In a world less known for its heroes and more known for its actors, there is something terribly amiss. Idolization of those born out of fiction is all well and good, but the fact remains that there are heroes that exist in the world who are ignored on a constant basis. They don't have the powers of Superman, the resources of Batman, the ragtag team of compatriots like the X-Men, but they walk by us in stores, restaurants, and the streets every day, yet not a single glance is thrown their way. Ian thought all these things as he walked down the halls of the memorial for fallen soldiers. He wished he had the gifts, the courage, to become like those who will be eternally remembered in their stone tombs. His eyes and fingers traced across every name and achievement, oblivious to the shaking heads of old women who thought he was being disrespectful and the silent approval of old veterans who thought he was acting appropriately. His mind was full of great ideas, fantasies where he lived to return to accolades, parades, Presidents giving him medals of valor, but he also thought of dying gloriously in battle, a firefight or saving a group of stranded orphans from a fire maybe. Ian looked around for a moment, noticing his friends had wandered away and were watching a video that was playing the storming of the beach at Normandy over and over. As he made his way over, a small hand latched onto his and, surprised at the feel of the small, warm hand, he looked down into a pair of shimmering blue eyes.
The child had to be no more than five and stared at Ian with tears brimming but not falling. Courageous, Ian thought, as he knelt down to be at eye level with the young boy. He asked the child what was wrong and learned that he lost his parents. The child was eerily calm about it, but Ian knew that the fear inside the young man would eventually lead him into a mistake, in fact, it already had, he was talking to a stranger. Ian comforted the boy as much as he could and glanced at his friends, noting that they haven't seen what was transpiring yet. Ian gave the child a comforting pat on the shoulder and said he would help him find his parents. As they moved through the memorial hall, the child kept glancing around, eyes searching the crowd for his missing parents, while Ian searched as well. This would be his moment of courage, he kept thinking. He walked the young man through the crowd, searching, but never finding the parents. The child, Ian could tell, was beginning to lose some of that bravery he had before. Ian told the little blue eyed boy that they should get out of the crowd for a minute so the child could calm down. He agreed and they stepped into a small room off the hall. As Ian closed the door, he felt his hand tremble as he latched the lock tightly. He turned and faced the young boy, who glanced at him with growing alarm, knowing, as he approached him, that today, along with all his yesterdays and tomorrows, he would never be on that wall. He was one of the monsters those who died had fought against.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Commentary: English vs. the World (of Degree Programs)
I was taking my daily perusal through CNN.com this morning and saw an article about why possible engineers are getting English degrees. Oh! Wonderful, maybe this will say how awesome English is!, I thought with childlike flights of fancy. My dreams quickly faded into the nether region where unrealized dreams go as I read through the entire five pages of the article. All in all, the article was about how people are dropping out of hard majors and switching to easier ones. That is correct, my friends, enemies, and friendemies, people are switching from the HARD degree programs and into the EASY ones.
Now, I am not going to downplay the sciences. It takes tremendous skill, willpower, and intelligence to make it through any of the sciences, maths, etc. When a person graduates with a degree in engineering, they should be proud that all the hard work they did will pay off. The problem I have is the assumption that English is not a hard degree to get. As a graduate of Buffalo State University with my B.A. in English Literature, I must humbly disagree with the "easy" label given to my major.
On the surface, you can see why people would say that English is not a hard major. You have no math, no sciences, no history, no physical requirements what-so-ever, and so on. While we aren't blasting out multi-line equations or creating medicines that will cure whatever the cast of the Jersey Shore is infected with, we are learning to be articulate, well read, researchers, and yes, scholars in the history of the world. How are you scholars in history, don't you just sit in the house and read books?! First, books require no power source, so we can take them *gasp* outside! Secondly, history is written as well as passed down orally or through artifacts. It takes a command of language, any language, to tell the tale of a people in a way that makes people think you know what you're talking about. Research needs to be done to study history, which includes diving through book after book. Thirdly, there is a little thing, very hard to know, since only those who have taken the test of one thousand swords can learn about... books have been written longer than any one person has been alive.
With the study of Literature, a student delves into history through those such as Ernest Hemingway, William Shakespeare, William Beckford, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Henry Fielding, Miguel De Cervantes, and Ludovico Ariosto, just to name a few. We take in history at a personal level, where many of these writers have written with certain aspects of current (for them) society influencing them. History, life, and art blend in the words each puts to the page. Morality and ethics are explored, dissected, and reimagined. Take away literature from the history of man, just as if you took away mathematics, and the world would be drastically different. Engineering, Mathematics, the Sciences, English, Art, Music, and all the other degrees are needed in some aspect and no one is more important than the other. Before you rip apart another degree program as being less important than yours, take a moment and think before you speak. That is something I wish that the reporter from CNN.com did before publishing their article.
Now, I am not going to downplay the sciences. It takes tremendous skill, willpower, and intelligence to make it through any of the sciences, maths, etc. When a person graduates with a degree in engineering, they should be proud that all the hard work they did will pay off. The problem I have is the assumption that English is not a hard degree to get. As a graduate of Buffalo State University with my B.A. in English Literature, I must humbly disagree with the "easy" label given to my major.
On the surface, you can see why people would say that English is not a hard major. You have no math, no sciences, no history, no physical requirements what-so-ever, and so on. While we aren't blasting out multi-line equations or creating medicines that will cure whatever the cast of the Jersey Shore is infected with, we are learning to be articulate, well read, researchers, and yes, scholars in the history of the world. How are you scholars in history, don't you just sit in the house and read books?! First, books require no power source, so we can take them *gasp* outside! Secondly, history is written as well as passed down orally or through artifacts. It takes a command of language, any language, to tell the tale of a people in a way that makes people think you know what you're talking about. Research needs to be done to study history, which includes diving through book after book. Thirdly, there is a little thing, very hard to know, since only those who have taken the test of one thousand swords can learn about... books have been written longer than any one person has been alive.
With the study of Literature, a student delves into history through those such as Ernest Hemingway, William Shakespeare, William Beckford, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Henry Fielding, Miguel De Cervantes, and Ludovico Ariosto, just to name a few. We take in history at a personal level, where many of these writers have written with certain aspects of current (for them) society influencing them. History, life, and art blend in the words each puts to the page. Morality and ethics are explored, dissected, and reimagined. Take away literature from the history of man, just as if you took away mathematics, and the world would be drastically different. Engineering, Mathematics, the Sciences, English, Art, Music, and all the other degrees are needed in some aspect and no one is more important than the other. Before you rip apart another degree program as being less important than yours, take a moment and think before you speak. That is something I wish that the reporter from CNN.com did before publishing their article.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Writing: Moment in Time - Down the Rabbit Hole
He glanced over his shoulder, scratching absently at his arm, feeling the skin peel off with every movement of his fingers. He needed to fix what was wrong with him, though he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong. The world looked fine, what with its undulating sky, flame-like grasses, and monstrosities dressed in suits and ties. He felt the blood in his body flow out through his arm, watching it seek out a new home, perhaps one without a window that unexpectedly gets installed. He wondered, as he walked, what would replace the blood, but that thought soon left his mind as he saw a man staring at him. He couldn't tell who the man was, but the horns, tail, and pitchfork gave him some hints. He climbed up the sidewalk that tried to form into a roller-coaster loop and saw his destination. The only problem was that he had to walk through a large, milling swarm of those insurance agent-looking monsters. He shuddered at the thought of their insect-like arms and hands reaching out and touching, grabbing him, maybe thrusting pens and papers at him, begging in voices that sound like pigs stuck inside of a gristmill for him to sign off on a one-hundred percent profit venture. He wanted nothing to do with that, he only wanted to fill the emptiness inside himself since his blood voided its lease to his body.
Straightening his shoulders to the point where he feels his shoulders burst out of his leather jacket and form bone and sinew wings, he wishes that they were strong enough to lift him over those parasites, watching as they begin to devour each other and not a few of them begin to procreate right on the street, letting the ground that rolls beneath them as a sexual helper. He folds his wings in and squints his eyes, feeling the jelly inside them press against the inside of his head. He takes a step forward that shakes eyes and ground equally, alerting the mass in front of him to his presence, though they don't make a move. He continues walking forward, his arm itching so much he feels on fire, he feels so much on fire that he thinks he might be on fire. He begins to think how good fire would be to help him pass these giant bugs, but then again, behind on fire like the eye of Sauron won't help him here, he would only burn to ash before he could get what he came here for. He begins to pick up his speed, rushing into the pile as a linebacker through an opposing team. He feels hands and claws and tentacles and other appendages he can't even name grasp at him while all the time he hopes none of their reproductive organs search out those sensitive areas on his body. He drops to a knee only a few feet from the door, but his body turns to liquid as he flows over those creatures, drowning them in his own fluids, fluids he is surprised he has seeing as his blood probably bought a flat somewhere in downtown Buffalo at a reasonable rent in a good school district. As his body regains form, he flashes his wings in a flourish and steps through the door. Not opening it, he steps through it.
Once inside, he enters a land of gold and marble, almost as if he had entered heaven...or some form of high-end brothel. Maybe a brothel outside of Vegas or Amsterdam. He walks through those gold halls and up stairs and down stairs, sometimes he walks in circles, and sometimes he doesn't walk at all, but floats on a cloud of silk towards the upper reaches of this heavenly brothel. He finally reaches the top, the walls giggling at him and he bowing in return. He steps to the door and knocks politely, allowing the door to wake up and realize he is there and open. Once open, he walks through and steps towards the gentleman who rests upon a cross, looking around him with a bored expression, like a man who has beaten all his PS3 games and now has nothing to do. Once the cross-bound man notices him, he smiles and beckons him forward the best a man who is crucified can do. The cross-man points to a small bronze box and he opens it, taking the small sword from the box and sliding it against his arm where he scratched the hole in. The world suddenly jerks and flattens. He watches with amazement as the walls begin to peal away, almost like a Silent Hill game, and are replaced with torn wallpaper in a puke green color. The crucified man is suddenly no longer crucified and sits upon a worn and torn couch, boiling something over a small bunsen burner. Once the world straights into its hopelessness that he realized he was trying to escape, he glances at the man on the couch who looks up to him and, with glazed over eyes, says, "You want to go back down the rabbit hole?"
Straightening his shoulders to the point where he feels his shoulders burst out of his leather jacket and form bone and sinew wings, he wishes that they were strong enough to lift him over those parasites, watching as they begin to devour each other and not a few of them begin to procreate right on the street, letting the ground that rolls beneath them as a sexual helper. He folds his wings in and squints his eyes, feeling the jelly inside them press against the inside of his head. He takes a step forward that shakes eyes and ground equally, alerting the mass in front of him to his presence, though they don't make a move. He continues walking forward, his arm itching so much he feels on fire, he feels so much on fire that he thinks he might be on fire. He begins to think how good fire would be to help him pass these giant bugs, but then again, behind on fire like the eye of Sauron won't help him here, he would only burn to ash before he could get what he came here for. He begins to pick up his speed, rushing into the pile as a linebacker through an opposing team. He feels hands and claws and tentacles and other appendages he can't even name grasp at him while all the time he hopes none of their reproductive organs search out those sensitive areas on his body. He drops to a knee only a few feet from the door, but his body turns to liquid as he flows over those creatures, drowning them in his own fluids, fluids he is surprised he has seeing as his blood probably bought a flat somewhere in downtown Buffalo at a reasonable rent in a good school district. As his body regains form, he flashes his wings in a flourish and steps through the door. Not opening it, he steps through it.
Once inside, he enters a land of gold and marble, almost as if he had entered heaven...or some form of high-end brothel. Maybe a brothel outside of Vegas or Amsterdam. He walks through those gold halls and up stairs and down stairs, sometimes he walks in circles, and sometimes he doesn't walk at all, but floats on a cloud of silk towards the upper reaches of this heavenly brothel. He finally reaches the top, the walls giggling at him and he bowing in return. He steps to the door and knocks politely, allowing the door to wake up and realize he is there and open. Once open, he walks through and steps towards the gentleman who rests upon a cross, looking around him with a bored expression, like a man who has beaten all his PS3 games and now has nothing to do. Once the cross-bound man notices him, he smiles and beckons him forward the best a man who is crucified can do. The cross-man points to a small bronze box and he opens it, taking the small sword from the box and sliding it against his arm where he scratched the hole in. The world suddenly jerks and flattens. He watches with amazement as the walls begin to peal away, almost like a Silent Hill game, and are replaced with torn wallpaper in a puke green color. The crucified man is suddenly no longer crucified and sits upon a worn and torn couch, boiling something over a small bunsen burner. Once the world straights into its hopelessness that he realized he was trying to escape, he glances at the man on the couch who looks up to him and, with glazed over eyes, says, "You want to go back down the rabbit hole?"
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Poetry: We Will Not Die!
Oration,
Exploitation,
Innovation,
Reclamation.
Words stolen and
sold for pennies on the dollar.
Thoughts murdered
for the sake of prosperity.
When the voices fade,
the song is lost.
When the singers leave,
the show is over.
Raise your voices,
as well as your pens.
Shout to the heavens,
'We will not die! '
Ovation,
Exploration,
Intuition,
Imagination.
Break out from the bindings
and free your minds.
Write as if possessed and
sing as your heart would break.
Life is waiting
for you to take hold.
I am waiting on the other side,
baring my soul through my writing.
Exploitation,
Innovation,
Reclamation.
Words stolen and
sold for pennies on the dollar.
Thoughts murdered
for the sake of prosperity.
When the voices fade,
the song is lost.
When the singers leave,
the show is over.
Raise your voices,
as well as your pens.
Shout to the heavens,
'We will not die! '
Ovation,
Exploration,
Intuition,
Imagination.
Break out from the bindings
and free your minds.
Write as if possessed and
sing as your heart would break.
Life is waiting
for you to take hold.
I am waiting on the other side,
baring my soul through my writing.
Poetry: We Can Start Over (All We Need To Do Is Hit Restart)
I showed you how much I cared
to the point I did things I never dared.
What good did it do me
when every night you're in the arms of another?
If you want me to abandon you
tell me and I will let you go alone.
Don't act as if nothing is wrong
when you play these games.
Let's just say no,
this was all a misunderstanding.
Let's backtrack a bit,
and let me introduce myself again.
We'll get off to a better start,
one where words were never said.
Maybe then I can delude myself,
forgetting I ever liked you more than a friend.
to the point I did things I never dared.
What good did it do me
when every night you're in the arms of another?
If you want me to abandon you
tell me and I will let you go alone.
Don't act as if nothing is wrong
when you play these games.
Let's just say no,
this was all a misunderstanding.
Let's backtrack a bit,
and let me introduce myself again.
We'll get off to a better start,
one where words were never said.
Maybe then I can delude myself,
forgetting I ever liked you more than a friend.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Poetry: Giving in to it All
Cold metal on soft skin,
clawing at my life,
seeking my heart,
but it's already gone.
Given to another
for safe keeping,
held in security deposit,
where I can't hurt it more.
If I am giving in,
thinking the battle lost,
I could let the metal in,
but the war hasn't ended
and my heart still beats,
hidden in hands,
gentle and loving.
Defiance raised like a flag,
scars shown that they tried,
but I won.
clawing at my life,
seeking my heart,
but it's already gone.
Given to another
for safe keeping,
held in security deposit,
where I can't hurt it more.
If I am giving in,
thinking the battle lost,
I could let the metal in,
but the war hasn't ended
and my heart still beats,
hidden in hands,
gentle and loving.
Defiance raised like a flag,
scars shown that they tried,
but I won.
Poetry: Yes is the Answer (Until We Are Famous)
Yes, give me your heart
and everything attached.
My kiss in no magic spell,
but its potency is unmatched.
Yes, give me all you have
and everything in between.
I will rain ecstasy upon you,
likes of which you have never seen.
Yes, just say yes
and I will give what you need.
You will tremble at my touch;
from my hands you will feed.
Yes, you like it my way
and you will never leave.
You know I am what you want,
only you are afraid to believe.
Yes, take my hand
and walk away with me.
I will never betray you,
until our names light up the marquee.
and everything attached.
My kiss in no magic spell,
but its potency is unmatched.
Yes, give me all you have
and everything in between.
I will rain ecstasy upon you,
likes of which you have never seen.
Yes, just say yes
and I will give what you need.
You will tremble at my touch;
from my hands you will feed.
Yes, you like it my way
and you will never leave.
You know I am what you want,
only you are afraid to believe.
Yes, take my hand
and walk away with me.
I will never betray you,
until our names light up the marquee.
Writing: Moment in Time - Temporary Respite
He sat and watched the world through the double-pained glass, feeling the heat of the vent mix with the chill outside, his thoughts as chilly as the weather. The conversations around him buzzing and echoing in his head, blotting out thought and tease his attention in irritating seductiveness. The voices grating on his nerves as he turned and glanced at the world inside, hidden from the elements. Cold coffee. Hot vent. Tan hat. Checkered jacket. Nothing but impressions skitter across his mind. His brain reaching out, grasping, trying to hold to something, but, like trying to hold grains of sand, they do nothing but slide through his fingers.
He stands, feeling the years press down on his shoulders, giving him a dread sense of mortality which sends his mind deep into a chasm to which he wishes would close and remain gone forever. He wonders what is on the other side, what awaits him as he draws his final breath and leaps into the darkness. He wants to think that there would be a light and a deeper understanding of the universe, but the feeling that there is nothing but the darkness and eternal loneliness beyond the human understanding intrudes into his fantasy. His steps are slow, calculated, as he walks to the door, as if his feet were trying to savor each step he takes. He can feel each step echoing through his body as if it would be the last one he takes. The cold handle of the door in his hand chills his entire body, mixing with the heat in his blood which is drained away as it gives in to the cold.
The sudden rush of cold, cleansing him deep into his soul, washing away the dreams and nightmares indiscriminately. The sun washing over him as he steps through the door, feeling the ground fade from beneath him as he imagines himself crossing the chasm. The sun strikes him and his eyes close with a languid pace, trapping the light inside his body, allowing it to reignite his soul from the cold flame that had grown there. He reaches into his jacket, slides a smoke between his lips and hears the click of a lighter and the momentary heat of a flame until he breathes in slowly. His eyes open and he takes another step, then another, continuing until he passes his destination. He simply walks, beyond where he had gone before and continues, his thoughts finally solidifying with each step he takes from the world he knew. He knows he can't stay away forever, but for this moment, this single moment, he is free from himself.
He stands, feeling the years press down on his shoulders, giving him a dread sense of mortality which sends his mind deep into a chasm to which he wishes would close and remain gone forever. He wonders what is on the other side, what awaits him as he draws his final breath and leaps into the darkness. He wants to think that there would be a light and a deeper understanding of the universe, but the feeling that there is nothing but the darkness and eternal loneliness beyond the human understanding intrudes into his fantasy. His steps are slow, calculated, as he walks to the door, as if his feet were trying to savor each step he takes. He can feel each step echoing through his body as if it would be the last one he takes. The cold handle of the door in his hand chills his entire body, mixing with the heat in his blood which is drained away as it gives in to the cold.
The sudden rush of cold, cleansing him deep into his soul, washing away the dreams and nightmares indiscriminately. The sun washing over him as he steps through the door, feeling the ground fade from beneath him as he imagines himself crossing the chasm. The sun strikes him and his eyes close with a languid pace, trapping the light inside his body, allowing it to reignite his soul from the cold flame that had grown there. He reaches into his jacket, slides a smoke between his lips and hears the click of a lighter and the momentary heat of a flame until he breathes in slowly. His eyes open and he takes another step, then another, continuing until he passes his destination. He simply walks, beyond where he had gone before and continues, his thoughts finally solidifying with each step he takes from the world he knew. He knows he can't stay away forever, but for this moment, this single moment, he is free from himself.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Poetry: Now is the Time
Grieving time in Buffalo,
for the lost who went before.
Fear of what will happen
and what fate has in store.
Time doesn't slow,
nor does it abate.
The chance to live is now,
we must act before it's too late.
Where will we go
and what will we do?
Will we hate or love,
will be we proud with what we grown into?
Now is the chance
that others have not had.
With my heart in my hard I offer it,
life is too short to live it mad.
Give your heart and soul,
body and mind.
I give mine freely,
to a woman who is like Kind.
Her name is Hope,
though that's not really her name.
She is my guiding star,
for my raging heart she did tame.
for the lost who went before.
Fear of what will happen
and what fate has in store.
Time doesn't slow,
nor does it abate.
The chance to live is now,
we must act before it's too late.
Where will we go
and what will we do?
Will we hate or love,
will be we proud with what we grown into?
Now is the chance
that others have not had.
With my heart in my hard I offer it,
life is too short to live it mad.
Give your heart and soul,
body and mind.
I give mine freely,
to a woman who is like Kind.
Her name is Hope,
though that's not really her name.
She is my guiding star,
for my raging heart she did tame.
Critical Film: A Review of Final
Final
Starring:
* Dennis Leary
* Hope Davis
* Jim Gaffigan
* Marin Hinkle
Director:
* Campbell Scott
In a surprising turn in the dramatic before the days of "Rescue Me", Dennis Leary puts in a top-notch effort in this small time independent film about a man who wakes from a coma and his sanity is being evaluated by a doctor played by Hope Davis. The film work is simple and clean, as 90% of the film takes place in a single room with brief flashes to the past and a few outdoor shots. The setting seems a bit outdated, but for the budget that the movie was shot with, that's not too pressing on the overall story.
The story takes Leary on a trip through his own troubled past and a relationship that he knows cannot be with Davis. His mind is still troubled as he believes that Davis and the workers at the hospital are out to kill him via lethal injection, but he is not too far off the actual truth. The acting is very well done with Davis and Leary, the connection between them seemingly real. Gaffigan, who surprises in a near-silent role full of compassion simply done through the looks on his face. Leary's girlfriend, played by Miran Hinkle, is played quietly well, though her lack of experience is clearly overshadowed by the talent and screen presence of Leary most of the time.
The plot is quite well done as Leary is able to carry the act of insanity through all of his scenes. The only downfall to the plot is the finale, when everything that he believes was actually true. There was no suspense to it either, as they ruin the reveal by having a talk about it before hand. The relationship aspect is ruined because you know she knew that he was going to do nothing but die. Despite the lack of satisfaction in the third act, the rest of the film is strong enough to carry it through. The film is well done in script and setting. The acting of Davis and Leary is strong and compelling. All in all, the film is worth a watch and wont take too much time out of your day, clocking in at 111 minutes.
Starring:
* Dennis Leary
* Hope Davis
* Jim Gaffigan
* Marin Hinkle
Director:
* Campbell Scott
In a surprising turn in the dramatic before the days of "Rescue Me", Dennis Leary puts in a top-notch effort in this small time independent film about a man who wakes from a coma and his sanity is being evaluated by a doctor played by Hope Davis. The film work is simple and clean, as 90% of the film takes place in a single room with brief flashes to the past and a few outdoor shots. The setting seems a bit outdated, but for the budget that the movie was shot with, that's not too pressing on the overall story.
The story takes Leary on a trip through his own troubled past and a relationship that he knows cannot be with Davis. His mind is still troubled as he believes that Davis and the workers at the hospital are out to kill him via lethal injection, but he is not too far off the actual truth. The acting is very well done with Davis and Leary, the connection between them seemingly real. Gaffigan, who surprises in a near-silent role full of compassion simply done through the looks on his face. Leary's girlfriend, played by Miran Hinkle, is played quietly well, though her lack of experience is clearly overshadowed by the talent and screen presence of Leary most of the time.
The plot is quite well done as Leary is able to carry the act of insanity through all of his scenes. The only downfall to the plot is the finale, when everything that he believes was actually true. There was no suspense to it either, as they ruin the reveal by having a talk about it before hand. The relationship aspect is ruined because you know she knew that he was going to do nothing but die. Despite the lack of satisfaction in the third act, the rest of the film is strong enough to carry it through. The film is well done in script and setting. The acting of Davis and Leary is strong and compelling. All in all, the film is worth a watch and wont take too much time out of your day, clocking in at 111 minutes.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Writing: Playing With Words
When the dreams flow like sap crawling down the callous skin of the Maple, caressing the grooves like a lover, lacing fingers of amber in each fold and crevice. This time is the only time when the jewels that fall from the mind, slipping into the dark in dazzling cascades of shimmering rain, that the mind, grasped tenderly by the blanket of night, can lean back and rest upon the chest of Eternity, feeling the arms of forever and never wrap around it and stop the sand from falling a grain at a time, if only for a brief few hours to us, but not to it - to the mind, the eternal slumber, painted in Dali-Kubrickian motifs, is forever and never, all and nothing, empty yet always complete.
The dreamer, if only a man or woman or child lost in the wheels and gears and gadgets that dictate or control or direct us as they see fit, lives a life or a moment or an eternity searching and finding and losing everything and nothing only to regain it all in the silent and dark or loud and bright mind each night or day or afternoon, letting their head rest upon a pillow or a couch or a table, but in that time, the dreamer dreams - dreams which leave us incomplete, much like interrupted sleep, where a dream goes on, but suddenly
The dreamer, if only a man or woman or child lost in the wheels and gears and gadgets that dictate or control or direct us as they see fit, lives a life or a moment or an eternity searching and finding and losing everything and nothing only to regain it all in the silent and dark or loud and bright mind each night or day or afternoon, letting their head rest upon a pillow or a couch or a table, but in that time, the dreamer dreams - dreams which leave us incomplete, much like interrupted sleep, where a dream goes on, but suddenly
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Critical Film: A Review of Walled In
Walled In
Starring:
* Mischa Barton
* Cameron Bright
* Deborah Kara Unger
* Noam Jenkins
* Pascal Greggory
Director:
* Gilles Paquet-Brenner
The house on haunted hill has people in the waaaaaalls! That was the first thing I thought after the movie started on the uncommon note of drowning a little girl in a tomb of cement. They showed the building designed by renown architect Joseph Malestrazza, the scene of a string of 16 murders of tenants who lived there. I swore that I was looking at the set of House on Haunted Hill the entire time because every view from inside looked like it was borrowed. I almost expected to see the ghost of Chris Kattan open a way out so our lead protagonist, Sam, could escape. The movie revolves around Sam, an engineer sent by her father to lay out the plans to demolish the building…why he didn’t send a team, or assistants..who knows.. She arrives and is greeted by the obsessive Jimmy, whom she finds out just ONE day after arriving, has a massive crush on her and believes she will do anything he says. This apparently doesn’t phase her, nor does the fact that a man almost kills her with an axe, the place was the tomb of 16+ people, nor that Jimmy’s father was one of the victims of the killer.
The films has numerous flaws, but it is shot rather well. The camera angles led you to believe that secrets hid around every corner, along with the lighting, everything was made really creepy. The major problems lay in horror movie judgment and the way the film pulled a 180 from what it was leading up to into something completely different. Sam should have made a call, gotten people out there to help her when things were going crazy. She should have not gone into the room where the bodies were found in the middle of the night with only a single flashlight held by the kid who obviously has a huge and obsessive crush on you. The movie also goes from being a most excellent ghost film into The Babysitter territory with the kid’s obsession leading him to imprison her with Joseph Malestrazza, whom was kept alive and it turned out HE was the murderer! Nooooot a big shocker, seeing as how most of the bodies were found in his walls of his own room in his own building..
Turning from ghosts to love story gone wrong makes no sense given what the viewer is shown before hand, but besides being a little disorienting, the movie isn’t all that bad. The acting is pretty damn good, the camerawork and atmosphere are done very well, but the attempt to fuse two completely separate types of movies into one is where the movie failed. Not bad, but not the best either, that’s why it gets a 3.7 out of 5.
Starring:
* Mischa Barton
* Cameron Bright
* Deborah Kara Unger
* Noam Jenkins
* Pascal Greggory
Director:
* Gilles Paquet-Brenner
The house on haunted hill has people in the waaaaaalls! That was the first thing I thought after the movie started on the uncommon note of drowning a little girl in a tomb of cement. They showed the building designed by renown architect Joseph Malestrazza, the scene of a string of 16 murders of tenants who lived there. I swore that I was looking at the set of House on Haunted Hill the entire time because every view from inside looked like it was borrowed. I almost expected to see the ghost of Chris Kattan open a way out so our lead protagonist, Sam, could escape. The movie revolves around Sam, an engineer sent by her father to lay out the plans to demolish the building…why he didn’t send a team, or assistants..who knows.. She arrives and is greeted by the obsessive Jimmy, whom she finds out just ONE day after arriving, has a massive crush on her and believes she will do anything he says. This apparently doesn’t phase her, nor does the fact that a man almost kills her with an axe, the place was the tomb of 16+ people, nor that Jimmy’s father was one of the victims of the killer.
The films has numerous flaws, but it is shot rather well. The camera angles led you to believe that secrets hid around every corner, along with the lighting, everything was made really creepy. The major problems lay in horror movie judgment and the way the film pulled a 180 from what it was leading up to into something completely different. Sam should have made a call, gotten people out there to help her when things were going crazy. She should have not gone into the room where the bodies were found in the middle of the night with only a single flashlight held by the kid who obviously has a huge and obsessive crush on you. The movie also goes from being a most excellent ghost film into The Babysitter territory with the kid’s obsession leading him to imprison her with Joseph Malestrazza, whom was kept alive and it turned out HE was the murderer! Nooooot a big shocker, seeing as how most of the bodies were found in his walls of his own room in his own building..
Turning from ghosts to love story gone wrong makes no sense given what the viewer is shown before hand, but besides being a little disorienting, the movie isn’t all that bad. The acting is pretty damn good, the camerawork and atmosphere are done very well, but the attempt to fuse two completely separate types of movies into one is where the movie failed. Not bad, but not the best either, that’s why it gets a 3.7 out of 5.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Critical Film: A Review of From Beyond
From Beyond (1986)
Starring:
* Jeffery Combs
* Barbara Crampton
* Ted Sorel
* Ken Foree
Director:
* Stewart Gordon
Adapted from H.P. Lovecraft, From Beyond is a story of mad science gone wrong. A portal to a dimension out of sync with our own is discovered through a certain harmonic pitch which stimulates the pineal gland. The dimension it uncovers though, is full of brain eating monsters! Dr. Pretorius, who was just born to be a mad scientist, creates the device and ends up merging with a monster FROOOOM BEEEYOOOONNNNDDDDD and it’s up to Crawford to prove that the device should be dismantled and that he wasn’t crazy. The movie has a great line after Crawford is committed to the psych ward, “It ate his head…like… a GINGERBREAD MAN!”, I couldn’t help but laugh at that line. The movie itself is about Dr. Crawford, Bubba the police officer, and Dr. McMichaels trying to fight the urge of keeping the machine on and giving into the high it gives you and the evil that is beyond our own world.
The movie is actually quite well done, having an almost Poe-esque feel to parts of it. The monster effects were classic 1980’s, utilizing a lot of gore and plastic faces being melted, but combine the effects with the feeling the set gave, along with the out of this world orchestral score, this movie excelled. It did drag on in parts, when you wish that the movie would stop going for lame quips or unneeded “feeding” scenes, but that was really the only part that dragged it down. The nudity is underplayed by the raw sexual desires that Dr. McMichaels was feeling. It was quite a sight to see her give an unconscious Crawford a handjob while she was dressed as a dominatrix, even for the 80’s! The movie was a good trip through the twisted landscapes Lovecraft has always provided, but the ending was somewhat strange. Crawford was mutating due to his exposure to the device, but McMichaels should be mutating as well, but that was never brought up as the movie ended with her laughing crazily, probably negating the freedom Crawford allowed her to have by sacrificing himself to the other dimension in an eternal struggle between Pretorious and himself. All in all, despite the campy effects, the script, plot, and character acting more than make up for the flaws of this film.
Starring:
* Jeffery Combs
* Barbara Crampton
* Ted Sorel
* Ken Foree
Director:
* Stewart Gordon
Adapted from H.P. Lovecraft, From Beyond is a story of mad science gone wrong. A portal to a dimension out of sync with our own is discovered through a certain harmonic pitch which stimulates the pineal gland. The dimension it uncovers though, is full of brain eating monsters! Dr. Pretorius, who was just born to be a mad scientist, creates the device and ends up merging with a monster FROOOOM BEEEYOOOONNNNDDDDD and it’s up to Crawford to prove that the device should be dismantled and that he wasn’t crazy. The movie has a great line after Crawford is committed to the psych ward, “It ate his head…like… a GINGERBREAD MAN!”, I couldn’t help but laugh at that line. The movie itself is about Dr. Crawford, Bubba the police officer, and Dr. McMichaels trying to fight the urge of keeping the machine on and giving into the high it gives you and the evil that is beyond our own world.
The movie is actually quite well done, having an almost Poe-esque feel to parts of it. The monster effects were classic 1980’s, utilizing a lot of gore and plastic faces being melted, but combine the effects with the feeling the set gave, along with the out of this world orchestral score, this movie excelled. It did drag on in parts, when you wish that the movie would stop going for lame quips or unneeded “feeding” scenes, but that was really the only part that dragged it down. The nudity is underplayed by the raw sexual desires that Dr. McMichaels was feeling. It was quite a sight to see her give an unconscious Crawford a handjob while she was dressed as a dominatrix, even for the 80’s! The movie was a good trip through the twisted landscapes Lovecraft has always provided, but the ending was somewhat strange. Crawford was mutating due to his exposure to the device, but McMichaels should be mutating as well, but that was never brought up as the movie ended with her laughing crazily, probably negating the freedom Crawford allowed her to have by sacrificing himself to the other dimension in an eternal struggle between Pretorious and himself. All in all, despite the campy effects, the script, plot, and character acting more than make up for the flaws of this film.
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