One More Thing

Okay, let me explain.


It is Halloween proper as I write this. Spooky Month has lived and thrived in the month of October. It's dying now, fading into the cold, dark abyss of Minnesota winter. As sad as I may be to see my favorite holiday come and go once again, it's not the end of the world. Fall here is a beautiful time; the leaves are changing. The air is crisp and clear. The first snow is beautiful. There - I said the S word. It's inevitable. Every year we have to face the undeniable return of the dreaded white stuff. Again, not the end of the world - it just feels like it. The older I've gotten, though, the more I see the beauty and natural order in it. So how does this tie in with the end of Spooky Month? Simple. I want to implore you to watch the 1982 version of The Thing.

The Thing is a classic of the horror genre, with a few unique twists that still set it apart from the modern dreck. Set in a research station on the South Pole, the movie tells a paranoia inducing tale of an alien creature that can change shape. That's really all I want to give away of a plot that's well worn and almost 30 years old. To say anymore would ruin a few good surprises. Kurt Russell stars as a burly and surly helicopter pilot who unravels the mystery in front of him, one shot of whiskey at a time. When a dog from a neighboring Norwegian research facility arrives at the station, being hunted by the last surviving Norske, things go awry and an expedition is sent out to find the facts. The venturing crew find...something...in the ice. The Norwegian camp is in ashes. When they return to their outpost, Russell and co. are faced with a terrifying, inhuman force. It. Is. Amazing.

There are so many things that work well in this movie. The direction is fantastic, establishing a sense of space in a grounded, if painfully cold, place. Watching this movie almost gets me excited for winter, if that makes any semblance of sense. The cast do a superb job of recoiling in the face of indescribable monstrosities, which brings me to the crux of the movie. The monster, the titular Thing, is astounding and horrifying, even today. The practical effects are appalling in the best possible way (WARNING - NOT SAFE FOR STOMACH). Consider yourself warned - this movie is not for the faint of heart. It's nasty and ultra grotesque. In spite of, or perhaps because of the graphic and slimy gore, The Thing is an astounding watch.

I have little to no interest in seeing the recent prequel in theaters. This version, directed by John Carpenter (in his first major outing), is a perfect stand-alone horror movie. The story is told so fantastically well, the beats so well spaced and timed, the plot so deftly woven, that seeing explicitly what happens before it is simply not necessary. The chaos in the Norwegian camp was so perfectly established in this version that I just don't see the point in revisiting it to tell their story. Maybe I'm wrong here, but I just feel Carpenter's version is such a great, singular thing that it doesn't need expansion.

So there you have it. One last gasp of Spooky Month to see you through to next year. Get ready for the impending winter with a horrifying, paranoid tale of isolation and mistrust. It'll keep your mind free of cabin fever for the next season. Or maybe not. Maybe you'll just get more suspicious of your companions. Either way, enjoy The Thing. Lights off, as always.

Warm Fuzzy Viewings Trois

Cold, quiet days here in Minneapolis. Makes the brain slow down. It's always dark this time of year, although the sunlight increases by tiny increments each day. How do you fight the monotony? It's a weeknight, you're exhausted, you can barely muster up the motivation after work to make dinner. What's to be done? 

You turn off the lights, crawl into bed and take in another Warm, Fuzzy Viewing. 

Today's entry is another one of many stellar Simpsons episodes. Mountain of Madness first aired over 14 years ago, during the series' eighth season, in what some consider to be the end of the 'Golden Era' of the show - just after the astoundingly good run of seasons 4-6, but just starting the season that gave us the fan-infuriating Frank Grimes. Personally I feel this is still in a good phase of the show, and arguements have been made on the internet about how what that magical, untouchable era constitutes and how it collectively is pushed forward with each passing year. As the show grew from its initial roots, fans said season 4 was too wacky and season two had the most heart. Back when season 7 was airing, it was the third season people claimed to be the best. When Homer went into space as an astronaut it was only season five! What I'm struggling to express here is that the show quickly became a source of insanity and fevered online debate. No matter the nerdly anger about perceived dips in quality, I still love it no matter the percieved quality changes. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but this particular episode was never a stand out, either. It was a middle of the pack offering, broadcast February 2nd, 1997, set in both winter and containging a hidden passage of sorts.   

Regardless of my Apologist stance on the Simpsons and my unwavering fanboy status, today's Warm Fuzzy Viewing is Mountain of Madness. One of the rare episodes that contains snow but not Christmas, it starts of with a fire drill that takes much longer than it should.

Mr. Burns: Is it supposed to take this long? What's a good time for a mass evacuation of the entire plant?
Smithers: 45 seconds.
Mr. Burns: And what's our time so far?
Smithers: I don't know, sir. This stopwatch only goes up to 15 minutes. 

Eventually Homer makes it out and barricades the door behind him, trapping his panicking coworkers. After the rest of the Nuclear Plant's crew has made it out (a great unspoken gag here being the broken second floor window, a couch having been thrown through it) Burns declares their ability to work together atrocious. A team building exercise is to be held on Mt. Springfield. It will be a pairs' race to the top, with the last team to arrive being fired. The Simpson clan drives up for the exercise, their car careening around the frozen parking lot like a pinball until it comes to a stop in the middle of the lot. Soon they get down to business at hand.

Burns: "This will be an ardous climb, one of the most grueling tasks man can...Simpson, did you bring your family?"

The Simpson clan head into the park's informational cabin to waste the day and the Nuclear Plant's team pairs off. Through the requisite twist of fate, Home is partnered up with Mr. Burns and Smithers is left on his own. Apparently Burns felt Smithers had "been a bit of a pill, lately." The teams start their journey and the adventure begins. Soon after the race starts, however, Burns uses a bit of wordplay and charm to convince Homer they should use a snowmobile to speed to the top, as it is Man using the best of his skills to cheat if possible. They beat all the other teams and arrive soon after.

Mr. Burns: We have several hours before the others arrive, let's say we get comfy. (turns on the fuse box) Now we have electricity. (turns on the gas) This propane tank will supply us with heat. And this doorknob, properly turned, will allow us access to the cabin. 
Homer: No going through the window for us!

As they sit back and relax before the buffet spread out before them (Burns: "From the highest pharoh to the lowest serf, who doesn't enjoy a good sit?") they toast to their success. The vibration of the glasses clinking sets off an avalanche, unfortunately, and Burns and Homer find themselves trapped in the cabin under tons of snow. Dementia quickly sets in and the pair descend quickly into madness, each creating snowmen for company. Their imaginations seizing control, they become paranoid and agressive. When Burns threatens Homer, he taunts him with "You and what army?" and immediately imagines an army of angry snowmen behind Homer. He panicks and screams "Stay back! I have powers, political powers" which Homer promptly sees as snow-versions of Mao Zedong, Abraham Lincoln, Ramses, Ghandi and Teddy Roosevelt. It's an inspired bit of lunacy, this cabin fever.

Somewhere around this time Lenny and Carl arrive on scene to find...nothing. They muse that maybe the cabin "was a metaphor, to find a better place inside all of us." Carl disagrees. "Nah, they said there'd be sandwiches." Figuring out something is amiss, Marge, a mountain ranger and the kids head out into the mountain forest to dig them out. 

As far as WFVs go - we have the snow/avalanche, we have a secret space (the cabin) and Homer attempts an escape tunnel. Not the strongest candidate for a WFV but it's a great episode with two strong elements that qualify this one.

Who will survive and what will be left of them? Will Homer and Burns tear each other to pieces? How does a rocket cabin fit in? And do the employees no longer get sandwiches? Tune in to find out!

Warm Fuzzy Viewings Deux

To compensate for the shortened post mourning Double Danger Comics, today I offer another Warm Fuzzy Viewing. Today's subject is the Simpson's episode "Skinner's Sense of Snow", in which a blizzard hits Springfield and traps the students at school before Christmas. This episode was originally broadcast December 17th, 2000, which seems completely impossible for an episode to be eleven years old and still seem like it's part of the 'newer' era. Let's dig in!

The episode starts with Homer being denied the opportunity to watch football because the family wants to see the Cirque de Puree (Homer: "But I wanted to see Brett Fav-re!" complete with French accent). When the circus tent is blown away the Simpson clan hightails it home, barely beating the impending snowstorm, which is described as a "Nor'easter meets a Sou'wester". When the storm rolls in, even the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant is closed. 

Radio Announcer: The following schools are closed today; Shelbyville, Ogdenville, Ogdenville Tech, and Springfield Elementary... (Bart and Lisa gasp in surprise)...My Dear Watson Detective School. (Bart groans) And lastly, Springfield Elementary School...(Bart and Lisa cheer) …is open! (Bart and Lisa groan) And it's open season on savings at Springfield Menswear... which is closed.

 The few students whose parents forced them to attend are made by Skinner (the only faculty member not off at a caucus) to watch the delightfully terrible holiday movie 'The Christmas That Almost Wasn't, But Then Was'. Taking cues from Mystery Science Theater's expertise, the old movie is rife with production errors, like a Grip walking into the shot, or cardboard props for sheep falling over, mid-take. It's best summed up by Milhouse's complaint about the protagonist singing to the romantic interest: "Why won't he stop singing? He's been wooing her for 45 minutes!" When the projector catches fire (Nelson: "Ha ha! You shoulda got the DVD!" Skinner: "This IS the DVD") the class tries to leave, only to find themselves snowed in. 

Bart: "We're trapped in the school!"
(Wailing)

Milhouse: "We're gonna miss Christmas!"
(Even louder wails)

Skinner: "I fixed the movie!"
(Loudest cry of all)

Realizing the kids haven't made it home yet, Homer and Ned venture out in the blizzard to rescue them with a makeshift plow.

Flanders: Well, I'm all for rescuing the kids, but I wish you hadn't sawed off my roof. (cut to show part of Flanders’ roof sawed off)
Homer: My car, your roof; it's only fair.
Flanders: But it's my car.
Homer: Well, yeah.
Flanders: Hey, whatever happened to the plow from your old snowplow business?
Homer: I never had a snowplow business.
Flanders: Sure you did, Mr. Plow. You're wearing the jacket right now. (Homer turns, revealing he's wearing the “Mr. Plow” jacket)
Homer: I think I know my own life, Ned. (sings "Call Mr. Plow, that's my name; that name again is Mr. Plow".)   

En route to the school they hit a fire hydrant and freeze to the spot. Running the engine to stay warm, they are overtaken by fumes and pass out, giving way to Homer dreaming he is a Sultan in the Middle East (Homer tells a maiden: "Bring me my Ranch Dressing hose!")

The kids are forced to spend the night in Springfield Elementary and Ned and Homer are trapped in a fume-filled car! Will they survive? Will the kids miss Christmas? Will they have to finish that terrible movie? Watch Skinner's Sense of Snow to find out! (Available in the Season 12 box-set or on Simpsons Christmas Vol. 2.) 

It's an excellent episode in which we have one of the prime ingredients - the snow storm trapping the kids in school, on top of Bart trying to escape via Secret Snow Tunnel! I love shows with blizzards trapping people in places - one of my favorite memories of this winter has to be the massive and record setting blizzard in December. I watched from my condo as the city buses just flipped their signs over to 'Not In Service' and made everyone get off where they stopped. It was nuts, the whole city shut down. As a result we stayed inside, cooking awesome and elaborate food all day. 


I think what I love about being snowed in is having to dig in and go into that 'survival mode' or try to entertain yourself with whatever is around. You're forced to make the most of your immediate surroundings instead of thinking that something outside or elsewhere is better. This episode hits that feeling square on - blizzards, do your worst! 

The Days Are Just Packed

Good afternoon!

After giving a truncated update yesterday I wanted to take the holiday to post two pieces today. Le premier piece continues from yesterday's segue, namely the genius and sorely missed Calvin and Hobbes.

The creation of the talented and reclusive Bill Watterson, the strip ran in national papers from 1985 - 1995 and featured six year old Calvin (no last name given) and his life with the stuffed but lively tiger Hobbes. It was the rare jewel of the comics section that was at times sweet, goofy, insightful, mischievous and philosophical. For a taste of what no longer is, check out this excellent sample of selected pieces.

My own predilection for (often unintentional) critical thinking no doubt had its roots in my childhood devouring of the strip. Calvin would ruminate on such esoteric ideas as why scientists had dubbed a magnificent and dynamic theory on the creation of existence itself something as dry and clinical like 'The Big Bang', offering his own preferred title - The Horrendous Space Kablooie. It makes me smile to know the Calvin's alternative actually has caught on in some scientific communities. Other times the story would stretch out over days of strips, such as the sprawling tale of snowmen-come-to-life "Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons." To this day I can't see a snowman without picturing Calvin's wonderfully disturbed creations. While the strip ran the seasons along with the rest of the world, Watterson seemed to really take joy in creating the winter comics. Tales of sledding and snowball fights shaped my understanding of what winter can be. I may not be out cross country skiing everyday, but given the chance and proper snow, I'd leap at the chance to construct my own bizarre snowmen.

The strip pictured above stands out as a particular bench mark for what the series had to offer. There's no joke, no humor to be found at all, really. It shows how Watterson's characters can not only make you laugh but be taken seriously as well, without coming across as self-aggrandizing or preachy. The dynamic style of Calvin and Hobbes makes them standout from the scenery, despite the stark setting. Just the first frame is worthy of critique - the bird is drawn as real-to-life, as it he were trying to show the reader that the strip would be more "real" than a story about the duplicator box or tormenting girl-next-door Susie Derkins (one of the few examples of a last name). There's an underlying sadness present, but it isn't hopeless. It's the melancholy of life, that there is joy in sorrow, or a give and take that we assume things make sense when we're older and we wince at a precocious six year old assuming the world will one day make sense. 

Then again, there is always the delightfully absurd sight gag like the strip above, which is so simple and Dada-esqe that it verges on a non sequitur. The blank expression on Calvin's face is absolutely priceless. In sharp contrast to the above comic, this strip illustrates the flip side of the sense of humor.

And here we have a summation of the elements described above - winter, humor, eccentric views. 

This comic was so smart and witty, it was a painful loss when Watterson retired his widely loved pair. If you have the chance, pick up one of his compilations. The collected works could serve as a veritable doorstop, but you can't beat having them all in one place. Smaller volumes make it more digestible and easier to leaf through. I guarantee you'll chuckle to yourself as you flip through the pages. Trust me. 

Late Night

Bon Soir!


It is currently 20 minutes to midnight as I type this and I have had a rather long day, so in the interest of appeasing the God of Sleep I'll keep this brief.


To clarify the establishment of tabs at the top o' the blog, Warm Fuzzy Viewings will detail my obsession with very particular settings in visual fiction. In particular, things that are set in:

• Rainstorms
• Blizzards
• Night Time
• Secret Passages

I can't put my finger on why these things fascinate my brain, but whenever I'm watching a show or a movie at night and it utilizes these elements, preferably together, there is some strange part of my brain that is firing at an increased rate. It's not unlike the rush of imagination a child gets when being handed a cardboard box.

Stay tuned for updates. Anything from Simpsons episodes, Batman comics, Dickens novels or Halloween specials. Probably mostly Simpsons episodes...

Winter

In the interest of shooting myself in the foot as fast as possible I'm gonna cover a couple things at once.To boot, one thing is already massively unpopular and the other gets little-to-no recognition. It's really the combo of the two that I'm in love with.These two great tastes that I love together?


Dark winter mornings and Akira Yamaoka.





Wait, why are you running away? Hear me out.



I know it sounds nuts, especially in the midst of the darkest part of the winter. The stretch after the holidays is, as my fiance points out, is nothing but endless winter.

No fun days off. No big party holidays. No reprieve. Just endless dark and cold.

Thing is, I love waking up in the morning and making the (brief) walk to the bus station in the dark while listening to Akria Yamaoka.

"Who is that?" you ask, quite rightfully so.

"An awesome musician" I answer gushingly. A composer whose long and varied career has wrapped around another of my loves, Silent Hill.

Silent Hill is a series of freaky deeky video games that elicit most of their renowned disturbing moments and scary reputation from the mood and ambience they present. I won't delve into detail in this post, I'll ramble on about my long love affair with those particular games another time. The music, though...

As I said, the series is heavily reliant on mood and ambience, a significant portion of which stems from Yamaoka's contribution. His soundtracks to these games go one of two ways - either industrial and machine-like grinding beats and crunching guitars, or trip hop and down-tempo subdued pieces that amplify the effect of introspection and solitude on the listener. Admittedly I am far more in love with the softer aspects of his writing. I find them absolutely haunting and eerie in the best way possible. Slow and soft drums and loops, melodies from a weeping guitar.

Here's my small cheat: I make a playlist in itunes of just the more ambient atmospheric pieces. Keeps me from the shock of NIN-style blasts of noise as I'm still waking up. Mix this with the quiet contemplation that presents itself from walking to work in the dark and you've got a serene way to start the day. The sky is still dark, almost purple. Streetlights glow that odd orange tone that reflects off the snow. It's quiet around, no noise but the occasional car passing. Haunting, really.

Granted it may be my love of horror movies, a long-fostered love of solitude and personal reflection or just a skewed sense of musical appreciation, but I am in love with starting my day as though I'm in the peaceful opening to a very peculiar movie. Long before any unpleasant plot twists.



Makes me sound like a monk, perhaps.



Point is I love this composer's work and the je-ne-sais quoi air of a quiet January morning.