In the spirit of Kindertrauma's "Name that Trauma!" feature, I'd like to share this old, strange memory I have. Whether it was from a movie, a TV show, or a particularly vivid dream, I don't know. It's just a fragment of something, but it's pretty freaky as it is. In it, an older couple are checking something in an attic (it may not have been for the first time), and find a doll sitting in a rocking chair, rocking back and forth. Anybody who came up to see this doll was terrified, even though it didn't do anything other than rock in the chair.
Now, a quick Google search doesn't bring up anything like it. Just things like a 100-plus-year-old doll named Robert, and a link to the productivity black hole known as TVTropes (which I will not link to from here, thankyewverymuch.) And, sure, creepy doll movies/TV episodes are a dime a dozen (I did peer into the aforementioned productivity black hole just to see), but I recently stumbled across something interesting that brought this whole thing up in the first place. It's part of a phenomenon I call the Thing in the Chair.
I came across this last week while watching some old episodes of Dark Shadows, a few instances in the space of 10 episodes. First, when governess Rachel went to investigate the mysterious tower room, the cliffhanger showed, just beyond the door, a cradle with two dolls in it, rocked by an unseen hand. Then, after another cast member gets killed and revived via black magic as a zombie, Rachel (again!) wakes up to find him rocking in a chair right next to her bed (another cliffhanger). Interestingly enough, the next episode has a scared-more-than-usual Carl Collins go into the bedroom to confront said zombie, similar to how my memory of the Thing in the Chair plays out.
As of this posting, I haven't seen how the zombie storyline goes from there, but let's look at the math. Dolls are creepy (thank you, doll room in the Million Dollar Museum). In fact, anything resembling a person, yet clearly not alive, but still somehow sitting up (like the aforementioned ambulatory dead guy) is pretty damn creepy. Rocking chairs that rock on their own? You bet that's creepy. Combine them together, and you get the Thing in the Chair (which, surprisingly, doesn't seem to have been used as a title nearly as often as you'd think. Maybe I'll crib it for a ghost story of my own). In fact, I've had a real-life Thing in the Chair moment myself (though, in the interest of tact, I'll not talk about it now.)
Here's where I leave it to you, dear readers. Have you ever come across the Thing in the Chair? Or is there something else, some nagging fear-thing in the back of your mind? Comments are open, so feel free to reply.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Man vs Arbitrary Goal Month
Yikes, did I really go through all of October with only one post to show for it? Not even a post on Halloween? (What kind of blogger with sometimes horror-related content am I?) However, I had an epiphany, just after midnight, that just may change my blogging habits for the better. Now, I hear that blogging about blogging is a sin, but this is something I feel needs to be shared.
Now, there is a certain writing challenge thingy out there on the internets for the whole of November. I'm decidedly not participating this time around, rather than ambivalently not participating like previous years. (Last year, I was psyched up to throw my horror western concept at it, but my user ID apparently got eaten during the registration process. I still don't know how that happened, but I took it as a sign that maybe I didn't want to continue after all.) This particular challenge emphasizes quantity over quality anyway, and given my propensity for self-editing (you don't want to know how many times I re-wrote this sentence), I would either give up entirely or have very little personal time remaining trying to meet that goal.
Monday night, after the Halloween festivities died down (that is to say, some left to make an early night of it, others left to attend the launch of the aforementioned writing challenge thingy, and the rest made repeated attempts to find, somewhere in town, a copy of somewhat-after-my-time witchy kids movie Hocus Pocus (And they call that a Halloween tradition?) Just before I drifted off to sleep, it hit me. What if, instead of focusing on a word-count goal set by someone else, I were to set my own goal in time with something I was already doing? And thus was born Arbitrary Goal Month.
So, here's the gist of it. For the month of November, I'm going to write at least five quality, substantial blog posts. This way, I'm not bound to any one narrative (other than the ongoing text that is my life), and I can self-edit until I have something I deem "passable." Will this experiment work? It's too early to tell (and, having pushed this very post aside for four days, I already have my doubts). At any rate, I'll be around throughout the month, with a few more words here or there. Until next time, have a safe and happy Arbitrary Goal Month!
Now, there is a certain writing challenge thingy out there on the internets for the whole of November. I'm decidedly not participating this time around, rather than ambivalently not participating like previous years. (Last year, I was psyched up to throw my horror western concept at it, but my user ID apparently got eaten during the registration process. I still don't know how that happened, but I took it as a sign that maybe I didn't want to continue after all.) This particular challenge emphasizes quantity over quality anyway, and given my propensity for self-editing (you don't want to know how many times I re-wrote this sentence), I would either give up entirely or have very little personal time remaining trying to meet that goal.
Monday night, after the Halloween festivities died down (that is to say, some left to make an early night of it, others left to attend the launch of the aforementioned writing challenge thingy, and the rest made repeated attempts to find, somewhere in town, a copy of somewhat-after-my-time witchy kids movie Hocus Pocus (And they call that a Halloween tradition?) Just before I drifted off to sleep, it hit me. What if, instead of focusing on a word-count goal set by someone else, I were to set my own goal in time with something I was already doing? And thus was born Arbitrary Goal Month.
So, here's the gist of it. For the month of November, I'm going to write at least five quality, substantial blog posts. This way, I'm not bound to any one narrative (other than the ongoing text that is my life), and I can self-edit until I have something I deem "passable." Will this experiment work? It's too early to tell (and, having pushed this very post aside for four days, I already have my doubts). At any rate, I'll be around throughout the month, with a few more words here or there. Until next time, have a safe and happy Arbitrary Goal Month!
Friday, October 14, 2011
Man vs the Soap Addiction
I'm not ashamed to admit it. When I was in college, I was addicted to a soap opera, to the point where I would tape it during morning classes and come back to my room and watch it at lunch (not entirely unlike the oft-repeated "I used to run home after school to catch it" anecdotes) Of course, since nothing's ever that simple, it was a 30-odd-year-old soap running repeats on a cable channel. Now, serialized storytelling is one of the most dangerously addictive forms of entertainment known to man (due, no doubt, to the Audience's driving urge to know What Happens Next), but add vampires, ghosts, witches, and other horror elements, and I can't help but watch. Yes, I was hooked on Dark Shadows.
In my previous post, I mentioned catching syndicated repeats in the early evening during the "1897 flashback" storyline (before the timeslot was eaten by the infomercial beast), but I also got to see the film House of Dark Shadows on television as well (so used was I to the Victorian trappings of the episodes I saw, I was surprised to learn of the film's more contemporary setting.) The film told an accelerated version of the initial "Barnabas" arc of the series, but got to be a bit less stagey and a bit more bloody. (I didn't get to see the sequel, Night of Dark Shadows, until much later.)
Years passed, and along came college, on-campus housing, and paid cable. A new multitude of viewing options became available, and I soon zeroed in on one bit of something I remembered from my childhood. One station had Dark Shadows available, for two episodes daily! Sure, it was a morning timeslot, while I would be in classes, but that's what VCRs were for, right? After classes, I came back to my room to watch. Barnabas Collins, sometime vampire and former heroic figure, had reluctantly become a villain again, acting on behalf of the Leviathan cult, recruiting a local antiques dealer and his wife for the cult's nefarious needs. Meanwhile, the long-missing, once-believed-dead Paul Stoddard had come back to Collinsport to re-unite with his estranged daughter, and Chris Jennings learns of his Collins ancestry. (Did I mention Chris was a werewolf?) Oh yeah, I was hooked all through the Leviathan plot arc, with the return of Quentin and his groovy sideburns, to Angelique the witch on the side of the angels for once. And then they brought in the abandoned room that lead to the parallel timeline...
Needless to say, I could go on about it. I loved the idea of arcs in different timelines, giving the actors (many of them from the stage) chances to play different characters, though this wasn't without its strangeness (David Selby played four different characters, all named Quentin Collins!) True, the production values rivaled those of '70s Doctor Who, but the line flubs, camera bumps, and other technical mishaps added to the show's weird charm. Its cult status gained it entry into the home video market (to this day, it is the only English language daytime soap with a complete run on DVD), and production company Big Finish, primarily known for their Doctor Who audio adventures (and yes, I do own several of those), also have a range of full cast dramas and audiobooks based on Dark Shadows, featuring original cast members.
However, there is another piece of the story missing. For that, stay tuned...
In my previous post, I mentioned catching syndicated repeats in the early evening during the "1897 flashback" storyline (before the timeslot was eaten by the infomercial beast), but I also got to see the film House of Dark Shadows on television as well (so used was I to the Victorian trappings of the episodes I saw, I was surprised to learn of the film's more contemporary setting.) The film told an accelerated version of the initial "Barnabas" arc of the series, but got to be a bit less stagey and a bit more bloody. (I didn't get to see the sequel, Night of Dark Shadows, until much later.)
Years passed, and along came college, on-campus housing, and paid cable. A new multitude of viewing options became available, and I soon zeroed in on one bit of something I remembered from my childhood. One station had Dark Shadows available, for two episodes daily! Sure, it was a morning timeslot, while I would be in classes, but that's what VCRs were for, right? After classes, I came back to my room to watch. Barnabas Collins, sometime vampire and former heroic figure, had reluctantly become a villain again, acting on behalf of the Leviathan cult, recruiting a local antiques dealer and his wife for the cult's nefarious needs. Meanwhile, the long-missing, once-believed-dead Paul Stoddard had come back to Collinsport to re-unite with his estranged daughter, and Chris Jennings learns of his Collins ancestry. (Did I mention Chris was a werewolf?) Oh yeah, I was hooked all through the Leviathan plot arc, with the return of Quentin and his groovy sideburns, to Angelique the witch on the side of the angels for once. And then they brought in the abandoned room that lead to the parallel timeline...
Needless to say, I could go on about it. I loved the idea of arcs in different timelines, giving the actors (many of them from the stage) chances to play different characters, though this wasn't without its strangeness (David Selby played four different characters, all named Quentin Collins!) True, the production values rivaled those of '70s Doctor Who, but the line flubs, camera bumps, and other technical mishaps added to the show's weird charm. Its cult status gained it entry into the home video market (to this day, it is the only English language daytime soap with a complete run on DVD), and production company Big Finish, primarily known for their Doctor Who audio adventures (and yes, I do own several of those), also have a range of full cast dramas and audiobooks based on Dark Shadows, featuring original cast members.
However, there is another piece of the story missing. For that, stay tuned...
Friday, September 30, 2011
Man vs Channel 27
When I was growing up, television was much more of a cultural touchstone than it is now, especially since we lived on the outskirts of town where there wasn't much within walking distance aside from the Big Pantry convenience store. Don't get me wrong; there was still time for playing or reading or what have you, but television was such a big part of my life it still sometimes surprises me that I don't watch nearly as much of it as I used to.
This, of course, was back in the days when local channels were king of late afternoon, pre-prime-time programming, and cable was just something other people had. Aside from the PBS station, which served as the home of Grover Monster, the Frugal Gourmet, and the Doctor, one channel in particular rose above the rest: Channel 27. With their mix of weekend movies and weird rerun packages, Channel 27 was the go-to channel. Other stations on the dial played it relatively safe with their I Dream of Jeannies, or their Laverne and Shirleys, but Channel 27 hit late evenings with the one-two punch of The Monkees and Gothic soap Dark Shadows (which they replaced with infomercials in the middle of the crazy awesome Victorian werewolf/cursed hand storyline. Not that I'm bitter or anything...) They even ran weird short-lived shows like Ghost Story/Circle of Fear and the quite bonkers The Fantastic Journey.
This, of course, was back in the days when local channels were king of late afternoon, pre-prime-time programming, and cable was just something other people had. Aside from the PBS station, which served as the home of Grover Monster, the Frugal Gourmet, and the Doctor, one channel in particular rose above the rest: Channel 27. With their mix of weekend movies and weird rerun packages, Channel 27 was the go-to channel. Other stations on the dial played it relatively safe with their I Dream of Jeannies, or their Laverne and Shirleys, but Channel 27 hit late evenings with the one-two punch of The Monkees and Gothic soap Dark Shadows (which they replaced with infomercials in the middle of the crazy awesome Victorian werewolf/cursed hand storyline. Not that I'm bitter or anything...) They even ran weird short-lived shows like Ghost Story/Circle of Fear and the quite bonkers The Fantastic Journey.
Of course, I would be remiss if I didn't mention their "Sci-Fi Saturday" block, a triple feature of schlocky B-movies, British horror, Japanese monster movies, or whatever cheapie films they had the rights to air (sometimes with an episode of Hammer House of Horror thrown in for good measure.) While I liked the schlock-monster flicks just fine, I gravitated more to the horror films they showed. Soon, I was planning my Saturday around which ones to watch and which ones I could afford to skip. Of course, anything with Vincent Price was a given, especially the Dr. Phibes films, and the Poe stories, like Masque of the Red Death. I had a weak spot for anthology films, too, with Doctor Terror’s House of Horrors being a recurring favorite. My first Dracula movie was not the Lugosi film, but Christopher Lee in one of the many Hammer sequels* (I can’t remember the details, but I want to say the hero attempted to dispatch of Dracula by burning his coffin before sunrise, leaving the Count with nowhere to go when the sun came up.) And, yes, if Godzilla Versus the Cosmic Monster came on, you could bet my brother and I both would be right there watching.
It has been a few years since I lived in the Dallas area, but I was saddened to learn some time ago that Sci-Fi Saturday was no more. An infomercial void sits where it used to be. Of course, thanks to things like Netflix and Hulu, I can recreate my own programming block, but there's something to be said about seeing this stuff on TV, week after week. Maybe tomorrow I'll throw on my DVD of Masque of the Red Death, for old time's sake.
*By the way, Dracula was the “safe” Hammer vampire to watch. I remember their airing of “The Vampire Lovers” not sitting well with my Mom, who claimed she saw, uncensored, an exposed breast. I don’t actually remember the incident in question, and I never found another televised airing of “The Vampire Lovers” to find out for sure!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Man vs the Radio Silence
Just a quick little post to remind myself I'm still around. Some bad stuff went down a couple of days after my last post (I may expand on this later), and my fledgeling blogging activities were the furthest from my mind. While this may be Blogging Cliché Number One, I will be back with more content, like it or not.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Man vs the Cult of Abbadon: Bloody Mallory Review
After seeing it in my Netflix suggestions for a while now, I decided to take the plunge and watch French monster action-pop film Bloody Mallory, and, really, why did I wait so long? This is like the adaptation of a French comic book that never was, but should have been. It's Buffy the Vampire Slayer times The Fifth Element with a dash of Cutie Honey thrown in for good measure.
Olivia Bonamy stars as Mallory, leader of a paranormal commando force who is haunted by the spirit of her dead husband (whom she killed because he was a demon, admittedly, but still...) Oh, and that's not a spoiler, by the way. It's revealed in the opening scene, where a wedding-dress-clad Mallory is shown to be stalking the demonic groom, in a subversion of expectations. Also in Mallory's team are Vena Cava (Jeffrey Ribier), a drag queen demolitions expert (yes, you read that right, and it is every bit as crazy-awesome as it sounds.), and young mute telepath Talking Tina (not the only pop-culture-horror reference here).
After a routine mission against a group of nun-kidnapping ghouls goes wrong, thanks to a mysterious masked figure, the team needs time to recover, and Mallory gets a new assignment: The newly-elected Pope has been kidnapped, and the security footage shows the same masked figure! After consulting with her informant, the aforementioned spirit of her dead demon husband (doomed to wander in limbo due to a demonic technicality), she learns that this is the work of the cult of Abbadon, a old-school fallen angel who wants to open the gates to the Abyss and release his brethren.
While the rest of her team recuperates, Mallory sets out on her own to find the missing Pontiff, tracking supernatural disturbances to a village that got sucked into a hell dimension, where she comes across Papal bodyguard Father Carras (see pop-culture reference, above). They're not alone, though, since Talking Tina, in a coma back home, telepathically hitch-hiked in the brain of a bat, and Vena Cava parachuted in behind them. With our heroes re-united, it's time for another action scene, as they try to fight off a band of cultists. Did I mention Carras could fight, too? ("God will guide my fists," he says.) And I would be remiss if I didn't mention Vena Cava's machine-gun-toed shoes. (No, I don't know how it works, either.)
As it turns out, in Hell Dimension Logic, jumping down a well leads right to the fortress of Abbadon, where cult leaders Morphine, the shapeshifting succubus and Lady Valentine, the aristocratic vampire who survived her run-in with the guillotine (and has the scars to prove it!) prepare for the imminent arrival of the fallen angel himself with the requisite blood-draining and other sundry sacrifices. While it's hard to pick a favorite character in a movie that has both a kung-fu Papal bodyguard and a drag queen demolitions expert, Lady Valentine just may be it. Veteran actress Valentina Vargas plays her with with the right mix of crazy and apathetic, yawning over the use of commoner's blood one minute, and relishing a duel with Mallory the next.
If you think you know where this film is going by now, you may be right. One unfortunately telegraphed plot twist later, Mallory is captured by the baddies, but another encounter with the Former Mister Mallory (who clearly still has feelings for her, despite being a dead demon) gives her the strength she needs to escape her bonds and go after Abbadon before he can open the Abyss and release Hell on earth. As this is a French-language action movie and not a Fulci film, you can probably guess the outcome, but there are still a couple of treats on the way, including a dramatic wig throwing, another bodyhop for Talking Tina, and one more duel between Mallory and Lady Valentine.
What this movie lacks in substance (don't get me wrong, there is some there there, but it just takes some effort to find) it makes up for in style, style, style. From the color-coded costumes to Mallory's taunting pose before jumping down the well to Vena Cava's frequent use of English to just about any scene with Lady Valentine, this movie has the comic book aesthetic all over it. The special effects, unfortunately, tend towards the hokey, but I'm going to give it the benefit of the doubt and say it's intentional, just because the movie can't help but be fun. Funnier than Van Helsing, less self-important than Dogma (and with fewer poop jokes, to boot), it's currently available on Netflix Instant Watch in its original French language track. Recommended, especially for those who miss syndicated action dramas (you know who you are) and fans of crazy French action films.
Olivia Bonamy stars as Mallory, leader of a paranormal commando force who is haunted by the spirit of her dead husband (whom she killed because he was a demon, admittedly, but still...) Oh, and that's not a spoiler, by the way. It's revealed in the opening scene, where a wedding-dress-clad Mallory is shown to be stalking the demonic groom, in a subversion of expectations. Also in Mallory's team are Vena Cava (Jeffrey Ribier), a drag queen demolitions expert (yes, you read that right, and it is every bit as crazy-awesome as it sounds.), and young mute telepath Talking Tina (not the only pop-culture-horror reference here).
After a routine mission against a group of nun-kidnapping ghouls goes wrong, thanks to a mysterious masked figure, the team needs time to recover, and Mallory gets a new assignment: The newly-elected Pope has been kidnapped, and the security footage shows the same masked figure! After consulting with her informant, the aforementioned spirit of her dead demon husband (doomed to wander in limbo due to a demonic technicality), she learns that this is the work of the cult of Abbadon, a old-school fallen angel who wants to open the gates to the Abyss and release his brethren.
While the rest of her team recuperates, Mallory sets out on her own to find the missing Pontiff, tracking supernatural disturbances to a village that got sucked into a hell dimension, where she comes across Papal bodyguard Father Carras (see pop-culture reference, above). They're not alone, though, since Talking Tina, in a coma back home, telepathically hitch-hiked in the brain of a bat, and Vena Cava parachuted in behind them. With our heroes re-united, it's time for another action scene, as they try to fight off a band of cultists. Did I mention Carras could fight, too? ("God will guide my fists," he says.) And I would be remiss if I didn't mention Vena Cava's machine-gun-toed shoes. (No, I don't know how it works, either.)
As it turns out, in Hell Dimension Logic, jumping down a well leads right to the fortress of Abbadon, where cult leaders Morphine, the shapeshifting succubus and Lady Valentine, the aristocratic vampire who survived her run-in with the guillotine (and has the scars to prove it!) prepare for the imminent arrival of the fallen angel himself with the requisite blood-draining and other sundry sacrifices. While it's hard to pick a favorite character in a movie that has both a kung-fu Papal bodyguard and a drag queen demolitions expert, Lady Valentine just may be it. Veteran actress Valentina Vargas plays her with with the right mix of crazy and apathetic, yawning over the use of commoner's blood one minute, and relishing a duel with Mallory the next.
If you think you know where this film is going by now, you may be right. One unfortunately telegraphed plot twist later, Mallory is captured by the baddies, but another encounter with the Former Mister Mallory (who clearly still has feelings for her, despite being a dead demon) gives her the strength she needs to escape her bonds and go after Abbadon before he can open the Abyss and release Hell on earth. As this is a French-language action movie and not a Fulci film, you can probably guess the outcome, but there are still a couple of treats on the way, including a dramatic wig throwing, another bodyhop for Talking Tina, and one more duel between Mallory and Lady Valentine.
What this movie lacks in substance (don't get me wrong, there is some there there, but it just takes some effort to find) it makes up for in style, style, style. From the color-coded costumes to Mallory's taunting pose before jumping down the well to Vena Cava's frequent use of English to just about any scene with Lady Valentine, this movie has the comic book aesthetic all over it. The special effects, unfortunately, tend towards the hokey, but I'm going to give it the benefit of the doubt and say it's intentional, just because the movie can't help but be fun. Funnier than Van Helsing, less self-important than Dogma (and with fewer poop jokes, to boot), it's currently available on Netflix Instant Watch in its original French language track. Recommended, especially for those who miss syndicated action dramas (you know who you are) and fans of crazy French action films.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Man vs the Last Three Weeks
Initially, when I started this blog, I didn't intend to post about Things that Happened Recently, but this was just too big to let go. To make an unnecessarily long story short, my apartment got flooded less than 48 hours after my last post, forcing me to relocate, first to a temporarily vacant apartment (with no internet connection, but that was the least of my problems), then to the spare bedroom in a friend's home/office, with a third move in the works this month if the currently-staying-with-his-parents roomie and I can find a new place. It was only recently that I motivated myself enough to post again.
Fear not, readers, for regular-ish content will return shortly. I've got a doozy of a review in the works for... ah, but that would be telling. (I need to watch it again to take notes anyway, not that I mind watching it again...) À bientôt...
Fear not, readers, for regular-ish content will return shortly. I've got a doozy of a review in the works for... ah, but that would be telling. (I need to watch it again to take notes anyway, not that I mind watching it again...) À bientôt...
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Man vs the Review: Cold Prey (2006)
(This is part of the Final Girl Film Club series of reviews. Thanks to Stacie Ponder for the selection.)
The malfunctioning air conditioner, the hastily-patched-up hole in the living room window and the Texas-in-July heat have all combined to make this a hotter-than-usual Sunday evening, so what better way is there to beat the heat than to spend a couple hours in an abandoned hotel somewhere in Norway? Oh, sure, there's a crazed killer around, but that just adds to the charm!
First things first, I watched the dubbed version of it, since that was what was on Netflix Instant when I watched it. I know there's a lot of virulently anti-dub folks out there, but I didn't mind too much because the dub was, in my opinion, pretty well-done (and after an adolescence spent watching Godzilla movies and localized anime on TV, I can take it.)
The first act of Cold Prey (Fritt Vilt in its native Norwegian) has us meeting our main characters: main couple Jannicke and Eirik, PDA couple Mikal and Ingunn, and quippy friend Morten. One thing that caught me by pleasant surprise was that all the characters were actually likeable, unlike the usual slasher fare of characters who are just there to add to the bodycount. And, yes, this is a slasher, but in the slow-burn, Carpenter's Halloween kind of way. Instead of just establishing future victims, the film takes the time to get to know our characters before killing them off.
Our protagonists are out snowboarding on a particularly remote mountainside (where people have been going missing for decades, I might add), when Morten breaks his leg in an accident. Inconveniently out of cell phone range (of course) and in need of medical attention, they find a run-down ski lodge where they decide to take shelter for the night. This leads to a great shot where Eirik breaks an upstairs window and the camera pulls back ever-so-slowly to reveal more of the shadowy interior.
Here, the film trades the gorgeous snowy scenery for the cramped quarters of the ski lodge. Once inside, resourceful Jannicke sets to work patching up Morten's leg with ski lodge booze and a discarded tube of super-glue. Soon, the others get the power switched on again (complete with cheesy diegetic music, Dawn of the Dead style). Mikal and Ingunn decide to sneak off for a little alone time, but when Ingunn realizes that being stranded in a creepy abandoned ski lodge is something of a mood-killer, it leads to an argument, and Mikal walking out in a huff. Unfortunately for Ingunn, a mysterious someone picks that moment to strike. With a pick-axe. This is one of the film's few bloody scenes, but it's effective for that reason. Eirik sets out in the morning to find help, but he doesn't get very far, and it's soon apparent to the remaining survivors that they're not safe alone. What follows is a cat-and-mouse game as the friends try to stay one step ahead of the killer.
The killer here is credited simply as "Fjellmannen", or "Mountain Man". They do give him a bit of back-story at the end (and Fritt Vilt 3 expands on it) but in this film, there's really no reason for it (not unlike The Shape, who also isn't given much motivation for killing other than "evil"). It turns out the Fjellmannen has been using the hotel as his base of operations since the '70s, killing travelers and collecting their shoes, jewelry, clothes, and other stuff (was that a Lillehammer '94 Olympics cap I saw?). And he's got a great look, too, dressed like a ragged mountain man with a utilitarian cloth mask that resembles a featureless ghostly face. This is put to great effect in one of my favorite shots, from the p.o.v of one of the survivors looking out a window. We see a long shot of the Fjellmannen, contrasted by the snow, then he turns to the camera, noticing the window, and we get a quick, disturbing look at the eye-and-mouth-holes in his mask. He's also good at the old slasher trick of appearing out of nowhere. Without giving too much away, there was a chase scene towards the end that I just had to rewind to see again for that very reason.
On the downside, the film does have a couple of incongruous moments, like the random Burger King product placement, or the Dramatic Shotgun Reveal Music. There's some spots of shaky-cam, too, but it's only noticeable in particularly tense moments. I also could have done without the "shadow crossing the foreground quickly" scare that happened in a couple of spots. And then there's Morten's unrequited crush on Jannicke. Even though I can almost see where he's coming from, and it does lead to some nice Character Bits towards the end, it almost comes as too little, too late, because most of her Character Bits (until she goes all Laurie Strode) were about how she's hung up on Eirik. But overall, Cold Prey is a tense, well-shot, claustrophobic thriller (chiller?) with a likeable cast that's light on the gore, but still delivers. Recommended
The malfunctioning air conditioner, the hastily-patched-up hole in the living room window and the Texas-in-July heat have all combined to make this a hotter-than-usual Sunday evening, so what better way is there to beat the heat than to spend a couple hours in an abandoned hotel somewhere in Norway? Oh, sure, there's a crazed killer around, but that just adds to the charm!
First things first, I watched the dubbed version of it, since that was what was on Netflix Instant when I watched it. I know there's a lot of virulently anti-dub folks out there, but I didn't mind too much because the dub was, in my opinion, pretty well-done (and after an adolescence spent watching Godzilla movies and localized anime on TV, I can take it.)
The first act of Cold Prey (Fritt Vilt in its native Norwegian) has us meeting our main characters: main couple Jannicke and Eirik, PDA couple Mikal and Ingunn, and quippy friend Morten. One thing that caught me by pleasant surprise was that all the characters were actually likeable, unlike the usual slasher fare of characters who are just there to add to the bodycount. And, yes, this is a slasher, but in the slow-burn, Carpenter's Halloween kind of way. Instead of just establishing future victims, the film takes the time to get to know our characters before killing them off.
Our protagonists are out snowboarding on a particularly remote mountainside (where people have been going missing for decades, I might add), when Morten breaks his leg in an accident. Inconveniently out of cell phone range (of course) and in need of medical attention, they find a run-down ski lodge where they decide to take shelter for the night. This leads to a great shot where Eirik breaks an upstairs window and the camera pulls back ever-so-slowly to reveal more of the shadowy interior.
Here, the film trades the gorgeous snowy scenery for the cramped quarters of the ski lodge. Once inside, resourceful Jannicke sets to work patching up Morten's leg with ski lodge booze and a discarded tube of super-glue. Soon, the others get the power switched on again (complete with cheesy diegetic music, Dawn of the Dead style). Mikal and Ingunn decide to sneak off for a little alone time, but when Ingunn realizes that being stranded in a creepy abandoned ski lodge is something of a mood-killer, it leads to an argument, and Mikal walking out in a huff. Unfortunately for Ingunn, a mysterious someone picks that moment to strike. With a pick-axe. This is one of the film's few bloody scenes, but it's effective for that reason. Eirik sets out in the morning to find help, but he doesn't get very far, and it's soon apparent to the remaining survivors that they're not safe alone. What follows is a cat-and-mouse game as the friends try to stay one step ahead of the killer.
The killer here is credited simply as "Fjellmannen", or "Mountain Man". They do give him a bit of back-story at the end (and Fritt Vilt 3 expands on it) but in this film, there's really no reason for it (not unlike The Shape, who also isn't given much motivation for killing other than "evil"). It turns out the Fjellmannen has been using the hotel as his base of operations since the '70s, killing travelers and collecting their shoes, jewelry, clothes, and other stuff (was that a Lillehammer '94 Olympics cap I saw?). And he's got a great look, too, dressed like a ragged mountain man with a utilitarian cloth mask that resembles a featureless ghostly face. This is put to great effect in one of my favorite shots, from the p.o.v of one of the survivors looking out a window. We see a long shot of the Fjellmannen, contrasted by the snow, then he turns to the camera, noticing the window, and we get a quick, disturbing look at the eye-and-mouth-holes in his mask. He's also good at the old slasher trick of appearing out of nowhere. Without giving too much away, there was a chase scene towards the end that I just had to rewind to see again for that very reason.
On the downside, the film does have a couple of incongruous moments, like the random Burger King product placement, or the Dramatic Shotgun Reveal Music. There's some spots of shaky-cam, too, but it's only noticeable in particularly tense moments. I also could have done without the "shadow crossing the foreground quickly" scare that happened in a couple of spots. And then there's Morten's unrequited crush on Jannicke. Even though I can almost see where he's coming from, and it does lead to some nice Character Bits towards the end, it almost comes as too little, too late, because most of her Character Bits (until she goes all Laurie Strode) were about how she's hung up on Eirik. But overall, Cold Prey is a tense, well-shot, claustrophobic thriller (chiller?) with a likeable cast that's light on the gore, but still delivers. Recommended
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Man vs Not Calling it a Reboot
Recently, a well-known fictional franchise has undergone a bit of a nip and tuck to scrub off some of the trappings that have been part of it since the beginning. No, I don't mean the hullabaloo at DC Comics. I am, of course, referring to the release of Jeffery Deaver's Carte Blanche, the latest James Bond novel. While the film series already had a Continuity Upgrade or several, most notably with the advent of Daniel Craig in the role, the novels kept the character and his circumstances more or less the same, supposedly. But this is the first time it's happened in the novels, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
Now, I don't consider myself a huge fan of the Bond franchise, but I have been known to stop and watch the films if I ever catch them on TV, and I have a few of the Ian Fleming novels, plus Thunderball on DVD. (One of these days I will upgrade my VHS copy of On Her Majesty's Secret Service, as well.) Admittedly, I haven't read any of the continuations by Martin Gardner or Raymond Benson, but I do have a hardback copy of the one-off Devil May Care, a Cold War-set novel by Sebastian Faulks meant to hearken back to the Fleming stories. In theory, I'm not opposed to this Temporal Re-adjustment of the novels, but one detail caught my eye. As of Carte Blanche, Bond was born in 1979. I am now older than James Bond.
Bad enough I'm older than current Doctor actor Matt Smith. That's okay; I'm in my early 30s and used to being older than actors now, and he's playing a 900-plus-year-old alien, but James Bond? Yes, I know it's just a fictional character, but I usually saw him as an older man anyway (the major plot impetus in the aforementioned Thunderball is that Bond has been getting on a bit and ordered to get a bit of R&R at a health spa). Add to that the fact that Bond (not to mention the whole super-spy genre he helped usher in) was firmly entrenched in the Cold War-era setting (see Sebastian Faulks, above), and it's enough to give a guy a complex.
On the other hand, maybe a younger protagonist is what the series needs. Comic books, after all, get away with a "sliding timescale" all the time these days (bar the occasional continuity hiccups; witness again the Storyline Reappraisal at DC), but that's supposedly to keep things fresh and attract new readers. Why try this with the Bond novels when the Fleming stories are still in print? I would figure a new reader would be likely to start with the Fleming "canon" first, then branch out looking for more. Personally, I would like to see more done like Devil May Care, but I will wait to reserve my final judgement until I've read the thing. Which probably won't be until it ends up in the second-hand bookstore, but still... Maybe I'll just re-read Casino Royale instead.
By the way, my favorite film Bond? Connery, with Dalton second. Moore was better as the Saint (but the radio version had Vincent Price, who wins that competition simply by virtue of being Vincent Price. But there's plenty of time to talk about Vincent Price later...)
Now, I don't consider myself a huge fan of the Bond franchise, but I have been known to stop and watch the films if I ever catch them on TV, and I have a few of the Ian Fleming novels, plus Thunderball on DVD. (One of these days I will upgrade my VHS copy of On Her Majesty's Secret Service, as well.) Admittedly, I haven't read any of the continuations by Martin Gardner or Raymond Benson, but I do have a hardback copy of the one-off Devil May Care, a Cold War-set novel by Sebastian Faulks meant to hearken back to the Fleming stories. In theory, I'm not opposed to this Temporal Re-adjustment of the novels, but one detail caught my eye. As of Carte Blanche, Bond was born in 1979. I am now older than James Bond.
Bad enough I'm older than current Doctor actor Matt Smith. That's okay; I'm in my early 30s and used to being older than actors now, and he's playing a 900-plus-year-old alien, but James Bond? Yes, I know it's just a fictional character, but I usually saw him as an older man anyway (the major plot impetus in the aforementioned Thunderball is that Bond has been getting on a bit and ordered to get a bit of R&R at a health spa). Add to that the fact that Bond (not to mention the whole super-spy genre he helped usher in) was firmly entrenched in the Cold War-era setting (see Sebastian Faulks, above), and it's enough to give a guy a complex.
On the other hand, maybe a younger protagonist is what the series needs. Comic books, after all, get away with a "sliding timescale" all the time these days (bar the occasional continuity hiccups; witness again the Storyline Reappraisal at DC), but that's supposedly to keep things fresh and attract new readers. Why try this with the Bond novels when the Fleming stories are still in print? I would figure a new reader would be likely to start with the Fleming "canon" first, then branch out looking for more. Personally, I would like to see more done like Devil May Care, but I will wait to reserve my final judgement until I've read the thing. Which probably won't be until it ends up in the second-hand bookstore, but still... Maybe I'll just re-read Casino Royale instead.
By the way, my favorite film Bond? Connery, with Dalton second. Moore was better as the Saint (but the radio version had Vincent Price, who wins that competition simply by virtue of being Vincent Price. But there's plenty of time to talk about Vincent Price later...)
Monday, July 4, 2011
Man vs Relative Dimensions in Space
(or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blue Box)
Let me start by talking a bit about my earliest memories. I must have had a menagerie of stuffed animals, including Papa Bear, Baby Bear, and Stacey the elephant. (I think I also wanted to call my new baby sister Stacey, but as I was a young'un of three-and-a-bit years, I was outvoted.) I also became aware of television. In particular, two specific images. One of them sad, and one scary.
I'm pretty sure I saw a news report about John Lennon's death. It sounds weird now that I put it to words, but I have a vague memory of seeing a news anchor talking with a picture of a man and the word "LENNON" in a banner somewhere. (A quick search of the YouTube gives me an idea of what I might have seen, but I won't post it here. I'm not going to dwell.) I'm pretty sure I didn't understand what it meant. Maybe I felt sad. I'd like to think I did.
The other memory I had of television was this: a man gets green slime on his hand that slowly turns him into a monster while he freaks out about his crazy green monster hand. Yes, my parents got me to watch Doctor Who. And I haven't been the same since. Okay, so I didn't really get into watching it until a few years down the line, but those early memories sparked my interest in it. It was scary, it was fun, but most importantly, it was weird. Much has been said by others about the idea that American TV was like small-scale movies, while British TV was like large-scale plays. Maybe that was part of the "weird" aesthetic of Doctor Who and the other occasional British shows I caught glimpses of here and there (see also: Fawlty Towers). Also, though I couldn't properly express it, I was always baffled by the use of film for exterior shots and videotape for interior shots (a practice that Doctor Who used more-or-less continually until 1986.)
The Dallas PBS station showed it on late Saturday nights, that weird netherspace where they didn't have any official PBS programming and so just threw whatever they could get their hands on at the wall. They also aired each story in "movie" format, with the occasional bad edit to reveal the serialized nature for those paying attention. This had the advantage of being like a new sci-fi feature film every week, but combined with the late night time slot, it meant that I would have to stay up until midnight or later to see the story through. And if it was a six-parter, forget about it. (There's plenty of Jon Pertwee stories I never saw the end of, and I still don't know how I managed to keep it together during "Talons of Weng-Chiang".) Oh, but when I got to the end, that "electronic scream" that to most viewers meant "scary cliffhanger" was, to me, one of the best sounds ever. Even though it was the end of an adventure, what an adventure it was! And Tom Baker, the guy with the scarf (because in those early days it was always "the guy with the scarf", even when it may have been Jon Pertwee) would show off that big toothy grin, promising even more next week.
I didn't always get to watch it, of course. Later, when we were older, my sister would want to watch Saturday Night Live. I did my rebellious older brother duty by calling it "Saturday Night Lame" and getting into arguments about it. And even before that, there were times when Iwasn't as obsessed just plain forgot it was on. It was after one of these gaps that I stumbled upon it again, or, rather, something that seemed like it. The music style had changed, I didn't recognize any of the cast, and who was this blond fella with the celery in his lapel, and why were they calling him Doctor? My mind would soon be blown, but more on that another time.
(And to tie it all together and make it relevant to the day of posting, Howard da Silva, who gave recap narrations on the episodic US broadcasts in the '70s also played Benjamin Franklin in the film version of 1776. Truly, the cosmos works in mysterious ways.)
Let me start by talking a bit about my earliest memories. I must have had a menagerie of stuffed animals, including Papa Bear, Baby Bear, and Stacey the elephant. (I think I also wanted to call my new baby sister Stacey, but as I was a young'un of three-and-a-bit years, I was outvoted.) I also became aware of television. In particular, two specific images. One of them sad, and one scary.
I'm pretty sure I saw a news report about John Lennon's death. It sounds weird now that I put it to words, but I have a vague memory of seeing a news anchor talking with a picture of a man and the word "LENNON" in a banner somewhere. (A quick search of the YouTube gives me an idea of what I might have seen, but I won't post it here. I'm not going to dwell.) I'm pretty sure I didn't understand what it meant. Maybe I felt sad. I'd like to think I did.
The other memory I had of television was this: a man gets green slime on his hand that slowly turns him into a monster while he freaks out about his crazy green monster hand. Yes, my parents got me to watch Doctor Who. And I haven't been the same since. Okay, so I didn't really get into watching it until a few years down the line, but those early memories sparked my interest in it. It was scary, it was fun, but most importantly, it was weird. Much has been said by others about the idea that American TV was like small-scale movies, while British TV was like large-scale plays. Maybe that was part of the "weird" aesthetic of Doctor Who and the other occasional British shows I caught glimpses of here and there (see also: Fawlty Towers). Also, though I couldn't properly express it, I was always baffled by the use of film for exterior shots and videotape for interior shots (a practice that Doctor Who used more-or-less continually until 1986.)
The Dallas PBS station showed it on late Saturday nights, that weird netherspace where they didn't have any official PBS programming and so just threw whatever they could get their hands on at the wall. They also aired each story in "movie" format, with the occasional bad edit to reveal the serialized nature for those paying attention. This had the advantage of being like a new sci-fi feature film every week, but combined with the late night time slot, it meant that I would have to stay up until midnight or later to see the story through. And if it was a six-parter, forget about it. (There's plenty of Jon Pertwee stories I never saw the end of, and I still don't know how I managed to keep it together during "Talons of Weng-Chiang".) Oh, but when I got to the end, that "electronic scream" that to most viewers meant "scary cliffhanger" was, to me, one of the best sounds ever. Even though it was the end of an adventure, what an adventure it was! And Tom Baker, the guy with the scarf (because in those early days it was always "the guy with the scarf", even when it may have been Jon Pertwee) would show off that big toothy grin, promising even more next week.
I didn't always get to watch it, of course. Later, when we were older, my sister would want to watch Saturday Night Live. I did my rebellious older brother duty by calling it "Saturday Night Lame" and getting into arguments about it. And even before that, there were times when I
(And to tie it all together and make it relevant to the day of posting, Howard da Silva, who gave recap narrations on the episodic US broadcasts in the '70s also played Benjamin Franklin in the film version of 1776. Truly, the cosmos works in mysterious ways.)
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Man vs the Sophomore Slump
And now it's come to this. The second post. Here's where I decide if I want to keep at this crazy experiment in disciplined writing, or if it all comes crashing down. So far, I'm... pretty confident. Maybe. See, I like words, and language, and even the act of writing itself, but one thing I lack is discipline. I am hoping that through this blog I can work to improve that (and improve my writing style as well.) Yes, I admit it. I'm writing for me. However, that doesn't mean any readers I may have won't find it entertaining. I can hope, can't I?
I toyed with the idea of making this an "about me" post, since my first post didn't really have much of that, but the basics of it just aren't that interesting. After all, who wants to read about the day-to-day life of a quality control inspector? "Did I ever tell you about the time I found three units in a row that did not have batteries? That was a red letter day, let me tell you!" No, no, no. That kind of stuff just isn't suited for this little corner of the idea-space that I'm settling into. Yes, I realize in my last post I said I would be writing about myself, and I do intend to, but not really in the "journal" sense. More like "disjointed memoirs."
One particular Thing that Happened set me, at an early age, on the path of the Pop Culture Nerd. (Or, should I say "anorak" in this case?) So, be here tomorrow for a special July 4th post about some British TV show! Oh, wait...
I toyed with the idea of making this an "about me" post, since my first post didn't really have much of that, but the basics of it just aren't that interesting. After all, who wants to read about the day-to-day life of a quality control inspector? "Did I ever tell you about the time I found three units in a row that did not have batteries? That was a red letter day, let me tell you!" No, no, no. That kind of stuff just isn't suited for this little corner of the idea-space that I'm settling into. Yes, I realize in my last post I said I would be writing about myself, and I do intend to, but not really in the "journal" sense. More like "disjointed memoirs."
One particular Thing that Happened set me, at an early age, on the path of the Pop Culture Nerd. (Or, should I say "anorak" in this case?) So, be here tomorrow for a special July 4th post about some British TV show! Oh, wait...
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Man vs the Mission Statement
So, I started a blog...
It is a little after midnight on July 3 as I start this. Admittedly, this is a little later than I had intended, but at this point I consider it an accomplishment that I even started it at all. Of course, the real test will be to see if I can keep this up. I'm not saying I will post daily, as that will doom me from the start. I think twice weekly is a good enough goal for now, with the option open for more frequent postings. (Of course, if I do post daily, so much the better. Watch this space tomorrow. Maybe.)
As for the subject matter, well, this is the Internet, where real life and pop culture collide in strange, unforeseen ways. Sure, I'll post the nerdy stuff, but I may sprinkle in some autobiographical asides from time to time. (I've got a personal essay about Doctor Who in the works that was part of the driving force behind me starting this blog in the first place. Look for it somewhere down the line.)
The full, formal title of the blog is "Man vs the Inevitable Heat Death of the Universe," a play on the conflicts taught in lit class, with one of my favorite unwieldy scientific phrases. Never before has the end of all existence sounded so... trivial. Seriously, try saying "inevitable heat death of the Universe" keeping a straight face. The Universe is too vast, and the term "heat death" sounds so small, I think. Add "inevitable," which is in itself a funny-sounding word, and you've got... well, you've got something anyway.
Clearly, I've started to ramble, even more than I intended. So, to close out this initial post and distract us all from the unfinished, unprofessional nature of this blog in its early hours, here's some flashy movement and bright colors, courtesy of Polysics. Enjoy.
It is a little after midnight on July 3 as I start this. Admittedly, this is a little later than I had intended, but at this point I consider it an accomplishment that I even started it at all. Of course, the real test will be to see if I can keep this up. I'm not saying I will post daily, as that will doom me from the start. I think twice weekly is a good enough goal for now, with the option open for more frequent postings. (Of course, if I do post daily, so much the better. Watch this space tomorrow. Maybe.)
As for the subject matter, well, this is the Internet, where real life and pop culture collide in strange, unforeseen ways. Sure, I'll post the nerdy stuff, but I may sprinkle in some autobiographical asides from time to time. (I've got a personal essay about Doctor Who in the works that was part of the driving force behind me starting this blog in the first place. Look for it somewhere down the line.)
The full, formal title of the blog is "Man vs the Inevitable Heat Death of the Universe," a play on the conflicts taught in lit class, with one of my favorite unwieldy scientific phrases. Never before has the end of all existence sounded so... trivial. Seriously, try saying "inevitable heat death of the Universe" keeping a straight face. The Universe is too vast, and the term "heat death" sounds so small, I think. Add "inevitable," which is in itself a funny-sounding word, and you've got... well, you've got something anyway.
Clearly, I've started to ramble, even more than I intended. So, to close out this initial post and distract us all from the unfinished, unprofessional nature of this blog in its early hours, here's some flashy movement and bright colors, courtesy of Polysics. Enjoy.
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