Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 12

Eva looked out the window of the house, staring at the glowing back orb that had seemingly replaced the sun. Her father had passed it off as some kind of eclipse but Eva still had that feeling that something was wrong, really wrong. Just outside the window you could see the huge BBQ pit that the ranch hands had dug for the cookout they always had whenever the cattle came home. With the somber pallor that hung over the ranch from the death of young Evan and the dark oppression that covered the sky, those plans had been scrapped.

After Evan had passed, they had wrapped him in a sheet and he still lay on the couch in the drawing room, a rider having been dispatched to town for the Undertaker. Even though the cookout was canceled, they still had prepared a huge meal. The ranch hands would eat theirs in the bunkhouse but those closest to the family would eat in the dining room. Eva had finished dressing, her hair freshly washed and pulled back, and continued to stare at the dead sun, waiting until she interrupted by the call of lunch.

Eva walked into the dining room, feeling the pallor over the whole table. Caleb was seated at the head, with Rex on his right side and Bartley next to him. Her spot was vacant on her father's left side. There was an empty seat next to her, though at the far end of the table Thomas Moore sat, her father's legal adviser. Rex had been the foreman at the farm since she was a little girl and she looked at him like a member of the family. Rex still had a thick head of black hair that was just beginning to shows flecks of salt and pepper, though his arms and chest were still thick with muscle. Bart had been with her father only slightly less, though he was older. He had grown a bit softer around the belly and his hair had thinned, he was still the best driver she knew and a crack shot with his rifle. Thomas though, well Eva never really liked Thomas.

He had come aboard the farm after her mother and siblings had died and her father had been injured, to guide her father's business interests. He'd been about 10 years older than her, but even then she didn't like the way he looked at her. He was tall and slender, with a thin mustache, always dressed immaculately. When she was younger she had always wondered if her father had thought him a good suitor for her and an accomplished man who could lead the ranch, but they had never gotten along. Where Eva was tough and self assured, who enjoyed the outdoors, Thomas and her had never shared the same interests. To this day, Eva was convinced the man's sidearm had never even cleared its holster, and his smooth grip always belayed the callous on her palms. Sure, he HAD helped guide the ranch to some of the prosperity it was enjoying now, but she couldn't help feeling that he still had eyes on her.

They ate dinner in relative silence, avoiding topics like Evan and the unnatural sun that hung in the sky. Thomas prattled on about the price the herd would bring in the coming months and the fortunes that were almost at hand for the Saint ranch. Trying to fill the silence with words, another thing that really pissed her off. Eva just ate silently, the knot of worry thick at the back of her neck. Most of the meal had passed when the sounds of tearing came from the drawing room. Soft at first, with louder and with more urgency as the seconds ticked past. Sounds like linen being ripped in two. At first they all kind of looked at each other, before Rex pushed his seat back.

"None of you need move. I'll go check it out."

Rex folded his napkin on the table and got up, accompanied by Emily, who had been clearing some of the table. They were gone just a few moments, when Emily screamed again, loud and tinged with fear, accompanied by the loud curses of Rex.

" SONUVA BITCH!"

Eva sprang from the table, followed by the rest, and came up behind Rex, who was staring at a sight neither could believe. Young Evan, or at least something that use to be Evan, tearing at the remnants of the sheet with fingers that ended in long black claws. Evans flesh was yellow and sallow, seeped with green and black pus, and his mouth, stretched abnormally wide, ending in rows of blacked sharp teeth, snapped at the air around him. Then his black eyes locked gazes with Emily, and he sprang free, desperately clawing at the frozen young girl.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Concert Time! Sia

Hey all,

Boy, it really feels like its been a while since I sat down to blog. I have been struggling with a slight cold and a heavy work week, but the real culprit has been searching for inspiration. I'm totally ready to do the next Flash Fiction chapter of Dead Sun, but I like to break the blog posts up in between just to give the blog a little symmetry. This is usually a good point for a me to run a Word Balloon or a Rewind post, but I already did that this month! Fortunately, I got the opportunity to go to a concert on Tuesday night and I had a really great time.

We headed down to the Marquee Theater, the go to place in Phoenix for any not stadium style concerts. It's very much a locale for close knit shows with a small seating area at the back of the ballroom, and a bigger open pit style place in front of the stage. I've seen a lot of concerts there and I prefer it to the bigger stadiums for that intimate feel. Watching Jenny Lewis there last year made it feel almost like she was singing right to me we were so close. Tuesday I joined my friend Autumn and caught the Sia show with her, Sia being one of her favorite singers.

Sia is an Australian born singer who over the past few years has started really ear marking her place in music. She has has her music appear in shows like Private Practice, Six Feet Under, and Dollhouse. Her biggest hit, Breathe Me, has had significant radio play and I was quite surprised as someone not familiar with her work before hand, just how much of her music I did recognize and liked. She has a new album coming out next month, a bit of a change from her older music. Her early albums are very much a pop infused blues jazz sound, while the songs she played off of her upcoming album, We Are Born, featured a catchier beat, almost like pop jazz dance music. Still in the same ball park, but with a hint of more dance pop than before. You could almost see the influence working with Christina Aguilera on her new album had on Sia. It felt a little more mainstream, but not so much that she left her vocal roots.

Admittedly I did some music research to familiarize myself a little more with her music prior to the concert, and more so now in the days post concert. In truth I find that her style of music is really more in line with the musicians that I have started listening to over the past year, like Jenny Lewis, Feist, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, so I can honestly say I was pretty happy to be asked to go.

As for the concert itself, opening for Sia was a band called Body Language. A four piece act, they had a very pop reggae sound, They were a quartet comprised of an Asian guy on drums, a white hipster guy on keyboard, a white emo guy on synthesizer and keyboard, and an African American lady on the xylophone. She was the main vocalist, though both keyboardists spent significant time on vocals as well. I thought they did a good job warming the crowd up for the performance, despite the very short set they did. They only played about 30 minutes but I was impressed with the energy and enthusiasm they brought to the show. They really got into the performance and I think the impact from being on a national tour really was a very new feeling to the group.

Sia came on about 9pm and was very warm, funny, and open about everything. She was still recovering from a sore throat and early on in the performance she had trouble hitting the high notes, you could actually hear her voice give out on her. I will say this, by the end of the night she was hitting those higher keys pretty consistently, having warmed her voice up enough. She played a nice mix of material off her new album as well as stuff off of her earlier releases. I particularity enjoyed the songs Be Good to Me, which seemed a lot breathier and intimate versus the album version. She also played several of her new songs, such as The Fight, Clap Your Hands, and Bring Night On, all very much representing that poppy catchy sound. She ended the set with her biggest hit, Breathe Me, which was I thought her most powerful performance of teh night. Her voice troubles were non existent as she performed a really soulful rendition of the song. Very Emotional.

A few other notes on the show. I have to comment on the stage setting. It was kind of a weird collage of primary colors, red, green, blue, yellows, in a mixture of wrapping paper motifs surrounded by countless amounts of knitting. Literally every instrument, mic stand, guitar strap, amplifier, and set piece was covered in a array of knitted cozies and blankets. It was kind of incredible actually. It was like a weird explosion of color and kitsch, yet very fitting for Sia's personality. The only picture I managed to grab, and not a very good one at that, was of the stage just before Sia came out, before my battery died. I also thought her use of props were pretty cool, wearing a menagerie of different items, from a mechanical set of circular wings that shot out bubbles, to another set up that gave her a sort of halo, she was very interactive in her performance.

I think perhaps my favorite part of the show was how Sia interacted with the audience. She had a very infectious laugh and really encouraged audience participation and heckling. The times in-between songs were rally an opportunity for her to chat with her fans, it made her feel very approachable and down to Earth. She was very funny, giving as good as she got during the course of the show, making jokes on everything from vagina's and her period, to the set choices that they had made. It was a really refreshing take from an artist with a very different feel than I have normally been exposed to.

I had a great time and I am very glad to have had the opportunity to go. I really have to thank Autumn for inviting me to go. I love going to concerts and I did not attend that many last year. All in all my experience at the Sia show was awesome and I am really enjoying finding a brand new musician for me to learn more about. It has sort of lit a fire under me to try to see more live music. I'm going to have to see what I can do about that. If you haven't checked out Sia, start with Be Good To Me or Breathe Me, both excellent tracks. Thanks for reading!

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 11

Morgan circled around the creature that had been his wife, keeping the pick axe extended in front of him. The beast moved with an urgency, quicker each moment, her distended blackened jaw working open and closed, faster ever since he had cut his elbow on the rocky ground. Morgan backed up again, feeling the small wooden fence that he had built around the house at his back. The creature, sensing he was trapped, dove forward in a lunge, swiping at Morgan with it's thick claws. Morgan threw himself backwards, rolling over in a reverse somersault on the opposite side of the fence. He sprung up from the crouch he was in and dived sideways as the creature fell hard through the fencing, splintering wood with tremendous force.

Morgan turned around to watch the creature get up. Bits of wood had cut into his wife's chest and face, black gore and green puss seeping from the wounds, but still she came. Morgan felt a thick knot in his throat, tears in the corner of his vision. God how he had loved Eliza. The woman who had brought him back to life, the woman who had shown him kindness. Who had shown him love. Whatever the fuck this thing was, it wasn't his Eliza. He still heard her cries, the pleading in her voice, the agony. Whatever this monster was, it wasn't his wife.

The monster had freed itself from the bits of fencing and continued towards him as Morgan brought the pick axe up. The creature opened its jaws wide, black spittle flecking free and snapped out at Morgan. He spun right, letting her jaws go wide beside him, clamping shut on empty air and came back around. Using the momentum of the spin he continued the turn, bringing the pick axe around with him and burying it deep into the beast's back. An eruption of vile green puss and blackened dead blood erupted as the pick tore in. The creature let out a gurgled cry and fell on its knees, the pick still stuck in her back.

Still the creature struggled though, slowly rising to it;s feet undeterred. You could see entrails and broken ribs bursting beneath the battered wedding dress, yet still the undead creature rose. Morgan looked around, finding himself only steps from the battered fencing. He quickly picked up one of the biggest timbers and struck out as the monster tried to turn about to face him. His first strike caught it across the jaw, muscled flesh tearing and spraying dark blood. The creature fell back, and Morgan struck again, bringing the beam down across the top of her head with all of his force. He heard a sickening crack and the monster fell to the ground, blackened matter seeping from her cracked skull. The monster stopped moving, but Morgan kept swinging until the timber was no more than a splintered nub, and the creature that had once been his lovely Eliza nothing but a battered pasty mess.

Spent, Morgan collapsed on the ground, as the implications of what he had done sunk in. Sobs racked his body, the guilt, the anger, the self loathing gripping his insides. Emotions Morgan had long buried these many months, since she had first died. He reached out, turning the bloody pulp of her head sideways, looking at the tattered remnants of her hair, instead of her accusing black eyes. Morgan cried, the weight of having to kill his wife a second time threatening to crush him.

When he closed his eyes he could still see her, his lovely Eliza, screaming in pain. The doctor telling him that their baby had killed Eliza from the inside. The mis-carriage had went horribly wrong and there was nothing he could do. There had been so much blood, blood everywhere. Morgan had seen some horrific things, had done horrific things, but nothing had compared to what he had seen in his wife's bed that day. The doctor told him all they could do was make her comfortable, ease her suffering, by overdoing her on morphine. Otherwise, the tearing in her insides would cause her to bleed out. In between her cries, even now, he could hear his wife's whimpers for her baby, the bloody mess that lay swaddled, so still, on the crib he had built. With a thick voice, he had told the doctor to ease her pain, and Morgan Randall held his wife as she slowly died in his arms, still asking for her baby. The baby he had given her.

Morgan cries of anguish was interrupted though by another sound, softer, though still a cry, coming from the burst grave his wife had just risen from.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Movie Time: Rewind: Broadway Melody of 1936

Hey all,

Time to turn on the Way Back machine and look at another great film of yesteryear. The last few months I have really come to appreciate a new actress I have yet to highlight in the column, Eleanor Powell. The early 1930's were a wide open field in Hollywood. Audiences went to pictures in droves as an escape from the oppressing poverty of the Great Depression and the high days of radio were still a little ways off, let alone the on-set of television. Studios churned out pictures at an incredibly fast rate and many studios were trying to find out their identity. One studio that was in trouble in the early 30's was MGM.

By 1939, MGM would be the unparalleled titan of movie making, but early in the 30's they were still having trouble with their identity. The lady that really helped establish that was Eleanor Powell. Eleanor had been a dance prodigy since she was 11 years old and was a huge smash on Broadway with her electric dancing skills, particularly her tap dancing. She was called the "Queen of Taps", a moniker even Fred Astaire bowed to, citing her as the only person who ever intimidated him to dance with. Eleanor had several bit parts in films, but her performance in Broadway Melody of 1936 not only put her on the map, but MGM as well. The success of her films from 1935 to 1940 is one of the driving forces that established MGM as the home of the musical, and saved the company from bankruptcy.

Broadway Melody of 1936 was technically a sequel to the original Broadway Melody, one of the first talkie musicals in 1929, though it owes nothing to the first film in terms of story or characters. The film stars Powell as Irene, a young dancer who still has a crush on her high school sweetheart(Robert Taylor), who is now a big shot producer. She badly wants a part in his new act, but he is to busy romancing the financier of his play, a wealthy widow played by June Knight who is backing the play so she can have the part. When a newspaper reporter (Jack Benny) dreams up a famous French Dancer in his gossip column as a means to sell more papers, Powell begins impersonating the dancer to get the part. She is determined to show Taylor that she is good enough to survive on Broadway. Taylor wants the exposure Powell (as the French Dancer) will bring to his play, but doesn't know it is his former flame. In the end, Taylor and Benny have to decide what kind of choices they will have to make, and who they love.

This picture was Powell's first for MGM and her first as a lead actress. They surrounded her with some of there best talents, actors like Benny, Taylor, as well as marking this as the film debut of one Buddy Ebsen, the man who would later play Uncle Jed in the Beverly Hillbillies, though who cut his teeth as a song and dance man in many of MGM musicals throughout Hollywood's Golden Years. The real triumph of the film is the climax, a hugely elaborate piece set in a nightclub that is designed as a vehicle for each dancer. Ebsen, and his sister Vilma, dance, June Knight dances, and Eleanor Powell closes out the show to the song Broadway Rhythm in a doorbuster of a performance.

Broadway Rhythm was written by the great songwriter Arthur Freed, and culminate sin a number by Powell clad in a tuxedo tap dancing surrounded by trumpet players. Powell uses the entirety of the set

Powell was a trained ballet dancer who learned tap late after getting beat out for a lot of jobs by her lack of tap skills. She learned to tap with sandbags tied to her waist to keep her feet close to the ground and to dampen the more balletic style of her dance. When she does tap, she is amazing. Her machine gun style of tapping was unequaled and combined with the elegance of her balletic skills, she was un-comparable. What really amazed me was her skills at twirls and pirouettes, the flexibility combined with her long legs made her a dancer totally unlike anything movie goers had ever seen. I am an un-abashed fan of the classic Hollywood musical and the grandiose scope at which they operated. I can count only a few occurrences where I have been awestruck by a performance. Fred Astaire version of Puttin' On the Ritz. Gene Kelley and Don O'Conner in Singin' in the Rain. Powell floored me nearly every time I watched her. I picked Broadway Melody of 1936 because its the film that meant the most to her. Its the film that opened my eyes to the true genius that was her dance. I'm still searching for a copy of what I perceive to be her greatest performance, in the Red Skelton comedy I Dood it, where she does a Cow Rope dance that I would call impossible if I hadn't seen it performed.

Unfortunately after her stellar team up with Fred Astaire in Broadway Melody of 1940, Powell's career slowed down. Her production numbers had come under criticism for their ever increasing size and scope and after a surgery, she made only a few more films. All in all Powell's film career was brief, making less than 15 pictures. Less than that as the star. There were a few things about her career I never understood, specifically why studio's dubbed her voice in many of her films, despite the stellar voice she displayed on the songs they let her sing. It was a fallacy that Cyd Charisse, by many considered her successor, also suffered. I also didn't understand why MGM didn't team her up with other great dancers of her time. So many of her performances are wonderful tour-de-forces of her solo capability as a dancer. Plans to team her with Gene Kelly fell through on a sequel to her Broadway Melody series and once again in 1942 with dancer Dan Dailey in For Me and My Gal. Part of it I think were the others actors intimidation at her prowess, the other I think was her marriage to actor Glenn Ford in 1943. She made a few pictures after her marriage, including Sensations of 1945, largely overshadowed by also being the late W.C. Fields final film as well as a final team up with MGM in The Duchess of Idaho in 1950. Musicals had faded, given way to television to the most part by the late 50's and Powell did as well, along with her faith, hosting a Sunday morning television show for youths as an ordained minister. She did have a wonderful resurgence on the nightclub scene in the 1960's, singing and dancing well into her middle age.

Eleanor Powell is simply an amazing dancer. Even now I can watch one of her numbers and wonder how anyone could even compare to her. Ginger Rogers, her biggest contemporary at the time, was an actress who could dance. Eleanor was a dancer who could act. Not to take away from either girl, as each are performers who I hold a high regard for. Eleanor was simply on another level. Broadway Melody of 1936 is an amazing display of dancing skill, the first step of a series of films that showcase just how great she was. Broadway Melody of 1938 and 1940 continues that trend, the 1940 version especially with her dance numbers with Fred Astaire. Unfortunately many of her films are not on DVD yet and are quite difficult to find copies of. Still, I cannot recommend enough the caliber of performance she gives in each piece. Rehearsing until her feet bleed, striving for perfection. Powell's fresh look and dazzling smile always felt real in her performance, never a matter of having to smile for the scene, the woman loved dancing. She was once quoted as having said that she would rather dance than eat. I'm amazed at her continued ability to carry a dance number by herself, so many times and it's tragic that she didn't make more pictures.

Few could match the success or ability of Powell those first few years. I always thought it fitting that her final great film came out in Hollywood's Golden year, 1939, teaming with Fred Astaire. She made many good films after that, and even, in my opinion, had her best dance number. But without Eleanor, Hollywood would have been a far different place. Her contributions, so often downplayed when compared to the continued notoriety of Rogers, Astaire, and Kelly, should not be forgotten. Please check out 1935's Broadway Melody of 1936, from MGM. Eleanor Powell ha joined an elite list of actresses for me, joining the company of some of the all time greats, Ginger Rodgers, Grace Kelley, and Audrey Hepburn, as an actress who changed the way I look at motion pictures. Eleanor Powell was really the Queen of Taps, I'm in awe even now.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Spring

Hey all,

A very short poem today, sort of a hearken back to one of the thematic tones I had very early on in my blogging process. I wrote 3 or 4 poems about the changing of the seasons and I thought, looking out at the burst of vegetation in my back yard, that maybe it would be fun to re-visit one of them. In some sense I don't know that its over different in terms of the message that it is sending from my previous poem, called Springs Reason, but I do think that it is a little more developed. I sort of look like it in the same way one might re-draw an illustration later, taking the things they have learned over the yeas and make it better. In any way it is a very short poem, just meant to be more of an exercise in writing and for my own development. Hope you like it.


Spring


Sun drenched sky, awash in blue

The cloudy days gave way to new.

Rain drops fade to seasons dawn,

As the gloomy winter starts to yawn.

The grass so green begins to spring,

When the birds fly home and start to sing.

Flowers bloom in lusher shades,

As Winter's grasp weakens and fades.

Season's change to from cold to warm,

This brand new year begins to form.

As plants and birds and animals awake,

From the long and weary rest they take,

To greet so soon the summer days,

And shake the sleep in Spring time ways.

Spring is truly the birth of the year,

Where all of the Earth can bask in cheer.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 10

Ally Marshall hurt all over. It was dark and there was still a faint taste of mud and dirt on her lips, along with a more coppery flavor, blood. She rolled over and eased her eyes open. She was laying in the stable, she could tell by the feel of the hard dirt and the strands of hay that were poking at her through her dress. Ally's head throbbed and she swooned, nearly fainting, as she pulled herself into a sitting position. She closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths. Then Ally wiped some mud off her hand on the front of her dress, which itself was a mess of dirt, mud and blood before gently running her hand through her tangled hair, feeling the two giant lumps on her scalp. The worst one, the one from the man with the gun, still felt wet and sticky. The other was a hard knot, tender to the touch. Her face and cheek were still tender and felt swollen, especially when she licked her lips, feeling where it had been split open. By him.

After a few moments, Ally opened her eyes again, feeling less faint, though in no less pain. She could see it was dark outside, but when she looked to her left, she started screaming, scrambling away on all fours, curling into the far corner of the stable. Three bodies lay together. The old man, her father, lay with a bullet hole in his head, his arm stretched out as if reaching to her. The other two, behind him, were her brother, his glassy eyes staring vacantly at her. The last was poor sweet Eric, so shy, so sweet, her fiancee.

"Oh god no.........."

Ally cried for a long time, her body racked with sobs, shuddering under the guilt. Tears ran down her face, streaking the dirt, as she rocked herself softly in the corner. Everyone she had ever loved was dead. She was afraid to even open her eyes, for fear of seeing her father reaching out to her. For fear of seeing her brother, never again seeing his smile. And Eric, poor sweet Eric. They were to have been married in the spring, the arrangements having been made since they were both 12 years old. Ally cried harder now, until the tears no longer came and her voice became a dry throaty rasp, and stayed curled into that corner, the pain of her body forgotten at the pain of her heart.

After what felt like a lifetime, Ally opened her eyes. Her throat was raw and she desperately needed a drink of water. She gently pulled herself up, her entire body protesting with stiffness and pain. She steadied herself, leaning against the wall as a wave of vertigo swept over her. After it passed she slowly shuffled over to the water trough, just outside the stable. She sank to her knees, which sunk deeply into the mud, and drank deeply. After a few gulps, she leaned her head back, trickles of water running down her jaw. It was then she noticed it, the rising sun breaking in the East. But it was no sun she recognized. No longer a shining orb, but blackened, with tendrils of darkness stretchering out from it. Each moment she stared at it, she could feel more and more of the warmth be stolen from the air. A dead sun had risen in the dawn.

A new kind of fear gripped her then, and Ally Marshall freed herself from the mud and pulled herself upright, wanting to get away from the fear she felt. She stumbled into the stable, falling hard on her knees onto the dirt, laying on all fours. She stayed like that, breathing heavy, trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears. Out of the corner of her eyes though she saw movement, a slight flicker. She slowly turned her head, and saw her father's outstretched hand. Where the fingers had been though had been replaced by blackened sharp points, a claw. A claw that was now reaching for her. Ally screamed again this time, not one of anguish, but of terror.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Word Balloon! Kick Ass!

Hey all,

I thought it appropriate this month to highlight the next comic book adaptation to hit the big screen, writer Mark Millar and artist John Romita, Jr's Kick Ass, published by Marvel/Icon. Marvel Comics Icon imprint is a specifically tailored comic book imprint for some of Marvel's biggest name creators who are under contract. It allows the creators, who continue to work for Marvel on their regular assignments, the opportunity to create, market, and publish comic books that they retain the rights to. It's a win-win scenario for both sides. Marvel gets to sign top tier creative talents to work on their biggest name characters, like Millar with the Ultimates, Romita with The Hulk, among others, while still giving them the creative vision to work on the projects that they want to do. The creators meanwhile get the steady employment and benefits (like insurances and guaranteed pay that come with big time exclusive deals) while continuing to create comics they want to work on without the stress and headaches that come from publishing comics independently.

Mark Millar has had some huge success with creating his own comics for Image Comics just a few years ago with Wanted, his book with artist JG Jones. That books success paved the way for the hugely successful movie adaptation with Angelina Jolie. He created a whole line of books for Image at the time, but the biggest parts of his success have been from his time with Marvel. He was an instrumental factor in creating Marvel's hugely successful Ultimate line in 2000, helming modern day, fresh takes on decades long heavy continuity laden books like the X-Men and the Avengers. By helping reboot this Ultimate take on established comics characters, Millar made books accessable to new readers again. Artist John Romita, Jr is the son of comics royalty, John Romita, Sr, who is one of the pre-dominate artists of Marvel's Silver Age. Romita Sr crafted epic runs in his career, establishing characters like Daredevil and Spider-Man after the departure of co-creator Steve Ditko. His son, Romita, Jr, had been working for Marvel since the late 70's exclusively. Romita Jr is the closest thing Marvel has to a modern day Jack Kirby, a penciler who has worked on nearly every single Marvel character in his 30 plus year career with epic runs on X-Men, Daredevil, Spider-Man, and the Hulk, along with every character in-between. With Kick Ass, it provided John Romita Jr a chance to stretch his creator legs for the first time in a very long while. It gave him a chance to do something original.

The teaming of Millar and Romita was guaranteed to provide instant sparks in the comic community, especially with Millar, known for crafting cutting edge, wide screen shock and awe comics, and Romita, who was perceived as almost a comics institution. The team up definatly does not disappoint. Kick Ass is an 8 issues limited series about Dave Lizewski, your typical run of the mill teenager facing many of the issues that today's teens face. His mother has recently passed away and his father is having a tough time coming to grips with her loss, so Dave turns to his friends, and comic books, for comfort. One day Dave takes his obsession with super-heroes to a new level, deciding that maybe one person can make a difference prompting Dave to buy a suit online and don a mask to become a super hero.

At first he simply prowls the neighborhood, training and posing, but when he witnesses a mugging, he springs into action for the first time. Unfortunately, just wearing suit does not make you a hero, and he get's beaten so severely he is hospitalized. After months of therapy, Dave is released, the world convinced he was the victim of a gay mugging (since he managed to remove his suit before paramedics arrived to protect his identity) after being found naked and beaten. He decides that he should give it one more go, and this time he successfully manages to protect a man from several thugs, while being filmed by a video camera. Becoming a YouTube and MySpace sensation, the hero Kick Ass is born, and gives birth to several copy cat heroes.

At the same time, two other masked vigilantes are attacking a local crime boss, Big Daddy and his 11 year old foul mouthed daughter, Hit Girl. With all of the crime bosses men claiming a masked vigilante is killing their men, he believes it to be the work of Kick Ass, the most well known hero. Kick Ass then becomes embroiled with Big Daddy and Hit Girl, realizing just how outclassed he is in the super hero business. Ready to give up, he meets another new hero, Red Mist, a hero who eventually drags him further into the growing conflict between Big Daddy, Hit Girl, and the crime syndicate.

First let's look at Mark Millar's writing. Kick Ass is exactly the sort of book Millar excels at, foul mouthed characters doing incredible wide screen action. Here Millar does allow for some nice deconstruction over the 8 issues to allow you to really get in the head of lead character Dave Lizewski. You do come to feel for him and his plight and the general earnestness in which he carries himself. Young Hit Girl continues to be the stand out character though, Millar having crafted this foul mouthed hellion who is both parts deadly and adorable. She is the freshest character I have read in quite some time. My only compliant is that sometimes the book feels a little long. I think the terribly intermittent publishing schedule really affected the quality of the story, qualities that I feel they really tightened up in the advanced screening of the theatrical adaptation that I saw last month. The film adaptation for Kick Ass was in the works even before the book was finished being published, stretching way back to early 2008. The comic book's 8 issues were published over the course of nearly a 2 year stretch. A fact that I do think takes away from some of the story elements, making it feel dis-connected at times.

Romita's pencils though haven't been this sharp in nearly a decade, since his epic run on Spider Man in early 2001. He brings Millar's wide screen storyline to bigger than life proportions. He crafts some really great character models, from the spindly Kick Ass, to the hulking Batman-esque Big Daddy. His thick heavy pencils come across really clean, creating a style completely his own. I even thought his pencils were tighter here than in some of his recent Incredible Hulk work. In Kick Ass he found a nice balance of the classic blocky approach he has developed over the past decade and the more streamlined style he had early parts in his career. He even manages to capture the violent and graphic action of the story in a very fresh manner. Graphic violence is not usually something you see in a Romita drawn book, but he proves why he has been Marvel's go to guy for the better part of 3 decades in teaming up with Millar. He never shys away from the scenes, including a fairly graphic torture sequence near the books climax.

Kick Ass is a book that likes to push the envelope, in terms of violence, action, and what you have come to expect from a comic. While I certainly don't claim it's either creators greatest work(for Millar his Ultimates run is un-parralleled and Romita's Daredevil and Spider-man arcs remain seminal works) I will say it is a really great book. It does so by creating an entirely new facet for promoting and formatting comic books. Kick Ass was something that was being written with the concept for the film in mind, melding the union of comic book and motion picture even deeper, right from the beginning. Writing self contained stories that were perfect for film adaptation is not something most writers have considered, at least at first. Most write the story and let it go from there. Here is a creation that was written with a beginning, middle, and end, in short form. Millar took the successes he had crafted in his earlier creator works like Wanted, and refined them to make Kick Ass even more successful. Arguably it works too. The option for Kick Ass was bought before the first issue even hit the shelf. What this means for the future of comics remains uncertain, though this could change many creators choices in the model by which they create new material.

As comics and film become more and more intertwined, we are going to be looking at books like Kick Ass that paved the way. Kick Ass is really a prototype for modern comic books, embracing the traditional elements of the classic four color comic book, yet all the while preparing the reader for a brand new interpretation in an entirely different format. I'll be curious to see how Mark Millar's next Icon book, Nemesis with artist Steve McNiven does. It's being crafted in a very similar style to Kick Ass, the question though is will lightning strike a third time. I totally recommend Kick Ass as a fun read and one of the best action books that have been published in the last few years.

To conclude I will say this, in what is surely a bit of sacrilege, I honestly thought the movie was a slightly stronger interpretation. They addressed a lot of the minor storytelling issue I had with the series and condensed the slower parts very nicely. All the changes that they made (which wasn't many) I thought really went towards making the over all experience stronger. That and the fact that Chloe Moretz portrayal of Hit Girl is one of the best performances of a young actress since Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver. If your intersted, you can check out my early review of the Kick Ass film here Still, you can never go wrong with checking out the source material after checking out the film. It's an unflinching take on what super heroes would be like in the real world, in all of its visceral glory. Mark Millar and John Romita Jr craft a really fun and original tale that is artistically gorgeous to look at. Check out Kick Ass, from Marvel/Icon.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Movie Review: Clash of the Titans

Hey all,

Easter has came and went and I managed to find a few hours in a very packed working weekend to catch the new re-make of the 1980's classic, Clash of the Titans. The original film is one of those movies that so many people have great memories of from their youth and I think this film has drawn a lot of harsh criticism for that reason. The 2010 version is directed by Louis Leterrier, best known for helming The Incredible Hulk with Ed Norton. It also stars action film up and comer Sam Worthington, who is quickly carving out a name for himself in huge blockbuster movies like Terminator Salvation and Avatar.

Clash of the Titans chronicles the adventure's of one of Ancient Greece's earliest heroes, the demi-god Perseus (Worthington), the half mortal son of the Olympic God Zeus(played by Liam Neeson). Raised by fishermen, he arrives in Argos with his family, only to watch them die at the hands of the God of the Underworld, Hades (Ralph Finnes). Hades has been allowed to attack Argos for their insolence towards the Gods and the fact that they believe themselves superior. Promising to release his beast, The Kraken, upon the city in 10 days, he vows to destroy Argos unless the daughter of the king, Andromeda, is sacrificed to the monster. Andromeda (played by Alexa Davalos) embodies all that Argos believes makes them superior to the Gods, kindness, intelligence, and a beauty to rival Aphrodite.

Perseus teams up with some of Argos best soldiers and begins a quest to find a way to stop the Kraken, as is his destiny. He is helped along the way by Io (Gemma Atherton), an immortal woman who has watched over Perseus his entire life so that he may complete his destiny. Io, together with Perseus and the soldiers of Argos, guides them along the path his quest must take. First they must consult the Furies, wise, yet crazed seers who share a single eye and can foresee the future as well. Along the way the must fight Calibos, an empowered creature of Hades who hates Perseus and the giant scorpions that spring from his blood. Thier quest takes them to the liar of Medusa, the Gorgon who live son the edge of the Underworld along the River Styx and whose gaze turns men to stone. Only after defeating these, can Perseus return to Argos to meet his greatest challenges, The Kraken and Hades himself. He also must learn to accept exactly what his is, both man and God, in one.

Overall this movie was okay in my opinion, it's a big summer action movie that admittedly I went into with very low expectations. I had heard a lot of bad things about the actual 3D effects in this film, so my review is entirely based on my traditional 2D experience. Let's look at some of the things that I thought worked. Director Leterrier really knows his way around an action scene. He can give you huge spectacle, but he also knows how to keep the direction in the shot so that you can still see what is going on. One of the problems I have with films like Transformers is how fast they cut the film. The action is moving at such a pace, you don't get to see what is actually happening. This was one of the things that Leterrier did well when he directed Transporter 2, that I really missed in the action scenes from Transporter 3. You lost focus. I also liked that the fight scenes against the giant scorpions cast a nice homage to the great Ray Harryhausen who did the stop motion effects for the original film. The fights had a fun cinematic flair to them.

Now let's look at the casting, which I thought was a little more of a mixed bag. First up, the casting choices that worked. Sam Worthington is continuing to establish himself as a growing star and certainly Clash of the Titans exemplifies his ability to work in such an effects heavy genre. He has a natural toughness that can suit him as a big budget film actor. I can easily see him developing a career along the lines of Harrison Ford, making huge genre blockbusters but never getting recognition for his acting. My only concern is that if he continues to make these CG heavy films, people won't know the actor, just the film. Hopefully he can work in some riskier roles in the future, but for now he is establishing himself as a force in this genre. The best bit of casting is Gemma Atherton as Io, Perseus' guardian and eventual love interest. Gemma is gorgeous in the role and really steals the spotlight with just the brightness of her appearance in every scene. Liam Neeson brings just the right blend to the character of Zeus. Part of him knows the campiness of the film and you can see him having fun with the role, but he does have that certain amount of gravitas to lend to scenes that need him to display the weight of a God. My only complaint in casting was in Ralph Fiennes as Hades. Fiennes is usually such a great actor and in this role it really feels like he is doing a pale version of his role as Voldemorte from the Harry Potter films. For such a great actor, it really felt like he was mailing it in, getting lost in the visual effects and not channeling any sort of real effort into the character.

As for the visual effects, I can see where people would have some gripes. I didn't partake of the 3D experience, but some of the effects shots did look a little rushed to me. While big sequences, like the Kraken and the Medusa looked great, smaller bits could have used some polish. I noticed it more in scenes on the water where a lot of times the boats didn't really look like they were floating, or in scenes on Olympus, where you never really got a sense of the grandiose halls that should be housing the gods, they looked a little plain. I also can imagine that soem of the 3D effects could have come across feeling a little forced, since the concept of converting the film to 3D came so late in post production on the film. I would imagine that a director would direct or edit an scene differently if they know the film is going to be in 3D, as opposed to otherwise.

I think one of the biggest complaints I have heard about the film is that they changed so much of the original films story to fit this one. Honestly, both films are based on the Legend of Perseus, and both films take a generous amount of liberties with the film. The original Clash of the Titans was written based on several of the Ancient Greek Legends, borrowing some points and placing them in a single context around Perseus and Andromeda. They didn't even stop at Greek Legends, as technically the Kraken is Scandinavian in origin. Still the original film de-railed itself from the myth as well, changing the sea monster from a giant whale to the Kraken, adding in more mythological monsters, changing the fates of Perseus and Andromeda. It seems kind of silly to me that people are upset about scripting changes to something that itself changed based on an ancient myth that is full of conflicting historical inaccuracies. The only real change that bothered me in this was to the love story between Io, Andromeda, and Perseus. One of the things that set Perseus' legend apart from other great Greek heroes, like Odysseus, Hercules, Jason, and Achilles, is that he is the only one who get's a happy ending. Greek heroes always suffered, sure they lived a greater life than an other, but they always suffered, even in the end. Perseus was one of the only ones to live and rule a kingdom pretty much happily ever after. In this version, well they take an approach that leaves the possibility of a sequel more open.

Overall my approach to this film was one that I don't often have. I wasn't going in to it trying to re-capture the experience and resonance of my 8 year old youth. I looked at it as a remake, along the lines of what they to do properties like Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Gladiator, and the like. It's very much a re-make of a piece of property in the public domain. To judge this film based on pre-conceived notions is the same as judging Russel Crowe's upcoming Robin Hood film to that of Kevin Costner's 1990's version or Errol Flynn's version in the 1930's. They are simply different interpretations of classical stories. I had the same approach with the Batman franchise. Where this differs for me with movies like Transformers or Bond films is that these are supposed to be interpretations of properties that have been defined. Each Bond film is based on the one that came before, they never really re-set the franchise, they still keep ties to the old, therefore keeping the same connotations with each film. The films are based on material that is fairly clearly defined. This is where a film like Tron 2 this year is going to have a higher bar to measure up to than Clash of the Titans does.

In the end, I thought the movie was fun. I won't call it well written, or acted, or even a great movie. It's simply what it promises, a huge fun action film that acts as a fun bit of escapism. I can enjoy the film for what it is, entertainment. Sometimes all you can hope for from a movie is that, entertainment. I'd say if you are looking just to go have some fun, catch Clash of the Titans,if not, you can enjoy it just as much on DVD.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 9

Cody Jarrett knelt next to one of the dead men laying face down in the muck. He used the fringe of the man's shirt to gently clean the drying blood off of his pearl handled Colts. Two feet to his left lay a young girl. She couldn't be more than 15 years old, with long brown hair that had been pulled into a pony tail, but now lay askew. He could see the welt forming on her head from where he had taken the pistol across her scalp, blood already drying, mixing with the muck of the river mud, caking her head. Cody stood tall and twirled his Colt into his gun belt, which lay in a cross draw. Using his boot, he none to gently kicked the girl onto her stomach, mud and dirt caking her face and the front of her dress. She was ample and wide of hip, just the way he liked them. Using his gloved left hand, he slowly wiped the muck from around her mouth, smiling at the fullness of her lips.

Cody titled his hat back as he heard the shuffling of hoofs behind him and knew that Beau was coming with fresh horses. He turned and looked at the animals, two were not much better than plow horses, though the third was a good sized bay that would meet his needs nicely. He took the reins to the bay, flashing Beau a glare. Beau just lowered his eyes and began transferring his brother's and his saddles to the new horses. Cody hitched up his gear, including repositioning the stolen money from the bank into an extra set of saddle bags that would make it easier to carry. After his horse was ready he walked over to the brothers. Beau had saddled the horses, wise enough not to piss Cody off, but was now looking at his brother's belly wound.

The bullet was still lodged in Buford's gut. Cody knew he was a goner. Still, he needed the brothers a little longer. This wasn't yet the time of the place. Buford was turning a sickly yellow, blood likely seeping into his stomach. It was a painful way to die to be sure. His eyes had already started to glass over and he kept mumbling how cold he was over and over.

"Cody, please..... we gotta get to Desperation. He.. he ain't gonna make it unless we get to a doctor. Please Cody..."

The simpering sounds of weakness in Beau's voice made Cody want to kill him right there. Cody looked up, the sun already starting to set in the West, soon it would be to late to see to travel and staying at the river's edge was to dangerous, to close should a boat come along. He also glanced over at the girl, trying to quell the needs bubbling inside him. The needs that always came after a killing. There just wasn't time. Cody Jarrett may be a murderer, but you don't live as long as he has doing the things he has done by being careless. Cody ordered Beau to get Buford on his horse and then help him drag the corpses into the stable. They quickly drug the three men in, tossing them just out of sight. Jarrett threw the girl beside them, hearing a sick thud as her skull bounced off the hard packed dirt inside. Oh well, he never did like them to stupid to enjoy it. With a smile, Cody mounted his horse and followed the two brothers as they rode towards the town of Desperation, thinking the worst of things now lay behind him. Little did he know how wrong he was.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Color

Hey all,

All right the following poem is a very far cry from my normal stomping grounds. I think I have fallen into a bit of a rut, concerning the very dark themes of some of my poetry so I cast about looking for some kind of inspiration to craft a love poem. I didn't want it to be something that was a very traditional post of love poetry, instead I looked for an event in a person's life that is very romantic and tried to build around that. I always thought of a proposal as being a very romantic time for the most part and wondered how I could capture that.

To do so, I looked at another poem I wrote a few years back, in which I used colors to tell a message of loss. As I played with it I thought about crafting a bit of a this poem to act as a sort of companion piece to that poem. Where one is the opposite end of the same spectrum. I tried to keep some of the things close, and changed a few others. The redness of the lips, the yellow hair seemed very much like something that fit tonally, though I tried to change the rest of the colors around to mean different things. I still think I effectively changed up the poem enough so that it is different from the other poem, which I titled Black. Black remains the only poem I have written that doesn't have the title in the poem itself, in and of itself being a representation of what color the author felt. Hopefully you like this poem and don't feel its just a re-tread. I like how it came out. To be honest, it just felt nice writing something different.

If you want you can re-read Black here Enjoy!



Color


Yellow flecks of straw spun hair,

Whose flowing locks brighten my cares.

Deep green eyes, the stillest pool,

Whose depth make me feel the fool.

Soft red tinged lips curled to smiles,

Your sweet taste lasts for miles.

Peach smooth skin I'm blessed to touch,

Whose gentle caress I love so much.


The sky above is filled with blue,

But in the clouds I just see you.

Orange rays of sun enlighten the Earth,

Yet you are the one who brightens my worth.

A field of green, so ripe and pure,

Seems a withered mess when you differ.

Even daisies bloomed, grown lushly white,

Cast a paler beauty that against you seems slight.


Our future may be uncertainly gray,

But with your love I can find the way.

For silver seams glow brighter when,

I hold you in my arms again.

So as the purple dawn begins to break,

On the next step our relationship must take,

I kneel to you and offer this gold band,

And ask for you to take my hand.


There is no color that can say,

Will you be my wife today?


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Assorted Nuts!

Happy April All!

Another month down, 1/4 of the year already gone. Time seems to keep speeding up when i look at the big picture, and while individual days seem to drag sometimes, overall time is blurring very quickly. Only a few months to go until comic con too. A very exciting time lays ahead, just hope that I can continue to make time and grow my creative output.

I thought last month that I had a nice range of stories and work, especially the short story Violets which I thought came out nicely. I also have to admit, I really like working on Dead Sun, the first serial was one of the few projects that I never got tired off, and the two long formed works I have done since then I really started to get bored with after 20 or so chapters. I have some good plans outlined but I keep coming up with better ideas which is why we still continue to get into the exposition of the story. Eventually the separate tales will convalesce into a single story, but we may see different chapters from different points of view. I hope to take some time out later tonight and get the next chapter up, ideally getting the opportunity to meet the last "main" character in the tale.

Gonna stay hard at work on the blog and keeping creative. As always I appreciate your feedback and thank you all for reading.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 8

Father Santiago tried to ignore the cries of the people outside the Parish. Beating on the barricaded doors you could hear their screams of terror, their screams of pain. You could always the screams. You could hear the creatures out there as well though. Guttural cries and screeches of horror, Father Santiago could still see their gaping maws and blackened claws when he closed his eyes. What was worse were the moments of quiet though, where you could hear the wet smack of the monsters consuming the flesh of the dead. Father Enrico tried to block the images from his mind, images that haunted him. He could still see his brothers being ripped apart by those monsters. He could still picture the horrors he had seen as he ran back to the Parish, the dead brought to life and consuming the living, Revelation.

"Father Santiago......Enrico, we must do something for the people outside. The screams, the people NEED us now! We must help them and trust in the Lord God to protect us."

Santiago lowered his head slowly and shook it sadly. Brother Ruiz meant well, he was probably even right, but he no longer knew anymore. What he had seen made him wonder. If those creatures could so easily kill his Brothers, what would that mean to the people here in this mission? What would that mean to him. IF Hell had truly come to Earth, Enrico Santiago was not about to go quietly.

"My son, I feel your pain. I feel ALL of your pain. But you have seen what lies outside, looking at these horrors from the bell tower. They are not human, and should we open the doors to help these people, they would over run us as well. We can only do God's will if we are alive to spread his word. I know it's hard, I know you want to ease our flock's suffering, but we must trust in God to protect us, and trust in God to take our friends to a better place than the Hell that awaits beyond the walls."

He looked at Brother Ruiz, placing a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him to take Brother Romero and the help and lead them in a prayer. Ruiz nodded, tears streaming down his face and drew the other three into a circle. Enrico then hastened up the stairs, towards his room and the bell tower. After they had barricaded the doors and simple windows of the church, they had all gone to the tower to witness the creatures first hand. It had been hard for them all, but Enrico has assured them that the best path lay in protecting themselves. It had taken all of his will and perseverance to keep them from opening the doors, each time the cries of mothers and their children reached the doors, or when hearing the cries of the young as their flesh was ripped.

Enrico opened the door to his room, a simple affair. The mission was a plain stucco structure, two stories and a cellar, with a spiraling staircase that lead to the top of the Bell tower. The main floor was dedicated to the church containing the alter, the second floor was the living quarters for the small group. Enrico's room was much like the others, mostly bare. He had a simple straw mat to sleep on and a stand with a bowl and pitcher for washing. He also had a small chest, to which he approached now. He opened the lid and removed his spare robes, leaving it empty. Enrico pried his fingers into the lower interior corner of the chest, working at it until he finally managed to pry the false bottom up. It lay there exactly as he had left it all those years ago, his pistol. He gently removed it from it's hiding place, holding it to catch the meager light in the room. No, Father Enrico Santiago was not about to go quietly at all.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Movie Time: Rewind: Young Frankenstein

Hey all!

Time to turn back the clocks and look at another old school movie review, looking at great films made before the year 1976. In my Word Balloon column earlier this month I highlighted a comedy book and I thought I would continue the trend in this column and look at another great comedy. While I have highlighted several comedies over the last few years of this column, most have been from the 1930's. This time we are gonna flash forward out of Hollywood's golden years and into the early 1970's. This was a time of upheaval and change for studios, still trying to recover from the loss of the studio systems in the 60's, films, film makers, and audiences tastes were changing, making it a fun and fertile time for new styles and new choices. One writer and director, who had already had some previous success with projects like The Producers and Get Smart, had a banner year for comedies in 1974. The writer and director was Mel Brooks.

Brooks had been in the business for a while, but never before or since, has one person had a bigger impact on a genre of cinema in a single year than Brooks. In the same year he helped to create two of the most well received comedies of all time, the politically un-correct and hilarious Blazing Saddles and our film choice, the sublime comedy homage to the Universal horror pictures of the 30's. Young Frankenstein. Young Frankenstein starred one of the 1970's biggest comedians, Gene Wilder, along with a superb comedic supporting cast of Peter Boyle, Madelin Khan, Marty Feldman, and Teri Garr. I also thought this a fitting tie, as just a few months ago I highlighted the foundation of this movie, 1931's Frankenstein.

The premise of the film is pretty simple and fairly close to the plot of the original Frankenstein. Gene Wilder plays Frederick von Frankenstein, the grandson of the original Victor von Frankenstein, a young neurosurgeon who has spent his life trying to live down his family legacy. When he inherits the family castle, he travels to the old country to review it along with his tightly wound fiancee, Elizabeth (Madelin Khan). At the castle he finds the descendant of his grandfather's lab partner, Igor (Marty Feldman), a comely new lab assistant Inga (Teri Garr) and house mistress Frau Blucher (Cloris Leachman). Believing his grandfathers work to be impossible, he stumbles across a series of old journals and his grandfathers secret lab and comes to believe that it may be possible to re-animate the dead.

Frederick and Igor then steal a body from the grave yard and repeat the re-animation process, despite Igor taking the wrong brain from a local brain repository. They successfully bring the creature back to life (played by Peter Boyle) but he is wild and crazy. They manage to sedate him but the townspeople grow increasingly uncomfortable with the alleged experiments that Frederick is performing. Frau Blucher ends up freeing the creature and its roams the country side, meeting a blind hermit and a young gild before Frederick re-captures him through flattery. he attempts to train and civilize the beast, and even puts on a show for the townspeople to show the creature is harmless, unfortunately he is scared by a light exploding and goes on a rampage. He is captured and tormented but manages to escape, running into Elizabeth along the way. He ravishes her and she is taken back by his endowment and stamina. Frederick, desperate to correct his mistake, lures the creature back to the castle and transfers some of his intellect to the creature to stabilize his mind before the townspeople overrun and kill them both. In the end, the monster and Elizabeth fall in love, and Frederick and Inga find that intellect wasn't the only thing that was transferred between the two, much to Inga's delight.

Originally this film was pitched as a collaborative effort between Gene Wilder, Marty Feldman, and Peter Boyle by their mutual agent. Their agent also brought aboard Mel Brooks, having just finished working with him on the blockbuster hit Blazing Saddles. Brooks came aboard on the pretense that he could help co-write the feature with Wilder and an instant comedy classic was born. Gene Wilder and Mel made the best pictures of their career and while Blazing Saddles may be the higher earner, I think Young Frankenstein had the better staying power and better performances. Wilder himself blends the perfect bit of comedian and manic mad genius, going from a fairly mild mannered scientist to a true mad scientist through the course of the film. He has such a great sense of timing and delivery and the lines are crisp and sharp and still hold up over 35 years later.

Peter Boyle, while not speaking much, brings a real physical style of comedy to the film as the clumsy monster. Up until his turn as Ray Romano's father on Everybody Loves Raymond this was his most merited role. Still he really makes the role his own, having great on screen chemistry with Madelin Khan and Gene Wilder. I think the other stand out in the film is Teri Garr, who really takes what could easily be a stereotypical blond bimbo role and makes it something uniquely funny and sexy. As for Marty Feldman, with his boggled out eyes and leers, it's almost as if he was born to play the role of Igor. Watch throughout the film as the hump on his back changes places during scenes. He did this at first on his own, no one catching until they were well into filming and they thought it was so funny that they worked it into the film itself.

This film is often called Brooks love letter to monster movies, while it teases and pokes fun at the foibles of monster films, it never does so maliciously. It very much tries to capture the flavor that these early films brought to life, even going so far as to track down the original lab equipment from the 1931 version of Frankenstein to equip the lab and give it a greater sense of authenticity. Even Brooks insistence that the film be shot in black and white is part of the charm. He was so set on keeping the authenticity of black and white that they left the original home studio, Columbia, to take the picture to 20th Century Fox who would produce it the way Wilder and Brooks wanted.

Another great element of the film are the great bits of homage that extend beyond the horror vein. I still laugh every time I watch the great Fred Astaire homage off Wilder and Peter Boyle dancing to "Putting on the Ritz" and Boyle warbly cries out the strangled chorus. Classic comedy at its finest. You can also see clear dedications to some of the other great comedians of the 1930's, specifically Marty Feldman as he channels Groucho Marx's delivery and jokes in several scenes. Brooks even got one of the biggest actors of the 1970's, Gene Hackman, to cameo in the role of the Blind Man that the monster stumbles across. Hackman was a huge actor at the time, fresh off a huge Oscar winning turn in The French Connection just a year earlier. It just shows how much fun the cast and crew were having.

Comedy is one of the hardest mediums to do. So much of a comedy can become dated and loose its humor. It's increasingly rare to find a film that can retain the elements that made it funny 35 years after it came out. Young Frankenstein does just that, made my people who loved what they were doing. The core cast and director had so much fun making the picture, the even wrote extra scenes to film at the end of the movie simply to be able to work together a little bit more, for a little bit longer. It's a film that indelibly holds up to the testament of time, working both as an homage to the great horror films of the 30's and as a comedy. So much of Blazing Saddles comedy was about the time the film was made, despite being Brooks' comedic love letter to the western, it relied heavily on humor about things like racism, segregation, and the troubling issues of the early 70's. To me, Young Frankenstein is more a pure comedy. If you have never seen it, check it out, it's easily the best work of Mel Brooks career, and you'll laugh too.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Not Farewell

Hey all,

I was inspired to write this poem this morning, after reading through a bunch of twitter posts. It seems the loss of friends have struck a few of the people I follow in different ways. Really kind of sad. So I set out to make a poem that works on a few levels. I 'd like to think that simply on the surface the poem is about moving on, the deeper sub-text you can determine for yourself. Whether moving on from the loss of a friend, or simply moving from one station or job to another in life. In trying to keep the sub-text, I also tried to channel a little of the feelings I had when my room mate moved out, obviously not that its in the same class as the death of a friend, but still.

I really wanted this poem to be a positive, if poignant, message about the possibility of the future, and that one end simply marks another beginning. Hopefully that comes across, hopefully one of my followers will find some comfort in my words. Still, it felt nice to channel my own emotions, maybe someone else can find something of merit in these words. Anyway, thank you for reading and feel free to leave comments or critiques.


Not Farewell


So it's time to say goodbye,

But remember its not farewell.

For no matter what I may try,

Know there's a special place you'll dwell.

We may have left a word unsaid,

Or slowly grown apart.

Still I'm thankful for the path I've led,

Which kept you close at heart.

The memories of times we shared,

And of conversations past,

I hope you knew how much I cared,

That they could but ever last.

Leaving is never an easy play,

Looking back on where you were,

Passing moments that made the day,

Now but such a blur.

Though at times we disagreed,

And didn't see eye to eye,

Looking back I do indeed,

Wish we had but one more try.

Eventually the sting of loss,

Will slowly start to fade,

As regrets shiny gloss,

Eventually gets paid.

So au revoirs and farewell,

Aren't necessarily the ends,

In this life who can tell,

Exactly what the future portends.

I say my thanks for what you've done,

And all that you've come to mean.

For know that you've just begun,

As what comes next is still unseen.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 7

Eva looked longingly at the steaming tub of water her maid was making for her, watching as she poured another pot into the bubbly foam. She wasn't one of those girls who liked perfume and dresses, but she did enjoy a good, hot soak after a long stretch on the trail. Her maid helped her pull her boots off and began scrubbing them clean. Eva smiled graciously, a wide smile that lit the corners of her tanned face. She continued undressing, hanging her gun belt from the hook beside here mirror and folding her chaps across her hope chest. She un-buttoned her sweat soaked shirt and peeled her pants off, wadding them into a ball and tossing them into a hamper.

A small murmur of pleasure escaped her lips as she slid into the tub gingerly, feeling the warmth of the water seep into her bones. She sunk in up to her neck and just closed her eyes, letting the water wash away the last few days. Finally after several minutes, she opened them, staring out the third story window and out across the vastness of her families estate. It was still far to dark outside and there was nary a cloud in the sky. Something was prickling at her senses, something was out of place. She looked over to her maid, Emily, furiously scrubbing her boots over a washtub and sighed. She knew something was out of place. Something wasn't right. Eva set about scrubbing herself down and finished her bathing, thinking to have a talk with her Dad about her concerns.

Ever since she was little, Eva knew not to ignore this feeling. She'd had it during the cholera outbreak that had taken her mother and two brothers away and before the Indian attack that had cost her father the ability to walk unassisted. She even had it on the trail, trusting her instincts to act as a natural guide through rough and dangerous country. Instincts that had saved her life more than once. She got out of the tub and started drying herself off, rubbing the towel hard against her skin. Her maid had pulled out a fresh pair of black pants, the kind she liked that stayed snug on her waist and a light brown shirt with silver buttons. She was combing out her hair when she heard a scream, followed by shout from downstairs.

"QUICK! EMILY! EVA! Downstairs!"

Eva bounded down the stairs two at a time, hearing worry in her father's voice and cries of pain. She crested the final landing and saw her father and two of the ranch hands surrounding the couch in the parlor. She looked at the two men, Rex, the lead foreman and Bartley, one of the best drivers on the ranch, and saw their faces etched with concern. Emily and her rushed to the other side of the couch and saw Evan, one of the youngest boys on the farm, laying on the couch. His skin had taken on a sickly yellow mottle, flushed with sweat. He writhed in pain, as if something was eating him apart from the inside, his cries flinging spittle, blood, and foam from his mouth. Eva watched his eyes begin to take on a glassy haze, fogging over, and fixed her gaze on Rex and Bartley.

"What the fuck happened?"

She usually didn't use that kind of language in front of her father, but in the moment she slipped. Rex replied first.

"Bart found him out near the woods, he was stumbling towards the house, holding his arm. We heard him screaming."

Rex peeled back the mangled sleeve of Evan's shirt to reveal a festering bite mark unlike any she'd ever seen. The skin around it had turned black and hot, though the rest of him was clammy and cold. The wound seemed to bleed black and red through the compress they had put on it, and green pus streamed from the wound. Eva looked to her father, who shook his head sadly. Evan began to thrash harder now, so hard that Bart and Rex had to hold him down so he wouldn't throw himself off the couch. He twisted violently, a loud bloodcurdling shout escaping his lips, before falling still. Evan's eyes, once foggy, now seemed completely black, as a final gasping breath left his still body.

Emily began to cry hysterically, and Eva hugged her father fiercely. Evan, only 15 years old, was dead.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

FlashFiction: Addendum

Hey all,

I usually don't throw any pre-course up on my short stories, I like to let people make their own interpretation of the story, as opposed to my poetry, which I like to talk a little bit about in terms of what I was aiming for. Anyway last week I had some difficulty writing and this was a story I crafted after taking some notes during a bit of location writing. Occasionally I'll head out to a well traveled area and just sit and write, or take notes. After a suggestion from my good friend, I did this again in hopes of shaking off the writers block I had hit. This is a story I crafted after watching two people fight in a mall while pushing a kid in a stroller. I tried to make it my own, and you can certainly draw your own conclusions from the tale. It's a one off story, so this is the full tale. I'll be returning to regular Flash Fiction serials later in the week. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this more serious attempt at micro fiction.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Flash Fiction: Violet

Violet


I felt her hand touch my shoulder but to be fair, I smelled her long before that. That soft scent of violet, my scent, cutting through the smoke and pallor of the bar. She always wore that scent for me. Just for me. Especially at times like today. I didn't look up, afraid to see her reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the bar counter. Afraid of the memories, afraid of the things that once were, afraid of looking into her eyes just one more time.

"Ellis....Ellis honey you need to stop."

I swirled the brown liquor in my glass, splashing it around the two well worn ice cubes at the bottom. I closed my eyes and tossed the last drink back, feeling the warm burn course down my throat. I lowered the glass back to the bar and opened my eyes again when me head was down, staring at those two ice cubes as they tinkled inside the cup. I felt her grip tighten on my shoulder and I resisted the urge to inhale deeply, resisted the urge to fill my head with violet.

"Ellis, baby, this isn't the answer. I know you're hurting, but you can't do this again. Not to yourself.......not to me."

I slammed the glass down on the counter, hard, the two ice cubes bouncing in the glass. I knew she was gonna lay this card. The guilt card. It was really the only one left. I'd long worn out pity and forgiveness by now. It was the only card she had left. The only one she could still use that I might still buy. To bad for her I was far to numb for that one today. Or ever again for that matter. I let myself take a small whiff of violet before talking. For old times sake I said. For memory.

"Babe, you made it clear how you felt about me. About us. You made it crystal clear in fact. You didn't want me anymore. You didn't love me. So I don't really see why you should give one god damn about me now."

I still didn't look up. Fuck, I didn't even raise my voice. To be honest, I couldn't let myself. It had taken a long time to get where I was right now, and I'll be damned if I was gonna break. I motioned for the bartender to pour me another, slipping a wad of crumpled bills on the counter. Money, fortune, fame, celebrity, fuck it. It was nothing a nice drink couldn't take anyway when you wanted it to.

"El, I never wanted to hurt you. Whether you believe it or not, I loved you. I still love you..... in a way. We shared a life together, a life filled with some bad times sure, but there were a few good moments too. I don't want to see you do this to yourself. I don't want your daughter to see this happen to you."

With that line I did finally let out a course laugh, jagged and raw, that ended in a small fit of coughing. I used the napkin under my glass to cover my mouth and crumpled it up before she could see the red tinged remains in the paper. Still that last line had been pretty funny. The bartender poured me another drink and I grabbed his arm before he could go. I tossed the drink back again, keeping my eyes closed one more time and set the drink on the counter. I rattled my cup, those lonely ice cubes now little more than slivers, and beckoned for a refill. I staved off another throaty chuckle before answering her.

"Dear, you were pretty explicit about my status with Vi. You've barely let me near her in the last two years. She thinks I'm a deadbeat and a loser and for the most part, you were pretty happy not to change that point of view. Fuck, I thought you having me sign adoption waivers so Andy could step in made in crystal fucking clear where I stood with Vi. As for the good times, I remember them well. Every time I look at a painting, every time I pick up a brush, I remember them. The bad times though? Those didn't come until after."

I felt her hand fall off my shoulder, but I didn't look up. The bartender brought me another drink and I fumbled for a cigarette out of my coat pocket. There were only two left, but that was okay. This was probably gonna be my last pack anyway. I thumbed one out and lit it with a match from one of the free packets they gave out at the bar. The smoke burned at first, my throat still a little raw from the coughing, but soon it felt smooth as silk. I tossed another drink back and listened to the fresh ice rattle in the glass. I did love that sound. I puffed in silence, trying to use the smoke to mask her scent, such a soft scent that seemed to fill the air when she was near me, cloying, not letting go. I tried to push it away, push it from my mind. But I couldn't. Not yet. Finally after I'd nearly finished the cigarette she spoke.

"Fuck you Ellis. Fuck you you fucking asshole. I don't give a fuck about what you do anymore. If this is what you want then fucking do it you fucking pussy. Fuck you for giving up. Fuck you for quitting on Violet, but most of all fuck you for quitting on me you fuck."

She turned to walk away then. I could hear her spin on her heel. She has been so calm and monotone through the speech. Even and measured, like she had practiced it. Fuck she probably had. Calm and measured though, right up until those last two words. You Fuck. I could hear the derision in her voice. The scorn. All the years of pent of hate and anger she'd had at me set free in two little syllables.

I bounded up from the stool, upending it behind me and threw the glass at the mirror behind the bar. It shattered, spider webbing cracks all along the length of the mirror, shards strewn about the floor and into the bottled liquors underneath. I did look up now. I could see her back to me in the reflections, hundreds of shots of her with her back to me. Hundreds of shots of her smooth brown hair falling across that worn woolen jacket she always wore to work. Her black skirt was a little longer than she use to wear it, but it was my girl. I stared at the myriads of her reflections, each sliver like a vein to my heart.

"I never quit on you Becca. Let's not forget who left who here. Let's not forget who killed who here. You were the shining sun of my heart Becca. Sometimes though, things shine too bright and they burn you. I wasn't perfect Bec, never said I was. But I never quit on you and I certainly never quit on Vi, You two were my everything. Sometimes though, everything just isn't enough anymore."

She never turned back around. I just watched each reflection walk away, the clack of her heels echoing in the silent bar. I watched each reflection leave me, each one killing me a little bit more than the one before, a thousand tiny deaths. I watched her walk out that bar and saw the love of my life for the last time. I tried to catch her scent in the air, but it to had left with her. I slowly picked up the stool and dropped another crumpled wad of bills onto the bar, paying for the rest of the bottle I'd been working on, and the damage to the mirror. I had him put some fresh ice into my glass and I walked out of the bar, bottle and glass in hand.

Violet would be taken care of, that I knew for sure. between the adoption papers and everything else I'd arranged, I wasn't worried about her. I popped the last smoke out of the pack and crumpled up the empty carton, tossing it aside as I walked down to the beach. I rattled the ice in the glass, enjoying the fresh sound of ice tinkling against the glass walls. Another rack of coughing forced me to stop for a moment, but after a few minutes it passed. I wiped my mouth on my sleeves, the red tinges fading into the black leather of my coat. I took a drink straight from the bottle and checked my watch, finding it just shy of 2:00 AM.

The beach stretched out before me, the waves lapping against the coast, the waters dark and mysterious. Next to fresh ice, the sound of the ocean was my favorite sound. I kicked off my shoes and socks and let the sand squeeze through my toes and I sat down on the cusp of the shore line. The sand was a damp and there was just enough of a tide that occasionally a small wave of salt water would run over my toes. I poured another drink and thought that it might not be a bad idea to see just one more sunrise.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: 600

Hey all,

600 posts! Wow. Hard to think that I would have stuck with this for so long but I am really happy that I did. I usually commemorate centennial posts with a numerically themed poem, so I continued tradition today. This poem took several days of brainstorming to find the central theme, the journey through life as well as a kind of homage to the journey of the blog, though the poem is a bit more of a forecast to the future. I really tried to change up the rhyming scheme and the pattern of the poem, work in a format that isn't my usual style which is always good. I tend to fall into the same patterns of rhyming couplets and 4 line stanzas, so I liked the 8-12-8 format of this one, even if it was a bit shorter. I tried to expand it but extra lines in the first 8 seemed redundant, and I thought that the three stages of life motif should stay, so short long short is essentially what I was aiming for.

Still I am very happy to be at this personal milestone for me. Hope you enjoy the poem, and hopefully I'll have a special piece of Flash Fiction up tomorrow. Thanks for reading and sticking around with me these past 600 posts.

600


Words or ways once laid blank.

My whole life an empty slate.

All the future so bright and gay,

Ready to challenge even fate.

The unknown future still ahead,

A journey towards the rising sun.

Looking to the far off beyond,

And all the things to be done.



The journey there seemed so long.

Each step one day towards the whole.

Some new task or tale to tell,

To bring me closer to my goal.

I met so many people on the way,

Enemies and lovers along the path.

Happy times that rang of cheer,

Broken hearts that earned me wrath.

Still did I walk the road,

With friends that lay close at hand,

Scribed my tales of joy and pain,

On a journey just to understand.



Though as the trail reaches its end,

With each passing tick of the clock,

I try to capture the thoughts I lost,

From the path of life I walked.

Whether 600 steps or one,

You're always wanting more,

The journeys what you really love,

It's so very hard to close the door.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Word Balloon! Liberty Meadows

Hey all,

For the month of March I thought we would take a look at an entirely different genre of comic books, a genre that is often over looked in the world of capes and cowls, and even the gritty urban and offbeat independent titles that I often cover. The humor comic. To be honest they don't make many any more, or the ones that are often times are funny in the extreme sense, either via explicit content or language or over the top graphic humor. Very few books try to have mass range humor appeal. This month's book uses a medium that really only Disney comics uses anymore, a medium that hasn't been in vogue since the late 1940's and '50's. The funny talking animal book. This month's book is Frank Cho's Liberty Meadows.

Liberty Meadows is a comic about life at an Animal Rehabilitation and Sanctuary that's inhabited by a variety of funny and quirky characters and the adventures they get into. The star of the book is Brandy, a tall voluptuous animal psychiatrist who works at the sanctuary along with Frank, a shy nerdy veterinarian who is hopeless in love with Brandy. The two of them care for the eclectic cast of talking animals at the sanctuary, including Dean the pig, a hard partying former college mascot, Ralph, a former midget circus bear and inventor, Leslie, a hypochondriac bullfrog, as well as Truman a meekly polite duckling and Oscar, a wiener dog (also the only animal that can't talk). There are a few other characters, including Jen, Brandy's buxom and devilish room mate and Julius, the Sanctuary's boss.

Liberty Meadows is actually a comic strip like you read in the paper, it started off being published in the school newspaper as artist Frank Cho was in college. He moved it into syndication and the strip appeared in numerous papers across the country. Cho quickly tired of his editors heavy hand and the censorship issues he faced on a daily basis with the strip and decided in 2001 to cease its publication in newsprint form. Cho decided to move it entirely into the comic book format, initially at Insight Studios until moving to its current home at Image Studios. Each month he would collect the strips he drew and publish them as a comic book collected. His early comic book issues were dedicated to republishing the strip to the new market and new readership base he was gaining, which also allowed him to go back and fix some of the censorship issues that really bothered him during the initial publication.

Liberty Meadows was a quick hit in the comic book industry, attracting both new readers to Liberty Meadows, and opening the door for other creators to take their work into the comic format. Frank Cho especially became a hot commodity in demand. Cho was not just a cartoonist, though he worked so easily in that style. He worked in a medley of artistic formats, including classic illustration. He could seamlessly fit both classical line item drawings in with cartoons that were not only funny and charming, but technically amazing. Demand for Cho's pencils became so in demand that marvel Comics even inked him to an exclusive deal that in recent years have excluded him from publishing new Liberty Meadows work, but that has opened up a wide realm of comic book illustration on books like Shanna the She Devil, The Avengers, and currently The New Ultimates from Marvel.

Back to Liberty Meadows itself though. In the series Cho creates this crazy, zany, very funny world but really populates the characters with genuine emotion. You root for shy Frank to finally find the courage to tell Brandy how he feels, and you laugh as the various animals as each get into trouble, from Ralph's inventions which never work quite right, to chauvinistic Dean trying to pick up on women who clearly want nothing to do with him. The world and events around them are totally a cartoon, but each character has a genuine resonance that keeps you smiling and rooting for the next strip.

Liberty Meadows is funny and broad in a way that many comic strips just are not. Willing to take a chance and push the envelope of taste and public conception, but never in a gross or overly foul way. Cho doesn't write down to his audience, he's telling stories that people can relate too, referencing popular culture and films, and tastefully lampooning other canonical comic strips like Cathy and Peanuts in a way that both points out the lost humor of those strips and treats them respectfully as peers.

the only real complaint about Liberty Meadows is the lack of new material. A new issue hasn't been released since 2006, though Frank Cho has worked on numerous books in the last few years. Despite the excellent artwork he has provided on the Avengers and the Ultimates, I eagerly await new Liberty Meadows work. I often find that the most personal works of a creator is often times when they create their best material. Liberty Meadows is that rare comic that makes you laugh and smile, the comic that reminds you that comic books were first just that, comics. Meant to be funny and humorous. So often we get lost in what comics have become that we forget what comics were. Liberty meadows will remind you of this. I wholeheartedly recommend picking up the first trade, Liberty Meadows: Eden, available from Image Comics.

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins

Chapter 6

Morgan lost his footing, falling on his backside as he watched the horror unfold before him. The thing kept pulling itself free from the grave, clawing at the earth and tearing at the pine planks that use to house its body. It just couldn't be what he thought it was, but his eyes kept going back to that ring, golden against her wedding dress, the white lace and fringe yellowing in her months beneath the Earth. The ring he had given her all those years ago. His wife had risen from the dead, if what he saw could still even be called his wife.

Her skin had turned yellow and sour, where there was still skin. Yellowed muscle and bone stuck out beneath the her dress, maggots rooted inside the pockets of torn flesh. Her gloves had ripped at the fingertips, which had been replaced by sharpened black points. You could smell the foul odor, like rot and corruption that seemed to fill the air in a thick cloying fashion, invading your lungs and roiling your gut. It was her mouth though that had changed, her once beautiful features gone, replaced by a mask of horrors. Her once lustrous hair patchy and lank, her blue eyes now lifeless black orbs behind the remains of her wedding veil. But her mouth, stretched abnormally wide, lined with jagged sharp black teeth. A mouth stretched wide and snapping its way towards him.

"Eliza........God no Eliza......"

Morgan continued to crawl backwards as the creature freed itself from the grave and began working its way towards him. It didn't move quickly at first, but its jaws worked in an abnormal speed, quickening with each step closer to Morgan. It didn't speak, just let out a throaty growl that got louder and louder until it turned into a curdling scream. Morgan finally stumbled to his feet, still unwittingly clutching the pick in his hands. He kept backing away as the creature quickened its pace even more, her dull black eyes never leaving Morgan. Long greenish saliva dripped from her maw as she let out a swipe with her claws.

"FUCK GOD NO!.. ELIZA!"

Morgan felt tears welling in his eyes as he moved farther back, feeling the salty tears run down the dirt and grim on his face. He tried to blink them away as the monster moved forward. It let out another swipe of its claws and Morgan felt a gust of wind as he jerked his body away from her snapping jaw, throwing his body backwards. He landed bad on a hard patch of ground, a sharp rock ripping a small furrow in his elbow. He glanced at the cut, at the trickles of red blood that flowed from the injury. Morgan got to his feet, bringing the pick in front of him defensively as the monster began to move even quicker, nostrils flaring and becoming even more incensed. It ran a blackened tongue over its jaws and moved in, anxious for the taste of fresh blood. It was then Morgan realized that this was only going to end one way. With him killing his wife, and he wondered if he had the strength to do that a second time.


End of Line.
Gerrad!