What to Watch, What to Watch...

My plans for the weekend did get switched up quite a bit yesterday morning when the early Saturday double feature I was planning at the Starlight Cinema City Theatres (where they run cheaper than anything pre-noon showings of all films in their lineup) was canceled by torrents of rain. One of the films I had been planning to see was Saw 3D, after catching up with the last three installments in the torture-laden series over the previous few days. Keeping in the Halloween spirit, I was going to follow that up with Paranormal Activity 2, having just seen the first film a couple of weeks back.

But it was not to be. I was already feeling run down from a quite stressful day at work on Friday (in which everything was handled just fine by EOB -- and that doesn't mean Edgar Octopus Burroughs), had some possible follow-up in the a.m., and then the rain hit around 5:30, just as I was setting up plans for the day. The rain was actually a relief since I was feeling so tired, and it became a very easy thing to burrow into the blankets on the couch and knock out a couple of movies.

Knocking out movies is what I tend to do well, and since I last posted my October genre-related choices on October 21, I have added many more films to my roster. Here's the update:

10/21/10        Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl        2009

10/22/10        Black Sheep        2007

10/22/10        Dead Silence        2007

10/22/10        Monster Beach Party A Go Go [aka Stomp! Shout! Scream!]        2005

10/23/10        Silent Scream        1980

10/23/10        Boogens, The        1981

10/23/10        The Hills Have Eyes 2        2007

10/23/10        Darkness Falls        2002

10/24/10        Going to Pieces: The Rise and Fall of the Slasher Film        2006

10/24/10        The Boogeyman        2005

10/24/10        The Boogeyman 2        2007

10/24/10        The Satanic Rites of Dracula [Elvira edition]        1973

10/24/10        Never Sleep Again: The Elm Street Legacy        2010

10/24/10        Five Million Years to Earth [aka Quatermass and the Pit]        1967

10/25/10        Resident Evil: Apocalypse        2004

10/25/10        Feast        2005

10/25/10        X the Unknown        1956

10/26/10        Resident Evil: Extinction        2007

10/26/10        Evolution        2001

10/28/10        Saw IV        2007

10/29/10        Saw V        2008

10/29/10        Saw VI        2009

10/29/10        Trail of the Screaming Forehead        2007

10/30/10        Happy Birthday to Me        1980

10/30/10        Frankenstein Created Woman        1967

10/30/10        Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed        1969

10/30/10        Red: Werewolf Hunter        2010

10/31/10        Scared to Death [Elvira edition]        1947

10/31/10        The Haunting of Molly Hartley        2008

10/31/10        The Bowery Boys Meet the Monsters        1954

As you can see from many of the choices in the past ten days, one of the themes for me this time was to make my peace with much of the modern horror that I have been avoiding so much over the past decade. This drive is probably going to carry over into November for a couple of weeks, now that my interest has been piqued and there are some films that I definitely want to see while the genre is still holding my full attention. To be sure, it hasn't all been pretty -- there are a lot of films that I would have been better off not seeing -- but one of the pleasures of focusing exclusively in one genre for any length of time is divining that clear line between the sublime (however ridiculous in execution) and the pure dross, the dreck, and the utter crap. 

I am still planning on hitting the Saw 3D/PA2 combo, but next weekend instead. And as I often do at this time of year, I use September and October to fill in some noticeable gaps in my sci-fi/horror DVD collection, not least of which was picking up copies of the Nightmare on Elm Street 8 movie box set, Bigas Luna's mind-warping Anguish, Romero's Day of the Dead, the Night of the Creeps Director's Cut and the Pumpkinhead Collector's Edition, with the film presented in widescreen for the first time, as opposed to the original MGM release in pan-and-scan which made so angry after I bought it. (All pan-and-scan releases are to be considered automatic garbage if there is a widescreen version readily available, and especially if it is just due to studio-driven idiocy.) And I finally did get my copy of Teeth. I figure if I rent a film four times in six months, it is probably time to get my own disc.

So, what to watch for the rest of Halloween? Hard to say... so many choices, so little time. Jen and I are planning to watch at least a chunk of the recent Kids in the Hall mini-series on IFC, which is reported to have some horrific elements (the Grim Reaper is one of the main characters). Jen is not a horror fan in the least, so I have to find shows and movies where I can get her to dip her toes in the chilling waters without totally immersing her in a way in which she would not be happy. The Kids in the Hall help to forge a compromise in that area. Until then, the day is mine. I will likely choose a triple threat of films from the ones shown in the stack in the picture above, all of them purchases I have made in the last couple of months.

Or I might just end up reading some Poe or Lovecraft. After all, it's my day, just as it's all yours wherever you are. The point is to enjoy yourself.

Head-Crushed and Proud: The Kids in the Hall @ the L.A. Orpheum, May 9, 2008, 8:00 pm

Let's get this straight. I don't miss the beginnings of shows. I don't miss the ends of shows. I don't go to the bathroom in the middle of a show, and I certainly don't go off to the snack counter to refresh my soda halfway through the proceedings either. This applies mainly to movies, but I don't do any of this nonsense at concerts, speeches, political rallies or plays either.

When I buy a ticket, I am there for the show, not any of the peripherals, and I plot my behavior at that show according to how that show has been planned. If there is an intermission, as at most plays or Lawrence of Arabia, then I use the opportunity should I have need to perform my ablutions. Because of this, I have developed remarkable, shall we say, hold. I sat squirming for the last two hours and ten minutes of Empire of the Sun, needing desperately to use the facilities, but determined to not miss a second of the film. Even if the film, in retrospect, was only so-so (not the case for Sun though), I cannot tear apart my personal mantra for a mere piss.

But at the L.A. Orpheum last Friday night, Jen and I had just suffered through some odd circumstances (please read Monday's post here) just trying to get ten dollars for parking, and the extra time we had figured in for getting a pre-show snack had dissolved like so much candy-floss. We were thirsty, we were starving, and we were faced with the fact that The Kids in the Hall were due to take the stage any moment. But, on the list of plus factors, we were in the back row on the aisle, I had a pocket of newly gained cash, and there was a bar serving drinks and snacks just down the stairs behind us. We were perfectly positioned to relieve both our hunger and thirst, and all I had to do was play the gentleman and go and pay up. And possibly miss the opening of the show.

Which I did. My foot speed allowed me to not only fly down the steps in short order, but also zip past several couples on their way to the bar, all of them mostly oblivious to the notion that I had just taken cuts, though it was before we were even close to the line. It's my one super-power and I am proud of it, the fact that I am basically the pedestrian version of the Flash, albeit sans costume or six-pack abs. And there I was, ready to get even further from capturing that six-pack by loading up on some soda and Hershey bars, which were our only choices since we didn't want to drink (and then potentially get lost on the way home).

And then it happened. Fourth in line from the front, the lights flickered in that way which informs the stragglers to take their seats quickly. Third from the front, my ears caught (how could they miss it?) the rise of the crowd's overt joy as quite clearly the show was underway. The screaming masses took over the building as I imagined each of The Kids making their way on stage (not quite, as it turned out, but close), and as I waited patiently in line for my turn. Now second in line, I could hear some very unclear lines being spoken from the stage, miked of course, but too distorted to make out. All I could understand was the raucous laughter of the crowd, and all I could imagine was that I was missing something awesome. And I was waiting behind a punk poser chick and her boyfriend, who would apparently rather ask the bartender, in ridiculously exaggerated slowness, like a goddamn retarded turtle, for a series of drinks the bartender couldn't possibly create with his limited range of beverages, garnishes and hardware. Finally, perusing his acceptable list, the punk poser chick decides on Long Island Ice Teas, and as the bartender attempts to move her order along, she regales him with the history of her fake-looking I.D. and her troubles with cops thinking she is always underage. And as he punches up her order, she just keeps talking, but never thinks, "Oh, I've been holding up the line a good seven minutes. Maybe I will pull my cash out while he is ringing it up to at least cut the wait down for these good people behind me by at least a few seconds." Which she didn't bother to do. And then, after scuffling through her wallet for money, she tries to pay with a hundred. Thanks for considering those about you. I hope you die soon, you pink-haired, nose-ringed fake, and I hope you die horribly.

My own purchase took a whole twenty seconds -- TOTAL -- two Cokes and a Hershey's with Almonds, and I tipped the bartender the extra three bucks on my ten to save even more time. Hooray for me, but really, I was just in a massive hurry to get back to my seat. As it turned out, I only missed the opening bit, mostly film, wherein the Kids were threatening to rape Kevin McDonald, who appeared in his tighty whities, skinny, hairy legs and all. I was devastated when Jen told me, but the show proper was starting.

It's amazing how sharp, nasty satire can reflect one's personal ire over the injustice and craziness of the world at large, but also serve to calm one down simultaneously simply through creating laughter. The "Hateful Baby" sketch caused this reaction to me, and made me instantly forget the evil pink-haired bitch and settle into what I loved most: the skewering of the remainder of the world's sacred cows. No religion left untouched, no suburban banality unravaged. Holding another couple's newborn infant, Dave Foley reacts with unconcealed disgust once the couple leaves the room. "It's like Auschwitz wrapped in swaddling!" Eventually, it is agreed that holding the abhorrent brat is like "hearing that Coldplay song Yellow on the radio." A terrible fate indeed.

The new material is as sharp and topical as ever, even when old favorite characters adorn the stage. Scott Thompson's grande dame Buddy Cole, atop his signature stool, dished on the secret gay life of Jesus Christ, and took potshots at just about every figure surrounding the savior. Thompson and Bruce McCulloch's weight-obsessed secretaries Kathy and Cathy partook of crystal meth via Cathy's unicorn-shaped pipe. And while many comedians go to great lengths in their routines to portray a fear-slash-respect for Mohammed and his followers, tiptoeing around the subject of Islam, the Kids twice flaunted a disregard for Mohammed by name, albeit wrapped within the obviously inane Ugly American characters they were portraying on stage. (If there were any Muslims in the crowd, they certainly betrayed no adverse reaction).

One of these sketches, "Superdrunk" was a supreme display for McCulloch's physical humor as his character only gains superpowers through the drinks plied to him by his sidekick, "The Bartender," stopping to take the occasional piss on the way to thwarting crimes. Naturally, the clever, very broad sketch concludes with Superdrunk confronting a terrorist (Mark McKinney, dressed in stereotypical criminal fashion with a striped shirt and bearing a round cartoon-style bomb) who is threatening the Statue of Liberty (Thompson, once more in drag).

Amid some excellent new, concept-driven pieces (a three-part time travel sketch, a surreal short film called "Carfuckers," and another sketch where Foley and McDonald fight over Dave's imaginary girlfriend), several favorites of mine (and most of the audience) made appearances. McKinney's amazingly horny Chicken Lady shows up to perform phone sex with trucker Thompson, and McCulloch's obscure-trivia-obsessed child Gavin once more invites a pair of unsuspecting Jehovah's Witnesses into his home, tormenting the duo with the most insipid and mostly incorrect facts ever spouted. While I could have done with a new visit from the "evil" Sir Simon Milligan and his manservant Hecubus -- perhaps my two favorite characters from the old Kids show -- and maybe even one from Mississippi Gary, the fact that so many of the old favorites showed up made the show a great delight for me.

And then there was the head-crushing. You don't know how alternately beautiful and weird it is for someone to stand on a stage with a video camera, point it at your section -- and then crush the heads of every person contained within between his thumb and forefinger. McKinney's Mr. Tyzik not only takes out the balcony, but each of the Kids to close the show, even himself. It's a whole new way of dying on stage, and by doing it this way, the Kids don't.

There were some down aspects. The sound was uniformly terrible, and many lines got dropped or were obscured by distortion because of the mikes. The screen projecting the film material was perfectly suited height-wise for the crowd on the main floor, but for we poor souls in the balcony, the top quarter of the screen was cut off by the hanging lighting rig in front of the stage, and so most of the heads of the characters were lopped away. A decided lack of props outside of chairs actually hurt some of the sketches, even if the use of the video screen helped make up for this aspect. And in the Chicken Lady sketch, is it just me, or was that chair she sat on supposed to explode a mass of feathers out of it? Whatever it was supposed to be, that sketch ended on an anti-climax, basically playing against the purpose of the whole premise by having nothing happen. (The Chicken Lady famously explodes in orgasm.)

But these are just minor things compared to the massive amount of energy and panache with which these veterans brought their material to their audience -- almost like they were ready to stun the comedy world with a new television version? Or maybe a new movie? One can only hope, and I will definitely be there if they are.

This time, though, I will buy my snacks well ahead of time. I can't miss out on Kevin McDonald getting raped a second time.

Having A Less-Than-Average Parking Experience: The Kids in the Hall Preshow Debacle

...And so, we went to see The Kids in the Hall.

Here's the lesson, and it's one that we almost learned the hard way. We knew enough when to leave Anaheim to go into L.A. to see a show on a Friday night. We figured on enough time to allow to arrive at our destination properly. Even with the more than likely appearance of the Evil Traffic Wizard, we would get to the show with plenty of time to spare.

What we didn't do was have even a small amount of cash on us for parking.

My friend, if you are going to travel to the far-distant land of Downtown L.A. to see a show at the Orpheum, make sure to at least have a couple of tenners on you. Or a handful of fives. If you are a guy who has a shameful need for a larger wad in your pocket to compensate for a small sense of purpose, a roll of ones. Something, so at least when you pull up to the Orpheum parking lot, you are able to plunk some bills into the attendant's hand so as to enable you to take a parking space.

Otherwise, you will have to do what we had to do: find an ATM machine after 7 p.m. in an area not exactly known for its financial health or area security.

We had each considered getting cash beforehand. Myself, I had thought about doing it thrice while at work. But we didn't. Trying to help, the attendant reeled off a couple of locations to us. The only one we even halfway heard was "9th and Figueroa". We were on 7th, so one would assume that 9th and Fig would be easy to find. Perhaps for someone used to driving in Downtown L.A. -- but we weren't. My time in the area had been spent around the L.A. Wilshire Grand Hotel, and except for venturing to the mall area across the street, I was hopeless in my knowledge of the surrounding avenues and their cousins. Besides, I don't drive at all, so I usually pay little attention to street names. Jen had spent zero time in the area, and so the question, once we reached 9th, of which way Figueroa lay was a 50-50 choice. And we chose wrong, since we never found the road, though we may have passed it.

The second problem was traffic patterns. Every time that we thought we were on the right track -- with the clock clicking slowly down to show time, now only 35 minutes away -- there would be a rush of turners in the lane where we ourselves needed to turn, or we would find a street, but it was one-way, and we were on the wrong side. On and on this went, with our frustrations mounting to a fever pitch. We each had one eye on the clock and one on the road, and we began worrying about even seeing the show, figuring that by the time we actually found a magical supply of cash, we would end up parking miles from the venue.

On one of these passes where we were on the wrong side of the street, we saw a Union Bank of California with a pair of handy ATMs in front, right next to a bus stop. But we were forced to turn, and as we attempted a loop to the rather safe-looking area (also another problem on some very suspect streets), I saw a Rite-Aid on a corner. Because I had one of those behind-the-eyes headaches that often spring up in these situations and we were ibuprofen-free, I thought "well, I can go in, buy some medicinals, get cash back on my card, and we will be scot-free instead." A fine plan, except for three hitches: 1) there were no parking spaces, so Jen dropped me off and then tried to loop the several blocks to get back around to pick me up, 2) the store had closed at 7, but the lights were on and people were moving about inside so one could not tell that easily from the street (there was no CLOSED sign either), and 3) I didn't have my phone on me so I could call Jen and tell her that.

And then I attempted what could have been a foolhardy move. I had seen an ATM sign at a jewelry store at the other end of the block, so because I move faster walking than many people run, I figured I could hit it and get back before Jen had circled. The store, of course, had also just closed, mere minutes before from the looks of the clerks inside, and I zipped back to the agreed upon pickup spot. Suddenly, I became the fast-walking white guy in a neighborhood of unfamiliar social status, and to anyone not familiar with my speed of movement, I perhaps seemed outwardly a bit nervous and anxious to exit the terrain. Naturally, I will admit that I was noticed by just about everyone, including a group of teenagers in a pickup, who decided to mess with me and yell a series of harmless epithets regarding my lack of skin color in my direction as they sped past. Finally, as I reached the corner, Jen had to pull out of the spot she had just found as there were people wishing to park, and she is a generous soul. I watched her fly off as my feet found the corner, and I had to wait another five minutes for her to circle around again.

And then there was the GPS. Our Global Positioning System works just fine, and we have used it on several trips now. Of course, we knew how to get to LA, but finding the Orpheum Theatre was another matter for us. The GPS allowed us to find it without a problem, but once we took off on our ATM quest, the machine all but put a gun to its head as it became completely confused as to why we didn't stop after it had told us we had arrived at our destination. We were looking for 9th and Figueroa, of course, and the problem with the GPS is that it is designed for exact locations, not corners. I could only punch in one of the streets, but it kept asking me for a street number, which I could not provide in the least. I finally faked one and then tried to expand the map to see the surrounding streets, but that method really was a dead end, since most of the street names do not show up on the GPS. The streets just kept more and more orange as its trail kept tracking over itself, and I finally threw the device to the ground.

Just as we were approaching exhaustion over our frustration in locating a machine, we stumbled, with about ten minutes left until the show, on the Union Bank that we had passed earlier. And then we almost got sucked into a traffic vortex once more, but Jen pulled a quick move to shoot us across the lane and then to a rest in front of what appeared to me as ATM Paradise. Two banks, several machines -- choices, glorious choices at last. I sped to the nearest and least populated machine and finally made my withdrawal. We then moved as quickly as possible back to the theatre, and ending up at the third lot a couple of streets behind the Orpheum just before 8 o'clock. I have never been so happy to hand ten dollars over to a parking attendant.

And in a bubbly, chirping mass of fellow Kids in the Hall fans, all in pleasant moods despite also being exactly as late to the show as ourselves, we made our way to the Orpheum. Only, when we got there, we found our tardiness didn't matter. A line of ticketholders stretched about a hundred yards down the street as we discovered that the Orpheum may be a beautiful, old theatre inside, but it is really poorly designed for letting crowds into shows (or letting them out, for that matter.) The next ten minutes became a nervously slow crawl into and through the Orpheum, up several series of stairs, all completely packed with and pushing against people I really had no outward desire to rub body parts with (well, some of them were just fine for that purpose, but I digress...)

But it wasn't as bad as we had just had it. Sure, it may have been sweaty bedlam inside the Orpheum, but after practically being lost on the streets of LA for over an hour, searching for the proverbial needle in the stack of heroin addicts, a little pansexual, preshow frottage was absolutely no problem at all. After all, it was the motherfuckin' Kids in the Hall...

Ends, Means, Justification: All In A Row In Some Semblance of Order...

After three days of desperation, Jen said to me, "You realize we are actually counting on the Bush administration to do something right for a change."

Things have been tight for us lately. Mounting doctor bills for both of us, rent going up, time missed from work... we've had to live relatively low. Not that we are crazy spendaholics. But we have had to take a few more nights in at home lately, and shop more for value than taste as regards the grocery bill, which is something into which one should never be forced. And I had just taken a small vacation -- hotel room, concert ticket, personal shopping -- up in the Monterey Bay area a couple of weeks ago. Right now, things are tight.

So, we had to really justify doling out some more green to see the reunion tour for The Kids in the Hall last Friday. We didn't have to justify it artistically, though. "It's The Kids in the Hall!," Jen practically shrieked. "We have to go!" Jen doesn't shriek a lot -- really, at all -- so this was a pretty emotional state for her. Myself, I could easily have made the same statement, only I would have colored it with a carefully chosen expletive to prove my point -- mainly because I loves me some expletives -- but, for once, I was straining to remain rational even as my heart was breaking at the prospect of missing one of my favorite comedy troupes live on stage.

Economically, we justified it by turning to the Bush Administration and their impending stimulus package. I had been calling it a "stimulant" package for weeks, mainly because I figured most of the people receiving it would simply have to buy $600 worth of stimulants of one sort or another to drink oneself into the belief that this ridiculous move would actually help the economy, outside of in an extremely minor way. But I have one of those lower-numbered SSNs which would cause me to receive my stimulus package well ahead of most of America, and the happy news was that my payment was supposed to be landing by the night of the show we wished to see. It was nearly perfect timing -- perfect enough for our purposes -- but just before we made the decision, Jen dropped the bomb regarding that political burr in our side.

And now we are hypocrites, because, for just a couple of days, we actually became dependent on W. We hated the notion, but there it is. I am a whore. Bought and sold like the rest of America. (I say this like I wasn't already. Please, allow me this delusion.) As soon as I found out the drop date for my payment, I slapped down my credit card and purchased a couple of tickets for the show. Luckily, they were still available, though we did end up in the last row of the balcony. The plus side was that they were on the aisle, and in the center of the theatre. (We found out later the other plus to these seats: that they made access to the bathrooms, exits and bar area exceedingly simple, far more so than for most of the rest of the audience.)

And now, thanks to Bush and his oil-sucking cronies, we were going to the show. It was a bitter pill to have to swallow --- but it's the motherfucking Kids in the Hall, for gay baby Jesus' sake!

See? I told you I would have said it with a little bit more in the way of color. And it's totally justified...