Random Moment

The air is crisp. The sun feels warm as long as the breeze doesn’t cut across my skin – giving me a chill and forcing brittle leaves to shower down in spurts. Sitting at a wooden table – my nose in a dull book. A cute girl sits at the table next to me. I shift a little so that I sneak glances at her over the top of my book – relatively confident that she couldn’t see my eyes through my sunglasses if she happens to look my way. I have to adjust how I’m sitting more than once.

Some guy sits between the corner of my table and another table. He pulls out a book and reads it – eschewing a table to set it on. A few times, I feel as if I can see him looking past me in my periphery. Two slightly large women sit at a table in front of me. One screams when a spider scrambles across her things. Her friend laughs for a full two minutes. This is okay. I could spend a little time doing this every day of my life.

Occasionally, my attention drifts to the regulars and college students frequenting the coffee shop. It’s a beautiful fall day. My knee is still sore from a bicycle accident earlier that day. A tear in my jeans, but it’s mostly pushed to the back of my mind. I overhear snippets of conversation – but not enough to know what anyone is really talking about. I can’t help but wonder what close friends talk about – or what casual friends talk about. What those people who meet here everyday talk about. Most are students, I suppose, bitching about papers and classes and teachers. Some aren’t. I want to ask this girl on my left what she’s reading, but I know I won’t be familiar with it. I will run out of things to say within seconds.

Halloween is less than a week away. I have a single party to go to. The night BEFORE Halloween. Older friends. I don’t expect too much excitement. The last party I attended was over a year ago. Not too many of my friends have parties. I have no actual plans for Halloween night. I would love to meet some new people. See a scary movie. Get laid. I would really love to get wasted. Not caring about how I’m going to get home or what kind of fool I’m going to make of myself. Maybe I’ll take a flask full of zombie.

Some guy at the movies last week recognized me and said “hi.” I recognized him, too, but I can’t remember where from. Where the hell do I know him from? Gah. This is still killing me. He seemed really nice.

There’s been too much death recently. No one I’m really close to. Mostly friends of friends. I suppose it’s hard to enjoy Halloween when something like that is looming over you. I'm on my own just now. I have lots of plans. Too many plans really. More than I can accomplish, it seems. But this moment right here, this moment is okay. 

Dark Endings

The following vaguely discusses the endings of THE 400 BLOWS, WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE, THE MIST, and DRAG ME TO HELL.

As usual, this weekend I found a lot to disagree with in my Twitter feed. Early in the weekend, one person (who regularly craps out useless one sentence turds deeming whatever latest bit of pop culture he has consumed, regurgitated and re-consumerd as good or bad) expressed anger in regards to the ending of Drag Me to Hell. He was furious about how a decent character suffers such a horrific demise. He felt the movie was bad natured and unenjoyable as a result. He went on to lament that only the ending of The Mist is worse. Someone else on Twitter then replied that within the strict morality play of Drag Me to Hell, the ending works. That last response goes over my head as I don’t see how that would alleviate the nature of the ending, but the exchange got me thinking about how I interpret the endings of these films versus how others apparently view them.

I love the endings of both of these movies. It’s not because I like to see decent characters suffer. I’m not a masochist, and I’m not turned on by blood and misery. In both cases, I feel as if the movie is still on the side of the main character. Both movies, in not backing down from their cynical and dark endings, grieve with the characters. They grieve for the characters. And they allow the audience to grieve with the characters in a way that does not require that the audience carry the weight of the world on its shoulders. I admit that I prefer horror movies with dark, tragic endings. A horror movie with a happy ending practically betrays the entire genre in its reaffirmation that good will always win out over evil. I am instantly attracted to a horror movie in which the evil wins. I don’t like these movies because I like to see evil win. But I do like to see movies ACKNOWLEDGE that evil wins. Not everyone in the world is destined for a happy ending. And horror movies are the perfect vessel for this idea. I can walk out of a tragic horror movie exhilarated. The visual excesses. The open allegories. The visceral suspense. My favorite horror movies use all these things to burrow under the viewer’s skin, to draw the audience into the plight of the characters, to allow the viewer to ache with the main characters, and then to release the audience in a rush of adrenaline. Unlike, say, a Holocaust film. A good Holocaust movie leaves the audience emotionally drained – burdened with the gravitas of human evil and the loss the world has incurred as a result. Yet, in a strange way, both horror movies and Holocaust movies serve similar purposes. They both examine human loss at the hands of unjust evil. One is meant to be fun and thrilling and for the masses. The other, weighty and scholarly and repetitive in its unrelenting loyalty to the lessons of history. As a result, one genre is disreputable, while the other is intimidatingly austere. I can easily spend 24 hours watching horror movies. My limit for Holocaust movies is one a quarter.

Later in the weekend, someone else mentioned how much they disliked Where the Wild Things Are. One of their many issues stemmed from the fact that the main character, Max, does not appear to apologize at the end of the movie. The person elaborated on her complaint by tying this lack of atonement with how she was raised – possibly implying that anyone who likes the movie was raised inadequately. She claimed that since the movie was too long already (at a whopping 94 minutes), another thirty seconds couldn’t hurt. I wholeheartedly disagree. If the movie had paraded out the character to make an apology to his mother, I would have no longer felt as if the movie were on Max’s side. After all, it would not have really been for the mother’s benefit. It would have been for the audience’s benefit. To force him to grovel in front of the audience would have subtley added an agenda to the movie that would have trumped the love for the characters that the movie had so beautifully cultivated up to that point. Where the Wild Things Are is not about good and bad or atonement. It was about the longings that consume its main character – a young boy. And yet, while I would have felt betrayed by the movie if Max had apologized, I would not have felt betrayed if the movie had actually given Max a more tragic fate. Of course, it could not be tacked on. A tragic ending has to be earned. It has to be woven into the very fabric of the story. The 400 Blows, for instance. A perfect example of a kid’s movie in which the movie is always, without a doubt, on the side of the main character – even when he messes up and does something wrong. That movie does not give excuses for Antione Doinel, but it longs to understand him, and the audience completely and utterly empathizes with Antione in that final shot. Nothing has been fair for him. His punishments have not been just. The movie is not taking on the role of punisher. It clearly lays out that enough people in Antione’s life have done that already. In that final shot, the movie evokes Antione’s sense of loss and loneliness and pain. It does not bask in his misery. It acknowledges his defeats, and it embraces him for it.

The difference between these two different kinds of endings is subtle. Part of it is a matter of genre. While Where the Wild Things Are contains melancholy and sadness and even a modicum of danger, it is not about evil. Or life and death, as horror is. It is a fantasy. It is about saying good-bye to childhood. One vital part of growing up is not apologizing for every choice you make. I’m not condoning Max’s behavior, but like the movie, I understand it. Many people like the morality in their movies cut and dry. They like people who do good things to get rewarded, and they like people who do bad things to get punished. I admit that I’m rarely happy unless I see something more complicated than this. I like not being sure exactly how I should feel about an ending. I like that a movie can empathize with a character without condoning what they do or rewarding them to outstanding family values. Movies are escapist, but that does not mean that they must all be wish fulfillment. Sometimes, it’s nice to have a movie commiserate with its audience.

1935 Mutiny in the Bounty

A friend of mine has decided to watch all the Best Picture Oscar Winners in chronological order. A small group of people are joining him - including myself. Here are a few of the comments made at this year's movie.

• “That guy is mean.”
  
• “There’s too much happiness going on here.”
  
• “We’re awfully far into a movie called Mutiny on the Bounty, with no mutiny.”
  
• “Clark Gable kind of looks like George Clooney.”
  
• “This movie is really homoerotic.”
  
• “Two good ones in a row. Wow.”
  

Favorite Quotes

"When I told you to follow your heart, I only said that because I thought you had Christ in your heart."

                     -David Bazan's Mom

G. I. Joe comics

I did not have many comic books when I was growing up. My parents didn’t like them. From time to time, a friend of my dad’s would give me a big box of knock-off comic books (anybody else remember Spider-Ham?), but otherwise I never saw one. I somehow managed to get the occasional Batman or Spider-Man comic, but I never really followed any comics. That is, until I saw a G.I. Joe comic.

I was a huge fan of the G.I Joe animated series during its run on television. I was seven. I generally resisted showing any interest in the comics until I saw one with my absolute favorite character on the cover: Major Bludd. Why was he my favorite? Probably the eye patch and the batshit English accent. Or the arm canon and crazy moustache. Whatever it was, he was my favorite and I had to have that particular issue: Issue #17 “Loose Ends”. This issue came at the backend of the comic’s first ongoing story arc. Thusly, I was pretty confused by the action in the comic. Characters who weren’t on the show were in the comics. Strange relationships, both sexual and adversarial, existed between characters. And some characters were enemies despite being on the same team. This really was confusing for me. These characters I had come to love (from the animated TV series) were leading a double life! They were more violent and dangerous than I had thought. They spoke in choppy technical jargon that went way over my head. The good guys didn’t always seem like beacons of light and charity. It confused me - and excited me.

The story opens with Hawk, nearly dead and lying on the ground - blood streaming from him. As one character described him, he was in “a world o’hurt”. As I read on, I learned that Bludd had tried to kill Destro, who was now swearing revenge. There was a character named Scarface whom Bludd recognized (“--You!!”) just before getting slugged (in a series of thudding punches that contorted the body and made my own neck hurt) from a generic Joe character whose name I can’t recall even now. There was a character named Dr. Venom who confided in Cobra Commander that he should hope Major Bludd is dead(!). Hawk, once in the hospital, refers to himself as a dangerous character. And the Baroness is in the burn unit! It was all so damn sordid. And by the end of the issue, none of this was resolved. Not only were these characters leading a double life, I still didn’t have enough pieces to puzzle it out!

I was completely lost and baffled. I read that particular issue over and over trying to make sense of it. As I waded through the military terminology and Major Bludd’s nonsense poetry, I longed to know what had come before and what was coming next. I needed the context. I felt as if I had been missing out on something huge and awesome, and I needed to know more.

The next issue I bullied my parents into buying was #19 – it was the next issue I noticed on the rack at the store where I would get Icees. This issue was the last in this particular ongoing story arc. Wrapping things up – at least a little. In it, the Baroness is bandaged up like a mummy. Scarface has been captured by the Joes. And Kwinn and Snake Eyes have been taken prisoner by Cobra. The action culminates with a violent attack on G.I. Joe headquarters. Writer Larry Hama expertly cuts back and forth between battle action on the field, and smaller but equally violent action inside the G.I. Joe headquarters – where the really exciting stuff happens. Bludd, now a prisoner, manages to punch out Doc, steal his keys, shoot General Flagg in the back, and kill another Cobra soldier before rescuing the comatose Baroness and commandeering a Cobra copter. Scarface frantically begs Doc to free him before a bomb is set to go off, but Doc leaves Scarface behind to die in the explosion. On the field, the conflict between Kwinn and Venom comes to a head as Venom shoots Kwinn. Blood flows from Kwinn’s nose as he crumples to the ground, falling under Venom’s smoking gun. As he does, a grenade tumbles from his hand. With wild eyes, Venom spies it, “A grenade – fallen from a dead man’s hand.” Boom! In just a few pages, the comic writers had managed to kill off every major character who did not have a toy for purchase. No more Scarface. No more Flagg. No more Venom. And no more Kwinn.

The final frame of the issue features Hawk asking, “Why the long faces, fellas? We just won a – major . . . victory.” Trailing off as Snake Eyes and Doc hold out Kwinn’s necklace and Flagg’s dog tags – dark symbols of the casualties. For a kid who was used to the animated series (where soldiers ALWAYS parachuted from their helicopters before they crashed), this was heavy stuff. Death, sadness, betrayal. Awesome. And with the benefit(!) of not understanding why everyone is acting the way they are. Backstories were lost on me. Motivations were cloudy. And the dialogue was borderline indecipherable (for a kid). Most people would consider all these limitations a reason to lose interest in the comic. Not me. I loved it. It all compelled me to go back and immerse myself in this story and these warped versions of the characters I loved in the cartoon.

The only back issue I was able to find at the time (this was the period when I was introduced to The Great Escape), was issue #16: “Night Attack”. This issue filled in a few missing pieces. One: In an attempt to kill Destro, Bludd shoots the Baroness’ tank and leaves her as it explodes. But the scene that really grabbed me was the climatic fight on the back of the turret of a tank. Hawk climbs onto the Cobra tank and wrestles with Cobra Commander. After slugging the Commander, Hawk fights with Destro. As they fight, the Commander comes to. He stands, regards Hawk and Destro fighting and half-consciously mumbles, “unnhn . . . go t-to k-k-kill him . . . .That’s what I h-have t’do . . . K-kill him . . . Yes . . . but . . . which one?” As he slurs this, the frame reveals a face by face shot of Hawk and Destro. Blam, blam, blam. The Commander shoots Hawk in the back. Hawk crashes down to the ground and the tank rolls on. It was a chilling moment. I still didn’t fully grasp why the Commander would pause to consider whom he should shoot. At the time, I thought perhaps he had a bit of amnesia. As an adult, I can appreciate that the truth is meant to be ambiguous. Is it because the Commander wants to kill Destro? Is it because he is disoriented? Probably a little bit of both, and much more. Some of these moments went over my seven-year-old head. But I loved it. I wanted to understand it. I wanted to go back to the beginning and start over and so that I could understand these foreign motivations.

I would continue to get the odd issue of G.I. Joe – so many stories baffled and disturbed me. The issue in which the Soft Master dies was particularly shocking to me since it seemed especially random and without motivation. The issue in which the Cobra Commander’s son was on trial for attempting to assassinate the Commander was another highlight for me. Mostly because I was missing previous issues, so I wasn’t sure whom he was working with or why. I was also drawn in by his dare for the bad guys to “Bring in the guys with the rubber hoses.” I had no idea what that meant at the time, but my imagination went wild in a way that it rarely does as an adult. And the ever-growing grudges between characters (Destro was easily at odds with anyone else in Cobra). As with The Empire Strikes Back, my curiosity about what was happening in those missing moments fed my affection for serialized, oblique story-telling – even when it was full of holes, maybe even more so then. I also learned to love this alternate (at least to the cartoons) universe where the characters led very different, involved, dark lives. Not until years later, was I able to purchase a collection of the comics so that I could fill in the blanks. Filling in the empty pieces is always a bit disappointing, but the tease, the mystery – that’s what drew me in and galvanized my interest in G.I. Joe – and it continues to do so when I see it today.