Dear readers-
what follows are the liner notes to the CD I compiled while weathering the agony of being at home this Thanksgiving. If you have any suggestions for songs that I need to add to my collection please write in! And now, the notes:
Let’s get one thing straight: I hate the Christmas season. People being so fucking cheerful all the time, society painfully separated into the haves and have-nots, rampant commercialism, ludicrous television holiday specials like the one where the Flintstones celebrate the birth of Christ about a million years before he was born (yes, that actually exists), my mother dragging me off to midnight mass when I could have been getting laid or drunk, people utterly forgetting the point of the whole thing (which really bugs me, and I’m not even the least bit religious) and any number of other seasonal irritants. Yet, number one on my list of holiday dread is the endless, all-pervasive Christmas music. It first starts to wend its insidious way into my brain right around Halloween, and keeps on going until mid-January. Worst of all, my mother is probably the number one fan of Christmas music, so I’m even subjected to it when I go home for the holidays.
As you know, I refuse to bow in the face of oppression, so I began a campaign to save my seasonal sanity by finding pleasing (to me at least) alternatives to the vomitous dreck that I have to hear each year back in 1984. That was the year that I got my hands on the Feederz’s infamous vinyl sacrilege “Jesus Entering From The Rear,” a song that equates Christianity with a homosexual rape with a two thousand year duration. Nearly everyone who has ever heard this record finds it incredibly offensive, but it is such a catchy little punker that it is virtually impossible to get out of your head. From that point on, I have collected oddball Christmas records, and each year I treat myself to the latest in such items.
Here’s a compilation of questionable Yuletide classics culled from Brooklyn’s most infamous record collection, the Vault of El Buncho (over 1000 records and CDs, and still growing). Enjoy (or possibly be offended), and remember the cardinal rule:
THIS ONE AIN’T FOR THE KIDDIES!!!
MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS - Mr. Garrison
Nothing goes together like peace on Earth and rampaging ethnic/religious intolerance. “South Park’s” Mr. Garrison gives us his heartfelt sentiments on nations and people who have the unmitigated gall to not celebrate Christmas.
CHRISTMAS IS A COMIN’ (MAY GOD BLESS YOU) – The Shitbirds
This is one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs, twisted or not. This is genuinely fun, and you should check out the lead singer, April March’s first solo album, “Paris In April.” This one has to do with drunkenness and Santa’s elves happily manufacturing “Christmas cigarettes.”
HARK THE HAIRLIP ANGELS SING – John Valby
Easily the dirtiest recording artist in any musical genre in America, I have held this guy in the highest of low estimation for over twenty years, and my opinion has not changed one iota. Here’s a fantastic simultaneous ruination of a yuletide favorite and an offensive gag at the expense of the facially disfigured.
FUCK CHRISTMAS – Fear
The legendary Los Angeles punkers’ contribution to the Yuletide ouvre. I don’t know how well-known these guys are on your side of the pond, but they are best known for such classics as “Have A Beer With Fear,” “Beef Bologna,” “Mengele,” and that undisputed classic “New York’s Alright (If You Like Saxophones).” The vocalist, Lee Ving, doesn’t sing so much as scream like a drunken hockey fan. He was last seen somewhere around 1987 in an episode of the nauseating “Fame” TV series as a sensitive mob enforcer who belts out “The Impossible Dream.” A sad coda to a great crash-and-burn career.
FROSTY - John Valby
Did you ever see that shitty cartoon about Frosty the snowman coming to life, and being pursued by an evil stage magician (with character designs by Mad magazine legend Paul Coker Jr)? I first saw it around 1970, and it has polluted the American airwaves yearly ever since. This is the version of the song that needs a half-hour cartoon! Listen for yourself and see what I mean.
SANTA CAME HOME DRUNK - Clyde Lasley & The Cadillac Baby Specials
An early 1960’s R&B gem in which a black guy in a Santa suit decides to get seriously fucked up on Christmas Eve. Truly amazing.
DON’T BELIEVE IN CHRISTMAS - The Sonics
Another one about getting shafted, gifts-wise. From the long-defunct band that gave the world the classic ode to imbibing household toxins, “Strychnine.”
SANTA CLAUS IS WATCHING YOU - Ray Stevens
I was always a bit creeped-out by the idea of Santa seeing everything that you do, all year ‘round and grading you on it via what you get, gifts-wise. Theoretically, the fat bastard watched you while you were taking a dump or beating off, or stealing money from grandma’s purse, or whatever it is that kids get up to. From the genius who gave the world “The Streak,” this ode to Yuletide paranoia will always warm my heart because of the little kids’ hysterical cries of “He’s everywhere! He’s everywhere!” Sort of like a junior Kevin McCarthy at the end of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” The bottom line: if he sees you fucking up, forget about prezzies.
HOORAY FOR SANTA CLAUS - Sloppy Seconds
A brief bit of back story is required on this one: this is a rockin’ cover to the theme song from “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians,” a film that turns up perennially on lists of the worst movies ever made. Made in the early 1960’s on a budget of less cash than you have in your pockets when you’re naked, it truly must be seen to be believed. The basic plot: Martian children are miserable and lethargic, so the Martian elders decide to kidnap Santa Claus to make them happy. “Mystery Science Theater 3000” had a field day with it about ten years ago, and I run their version of it every Christmas Eve, along with the equally-awful Mexican “Santa Claus” movie (which features allegedly-African children in Tarzan getups with bones in their hair), that instant classic of Yuletide bad taste “Bad Santa,” and the splatter “classic” double-feature of “Silent Night, Deadly Night” and “Christmas Evil.” “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians” (and “Santa Claus”) was re-released yearly for nearly two decades, and made a boatload of money over those years. Even at age six, I knew it was staggeringly bad. If you have never seen it, “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians” is a film that I could not recommend more as a drunken party film. And it features the screen debut of seven-year-old Pia Zadora, who would later go on to bare all in such masterworks as “Butterfly” (in which her character fucks her father!!!) and “The Lonely Lady” (wherein her character is raped with a garden-hose nozzle by Ray “Goodfellas” Liotta. No, really).
HOMO CHRISTMAS - Pansy Division
The second-greatest gay Christmas song of all time. What’s number one? We’ll get to that…
IT’S CHRISTMAS - Bouquet of Veal
This song comes very close to nailing all of the details of my Christmases from 1985-1990. And, yes, I actually did once have sex with a girlfriend in the snow. I don’t recommend it (the snow part, not the girlfriend. Well, actually…).
BLUE XMAS – Bob Dorough
Bob Dorough is better known to most of us as the southern-accented guy behind the old “Schoolhouse Rock” TV segments such as “Three Is A Magic Number” and “Little Twelvetoes,” and here he demonstrates an incredible, soft-spoken seasonally driven cynicism that I wish I had written. Easily the most intelligent, erudite and musically sound entry on this disc.
A MERRY JINGLE – The Greedies
Thick-accented British punkers from back in the days get into the spirit.
DECK THE HALLS - Metal Mike, Alison & Julia
Why is it that heavy metal and Christmas go together so well?
O COME EMMANUEL - John Valby
The Master strikes again, this time combining stolid church music and ass-fucking.
HERE COMES SANTA’S PUSSY - The Frogs
This is the number one gay-themed Christmas recording. When Santa returns from his round-the-world gift-giving jaunt, Mrs. Claus takes a hike and Santa and the elves have a cross-dressing, bestiality-laden homosexual orgy to blow off some steam. I would love to see Ron Howard direct a feature film of this!
DADDY DRANK OUR CHRISTMAS MONEY - TVTV$
Self-explanatory and very funny.
RUN, RUN RUDOLPH – The Humpers
Nothing naughty or strange here, just a kickass version of the Chuck Berry chestnut.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, FUCK YOU – Jet Boys
What’s the first thing that you do when learning a foreign language? Learn all of the curse words, of course! Here’s what happens when a bunch of Japanese punk rockers get their hands on a translation book and decide to cut a Christmas record.
LITTLE DRUMMER BOY – The Bomboras
A great surf version of a tune that has been covered in a million different styles.
NOTHING FOR ME – The Muffs
Good girl-groups are hard to find these days, but the Muffs give me hope. A great, bitter little tune about getting shafted, gifts-wise.
I DON’T HAVE A CHRISTMAS TREE (SOYLENT NIGHT)
- Mark Mothersbaugh
Ah, Markie… The front man for my all time favorite band, namely Devo, contributes this ultra-disturbing blend of hip-hop, psychedelia and nativity-related cannibalism. Don’t know what “Soylent” is? Rent the movie “Soylent Green” and find out for yourself.
HOLY SHIT IT’S CHRISTMAS – Red Peters
The long-needed upraised middle finger to the odious “Chipmunk Song” from one of contemporary music’s most unashamedly offensive and puerile performers. Almost as funny as his immortal “Take It Out At The Ballgame,” this features Red’s vulgar adventures with a bunch of foul-mouthed hamsters who serve as vile stand-ins for Alvin and his douchey brothers. If the FCC would allow this to be played on the radio it would sell as well as the old Singing Dogs version of “Jingle Bells.”
I’LL BE STONED FOR CHRISTMAS -John Valby
This was the anthem of myself and many a college student in the 1980’s during the holidays.
SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN - Joseph Spence
I don’t know what was up when this guy recorded this one, but he sure as hell sounds drunk to me! Easily the most entertaining version of this song ever recorded. And it’s live, too!
CHRISTMAS WHEN YOU’RE DEAD – Ralph Sinatra
Hands down, this is the funniest Christmas song I have ever heard since it is cheerfully ghoulish and flagrantly disrespects both sappy holiday songs and the incalculably overrated talents of Frank Sinatra (I’m a Bing Crosby man). In a nutshell, this is the corpse of old blue eyes singing about the Christmas experience once he joined the choir invisible. Gains extra points for sending my very religious mother into a state of total apoplexy.
CHRISTMASTIME IN HELL – Satan
Here’s what happens when the Devil himself gets into the Christmas spirit.
NO PRESENTS FOR CHRISTMAS - King Diamond
What the…!!? A Christmas song from the Dark Lord of Nordic Satanic metal? Hey, stranger things have been known to happen.
CHRISTMAS IN JAIL - The Youngsters
A warning about drunk driving.
A SURFER’S CHRISTMAS LIST – Surfaris
Nothing naughty here, just some fun from the geniuses behind what may be the most famous surf instrumental, namely “Wipeout.”
KANSAS CITY – John Valby
The perfect coda to all of this seasonal bad taste, here’s one of Santa’s elves desecrating the 1960’s classic about going to Kansas City in search of chicks by turning it into a heartfelt ode to the fine art of titty-fucking.
Being a window into the thoughts and interests of a self-proclaimed entertainment ronin. Commentary, recipes, pop culture reviews...FUN FOR ALL!!! © All original text copyright Steve Bunche, 2004-2024.
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Sunday, November 28, 2004
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
A LITTLE SEASONAL SACRILEGE
Thanks to the snowballing of Christmas commercials, music and decorations, I have chosen to whip out this timeless classic from the 1970's run of national Lampoon magazine, one of the seminal influences (for better or worse) on my sense of humor. When reading the following, think of it as a parody of John Lennon's early solo vitriol. And to think, two nice Catholic boys came up with this one!
MADONNA VOMIT (P.J. O'ROURKE & SEAN KELLY, 1973)
Away in a manger,
No crib for his bed,
His mother blew her lunch
All over baby Jesus' head!
CHORUS
Madonna Vomit!
Uuuuuuullllllllgggggh!
Madonna Vomit!
Uuuuuuullllllllgggggh!
Madonna Vomit!
Uuuuuuullllllllgggggh!
Jesus came from heaven
To save the human race,
But even Virgin Mary
Shot her cookies in his face!
CHORUS
The seraphim are gathered
And the whole angelic squad
To see the Blessed Virgin
Flash the hash all over God!
CHORUS
A tender little tableau
The star shines down upon:
The Virgin treating Jesus
To a Technicolor yawn!
CHORUS
The boss
On the cross
Died
Clyde
MADONNA VOMIT (P.J. O'ROURKE & SEAN KELLY, 1973)
Away in a manger,
No crib for his bed,
His mother blew her lunch
All over baby Jesus' head!
CHORUS
Madonna Vomit!
Uuuuuuullllllllgggggh!
Madonna Vomit!
Uuuuuuullllllllgggggh!
Madonna Vomit!
Uuuuuuullllllllgggggh!
Jesus came from heaven
To save the human race,
But even Virgin Mary
Shot her cookies in his face!
CHORUS
The seraphim are gathered
And the whole angelic squad
To see the Blessed Virgin
Flash the hash all over God!
CHORUS
A tender little tableau
The star shines down upon:
The Virgin treating Jesus
To a Technicolor yawn!
CHORUS
The boss
On the cross
Died
Clyde
Friday, November 19, 2004
FISTED UP THE NORTH STAR: THE DESECRATION OF AN ANIME CLASSIC
There is no shame in self-awareness and I am painfully aware of the fact that I am a geek. Film, music, comics and television all have me venting my geekish spleen on a daily basis to all who are within earshot, and so here I go again. One of my geek faves is back in new animated installments, namely the pioneering classic in Japanese animated post-apocalyptic carnage FIST OF THE NORTH STAR, and being the hardcore that I am I wanted to bring you the skinny right away.
ADV Films has obtained the American rights to the new made-for-DVD series NEW FIST OF THE NORTH STAR and has begun releasing the chapters of this would-be series relaunch. However, as many of you are no doubt aware, if one knows where to look the intrepid hardcore geek can obtain the native language DVDs with fan-provided subtitles months — sometimes years — before a domestic release. I have seen the the entire trilogy in said form, and I will shortly tell all.
A while back I wrote a piece for the Pulse that would serve as an introduction to FIST OF THE NORTH STAR (being reprinted in the US at the time by the now-defunct Raijin Comics), and if you were a novice to the series while reading that I urge you to stop reading right here. The following review is for long-term fans who've read the whole long-assed saga, know it inside and out and are waiting for new developments in the adventures of Kenshiro, the post-apocalyptic successor to the unspeakably deadly martial art of Hokuto Shinken, so those who want to start fresh have been warned. Ready? Here we go:
Following the finale of his manga adventures, NEW FIST OF THE NORTH STAR finds Kenshiro continuing his wanderings and handing out ass-whuppings to those in need of serious killing in order to foster the after-the-bomb rebuilding of human civilization. Having ditched his holy robes and beads with no explanation, our hero encounters a group of villagers being wiped out by the requisite biker scum who populate the series. After swiftly dispatching the bad guys (in extra-gory fashion that — unlike the animated feature — is not blurred out), he takes the lone survivor to "Miracle Village" for treatment by a beautiful healer named Sara. She can heal even the most dire of wounds using a technique similar to the healing techniques of Kenshiro's discipline, and this leads to her kidnapping by the villains from "Lastland". The ruler of Lastland, Sanga, claims that a god lives there, and the god can create uncontaminated water with a mere gesture, so having a healer of Sara's ability only puts icing on the proverbial cake. Sadly, if you want any of the holy water, you have to willing to utterly subjugate yourself to a lifetime of slavery. Needless to say, Ken decides to rescue Sara and the alleged god (a kid who is more than he seems), and more ass-whuppin' ensues. So much for volume one.
As for volume two, after a brief recap of chapter one, Kenshiro must obtain medical supplies to save the young water-maker from death within two days, but he must take on the deadly dwellers of a forbidden mountain to get what is needed. The cliffdwellers fight with a style similar to Ken's, and they prove to be guardians of a grave secret... Meanwhile, back at the city of Lastland the vanquished dictator Sanga is replaced by the bitter Seiji, a man whose evil is rooted in his tragic childhood. Sara the healer looks to be the target of rape by Seiji; will she escape his lustful clutches? And what will happen to the people of Lastland when Seiji orders his army to kill all who oppose him, in other words the entire population?
Volume three is nothing more than an interminable festival of talking heads and the final confrontation between Ken and Seiji is a total snoozer.
FIST OF THE NORTH STAR has been justly famous for twenty years for its action-first, plot-second approach, but the new DVD adventures reverse the formula and as a result the new series falls flat on its ass. The whole appeal depends on the tenuous soap opera logic common to kung fu films; you know, just enough plot to get you to care about the heroes and villains and make you scream like someone dropped two cups of live tadpoles down your undies when the ass-whuppin' commenced. I'm all for plot but no one — repeat, NO ONE — wants that with this series. The fun lay in the idea of guys with Superman-level powers (and beyond in some cases) throwing down with hard-earned martial skills that veered into godlike territory, and in the current DVD series the viewer is utterly screwed out of that. If you ever saw the TV series from the 1980's you know that one fight could last for as long as four or five episodes with body-counts literally well into the hundreds, and the new version is barely tepid at best.
Another major point that sinks this effort from the get-go is the fact that Kenshiro righteously exterminated all possible worthy foes during the original manga. He has faced and killed the gargantuan last exponent of a style used by the Hindu gods, a warlord who could change his skin to impenatrable steel, a child-enslaving megalomaniac who derived his powers from a direct link to a phoenix, for fuck's sake, and even a guy who channeled what amounted to the Japanese answer to the Devil himself; what the hell else could possibly be left for him to conquer? The answer: nothing worthy of his skills. At the end of the manga he had resigned himself to perpetual wandering and quelling the pissant warlords who still remained. Unless telekinetic martial artists from the planet Zagron XVII show up, it's over, folks.
Oh, and the character designs are downright ugly as well, so this horseshit isn't even fun to look at.
Bottom line: the new DVD series is a major disappointment and since the final installment is not a non-stop avalanche of carnage that might have made up for stealing three hours from your life you would do better staying at home and mine your own butt-crack instead of wasting your time on this feeble dud. TRUST YOUR BUNCHE!!!
ADV Films has obtained the American rights to the new made-for-DVD series NEW FIST OF THE NORTH STAR and has begun releasing the chapters of this would-be series relaunch. However, as many of you are no doubt aware, if one knows where to look the intrepid hardcore geek can obtain the native language DVDs with fan-provided subtitles months — sometimes years — before a domestic release. I have seen the the entire trilogy in said form, and I will shortly tell all.
A while back I wrote a piece for the Pulse that would serve as an introduction to FIST OF THE NORTH STAR (being reprinted in the US at the time by the now-defunct Raijin Comics), and if you were a novice to the series while reading that I urge you to stop reading right here. The following review is for long-term fans who've read the whole long-assed saga, know it inside and out and are waiting for new developments in the adventures of Kenshiro, the post-apocalyptic successor to the unspeakably deadly martial art of Hokuto Shinken, so those who want to start fresh have been warned. Ready? Here we go:
Following the finale of his manga adventures, NEW FIST OF THE NORTH STAR finds Kenshiro continuing his wanderings and handing out ass-whuppings to those in need of serious killing in order to foster the after-the-bomb rebuilding of human civilization. Having ditched his holy robes and beads with no explanation, our hero encounters a group of villagers being wiped out by the requisite biker scum who populate the series. After swiftly dispatching the bad guys (in extra-gory fashion that — unlike the animated feature — is not blurred out), he takes the lone survivor to "Miracle Village" for treatment by a beautiful healer named Sara. She can heal even the most dire of wounds using a technique similar to the healing techniques of Kenshiro's discipline, and this leads to her kidnapping by the villains from "Lastland". The ruler of Lastland, Sanga, claims that a god lives there, and the god can create uncontaminated water with a mere gesture, so having a healer of Sara's ability only puts icing on the proverbial cake. Sadly, if you want any of the holy water, you have to willing to utterly subjugate yourself to a lifetime of slavery. Needless to say, Ken decides to rescue Sara and the alleged god (a kid who is more than he seems), and more ass-whuppin' ensues. So much for volume one.
As for volume two, after a brief recap of chapter one, Kenshiro must obtain medical supplies to save the young water-maker from death within two days, but he must take on the deadly dwellers of a forbidden mountain to get what is needed. The cliffdwellers fight with a style similar to Ken's, and they prove to be guardians of a grave secret... Meanwhile, back at the city of Lastland the vanquished dictator Sanga is replaced by the bitter Seiji, a man whose evil is rooted in his tragic childhood. Sara the healer looks to be the target of rape by Seiji; will she escape his lustful clutches? And what will happen to the people of Lastland when Seiji orders his army to kill all who oppose him, in other words the entire population?
Volume three is nothing more than an interminable festival of talking heads and the final confrontation between Ken and Seiji is a total snoozer.
FIST OF THE NORTH STAR has been justly famous for twenty years for its action-first, plot-second approach, but the new DVD adventures reverse the formula and as a result the new series falls flat on its ass. The whole appeal depends on the tenuous soap opera logic common to kung fu films; you know, just enough plot to get you to care about the heroes and villains and make you scream like someone dropped two cups of live tadpoles down your undies when the ass-whuppin' commenced. I'm all for plot but no one — repeat, NO ONE — wants that with this series. The fun lay in the idea of guys with Superman-level powers (and beyond in some cases) throwing down with hard-earned martial skills that veered into godlike territory, and in the current DVD series the viewer is utterly screwed out of that. If you ever saw the TV series from the 1980's you know that one fight could last for as long as four or five episodes with body-counts literally well into the hundreds, and the new version is barely tepid at best.
Another major point that sinks this effort from the get-go is the fact that Kenshiro righteously exterminated all possible worthy foes during the original manga. He has faced and killed the gargantuan last exponent of a style used by the Hindu gods, a warlord who could change his skin to impenatrable steel, a child-enslaving megalomaniac who derived his powers from a direct link to a phoenix, for fuck's sake, and even a guy who channeled what amounted to the Japanese answer to the Devil himself; what the hell else could possibly be left for him to conquer? The answer: nothing worthy of his skills. At the end of the manga he had resigned himself to perpetual wandering and quelling the pissant warlords who still remained. Unless telekinetic martial artists from the planet Zagron XVII show up, it's over, folks.
Oh, and the character designs are downright ugly as well, so this horseshit isn't even fun to look at.
Bottom line: the new DVD series is a major disappointment and since the final installment is not a non-stop avalanche of carnage that might have made up for stealing three hours from your life you would do better staying at home and mine your own butt-crack instead of wasting your time on this feeble dud. TRUST YOUR BUNCHE!!!
MOVIE GEEK HEAVEN: AN EVENING WITH RAY HARRYHAUSEN
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When it comes to entertainment that absolutely turns me on there are three creators who I revere with a love most people reserve for their chosen deities: Jack Kirby — key architect of what would become the Marvel Universe, Frank Zappa — a brilliant, irreverent trickster-god-as-musical-genius, and Ray Harryhausen. Ray Mother-Fuckin’ Harryhausen.
In case you just stepped out of the mothership, Ray Harryhausen is the man whose obsessive stop-motion animation skills breathed life into such unforgettable cinematic creations as the terrifying Medusa in CLASH OF THE TITANS (1981), the stunning cyclops and fire-breathing dragon of THE 7th VOYAGE OF SINBAD (1957), and the show-stopping gang of warrior skeletons in the wonders-laden JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS (1963). The man is the very model of patience and professionalism but, most important for the world, he is the wise and loving grandpa who took our youthful minds on journeys into all manner of fantastic worlds filled with adventure, heroism and romance. The effects that he crafted were extremely personal, each one a glimpse into one man’s unique imaginative vision, a vision that in turn fired the imaginations of generations of children, many of whom would follow in his footsteps to create the next level of visualization of the impossible. His work has touched me in a very deep way and I truly feel for the audiences today who, having been weaned on a diet of CGI-realized spectacle, find the painstaking work of Harryhausen and his patient brethren…quaint. Well, fuck those people in the ear! I love the guy’s work — even in sub-par offerings like THE THREE WORLDS OF GULLIVER (1960) and SINBAD AND THE EYE OF THE TIGER (1977).
On May 6th, while most of the country was glued to their in-house cathode-ray teat watching the final episode of the interminable monument to mediocrity that was FRIENDS, at Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade theater there unspooled a cornucopia of fantasy and sheer movie magic that drew a sold out crowd of the faithful. I don’t know where they found them, but the Walter Reade film society unearthed cherry archival prints of both JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS and THE 7th VOYAGE OF SINBAD and the icing on this film-geek’s cake was the presence of Ray Harryhausen himself — who sat through the 6:15 show of JASON — who kindly did a Q & A session with the fans and also sat down for a signing of his autobiography, "Ray Harryhausen: An Animated Life" (co-written with Tony Dalton and published by Billboard books).
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UBER-GEEK SIDE NOTE: having secured my autographed copy of the autobiography I returned to my seat and waited for the second feature to start. I promptly saw Miss Crosby leave the auditorium in search of the concession stand and thought to myself “Am I that much of a fanboy?…Hell yeah!” and ran off in pursuit of the princess’ autograph. I humbly asked her to sign my book and she was flattered that anyone even wanted her autograph. She was utterly nice, gracious to the nth degree and a real old school lady. I will get rid of that book only under pain of death.
As for the book, if you are a Harryhausen fan this tome is tantamount to being handed the Holy Grail. The hefty 303-page hardcover mamma-jamma is loaded with exhaustive photos, design sketches, movie posters and everything a fan would want to read, all told in the words of the master himself. I have already read the book cover-to-cover four times and was enthralled by each page. Folks, if you accept no other recommendation from me, run to your local bookstore or comic shop and plunk down the $50 bucks for this gorgeous edition. If you give even the slightest bit of a damn about this stuff, it isn’t even like spending money.
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IS "THE INCREDIBLES" THE BEST SUPER-HERO MOVIE EVER MADE?
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Admittedly, such a statement is debatable, not only because of the number of films in this particular genre — a rather narrow field in which to find works containing any sort of excellence whatsoever — but also because of the difficulty of pinning down exactly what constitutes a super-hero flick. My own personal definition of what comprises a super-hero movie boils down to two criteria:
- The film in question must have as it source material a work in which the main character or characters are considered to be in some way “super,” whether they possess powers as part of their own physical abilities or not. Or:
- The film in question must have characters who are in some way “super” regardless of whether they come from a pre-existing source or not.
“So what makes THE INCREDIBLES so fucking good?” I hear you sneer. Let me break it down for ya:
AN ENGAGING STORY WITH CHARACTERS THAT YOU GIVE A SHIT ABOUT
All good movies begin with a solid story, a vital ingredient overlooked by the majority of super-hero movies. The Spider-Man movies and the first Superman films were winners because they took the time to let you get to know their heroes and that’s very important for engendering viewer interest. THE INCREDIBLES establishes a world in which super-heroes exist — or rather existed prior to being censured and banned by the government — and we are expected to take that as a given. The characters have the quality that made so much of Marvel’s work from 1961 on so much fun, namely they are written as normal, feeling individuals who just happen to have cool powers and a relatable quotient of everyday dysfunction. In the case of the Parr family, we are presented with a married couple of “supers” who have been together for fifteen years, had three kids (two of whom engage in the usual sibling warfare only with super-human skills thrown into the mix), cope with the inevitable signs of aging such as increasing girth, hair loss and sagging asses, life in a cookie-cutter suburban home, and, saddest of all, having no choice but to hide their fantastic abilities or else face prosecution. You really feel for Bob “Mr. Incredible” Parr as you witness the crushing mundanity of his job at an insurance firm and share in his frustration and impotence when confronted with his pint-sized asshole of a boss and company policies that care nothing for the people that they purport to help; gone are his days of fighting the good fight and making a difference in a world which needs him and those of his crime-fighting ilk, and now his only excitement is had by covertly listening to police radio bulletins with fellow unwilling super-retiree Lucius (aka Frozone) in hope that they can secretly once again aid society at large. He deeply loves his wife Helen (aka Elastigirl), who has been relegated to the role of stay-at-home mother to painfully shy tweener daughter Violet (whose power of invisibility is a physical complement to her insecurities), rambunctious super-speedster Dashiel ((Dash for short), and infant Jack-Jack. Bob and Helen argue about Bob’s projecting his need for recognition of superness onto Dash’s desire to compete in sports, an endeavor that would be unfair for obvious reasons, and it is plain that this is an argument that they have had many times before. Helen also fears that her husband is involved in an extramarital affair and her suspicions are only bolstered by a mounting batch of evidence that leads her down a path of sadness and eventual anger at the assumed betrayal. Super-powers or not, we know these people from our own experiences and we cannot help but be drawn in when they are all forced into action by the machinations of Syndrome, once a brilliant boy who idolized Mr. Incredible and whose irritating fanboy attentions lead to a long-ago snubbing by his hero, a snubbing that festered into sociopathic madness, a spree of mass murder against “supers” and insecurity-fueled megalomania.
THRILLS UP THE YING-YANG
One of the major failures of many super-hero flicks is that fact they simply are not exciting in even the most minute of ways. Name me even one truly thrilling moment in any of the Batman movies…You can’t, can you? Well, rest assured that THE INCREDIBLES kicks the audience in the ass once things start happening, and the plot leading up to the action is compelling in the first place so the cool stuff is all gravy! We have displays of super-powers from the second the films starts, but the truly adrenaline-pumping bits start with Elastigirl’s plane journey to Syndrome’s James-Bond-villainesque island lair in search of her husband, her two eldest kids having stowed away on board, and the missile attack that drops mom and the kids squarely into a situation that means life or death for the entire family. Upon reaching the island, Elastigirl informs her children in no uncertain terms that the bad guys they are about to face will not hesitate to kill them and they should take the spot that they are in as seriously as a heart attack; if threatened they are to look after each other and use their super-powers without hesitation. So with parental approval the kids can finally cut loose with what they can do, and that’s a damned good thing too, since their mother was absolutely right and these bad guys are out to exterminate them with extreme prejudice. We can actually feel Dash’s joy and exhilaration at being able to run at fantastic speeds, even as he’s being chased by heavily armed hovering pursuit vehicles; it’s what he was born to do, and it’s glorious to see him revel in his own specialness. Violet also shines when she discovers strengths and levels of her own powers that she didn’t even know she possessed, and we are right there with her, sharing in her triumph. Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl kick much ass as well, and when the action swiftly migrates back to the big city we are treated to a downright spectacular display of teamwork, sheer bravery and just plain damned cool visuals of super-people doing super things. And Frozone’s style makes the dyed-in-the-wool comics fan scream, “Eat your heart out, Bobby Drake!” NOTE: for the non-geeks reading this, Bobby Drake is better known as Iceman, one of the original five X-Men.
VISUALS TO DELIGHT THE EYE
Comics have always been a buttload of fun for many reasons, but the colorful images are one of the linchpins of the medium. No super-hero movie before now has really gotten across that particular aspect of the genre’s appeal, and the digital wizards at Pixar have pulled out all of the stops, unleashing a palette of vibrant colors, flawlessly animated movement, appealing character designs and intelligently-thought-out depictions of super-powers. When the Fantastic Four movie comes out I guarantee you that Reed Richards’ stretching powers will be little more than a pitiful, wet fart when compared to the work done in THE INCREDIBLES on Elastigirl; the animators really put a lot of thought into how her powers would look, and if she were a professional stretching hero like she is, she’d have her malleable skills down to an art, with a quick-witted reaction time to go with it, and Elastigirl has that in spades.
STELLAR VOICE ACTING CAST
Craig T. Nelson, Holly Hunter, Samuel L. Jackson, Jason Lee…’Nuff said, although special mention should be made of writer/director Brad (THE IRON GIANT) Bird’s turn as the tiny cross between James Bond’s Q and legendary Hollywood wardrobe designer Edith Head, Edna Mode; Edna steals every scene she’s in and is a comedic masterpiece. If there were an Oscar category for best supporting animated actress, Edna would be going home with a little gold nekkid guy in March.
No bullshit, folks, THE INCREDIBLES could only be better if it handed you a six-pack, a righteous blunt of Maui Wowie, a Beef Wellington prepared by Wolfgang Puck, and a night of bedframe-destroying, fluids-a-flyin' fucking with the fantasy celebrity of your choice, complete with the willingly-agreed-upon option to get it on videotape to prove that it actually happened. Do yourself the favor and make sure that you see it on the big screen so you can be awash in the spectacle as it is truly meant to be seen. There is movie magic aplenty to be had in THE INCREDIBLES and in these days of soulless films-by-committee, that’s a precious commodity indeed.
And that’s my argument for THE INCREDIBLES, so please write in with your own nominee for the best super-hero movie ever made, along with a decent argument to prove your point. And I don’t give a damn what any of you say: all of the live-action Batman movies sucked ass. They are visually murky, boring, void of anything resembling action and scripted by talent-free hacks (Akiva Goldsman, anyone?). The only good Bat-flick is the animated MASK OF THE PHANTASM and I thank the gods of cinema that I got to see that one on the big screen during the fifteen minutes when it was in theatrical release! So there!
50 THINGS I LEARNED FROM THE MOVIES
1. Women in prison are the cleanest people on the planet because they seem to shower every fifteen minutes or so.
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4. All Asians will totally kick your ass. Run for your life if the person in question suddenly removes his shirt, or if he/she's really old with long white hair. Trust me on this one.
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41. Despite his flamboyant outfits, Flash Gordon was not gay.
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43. There is a very good chance that your parents may be crazy/cannibals/space-aliens/intergalactic despots.
44. Anthropomorphic cartoon animals are the most dangerous creatures on the planet. Plus, they are indestructible.
45. Glass makers in Hong Kong must be the wealthiest guys on the planet, due to the inordinate amount of people shooting/being thrown through window panes and glass sculptures.
46. Nothing signifies cool like a slow-motion closeup (see James Woods in JOHN CARPENTER'S VAMPIRES).
47. Absolutely anyone can learn any form of elaborate/improbable style of martial arts in virtually no time at all, as evidenced in MY KUNG FU 12 KICKS, DRUNKEN MASTER, CHALLENGE OF THE LADY NINJA, THE CRIPPLED MASTERS, and countless others.
48. Death does not neccessarily mean that your social life is over.
49. It must be illegal to be anything less than stunningly beautiful in Italy, Spain, Brazil, and France since there are apparently no ordinary looking people in any of these countries...except Gerard Depardieu and Roberto Benigni.
50. Even a whiny geek can defend the galaxy. Yeah, I'm talkin' about you, Luke Skywalker!
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Thursday, November 11, 2004
DAIKAIJU 101: A FIELD GUIDE TO TOHO'S GIANT MONSTERS
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GODZILLA
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VERDICT: a solid 5 out of 5, despite years of wimped-out versions and that fucking Hanna-Barbera cartoon.
ANGUIRUS
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VERDICT: a useless motherfucker if ever there was one, Anguirus should have been retired after its first appearance, but is somehow nonetheless considered a welcome presence due to its longevity. Fuck that shit, this Spiny Norman wannabe is lame. 2 out of 5.
VARAN
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VERDICT: so lame that it needs a crutch, Varan earns the dreaded 1 out of 5.
RODAN
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When you hear that crooked bird, just close your shutters tight
Heed the warning written here and live to see the light
If you look into the sky you’ll catch its eye
It will alight…
VERDICT: the monsters seen in the first film get a solid 4, but the later goofy version and the so-called “Fire Rodan” each get a 2.
MOTHRA
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Despite being pretty much ruined after its 1960’s appearances, Mothra started out in what is arguably the best of Toho’s monster/fantasy epics and was at the time the only Toho monster that was actually a god (or goddess if you include the first two appearances). The American version tries to pass off the ludicrousity of a Giants Stadium-sized moth by attributing such gigantism to the ever-popular atomic radiation excuse, but in the original japanese version Mothra had actually been worshipped as a deity by those South Seas Islanders for quite a while; long enough for a culture to have grown around said worship, along with the presence of those tiny twin chicks who are explicitly stated in the Japanese dialogue to be a couple of faeries. No other monster since Godzilla has caused so much fucking destruction that it can be considered a force of nature; rules of science and modern weaponry simply do not work against Mothra since such human concepts pale before the power of primal Earth magic. Mothra’s origins and qualities are strongly Shinto in many respects, and who other than those wacky Nips would come up with such an idea as a world-shattering caterpillar? I mean, we’ve all seen it swimming across the ocean, looking like nothing so much as giant “floater” doody, as the navy endlessly bombards it with everything they’ve got and Mothra just swims blithely on in a single-minded mission to rescue her priestesses. Cities crumble in its wake, and though a goddess of peace, Mothra’s main lesson is simple: “Don’t fuck with my faeries.” And who can forget when she decides it would be easier to get around if she could fly, so she constructs a huge cocoon on the Tokyo Tower?
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VERDICT: The original Mothra is one of the all-time great monsters, so she gets a rock-solid 5. The subsequent critters to bear the name are all pretty and shit, but they just don’t have the godlike awesomeness of the original. They all get a 3.
KING GHIDORAH
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VERDICT: Visually awesome, a total badass, Satan in a three-headed rubber suit. Need I say……5?
GOROSAURUS
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VERDICT: A stone-cold bore, but he gets a 2 from me because he isn’t offensive, just boring. "Borosaurus," perhaps?
KING KONG
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MINYA
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VERDICT: 1 is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do…
BARAGON
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VERDICT: 2
FRANKENSTEIN
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VERDICT: Frankenstein earns a 2 solely for the sheer goofiness of him being a giant ugly Japanese dude in a Tarzan suit. And that Fred Flintstone fashion sense is pretty damned kooky; I mean, where did he get animal skins that big?
MECHAGODZILLA
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VERDICT: The early version was a joke, but the two most recent variations are cool enough to warrant a solid 5, especially the most recent one.
MECHAKONG
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VERDICT: 2 purely for the visual.
SPIGA
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VERDICT: Spiga gets a 4 for being different.
MANDA
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VERDICT: 2
HEDORAH
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VERDICT: Visually unpleasant, greasy, wiggly and about as close to a Cthulhoid critter as you’ll find in one of these flicks, Hedorah is major bad news and sort of resembles a walking ocean of frat boy vomit, in fact I swear you can almost smell it. Its movie may have been pretty bad, but I really, really love this monster. 5
EBIRAH
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VERDICT: Earns a 3 purely for its visual and that mean batting claw.
KAMIKIRAS
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VERDICT: 2
GABORAH
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VERDICT: 2 solely for the fact that just seeing this guy makes me laugh.
BATTRA
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VERDICT: 4
GIGAN
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VERDICT: A solid 4 for sheer entertainment value; so what if he doesn’t make a lick of sense?
DOGORA
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VERDICT: 4 for the visual.
SANDA and GAIRA
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VERDICT: A solid 4 for each of the big boys.
TITANOSAURUS
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VERDICT: 1
MEGALON
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VERDICT: A well-deserved 4.
MOGERA
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VERDICT: Mogera gets a 2 purely for its first appearance, wherein it looked cool wandering around the countryside blowing shit up.
BIG-ASS OCTOPUS
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VERDICT: Since tentacled wigglies are always welcome, big-ass octopus gets a solid 3.
BIG-ASS CONDOR
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VERDICT: 1
KING SEESAR
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VERDICT: Seesar gets a 2 purely for its crazy, carnival-like appearance.
BIOLLANTE
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VERDICT: A solid 4 for its visual and conceptual uniqueness.
MEGAGUIRUS
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VERDICT: Earns a 3 for sheer toughness.
ORGA
This is that alien thing from GODZILLA 2000 that starts out looking like a tentacled bicycle seat
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VERDICT: Earns a 2 for its first form, but that’s about it.
SPACE GODZILLA
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VERDICT: 1
Oh, and before I forget, my research yielded this rare shot from the "lost" 1960's Godzilla opus, GODZILLA VERSUS THE SEMEN MONSTER (1969) or, as it was retitled for U.S. distribution, GODZILLA'S ASS-FUCK RAMPAGE.
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