Going necrophiliac in '06

Well, I spoke too soon... just like last Xmas, I spent this one cranky and depressed. As usual, not my family's fault, though I imagine they think it was. At least my cousin Rick's three children were there for a while, they always liven things up. Those kids are cute as hell, but for some reason this season they repeatedly wanted to run up and smack me on the ass. They're at that age where if you tell them not to do something but don't threaten to slap the shit out of them, they just giggle and keep at it. Like I said, those kids are darling, but I need to look into getting my tubes tied in case I ever have sex again. Other people's kids are cool, but I just don't have the temperament to deal with that on a daily basis.

I found time to enjoy three cuddly family films during this holiday weekend, which were:

"Ghost Ninja" (aka "Diamond Ninja Force") - Saints be praised, another Godfrey Ho/Richard Harrison job! You may remember me raving about their fine work on "Ninja: The Protector" in an earlier post. Mustachioed geezer Harrison is equally baffling here in half a movie where he goes around attacking various dudes while they're walking in the woods, practicing tai chi or otherwise loafing about alone like one of Skeletor's henchmen. He still "turns into" a ninja, meaning he makes some gesture, there'll be a puff of smoke and he'll suddenly be clad in bright pajamas and eyeliner. Not a very stealthy ninja, but, hey. That alone would be entertaining, yet the other half of "Ghost Ninja" is spliced in from one of those early '80s Hong Kong supernatural pictures with crazy light gel overload and bugs spewing out of people's mouths every ten minutes. This other movie is about a hot ghost and her stupid helpers menacing a family of idiots. I mean, the mom's named Fanny and the kid's named Bobo. That should adequately describe their character. The hot ghost gets naked, cackles a lot and makes the family have gruesome hallucinations: the dad turns on a faucet and maggots come pouring out (awesome!), what appears to be a bloody frog leaps out of the freezer at Fanny. Somehow, Harrison helps them by sitting in a faraway candlelit room and posing with his sword. I think. It's no "Memoirs of a Geisha" or anything, but for pure insane entertainment's sake, this is a truly great film.

"Wolf Creek" - I haven't been to the movies in about two months (I don't count the "Harry Potter" press screening), so what do I pick for my Xmas Day viewing? It could have been "King Kong," which is the movie I really want to see right now, or "Syriana" or "Narnia," but I went to see this Australian horror flick because it was touted as being extremely brutal and it opened on Jesus' birthday. Well, I should have seen "Kong," because it was bullshit. "Wolf Creek" is made with edgy technical finesse similar to "High Tension," and like that French fiasco it also has a cop-out ending. I think this movie was stripped of its supposed gore, or maybe there wasn't any, in which case the eventual "director's cut" DVD won't even have a payoff. The death count is exactly three, two of them by gunshot, one of which is not shown at all. OK, so maybe it's not a slasher movie, it's a "psychological thriller" (read: "we toned down the red stuff so we could get better theatrical distribution"). Still, it's about fifty minutes in before the crazy outback killer even appears. I kept waiting for something truly awful to happen, but although there's some torturing and menacing and whatnot, I guess I'm pretty jaded from having seen all the movies this one rips off. The current trend of '70s-style "gritty" redneck terror pictures continues to disappoint me. Honestly, it's not that brilliant, but the best one of these so far is actually Rob Zombie's "The Devil's Rejects". "Wolf Creek" probably ranks somewhere below that tepid "Texas Chainsaw" remake (at least that was somewhat unpleasant), but well above "Wrong Turn", and is probably better than the remake of "The Hills Have Eyes" will be. Hack jobs all around, really. The only one that seems like it bothers to push the envelope is "Chaos", which looks too rape-centric for me to want to see it. Why can't someone can the misogyny and just make one of these movies a total gorefest? I hold out hope for Eli Roth's "Hostel", but as in my miserable love life, hope is a liability.

"Primatives" (aka "Primitif") - It's rare to have a "cannibal" picture where no one gets eaten, and even rarer when absolutely no Italians had anything to do with it. This is the B-side of "Ghost Ninja" on volume 2 of VideoAsia's "Tales of Voodoo" series of glorified bootlegs, the release of which has sparked some controversy amongst hardcore Indonesian horror buffs. Anyway, that link for the title up there goes over the film's highlights with a fine-toothed comb, but I do need to underline how messed up some of this is. First is the amount of revolting licking: near the beginning, a jungle doctor treats a patient by licking the gross infected wound on her inner thigh, which seems to please neither actor, and later a woman gives birth to a baby and licks the birth muck off, inviting several children to help. Those kids lap it up, smiling like the tot's slathered in hot fudge. Then there's a guy who throws an axe at the hero, who ducks as the weapon boomerangs back and chops the thrower in the neck - the faces the bad guy makes are priceless. It warmed my heart when one of the cannibal guys started rubbing his (clothed) nuts on the female captive, only to be dragged off by his pals and get his bathing suit area pulverized by a huge rock. I'm not sure why Asian exploitation film soundtrack producers from the late '70s/early '80s loved stealing trippy European keyboard music - Pink Floyd's a favorite in kung fu pics - but this thing uses Kraftwerk's "We Are the Robots," Jean-Michel Jarre's "Oxygene Part 1" and probably some other things I don't recognize. Otherwise, it's typical cannibal fare: real animal battles and mutilation, casual racism/classism/societism, unappealing nudity, the works.

On an ultimately bright note, 2005 is almost gone. And I thought I was glad to say goodbye to '04... whoo. This year took the fucking cake, and seems to be ending exactly like the last one. I've been working on my annual end-of-year missive, which for those familiar will be late as usual and will look a bit different to reflect the general theme of upheaval. If I send it your way, you'll know it when you see it. You will be sure to find The Mars Volta on it, I can tell you that. (If you take that link, you can click "Scabdates stream" to hear their brand new "experimental" live album. Make sure you're not sober first.) "Frances the Mute" gets my #1 album spot, followed by Opeth's "Ghost Reveries", Eels' "Blinking Lights and Other Revelations", Primordial's "The Gathering Wilderness" and Slough Feg's "Atavism". Those are the only LPs I'll rank this year.

Reviews of The Tossers and Jason Forrest (both perform NYE shows in Chicago) are here... see you jokers in '06.

Rudy's going to Notre Dame

While I haven't been actively trying to ignore Xmas this year, it's definitely crept up on me. No TV meant no Yuletide ads for most of the season, and just because I moved closer to Chicagoland's hugest honkin' shopping center doesn't mean I planned to spend any time there. Suddenly, it's the 20th, we're officially one day into winter and one day before the solstice. I have honestly done almost no holiday shopping at all, and I'm really not inspired because it's been so stupid cold that my coat turns as stiff as cardboard during the ten-second walk from my front door to my car - and that's in the morning.

But lo and behold, I was sitting with my buddy Andy at Applebee's last week, trying to enjoy my Oriental Chicken Rollup, when I noticed the onslaught of Xmas music piped in for our dining pleasure, chirpily reminding me that the weather outside was frightful. Even more frightful, though, was a song I could not help but hear while I was in the very quiet restroom. From the phlegmy lungs of a singer who could only be Bryan Adams - the "Cuts Like a Knife" fucker, not that overhyped, similarly-named nouveau hillbilly "rocker" - launched the most asinine holiday sentiment I've ever heard, some shit about how "there's something about Christmas that makes you wish it was Christmas every day." Not being a big fan of artists you usually hear in dentist's offices, I figured this was Bryan's recent work, maybe from that Ben Affleck movie nobody saw last year. But no, this piece of shit was apparently a hit twenty years ago. How could I have escaped it for two decades?

It's a given that most Xmas songs are so syrupy and full of fakey emotions as to render them completely null to all but the least analytical, but this one made me want to burn every Toys for Tots collection bin and Salvation Army volunteer I could find. It seriously got me riled. Why the hostility? Dunno. 2005's festivities are actually going to be tolerable. Like I said, I haven't been around much holly jolly bullshit so far. I'm not at my parents' house to see the planning/shopping/cooking hell through which my mother always puts herself in the name of Jesus' B-day. My family is only celebrating for three days rather than the usual week. As far as I know, my finances are fine. Even my infamous dream woman seems to be talking to me this Xmas, quite a change from the last two years. So why am I suddenly prone to extreme holiday bitchiness? Maybe I'm secretly pissed that I haven't had the usual stretch of time to complain?

Anyway, after hearing that putrid Adams number I got to thinking about stupid Xmas song lyrics. There are a lot of them, obviously, but the lyrics that really stuck in my craw were from the chestnut "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" - which was previously one I didn't mind too much. I think we're supposed to see this as the story of a talented underdog who gets a chance to shine when the chips are down, which makes everyone kiss his ass, and we're supposed to see Santa as the benevolent old soul who takes pity on Rudolph. But think about it: here's this reindeer who spent his whole life getting crapped on, left out and neglected because of a slight physical aberrance. All of a sudden, here comes Santa, asking Rudy to guide his sleigh when Christmas Eve turns out particularly foggy. What an opportunistic fucker! If Santa really gave a shit about Rudolph or his sleigh-guiding skills, he would have asked him to be part of his elite squad the year before, or any prior year. But no, he only mentioned it when it would be of benefit to himself.

If I were Rudolph, I would have told Santa Claus to cram his "nose so bright" pseudo-compliment and make due with Prancer and Blitzen (unless they weren't good enough for him now). Actually, Rudolph might have done just that - the song goes straight from Santa asking him to be his organic fog light to "all of the other reindeer" exalting Rudy. It doesn't say for what, though - Rudolph never gives him an answer, and the song doesn't say if he ever actually helped. Maybe he procrastinated for so long that they all missed Xmas and the other reindeer got to kick back and watch the game for a change. That would make him popular. Maybe Rudolph simply said, "No," endearing him to the other four-legged slaves whose spirits had for so long been crushed beneath the Claus family's cruel yoke. Maybe he chewed off Santa's nose and spat it back at him, hollering, "See if that shines, fatty!" That's the mental image I'm going with this holiday season: Father Xmas spurting blood from a huge hole in his face. I'll accept him holding a severed head, as well.

Apologies to those of you who for some reason like this time of year - this is revenge for your favorite holiday overshadowing mine. As penance, please accept a crapheap of recent reviews, including the Calexico/Iron & Wine collaboration EP, Testament's London reunion gig DVD and the Chicago run of "Hairspray," the musical. Oh, and a new In Flames song ("Take This Life"), which is pretty decent considering where they could have gone after their last two albums. See, I like you.

TV causality

Hokay, now I'm hooked up. Cable, internet, the whole fruitcake. This new computer I'm typing on right now can apparently record a damn television signal and allow me to edit video content. Already burned my first DVD - a copy of the awe-inspiring "Meat for Satan's Icebox". Oh, sweet, sweet technology. (Now that you can't smoke anywhere, I'll be staying in a lot.)

Until this morning, I was without a television signal, and that was no problem. See, I never really watched much TV at home for the last few years I lived with my parents. Even during prime time, Dad's need to watch TV in the evenings (especially the local newscasts) kept him in charge of the remote at all times. I pretty much had to go to someone else's house to watch anything, especially toward the end when my dad was sleeping in the family room every night.

Not a huge problem for most of those years, when "The Simpsons" was the only network show I made sure to watch. (I'd say "Futurama," too, if FOX hadn't so consistently screwed it in the right-after-Sunday's-NFL-game-number-two slot. If I didn't hate football before that, I do now.) But not too long after we got cable for the first time since we moved from Addison in 1987, "Adult Swim" started on Cartoon Network, and suddenly Sunday night was a treasure trove of SoulReaper-enjoyed broadcasts. Since then, I've added a number of programs to my repertoire, even hour-long weekly dramas with continuing storylines, the exact sort of shows I swore I'd never watch because they'd require me to be home on a certain day and time. At the moment, I only feel compelled to keep up with "South Park," "Lost," "My Name Is Earl," "The Office" and the Sunday favorites (the new "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" last week was amazing). But next month "The Shield" returns, with "Deadwood" not too far behind... and OnDemand has the whole second season of "Six Feet Under" right now... time came to get me some cable.

Until this morning, I made due with DVDs, mostly stuff I've had around but not watched or bonus material I never got to. Now I've seen all the pieces of Don Letts' surprisingly dull documentary "Punk: Attitude", I know everything about the making of the undersung "Bubba Ho-Tep" and can confirm that Julie Strain has always looked all weird and knobby with her clothes off thanks to the miserable "Witchcraft IV: Virgin Heart". Meanwhile, the nearby Schaumburg Library's AV section, while not half as good as Palatine's, has nonetheless provided me with such quality pics as "The Reflecting Skin", "Sssssss" and "White Collar Worker Kintaro".

I can't believe it's almost Xmas. I'll try to get myself in the mood with "Holidays of Horror", Macabre's cheery 1989 ode to Ronald Gene Simmons. Now, I am off to watch "Closer" by myself, as positive a Saturday night activity as I can imagine...