LITERAL REMAINS

Okay, I’m trying to catch up on some stuff.  I have a stack of DVD’s sitting on my desk, movies from Christmas and my birthday and thoroughly enjoyable trips to the Wal-Mart and other places.  I’m trying, trying, to get some of these things viewed.  Bare with me.

District 9 I got for my birthday, I think, way back in merry old January.  I finally popped in the player and watched it, just in time for it’s Academy Award nomination for Best Picture.  Of course, I could have told you that it didn’t have a snow ball’s chance in hell of winning Best Picture.  It’s a good movie, but not Best Picture good.  Like the best of science fiction, District 9 reflects humanity at its best and worst.  It shows us our shortcomings, and offers us that glimpse into our human nature that is the essence of basic, universal, good.

An alien mothership comes to a halt over Johannesburg, South Africa, in 1982.  It hovers in the sky quietly for three months before government officials decide to bust up in that muthaship.  What they discover is an alien race stranded and malnourished, and really, really, ugly.  That is probably bad on my part to say, to judge, to call them fugly, but truth is truth, and it’s probably one of the things this movies speaks out against.  But I admit, I’m in the wrong, being judgemental and all, but, damn, the aliens are ugly.

The government sets up a camp for the alien refugees, labeled District 9, and they are separated from the rest of human society.  The camp quickly becomes a slum over the years, degenerating into a cesspool despised by the humans, and fostering crime and other unsavory elements.  Tensions between the humans and the prawns (what the humans call the aliens) mount until the government decides to build a concentration camp to relocate the prawns away from civilized society.  Multinational United (MNU) is hired as the muscle to carry out the eviction of District 9 and relocation of the aliens.

Wikus van de Merwe is put in charge of the eviction; that he is married to the bosses daughter didn’t help him get the big promotion, or so his father-in-law says.  You know he is lying after meeting Wikus.  Or is he?  There is more to Wikus than the dweeb we first see; once he is in the field, there is a dark side to Wikus that emerges.  It’s during the eviction process that Wikus becomes injured, and is sprayed with a strange liquid that leads to his gradual transformation into a prawn, and MNU begins the hunt for Wikus.  You see, the alien weapons are biologically controlled, only the aliens can fire them.  Wikus has that alien DNA now, and MNU wants to harvest him.

District 9 is a good movie.  It mixes a message with blood, guts, action, and heart, and succeeds on almost every level.  The weak part is in Wikus’ escape from MNU, it just seems a little too easy, and there are some standard buddy moments and action pieces that drag it from greatness towards the end.  And so help me, the prawns are icky.  They are gross.  Original, but damn, they are ugly.

4 out of 5
the_novacula

I like werewolves.  I love Universal’s original, The Wolf Man, ever since I saw it as a wee lad.  It left an indelible impression on me:  the foggy moors, the twisted forest of trees, the cursed creature stalking the night for victims.  I finally got out to see the remake, after Universal finally got around to releasing.  It recalls some of the great horror movies from yore; it not only respects the original, but watching it I was reminded of Frankenstein, Dracula, and of Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow.  The Wolfman and Sleepy Hollow share screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker, but it doesn’t have that film’s wit,or the camp of Coppola’s remake.  But all in all, The Wolfman is a movie that’s should not be passed up.

The movie opens in 1891 with Ben Talbot wandering the woods of Blackmoor, England, at night.  We already know this is not a good idea, if only because the movie is called The Wolfman, but good guy Ben knows it’s not safe because all of Blackmoor knows something is out in them woods and moors and marshes because the villagers have been finding bodies of friends, family, and neighbors.  And the poor victims have been torn to shreds.  It’s believed to be a wild beast, but there is speculation that it could also be a mad, lunatic, man on the loose, or that it could be the dancing bear from the gypsy camp.  Some say no man could that damage.  The gypsies say the bear only dances.

Anyhoo, Ben is attacked.  His fiancee, Gwen, after Ben remains missing for some time, sends a letter to his actor brother, Lawrence Talbot, in London, to notify him of the situation.  Larry has been away from home for several years, mainly to escape their somewhat formidable father, Sir John Talbot.  Sir John seems to be so overbearing and emotionally distant, it drove their mother to suicide when they, themselves, were wee lads.  Larry, understandably, had some trouble with all this, and spent some time in an asylum.  That comes back to bite him in the ass.

Upon his arrival in Blackmoor, Sir John informs Larry that Ben’s body has been found, and, after witnessing the atrocities inflicted upon it, Lawrence vows to Gwen that he will not leave until he discovers who, or what, killed his brother.  Ben acted as a liason between the village and the gypsies, so Larry starts his investigation with them.  We get to see the dancing bear, though not in action, but the bear is not the highlight of that sequence.  Something (we all know what) attacks the gypsy camp, and Lawrence is almost mortally injured.  One can guess what happens next.

As good as The Wolfman is, it still feels like it’s lacking something.  Everyone does a great job, though I think director Joe Johnston is weak at times, as is star Benicio del Toro.  Del Toro is a great choice overall, but I felt he was flat in a couple of places; on the plus side, he not only recalled Lon Chaney, Jr., but surpassed his performance as well.

The Wolfman doesn’t hold any shocking surprises, but does give some nice twists, though they can be seen a mile away.  The good outweighs the bad here, and despite its flaws, I highly recommend it.  I, for one, want to see it a couple more times, and it will definitely be added to my DVD collection when it hits home.  It’s a sumptuous movie, fun and entertaining, just a notch below perfect.

4.5 out of 5
the_novacula

Look for Suicide Girls Must Die! to land on DVD March 12th.

…here I am, stuck in the middle with you.  It’s not a bad place to be stuck.  I kinda like it.

You ever been in a rut?  Not like the blah blah ruts that people find themselves mired in, but a happy kind of rut.  Maybe it’s not even a rut.  Probably just a matter of finding the time to do stuff.  You’ve never had that problem have you?  Finding time to get all your crap done, even if it isn’t crap but something very important, but you know what I’m getting at.  So little time.  Deep sigh, right here.

My problem is I do find the time, but find other things to do with it.  Instead posting a little something here, I find it much easier to muck about in the yard, search through the closet for some obscure comic I packed away that has a really nifty cover, or play with the digital voice recorder to try to capture some keeno EVP’s but just end up burping into it and acting silly and marveling, “Does my voice really sound like that?”

I’ve not captured any EVP’s.  And my voice does, indeed, sound weird.

It’s cold and rainy here in the Volunteer State, it’s been snowing and icing lately, just a lovely winter all around.  Nothing like frozen mud to make your heart go pitter patter.  At present the wind is blowing, and some rain/sleet mix is falling.  I will be glad when Spring finally decides to bust up in this mutha, pop a cap in Old Man Winter’s ass, and thaws us out; maybe, then, my mood and overall disposition will heal.

The cold, gray, beast February can suck it.

the_novacula

P.S–  Sorry, I know I should have posted a book review, movie review, a story, or something, but like I said, a rut.  Though it’s not really a rut.  I’ve just kinda been preoccupied.  A good preoccupation.  I’m really trying to get back into the groove of this, my peeps, just hang in there with me.  What’s good?  Life’s good.

If you decide you want to watch the oh so fan divided Halloween II on DVD, the best bet is to check out this unrated director’s cut of Rob Zombie’s high reaching, well meaning, slasher pic.  The theatrical version left me disgruntled, and puzzled, and although the director’s cut doesn’t clear up all the baffling aspects, it does represent a slasher film that tries to delve a little deeper than the norm for the genre, but can’t escape its clutches.

One thing I learned, H2  takes place two years after the events of the original.  Somehow, and I’d have to look back at my original review, I thought it was one year later.  Go figure.  That makes it even more head scratching that it takes Michael Myers two damn years to make his way back to Haddonfield.  Sure, he does have to heal from a close range head shot, and he is on foot after escaping from the meat wagon, but come on, two years?  Myers spends the two years living off the land, very vagrant and vagabond, and seems to like dining on dog.  He also enjoys the occasional chance to kill hillbillies…and eat their dogs.  He also seems to spend this time becoming angrier and angrier.  Could be from all the roughing it, or from the visits from the vision of his dead mom and her white horse.

Laurie hasn’t fared much better.  She isn’t feasting on dog, just veggie pizza, and she has become part of the Brackett family, the sheriff and his daughter Annie, who also survived Michael’s killfest from the first film.  Both girls bear physical scars from that horrible night he came home, but it’s Laurie who seems to suffer the most psychologically.  Even her therapist can’t keep the dreams at bay.  It’s a real hoot that her therapist is played by Margot Kidder.

Michael does, inevitably, make his way back home to wreak havoc and go all killer crazy.  Whatever you expect to happen, well, it does.  But Zombie handles it better than you might think, and this version of events, though not much different from the theatrical incarnation, does feel a little more complete.  That was my beef with the theatrical cut of the first film, it didn’t feel like a complete movie.  Though part one is a much better film, this unrated sequel holds up better than expected.

I will be the first to admit I don’t know all the differences between the theatrical cut and this director’s cut.  I just know from having seen this  DVD, I liked it better than when I saw it in the theater.  Especially the ending.  The director’s cut seems a little more thought out.  Or maybe I’m just growing soft.  What still irks me about this movie, though, is that Brad Douriff is still so greatly underutilized.  He gives a great performance here, thoughtful and moving.  And Sheri Moon Zombie still overstays her welcome.

3.5 out of 5
the_novacula

“Inspired by the classic Universal film that launched a legacy of horror, The Wolfman brings the myth of a cursed man back to its iconic origins. Oscar® winner Benicio Del Toro stars as Lawrence Talbot, a haunted nobleman lured back to his family estate after his brother vanishes. Reunited with his estranged father (Oscar® winner Anthony Hopkins), Talbot sets out to find his brother…and discovers a horrifying destiny for himself. Lawrence Talbot’s childhood ended the night his mother died. After he left the sleepy Victorian hamlet of Blackmoor, he spent decades recovering and trying to forget. But when his brother’s fiancée, Gwen Conliffe (Emily Blunt), tracks him down to help find her missing love, Talbot returns home to join the search. He learns that something with brute strength and insatiable bloodlust has been killing the villagers, and that a suspicious Scotland Yard inspector named Aberline (Hugo Weaving) has come to investigate. As he pieces together the gory puzzle, he hears of an ancient curse that turns the afflicted into werewolves when the moon is full. Now, if he has any chance at ending the slaughter and protecting the woman he has grown to love, Talbot must destroy the vicious creature in the woods surrounding Blackmoor. But as he hunts for the nightmarish beast, a simple man with a tortured past will uncover a primal side to himself…one he never imagined existed.”

The Wolfman opens in theaters February 12th, 2010.

Click to enlarge-

I assume, if it is safe to do so, that I became familiar with the works of Edgar Allan Poe as most people did, and I guess still do:  school.  If I remember correctly it was sometime around grammar school that I was introduced to Poe.  I don’t remember what grade I was in, but I know I was still so very young, and our teacher played a record (a vinyl record, yep) of a recitation of “The Raven”.  I want to say Basil Rathbone was the performer, but that’s just one more thing that is foggy.  I do remember it hit  me like a sledgehammer, the flow of the words, the sounds, the images.  I fell instantly in love.

Considering all the stuff my classmates and I were forced to read until our emancipation from the Bedford County Public School System, Poe was always a bright spot.  He was always there to shed a little joy and fun among the likes of Charles Dickens, George Elliot, and Pearl S. Buck.  Nothing against them, mind you, it’s just that what I was forced to read of Dickens wasn’t to my tastes, at the time at least.  And to this day, I can do without The Good Earth.

One summer while on parole from the aforementioned education system, sometime in my middle school years, I checked out a book of Poe’s complete works from the public library.  Checked it out, and checked it out, and checked it out.  I spent that summer reading “The Raven”, over and over, but also getting to know “The Black Cat”, “The Murders In the Rue Morgue”, “The Fall of the House of Usher”, and “The Masque of the Red Death”.  It was from that summer that I learned something about Poe that I not only admired him for, but that I admire about a lot of great writers:  like the best of the best, he varied.  He was more than horror.  Poe wrote fantasy, whimsy, adventure, mystery, romantic poetry.  He was all over the place.  What if Stephen King or Clive Barker wrote only horror?  Never let it be.

If you have never delved into the great, wondrous, depths that is the body of work of Edgar Allan Poe, do so.  Dive in blind; wherever you land will be a magical place.  You may shudder, you may laugh, but you will be glad to have made the leap.  On this anniversary of his birth, raise a glass of cognac (or amontillado, if you prefer) toast the man and his legacy, thankful that his shadow still falls over us, and his soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted – nevermore!

the_novacula

January 19th is Edgar Allan Poe’s birthday.  It is also shared by me, your friendly novacula.  In celebration of Poe’s 201st birthday, I would like to share my favorite poem of his, “The Raven”.  It is probably the favorite of a lot of people, and it’s probably being plastered all over the net even as we speak.  But at least know this, it being posted here at Literal Remains is out of true admiration and respect.

the_novacula

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore -
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!