Friday, November 9, 2018

Missing Links

Several weeks' worth of links to drop in this post. Sorry.

First up I was pumped to join Mike White and Axel Kohagen on the Projection Booth podcast for a discussion of a movie I really love, Brad Anderson's Session 9. For those keeping score this makes my third straight dissociative disorder movie discussion following David Lynch's Mulholland Dr. and Terry Gilliam's 12 Monkeys. No idea what that indicates about me, but look for me to join Mike on a bunch of upcoming episodes that break the trend... I think. 

 Also on the episode Mike interviews co-writer/director Brad Anderson and co-writer/star Stephen Gevedon. As always I used the podcast as an excuse to catch up on a lot of the director's body of work previously unseen. I watched Beruit, The Call, Vanishing on 7th Street, Stonehearst Asylum and Sounds Like for the first time. Plus lookit who I found reading a book whilst manning the liquor counter in Darien Gap - none other than Big Daddy Thug, Todd Robinson himself. Heh.

On recent episodes of Do Some Damage I'm looking at the following:

A double feature double feature of Robert Bresson's A Man Escaped and Jacques Becker's Le Trou or Óskar Jónasson's Reykjavik-Rotterdam and Tomasz Thomson's Snowman's Land.

With Drew Goddard's Bad Times at the El Royale in theaters I talked some about Hotel/Motel movies.

Jeremy Saulnier's Netflix original Hold the Dark and other stuff.


Sunday, October 28, 2018

The Doctor Will Bone You Now: An Appreciation of Halloween III: Season of the Witch's Dr. Feelgood Daniel Challis, M.D.

Adam Howe has a new book (Scapegoat, with co-author James Newman) which means it's time for a new lengthy, obsession-driven piece at Hardboiled Wonderland. I won't waste your time setting it up - I'll just say that Adam's is one of my favorite voices out there doing gonzo, dirty crime/horror fiction and if you like this here blog my guess is you'd like his stuff too. So please, after reading the piece get your hands on some of his books.

The Doctor Will Bone You Now: An Appreciation of Halloween III: Season of the Witch's Dr. Feelgood Daniel Challis, M.D
By Adam Howe

WARNING — This shit contains spoilers… But frankly, if you haven’t already seen 1982’s Halloween III: Season of the Witch, then you are dead to me.

It’s getting late.  I could use a drink.
— Doctor Daniel Challis

It’s the week before Halloween when toyshop owner Harry Grimbridge arrives in a panicked state at a North California gas station, clutching a Silver Shamrock Jack o’ Lantern mask and raving hysterically to the gas station attendant that ‘They’ are trying to kill him. Grimbridge passes out and the pump jockey drives him to hospital, shadowed by the sinister black-suited men pursuing Harry.

While this shit’s going down, Doctor Daniel Challis arrives unannounced at the home of his ex-wife and kids, interrupting dinner. He’s stumbling drunk, literally staggering when he hugs his brats. He’s come bearing gifts: shitty Halloween masks, brown-bagged like booze, looks like he bought them on impulse at a liquor store or gas station on the drunk-drive over. Kids aren’t impressed. Mom’s already got ‘em Silver Shamrock masks, 1982’s must-have Halloween mask. Challis’s visit with the kids lasts all of a minute before he’s called away to the hospital. Some kind of emergency. (There’s a sneaking suspicion Challis has asked a buddy – probably a fellow barfly or the barkeep – to make the call and rescue him from his fatherly obligations.) “Drinking and doctoring,” deadpans his bitch ex. “Great combination.” He promises he’ll make it up to the kids. She gives a knowing roll of the eyes…

So in his introductory scene, we’ve established our unlikely hero – Doctor Daniel Challis – as an unashamed boozehound, a neglectful husband and deadbeat dad, who practices medicine while drunk. Pretty unusual protagonist for a horror flick. In an alternate movie universe, you could switch Challis with Denzel’s character in Flight — shit, Challis could probably fly a plane as well as he doctors.

Challis works at a small North California hospital. You get the impression the hospital chiefs are trying to minimize the possibility of a medical malpractice suit by burying Challis on the graveyard shift. It seems Challis’s regular routine is to play grab-ass with the nurses – particularly elderly black nurse, Agnes – and sleep off his drunk till quitting time. But not tonight.

Hysterical toyshop owner Harry Grimbridge is brought to the hospital suffering from shock, clutching a Silver Shamrock Jack o’ Lantern mask and raving about ‘Them.’ Challis chemically coshes the crazy bastard with 100mg of Thorazine and then stashes him in a room. After dealing with his one patient – hardly the big emergency that should’ve interrupted his visit with the kids – Challis tells Agnes he could “use a nap,” invites the old broad to join him, with a clap on the ass for good measure, and then retires to his office to catch a few Zs. He’s earned it.

While Challis is sleeping it off on the couch, a mysterious black-suited assassin murders the toyshop owner in his hospital bed. Woken by a scream, in an act of drunken bravado Challis pursues the killer through the hospital to the parking lot, where the guy torches himself with a can of gasoline and his car explodes.

In the aftermath of the toyshop owner’s murder, and his murderer’s incendiary suicide, a shaken Challis phones his ex to tell her he can’t pick up the kids. “Someone died here tonight,” he says. “It’s a hospital,” she replies. Naturally she assumes this is another of his bullshit attempts to shirk his responsibilities.

The toyshop owner’s hot young daughter, Ellie Grimbridge, arrives at the hospital from L.A. Challis – whose sexual harassment of the nursing staff has clearly established him as a poon-hound – takes one look and likes what he sees. But to his credit, he allows Ellie time to grieve – a day or two – before making his move. The yokel cops – suspecting the toyshop owner’s murder has something to do with “drugs, probably” – allow Ellie to ID her father’s body at the crime scene, shattered skull and all; I’m not convinced this is standard police practice.

Challis remains troubled by the murder/suicide. Nothing like it has ever happened in his eight years of practicing medicine at the hospital. And maybe he’s feeling some guilt at being passed out drunk when the murder occurred? He pesters the hospital coroner’s female assistant, Teddy – with whom he has a sexual past that Teddy wishes was sexual present – for more information on the assassin’s cindered ashes. Teddy is reluctant to breach hospital rules, but when he turns on the Challis Charm and promises “dinner,” she is powerless to resist and agrees to do some digging. (Challis has unwittingly signed her death warrant; a Silver Shamrock robot assassin will later fatally lobotomize Teddy with a coroner’s drill; a case of Challis drilling a chick by proxy.)

Having done as much as he can, Challis retires to his regular dive bar and starts knocking back boilermakers and watching cartoons. He’s on first-name terms with the barkeep, Charlie; my guess is Charlie paged Challis with his bullshit work summons when Doctor Dan was visiting his kids. Ellie finds Challis in the bar. “The nurses told me I’d find you here.” The implication being that when Challis isn’t doctoring, he’s getting shitfaced in this dingy gin joint, with one of the nurses, or just drinking alone, bitching about his ex to the barkeep. Challis and Ellie hit it off and decide to do some digging into her father’s murder.

Challis: I saw something that night.  I don’t know, your father came into the hospital… He— I thought he was crazy, out of his mind. He’s hanging onto a Halloween mask, he wouldn’t let it go… And what he said was, “They’re gonna kill us all.”  And in a little while he was dead.  And I don’t know what the hell is going on!

At the old man’s toyshop, a clue leads them to Silver Shamrock Novelties in Santa Mira, which connects with the Silver Shamrock mask that Ellie’s father was clutching when he was brought to the hospital. The amateur sleuths decide to travel to Santa Mira and poke around, sexual euphemism intended. Challis phones his ex from a payphone. Says he can’t pick up the kids this weekend. Important medical conference he can’t get out of. She doesn’t buy it. We’re beginning to get an inkling why the Challis’s marriage ended. Then Challis and Ellie set off for Santa Mira. Challis has bought a six-pack of beer for the road trip. It’s probably worth remembering that Ellie’s father has been murdered only days earlier. Challis is treating this like a vacation. In fact, it’s fair to say that Challis’s character motivation is to screw Ellie; that if he wasn’t so eager to jump her bones, what happens next might never have occurred.

Santa Mira is an Irish company town. (Ellie: “Irish Halloween masks?” Challis: “In California, you never know.”) The unofficial mayor is one Conal Cochran. A bog-Irish ex-pat, and one of the wealthiest men in America, Cochran made his vast fortune inventing practical jokes like the Dead Dwarf Gag and Sticky Toilet Paper – he’s the Donald Trump of whoopee cushions – before founding Silver Shamrock Novelties, the country’s number one seller of Halloween masks. This despite offering only a meager selection of three masks: Jack o’ Lantern, skeleton or witch. That’s it, kids. Pick one. Presumably Silver Shamrock’s aggressive blanket advertising campaign – with that fucking jingle – boosts sales.

Arriving in town, Challis casually suggests to Ellie that they pose as a married couple (“Mr. & Mrs. Smith” – quick thinking, Doc) and check into the Rose of Shannon Motel. If Ellie suspects Challis has an ulterior motive, she doesn’t let on.

The Rose of Shannon is a “zoo.”  The moment Challis and Ellie check in, the place is assailed by guests. The Buddy Kupfer family – Buddy’s sold more Silver Shamrock masks that any other toyshop owner in the country; as a reward, he and the fam’ have been invited by Cochran to tour the facility, like Charlie visiting Willie Wonka’s chocolate factory. And Marge Guttman, who has come to town to bitch about a fucked-up order. Marge claims this happens a lot. But what can you expect from Irish mask-makers? They’re probably drunker than Challis.

Snooping the motel guest register, Challis discovers that Ellie’s father stayed in town shortly before his murder. Knowing they’re on the right track, Ellie wants to start investigating right away. Challis tells her: “Whoa, slow down – I could use a drink.” That six-pack merely whetted his appetite. Staying overnight with Ellie in the Rose of Shannon, Challis offers halfheartedly to sleep in the car.

Ellie: “Where do you want to sleep, Doctor Challis?
Challis: “That’s a dumb question, Miss Grimbridge.”

It’s worth remembering once again that Ellie is the grieving daughter of a brutally murdered father, that the corpse is barely cold.

But Challis bangs her and then heads into town for more booze.

Returning to the motel with a bottle of liquor, Challis is stopped by a drunken bum. Not a drunken bum with a doctorate, like Challis; this guy’s a skid row wino who looks like he belongs on the mean streets of New York City, not a sleepy burg like Santa Mira. Challis shares his bottle with the bum after the guy assures him: “I ain’t got no diseases.” (Challis seems the more likely disease-carrier, probably a nasty STI – if he fucks like he drinks, I’m guessing he doesn’t practice safe sex.) The bum starts ranting about the damage Silver Shamrock has done to his hometown. Complains Cochran refused to give a “local boy” like him a job at his mask-making factory. (And for good reason. The guy’s a degenerate alcoholic. At least Challis is a functional alkie.) Challis returns with the rest of his bottle to Ellie at the motel. Hopefully he remembered to wipe the wino-spittle off the bottleneck before pouring her a drink.

After badmouthing Cochran to Challis, the bum returns to his favela-style shanty and is decapitated by the same yuppie-looking sonsofbitches who murdered Ellie’s father.

While Challis was away, Ellie has showered and slipped into some skimpy lingerie she’s packed for their investigation into her father’s murder. I guess she knew what Challis had in mind all along. Maybe she figured she owed Doctor Dan a roll between the sheets for his helping her? Maybe she just digs his mustache? Challis bangs her again, and then – in a brief moment of clarity – asks how old she is. It’s worth noting that Challis could pass for Ellie’s father. She assures him: “Relax, I’m older than I look.” Pretty vague answer – I’d ask to see some ID – but good enough for Challis. Despite claiming he’s too tired, Challis mans up, bangs her once more – third time’s the charm – and they drift into a satiated slumber.

That night, Marge Guttman, in the neighbouring motel room, starts screwing around with the microchipped tag on a Silver Shamrock mask – and is zapped in the face by a laser that makes a giant bug crawl out of her mouth. Challis and Ellie are awoken by Silver Shamrock medics carting off Marge’s corpse. (Female viewers, and gays, are treated to the sight of Tom Atkins’s ass as he pulls on his jeans; for the rest of the picture, Challis rolls commando.) Challis demands to view the body. “I’m a doctor!”  Of course, no one’s buying that, despite it being true – Challis probably reeks of booze and sleazy motel room sex. Conal Cochran arrives at the motel and assures Challis that Marge will be treated at Silver Shamrock’s state-of-the-art medical facility. Every mask-making factory has one. It’s the law.

The next day, Challis and Ellie visit the factory. Joining the Kupfer family on their Cochran-guided tour, Challis notes that the Silver Shamrock security men resemble the hospital assassin, and Ellie spies her father’s station wagon hidden away in a garage. Returning to the motel, spooked, Challis takes another drink and suggests they get out of town – fast. “I think it’s time for the Marines.”  He’s just being a wiseass. Unless he really believes this is a job for the military?

Leaving Ellie alone in the motel to call the cops from a payphone, Challis is unable to get an outside line. Ambushed by Silver Shamrock goons, he rushes back to the motel. Ellie has been kidnapped and taken to the factory.

Challis finds himself on the run from Silver Shamrock goons. Hopelessly out of his element – he’s just a doctor, after all, and a shitty one, at that – Challis literally stumbles around town before breaking into the Silver Shamrock factory in a brave, if ill conceived and ultimately doomed bid to rescue Ellie.

Challis sneaks around the factory searching for Ellie. Place is like a Bond villain’s lair. Finding an old crone, knitting in a rocking chair, Challis is horrified when he shakes her shoulder and pleads for help – only for her head to fall off and reveal she’s a robot. Next thing Challis knows, a Silver Shamrock goon with freakish strength attacks him. Fighting for his life, Challis slugs the sucker in the stomach, his arm sinks elbow-deep in the goon’s guts, yellow gunk spews from the wound, and Challis claws out a fistful of cables – another robot!

Challis isn’t cut out for this shit – probably thinks he’s having DTs – he becomes a little unhinged and is easily captured by Cochran and his Silver Shamrock robots. Great performance here from Atkins as Challis cracks up; channeling William Shatner, he’s teetering on his feet, eyes glazed, struggling to keep it together, as in Bond villain fashion, Cochran reveals to Challis his sinister plans.

Turns out Conal Cochran is an Irish-Celtic witch who plans to sacrifice the children of America to the Old Gods, and usher in a new Dark Age – or something. Using a stolen block of Stonehenge imbued with black magick power, and cutting edge 1982 computer technology, tonight’s 9pm Silver Shamrock TV Special will activate the microchipped tag on every Silver Shamrock mask, causing the child-wearer’s heads to melt and vomit bugs and snakes.

Cochran demonstrates on the unfortunate Kupfer family. They’re in a factory screening room. Little Buddy Kupfer is wearing his Silver Shamrock Jack o’ Lantern mask, and sitting too close to the goddamn TV while that fucking jingle plays and a computerized pumpkin strobes on the screen. Challis watches in horror as the mask melts Little Buddy’s head and spawns a plague of crickets and rattlesnakes that kill Buddy Senior and his wife. Challis loses what little sanity he has left as he realises what Cochran has in store for the children of America, including his own kids. (A rare display of paternal feeling.)

TV Announcer: It’s time.  Time for the big giveaway. Halloween has come. All you lucky kids with Silver Shamrock masks, gather ‘round your TV set, put on your masks and watch. All witches, all skeletons, all Jack o’ Lanterns, gather ‘round and watch.  Watch the magic pumpkin.  Watch…

Cochran retires to make his final preparations for tonight’s kiddie holocaust. Challis is left tied to a chair in a locked room, wearing a Silver Shamrock mask that will melt his head and make it spew bugs and snakes when the Special airs at 9. He manages to escape, crawling to freedom through a ventilation shaft like Bruce Willis in Die Hard – except this is pre-Die Hard, so one can only assume the makers of Die Hard stole the idea from Halloween III: Season of the Witch. (And Tom Atkins would later audition for the role of John McClane. True story.)

Loose in the factory, avoiding Cochran’s robots, Challis makes a desperate phone call to his ex. He begs her not to let the kids wear their Silver Shamrock masks. Quite reasonably, she accuses him of being drunk. Says he’s jealous that the kids prefer her masks to the shitty masks he bought them. Challis displays a complete lack of self-awareness by damn near crying in frustration that she won’t believe him, despite having been bullshitting her throughout the movie and probably their marriage.

Challis takes it upon himself to save his kids, and America, and ergo the world. After rescuing the strangely silent Ellie – bitch doesn’t even thank him – Challis destroys Cochran’s computer set-up by pressing a few random buttons, which causes his robots to malfunction, his computers to crackle with 80s-style visible blue electricity, and the stolen block of Stonehenge to zap the witchy Irish mask-making motherfucker into oblivion.

Challis and Ellie flee the factory before it’s obliterated in a fiery off-screen explosion. No time for Doctor Dan to celebrate with a drink and a lay. He must still stop the deadly Silver Shamrock TV Special from airing nationwide at 9pm. (Cochran must have used witchcraft to circumvent East/West coast time zones.)

As they blow town, Ellie is revealed to be a robot. To the actress’ credit, such is the woodenness of her overall performance, the shock reveal that she is a robot comes as a genuine surprise. After a fierce struggle, Challis beheads his young lover-turned-robot with a tyre iron. By now he’s little better than the stark raving loony (Ellie’s father) at the beginning of the movie. He even arrives at the same gas station and begs the same pump jockey for help.

With the clock ticking down to Halloween apocalypse, Challis makes a frantic phone call to whichever authority regulates television – all television – and convinces Mr. TV not to air the deadly Silver Shamrock commercial; a difficult feat for the President of the United States, let alone a lowly medical professional. But “You have to believe me!” seems to do the trick. One by one, the commercials cease airing. All except for one. Challis is left screaming like a madman into the telephone (“Turn it off!  Stop it!  Stop it!  Stop iiiiiiiiiitttttttt!”) as we cut to black and the end credits roll. The audience is left to ponder if Challis saved the children of America. And if Ellie was a robot all along.

Quite why this magnificent motion picture failed to find an audience remains a mystery. But 1982 viewers refused to accept a Michael Myers-less Halloween movie, and it died a quick death at the box office. More enlightened modern cinephiles can appreciate the film as a neglected classic of the horror genre.

A character actor is rarely better than when given a leading role in which to shine; playing Doctor Daniel Challis, a gone-to-seed stud with a doctorate, an eye for the ladies, and an unquenchable thirst, Tom Atkins carries the picture with a wonderfully nuanced performance. If we rarely see leading men like Tom Atkins anymore – with his non-classic good looks, and mustache – then we rarely see protagonists like Dan Challis. A unique anti-hero, the character of Challis elevates Halloween III: Season of the Witch to the A-list of B-movies.

As a final word of warning, do not play the Halloween III drinking game and try to match Challis drink for drink; you will likely be left requiring medical attention…perhaps from a doctor like Daniel Challis.

END.

Adam Howe is a British writer of fiction and screenplays.  Writing as Garrett Addams, his story Jumper was chosen by Stephen King as the winner of the On Writing contest and published in the paperback/Kindle editions of King’s book.  He is the author of Scapegoat, co-written with James Newman, Tijuana Donkey Showdown, Die Dog or Eat the Hatchet, Black Cat Mojo, and the editor of the Wrestle Maniacs anthology.  You can stalk him on Twitter @Adam_G_Howe.

Thursday, October 11, 2018

Deadlier Than the Male

So glad I got to see Panos Cosmatos's bloodfest, Mandy, on a giant screen with a packed house. If you're familiar with his previous effort, Beyond the Black Rainbow, than you know dude knows how to fill a screen and max out a hi-fi sound system. Mandy, fucking rocks, man. Just balls-out jackhammers the hell out of its bare-bones revenge plot by cranking the sound design and visuals to eleven.

Enter Nicolas Cage understated-sman extraordinaire and behold the glory of director Cosmatos egging him on to higher, higher, higher hights of manic fuck-muggery. Seriously, anybody else out there that could rage-drink a bottle of vodka in his tighty-whities on the toilet to greater than this dude can just try and wrest the "greatest film actor of his generation" crown from his fingers. (Side note - heh, one of my tweets about der movie made its way to La Voz's coverage of Mandy's Cage-Rage memes - proud of me now, dad?)

A couple weeks since, but I got a little emotional and carried away talking to Steve Weddle about Mandy on the Do Some Damage podcast. It's a rambling episode in which I also recommend checking out White Boy, the documentary about Richard Wershe Jr. on Prime over prioritizing White Boy Rick, the drama starring Matthew McConaughey (as Wershe Sr.).

What I can whole-heartedly recommend that is available to stream now and made for the greatest triple feature I've experienced in a while is the banger line up of trippy, spooky, male-gaze/fem-centric killer flicks: Harmony Korine's Spring Breakers, Nicolas Winding Refn's The Neon Demon and Jonathan Glazer's Under the Skin.

Spring Breakers and Under the Skin are both on Netflix now and The Neon Demon is free on Prime. I'd recommend the order that I saw them in too - Breakers, Demon, Skin - for a slow decent from the opening day-glo hedonism descending into the equally warm-hued and gleeful bloodbathing at the end of Breakers to the harshly lit, ice-cold veneer of Demon's gorgeous red riding-hood-esque fashion fable and concluding with the muted weird of Skin's honey trap.

Great for any time, but an especially chilly and chilling autumnal treat.

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Decalong

Couple weeks back when the rest of you were in Florida attending Bouchercon Steve Weddle and I found ourselves bereft of con attendees Holly West and Chris Holm and no idea what to do for the Do Some Damage podcast. What we opted for was an impromptu discussion about films - I promised not to do any preparation and let Steve pull a topic out of a hat prompting me to pull content out of my ass. The ensuing discussion covered Charley Varrick, Sterling Hayden, Jules Dassin and The Grifters. You can find it here.

And if that's not even close to enough of hearing me blather, Angel Luis Colón was his generous self and let me go on and on on The Bastard Title podcast. I've enjoyed listening to The Bastard Title episodes featuring folks like Johnny Shaw, Eryk Pruitt and Jordan Harper especially. Check out our conversation here. And be sure to pick up Angel's latest novel Pull & Pray from Down & Out Books if you like it hard boiled.
I'm always happy to have a new Shane Black film landing, not only for the opportunity to see it, but also for the excuse to revisit his entire body of work and to follow along with all the other folks who clearly feel the same way I do. A couple of my favorite Black pieces landing alongside The Predator that I particularly enjoyed:

Priscilla Page on The Last Boy Scout at Birth Movies Death.

Jake Hinkson on Lethal Weapon at The Night Editor.

I've been enjoying Michael Gonzales' The Blacklist series at Catapult covering out of print titles from African-American authors. The latest piece discusses Charlotte Carter's Rhode Island Red and it snagged my eye because I am still digesting the first of her books I've read, Walking Bones, a title I picked up on a recommendation from Kent Gowran

Kent's recently been posting simple book recommendations and having benefited from his recs in the past I pay attention when new to me titles and authors catch my eye. In the end, that's all I really want out of social media. Tell me about movies, books and music I've missed out on for whatever reason. So, I've been trying to do the same on Twitter recently. Just quick picks and signal boosts particularly for stuff I've enjoyed, but haven't seen much discussion about. 
Today I was going to suggest Jake Hinkson's No Tomorrow and last night he dropped the news that the French translation just won the Grand Prix de Littérature Policière 2018. Holy shit, man. That's such great news. Not going to pretend it's not personally validating too. I mean, I've been telling you jokers to read his shit for years. So glad he's at least getting his due elsewhere.
The French, man. They know something. I mean, fucking William Boyle and Benjamin Whitmer's new books are published there before they're available in English. Between this and news that the adaptation of Frank Bill's Donnybrook opened the Toronto International Film Festival and quickly sold to IFC Midnight films, it feels like maybe, just maybe I'm not full of shit.
So, if you want to stay out front of what's what for crime and noir fiction be sure to come to N@B-Pumpkin Spice Edition October 20 for a good shot of creepy fucking shit from repeat offenders Fred Venturini, Shaw L. Coney and Josh Woods, plus Kea Wilson, Seth Ferranti, Kenny Kinds, Sarah Jilek and Jessica Leonard

Maybe you've noticed I've not kept to a strictly weekly posting schedule here for the last few months. Maybe you haven't. Maybe I flatter myself that this has registered with anybody, but the fact is that in just a couple of weeks this blog will officially be ten years old and I'm damned tired. I'm not shutting down, but I'm officially giving myself permission to tap the brakes a bit. 
For three of these last ten years I also wrote Barnes & Noble's (no longer existent or archived) mystery blog, Ransom Notes, with posts twice a week (a pace I mirrored at HBW in order to cross promote). All in all a conservative estimate makes it easily over a thousand posts (and many thousands of hours spent writing and apologizing for them). I'm glad to have done it, but I'd like to concentrate more on other writing going forward.

I'll continue posting here, just don't expect a regular schedule. If you've been reading regularly here, thank you. Really, the feedback I get from you guys makes it feel like I'm not just jabbering into the void and I appreciate every bit of it. For more consistent (and mercifully brief) content Twitter is where you'll find me talking about the shit I tend to talk about (follow me @JedidiahAyres).

Monday, September 3, 2018

Dog Day Afternoon Delight

As a kid haunting the grocery store video section I was always fascinated by the poster for Dog Day starring Lee Marvin. Oh man, he looks so badass pursued by helicopters across a wheat field and----I think I thought the rose on his jacket was the bloody bloom of a gunshot.

I'd never heard the phrase 'dog day' before, but it pretty much translated in my mind to 'a real bitch' and perhaps it's understandable that I confused the Yves Boisset film about a gone bad bank robbery for Sidney Lumet's similarly concerned and titled Dog Day Afternoon.

Then when I was in high school the 'dog' in the title coupled with the black ties in Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs made me immediately assume it was all referencing Dog Day.

Michael Madsen's line to Harvey Keitel "I bet you're a big Lee Marvin fan" seems to reference Martin Scorsese's Who's That Knocking at My Door? in which Keitel talks Zina Bethune's ear off about Lee Marvin

But I like to think he's actually suggesting that Keitel's character Mr. White is having a blast play-acting like he's the aging badass thief and killer Marvin plays in Dog Day "Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy?"

I was also totally mixing up Lee Marvin's helicopter pursuit through wheat fields in Dog Day with Marvin and Sissy Spacek running through wheat fields chased by a tractor with evil intent in Michael Ritchie's Prime Cut.

Anyhow, I finally saw Dog Day and it's not very good, but I can now keep it and Dog Day Afternoon and Prime Cut straight in my head. That poster though... that poster is amazing and I'm grateful for all the wild adventures it inspired in my head

Friday, August 31, 2018

Perdita, Perdita

This week on the 7 Minutes With (Do Some Damage) podcast I'm recommending a double bill of writer/director Ryan Prows' feature debut Lowlife and Álex de la Iglesia's Perdita Durango. Both are gonzo pulp crime flicks full of over the top awfulness and humor. Lowlife feels a bit like a multi-focal Robert Altman ensemble packed with weirdos criss-crossing on their way down the drain. Any of the characters could've supported their own feature, but instead we get a collection of stories that all end in the same spot.

When I talk about people who write interconnected stories one of my favorites is Barry Gifford whose Sailor & Lula chronicles are among my favorite fictional universes populated with characters as sweet and depraved as any you'd care to name. Said universe is probably most widely known through the David Lynch film Wild at Heart, based on the first novel in the series. The next volume, Sailor's Holiday, includes a chapter/novella called 59 Degrees and Raining: The Story of Perdita Durango (also released in paperback as Perdita Durango). If you've seen the Lynch film, Perdita Durango is the character played by Isabella Rossellini and as fucking cool and great as she is, she's a far cry from the heat and ferocity brought to the same character by Rosie Perez in the Álex de la Iglesia film adaptation, Perdita Durango (also released in a different cut as Dance With the Devil).
Perez is a force of nature in the role and she's only half of the screen. The other half belongs to Javier Bardem's Romeo - a psycho killer, bank robber, carny con-man and when the two of them get together it results in combustion.

Both Lowlife and Perdita Durango approach crime material with a good dose of gonzo energy and if you've seen other Iglesia pictures (like The Last Circus or Witching & Bitching... pretty much anything except The Oxford Murders - what was up with that?) then you know what I'm talking about. They're not going to be for everybody, but they're going to be delicious little discoveries for some of you.

Outside of say... Pulp Fiction or the Sin City flicks, I'm having difficulty thinking of other specifically crime movies that do the whole interwoven narratives ensemble thing, but I'd love suggestions if you've got any. I just love well-done fare like that. I like to watch it, I like to read it, I like to write it. You know who else does?  Steve Weddle. On the episode I didn't miss the opportunity to mention his own contribution to the field, Country Hardball, but he y'know edited it out... so it sounds like I'm making him the butt of a joke rather than making him the butt of a joke and actually plugging his book. You should all go read his book.

Another book you might consider reading?

The Good Son by You-Jeong Jeong. It's the first English-language translation by the author who is a best seller in Korea - land of the kick-ass crime flick. It's the first Korean crime fiction I've read and thanks to Minsoo Kang and Steph Cha I got the opportunity to write about it for The Los Angeles Review of Books.

It was kind of perfect for me because it's about a weirdo without a social life who's obsessed with movies...and might be a matricidal psychopath. Anyway, it gave me the chance to talk about movies a lot in a book review.

Films like The Bucket List, American Ultra and especially City of God figure into the actual plot of The Good Son while I used the opportunity to talk about other flicks the book reminded me of like Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Cure and David Lynch's Lost Highway, but considering the subject matter and Korean setting, I think Bong Joon-Ho's Mother is the film begging to be talked about alongside The Good Son (which I've seen compared to Patricia Highsmith's The Talented Mr. Ripley as well).

Lastly, be sure to mark October 20 on your calendars and make plans to attend N@B-Pumpkin Spice Ed. It'll be your chance to hear N@B favorites Shaw L. Coney, Fred Venturini and Josh Woods return as well as first timers Seth Ferranti, Sarah Jilek, Kenny Kinds, Jessica Leonard and Kea Wilson. See you then.