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I’m too unfocused. Earlier today I told myself that when I get home from work I need to sit down and continue with this writing project I’ve been putting together. After mulling that idea over, I thought to myself that it would probably be better if I just blog. I’m not one who likes to force moments; especially moments of true, pure inspiration.

Since 2006 I’ve been writing this thing. That’s not to say everything I’ve written since 2006 is apart of it, but in some form or another the thoughts and ideas that I’ve put into whatever I’ve produced have helped nudge me further and further in the direction this story is demanding to be taken.

The idea, at first, was to write about something completely intimate and personal. Something that I wanted to express to anyone who cared to read; to share in the joys and triumphs, along with the pitfalls and the sadness. It sounds incredibly cliché, but it wasn’t until after I graduated high school that I really allowed myself to start to discover just who I was as a person. Prior to that point I think a lot of us are wedged into making decisions and formulating ideas that have been instilled in ourselves by family and close friends because that’s all we know how to do. It’s safe and secure. It’s the known and familiar. With the pressures put on about deciding what you’re going to do for the rest of your life at age 18, I can see why it would be easier to just go with the flow and stick to routine and normalcy.

I’ve never graduated college. I tried it twice. Both times I ended up dropping out. I can’t necessarily pin point it to lack of ambition, general laziness or apathy; or that maybe I was just scared and not ready to face the future. I think it might have been a culmination of all those things. Do I want to go back? Sure I do. Then again, part of me wonders if I just like the idea of being a student again. The idea that I would be doing academic things and advancing myself in a forward direction. That status of studentship and the atmosphere of matriculating with other people who are striving toward their own future goals.

I can’ even stay focused to finish that thought. I feel like I’m getting off track from my original purpose. If I even had one. I’m shooting a thousand thoughts and it’s like they’re all fireflies daring to and fro and I’m trying to catch them with a fishing net.

The idea was to write something personal. I started to come into myself after high school. I learned to formulate my own thoughts and ideas based on my own developing moral code and principles. One of the worst things I can think of is to be a slave to an ideology you haven’t even really given thought about. I started my freshman year of college at EMCC. It lasted two months before I just let it go.

No college? No problem. I got a job in the food service industry. I met some cool, interesting people. People from all different walks of life. Each who, in their own way, left an imprint on my life that would help change and define who I am forever. I know that alone is a grand and powerful statement. How does some no-named co-worker who makes minimum wage in a kitchen, barely speaking English help change and define someone else?

Alright, alright I’m moving into after-school special territory and that’s not what this is about. The point is, I was able to find a way to appreciate not being in school by learning about something else. Living life. Outside of over-priced textbooks and stuffy rooms.

Sometime in 2005 I finally admitted to myself that it was okay for me to be gay. That I didn’t have to feel bad or guilty because of some antiquated belief system that is around, for the most part, to give one group of people a reason to control another. I came out to a select few people. People I knew who would be able to accept me for me without any awkwardness or hatred or what have you. Random thought: I think it’s funny that someone can say “I lost my virginity”. Um, no, you didn’t lose it. You know damn well where it went. One doesn’t “lose” their virginity. It’s given up.

I gave mine on New Year’s Eve, 2005 in the backseat of a car in the middle of the desert to some guy whose face I can barely even remember. Isaiah something or other. I didn’t even like him. It was awkward and messy and we hardly even spoke afterward. Looking back on it, I’d say it seems pretty normal. It’s not like it was a movie or anything. Just two people coming together for a singular moment of intimate pleasure.

The idea was to write something personal.

I don’t like stereotypes, but I know they exist for a reason. I don’t think I’ve ever really fallen into the stereotype of what most mainstream, straight people slap on a gay guy.

I know this is ending abruptly, but I’m too unfocused to continue this tonight. I’ll continue later.

In the past 3 months I have...

been given a raise. aged an entire year. been told to shut up on more than one occasion. made dinner. had dinner made for me. read parts of several books. not finished a book. lied, because I finished "Full Dark, No Stars". lied some more. worn jeans that have widening holes. not thrown said pair of jeans away because they feel too damn good.

written numerous words. written excerpts from 10 possible stories. decided that 10 possible stories is worth next to nothing. downloaded music from iTunes. listened to a lot of music. gone for walks. wished the weather would get colder. worked. worked. worked. worked. worked.

had a white russian or two or three or 10. purchased "In Rainbows" just so I could intermix the tracks with "Ok, Computer" and make one fantasmic album of Radiohead genius. opened presents. talked on the phone. hung up on someone. not gotten sick.

cussed at drivers I passed. wished that whoever planned road construction in this state would die in a fire. fought for the sake of fighting. bitten my nails. dreamed some pretty messed up dreams. been told I will probably be killed by someone. been told I will kill someone.

watched several movies. rearranged the furniture in my bedroom at least 4 times. played World of Warcraft more than I probably should. tried to find my ps2 controller so I can relive the awesome storytelling that is Digital Devil Saga Parts 1 and 2. found said ps2 controller in the closet. not yet relived the awesome storytelling that is DDS 1 and 2. blamed WoW for my lack of playing any other truly better video game in my arsenal.

written no other blog entries, save for this one. exchanged e-mails on the daily. bought the soundtrack to "Black Swan" because Clint Mansell is amazing. worked. worked. worked.

not done anything worth mentioning.

ps: the cake is a lie. and so is your face.

27: A Dream? Or Something Else Entirely...

The following is a dream I had last night. Looking back on it now, I think I have the workings of an awesomely B-rated slasher movie. So Wes Craven, if I see this thrown in my face next Halloween I will come for you. And I will cut you. This, I think, would be so poetic it makes me heart hurt.

I shall piece this together from foggy dream memory. It kind of makes me wish I had just written it all down in my post-dream, delirious state at 4:00 this morning.

So it begins like this:

I’m in a room. Pretty nondescript. Four walls, maybe a window, but probably not because it was really dark. There was a small lamp on an end table sitting in one of the corners. Instead of a door there is a curtain. I’m standing in this room with a younger woman. Black, frizzy hair. I’m holding a large lamp in my two hands. It isn’t plugged in to any outlet.

The young woman is talking to me, though I can’t really understand what she’s saying. She’s panicked. From under the curtain I can see two brown paws suddenly flutter by. I hold up my lamp, ready to swipe at the paws the next time they come by. The woman begs me not to do it. She says something like: “He’ll kill us. Don’t do this, he’ll kill us, he’ll kill us! Don’t mess with the dog”.

Naturally I don’t listen and, when the creature (a dog I guess) comes shifting by, I strike out with the bottom of the lamp and knock it off its paws. It whimpers and whines as I continue to strike out. The woman is screaming and I’m screaming and the dog is wailing and I just don’t stop. I continue to lash out at this dog. The woman is striking me with her hands, begging me to stop because we’re all now going to die and it’s all my fault.

The scene suddenly shifts to six or seven of us, black frizzy haired girl included, to an open room. It’s a very comfortable room. High vaulted ceilings, plush furniture. Windows. One of us, a young guy with blonde hair, light eyes and a killer smile is talking about this guy who goes around at night and selects three people. These three people are taken to his place of business and locked into rooms. There, they experience untold horrors. He grabs three people every night until his place is filled with 27 people.

He tells this story from the couch while sitting next to an equally attractive blonde girl with wavy hair. She looks skeptical, but I don’t really care about her look. I continue to pay attention to the guy telling this obviously ridiculous story.

So he gets 27 people. Once they are all collected, he forces them into a large room (“Like this one here,” he says which I am sure if merely for added horror effect). After they have all been corralled into the room, they are forced to select one among them to die. They must come to a consensus as to which one of them will die. And once they’ve voted, the unlucky person would then be lead off by the man and killed. The others would be set free and it would be as if nothing happened.

The blonde girl sitting next to him laughs. I can tell by the way the guy is looking at her that they are most assuredly fucking. Disappointing. He insists the whole thing is true and to be careful tonight when we all go to sleep.
The scene suddenly changes to three of us in a closed room with a pair of bunk beds, a small window and a lamp. It’s me, a red-haired girl who looks very unsettled and an Asian guy. The red-head is freaking out and rocking back and forth on her heels that “we’ve been taken, we’ve been taken, oh my God we’re going to die”.

I’m looking around, trying to remember how we even got into this place, but I’m drawing up blank. The room is damp and I finally notice that the paint (color I cannot tell because the lighting isn’t all that great) is peeling off in various places. The floor is hard and cold cement. There is no door visible.

The scene switches then to the girl on the lower bunk, still mumbling about dying. The Asian is nowhere to be seen, but then again, I’m not looking for him. I’m lying on the top bunk, watching the ceiling shift and move like some throbbing organ getting ready to burst. And then the girl screams.

I bring my head over the side of the bunk in time to see a giant form wrapped in a massive brown coat move atop her. His hands are a mass of fat fingers and they’re around her neck because I can hear her start to choke and thrash below me. And then it’s just one hand around her because his other has reached into his jacket or coat and pulled out a gleaming blade. And then it’s being stabbed into this poor girl and I can hear it slide so easily into her flesh and then there’s ripping noises and

The scene shifts. I’m walking down a small flight of stairs toward a glass door. Behind me a voice demands that I stop. I’m almost to the door and a hand grasps my shoulder. I swing around and a guy with nappy, horrid brown hair is yelling and demanding that I return to the room with everyone else.

“You’re going to fucking stay and we’re going to make a decision and if you don’t then I will convince everyone to select you and then YOU will die and we’ll live. Get back in that goddamn room!”

I look at this dirty guy. He’s got his hand on my shoulder and trying to pull me back into the room and I grab his hand and say: “It doesn’t matter. We’re all dead anyway. I’m not going back in there to condemn someone to death. Not gonna do it. Not gonna do it. We can all walk now. The door’s open.”

The scene shifts. I’m running around the room. The floor is slick with blood and the red-head is still on the bottom bunk, shaking with her hand held out. Her eyes are glazed over and she’s choking and coughing up blood. The Asian guy tells me to calm down. All I see is this girl, bleeding on a mattress, choking on her own blood and vomit and there’s nothing I can do.

The scene shifts. I’m running toward a shoreline of big rocks and boulders. On the other side of the wide expanse of water is where I am supposed to be meeting people. People who can help me figure out how to take care of this guy and his murderous ways. I don’t know if he’s behind me or not and I don’t care. I run like my feet are on fire. And soon I’m on the rocks. The tide is serious and crashes into the smooth, water-worn surface of the rocks with a vengeance. Cold water splashes over me, leaving no inch of my skin dry. And then it pulls back and I feel myself being thrown into the rocks. I cry out and stumble forward, along the side of the rocks, heading toward a small path that will take me across the water. I realize I have to time everything just perfectly, otherwise I’ll end up being pulled out into the sea and I’ll never be able to get to

Scene shifts. I’m wet and slowly drying in the afternoon sun as I enter into the outdoor market area. The place is awash with moving bodies and faceless strangers. I’m panting when I notice them all seated at a wooden table. They’re sipping on sodas and munching French fries. I wave. He waves back.

Blonde Guy With Killer Smile cocks his head to side as I approach, clearly taken back with my appearance. “Where have you been dude?” Girl He Fucks With Wavy Blonde Hair passes her eyes over me and arches a brow. I collapse onto a bench, panting.

“It’s true,” I finally say. “It’s all true. He came for me.”

And then Black Frizzy Hair gasps and looks around, as if to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Killer Smile nods and says, in a manner of fact way, “Yes, I know. I told you.” I just stare up at him, unable to find the energy to move my head. “I know how to stop him.”

Scene shifts. The dog, if it was a dog, has escaped by brutal attack. In its wake is a trail of black liquid I can only guess to be its blood. I can hear its whimpers getting softer and softer as it pulls itself further down a hallway. Black Frizzy Hair is crying, head shaking back and forth as she mumbles through convulsing sobs. “You sick bastard, why? Why’d you do that?”

I open my mouth to explain that it was all apart of the plan. It would surely lure the man out and we’d then strike. We would end his life and his reign of terror on everyone else. I never got to say these things because the curtain is suddenly pulled open.

Large hands grab my throat and I am violently yanked forward, out of the room. I can still hear the girl sobbing and then I hear the crash of glass and know that the lamp that had been providing light in that room had been knocked over. I’m not even struggling. I’m too surprised that I can’t even begin to comprehend what is even going on.

When I open my eyes, I’m in the middle of a large, open room. Killer Smile and Blonde Wavy Hair are there, all serious faced and grim. Hobo At The Door is grinning. Even the Asian is there. Killer Smile steps forward.

“So it’s you. You’ve been chosen.” I swallow, hard and audible and look around. I can’t count them all because I just can’t bring my mind to focus on reality. It’s gone on some wild vacation somewhere, leaving me doomed. There are, I’m sure, 27 people in this room, including myself. I open my mouth to say something, but Hobo At The Door steps in.

“I told you fucker. I fucking TOLD you this is what would happen. And you know what? It’s you. It’s fucking you!” And he laughs something crazy.

And then there is another. The 28th person. And I know, as those large hands descend on me again, that I will be dead.

Dead Tone: A Review

In an attempt to better my writing ability, I am taking up the advice of most successful, published authors out there (save for you Dean Koontz. I don’t like you.) and writing in a semi-regular fashion. Sure, some out there will tell you to hammer out like 10,000 words a day or write for 12 hours or lay a golden goose egg but I just don’t see how I can do that. Instead, I am going to attempt to write at least an article once a week.

In the spirit of watching a movie every week and telling everyone how wonderful (or not) it was, I decided to post another review this week! Hooray!

Last night I was set to watch “Mulholland Drive” and enjoy the wonderfulness that is almost anything David Lynch directs. (I actually wasn’t that big a fan of “Blue Velvet”. Sorry Dennis Hopper.) However, as I was getting ready to queue it up, the little voice in the back of my mind whispered something like: “Hey, check and see what new movies Netflix has added. Maybe something better is playing. BETTER!” And like the easily distracted, fickle person that I am, I went to the new listings. Oh boy, did I stumble upon a gem of a film…

The premise of “Dead Tone” sounded straight-forward and simple enough. Punk kids make prank calls, one goes awry and horror ensues. I was thinking to myself, “Hey Corey, maybe this could flash you back to those times when you’d make prank calls with Kylie, only without the psycho murder popping out of your closet with a hatchet and killing you and everyone you love and care for”. Needless to say, I was totally sold on that idea.

Let me stop real quick like to warn you beforehand that this review does contain spoilers. I want to spoil this movie so you don’t have to experience the awfulness that this movie was. Is. Whatever.

So. The movie opens with this group of children having a sleep over. One of them suggests a game to play involving a cordless phone, random numbers and being generally kid-stupid. Also, it is the middle of the night. So they take turn making prank calls, saying silly, immature little kid things. Finally, one of them (a dorky kid with glasses) gets up to put a stop to their revelries. Naturally his twin, but less dorky looking, brother threatens to beat him up if he tells. Well, he is saved from having to make that call because their father comes in to check on them and naturally they quickly pretend to sleep (or maybe they really were asleep) and he takes the phone off from the floor, where it had been left on.

After he leaves we learn that he has a bunch of people in another room smoking and drinking and generally having a Mad Men of a good time. Some undetermined amount of time passes and one of the boys wakes up. The phone is ringing. The adults are pretty much passed out in the room next door. So the geeky brother goes to pick up the phone and as he answers it, a scary voice comes over the phone taunting him about how it isn’t nice to make prank calls. And then suddenly the person the voice belongs to just bursts from the closet door, hatchet in hand, and proceeds to viciously murder EVERYONE in the house except for the children. Finally! Someone DID think of the children!

The killer did a number on the adults in a way that might even get Lizzie Borden jealous if she were, you know, still alive. A detective (played by the only actor I recognized and knew by name, Rutger Hauer) arrives at the scene and exchanges some really, really, REALLY bad “witty” dialogue with a street cop.

Flash forward ten years and we learn that all the kids were adopted and renamed and spread out over the country. Well, mostly. A few of them remained close after the brutal encounter, grew up normal and went to college. That just goes to show you that if a 10 year old can overcome the vicious murder and slaughter of an entire house full of adults and loved ones, then what can’t one overcome? So everyone needs to stop their whining and get over it already.

To spare the stupid details of this horribly acted, worse written and crappily editied movie, I’ll skip to the end. Basically, someone is going around killing all the kids responsible for the prank calls that happened 10 years prior. Cue a sex-filled, booze-fueled party in a secluded mansion on a top of a hill owned by a total prick of a college kid. Some stuff happens at the house, mainly TNA nonsense and the killer arrives and basically kills EVERY SINGLE PERSON. Yes. Everyone in this movie dies. Including the detective and his Asian lady partner.

In the final twist of the movie, when we learn the identity of said killer. It turns out that the killer this go round is the geeky brother who wanted to pull the plug on the whole prank call operation back before their parents were all axed up. So to help him do this, he had some mental patient he was housed with during recovery (looks like I was slightly mistaken about not everyone turning out okay) kill people too. At the end, when he has the last two victims cornered in a room, he decides to kill his partner and repeatedly stabs him in the chest and I think the throat.

Then, in a final twist of fate, as the psycho twin brother is struggling on the floor with one of his intended victims, the detective bursts through the door. And, seeing a black man with a knife, shoots him and kills him dead. And as the real killer lies on the floor, panting and all out of breath from his crazy killing spree, his mental health patient friend somehow returns to the land of the living, grabs the axe and takes a swing at the two cops hovering over the out of breath killer. And cue credits.

As I was watching this movie I was making mental notes about what I would say when I sat down to write the review. Alas, I have forgotten most of the little quips. To boil it down, this movie was marred by one teen-slasher cliché after another. There was a scene where this guy, in a Jacuzzi, was getting himself some oral attention by his lady friend. As she was diving deep, one of the killers came up from behind as he put his other head back and lopped it off. Naturally it caused for quite the scene when the girl comes up for air.

I don’t even want to talk about this movie anymore. It was just horrible. Watch it with friends after a night of heavy drinking and pot smoking. That makes almost anything entertaining. Almost.

For next week I’m going to go back to the year 2004. What am I doing there you might wonder? Who knows! Check back next week and find out!

Kyle (partial. rough draft)

KYLE

“So,” she asks me, “how did that make you feel?”

I stare behind her head and imagine a black, swirling void. It is a black hole and everything it touches is reduced to nothing. It remains fixed above her head, tendrils of darkness lashing out like an enraged squid. Everything it strikes disintegrates into a cloud of specks and then, nothing. And then the arms of the void destroy the wall behind her and the world floods into this space in a manner so overwhelming I can finally feel my eyes widening in surprise. An ocean of noise and torrents of color erupt from the tears in reality that this black hole has opened and I remain seated, gripped in a rising panic that threatens to end everything. A seagull, one wing melting as it flies overhead, barks like a dog and splatters like a spent raindrop as it collides with the wall I’m seated in front of. Large, yellow eyes glower from the black hole that has now grown to the size of three moving vans and-

“Kyle?”

I blink. The world is whole. I am seated in her office of muted blues and grays. Her various diplomas and certificates of accomplishments hang on the wall behind her. A computer rests on the desk of tempered glass she would sit behind when she was between patients. Now she’s seated in a simple armchair, one bare leg crossed over the other. A pair of thin, black-framed glasses rest on the bridge of her nose. She is plain, uninteresting.

“What was that?”

She straightens in her chair; jots something down in her legal pad.

“I asked how that makes you feel. We were talking about your friend, Jenny.”

“She’s dead,” I say, simply and without feeling. This is the most basic truth I can tell her.

Earlier, before coming into her office, when I was sitting in the lobby, I went into the bathroom. In the stall someone had scratched “Jenny likes rough sex” and “She sucks cock in Hell”. A wave of complete and utter sadness overtook me. With tears streaming down my face and snot dripping in ropes out of my nose, I scratched into the lines underneath them: “JENNY WAS A FRIEND OF MINE”. And then, unable to handle the whole affair, I popped a Firefly. And then fifteen minutes later I’m back out in the lobby, staring at my feet, which were by then glowing like two elongated suns.

“Yes, she is.”

She says this, tilting her head to one side. She looks at me with some concern.

“While it is perfectly normal to express an outward appearance of apathy, you must be feeling something underneath it.”

She pauses for a moment and continues speaking when she realizes that I have nothing to add.

“Think of it as your mind taking all those bad, nasty feelings you might have and wrapping them up in a giant cocoon. WHOOSH!”

She makes a wide, flamboyant gesture with her hands that is, I guess, supposed to resemble a cocoon being spun.

“All those bad feelings are kept prisoner, allowing you to go about life seemingly close to normal as possible. The problem, Kyle, is that while you go about your life, those feelings and emotions keep getting collected in this cocoon. And it gets bigger and bigger and bigger until it just BOOM!”

She claps her hands together.

“Now Kyle, what I’m here to do, what we’re here to do, is to slowly unravel that cocoon of negative emotions and let them seep out gradually. If you let them fill until it bursts, well, it greatens the risk of harm you can do to yourself and others. So, tell me, how does that make you feel?”

Somewhere between her first mention of the word “cocoon” and her grand slap, small moths began to spew from her gaping maw. Their wings were a pale blue, with bright, white quarter moons emblazoned on them. They flew in a swarm around her head, buzzing and moaning as she spoke.

“I know this must be hard. Having to come face-to-face

----

It's funny how I can type that out in a quick ten minutes and then, just as quickly as the dance was going along, I go and trip over my own feet. I have this grand vision in my head about how all this is going to play out. I mean, who doesn't want to read a murder mystery ripe with disillusioned, spoiled, super dramatic, self-absorbed, drug-taking, alcoholic, sex-craved, idiotic children? And maybe I'll even throw in a little Lovecraft into the mix. I mean, a story isn't complete without a little reference to the Cthulhu?

I'll finish this tomorrow. I've got the soundtrack down.

Suspiria: A Review

Netflix is probably one of the greatest creations to have come along since....well, since whatever has come out recently that isn't as great as Netflix. I think I'm gonna turn this into a madlib and let you (whoever even reads this dribble) fill in all the blanks with wacky words to make crazy, but pointedly hilarious sentences. Anyhow, Netflix.

My "Insta-Watch Queue" has close to about 80 things sitting in it, collecting cyber-dust. Wonderful titles like "Evil Dead" and "Yojimbo" sit patiently waiting for me to move my ass from my desk chair to my bed so I can watch them and be happy and lazy and sleepy and all those other things watching movies while laying in bed makes me. So. Last night as I'm flipping through the 80 items in my queue (having at one point scanned the newly added sections and contemplated adding in like 14 more things I know I'll never watch), I come across a little horror "gem" called "Suspiria" that so many on Netflix have hailed as "quintessential horror for the horror buff". Naturally me, being the horror buff that I am, jumped all over this 1977 film like ADHD-crack headed children jump in one of those bouncy things.
The cover is, I think, a little misleading to what the movie is actually about. It shows this all-white silhouette ballerina with a huuuuuuuuuuge pool of blood in the area where her shadow would typically be. Okay, so maybe not THAT huge. I digress. The movie has, for like 5 minutes tops, ballerinas dancing about. Other than that, you probably forget it's even taking place in a school for those freakishly skinny, fugly toed misanthropes. Or that it takes place in Germany for that matter, other than this one instructor, who thunders about like an ogre (and kind of looks like one too, although she dress in black and things non-burlappy) speaks with a German accent and has her hair done up all German-like in those double bun things and did I mention already that she looks kind of like a man? German women are actually men right? Or did I get that wrong? I mean, there are some German women I might find myself in bed with, but that might be because I think they're men? Again, I digress. (At this point my conscience would like me to point out that I bear no ill toward German women, ogres OR ballerinas. Well, I might have a little distrust of ballerinas...)

<----- just your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill, batshit crazy ballerina enthusiast.

Gosh, where was I? Oh yes. An American woman played by an American actress gets summoned or invited or called (however they get unsuspecting American women to fly in the middle of the night in a terrible storm) to Germany to attend (I assume) a very prestigious dance academy. Oh yeah. This movie was directed by Don Argento, who is (according to critics) a very influential Italian horror-filmmaker (film maker?). As the opening credits role, a narrator comes on to tell us that this American girl was asked to come to Germany to attend dance school. I guess either Mr. Argento felt American audiences were far too stupid to figure out why the girl is there (even though it is brought up again 10 minutes later into the film) or that the opening credits needed to keep us enticed with something other than the names of people we could care less about.

Right away I knew something was wrong. The American girl (I can't even remember her name) gets off the plane and exits the airport. Argento shows off his quirky camera skills by focusing in on some random things. Like the sliding doors to the outside. OoooOOooo, SCARY! Then again, maybe automatic sliding doors were something of a terror back in those days. I mean that show, Rescue 911 sure did a hell of a job keeping me scared about exiting/entering onto an escalator! So, after some odd camera shots and ridiculous, over-the-top, screeching music (the music for the movie had some contribution from a band called "Goblins"), she exits the airport and into one hell of a crazy storm.

She trails very hard to hail a cab and it seems the Germans aren't as willing to taxi people like our friendly New York cabbies, because they just excelerate and get her even more wet when they splash water on her. When one finally DOES stop, after pretty much throwing herself onto the cab, he doesn't even bother to help her. He doesn't even listen to her when she tells him where she wants to go. He doesn't even engage in that awkward small talk I imagine people in cabs have all the time while waiting to get from point A to point B. Nevertheless, I have resolved that, if I make it to Germany, I shall never take a cab. At least, not one from 1977.
The girl is then deposited at the dance academy. While she is lugging her two bags out of the car, a very frantic ballerina girl comes rushing out of the building. She brushes past the new arrival and goes prancing off into the stormy night like I imagine most ballerinas would do. So graceful. So creepy. Well, the American girl (I have just now gone to IMDB.com and discovered that the one I keep referring to simply as "The American Girl" is actually "Suzy" and she is played by some woman named Jessica Fletcher. I mean, Jessica Harper.) isn't even able to get into the building because some other woman (who speaks perfect English) doesn't know who she is and can't be bothered to let some other woman into the building during the middle of a horrible storm and it's probably due to witches.

Yes. That's what this movie eventually boils down to. You have to sit through 60 minutes of very weird camera shots that I think were intended to create a sense of displacement or craziness or something like that, but really just seemed....well, disjointed to a point where it was silly. Oh. And the music. Crashing cymbals, industrial noises, random beeps and bops, screeching whatever instruments and occasional screams do not add to suspenseful mood. They just add to my eventual liver failure because I have to down Aleve to get rid of the headache. I'm sure the Goblins are wonderful people, but they need to not do whatever it was they did in this movie because it was not. good.
Also, I think Mr. Argento should have just shot the whole thing in another language. I mean, most of the non-essential cast were from Italy. The movie takes place in Germany. In a prestigious, creepy dance school for witches. Harry Potter and the Wicked Tutu? Lame, I know, I know. And I could still barely understand what most of those women were saying.

I also think that there wasn't enough dancing. I mean, I know I mentioned above that I am not a huge ballerina fan, but he could have really done something to make it extra creepy! I mean, this is Germany! This is a school for weird people who think mutilating your feet is awesome! This is a place where the leader of the school is a fricking old American woman who also doesn't dance! The only dance instructor is, like I mentioned above, a freaking huge-ass tree of a (wo)man who also doesn't dance! Did I mention that her sidekick minion is some mute Romanian giant with a fascination for the American Girl's lighter? (See, I already forgot that chicks name).

One thing this movie did for me was make me realize how far cinema has come, from a technical standpoint. We can now successful recreate scenes of total and utter gruesomeness that they just couldn't effectively do back then. For instance...

The girl I mentioned that refused to let American Girl into the school? Well, they become fast friends after maggots fall from the ceiling. And then what happens to her? She falls into a pit of razor wire. Only it wasn't really razor wire. And it didn't even look close to razor wire. It looked like she fell into a pit of extension cords. I didn't even realize she was being hurt until it panned up closer and she had red markings. Only, they were in areas that hadn't been scratched up. Though I guess it doesn't matter because the rude bitch ended up having her throat sliced by a black-gloved hand. OOoooOOoo, mysterious!

After her death (45 mins into the movie or so) American Girl investigates. And naturally, more trouble ensues. I think the whole moral of this movie is that meddling Americans getting into affairs that aren't really theirs to get into cause trouble to happen. I mean, yes the whole school is run by witches and they want to kill people (I guess), but come on! They wouldn't have killed her if she would have left it all alone. The headmistress/principal/Dumbledore knew her aunt for crying out loud!

Oh yeah. There was this one particularly odd scene where the schools only pianist (blind at that) is walking home in the middle of the night with his all-black German Shepherd seeing-eye dog and he comes to this wide open plaza and suddenly the dog starts barking. The next thing you know the blind guy is shouting for someone to show themselves (not that he could even SEE the person if they did). Well, a large gargoyle/gryphon statue on a building disappears. And then the next thing you know, the dog is mauling his owners throat. I was totally confused. I had no idea WHY THE DOG KILLED HIM! WHY THE BLIND GUY?! I MEAN, WHY WOULD YOU KILL YOUR ONLY FRACKING PIANIST? WHO WILL PLAY THE MUSIC FOR THE FREAKY BALLERINAS TO DANCE TO? Then I realized that, despite being a school for dancing, little to no dancing takes place.

Update: I guess I kind of nodded off or something while watching the movie because, according to Wikipedia, the blind guy quit the school shortly before after his dog was accused of mauling the nephew to the school's headmistress. I guess the dog had a prior.

Okay so, in short, this movie was awesome.

(Oh yeah. I forgot. The girl from the beginning? Who ran out into the storm? She died. She was stabbed repeatedly in the chest, strung up with electrical wire and thrown through a stained glass ceiling. It was intense.)
Oh, another note. There are spoilers in this review. Thank you.

taking my baby's breath (rough draft)

WARNING!

What follows is, for the most part, a story of complete and utter fiction. That is to say, what follows is completely and utterly made-up. Then again, maybe it isn’t entirely. If you are one, like me, who skims headlines and news stories, then perhaps this story might be true. Perhaps this story could be found between the lines of all those grisly articles about all the things that seem to make up the news of our current and everyday lives.

The following is just a story. Any similarity between actual people, places and/or events is most likely coincidental. The events that follow did not happen between the dates of August 3rd and December 16tth. And the year was definitely not 2006. With that out of the way, let me further preface this story with the following:

The lens is out of focus so the only thing that is really visible is a blur of dark colors. Crickets sound in the background and the audience is left feeling disoriented and, perhaps if the director does his job properly, nervous. Suddenly the chirp of crickets is intermixed with the sounds of heavy breathing. Soon that breathing completely overtakes everything and the crickets are forgotten. It’s just the audience, a blurry collage of muted blacks, greens and dark blues and that overly audible breathing.

Then the camera shifts and very slowly a pale form came into focus. The breathing remains loud and thunderous and very much off-screen. The lens gives a slightly sharper detail and the audience can vaguely tell that the form is a naked body. A naked body covered in splatters of blood. It still looks like everything viewed through fogged glass. Then the body moves. The body is being dragged and the audience, because they are smart, can infer that the person making with the heavy breathing is the one dragging it.

The breathing is interrupted every now and again with a few well placed grunts and groans. The dragger is finding this task to be difficult, but completely necessary. Zoom in on the naked body. The lens comes to fully focus.

Her face is cut up and scared forever. Not beyond recognition, because her lovely blue eyes remain open and focused somewhere off in the distance. Somewhere very much off screen. Her lips, supple and moist, are barely parted and uncut. Her nose is broken and it once must have been angelic and near perfect. She is a blonde.

The body stops moving. The audience can hear her legs plop back down onto the tall, wet grass with an audible thud. More off-screen panting. The camera remains focused on the girl’s face. It zooms closer to her eyes. The breathing is replaced again with the sounds of crickets chirping.

And then the screen is just a single blue eye that had once been alive. And then the screen cuts to black and in bold, red letters is replaced with:


THE KILLERS

by Corey Fleming

LISTING

1. Jenny Was A Friend of Mine
2. Mark
3. Mr. Brightside
4. Kyle
5. Smile Like You Mean It
6. Natalie
7. Somebody Told Me
8. Andy
9. All These Things That I’ve Done
10. Kyle II
11. Andy, You’re a Star
12. Jennifer
13. On Top
14. Mark II
15. Believe Me Natalie
16. Natalie II
17. Midnight Show
18. Andy II
19. Everything Will Be Alright
20. Justin
21. Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll
22. Credits