Funereal Plots: A Matthew M. Bartlett Double-Feature

Horror Cinema Reviews for

I saw the TV Glow (2024)

&

The Coffee Table (2024)

Funereal Plots

Horror Cinema reviews

Matthew M. Bartlett

I Saw the TV Glow

Writer/Director – Jane Schoenbrun

The Pink Opaque is a 90’s-00’s television show (think a Young Adult version of The X-Files merged with Buffy the Vampire Slayer) about two teens charged with fighting a different monster each week. Looming over the whole storyline is the ultimate villain, the Big Bad, Mr. Melancholy. This is, of course, unsubtle in its metaphor. Our main characters Owen (Justice Smith) and Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine), both lonely, both troubled, bond over the show, watching it in Maddy’s house’s basement, wishing their lives had more adventure, more magic.

One day Maddy disappears, leaving behind a television in flames. When, years later, she reappears to Owen, now working in a movie theater—where the screen’s glow is a sorry replacement for the tv—she claims to have lived inside the show and urges him to revisit the videotapes she sent him, in particular the final episode.

My first thought when starting I Saw the TV Glow was, oh no, I hope this isn’t a Young Adult film. This may be closed-minded or stodgy of me, but as an adult past middle age, I have little interest in coming of age movies, and the Struggle of Disaffected Youth is a theme which holds little resonance for me—unless it’s done exceptionally well. It’s a measure of the movie’s worth that it got past my defenses.

Is it a Young Adult film? Yes and no. I Saw the TV Glow has a lot to say about aging and time, about the malleability of identity. About how when we’re young and in need of escape, from suburban monotony or from the trauma of abuse, we identify with fictional characters so strongly that our identity blurs, and how that can warp us, how it can lead to disappointment and disillusionment. In the end, the things which have a strong emotional hold on us when we’re young—movies, music, television shows—turn out, when revisited with perspective, to be cheesy, gimcrack productions of little appeal to our adult selves.

The direction and cinematography matches the melancholy moods and themes—slow, dreamlike, hypnotic; dark, but lit up with day-glo scrawls on the sidewalks and screen, and, of course, by the omnipresent titular glow of the television.

In the bleak ending, The Pink Opaque lives inside Owen, but it’s tainted, more afterglow than glow, and it cannot save him from the monotonous struggles of adulthood.

Funereal Plots

Horror Cinema reviews

Matthew M. Bartlett

The Coffee Table (La mesita del comedor)

Director – Caye Casas

Writers – Caye Casas, Cristina Borobia

Jesús Casas (David Pareja) is under pressure. He and his wife Maria (Estafania de los Santos) are the parents of a newborn baby. His neighbor, a 13-year-old girl with a crush on him, is threatening to lie and say that he’s made untoward advances on her. At the beginning of the movie, he and Maria are in a furniture store, arguing over the titular coffee table, an affront to taste and decency, with two gold-coated angels holding up an unbreakable (according to the slimy salesman, played with relish by Eduardo Antuña) oval of glass. He wants it. Maria thinks it’s hideous.

Maria is right.

Eventually, though, despite Maria’s objections, the table comes home with them.

Jesús’s brother and his scandalously young girlfriend are on their way over for dinner. What happens when Maria leaves to go shopping…

Well, read no further and skip to the last paragraph if you want to avoid spoilers.

The glass of the coffee table breaks, killing the baby—in an extremely violent and bloody manner.

The next hour or so is as tense a time as you’ll ever spend watching a movie. Jesús, distraught, wounded himself, must clean up the mess, hide the body, or, well, most of it, and pretend like nothing’s happened…all because he can’t bear the thought of telling his wife what he’s done.

The salesman comes by with a missing part, interrupting the cleanup. To Jesús’s horror, he lingers, expressing an interest in seeing Jesús socially. Maria comes home. The guests arrive. Jesús tries not to crack, though the seams are showing. The guests want to see the baby. Maria wants to feed the baby. The baby is sleeping, claims Jesús. The demands increase, as does Jesús’s resistance…and panic. He insults his brother and his (it is revealed, pregnant) girlfriend, racheting up the tension. At times we think Jesús might crack and kill everyone in the apartment. After all, this is not the kind of movie that pulls punches—the best it can do is not show you too much of the gore.

Toward the end, Jesus’s brother finds out what’s happened. Just then, the 13-year-old neighbor comes over with her dog in tow.

And then the tension explodes.

The Coffee Table is billed as a horror-comedy. There is humor, especially at the outset, as the new parents bicker over the purchase of the fateful piece of furniture. But the darkness, the horror, swoops in hard and violent. Reminiscent of Hitchcock’s Rope, though arguably more transgressive, this is a darkly enjoyable horror masterpiece. It probably doesn’t hold up to repeat viewings, unless you watch it with an unsuspecting friend.

 

Uncovering a Secret Masterpiece

Robert Westall – The Stones of Muncaster Cathedral

Reviewed by Barry Lee Dejasu

It’d be impossible for me to review this book without mentioning my personal history with it. Written by English writer Robert Westall (1929-1993), The Stones of Muncaster Cathedral was one of many books that I delved into during my formative years of exploring horror fiction, amongst other younger audience-aimed works by authors such as R. L. Stine and the television series Are You Afraid of the Dark? It was a bit of a departure from my then-usual fare, with a much quieter and more subtle approach to its brand of supernatural horror. Although my memories of certain details of the book deteriorated and eroded over time, I always remembered and valued it for its disquieting vibe. And while it always stayed with me as a favorite, I was generally an audience of one when I would bring up this book, and it didn’t help that it was largely out of print in the decades since. Much to my joy, however, in 2015, the publisher Valancourt Books reprinted this fantastic work—and now a much wider audience has the chance to finally check it out.

First published by Viking in 1991 with haunting cover art by Bob Harvey, the full title was originally The Stones of Muncaster Cathedral: Two Stories of the Supernatural. This was unknown to me at the time, as the 1993 Farrar Straus Giroux edition that I read only featured the title work. But thankfully, Valancourt’s reprint restores the original text to feature the additional story, “Brangwyn Gardens,” for the first time in the U.S., as well as a thoughtful and insightful new introduction by the great weird fiction author Orrin Grey. With both works finally reunited in a handsome new edition, my reread of The Stones of Muncaster Cathedral was a very rewarding one—and even more than I had expected.

The title work is the narrative of a steeplejack, Joe Clark, who recounts his story of working on the eponymous cathedral and the secret, ancient horrors that he discovers, built into its very walls. As the covers imply, a gargoyle plays a key role in this story—but this isn’t the kind in which the stone monster comes to life at night. (There’s not even a very clear description of it, beside passing descriptions of it as a “ugly sod” with a “lichen-mottled face and blind, hollow eyes.”) No, the real horrors manifest more in how the cathedral itself seems to affect the lives—and families—of the people who labor to restore its architecture. It’s a fine work of folk horror, with an unusually atheist protagonist who doesn’t find comfort in the notion of a monotheistic deity watching out for him, leaving the mysterious forces at work truly out of his perception as well as control.

Although marketed to younger readers (as was the case with most of his work), Stones holds a good number of scenes, descriptions, and themes which will resonate strongly with older audiences, including a particular discovery that Joe makes which, upon rereading it, surprised me with its dark implications. Westall’s storytelling wears its influences on its sleeve, bringing to mind the works of classic horror authors such as M. R. James, while bringing his own style of an almost matter-of-fact perspective of the stories’ events. His depictions of the uncanny often loom just beyond the periphery of characters’ perceptions. But it’s this same narrative style which also perfectly showcases his sense of humor—there are moments in Stones that are worth a literal laugh, bringing a sense of ease and even comfort with his voice, like sitting around a campfire and listening to a seasoned storyteller spinning dark tales.

My reread of Stones didn’t just refresh my memories of it; rather, it enriched them. I greatly enjoyed getting back into the mind of Joe Clark and his amusingly stubborn attitude as he experiences and investigates the strange nature of the titular cathedral, as well as bringing new light to eerie scenes that have long stuck with me. It was a nostalgic trip for me, to be sure, while also one that cemented (…if you’ll pardon an unintended pun) my love for it.

As great as it was for me to reread the title work, it was a treat to finally read the other story that had been omitted out of the edition I’d grown up with. “Brangwyn Gardens” was a wholly different tale, one set in the decade following the Second World War, in which a young student takes residence in an old house. There, he discovers a hidden diary of a young woman in the thick of the war, and he begins to develop a romantic yearning as he learns more about her and her story. Although some may find the plot to be a little predictable, it nonetheless radiates Westall’s rich narrative sensibilities, and makes for a fine supplemental tale.

I am so glad that Valancourt Books chose to bring this book back into print, along with other works of his such as Antique Dust (originally published in 1989) and various stories in their new collections Spectral Shadows (2016) and Shadows of War (2019). Robert Westall was a very special storyteller and deserves to be read (and reread) by fans of classic ghost stories from every generation.

 

Sunday, October 14, 2018

Update 9

Trauma & Therapy

Religious Therapy
Death: Doorway or Dust?

Introduction:

We now turn to Religion, our next avenue of therapy for sufferers of trauma. Whether we witnessed a death or fought past cancer, we need to lean on some form of physical and mental support to get beyond the shock. God provides both forms of support. Most religions provide physical support in churches, halls, temples, shrines, and other places of worship where people can meet and socialize. These congregations allow the trauma patient a means to find friends and neighbors with stable lives, lifestyles, and habits, all forms of predictability and reliability for the cautious and chaotic mind of the patient. In addition to gathering with "safe" folks, the patient can also establish a weekly schedule that provides spiritual routine: Nightly prayer, biblical readings, Sunday mass, or Bible classes. A predictable routine helps the patient feel in control of his social surroundings. However, it is in the teachings of the religion itself where the patient may discover reminders of his trauma. For with every heaven we find in religion, we must also face its hell.

Here we wish to address this dichotomy of the good and the bad that the therapy of religion holds for the patients of trauma. Since every religion is so different, we cannot hope to discuss them all; so, I've decided to cover the most common ones referenced by trauma sufferers who have shared their stories with us. As usual, we will try to avoid using real names; however, we will use real religions and will do our best to present the best view of their belief systems as they apply to the patient. While, at the same time, it is not our intent to sugarcoat the punishment or "evil" inherent to these beliefs.
Anthony Servante

***

Anthony Servante Essay
Death: Doorway or Dust?

Just as we find therapeutic value in Dream Analysis, we cannot ignore its obverse and must contend with nightmares. In Paint Therapy, there is release in drawing out the demons found in nightmares, but there is stress, too, in facing these creatures on the canvas. We must remember that what was painted on paper lives in the patients' mind. Psychological Defense Mechanisms can only go so far to protect the patients from their own memories and images borne of their trauma. The therapy provides additional help for the patients to confront their painful pasts. 

So, too, in religion can we find help in a system of worship that promises an afterlife, a world without trauma or its bodily suffering, but choose the wrong path and the same faith that can lead to heaven can also lead to an immortality of pain. The religious person is always mindful of his mortal life and living it with the promise of Heaven, Nirvana, or a productive Reincarnation. This promise, however, is a double-edged blade, for a sinful or bad life can lead to damnation or reincarnation as a lower form of life. 

Which brings us to our dichotomy:  Is Religion a doorway to heaven, hell, or reincarnation, or an illusory path leading to the graveyard and a destiny of dust?

Since this is the mental struggle the trauma patient must wrestle with in terms of doubt, belief, and faith, I thought it best to approach the subject based on the belief that death is a doorway. What is on the other side of that doorway depends on the religion and the belief of the patient as he is taught and guided by his place or person of worship. 

Let's take a look at the common beliefs on what awaits us when we die. 

The most common expectation is that when one dies, their spirit leaves the dead body, faces judgment at the Gates of Heaven, and either enters Heaven or sinks to Hell. Many variations of this belief have the spirit, or ghost, wandering the Earth unaware that they are dead or haunting their old neighborhood as revenge for some incomplete justice left unfinished. So, only by finding justice can the spirit move on to be judged at Heaven's Gate. But there are other beliefs. 

In one of my short stories called "The Cucuy" (The Ghost), a group of boys discuss how they were raised to believe in ghosts. Here is an excerpt from "The Cucuy", Tales of Horror & Heaven by Anthony Servante, where common beliefs in spirits vary:


"Ghosts," Andre explained, "are the spirits of people that die. It's like the soul leaving the body and floating around the earth until God takes it up to Heaven or sends it down to Hell with the Devil. They usually hang around their old neighborhoods and watch what their old friends and family are up to. If the ghost scares someone on purpose, then the Devil gets to have its soul, but if it does a good deed, then God takes him to Heaven." 

"You're drunk," I said sharply. 

"No way, man," Andre said defensively, "it's in the bible." 

"What bible you been reading?" spat Wilo. "But that's kinda right. A ghost is a dead person's soul, but it doesn't do good or bad deeds. Only an idiot would believe something like that. Ghosts can't tell the difference between good and bad. God decides that stuff. There is a place called Limbo, where the new souls hang out until they are called to Heaven or Hell. It's like a big waiting room. But Limbo is not on Earth, that’s for sure. The ghosts that are on Earth cannot find Limbo. They’re confused and think they’re still alive; they don’t know where to go, so they go around acting like they’re still alive. I think they’re like poltergeists or something like that.”

BB exploded in anger and stood to speak, “You guys are full of shit. “Ghosts aren’t anything but projections of ourselves, our memories, the residue of life-particles left in space over a period of time. It’s like when you have a clock on your dresser for a long time and one day someone moved it, but you see it for a moment like it’s still there. You see the residue of its former presence. The image is the ghost of the clock.”

“And you say I’m drunk,” Andre said, shaking his head.

BB continued, ignoring the sarcasm, “I once read that people who saw ghosts always said the same thing, that the ghost was only visible at the periphery of their eyes, but when you looked at it square on, it vanished. The same thing happens when people live in a house a real long time. They leave particles of themselves behind. The longer they lived there, the more particles that are left behind. It never leaves enough particles to be looked at straight on. It evaporates. That’s why you can only see it at the corners of your eyes. Years after the people move out of a house, the new tenants begin to see the old tenants walking around the house at the periphery. They’re washing dishes or watching TV or just sitting around the spot where they always sat. The old tenants aren’t dead. They just moved somewhere else. It’s their residue in the house. But if they died, it’s the same thing. It’s just residue. No God. No soul. No Heaven or Hell. Just people who left their image behind.”

After he finished speaking, BB looked at each of us, anxious for one of us to disagree with him. Cautiously, I spoke up, “I don’t believe in myths, whether it’s Odin, God, or Superman. When a person’s dead, that’s it; they’re dead. The mind and the brain are the same thing. They both die at the same time. It’s chemical death. The body and the spirit are the same thing. When life is over, they all rot equally. There are no ghosts of people, or of rocks, or of trees. Superstitious people made up the bogeyman, the cucuy, to scare kids who wouldn’t go to sleep. We’re not kids anymore. There is no cucuy.”

The Janis Joplin record had finished, and the phonograph needle slid across the record label screechingly. Rather than turn the record over and play the other side, BB turned off the player and returned to the conversation with a seriousness that I had never seen on his face before tonight. “Go on,” he told me.

“Alright,” I agreed. “No spirits like religions teach. There are just too many religious points of view of what ghosts are; you can’t just pick one and say that’s the right one. If you want to believe that we have a soul, like Wilo and Andre say, that’s cool, but I say we’re just live meat getting ready to be dead meat. The chemicals and electrical impulses stop churning. It’s over. You’re dead. You’re not handed a harp as your spirit leaves your corpse like in the cartoons. Maggot time, bro. Not even residue. Nothing.”

Wilo shook his head disapprovingly. “You’re going straight to Hell for talking like that.”

Andre nodded in agreement. They were both joking, of course, but they were taught by the priests to fear God more than love Him."

BB slammed his fist on the record player cabinet. The impact sent the phonograph needle arm skidding across "Summertime Blues". With a controlled anger in his voice, he said, "I know where there's a residue being, or a ghost, or a dead body, or whatever you want to believe. I dare all of you to go with me to see this thing. We go together. Then we'll know who's right." 

No one wanted to say no to the already angry BB. And so we went to find the cucuy.
[END OF EXCERPT].

***

Let's begin with a discussion of Doppelgangers. Although the word originates in Germany, its appearance dates back to ancient Egyptian times. As the word was first used, it referred to a "twin" for every person in the world--that each human on Earth had a double ("Doppel"). At the Crossroads of the World located at popular tourist spots in various countries (Hollywood has one on Sunset Boulevard), it is believed that if you stand at the crossroads long enough, you will meet your exact double. Whether that sounds like a good thing or whether the thought sends chills down your spine, we'll leave for you to consider. In this type of meeting, you'd encounter another person who looks just like you, thus you'd meet a normal, natural person. It was (and still is) a common belief that we do have a double in the world; it's not a scary thing.

It is the Supernatural Doppelganger that worries us. There is another belief that other dimensions exist alongside our own, and that sometimes these dimensions traverse the same time and space in what many Science Fiction fans have come to call doorways. On each side of the opening there exist exact duplicates of each dimension, although there may be some minor changes, like a person who looks into a mirror--the image in the glass is almost the same, only it's reversed; it's left is your right, and your right is its left. Even its history may have some alterations to the timeline; the double may have scars from an accident, and accident that you never had. Sometimes when these doors open for whatever reason (Atomic Bomb testing was a popular theory for such openings in the 1940-50s), your doppelganger may enter your dimension. When your double enters your world, only one of you can exist, and so it must kill you to take your place.

Whether the doppelganger is natural or supernatural, the trauma patient can sometimes believe that "something" is trying to take his place in this world or that that double has already taken their place, and that they are not themselves, that they have been taken over. The trauma can trigger this feeling of low self-esteem, that they are not worthy to occupy this body, this life, that a superior person should inhabit their life. When the patient turns to such a belief in dimensions or alternate worlds in an effort to find an escape, he sometimes assumes that it was the doppelganger who found "escape" by taking over his own life.

It is the work of the therapist to mesh such a belief in alternate doubles with a routine or mechanism to accept that the patient is unique and cannot or has not been replaced. Building his self-esteem is a good starting point to build a natural foundation over the supernatural groundwork of his belief.

In trauma therapy, the rules of natural and supernatural order are important. Just as much as our visits to our therapist clarify the rules for dealing with our new world view of our day to day life, so, too, do our visits to our religious guides help us to deal with the darker unseen views of our post-traumatic life. One shows us how to deal with the stress of the busy workplace, while the other explains the behaviors that can make nightmares, delusions, and perceived dangers and potential threats bearable if not tolerable.

When we choose the right therapy for our trauma, we can't ignore the medicinal value of religion as a viable alternative to traditional therapy. Sometimes, in faith, we can find the answers that will lead us to a cure for the pain our trauma inflicts on us daily. It may not be for everyone, but if your culture can help you deal with the pain, that's as good an answer as paint therapy, prescription drugs, or talking to a Shrink.

In many cases, we turn to the supernatural for comfort from traumatic memories and nightmares. It helps us put a face on that unknown dread that haunts our waking and sleeping moments. It is often much easier to turn to demons and evil spirits than it is to turn inward and face the core of our trauma, whether it involved death, violence, or sexual abuse. For in trauma, we often confront death; yet we live through the ordeal. However, the memory lingers, and the specter of dying remains and surfaces on stormy nights, walks home at night, or loud noises from neighbors or traffic. A sense of dread hangs in the air, palatable and claustrophobic. It is then that "death" seems close at hand, or in the mind of the trauma victim, seems to have returned.

Religions tend to capture this dread and make it part of its faith.

In the Thai Religion, we have the Nokkhaophika: Owl Ghost. It is bad luck to village, when it comes to town; we know it is near because birds act unnaturally. Prayer and incense burning are the best remedy to keep the potential for evil at bay. On a side note: I have found Thai Horror films most effective in capturing both the dread and hope of its religion. Although there are plenty of evil spirits abound, there are also plenty of religious practices for the layman (as well as easy access to priests) to deal with the bad side. There are good birds to help ward off the bad birds. Take, for instance, the Krasue: Head of a beautiful woman with her innards hanging from her neck. It accompanies the Nokkhaophika. Burn some incense to quell the Krasue and the Owl Ghost will lose its guide to find you.

In China, there is the Yan Gui. Yan means nightmare; Gui means ghost. Together, they refer to spirits venturing outside the Underground (Diyu or Hell) who traverse the land of the living on such days, for example, as The Hungry Ghost Festival (similar to Halloween or Day of the Day). As the holiday implies, simply feed the hungry ghost to keep it content and harmless. The trauma victim here has easy access to power over his own demons.

In Mexico, Aztec warriors and women who died during childbirth returned as spirit Hummingbirds, otherwise known as Cihuateteo: women spirit birds who spent five days on earth before being assigned a place in the afterlife. During this time, these angry ghosts stole children as replacements for the babies they lost.

Mayan people believed that every plant, mountain, sea and earth, were inhabited by spirits and that these spirits had to be appeased with sacrifices in order to avoid natural disasters, such as earthquakes, floods, famine, etc. These spirits were named for nature, and as such, natural herbs have replaced the need for human or animal sacrifice in modern times. When women lost a child in childbirth, they could turn to a White Witch (Herbologist) to cover her body with the proper medicine to allow the child to reach Heaven and not be taken by these female flying creatures. This belief in natural medicine helped relieve the trauma of loss and assist with dealing with returning to a normal life after the child has reached the afterlife.

In Japan, Reikons are souls which depart the body upon death. If the body receives a proper burial, or if the last emotion of the body before death was undramatic, the ghost will join its ancestors in the afterlife and act as protectors for the family. However, lack of a proper funeral or an unjust death created evil spirits (even if the victims were good people in life). Yurei are angry souls who were murdered or committed suicide in life. Even if they didn't meet such a terrible end, if their final thought before dying was evil or emotional, they will traverse the spiritual and earthly realms, being part of neither one nor the other realm. They can cause trouble for both good ghosts (reikons) and the living alike. It is up to the family to ensure that whatever injustice their dead family member suffered, that they would find a way to remedy it so their loved ones can reach a state where they can be reincarnated, for without reincarnation, the most evil ghosts provoke the most suffering and pain, especially on their own family and friends. Rarely do strangers haunt strangers. It is always loved ones who die badly and become bad spirits. For the Japanese, solving the mystery for these evil ghosts is the most difficult task. It's not about prayers or incense-burning here. If you believe in Buddhism, you face the biggest challenge as a trauma sufferer. Your friends and family in life will do all that is possible for you to live a happy life, lest you die unhappy and return to haunt them.

For Jehovah's Witnesses, the concept of eternal flesh is accepted. God will reanimate the dead, and the dead will be reborn whole to find Heaven on Earth. In this religion, they believe there is no mention of the word "soul" in the Bible, and, therefore, there are no ghosts. Just as God imbued the dust with his mighty breath and created a living being, the breath of God is the "soul" together with the dust. Together they live and there is life, for dust alone is not life, and the breath alone is not life. Hell, in this sense, is death without rebirth, rotting in the ground without hope of being reborn. Faith here, then, encompasses the belief in death as a doorway to Heaven on Earth. Even as you rot in the grave, when the time comes, God will reanimate all dead believers to inherit the Earth. No ghosts. No fiery hell. No cloud-laced heaven. All you need for immortality is in your hands now. The trauma victim is most empowered with life itself and death itself as tools for a happy afterlife.

These are but a few of the religions and their therapeutic means for a productive life for trauma sufferers. Not all these beliefs hold all the answers. Some are higher maintenance and may be more stressful, but even those that require more work may be just the ticket one needs to help one keep a productive routine going, maintain a stable social life, and focus one's attention on hope and happiness from day to day. 

 

Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Views from a Troubled Mind 

Scene #10

The Pumpkin Patch/Petting Zoo
in Happier Days

The storm front that brought the San Gabriel Valley three days of thunder, lightning, and torrential rains is still trying to push in a new front from the Pacific Ocean on the west coast, but the Santa Ana Winds (aka The Devil Winds) that are blowing in from the desert from the east are clashing with the cooler winds from the sea and creating a monstrous wind storm between the desert and ocean gusts. 

At about 5:30 a.m., October 15th, 2018, this battle between the two wind fronts pounding on the house, ripping down the awnings, tearing up the roof tiles, and tossing the half-full recycle bin and the full trash container and scattering plastic bottles, plastic bags, and aluminum cans across the driveway, into the front yard, and unto the street in front of our house

Wind uproots a tree,

splitting the sidewalk apart.

When I finally got up (yes, I did manage to sleep through much of the noise), I expected to find more damage to the house, the neighborhood, and the community. Mostly, however, there was a hell-load of trash, leaves, broken branches, and general debris covering the streets and lawns of every home and avenue. As I walked by the neighbor, who also is a gardener, he told me in Spanish that this mess meant lots of work for him. He was like a kid in a candy store sitting on his tool truck sizing up the piles of leaves that needed to be blown and the number of branches that needed to be bundled. I laughed, but he laughed louder.

The bus-stop was shut down going east because the sidewalk was folded in half. Meaning: half of the sidewalk was lying in the street, preventing the bus from being able to stop there, and the other half was sticking straight up, blocking pedestrians from using the sidewalk. I crossed the street to catch the other bus (both buses end up at the Target department store).

The skeletal structure of the tents

is first to be rebuilt.

Then I saw something that shocked me. The Pumpkin Patch/Petting Zoo was destroyed. The fences were yanked up and away by the winds, the circus tents were ripped apart (pieces of red and white tent strips were everywhere), and most incredibly, the Zoo animals were dead. No one bothered to cover them up. The workers were more concerned with rebuilding the framework to lay the new tents over. Police were there, helping the workers to move the heavy tent poles, city workers were there, shoveling the broken pumpkins, but no one was there for the animals. 

I wasn't just thinking of the unhealthy state of these dead animals. No, this was a major street where children walk home from school. But no one seemed concerned. 

As I stood there watching the men work, while I waited for my bus, I heard what it was that concerned the workers. No, not getting the tent up as quickly as possible, not replacing the broken pumpkins with new ones, and not replacing the dead petting animals. 

What concerned them was why they were rebuilding the damn Pumpkin Patch. They're coming back, they kept saying. And the supervisor said that the winds had died down. Fuck the winds. They're coming back. Look at the animals. The wind didn't kill them. That's why we can't move them. The cops want to examine them. 

The new sign is put up two days 

after the destruction.

The supervisor glanced at the police helping with the tent poles. Not our department, said one of the cops. The supervisor told them to finish their work and he'll find other workers to take their place. No one was forcing them to work there. He'll cut them a check at the end of the day. 

The workers nodded as they went about their work. I focused my phone camera on the dead animals and zoomed in. I couldn't even recognize what animals they were. No animal was complete. Pieces of the animals were placed together as close as possible to resemble what the animal used to look like. I didn't take pictures. What for? Just like in every horror movie I've ever seen. What killed those animals? Why, the winds, of course. The Devil Winds. 

 

Zombies, Ghouls, and Gods

July 14, 2017

Guest Blogger: David Gerrold

Duane Jones, the Tragic Hero

Thinking about
"Night of the Living Dead"

by David Gerrold


This was the film that started the modern zombie genre.

The film can be seen as a parable -- at the end, the rescuers shoot the one survivor, the black guy. They don't see him as human either. They see him as another zombie.

And that's the parable -- that we are dividing ourselves into us and them. Zombie stories are a justification for killing those we no longer regard as human. And in the first of the genre, it was the black guy who was considered less than human. It couldn't be more obvious than that.

We spend ninety minutes seeing this guy as a hero -- and the fat white rednecks take him out with the same dispassionate glee as if they were shooting rabbits.

The Window: Where Hero & Victim Blur

But since then, the zombie story has become a substantial part of our culture, spawning enough sequels, imitations, rip-offs, and franchise-squatters, that the whole zombie thing has become its own subgenre of horror.

Okay, fine. So far.

But our entertainment choices reveal not only who we are, but also who we want to be, what we expect and what we aspire to.

Where films used to end on an upbeat note -- "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, I'll get him back. Tomorrow is another day." -- today, most modern SF films tend toward dystopia.

We we used to have Destination Moon and Conquest of Space and 2001 and all the other outward-pointed adventures that said we can do better, now every time we go out there, we end up getting eaten or beaten -- or we bring something awful back with us. Species and Life and Green Slime and The Stuff.

Instead of Tomorrowland the vision, we get Tomorrowland, the broken promise. We get Maze Runner and Hunger Games and Divergent and Resident Evil and all the other stories where we have been divided into Eloi and Morlocks -- and a few brave heroes who will shoot the Morlocks to save the frightened Eloi (so they can fuck them later on.)

What it is -- once you get past the actual movies -- is the creation of a terrible terrifying context: that we must divide the human race into us v. them, and once we do that, we the US are justified in shooting THEM. Because they're not human. They're zombies. They're undead. They're vampires and ghouls and untermenschen. They are a threat to us and we are justified in shooting them.

Like the black guy at the end of Night of the Living Dead.

George Kosana (actor with bullets) leads a mob of US

to hunt down THEM.

And like it or not -- that is one of the ways we are unconsciously justifying the polarization of our society. We are training ourselves to think of ourselves as "the good guy" -- and the mob that opposes us aren't humans, they're zombies, and that's why we should militarize our police to use deadly force on all those zombies that want to rip our flesh and eat our brains and mooch off our taxes.

Have you ever noticed though -- that when the so-called good guys are holed up in a mall or a supermarket or even a fortress, they start fighting among themselves -- and too often, they reveal themselves as anything but "the good guys?"

But that's the point that we tend to miss. We think we're the ones who are going to survive whatever chaos is coming. We never consider that we might end up as one of the shabby shambling horde of undead things, do we?

We never consider that we might be the targets.

Biography:

David Gerrold was barely out of his teens when he wrote the script "The Trouble With Tribbles" for the classic television series "Star Trek". Nominated for a Hugo Award, it was listed by "Playboy" magazine as one of the 50 Greatest Television Episodes of All Time. And in a 1997 FOX TV special it ranked as the most popular science fiction episode on television of all time. He has written dozens of novels and twice has been nominated for both the Hugo and the Nebula awards. His novelette "The Martian Child" won the SF triple crown: the Hugo Award, the Nebula Award, and the Locus Readers Poll as Best Novelette. In addition to novel writing, he has written television scripts for "Babylon 5", "Tales from the Darkside", and "The Twilight Zone". He served as a story editor/producer for the first season of "Star Trek: The Next Generation". A frequent guest at SF conventions here and in Europe, he began a charity in 1988 in which money earned from charging one dollar for autographs -- plus profits from the sale of other SF memorabilia -- is donated to AIDS Project Los Angeles.


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The Darkness I Found at the Saturday Matinee 1963
Ten Movies that I Saw as a Ten Year Old

by Anthony Servante

Golden Gate Theater, Whittier Boulevard

Introduction

In 1963 I was ten years old. Going to the movies on a Saturday morning cost $1.00, and that included the theater ticket, a large popcorn, a large soda, and round-trip bus fare. And you could add ice cream BonBons if you chose to walk the two miles to and from the movie theater and skipped the bus. There were three movie houses on Whittier Boulevard, between Ford Boulevard and Atlantic Boulevard, in East Los Angeles. Furthest to the east was the biggest theater called The Golden Gate, furthest west was The Boulevard, and in the middle, The Center. The way distribution worked, The Golden Gate got the latest movies, but when these movies no longer sold tickets, they were handed off to The Center Theater, who, in turn, handed them down to The Boulevard. The Golden Gate was fifty cents admission, so no BonBons, even if you skipped the bus. The Center Theater charged 35 cents and had a double-feature, plus a preview, a cartoon, and The Rocket Man serial. The Boulevard Theater charged 35 cents for a triple-feature.

But this article is not about theaters; it’s about movies, specifically the movies of 1963 that played a role on my childhood psyche. So let’s get to my list of ten films and talk movies.

1. How the West Was Won

What I remember most about this movie was the Hawkins family. The patriarch, Colonel Jeb Hawkings, was played by Walter Brennan, who usually played "good guys" in both comedies and dramas. His henchman (son?) was played by Lee Van Cleef, who I would later see in For a Few Dollars More (1965). I realized that good guys could be bad guys.

Walter Brennan as the patriarch of the killer family. 

2. The Birds

Not my first Hitchcock movie (Psycho 1960 was my first). But as scary as that first one was, it didn't affect me as much as The Birds did. On my walk home from the movie, I was constantly on the look-out for attacking birds. Even on my way to school the following week I walked under trees so the birds couldn't see me. Psychos did not exist in my world, but birds were everywhere. I was traumatized for a month.   

Tippi Hedren attacked by birds in attic. 

3. Doctor No

The first Bond villain. His trademark: Metal hands.

Evil villain planning to attack Cape Canaveral from his secret underground lab with a super weapon, the foundation for the Bond bad guy archetype. My introduction to the villain who wanted to take over the world. Thereafter, it was about the villains in future Bond movies. Goldfinger, Odd Job, Rosa Klebb, and Red Grant were great follow-up villains. 

4. Night of the Hunter

What surprised me the most about Night of the Hunter was children were in jeopardy. This was something new for me. Plus, the film was hypnotic. Images both grotesque and beautiful mixed together to create an ethereal tone. It made the whole movie feel like a fairy tale come to life. This film also gave me an appreciation of black and white cinema that would open the door to movies like Carnival of Souls and Night of the Living Dead.

Shelley Winters in the pool in slow motion, so hauntingly beautiful.

5. Jason and the Argonauts

Anyone who doesn't choose the skeleton warrior scene as the most influential on their childhood is a liar. Sure, there were very many visual moments that captured our attention, the skeleton attack captured our imaginations. To this day, it still does. 

The skeletons emerge from the earth to kill the Argonauts. 

6. Blood Feast

The first thought which may cross your mind is, How the hell did a ten year old kid get into this movie. You have to remember, this was 1963. This movie was considered "over the top" rather than "adult". It was seen as something for kids because of all the gimmicks. After all, there was a "nurse" on duty in case anyone had a "heart attack". Everyone in attendance received a "barf bag" with the movie title printed on its side. Gimmicky meant silly. So, when we kids saw the gore from the Godfather of Gore, Herschell Gordon Lewis, we were on a roller coaster of fun. I watched every one of his movies in the theater throughout the 60s. Also watched every movie that promised to top the gore from this movie. What a journey! 

The infamous tongue scene. It sure looked real then.

7. The Haunting

Is she crazy or are there ghosts about? This trope was captured by this film for me. Although there may have been others before 1963, this was the scariest one for me at that time. And, of course, there were ghosts in my mind. That's what made it scary. 

8. The Silence

Just as I was allowed into the gory horror movies of the time, I was also allowed into adult cinema. If it was in the movie theater, parents didn't worry about what was showing. The theaters wouldn't show questionable fare. This was not my first foray into adult drama. After all, Peeping Tom (1960) was shown at the same theater. The one scene that kind of creeped me out though was the boy bathing his mother. I just didn't understand what was going on, but felt uncomfortable. I have not rewatched this movie till this day. I did not care for the cringe experience. It also made me more selective in my choice of foreign films, where this adult stuff could be found.  

9. Charade

I thought this was an Alfred Hitchcock film. I still had The Birds in mind, so I was surprised to learn it was a Stanley Donen production. But I enjoyed it. The bad guys are looking for valuable stamps and leave a whole bunch of dead bodies in their search. The good guys are on the run and it seems that anyone who interacts with them are done in by the bad guys. But it's the bad guys that I remember most. After Dr. No and his metal hands, George Kennedy plays a killer with a mechanical hand. My love for the villains was beginning to grow as I met more unique ones in film.

George Kennedy fights with Cary Grant.

10. The Servant

British movies were not foreign films, in my opinion, and their adult fare reminded me of horror films in their look and feel. It was part of the love for black and white cinema that intrigued me. So, when I saw The Servant, my young mind couldn't tell if I was watching a scary movie or an adult one. It was also my introduction to Dirk Bogarde, who would pop up later in films like The Damned, The Night Porter, and Death in Venice. He played characters that were different than any bad guy I'd ever seen. He was decadent, a new word in my vocabulary. When Dirk Bogarde takes over the house where he works as a servant, it haunted me. How did that happen? It was such a strange transition to see the master and servant reverse roles. I was introduced to the film of decadence. 

And there we have the ten films from 1963 that influenced my darker side for film appreciation. Thanks for visiting the blog.