Category Archives: commentary

It Sure Wasn’t Shakespeare

Spoiler Alert! I intend to give away all major plot points of the following movie, including how they escape from the monsters and who lives at the end.

As I write this (on a break at work), I find I cannot quite recall the exact title of today’s cheesy horror flick. Something about shrews. Attack of the Killer Shrews or Giant Killer Shrews. You may guess from this that it is not a particularly memorable movie, and you’d be right.

I know what else you might be thinking: Shakespeare. I suspect the makers of the movie anticipated such a thing as well, because they have one of the characters say, “As in ‘Taming of’?” Which is exactly what Steven said when I informed him which movie we’d be watching. Imagine my husband having something in common with the main guy of a cheesy horror flick (I don’t say “hero.” I would not call most of these main guys heroes.)

It seems Main Guy is captain of a boat bringing supplies to an island. According to these movies, there are a bazillion isolated, difficult to reach islands, usually peopled with mad scientists, who often have beautiful daughters.

The scientist on this island has a beautiful daughter, but he’s not particularly mad. We know, of course, what animal he is researching, and the first ones we see are small.

“It looks like a rat,” remarks Main Guy. Actually, it looks like a mouse. “Does it bite?” he asks, as he holds it in his hand.

“Only when it’s hungry,” is the answer.

I forgot to mention that Main Guy does not intend to depart that night or even unload, because of an imminent hurricane. So it’s tough luck on Beautiful Daughter, who counted on leaving the island with him. She tries to convince him to stay with them in the house, not because he is so handsome and debonair (he’s neither), but because she is afraid. He, of course, intends to spend the night on the boat. In a hurricane! What the hell?

Scientist Dad has several people working for him in capacities that are never fully explained. One at least is a pure research assistant. He spends his last minutes recording his exact symptoms as he dies of poisonous shrew bite. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

First we meet Beautiful Daughter’s ex-fiance, a drunkard who left the cage door open. I don’t think we find out which of those if either factored into her breaking the engagement, but then, you know I never pay close attention to these things.

Soon we are all being terrorized by the giant shrews, which look like mice with long hair and are the size of wolves (I was going to say “dogs,” but you might say, “Chihuahuas? Great Danes?”) The close ups of the sharp teeth are scary enough. The beady eyes peeping through various orifices less so. In those shots you can pretty much tell they made use of perspective as a special effect.

The giant shrews have apparently eaten all possible food on the island and will soon begin eating each other, thus leaving the humans only one really fat shrew to deal with. It’s a good plan, except that the shrews discover the people and want to eat all of them first, quite naturally.

So the shrews start picking off the people one by one. It turns out the shrew bite is poisonous, so if you get bit you’re a goner even if you’re not dinner.

When they’re down to just four survivors — Dad, Daughter, Main Guy and Ex-Fiance — they decide to duck walk to the beach in oil drums. I’m not kidding you. Have you ever tried to duck walk any distance? I have not, but the mere thought of it hurts my thighs. They put these slits in the oil drums so they can see out, although I think that is mainly so we can have some scary shots of sharp teeth trying to break through.

So there they are, oil drums strapped together, only three of them because Ex-Fiance has decided to remain on the roof (guess what’s going to happen to him). The camera shows close ups on each face as they make their fearful way. Boy, are they good duck walkers! Their heads and shoulders don’t move at all! I know some dancers who would love to achieve that kind of isolation!

Oh, you don’t have to tell me I’m carping. Listen, I’m not method actress myself. I don’t feel I would need to actually duck walk through a jungle to convincingly look as if I might faint (did I really need to tell you Beautiful Daughter almost does?) (faint, I mean, not actually duck walk). Still, if I had been directing that scene, I would have insisted on at least a little up/down movement.

I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that all three make it to safety. I was a little relieved they let Dad live. Many movies would have killed him off. Some even would have offed the girl. I thought Ex-Fiance’s death was rather pointless. Often that character gets to do something heroic and sacrifice himself, since he obviously isn’t going to get the girl. Or he could have done something dastardly to save himself, but it backfires and he gets his comeuppance.

But no, he just jumps off the roof, while Steven and I yelled, “What are you thinking?” I suppose he figured the shrews were distracted, and he could run faster than the other three could duck walk. But, hello! How distracted do you think the shrews are?

Here’s a shrew, trying to get at a duck walker in an oil drum and he doesn’t have a can opener (oh, I’ve been there. It was cream of mushroom soup, but a similar frustration). Now here’s this fine specimen, out of a tin can and marinaded (remember? he’s a drunkard). What would you do if you were a hungry shrew? I thought so.

Scientist Dad says in X amount of time the shrews will have eaten each other, and the menace will be over. Phew! You don’t suppose they’ll start having babies really fast first, do you, and replenish supplies? Or maybe go vegetarian till something better comes along? Learn to swim? In short, adapt in time for a sequel. Well, if anybody hears of a sequel, please let me know.

NOTE: On consulting the TV Journal, I see the title is The Killer Shrews. Leonard Maltin doesn’t list it.

Of Hogarth and Karloff

A friend who enjoys my postings about Classic Horror films recently sent me a DVD of two with Boris Karloff. What a lovely addition to my collection! Sunday Steven and I enjoyed Bedlam (1946).

According to the box, Karloff plays the evil head of an insane asylum. Insane asylums have been staples of horror movies and haunted houses for years, especially older, unenlightened ones. Since it was an older movie, naturally this would be an older insane asylum. Then I saw it was a period piece. Goody.

The opening credits are shown over a rather menacing looking painting. Jut as I was thinking it looked like a Hogarth print, I saw that the movie had been inspired by a William Hogarth painting.

I am not an art scholar, and I don’t know much about William Hogarth, but I have looked through books of his stuff. I know he painted in the 1700s and that his works are realistic depictions of the grimier side of London life. He was very moral. One of his series, A Rake’s Progress, depicts the stages of life of a bad man who comes to a bad end.

So I sat back and waited for some grit. And a bad end for those who deserved it.

The movie takes place in 1761, a time when those deemed insane were locked up and badly treated. People would pay tuppence to walk through the asylum and marvel at the inmates in their cages.

Boris Karloff is smooth and sinister. His gentle, kindly-sounding voice serves the part well.

I found it more of a moral tale than a horror tale. There are a few creepy images of the inmates. One of hands reaching out from darkened cages is very effective. When Karloff’s character finally gets his comeuppance, I thought it was fairly horrible (that’s not a spoiler; in a moral tale you must know there will be a comeuppance).

I really liked the movie, but I can’t call it a cheesy horror flick. It was interesting and at times suspenseful. I was concerned about what would happen to the characters. It was even, dare I say, thought provoking. And it reminded me about William Hogarth. I will soon make my way to the library in hopes of looking at a book of his works.

Just a Common or Garden Vampire

Spoiler Alert! I’ll try not to give away the dramatic conclusion, but I am pretty much going to tell you what happens in this picture.

I have to confess that I am not as fond of the horror movies made after 1960. Could it be the color film which is so much less atmospheric? Could it be the increasingly graphic quality of the violence (don’t even get me started on the body count slasher flicks of the ’70s)? In any case, it was in some trepidation that I sat down to watch Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966).

I noted that it was a Seven Arts/Hammer Production. Hammer, I learned recently, was a British company that became somewhat renowned for its horror movies in the ’60s. On consulting one of his movie books, Steven informed me that this movie was the sequel to Horror of Dracula. I imagined we would be able to follow the plot in spite of having missed the first installment. I was right.

The movie opens on a life and death struggle between a vampire and some guy. We never find out who the guy is, but he triumphs and the vampire eventually crumbles to dust in a not bad special effect for the time. My guess is that this is how the first movie ended, which I certainly like better than the whole movie being a flashback telling us how we got to this point.

So call that the prologue. The real movie starts with an old woman chasing down some sort of funeral procession starring a beautiful young blond girl. I thought she looked a little like a young Cybil Shepherd. That reminded me of her eponymous sitcom where her character was a actress who would have been grateful to get a dead body part.

The anchor guy in the procession carries a wooden stake, and the procession leads to a pile of sticks. Apparently they are going to stake the young woman and burn her JUST IN CASE she is a vampire. And that is the first “Waaait a minute” moment in the film. If she was a vampire, wouldn’t she be crumbling into dust from the daylight? No matter, these guys are taking no chances, despite the old woman’s protests that her daughter deserves a proper Christian burial.

Enter a monk on a horse with a shotgun, who stops the whole thing, insists the girl be buried, but does not stick around to see it carried out. We don’t see it carried out either, but I think it was done. Anyways, that was just more background: the vampire is dead but people still fear him.

Next we’re in a tavern where an upper class guy is doing what looks like a fraternity party chug-a-lug with the lower classes. His sister-in-law disapproves but his wife thinks he’s cute and, besides, “We can afford it.”

When the monk (I can’t capitalize it or you’ll think I’m talking about the Tony Shaloub show on USA) shows up, hollering at the crowd for being such superstitious louts, he meets the upper class foursome: two brothers and their wives on vacation to improve their minds.

The monk, refreshing himself with mulled cordial and hiking his robes up to warm his backside at the fire, invites them to come stay at his monastery. At any rate, they mustn’t go to Carlsbad, where they originally intended, and if they do they must stay away from the castle.

Hmmm…. Where do you suppose they’re going to end up?

How they get to the castle is less “Waaait a minute!” than “Oh, PLEASE!” Nobody but Disapproving Sister-in-Law is the least bit disconcerted that they find themselves dropped off at the castle by runaway horses, their luggage mysteriously brought upstairs, and dinner ready to be served by a singularly creepy servant who appears to be the castle’s only inhabitant.

You know, I’m all for mysterious things happening in horror movies. And I’m even OK with going with the flow and having an adventure. I KNOW that if these people would have sensibly gone to stay at the monk’s house it would have been a dull movie. But I think these people took things entirely too far.

In a rather gruesome scene, one of the four gets sliced open in order to bring the vampire’s ashes back to life. Apparently the creepy servant carefully preserved them in a funereal-looking box.

And you know, I think they missed a bet. Have you ever tried to sweep up ashes? Heck, even sweeping ordinary household dirt you don’t get it all. You know how it is: you sweep, sweep, sweep it into the dustpan, then you scatter around the last little bit that you just can’t get. And then some of it stays on the broom or in the dustpan. There’s no way that entire vampire would have been there!

Actually, come to think of it, he wasn’t. As Dracula, Christopher Lee has no lines. Was this so the producers wouldn’t have to pay him as much, or were Dracula’s vocal chords still stuck in the cracks between the flagstones where he met his end? Points to ponder.

Be that as it may, the movie continues with another member of the party lured to her doom. Of course she becomes a vampire, which improves her personality as well as her hair-do. Eventually the other two are fleeing for their lives.

They meet up with the monk again, who tells them how to kill a vampire. Did you know you could drown a vampire in running water? I didn’t. I thought it was sunlight or stake through the heart, although you can temporarily chase them off with garlic or a crucifix.

I was a little disappointed in the movie. For one thing, it didn’t really seem like Count Dracula. He just seemed like any common or garden vampire, and he didn’t even have that big a part. He was scary enough when he was onscreen, although as with many movie monsters, he moved too slowly. Perhaps I should cut him a break on that one, though. After all, he was only ashes just that morning.

But he was not onscreen enough. It took forever to get him brought back from ashes and even then he didn’t spend nearly enough time chasing his victims to suit me.

But perhaps I ask too much. At any rate, I have another Christopher Lee Dracula movie on my DVR, probably a sequel to this one. I’ll watch it and report on whether he gets a little more personality or at least the use of his vocal chords.

Not Whistler, Western

In my quest to DVR movies to watch and write about later, I came across The Kansan (1943) starring Richard Dix.

Richard Dix, astute readers may remember, starred in the Whistler movies I have enjoyed so much. This one did not look like a Whistler movie, however. The word “marshal” in the description made me suspect it was a Western. Still, Richard Dix. It might be worth a watch.

Then I saw that it also starred Albert Dekker. Dekker was the subject of an episode of Mysteries & Scandals, cheesy show we used to enjoy during the early ’00s. He had a rather sordid private life and died under mysterious circumstances, either a suicide or a kinky sex game gone wrong. Of course, this has nothing to do with the movie, even as backstory. For heavens’ sake, the man was an actor. His personal life and death are separate things from any characters he may have played. Still, it added a little interest to our viewing.

Dix plays a stranger who happens to come to town just as a bank is being robbed. Apparently banks were always getting robbed in the Old West, which strikes me as odd considering almost everybody carried a gun and the tellers were NOT instructed to just hand over the money. Hard luck on depositors, since these were also the days before FDIC. But I digress.

It seems there is a shoot-out in which Dix saves the bank’s money but is himself injured. He wakes up in the hospital and is informed that the town has just elected him marshal. I guess this was also fairly common in the Old West. I seem to remember a similar thing happening to Cleavon Little in Blazing Saddles. Oh, and to James Garner in Support Your Local Sheriff.

Dix had been just passing through but decides to say a while after meeting the lady who owns the local hotel. I have to wonder what it is like to be so pretty that men change their entire career path before they even ask for a date.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that the new marshal in town soon discovers that things are not what they seem. It turns out the banker (Dekker), who was instrumental in getting Dix the marshal gig, is pretty much the main bad guy in town, although technically the law is on his side. There is a love triangle among the banker’s brother, the hotel owner and Dix, but this does not cause as many complications as I thought it would.

In pre-show commentary, Ben Mankiewicz said you could check off Western movie staples as you watch: stranger in town, cattle stampede, bar brawl, climactic gun fight. He left off hooker with a heart of gold, as did the movie, but I guess you don’t always have one of those.

It is actually a pretty entertaining flick. The plot moves right along and there is excitement along the way. I know I usually like to talk about bad movies in this space, the cheesier the better. However, I had a busy weekend and only had time to watch one movie. I thought it would be a little silly to turn it off because it was good. I’ll look for a bad movie next time.

First November Run

I worked till 11 this morning, and while I was at work, I had a vision of a certain residential area I sometimes run in. I could see that it was a grey day outside. I thought about running under the grey sky, possibly on wet roads and sidewalks, looking around at houses. However, I told a co-worker, “I’m just as likely to make myself an egg sandwich and take a nap.”

When I left work, it was cold. Cold! Who said it could be cold? It’s still autumn, isn’t it? Since when does November have to be so cold? And that shows you what a difference a day makes, because Friday when I stepped outside and it was cold, I said, “Ah! That cold air is reviving me!” I had been literally falling asleep over my book during the 2 o’clock break, and it’s not a dull book.

So I got home feeling I had every reason to talk myself out of it. Then I thought, I want to take a shower anyways. Why not take a short run first? I’d either be sweaty and really need a shower or I’d be cold and a hot shower would feel twice as good.

My temperature doo-dah (that’s the technical term) said it was 42. Normally over 40 degrees I wear shorts and a t-shirt, but I thought since this would be the first cold run of the season, long legs and sleeves was the way to go. I had a pair of silky long johns I had worn under a skirt last night (so much more comfortable than pantyhose). I dug out a long sleeved ARMY t-shirt. I found a knitted toque (rhymes with spook). I was off.

Were you hoping that this was a fun run? That I reached the “I can rock this” stage and stayed there? That I got a huge endorphin rush? Yeah, well, that would have been nice. Right away I wished I had worn a sweatshirt as well as my long sleeved t-shirt. I told myself to keep running, I’d warm up.

Traffic was not at all bad. I crossed German Street very easily and headed toward the hill at Valley Health, which I have had it in mind to run for a few days now. As it felt surprisingly difficult to run, I considered running into the unknown park instead. A couple of small hills, that was more my speed. But that was not where I had pictured myself running while at work. I ran by the unknown park entrance, reminding myself that I do know the name of the park now but thinking, “Really, if they want me to call it Brookfield Park, they ought to put a sign at the gates.”

It seemed to take a long time to get to the hill by Valley Health. I did not feel that I was warming up. I was very aware of my hips. They felt huge. Here was the hill. Oh dear. I reminded myself of the trick an army friend of mine learned from our drill sergeant, who would know, “Just look at your feet and shuffle up that hill.” I made it. That didn’t seem to take too long, so I felt encouraged.

I saw a group of healthcare workers (they were wearing scrubs; I can’t tell nurses from aides from attendants etc.). They were talking loudly and laughing, so that was nice. I don’t think they were laughing at me, but of course you never know.

I continued my run, looking around at Halloween decorations that were still up. Some I had noticed before were gone already, but many people had at least left their mums and pumpkins out. Fall decor, I thought, can legitimately be left up from September 1 to December 1. Halloween stuff is really best in October. That said, Steve’s and my decorations are still up, and I enjoyed looking at other people’s as well. I do love Halloween.

I thought about the egg sandwich I had mentioned at work and it started to sound pretty good. I knew I had whole wheat English muffins as well as some cheese. Mmmmm… I remembered I had pepperoni as well. Even better. Then I remembered my enormous hips and rethought my menu choices.

As I got closer to home I thought I would prefer to run an extra minute over sprinting at the end. You see, I like to stop at the top of the minute and be exact when I put the time in my running journal. Sometimes I go a few seconds over, if for example I have stopped to pet a dog. That was not the case today. Two houses from my house I picked up the pace anyways. An extra minute is a long time at the shape I’m in right now (round and puffy).

It was really not a bad run at all. As always I felt good that I had run, and I made plans to run more often during the coming week. I enjoyed my egg sandwich, and I left off the pepperoni. Those hips are going bye-bye! Eventually.

Just Sew the Head Back On!

Spoiler Alert! I’m going to tell most of the plot of today’s movie. I’m really more interested in commenting about it than in being circumspect.

We continued our enjoyment of Peter Cushing as Dr. Frankenstein with Frankenstein Created Woman (1967).

I was a little disappointed that the movie did not pick up where Revenge of Frankenstein ended. On consulting Leonard Maltin, however (Leonard Maltin’s 2007 Movie Guide, Penguin Group, New York, 2006), I find that this movie is in fact the sequel to Evil of Frankenstein, which I did not see. That explains it.

The movie opens similarly to Revenge, however, with an ominous shot of a guillotine. The intended beheadee this time is not Dr. F but a common or garden thief and murderer. He is laughing at his fate until he sees his son in the distance watching.

The guillotine certainly makes for a chilling beginning, especially when we see the bloody blade being raised after the head drops. The guillotine, of course, was an efficient means of execution. That guy with the big ax sometimes missed, I’ve read. But guy with ax or guillotine, one thing you can say about getting beheaded: there was no chance they were going to bury you while you were still alive. Come to think of it, in a Frankenstein movie, I guess that’s not much of a fear anyways, because he digs up bodies. But I digress.

Flashing forward, the executed man’s son is all grown up and passes by the guillotine every day on his way to his job as — did you guess? I didn’t — Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant. Dr. F is also assisted by a bumbling old fool of a doctor, who is actually pretty endearing. I was reminded of Holmes and Watson (which is a little blog foreshadowing, by the way, because I also DVR’d The Hound of Baskervilles, starring none other than Peter Cushing as Sherlock Holmes).

Things get a little weird for a Frankenstein movie. He doesn’t sew any dead body parts together. So once again, the possibilities of the guillotine are wasted. Well, I guess not entirely, but that part comes later.

This time out, Dr. F is interested in the soul, which he says does not leave the body right away upon death.

“Where does it go?” asks Bumbling Old Doctor. I don’t think Dr. F has a good answer for that one.

As the movie progresses, we find out that Hans — that’s the guillotined guy’s son — is in love with the daughter of the owner of the local tavern. She is scarred and crippled. The origin of the scars is not explained, but it looks as if half her face has been burned. However, since she has a Veronica Lake thing going on with her long red hair, she is still cute. The crippled thing is harder to disguise, especially when some drunken upper-crust louts demand she wait on them, so they can make fun of her. Oh yes, the audience is wanting these guys to be cut up and used for body parts.

Ah, but this is a different Dr. Frankenstein. He wants to put somebody’s soul into a different body, and he gets his chance when Hans is sentenced to the guillotine.

I know what you’re thinking: “Just sew his head back on! It’s what you do!” That is what I was thinking it. But now that I think more about it, I remember that in Revenge of Frankenstein, he said he couldn’t put a dead brain into his patchwork body. But now it’s all about the soul, and the brain is not even mentioned (insert brainless joke of your choice).

You know, the more I think about it, the more I think Cushing’s character is just a regular old mad scientist, and they named him Frankenstein to buy into the franchise. Canny marketing strategy. I mean, I would have watched the movie anyways, but you can’t always go by me.

Where was I? Ah yes, Hans’ soul is put into the dead body of his girlfriend, who drowned herself in despair after he got guillotined. Yes, I’ve skipped a few plot points. You know how I am about details.

So what happens to the girl’s soul is a question nobody asks, but I think the answer is she’s still around, although she has no idea who she is or how she got there. However, she is now a beautiful, unscarred, uncrippled blond. I guess it’s a good thing she doesn’t know who she is or the first words out of her mouth may have been, “Thanks a lot, Doc! You couldn’t have done that while I was alive, I suppose?”

Just about the time I was complaining, “Isn’t there any comeuppance for those louts?” Blondie turns into a murderous vixen, commanded by, yes, Hans’ dismembered head, which she has apparently dug out of the grave (the doctors let him get buried after they got his soul).

Hey, maybe if Dr. F would have known what Blondie was up to, he could have put the louts’ souls into other people’s bodies, too. That would have made for a much longer movie, though, so I guess it’s just as well.

The movie ends pretty abruptly, with almost everybody dead, except Dr. Frankenstein. So he is all set for another sequel. I hope TCM shows it next Saturday.

I Ran, I Commented, I’m Done

I wondered if any of my readers missed Saturday Running Commentary, so I thought I would run and comment today. I never ran till after 2, when Steven went to work, but I figured you can do that in the fall.

The trouble with waiting to run is that you’ve got plenty of time to talk yourself out of it, which I almost did. I went to the store to buy groceries instead. As I was pushing the cart back after loading three big bags into my truck, I realized I was happy to be outdoors, because it was such a nice day. Well, self, I thought, there is one good activity that will get you outdoors for a little longer.

Of course, raking leaves is another activity that would get me outdoors and that definitely needs to be done. Still, I’m trying to get back into running and it is not going to be easy due to certain other time commitments I have recently made. I decided to run.

I was not immediately glad I did. Sometimes waiting till later in the day is a good thing: your muscles are not stiff and just waking up, you’ve eaten something nutritious (I hope), OK, that’s all I got. My muscles felt that they had been working enough (only walking, but you know how leg muscles are). My body acted as if it hadn’t been fed in days (like that’s ever going to happen!). I just kept going.

A friend of mine has been mentioning to people lately how I run up the hill to Herkimer County Community College. I have not run that hill in at least a month (too lazy to go downstairs and look it up in my running journal), but I figure if Phyllis is going to be talking about it I’d better get back to doing it. Only not today. I turned in that direction, though, because there are a couple less intimidating hills I thought I might be up to.

Finally I settled on the Unknown Park. I recently learned that it is in fact Brookfield Park, but I am so used to calling it the Unknown, I may continue to do so. There is a pretty good upslope as soon as you turn in. Wasn’t fun. Ran it anyways.

A couple of young girls were walking towards me, but they crossed to the other side of the road when they saw me. That was good, because it put them on left side facing traffic (of which there was none just then). I don’t think they did it to be safe, I think they did it to avoid the crazy old lady (me), but I was glad to see it nonetheless.

As I ran through the path in the woods I stopped to pet an adorable black pug, with the owners’ permission. I think he was just a puppy. He was so wiggly and cute, I ran on feeling refreshed. One more short upslope, I told myself, and then it’s downhill all the way. I felt good about that, because I knew I wasn’t lying. Not like on the Boilermaker when they keep telling you it’s all downhill from here and you know darn well it’s not.

Back on the road, I was going to turn left where it said “No Left Turn” as usual (must be a rebel, after all), but I saw a group of male college students walking in the opposite direction, right side with traffic, of course. I had no reason to think they might say anything rude, yet I did not feel inclined to run right into them. I thought, I never go straight at this intersection, I’ll go straight for once. Not that it was a road less traveled, because I run on that stretch of road all the time going toward the college. Still, a different direction is at least something different.

I stopped to pet two more cute dogs on German Street. They were the shaggy kind, Llasa Apsos or Shih Tsus or something. One backed off, the other was friendly. Then as I ran on the shy one ran after me.

“Now she wants to be petted,” the owner said, with a laugh. I turned around and obliged. “She has to play hard to get,” the owner said.

I ended up running longer than I had run Tuesday or Thursday, so I felt pretty good about that. Other than that satisfaction, though, I felt tired. I managed to spend a little time raking leaves, just because I thought I ought to (I know, I say I never do what I ought to, but I guess once in a while I do). Then I felt beat. Dare I say, too beat to write a decent blog post? Yet I see I am over 800 words. I’ll say today I went for quantity, not quality.

Cheesy Bikinis

I DVR’d Prehistoric Women (1967) based on its description on the digital cable guide channel, something to the effect of brunettes enslaving blonds in the jungle. What’s not to like?

The movie opens on the male protagonist (naturally), the leader of a safari who feels “responsible” for the jungle. Blah, blah, blah, get to the cheese already! He comes across some natives and watches their extended dance sequence. I don’t know if this was the well-researched, educational portion of the movie, but it involved a lot of butt-wiggling, especially on the part of the scantily clad female natives.

Our hero is captured by the natives and faces judgement by the White Rhino or some such nonsense (you know I don’t pay much attention to these details). Suddenly everybody but Hero freezes, some natives with their speeds in mid-air, and a wall to another part of the jungle opens up. This, I felt certain, is where we’ll meet the blonds and brunettes.

And so it proves. First Hero meets this gorgeous, dewy-eyed blond who bites him and runs away. Then they are both captured by the evil brunettes and thrown into a cave/jail.

“Are you here to help us?” the young blond asks, at her dewiest.

He’s like, “Uh, yeah, sure,” even though he really doesn’t know what’s going on yet (neither do we, but who cares?). Soon he meets the head brunette, who naturally wants to make him her boy toy.

At this point I couldn’t quite understand why all the girls were not having sex with him, because it struck me as such a porno plot (no, I don’t watch pornos, but I saw one once and, anyways, it is pretty well known what constitutes the plot of a pornographic movie, so just quit snickering) (you know who you are).

According to Leonard Maltin (Leonard Maltin’s 2007 Movie Guide, Penguin Group, New York, 2006), who gives it a star and a half, the movie has a cult following because of the “commanding, sensual performance” of the head brunette. Oh, please! The movie has a cult following because a whole bunch of women spend a lot of time running around in leather bikinis!

I don’t know where these women found blow-driers and eye-liner in the jungle, but they are certainly all gorgeous. It is not clear who they’re being gorgeous for, because all the men are confined in some cavern doing hard labor (the benefit of which is also not clear, because, you know, jungle). And, no, there is no girl-on-girl action, barring a couple of wrestling matches in which nobody loses a top (so don’t get your hopes up). I’m sure this flick had no problem garnering a PG rating.

Anyways, our Hero naturally does not want to be boy toy, the more so because he has fallen in love with Dewy Eyes. So Head Brunette throws him underground with the rest of the men. While there, he finds out the whole back story of why they are all there, brunettes in charge etc.

It’s a real “Waaaait a minute!” plot. For one thing, it’s been this way for as long as Dewy Eyes can remember, but the women are all in the 18 to 24 age group. The men have a greater age range and are a good deal less gorgeous. Really, I don’t see why they could not have provided some eye candy for us female viewers. But perhaps I ask too much.

One blond, in a moment of wisdom, says they must stop looking at the men as their enemies. I personally am not a fan of the battle of the sexes, so was in agreement with this sentiment, but I had thought this was a story about blond vs. brunette, a premise that could take up a whole blog post all on its own if I were so inclined.

But that’s neither here nor there. I was highly entertained by this ridiculous movie, even thought I saw the “Or was it?” ending a mile away (no, I’m not going to tell you! I didn’t even include a spoiler alert!). Oh, and you can tell Leonard Maltin if you see him that he doesn’t have to make up stories about commanding performances. I don’t mind if he likes to look at ladies in leather bikinis.

Spare Me the Existential Post

So I don’t have much of a headache, and my back doesn’t feel too bad. Lame Post Friday ought to be a breeze.

Of course it’s not. You didn’t think it would be, did you? I wasn’t sure, myself. I thought it could go either way. Looks like it’s veering into Existential Writer’s Crisis. Nice.

Existential is one of those fancy words that people use to sound erudite that don’t really mean much. “Spare me the existential pose,” one character says to another in the movie Big Chill. He could just as well have said, “Spare me the pose,” or even, “Spare me” (I guess some people wish they had been spared the whole movie, although I like it).

Where was I? Ah yes, in crisis. Not much of one, really. My wrist is not on my forehead. It just looks as if I’m writing yet another post on Why I Can’t Write a Post.

And that was as much as I wrote at work today (on a break OF COURSE). I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering if some reader would post a condescending comment explaining to me the meaning of existential philosophy. I had my reply ready, “You sound very erudite.”

Still, as soon as you start thinking about the condescending things people might say to you, you tend to stop writing. At least many of us do (probably that condescending comment-poster does not have that problem) (you know who you are).

When I got home I looked up existential in not one but two dictionaries, to make sure it means what I think it means. I don’t believe in quoting the dictionary, so to give you the definition, I will quote a movie, The Ref, an awesome Christmas movie (although Steven categorizes it as Twisted Christmas). Kevin Spacey and Judy Davis are a married couple in therapy, which they seem to sorely need but which is not doing them much good. I may be paraphrasing:

Kevin Spacey: In the meantime, she never finishes anything she starts. Photography classes. Cooking classes. Existential philosophy courses.

Judy Davis: At least I go after my dreams!

Kevin Spacey: Do do what? To take pictures of Lutefisk to prove the nothingness of being?

Why can’t I write shit like that? (That’s from another movie: In Soapdish, writer Whoopi Goldberg says it when real life drama intrudes on the set.) Just when I thought my sidetrack into the meaning of existential was going to derail my crisis.

But, crisis or not, I see I am over 400 words, or if you don’t count my movie quotes, over 300 words. That’s a respectable Lame Post (as respectable as they get). Happy Friday, everyone!

Karma and Krispy Kreme

Why is it that sometimes I remember something that happened years ago and it still makes me just as angry as if it just now happened?

Other people say, “Oh, I don’t get angry about the past — it’s PAST,” or, more metaphorically, “You’re letting those people live rent-free in your brain.” That’s all very well, but what if they ignore the eviction notice? The worst one, because I fear it is true, is, “They’re not here. You are tormenting YOURSELF!”

This is one reason people like to believe in karma. It is very comforting to think that some time, some place, some how, THEY’LL GET THEIRS!!! (number of exclamation points dependent on how much dirt they did you)

It is hard to argue with karma theory. I can say, “It’s not true! Look at them, still living high off the hog (or is it high on the hog? Subject for future post), still getting whatever the hell they want, because they just take it.” The karma person replies, “You might not be there to see it, but…” Like I said, it’s a comforting thought, but I’m not quite sure I believe it.

One thing that occurs to me, though, is that people are rarely truly contented with what they have. I look at Matilda (I use the name because I have never in my life actually met anybody named Matilda), and I think she has everything: husband of her choice, nice home, beautiful clothes, lots of money. What I don’t see is that Matilda is absolutely tormented every time she looks at Winifred, who has a nicer home! And more money! And is single so she can sleep with whoever the hell she wants!

I don’t think that’s karma, though. Karma would be if Winifred slept with Matilda’s husband, because Matilda stole him away from Audrey years ago. Audrey would not necessarily be there to see it, but…

I did not start out to write about karma today. I had quite a different Mid-Week Middle-Aged Musing in mind. However, while I was thinking about it, my mind started to wander and suddenly all I could think about were a few particular people who did me dirt. What’s a writer to do but write what’s on her mind and hope to segue into something more interesting as we go.

Well, at least it interested me. The funny thing is, I’m feeling better now. Because I think karma is going to get them? Because I realize that in their minds they have their own unhappiness to deal with? No, I think I just took my mind off it.

And that raises another interesting thesis: the advice Just Don’t Think About It, while often good advice, is not always easy to follow. I don’t know about you, but for me, as soon as you tell me not to think about something, that is the only thing in my brain. Try it. Don’t think about donuts! Now I got Krispy Kreme on my mind. I can just hear some of you now (you know who you are): “I find it very easy not to think about donuts. I don’t even like donuts. I never even eat a donut.”

Some people can invoke Scarlett O’Hara’s famous mantra, “I’ll think about it tomorrow.” As long as they tell themselves they can think about it another time, they can put it out of their brain. Me, I need to displace what I’m trying not to think about. If I can think of something else to think about, I’m gold. So thank you, Matilda, Winifred, Audrey and Krispy Kreme.