Today was the Holiday Party at the Day Job. We boarded the buses and headed to the usual venue (a popular local club/restaurant) where we were treated to a delicious buffet and an open wine and beer bar. We danced, made fools of ourselves and left early after the buses deposited us back at the building. I've said it before and am happy to say it again: I work for a wonderful NPO that treats its employees like family and I consider myself quite blessed to a part of that family.
Anyway, I got home about 2 hours earlier than usual and had every intention of using that time to its best advantage. So, what did I do? I plopped down on the sofa and watched reruns of "Law and Order: SVU" on cable. I had planned to work on my almost finished screenplay and make notes on an idea I had for a novel. Instead, I got caught up in Chris Meloni and Mariska Hargitay investigating the sexual assault a young girl who. along with her unsuspecting parents, was the victim of a car accident. o creativity on my part, whatsoever.
I did manage to make a few notes for the novel, several hours later, but by then, the idea of expending energy on either project was little more than a distant memory. I watched some more DVR'd TV; checked Facebook and my email; played a game and came here to bitch about how little I'd actually done today. Sigh... sometimes I hate my lack of discipline.
So, what does the picture of NBC's "The Cape" have anything to do with anything about which I've talked tonight? On a scale of 1 to 10: 1. Though I will be posting about it as soon as I've actually seen it. I guess that's something...or not. I just ask that you hang in until I actually have something worth saying.
The next time I post, it will 2011. Can you believe it? This year sure flew by, didn't it?
I, for one, am not really sorry to see 2010 go. Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of great moments in 2010. I made some wonderful new friends; got to directthreeshows; got my third tattoo and spent my birthday at an iconic amusement park with several dear friends. I saw a few really terrific movies and even more really bad ones. I watched some groundbreaking TV, was crushed (and eventually glad) to find that Sharktopus was more interesting to SyFy than Army of the Dead and got that much closer to completing a script I think is even better than Army of the Dead. My sister made a rare trip North; my parakeet finally learned that I'm not a threat (we even play a game with one of his toys, now); I finally realized how unfair it would be for me to get a boxer, even though I desperately want one and I had delightful year-end holiday experience (so far, anyway). I was part of my first YouTube video (and am about to instigate another*); I was lucky enough to spend my 8th year as a board member of the JTMF and managed to convince our founder to add The Trevor Project* as one of our beneficiaries with our recent production of It's a Wonderful Life: A Live Radio Play.
Even with all the amazing and good things that happened this year, the terrible things seemed to have weighed more heavily. There was the Great Kitchen/Bathroom Disaster of January, followed soon after by the Great Health Scare of February. Then the most repulsive movie ever made was released and my faith in good Horror movies was reduced to ashes... May saw the end of TV's most intriguing drama in years; and the scandal that should have (but didn't) blow the lid on religious hypocrites. June gave us not only JTMF's Sordid Lives, but my pick for the Worst Movie of 2010. July may have given us the Double Rainbow and my amazing birthday celebration, but August extended the Summer of Suck, as far as movies were concerned. September saw me battling my continuing struggle with depression, though Top Girls helped me through a lot of that (not to mention the addition of several new friends). Then Fall suddenly came, slip-sliding into the Holiday Season without any warning at all, and Uncle Prospero found himself with his faith in humanity curiously renewed, as he seems to do every year.
Still, I want to know where my jetpack is; where my flying car is and what other lifeforms are living on Io. Is that really so much to ask in this, the start of the second decade of the 21st Century?
In all seriousness, I wish all of you the Happiest, Healthiest and Best of New Years. Be safe, sane and most of all, kind in the coming year. I hope your dreams come true (or at least closer to it) and that you find your bliss. I hope you know the kinds of friendships with which I have been blessed and that all of your endeavors end in nothing less than success. Thank you for reading. Thank you for commenting. Thank you for caring about what I have to say. I hope 2011 is better or all of us.
That's the hedge at the bottom of my driveway this past February. It will probably look very much the same tomorrow, despite what a co-worker who has a degree in meteorology told us on Thursday when we left for the holiday break. What makes it okay is that I have off tomorrow, anyway. And it makes my neighborhood so pretty, especially at the houses with holiday lights. I know many of you don't have off, but you may get to extend your holiday weekend anyway. It's a pretty epic storm, I guess. The NFL actually re-scheduled the Eagles' game tonight. It's the first time the NFL has postponed a game because of snow since the 30's (sometimes I 'm just so butch I almost can't stand it).
And yes, in case you're wondering, I got several pages of the screenplay written last night and think I've pretty much outlined the rest of the plot in full. After this brief post, I'm off to rewrite a scene so it supports the new outline. I'll probably spend a good portion of my snowed-in day writing, as well. The snow here won't stick around long - they're predicting temps in the 50's for next weekend.
I hope all my East Coast readers get a snow day tomorrow! I hope you're all snug and warm, watching the movies or playing the video games you got for Christmas or Hanukkah. I hope you have enough milk, eggs, bread and batteries to see you through the dig-out (is there some French toast rule I don't know about?). I hope some kids offer to shovel for $10 or $20, so you don't have to (so worth it). Even better, I hope a kind neighbor with a snow-blower digs you out for free (though you should at least offer a cup of cocoa). I hope you got a sled for Christmas! I hope you have a place to use it on your snow day! I hope you're careful! Wear a helmet! You'll shoot your eye out! Wait... wut?
If you're unlucky enough to have to go back to work tomorrow, I hope it's an easy and quick week for you.
Okay - it's not Saturday and while these two things probably belong on the Zombie Zone, I've already done my Christmas post there, so here they are. The first bit of nonsense is from Failblog and is a Google autocomplete inquiry. That means at least one person searched for that specific question. Why? Why would anyone need to know that? Of course, as a screenwriter doing research, I've searched for some pretty outrageous information, but nothing that comes close to this particular inquiry.
And since I've already brought up eating human flesh, the zombie-lovin' loons over at BoingBoing posted the video below, today. It made me laugh. I hope makes you laugh, too. I really will be taking tomorrow and Saturday night off (and maybe Sunday). I'm on vacation from the day job all week and plan on finally finishing the the first draft of the screenplay I've been working on for the past year or so. Anyway, enjoy this:
I miss my mother's mother. "Grandmom Cookie" (so named because she always had a cookie jar of goodies for us)* was a barmaid. She was funny and salty and did everything she could to make my father crazy. She had Tuesdays off, and she would come over and take my mother and I out shopping, often buying my sister and I anything we wanted, which drove my father absolutely bonkers. One day, after a particularly generous trip, my father said "Jesus Christ! You'd buy those kids the world, if you could!" The next week my sister and I came home with globes. I never really wondered how I ended up with such a sarcastic sense of humor.
Cookie would come and spend the night on Christmas Eve and my sister and I would open her presents that night and presents from Santa on Christmas morning. One year, after a particularly prosperous season, we opened a few gifts from Cookie, only to find about a hundred more from her the next morning. the entire house was filled with presents. The living room; the hallways; the kitchen and even the bathroom were piled high with toys. I can still see my father, steam practically pouring out of ears, unable to say a word because it was her prerogative to spoil us rotten if she wanted to.
The first Christmas after Grandmom Cookie passed away (just a few moths earlier, in October) was rather sad. Mom, deciding we needed some cheering up, let us open one present on Christmas Eve. The following year, we opened all our presents on Christmas Eve. Neither my sister nor I believed in Santa any more, and it seemed a fitting way to honor Cookie's memory. The tradition has remained and we always open our presents on Christmas Eve, leaving Christmas Day as a day of leisure. We sleep in, I make an awesome brunch and we just relax for the rest of the day.
Of course, Grandmom's generosity has spilled over to me, and I often find myself buying too many gifts for those I love. That doesn't mean that I equate Christmas with tons of gifts or that I'm obsessed with 'things.' But I did learn how to shop for holiday gifts that have meaning to the folks about whom I care. And seeing their faces when they open those gifts gives me more joy than any present I might receive, could.
This year, I tried to restrain myself. A few of my dearest friends decided we should set limits on our spending, and I did my best to abide by their wishes, though went overboard as usual with everyone else. And while the money I spent this year was probably less than lest year, knowing I got gifts that will bring smiles to the faces of those I love is what matters to me.
So, what's the point of this post, you may well ask? I suppose it's only to remind you that giving is the best part of Christmas (whether or not you are a 'believer') and that having people in your life for whom you want to buy gifts is far more important than the gifts you receive from them.
I hope you have as many people you love in your life as I do. I always feel blessed for those in mine. Without them, I'd just be some opinionated jerk with Internet access...
More, anon.
Prospero
* That is almost the exact cookie jar Grandmom had, BTW
If you haven't noticed, there are just 7 shopping days until Christmas. Uncle P still has a few gifts left to pick up, but I'm not panicking yet. My first gift exchange isn't until this Sunday when I visit Auntie. I have to wrap her gifts, but at least they're bought.
And I actually braved my local mall tonight after leaving the day job and survived quite well, even though the Disney Store's computer system went down and gave me considerable agita. I have gifts I have to send to Florida tomorrow, dang it! (And don't think the irony of sending Disney Store gifts to Florida is lost on me.) I even bought myself a gift, though I will wrap it up and deprive myself of it until next week. Still, it was 40% off, and I just couldn't resist, especially since they had it in my size.
I have a total of 8 gifts left to buy, though I won't be seeing some of the folks with whom I exchange until after the 25th, so there's a bit of a safety net there. Still, I'm usually well done my shopping by this time and just picking up extras and incidentals as I come across them. Of course, this year I've cut back quite a bit (as has almost everyone, I think). A lot of that has to do with the money spent on my aging house earlier this year. And less O.T. at the day job. And the economy in general.
I still have tomorrow and part of Sunday, as well as Monday; Tuesday; Wednesday and Thursday night (we exchange on Christmas Eve in my house). But I still have to clean the house for guests, prepare holiday goodies, etc., etc., etc. It will get done. It always does, somehow. It's very much like putting on a play -- just when it seems like nothing will be ready in time, suddenly it is. And I can sit back and breathe a little sigh of relief. Until next year.
I hope all your shopping; wrapping; decorating; cleaning; baking and cooking is done. I hate you if it is (not really), though doubt that is...You're all probably in the same boat (or worse) than I am. (Unless of course, you don't celebrate Christmas, even as a secular holiday, like Uncle P does). Don't worry - it will all be over soon. Just remember, it could be worse:
So yesterday, Uncle P cooked the entire Thanksgiving meal. It wasn't nearly as large a meal as in some households. It was just me and my mother for dinner. But it was certainly more food than I usually prepare for a single meal. I roasted a small turkey breast, made two kinds of dressing (my grandmother's Hungarian-style liver stuffing for me and more traditional stuffing for Mom); mashed potatoes; mashed turnips and carrots; candied sweet potatoes (which I actually tried and liked for the first time in my life); gravy and crescent rolls. Yes, there was canned cranberry sauce (my kitchen is small and I didn't have the time for anything fancier). For dessert, we had carrot cake (purchased from a day-job friend as part of a fund-raiser for her son's school) instead of the traditional pumpkin pie. Carrot cake is my personal favorite cake and this one, while a bit expensive, was exceptional. Everything turned out wonderfully, despite painfully bending back my thumbnail while attempting to open the tube of crescent rolls (which resulted in blood spoiling about half of them, but then there were only two of us, anyway). I worked off most of the calories in the clean-up, though I still have plenty of left-overs.
Of course, today was Black Friday. Unlike my sister, who left her house at 4AM in an attempt to catch some bargains, I slept in and didn't go out shopping until noon. No camping out, no stampedes, no lunatics. Well, some lunatics, but not many. My first stop was actually the grocery store to take advantage of a two-day sale on paper towels and toilet paper - practical, if nothing else. I then made stops at three other stores in search of specific items, most of which I found at reasonable prices. I came home, had a meal of reheated leftovers (which barely made a dent) and caught up on this week's DVR'd programs. Of course, most of the rest of this weekend will be spent working out the final details of my upcoming show, though I do have a lunch scheduled with some very dear friends on Sunday.
My holiday shopping is about 50% done, which is late for me. Back in the day, when I worked in retail and went to Florida every October, I was 90% finished by this time of year. And while I buy gifts for less people now than I used to, it seems to be getting harder and harder to find the "perfect" gift for some folks, especially those I've known the longest. Oh well. I still have 27 days to finish and plenty of stores and websites left to visit.
I hope all my American friends and readers had a wonderful Thanksgiving and I want to wish everyone a fabulous Holiday season, no matter what holiday it is you may be celebrating in the upcoming month or so. This time of year always seems to turn Uncle P into more of a sentimental old fool than he usually is. Maybe a trip to a spa is order. At least I wasn't part of something like this (via):
This one is for Stephen in Portland, who posted the trailer to what is undoubtedly one of the most pain-inducingly funny movies ever made, as a secondary portion of his Fourth of July post about his husband's recent hand surgery (please visit his blog and wish Hubby well -- tell him Uncle P sent you). I saw this film with my college buddy Brian N.* and his lovely wife, Carol. Brian and I were doubled over in pain, laughing; while poor, sweet Carol spent the whole movie saying "Oh, dear! Oh, my!" which only served to make it funnier for both her husband and I. Honestly, the scene in the alley behind the bar nearly sent me to the hospital the first time I saw it.
If you've never seen Team America World Police, you may want to watch"South Park" on Comedy Central. If you like South Park, then you probably already know and love Team America. If you hate South Park (and I don't know anyone who does, other than my 75 year-old auntie, who hates everything but exceptionally crappy horror movies and "Ghost Hunters"), then I'd recommend you see something else.
Here's the trailer for Team America, which gives no real indication of the foul-mouthed; perverted; potty-humored; absurdly brilliant satire that Trey Parker and Matt Stone have crafted:
The story concerns Gary, an actor in the Broadway musical 'Lease,' where the big showstopping number is called "Everyone Has AIDS:"
Gary is recruited to go undercover for Team America, because of his amazing acting skills. And willingness to undergo painful facial reconstruction, only to end up looking like a 12 year-old's attempt at making a werewolf costume. We soon learn that Middle Eastern terrorists are actually being funded by the evil Kim Jong-Il (language NSFW):
The North Korean dictator is sent up in a much funnier Bond villain parody than Dr. Evil could ever be, especially when considering a deliriously silly scene involving adorable little house cats as giant panthers and another in which a baby shark tears away at a fish-filled Hans Blix puppet.
All kinds of insanity (and hilariously dirty puppet sex - both straight and gay) ensues, leading up to Gary doubting himself enough to get very, very drunk (NSFW and not for the squeamish, though effing hilarious!):
Thankfully, I've never seen a pond of vomit, in real life.
The insanely over-the-top jingoism of Team America (who fly in to stop terrorism, only to cause far more destruction in doing so), can best be summed up in the title of both tonight's post, and the movie's theme song (very NSFW):
No ethnic group, minority or celebrity is spared a skewering, which somehow makes all that skewering OK. Parker and Stone are equal opportunity offenders and since no one is safe, no one should feel threatened or discriminated against. Taking on everything from strange 60's Sci-Fi shows; Jame Bond; the French; Islamic terrorists and Broadway to left-wing celebrities; puppet porn; the NRA and Matt Damon, Team America World Police works so well on so many levels. Crude, rude but just so damned funny, TAWP is an absurd and nonsensical pleasure about which no one should feel guilty.
So tonight, as I watch the neighborhood fireworks through the window above my monitor with that certain amount of jingoism that seems infect all Americans this time of year, I am reminded that satire is protected under "Freedom of Speech" and I can't help but think that even with all our nation's flaws (and you do not need me to remind you of them), I still live in the Greatest Country in the World.
PS - That promised review of that new NBC show is coming... I just got such a tickle from revisiting this movie tonight, I had to share.
*Brian and I met doing theatre in college and have been jokingly competitive about our shared name, ever since. And bizarrely, even though she has met him on more than one occasion, K still insists that Brian doesn't actually exist.
I'm Hungarian. And German, with a little Scotch thrown in for good measure. But I grew up knowing more about my father's Hungarian roots, simply because he was first generation and my mother's family had been here much longer. My father's parents came over in the early 1900's as children and ended up in the Hungarian neighborhood of Trenton's Chambersburg section, which was mostly Italian. I grew up eating my grandmother's Hungarian Stuffed Cabbage, Chicken Paprikash and a curious version of bruscetta that in phonetic Hungarian is called "shutney sullan-ya," which translates as "Dirty Bread." It's delicious, but so bad for you. Diced onions, tomatoes and peppers on rye bread, covered in the drippings of slab bacon which has been cooked on a stick over an open wood fire. When the bacon is cooked, that gets sliced up and put on top. I haven't had it in years, but my mouth is watering describing it for you.
Anyway, today honors Saint Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland, who supposedly drove all the snakes out of the country. Everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick's Day. We all wear green; get sloppy drunk on Guinness, Harp and Jameson; eat corned beef and cabbage and have green bagels for breakfast.
The Patron Saint of Hungary is Saint Stephen, the first Catholic King of Hungary. Saint Stephen's day is a big day of celebration in Hungary, but nowhere else. Americans don't spend the day eating goulash (a dish my grandmother hated and never made), dancing theCsardas and drinking pear brandy until they puke.
So, if I'm going to be Irish today, I'm going to do it in my own way. Via BoingBoing comes this rather amusing, silly Steampunk vid about catching a leprechaun from the League of S.T.E.A.M.:
And while this has nothing to do with Ireland or Steampunkery, I haven't talked about movies since Sunday, so... BoingBoing also recently posted this amazing trailer for the upcoming Ridley Scott-produced film Parallel Lines. Five different directors were given the same dialogue with no stage directions and asked to make a film out it. Each short is totally different in tone, style and genre. I think the whole concept is fascinating and can't wait to see it:
Oh, well. Back to being a boring old American tomorrow. Until then Saide Felte everyone.
Honestly, I hate Valentine's Day. And not because I'm currently single. Thanks to my many years spent in retail, I have come to think of it more as a 'Hallmark Holiday.' Florists; jewelers; crappy plush toy makers; candy companies; restaurants and greeting card companies are the only ones who really get anything out of it. And what they get is your hard-earned cash.
Historically (or rather, mythologically) Valentine was Christian priest during the reign of Roman Emperor Claudius II (not the one played by Derek Jacobi on the BBC) who married young Roman couples despite Claudius' decree that young men should remain unmarried so they were more likely to serve in the Roman army, or some such nonsense. Jailed for his treasonous behavior, Valentine fell in love with the jailer's blind daughter, whom he supposedly cured through prayer. The night before his scheduled execution (and subsequent martyrdom), Valentine wrote a letter to the girl, saying farewell and professing his love; signing it "From Your Valentine."
Now it just so happened that the ancient Roman festival of Lupercalia was celebrated in mid-February. The festival, dedicated to Juno (the goddess of marriage), was usually when young Roman men lost their virginity to willing young ladies who wished to serve their goddess in this very capacity. But sometime around 496 A.D., Pope Galasius turned the pagan holiday (as the Church so often did with pagan holidays) of Lupercalia into the Holy Day of Valentine, and ever since, St. Valentine's Day has been a celebration of carnal love. Of course, it helped that usually not long after Valentine's Day, Lent starts and carnal desires are meant to pushed aside for 40 days of self-denial. In other words, screw away now, for blue balls are forthcoming. And "carnal" (of the flesh) is where we get the modern word "carnival," which has come to mean the week before Lent. "Mardis Gras," or Fat Tuesday, is a direct descendant of the carnival, a time spent in carnal excess. Which of course dates back to the Pagan rituals of eating the last of the previous fall's harvest in preparation for the spring, fattening up for the 40 days of self-deprivation to come (see how it all ties in, there?). I promise to save the Pagan origins of Easter for another time, but you can probably see where it's going...
Anyway - February 14th hasn't always been the most wonderful of days in history. Anne Boleyn was beheaded on 2/14/1537; Al Capone sanctioned the infamous "Valentine's Day Massacre" in 1929 and Roosevelt ordered the internment of Japanese Americans on 2/14/1942. Three years later, the bombing of Dresden commenced on 2/14/1945; Malcolm X's home was fire-bombed on 2/14/1965 and on 2/14/1989 the Ayatollah Khomeni announced the fatwah on Salman Rushdie for his novel "The Satanic Verses." Not exactly romantic occasions.
Of course, on February 14th, 1999, I was personally dumped during what I had planned to be a romantic dinner with someone with whom I thought I had a real connection, but who turned out to a superficial asshat. And no, I'm not bitter, I swear. I've had romances since then and I'm sure (or at least I hope) I'll have at least one more romance again. But damnit, I am sick and tired of this stupid "holiday" where single folks are left out in the cold while couples celebrate the death of a minor Catholic Saint with candy, flowers and folded cardboard sentiments that aren't their own...
Anyway - here's David Letterman's take on VD, from 2008:
Just a quick post tonight to wish each and everyone of you the best this Holiday Season. For me, all holidays are secular. I suppose I celebrate the season more as an ancient pagan might; feasting and sharing and glad for the passing of another year above ground. (Too dark? Sorry). And yes, we should celebrate those things every day, but its nice to have a special time set aside for doing extra.
We share our bounty with family, friends and those less fortunate. We eat differently; we get secretive and excited; we wrap gifts in paper to heighten the suspense and take special delight when a gift hits the recipient's mark (or when a giver hits yours). We hug and kiss and carry on; we drink more alcohol and eat more sugar and regret it two weeks after its all over. We spend too much; we stress too much; we run around too much and we put so much pressure on ourselves to have a "perfect" holiday. The best holidays I can remember were always about who I was with, rather what was going on around us or what presents were exchanged.
If you are reading this post, then you are hopefully taking a break from Holiday Madness in search of some insight (or at least a chuckle). Or maybe you're hoping for one of my occasional links to some half-naked hottie or a YouTube clip:
I'll be back on the Zombie Zone this Saturday (and you should check it to see my favorite Christmas gift so far, from the same kindred spirit who made my "Princess Unicorn" doll last year) and then again with my review (finally) of Avatar Sunday night or early Monday morning.
Eat well, give wisely and spend time with those you love this weekend. Uncle Prospero * certainly plans to do so, and strongly suggests you follow his advice. We wouldn't want this happening, would we?:
That's James Franco swapping tongues with adorable (his eyes get me, evey time - just like Jake's do, but in a less dirty way) SNL regular Will Forte playing Franco's character's grandfather in a sketch about a creepily affectionate family that was gross, hilarious and curiously hot, all at the same time. Franco appeared in the original version of this sketch in last year's Thanksgiving show.
The loss of Tina Fey, Tracy Morgan and Amy Poehler has left SNL much more hit-or-miss than usual, but this week's Christmas show was among the best I've seen in a long time.
The show started with "An Intentionally Lost Episode of Lawrence Welk" featuring another appearance by singing Mahrelli Sisters, three of whom are beautiful, butone of whom (SNL's strongest and most consistently hilarious, Kristen Wiig) is the 'special' sister. The character is reminiscent of Rachel Dratch's 'mutant sister.' though Wiig makes it uniquely hers. I have to admit, as wrong as this character is, and as uncomfortable as she may make some, Wiig almost made me pee my pants from laughing, especially by the end:
Franco is adorable as ever, though I'll never understand why they made him sing and dance (the Latin 'Maury Show' parody got very old, very fast). Still, he not only played tonsil hockey with doe-eyed Forte, he also parodied his role as James Dean on "The Vincent Price Christmas Special" by letting Liberace (Fred Armisten) pleasure him under a piano. Wiig is again hilarious as an over-achieving young Katherine Hepburn:
"Mmmm... Asbestos!"
There's something familiar about the look on James' face at the end of sketch... Hmmm.... I wonder what could it be?
Here's hoping all my fellow East Coasters are safe and at least on their way to digging out. The official record in Philly was just under 2 feet, though here in Southern Bucks County, I think we got more. And a special "Thank You" to the new neighbor who offered to snow-blow my driveway and sidewalk. You saved Christmas, sir! Thanks to you, I was able to actually finish my holiday shopping today, quite pleased with all of my choices and the bargains I got on them, not to mention the lack of crowds almost everywhere I went.
See that poster? It's real. It's for a movie about... oh, dear God... about a... I almost can't bring myself to type this... Aw, what the hell? Blood Freak is a 1972 horror movie about a were-turkey! Seriously. The monster is actually a guy who turns into a blood-drinking killer turkey... And yes, this is another Bad Movie post. Sorry, I've just been in a bad movie mood for 40 years (and if you get that joke, you've done way too much theatre, you're really gay or you're my friends Kathy and Alice).
Today, Unkle Lancifer and Aunt John's wonderful Horror blog Kindertrauma had a post about horror movies one should watch for Thanksgiving, and while Blood Freak wasn't exactly recommended, it was mentioned. And since I had never heard of this movie (the closest I could come was Bloodsucking Freaks, Joel Reed's 1976 craptacular which is alternately titled The Incredible Torture Show. Get it? Lame).
Anyway, I clicked a link and soon found myself confronted by the most inexplicable three minutes of a movie I've ever seen. And in all fairness, any random three minutes seen out of context from any movie can be misleading and confusing. Sadly, I have a feeling that the randomness and non contextual factor have nothing to do with the following trailer. You watch it first and then we'll come back to discuss. K? BRB. (Um, I'd say "Enjoy the clip," but that depends on how stoned you are when you watch it - not that I'm endorsing anything, I'm just sayin' is all):
Ah... H.G. Lewis seems a genius; Ed Wood an auteur and Brett Ratnor a Celluloid Picasso, compared to directors/writers Brad F. Grinter and Steve Hawkes. I read the rather extensive synopsis on IMDb, and it still made no sense. So, here's my attempt to distill it (in at least as much as I understand it) for you, dear reader:
Herschell (Hawkes) is a down-on-his luck Vietnam Vet. He gets a job at a turkey farm, where the owners are experimenting in an attempt to create an addictive turkey product. Having already gotten Herschell addicted to pot laced with some of their chemicals, they promise him more if he'll agree to test their chemically altered product. The results (as usual in these kinds of movies) are not good. Herschell becomes a were-turkey,* capable of getting the drug he needs only by drinking the blood of other users (though how he schlurpsit up through that immovablepapier-mache beak is beyond my ken - use a straw, for cryin' out loud - or at least a sippy-cup!). If you'll excuse me for evoking de Sade, the pain of watching this movie must be exquisite. Hey, I made it through Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter - I can make through almost anything, damn it!
And just so you know - this Bad Movie Mood isn't over, just yet. Now you can't say that you haven't been warned. And of course, these posts are a movie geek's version Schadenfreude, which is a German expression for the feeling of enjoyment one gets from other people's misfortune... Damn! The Marquis raises his dirty little head again.
*Be honest - on what other blog might one find the term "were-turkey" not once, not twice, but three times in the same post which also mentions the Marquis de Sade , Jesus and bad movies? Find me one and I'll buy you dinner. OK - I'll admit it, that last link was purely for the amusement of my sister, who is probably wetting her pants as she reads this (or at least trying real hard not to). I probably should have linked the word 'dinner' to this, instead.
Honestly - what the hell is wrong with me that I feel compelled to see this insultingly bad film? Please, tell me I'm not alone in this bizarre obsession...
