to satirize reality television with his TV movie Windy City Heat (2003) where an out of luck actor obsessed with superstardom has no idea that his first big break is a complete hoax, from pre-production all the way to the fake movie premier. Sleeping Dogs Lie (2006) is where I feel that his off-camera talents truly begin to shine. In this film, a loving couple takes a trip to the girl’s parent’s house for the weekend where she divulges an embarrassing secret to her future hopeful husband. All the happiness and sunshine spirals downward. It becomes a joy to watch their loving unity collapse and nearly drown both of them as well. This isn’t the easiest movie to find humorous, much like all of his movies, but if you’re familiar with Bobcat’s brand of dark humor, you can definitely find the funny. World’s Greatest Dad (2009) starred Robin Williams as a luckless man who uses his son’s accidental death, which he fakes as a suicide, to catapult himself into fortune and fame. This one had me glued to the screen and quickly became my favorite movie by Mr. Goldthwait because of the absurd desperation of the father. It was my favorite until.....

God Bless America (2011). God Bless Bobcat, I say. I loved this movie from start to finish. Bobcat reunites with Joel Murray whom he shared screen time with in One Crazy Summer. Yes, Joel happens to be Bill Murray’s younger brother, you can hear their heritage in Joel’s dialect, but in this film Joel delivers a wonderful, emotionally charged performance. Joel is usually relegated to side characters and bit parts but being the main star, he delivered greatly.

In the movie Joe plays Frank, a down and out generally good guy whose life is crumbling right before his eyes. He’s recently divorced, his only child thinks he is too boring to spend time with, and he loses his job. Oh, and he’s received news that he has an inoperable tumor in his head. This sets Frank to deal with his true irritation - America’s growing fascination and approval of rude chauvinists gaining notoriety through reality television and through political annihilation. Against his better judgment, Frank accepts the aid of thirteen-year-old psychopath Roxy played by Tara Lynn Barr who herself delivers an effective performance, particularly considering her lengthy monologues which are not short on energetic passion. Together, the two set out across America on a killing spree targeting the rude idiots on American television and there are people in the real world that would love to either do such a thing or see something like it happen, but thankfully it’s relegated to a movie. But give it time, some unfortunate malcontent still might take up the challenge.

With his latest effort Willow Creek having recently premiered at various film festivals across the country, I’m anxious to watch it because I want to see how much further Bobcat Goldthwait has progressed and I want to know what misfortune his characters are experiencing. I want to know what bizarre, ill-fated situation they are going to find themselves in. His movies do not have what people would call happy endings. They have real endings. They have believable endings because we are not dealing with completely mentally stable characters. We’re dealing with people that came from the mind of Bobcat Goldthwait. I don’t think that is a mind anyone could handle being inside of for longer than ninety minutes, but what he does choose to share with us and what he chooses to create, I can’t wait for another rollercoaster ride.

Tonight

 
It’s a great summer’s night. A full sweet breeze is sweeping through, downplaying the humidity, but don’t worry, you can still feel the humidity to the back of your throat as insects leer at you with bad intentions.

Message Deleted

 It took me several hours before noticing there was a note left on the front door. Ladies - wrong place to leave any message if you intend a man to find it. The two places you leave messages are either – 1) On the refrigerator or 2) On a sticky note plastered to the man’s forehead reinforced by rounds of tape. Men only comprehend the significance of any situation through food or pain. If there is a meeting in the morning and food is being provided, that is a meeting requiring you to be there fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. If there isn’t going to be catering, it won’t hurt to be a minute or two late because of the long line at the taco truck.

There could be a wallpaper-sized note stuck to the bathroom mirror, a man will not notice. Our brains convert to autopilot, focusing on only basic motor skills. We take newspapers in saying we’re going to read them; truth is we take them in just in case we miss the toilet completely. Sometimes we don’t even bother turning the light on when we go in there, we just unleash until we hear splashes.

 

Keep Walking

I’m alien to this custom of encountering an acquaintance and then learning about their day. And then going on to learn about their yesterday, and then learning about their future. I refuse your sonic temporal manipulation through benign information.  I’m more accustomed to a head nod or a fashionable contacting hand gesture of some sort – a handshake, a fist bump – and we keep walking, preferable in different directions. You are an acquaintance. We are not supposed to indulge in extensive communication of any sort. We are acquaintances. We shouldn’t have to even know one another’s names. We met, we understand we might pass one another in the building, and that’s where it ends. It’s like being force fed other people’s conversations when someone’s having a conversation on their cellphone, or whatever passes as a general conversation these days. A typical random cellphone call is a series of grunts, snorts; some folks even lick their screens or chew on their protective casing because it reminds them of a favorite pastry, followed by a status update or exchange of embarrassing photos. Dear god, people talk on those things while using the crapper. Your cellphone travels through your body faster than your own blood, yet what comes out the front end is the same that comes out the back.

Occasionally, however, these acquaintances provide a good story. A good story goes a long way. It can lift spirits. A good story could lead to a closer bond, but listening means they’ll come back with twenty more dull ones. But you know there’s a good one on the way eventually.

Plus, I might need these acquaintances to buy my stuff.

 

I still hate cellphones.

Connecting with Gray

Stepped out to wash the car, get some heat, and afterwards noticed shade and darkness in sky and on land around 7 miles northwest. I was on my way.

We live in pure heat and humidity nearly year round, occasionally all year indeed; this was the darkest atmosphere gifted by the weather in no last memory of mine.

The sky and air shifted dramatically before my eyes. It happened so quickly, while I was a witness I still feel like I missed everything.

Gray. Earth was ash. Beautiful. Colors finally resonated peacefully instead of fighting for extra space on the color wheel.

Now being one with Gray, the road home was an eventful one. Gray came with me. Gray is here. The air is cooler, the roads are quieter; appetites reemerge, from God to Gaea, to the homeless scarecrow guarding the underpass. Lightning struck in my rearview mirror and rumbling raced away. It was an exquisite connection.

To: Lenny

That day arrived again – the one day out of the year when mysterious gifts, kind looks, and favorable acts gravitated towards Lenny. The one day when people remembered he was a fragmented human being and not the homeless bum of O’Neil Park.

Sometimes he received clothes, sometimes he received food; people hesitated giving him money. They thought he was going to buy drugs or alcohol with it despite him being twenty years sober largely thanks to his military service. Once he was discharged from the service his world collapsed bit by bit. He couldn’t readjust to society’s expectations of normalcy. The simplest decisions, like what type of detergent to buy or when to take the dog out for a walk tested his resolve. Eventually, his wife had her fill and left, taking the dog with her. Lenny was thankful they never had children. He couldn’t screw up their lives any more than he had destroyed his own. When the military built Lenny into a soldier, he didn’t know how to be anything else. He couldn’t turn it off. He never did.

Within a year, Lenny was living in the streets. The military wouldn’t help him. His mental instability had alienated his remaining friends and family members since he refused to seek any assistance. People didn’t think Lenny was the same person anymore but Lenny believed he was the man he was destined to become. He was a soldier and would be to the day he died. This was the day that people were thankful for Lenny being that soldier.

Stupid Circus Rat

I don’t know what I was looking at; the husk that was my good friend Jack was borrowing my couch for a psychedelic escapade. Meanwhile, all intentions for thirty minutes were devoted to teaching a squirrel to do a backflip. There was no validation in living in the suburban area, being responsible, or biding by my morals; but if I could teach this furry bastard to accomplish the unexpected, I’d become immortal.

Training is eliminating options. The knowledge implied minus the knowledge impaired. Remove choices; fuck the corpse of alternatives until this diseased mammal puke has no choice but to throw it’s legs over it’s head.  I could use shock treatment, or motivational pin pricking; fur plucking might – OH! It just did a backflip. Damn rat must’ve been reading my mind.

No Sense

Again we show not what mankind has become, society has become. Again we show what mankind in society has always been. We have nefarious breeds and heroic breeds. Dumb breeds that need the brave breeds for survival. The newest breeds are greedy and lazy or greedy and determined, and dumb. They've stopped lying to us. Now, they lie right in front of us betting humanity's majority are overworked, overly medicated, or overly dependent on the government as they indulge in their sedentary bliss.

Interesting that there have been two consecutive bombings the same week the newest Man of Steel trailer premiered, which also coincided with Superman's 75th birthday. Hollywood's soil-scented desperation has sunk to an ultimate low. However, that flick is going to make a galaxy's amount of money.        

It is what we are. It is what we've always been. Mankind has always killed, raped, plundered; mankind has also saved, created, triumphed, but today we let the machines do those things for us. It's not about what the world is coming to, it's about what people have always been only back then the population wasn't retarding the very planet we live on, and there was no social media. You learned about it either in print or the spoken word long after it happened and long after the significance of the matter had warn off or erupted some desperate, sensitive help monger.

For Chi

A peaceful warrior, a gifted musician, an expressive writer, a charming poet, a wonderful human being.

Your battle is over. You fought bravely. You offered pieces of your heart and soul to the world with all of your art and creations. Rest now and forever for as you showed love, love will always find you even in the afterlife.

R.I.P. Chi Cheng.

Bubblegum Death Song

 I know that I'm going to die listening to crappy music.

A vision randomly flashes in my head from time to time. I think it's my death; sometimes hope.

The song Hello is pounding off the walls as an EMT defibrillates the shit outta me. In the vision sometimes the EMT is jamming with his headphones on, hopefully listening to something better than my future pop-requiem.

Yeah, I Saw It - Hypothermia (2010)

During an annual ice fishing getaway, a family is joined by a father and son who prefer bringing society's luxuries with them. They soon know their quarrel needs to cease because something beneath the ice has begun stalking them in the lake and on the land.

For the most part, Hypothermia kept my interest and offered some chills (HA! Pun). It has a short running time which helps it in every way. This is not the type of film you drag out for ninety minutes. That kind of mentality has hurt too many thrillers and horror movies. Writer/Director James Felix McKenney got it right.

There violence is satisfying and hurts equally because you might let some of these characters grow on you. It's a character driven movie that finally allows Michael Rooker to play a decent human being. He's usually playing scumbags and psychotics, which is also welcomed. Blanche Baker just about steals the show as Helen, wife to Michael Rooker's Ray. When it's time for her character to lead, she grabs the reigns and will be damned if she's giving them back.

It was relieving to see an actor in a  well made creature outfit. Most of the computer simulations were reserved for underwater movements. There was one land scene that made me jump.

And because I said that, I will now say this - I went into Hypothermia without having seen any trailers or read anything other than the synopsis on my TV screen. I have seen the trailer since then and I can't say I would've enjoyed the movie as much if I had seen previews prior to watching the movie.

Yeah, I Watched It - Stitches (2012)

Stitches is an undead party clown out for revenge on those responsible for his death. Go watch this movie. You're welcome.

 Director Connor McMahon and co-writer David O'Connor craft an entertaining splatter-fest. They kept everything simple, mixing the CGI gore well with the live-action type. Ross Noble is a thrill to watch as Stitches as the film establishes a fresh mythology with either great potential or a single, thankful punch to the cinematic face.

Stitches works because it's simple and you have people doing their jobs well.

Bad Movie Night

The Frankenstein Theory (2013) is blowing icy boredom-chunks all over my screen. It's from the creators and makers of The Last Exorcism which already left me sour, but my love of the Frankenstein era led me to watching it. I'm glad, now I know it is awful.

A geek believes that Mary Shelly's Frankenstein is a true story disguised as fiction and this his ancestor was the creator of the monster. They drag you around ice and snow with mindless bantering and once again no worthy payoff or exciting violence to keep you interested.

For a great experience in Frankenstein lore, read the graphic novel from Avatar Press Warren Ellis' Frankenstein's Womb written by the madman Warren Ellis with immaculate artwork by Marek Oleksicki.

It's NOT a REMAKE!

I have no qualms over the making of this latest Evil Dead. Even if I did, who gives 2 licks off a camel's taint? I'm no moviemaker, no millionaire; they're the ones making this thing. Thankfully, the franchise still rests in the hands of its fathers - Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell - this is their magnum opus; the highlight of their respective legacies. Or perhaps Sam Raimi has a profound fascination with For the Love of the Game and cuts himself every time Kevin Costner's character strikes out a batter; I don't know, he's a kooky fellow.

My only objection is that it has been marketed for almost two years as a remake when it is absolutely not a remake. As more has been revealed about this project it is a continuation of the original story, but to bring in further interest from the non-horror cinema lovers, slap the remake tag on it and supposedly more money is supposed to flow its direction.

Place a subtitle on it, I'm cool; call it Evil Dead 3, fine, but call it what it is.

Eventually, I will see it; no doubt I will most likely enjoy it. Plus, listening and reading about what the future has in store for this franchise, I'm excited for the future, but I'm not rushing to see this one just yet. I'll let all The Walking Dead wannabes fill the seats and indulge in the gore porn. I've got the killer clown flick Stitches to keep my bloodlust satisfied for now.

Mp3 Memories

As a training tool, my mp3 was at times crucial to my concentration. I've never cared about hearing anything, simply finding something to ignore. When I squatted five-hundred pounds for the first time, I'm not sure what monstrous sonata was blaring from the ear buds, but the digital sound-wall blocked out the natural noise around me; the voices of people having conversations that I don't want to hear, the hokey music emanating from the gym's surround-speakers, with my body and mind in unison, ready to redo the undone.

There have been occasions when the headphones were more a distraction than an adherent. On those occasions, I removed them. What else? Stupid.

Mp3 D.O.A.

Today, one of my favorite, essential life tools has revealed its inevitable mortality. My favorite mp3 player is dying. Thousands of workout sessions, thousands of artistic escapades, and thousands of hours of studying logged in with that tiny tool.

It was there when we were awakened by the baby seal as Craig David’s 7 Days crooned through the headphones. Damn if I didn’t feel like kissing it back, except previously we hadn’t been travelling with any animals, and its shit-fish breath immediately killed my morning wood. Also, I was clueless at the time that we were leaving Wisconsin possibly having stolen a baby seal.

Beautiful Destruction

Gellar awoke to find five dead women in his bedroom. Their faces pulverized, nearly caved in while their bodies draped over furniture, mangled, twisted; completely destroyed.

Compounding Gellar’s horror were his bruised fists with swollen knuckles and broken teeth piercing his flesh. He broke their bodies with his bare hands and turned their faces inside out with hammering fists.

Frightened, with no recollection of the massacre, Gellar thoughtlessly ushered himself through his living room, noticing all of the paintings burned or shredded. Stunning artwork brutalized as savagely as the dead women in his bedroom.

Gellar rushed to the patio of his fourth floor apartment as dozens of questions swirled inside his mind simultaneously causing him nausea.

The cool air of the new morning slightly soothed his frayed nerves. He focused on the half-risen sun and the cavalcade of colors that painted the horizon. It was beautiful. Suddenly, Gellar snapped. He grabbed one of the lawn chairs dressing the patio and flung it towards the sun, hearing the thud as it hit an unsuspecting stranger’s car roof. Gellar felt compelled to destroy the horizon. Gellar wanted to destroy everything that was beautiful.

Not Bad for a Human - Book Review

Being a fan of Lance Henriksen for most of my life, I was excited to learn about his biography Not Bad for a Human. I’ve never been one to submerge myself into a public figure’s personal life. I don’t care what clothes they wear or what food they like, but once in a while one of them actually has an interesting story to tell and just by looking and listening to Lance Henriksen you can easily infer, this guy has had some intense experiences. Lance Henriksen’s story is a grand odyssey and I thank him for having the graceful courage to share it with us.

His childhood would be considered a nightmare by most people, and as much as it was indeed for him, the way he shapes the story, you still sense the compassion he had for the one person that probably hurt him the most consciously and subconsciously.  His love for pottery is contagious as are his moral standards which he upholds before accepting any role.

What struck a chord with me mostly was that his greatest success occurred later in life. In his early days, Lance Henriksen was a rudderless ship without a compass so he had to learn life’s rules the hard way. He had to make all of the mistakes before finding the path to success, but he never turned his back on his principles. Some movies he did because he needed the money, but he never betrayed his ideals no matter how hard times were.  Plus, he drops f-bombs all over the place. I don’t think I would have ever imagined that about him, but it’s exciting and refreshing to know that there’s a star who talks like the rest of us.

From the reading onset I did not want to put this book down. Any moment I was interrupted or life’s necessary routines got in the way, I became frustrated because I had to stop reading Not Bad for a Human, but I grew excited because I knew it was waiting for me once I was finished. Co-written by Lance Henriksen and Joseph Maddrey, they have created an addictive, quick, fulfilling reading experience out of a humble, eccentric man’s whirlwind life.

Before, I was a fan of the actor and was pleased with what I read and saw of the man in interviews, but now I’m definitely a fan and admirer of the man Lance Henriksen.