Friday, August 28, 2009


inglourious_bastard_4 Pictures, Images and Photos

Let's take aim and shoot some Nazi's with a full clip of thoughts about Inglourious Basterds shall we?

- What an amazing month. Cameron reveals the dazzling brilliance of AVATAR and now Tarantino finally unleashes his long-awaited, grand ol' war movie. My 2 favourite directors have definitely spent their time wisely; for while we may have been checking our collective timepieces all along, these two master craftsmen have shown that the waiting period was more than worth our while.
Tarantino spoke often over the years of how he was still working on his “guys on a mission” war script, and to finally see the fruits of that labour up on the screen at long last was a wonderful sight to behold.
Is it exactly the film I expected? No it is not.
But I LOVE the film that it is, and it's that sort of unexpected surprise that adds to the overall charm. I embrace this movie with both arms and hug it firmly to my chest like an old friend who smells of firewood, baked goods and stories untold.

- Yes, the film feels VERY different from the posters and marketing
Yes, it feels like you've been served a different film than the one the trailer alludes to.
But why is that a negative?
This situation is only cause for drama and fist-shaking outrage if the film delivered was poor.
That is most definitely NOT the case with Basterds.
This film is fantastic.
Some may cry foul that the whole “guys on a mission” vibe is not really present, but I do not feel the film suffers because of this.
This was conceived many moons ago and as a writer myself, I can attest to the fact that (unless you do the unthinkable and write your entire final draft in one sitting in a single afternoon) screenplays have a habit of evolving and maturing over time. This tale may have begun in one way...but it seems to have transformed into something quite different as the years went on.
And that something different is a most wonderful organism, indeed.
Heck, I hope Basterds does super-business and allows Tarantino the opportunity to make the companion piece to this film involving a group of black troops, that he's has reportedly spoken of. Perhaps that will tell that particular chapter of this overall journey.

- The opening farmhouse scene.
No 1st time screenwriter would ever be allowed the freedom to get away with it. Studios would be like, “Lengthy dialogue? Two men sitting in a room? Nonsense! Open the film with some tits or an explosion. Better yet; an explosion of tits!”
Now, I would be more than welcoming for a film that involved such jug-based pyrotechnics, but alas, such raunchy gimmicks are not necessary here.
The whole 'slap the audience across the face in the first 2 pages' convention is a screenwriting rule that I've always thought requires at least two THICK coats of grey paint. Things are not always that black and white, people.
...Well, not in GOOD films, at least.
You need some room in which to wiggle and be vague. Allow the audience a chance to get comfortable in their chair and be embraced by the narrative...before unleashing your first narrative punch to the groin.
I'm just very thankful that Tarantino has put in the hours and as a result, has reached a point where he is allowed the creative freedom to open a film in such a way...without some studio clown commanding that he change the film to better suit the intellectually-crippled goons whose attention spans are vastly dwindling with every repeat viewing of Transformers 2.

- Dialogue is deliciously thick and layered. Adding to that is the dynamic element of transitioning from language to language at certain moments to properly suit the scene and contribute to the tension and so forth.
One of the many reasons why I love Tarantino's work is his knack for dialogue. The man has a solid ear for speech flow and knows when to throw in a rise, a fall, a pothole or a sudden-turn along the verbal road to keep the journey interesting.
That's mainly why I am not a big fan of Death Proof.
I do not dislike the film, but I just felt that the dialogue didn't snap-crackle and pop off the screen and into my memory vault of 'Quotable Tarantino Lines', y'know?
Perhaps, I need to go for round 2 with it.
After all, I was not in awe of Jackie Brown upon first viewing and yet, after repeated viewings over time, it has grown to become one of my favourite of Quentin's films and possibly his most underrated.
But getting back to the matter of dialogue; I can gladly say that the speech fired around during Basterds is top-shelf...and Tarantino has also now managed to undertake those interesting verbal journeys I spoke of, in different languages.
I'm a great fan of the English language and many others, particularly French, and I must say that certain moments during this film had me shaking my head, so impressed was I.
My 'Quotable Line Alarm' also went off with a satisfying ring numerous times and I look forward to trying to emulate Hans Landa's delivery of gems like “Could I have another glass of your delicious milk?” during dinner parties to unsettle other guests.

- Christoph Waltz as Hans Landa is hypnotic. I mentioned before how I was very impressed by certain moments regarding language, dialogue and so forth? Well, Christoph Waltz is generally centre stage during said moments.
The guy is simply mesmerising.
He kind of feels like a slightly-unbalanced German relative of Tim Roth. That's a compliment.
This gentleman effortlessly jumps between German, French, English and Italian and it looks as natural as breathing. He also manages to convey this serpentine sense of seductive malevolence and smoothly transitions from a calm, open and friendly demeanor into a duty-driven predator who enjoys toying with his prey.
You really must see for yourself. Waltz is golden, yo.

inglourious_bastard_2 Pictures, Images and Photos
(Makes dairy products sound sinister)

- The bar scene involving the undercover allies versus the drunk Nazis was amazing and probably one of my favourite scenes...amongst many others.
Michael Fassbender had a badass British, suave manner going and his face-off against the very impressive August Diehl as the SS officer (with frighteningly good hearing) provides a wonderfully tense atmosphere that is tinged with doomed humour which reminded me of Tarantino's similarly brilliant scene he wrote in True Romance between Dennis Hopper and Christopher Walken.
I'll say no more, from fear of spoilers but trust me; it's excellent.

- Gedeon Burkhard plays a character named Wilhelm Wicki. He is not onscreen for very long and he does not say much...but I instantly want to see this guy in more movies. He's got great screen presence coupled with one of the Best. Voices. Ever.
More roles for this gent, please.

- Hitler kind of looked like a creepy Mandy Patinkin. Weird.

- The film is filled with high-quality characters that are rich in personality...and I kind of felt like I was being hurried past them like when you're on one of those boat rides at Disneyland.
It all felt rather bittersweet; for I do not consider this a fault but rather a strength. I loved these characters so much that I was like, “Please Quentin, let me stay and hang with these guys longer.”
So on that note, I'll just add that I'd like (in future/side films, maybe?) :
1. More Melanie Laurent (This gal was impressive as Shosanna and one classy dame.)
2. More Donnie Donowitz (Eli Roth is badass, yo)
3. More Hugo Stiglitz (I cannot believe that I haven't been watching more Til Schweiger films. This guy is 'angry-action-hard man' dynamite. I'm a fan now.)
4. More Aldo Raine (Pitt is excellent, but as I've said; I wanted to spend more time with him.)
5. More of the Basterds in general. (There's easily another film's-worth of juice you could wring out of these cats.)

...Oh, and guns triggered by the impact of a punch are awesome.

Excellent viewing, y'all.

At ease.

Thursday, August 27, 2009


District 9 Alien Pictures, Images and Photos

District 9 is remarkable.
I shall now do my best and use my honeyed words (and guest star, Charlton Heston) to encourage you to shamble off to the theatre and view such goodness.

Why the hell should I do that, you filthy blogger, you?”, I hear you bellow from the bowels of the webternet.
Glad you asked.

- I've said it once and I'll scream it again; forget all of this HALO nonsense and somebody PLEASE give Neill Blomkamp the chance to make a HALF-LIFE 2 movie.
Hell, even if that doesn't come to pass and I find myself floating into the afterlife disappointed (and later returning to haunt cinemas until a proton-pack stops me); at least I can cling to this wonderful film, for it is the closest we have to a HL2 cinema experience.
...For now.

Gordon Freeman Pictures, Images and Photos
(See how he waits...)

It does a damn fine job of it too. I nearly jumped up and down on my seat when I saw Wicus blast away enemies with a 'gravity gun' and also wreak absolute havoc in a power suit that reminded me of Dog.
Throw in a crowbar and a barrel o' headcrabs and we've got ourselves a solid weekend, y'all.

- Witness what marvellous feats can be achieved by a director with some talent who actually DESERVES his budget.
Apparently, word round the campfire is that District 9 cost about 30 million bucks.
Transformers 2 apparently cost somewhere in the ballpark of...ahem...200 million dollars.
I feel physically ill.
During my Transformers 2 viewing, I could hear each cell in my body, shrieking in pain as they suffered through that ridiculously expensive nightmare of overblown, finely polished crap.
Why is that the so?
If Neill Blomkamp managed to conjure up pure cinema magic with only 30 mill...then shouldn't 200 million shiny gold coins guarantee us all a film experience so mind-blowing in it's awesomeness that it'd be like witnessing Charlton Heston breakdance against that Martian hooker with 3 tits from Total Recall.
No matter where you'd look, your eyes would fill with excellence.

Unfortunately, that's not the way Hollywood works. They prefer the reliable system that involves providing Michael Bay (and friends) with infinite funds to further prove the fact that he's an untalented schmuck whom I would not trust to supervise the catering table...let alone a massive film budget.

Praise Crom, for people like Peter Jackson, Neill Blomkamp and films like District 9.
Seriously; I would rather watch 15 minutes of D9 than have to endure an entire viewing of some other directors' films of late.
I hope this film serves as a wake up call for certain industry folk out there and makes them understand that they need to WISELY utilise the budgets that they're granted.

- Some folk may wish to speak about social-commentary and political subtext and such, but I'm not a political guy.
I'm not gonna go on and wax intellectual about topics that I know nothing about.
I have no doubt that there's some very meaty parallels and details that could be discussed at length, regarding apartheid and so forth, but that's not my business here.
Some other blogger can play that tune.
Instead, I'll simply mention that there are scenes where soldiers get vaporized into a kind of gooey mist by brutal laser blasts.
That's music we can all dance to, friends.

district 9 handgun Pictures, Images and Photos
(Deep social commentary...and LASERS! Brrr-zap! Ka-pwing!)

- Come and watch as humans yet again act like jackasses marinated in asshole sauce and demonstrate how NOT to properly handle alien contact.
You might be able to distance yourself from the narrative a bit...if it wasn't so damn accurate. You just know that this is how humans will act when aliens finally arrive.
They were not hostile...yet they were immediately imprisoned and seen as lesser beings.
Nice welcome.
They were malnourished.”, the media also informs us.
Really? You flawlessly understand the new alien biology, do you? Impressive deductive journalism, kids. Take notes.
And as usual, it's all about weapons. We could learn VOLUMES of knowledge from this new form of life...but nah. Let's poke them and plunder their armoury.
The best thing about witnessing this stellar example of finely-handled diplomacy is the inevitable moment where our proud species gets ripped to pieces by the valuable knew you happily cheer the aliens on.
Stupid humans.

asColTaylor Pictures, Images and Photos
(Heston wasn't human, he was awesome.)

- Sharlto Copley gives an amazingly natural performance as Wicus, as he transforms from goofy, nervous bureaucrat into an erratic, terrified man who is alone, hunted and horrified by what he may be becoming.
The fingernail scene alone had me convinced that I was not just watching some movie, but rather that this was a real ordeal that I was following along with.
The entire piece is infused with that flavour, actually. Despite the aliens, advanced weaponry and overall science-fiction subject matter, District 9 consistently feels like an account of some real life events that are unfolding on our very planet. After watching it all, I felt like if I checked the news that night, I would receive an update on the current situation. It's that convincing, people.
This high level of immersion is greatly due to the authentic documentary/news report segments that are sprinkled throughout the narrative and a level of CGI work that can only be described by saying, “Holy shit. That's a real alien.
The visual effects on display are right up there on the top shelf with another sci-fi classic that had photo-realistic aliens worthy of awe and coughed-up popcorn; the great Starship Troopers. (Yes, it's about time you watched it again. You're welcome.)
Hopefully; unlike Starship Troopers, District 9 will not get robbed at the Oscars when the time comes. That would be a crime.
12 years on and the arachnids from ST still look amazing.
I dare say that 12 years on from now, these so-called “prawns” from D9 will hold the same level of awe with new viewers.
The power of the effects work is also not just the result of impressive modelling work and the like. Christopher Johnson; the resourceful and reliable alien that acts as co-star alongside Wicus, is a staggering achievement.

District 9 Pictures, Images and Photos
(Deserves an Oscar more than Julia Roberts.)

It's performance had my jaw-open for most of the film...and the fact that he's a CG creation, never managed to sink in. Just like the T-Rex vs Gallimimus scene in Jurassic Park proved that Steven Spielberg actually managed to capture, domesticate and screen-train a living T-Rex in Hawaii, Christopher Johnson will prove that aliens freaking exist, yo.
Now I love the Lord Of The Rings movies and Andy Serkis is a pure master...but Christopher is better than Gollum. Case closed.

- See District 9 before they, hopefully, make a District 10.
D9 is reportedly doing great business and the ending leaves more than enough room for a sequel that I eagerly await.
Blomkamp has provided a very solid foundation upon which an excellent franchise could be built.

I give District 9 high praise, ladies and gents...and if Heston was still around, he'd praise it too.

Charleton Heston Pictures, Images and Photos
“I stole this gun from an ape NOT an alien. There's a difference.”

There sure is, Mr. Heston. There sure is.

Friday, August 21, 2009


I am a writer and I consider myself to have some level of skill.
I do not claim to be the best and I'm not about to go dig up William Shakespeare and challenge him to a manly the death...which he would already have won on a technicality in some smug corpse-like fashion.
Crafty bastard.
However, while I am not the most powerful man to ever wield the quill, I am definitely not the worst, and I've been known to dazzle the masses with my hypnotic text-based chicanery on many occasions.

That being said, I am definitely dreading the day in the approaching December when I must conjure up a review for AVATAR.
That's gonna be tricky due to a number of reasons:
1. James Cameron is basically my god.
2. This teaser trailer looks like the film will far exceed even my own mountainous expectations.
3. How am I to pad the sentence "This film renders heaven obsolete" so that it fills an entire blog post?

Oh well.
Maybe I'll just cut and paste the word 'AWESOME' over and over until I fill the internet...
That'll work.

Happy Avatar Day, y'all.
Viva Cameron.

Sunday, August 16, 2009


Drag me to Hell 01 Pictures, Images and Photos

“At any point during this film is there a demonic goat that calls someone a whore?”

That is the ONLY question that I shall ask from now on when I am offered a film to see at the cinema.
...And if the answer is no, then I'm not even going to bother putting on pants.

Drag Me To Hell has spoiled me, and I feel like a better man because of it.

I love this film.
From the first few moments when the titles smash up on the screen like a slap across the jowls and the credit sequence washes over you with that familiar scent of old-school Evil Dead-era Sam Raimi, I knew I was in for some good times.

Speaking of Raimi, this is a VERY refreshing return to form.
Don't get me wrong; I love what he's done with Spider-Man (except for the embarrassing part 3) and I don't feel that Raimi is JUST a 'horror director', (check out A Simple Plan ) but I felt like his new movies didn't have the same 'spark' as his earlier work.
I confess that I was actually thinking about skipping Drag Me To Hell at the cinemas, for purely financial reasons. (I'm currently unemployed. If you're reading this, you should totally hire me. I'm an awesome writer and I have nice legs. Wink-wink)
Anyway, I'm glad that I ignored my coin-based dilemma and jogged off to the 'plex to catch what I hope is to be the sign of Raimi's triumphant return to horror.
Interviews have informed me that Sam and his brother Ivan have currently got pages of the Evil Dead IV script already written and after Drag Me To Hell showed that none of Raimi's horror tools have rusted or gone blunt over the years, I can do nothing but anticipate that demon-filled brilliance that looms on the horizon like an undead army.

As is my habit, I'll try to only give you the bare-bones synopsis regarding plot and such.
I purposely avoided investigating this film prior to it's release because I wanted to be really surprised by Raimi's horror return and boy, did that pay off.
All I knew was this basic equation:

Pretty girl + gypsy + gypsy curse + demon = X

I left the answer as a blank X.
Because I don't know the best arrangement of words to properly express how I looked as I leapt around my seat and jumped in fright like a schoolgirl locked in the trunk of a clown's vehicle.
My amigo – a fellow Deadite from way back – claimed that he probably jumped about 8 times.
I did not count.
I was too scared.
In order to better express my feelings of terrified shock, I'll throw some more ingredients into the arithmetic stew to further tantalize y'all who've yet to see this film.
Let's add:

Invasive fly + kitten-corpse vomiting + horrible cake

...Oh, and a terrifying handkerchief.
Stop laughing. I'm serious.

I'm also VERY impressed by the fact that a healthy dose of these nightmarish events takes place in BROAD DAYLIGHT. This pleased me greatly. If there is one horror cliché that really makes me reach Gary Busey-levels of anger it's the fact that the bulk of violence/scares/attacks take place at night or in darkness.
Oooooh, the dark is scary. Yeah, thanks for that. What are we? 6 year olds?
Frights will have WAY more punch if you throw them in when people feel safe.
I want to see an attractive young lady get jumped by a cackling goblin and have her rib-cage torn open...while she's mid-conversation on her cell-phone to her fiancee in the brightly-lit frozen food section of a supermarket with heaps of customers around.
Now THAT's gonna spill some popcorn, yo.
Thankfully, Raimi seems to share my thoughts on the subject and gleefully springs some horrific shit on us all when the sun is shining and the birds are all about the tweeting.

There's loads more goodness, but I'll let you all experience those cinematic joys for yourself.
In fact, in order to really get the most out of this ordeal, try and see this in a cinema with damn good sound. The score and sound effects alone are enough to have your teeth grinding and blaming your goosebumps on the that your date doesn't think you're a skirt.
In fact; to hell with what your date thinks. If she's not scared by this film too, then she's got brain problems.
You don't want any of her sugar.

I, and legions of like-minded Deadites, would have welcomed a Bruce Campbell appearance, but alas that was not to be on this particular outing. (At least the Oldsmobile cameo is present) Apparently, Bruce was busy with Burn Notice during production and the schedules clashed.
No drama. He is missed...but the film does not suffer as a result. It stands on it's own two hooves and comfortably rests upon Raimi's mantle now, along with his other past work.

I could write about this film all day, but I don't want to ruin any of its potency by overloading you with blow-by-blow information. I'll wrap things up by saying that Alison Lohman does a great job in the lead role and reminds me that I've actually missed her presence. I thought she was great in Matchstick Men, back in the day, but I haven't really seen her in much since. This needs to change.
Another actress who needs to be thrown into WAY more movies after her performance here is Lorna Raver as the gypsy woman. She is flat-out fantastic as Mrs. Ganush. From her powerful mixed bag of emotions in the bank scene to her pure whirlwind of vengeful, unrelenting rage during the carpark attack and more; this woman is two scoops of awesome. She's absolutely terrifying and manages to convey a sense of haunting malevolence throughout the entire runtime...all while looking, basically, like just an old gypsy woman. Raimi doesn't rely on an overload of prosthetics or make-up which could have blunted the performance. He simply hired a very talented actor and had her bring the role to life.
High praise to her.
She created a memorable character that achieved the perfect goal for this kind of film;'re glad she's not after you.

So go and watch Drag Me To Hell, folks.
It's high-quality, spooky goodness that fills you up yet leaves you hungry for more.
Throughout the entire course you'll find yourself jumping in fright or fright, as only Raimi knows how. I could not be happier that he is preparing this flavour of dish again and I eagerly await the next meal.

Besides, it has a demonic goat that calls a young lady a whore.
That's a spice that not many directors can successfully cook with.


Thursday, August 13, 2009


Our tale begins upon a single blade of grass in the middle of an open, yet secluded grove, deep within the heart of a forest so lush and teeming with plant-life that one could rightly assume that should one remain motionless within said forest for long enough; the moisture in their armpits alone would make an ideal environment to begin the cultivation of any number of new spores and organisms. While this is lovely and charming in a ‘circle of life’ kind of way; it is essentially a discomforting thought. Hardly anybody, in their right mind, would find the prospect of vines and fungi flourishing in various crevices upon their body an attractive situation. However; perhaps this is merely an exaggeration in order to stress how sodding fertile this particular wooded area may be. …Or perhaps not. Let us continue, shall we?
Back to the grass…

On any other day; this particular sliver of seemingly insignificant flora would not be worth my time nor yours…nor that of any other vision-capable creature with even the dimmest of mental illumination. But today is not any other day. Today is today…and this day just happens to be the most important day in the whole existence of this singular blade of grass. Everything that has come before has merely been a preview; a build-up; a tensely escalating crescendo that will finally lead to this impending climactic event in the complex life-cycle of this tiny blade of grass.…For it is about to be stepped upon.

As his foot touched down upon the soft grass; the slender figure paused for a moment.His movements were slow and calculated; as if apprehensive of the environment outside his luxurious carriage. Ducking his head slightly so as to clear his top-hat through the doorway, the thin gentleman leaned halfway out and gazed around carefully at the surrounding forest…and its occupants.
A kind of coughing snort brought him out of his intense evaluation and he turned in the direction of the sound. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the two hulking creatures that were tethered to the front of his carriage. They were large, quadrupedal beasts called shalba, with flowing manes and coats similar to that of musk-oxen. They were generally used for transport and as labour-animals, but they also had a tongue that was porous and secreted a honey-like substance which was highly coveted by various traders and other such folk in the aromatic elixir industry. It just so happens to be mildly narcotic as well. There are more than enough second-hand stories making the rounds of local taverns regarding various shalba-farmers who have been caught in the act of ‘milking’ the tongues of their herd. The old fashioned way.
While shalba are generally good-natured beasts, they can grow incredibly irate if they are not given anything to chew on a regular basis (excluding farmers), as their sticky tongues require something for absorption. The first sign of such a mood-swing is a loud kind of snorting-cough followed by an erratic display of independent eye blinking.
And it is those bright green eyes that just so happen to be rapidly fluttering at the thin gentleman at this moment.

As a thin mist of rain starts to dampen the air, the thin gent carefully emerges from the darkness of the carriage interior and makes his way toward the snuffling creatures. He stares at them for a second or two before reaching into his vest pocket and producing two reddish orbs, which pulse gently with a faint, glowing light from within. The shalba grow visibly excited upon viewing these orbs and the gent feeds them one each. Almost instantly; as the chewing commences, the shalba’s eyes close happily and their heads begin to gently bob in a rhythmic action in time with the copious chewing.
With the knowledge that they will be content for quite a while now; the gent pays the beasts no more mind, swiftly spins around on his heels and strides off into the grove; making a raised wooden platform his destination.

The many occupants of the forest gathered here on this day keep their collective eyes upon the gentleman as he purposefully ascends the few small stairs leading up to the wooden stage. His boot-heeled steps combining with his walking-stick upon the hardwood produces an almost hypnotic Morse-code of knocks that would spell only one phrase - were any of those creatures amongst the assembled crowd capable of Morse-code deciphering, which is highly unlikely - regardless; that phrase would be, ‘See here, all ye who are assembled. This gent holds attention-worthy words. And plenty of them’.

Now despite the fact that most of the assembled populace would not understand such a phrase, and even if you mentioned the term ‘Morse-code’ to them they would only either stare blankly, run away or shriek and bite your arm; they still had no choice but to stare attentively forward at the striking figure who stood upon the stage like some darkly-attired concierge of the gods.

And this dark-haired prince of shadows stared straight back at them.

His eyes narrowed once again as he carefully took a mental inventory of all those amassed before him. It was his responsibility to make sure all were present and accounted for. His responsibility to ensure that all those summoned to this meeting, had done just that. For while he too was summoned to this congregation; much to his displeasure, he also happened to be the first one called upon, and it was he who was charged with the grand task of summoning the rest of those who wait expectantly today.
So basically; (deep breath) …a summoner summoned a person to become a summoner so that they may summon many, many others to attend a rather important assembly. …And may those above curse any who dares disregard their summoning.
Yes, that about sums it up.
It could not be any clearer.
Moving on…

As the gentleman’s eyes beheld each and every member of the massive crowd; he had to restrain himself internally with all the grace and decorum that he could muster. For while it was his duty to know the appearance and names of every single inhabitant of these lands, some of them had physical…attributes…that could almost paralyse the mind; so hideous or bizarre where they in their genetic architecture. However; the pendulum of knee-jerk reactions could swing in the opposite direction should enough time be spent in this particular world; as many of the visions on display in the crowd could just as easily be the product of blissful dreams as of feverish nightmares. For every plump, squishy, little bundle of mirth like the playfully vibrating moss kittens; there is a hideous, sense-crippling, reason for dry-retching such as the mulch-dwelling marrow-worms who spend their days reproducing live larval offspring from their mouths and a have a habit of infecting the bones of larger, happier, pastry-loving creatures. Such an infection will, in turn, reduce a previously large and joyful creature to a smaller, weaker, unhappy little shadow of its former self.
...With no desire whatsoever for pastries or baked-goods of any sort.
...And then the worms devour its skeleton.
...While it is still alive.
...Possibly even mid-conversation.
This will undoubtedly lead to the surviving member of the prematurely halted conversation taking offence at such blatant social mistreatment. After all, in such a situation; it is unlikely that one would have the forethought to make a dignified exit with an excuse such as, “Pardon me. Forgive my rudeness; but I honestly must take my leave of the discussion at this point as there seems to be a plague of violently-ravenous parasitic worms viciously devouring my skeleton from the inside. Perhaps we may continue our discussion at a later date?”
Once again; socially-diplomatic verbiage such as this is unfortunately not likely to be coming from your mouth during the aforementioned dilemma.

Worms will, however.

Yes, it is such serious situations and creatures as diverse as this, that has made the thin gentlemen take on his role as organizer of this whole affair with a level of diligence that he would usually only reserve for extra-special tasks in the past. Tasks such as perhaps baking an extra large pie in the shape of a pig’s head for some kind of festival or attempting to gain an evening tumble from a disarmingly attractive ale-wench with sinful eyes and a bosom worthy of poetic praise in volumes.
Alas, the gent’s mind and vision were, unfortunately, not concerned with matters of the flesh at this moment. And no matter how much he may wish that he were elsewhere and in the arms of somebody or some bodies; …his mind knows fully well that he must maintain focus. He must stick to the plan.

He slowly inhales and exhales as he gently lays his walking-stick upon the stage at his feet. He delicately adjusts his top-hat, checks his pocket-watch and, taking comfort in his impeccable appearance and timing; a warm vibration of calm begins to fill his being as he ponders his current status…
He has been given a task.
He has completed one half of it, for as far as he is concerned; all who were summoned here today have made an appearance.
They now stand before him. They wish to hear from him. Collectively; they wish to know his reasons for this meeting. They want answers. They want an explanation. They do not know it; but the gent knows that they are in fact waiting for the second, and final, part of his task…
They wish to hear a speech.
And a speech begins with but a single word…


Suddenly one of the shalba lets out a loud, guttural grumble and then continues chewing contentedly.
Every member of the massive crowd has turned in silent unison to watch the shalba as it now proceeds to gently paw at the soft grass beneath its hoof-like feet; once again in time with the chewing.
Crackling vibrations of pulsing displeasure are almost visibly radiating from the thin gentleman as he levels his piercing gaze upon the shalba…and then returns it to the crowd…which is still watching the distracting animals.

The gent’s razor-sharp tone slices through the misty grove as the sunlight begins to filter through the leafy canopy above;
“Another ‘ahem’, perhaps!?”

In time with his words, he slams his heel down upon the hard wood of the stage and once again gains possession of the countless eyes amongst those assembled. The gentleman straightens his suit-coat once more and; so as not to allow another window for interruption, he continues…

“Welcome. Firstly; allow me to convey my thanks and appreciation for your gathering here on this day.
Secondly; I am going to get straight to the sharpest tip of my subject matter. …And if any one of you dares to interrupt me, distract me or emit an odour that brings even a single tear to my eyes I shall take the previously mentioned tip and, no matter how metaphorical it may be, I shall find a way to pierce your skull with this point and pin you to the nearest log. Have I made myself clear to a worrying degree? Those of you with more patience than I; please be so kind as to explain my words to those around you who may be a little…mentally-flaccid, if you please.

I would apologise for my tone and overall frosty demeanour…but I’m not going to. You and I both know that such an accessory would clash with the way my personality is dressed. We are here for a very, I repeat, VERY important event. And it is my duty, to instil upon all of you here today…the gravity and significance of this momentous occasion.

Very well then… You should all know me. You’ve heard my words. You’ve seen me about the village. You may even have sampled one of my many pastries. Basically, I require no introduction. But, as I am far too theatrical for that kind of subtlety, I shall introduce myself regardless. Ladies and gentlemen, …and those of you who are either sans gender or are so freakishly indescribable that your appearance defies classification of any sort; I am The Herald.

Now, we all know the tales that blow through this land of ours like a scented wind. They have been in our minds and flown from our lips since the dawn of our time. All of you; from the giant dirt-crabs to the tiny miniature cows, would know the tales of the Two Queens; Jessica and Claire.
We all know that Jessica the Traveller, Claire and her daughter, Lisa, reside in the realm above us.
...Along with that other being of whom we know very little.
Besides the fact that he likes to change some of our physical appearances while we sleep as a sick joke so that he can hear our shrieks of panic when we awaken to find ourselves either missing a limb or …’blessed’ by the addition of a plump, well-cooked sausage-like creature now growing from the centre of our chest, which offers sage advice and has a tendency to break into song at inappropriate times.

But that is not the issue I wish to discuss today.

You would all know that as The Herald, I am often privy to information that the rest of you would never learn of, even should you take the time to overturn each and every rock upon this world of ours.
Just as you would also know of whom I speak when I now mention…The Quillmaster. Some of you may know him by other names, for he has many, such as Hanque, for example. But regardless of his many guises; it is my duty to inform you that He…has charged me…with the duty of opening the door for you all; a door which will lead you to the meaning of your very existence.

We all know who we are, do we not? We all know where we live, am I correct? And some of the more mentally nimble amongst you may even secretly possess a half-baked notion or theory about WHY we are here.
But all of your theories, guesses, summations and carefully tested hypotheses…are wrong. They are filled with gaping holes through which the liquid of reality is going to pour until it forms a perfectly clear little puddle of truth at your feet.
And it is I who has come to mop up said truth and wring it out for you so that you each may drink of its enlightening juices.
Tasty, no?

Very well, allow me to begin by saying that it is no great secret that The Quillmaster created us. However; …who created The Quillmaster?
From whence did he come?
Why did he bless us with life and allow our lungs to take in each sweet breath of air like a gift from above?
Well, my friends and enemies, I now tell you that this gathering is to become a party…and this party is going to feature ‘knowledge’ as the guest of honour.
I know the answers.
You SHALL know the answers.
And even that strange goat-like creature up the back there, which hasn’t stopped cavorting and playing that cursed violin ever since I began my speech, shall know the answers. …As soon as he regains consciousness after the vicious beating I’m going to administer to him.

So, allow me to reveal all to you as is my charge this day.
This particular soiree is, in a matter of speaking, a celebration in honour of the woman who indirectly led to our creation.
She carried the seed which created He who would go on to create Us.
He created Us so that we could gather here, at this moment in time, to give thanks and honour She who would lead to our coming to be.

Getting confused? Worry not. Stick with me…

So, without further ado; let us raise our voices and praise the birth of She who is known as Jane of the Moores. 1 – 2 – 3,


We; Jessica, Claire and The Quillmaster are ever grateful to Jane Moore; …for she birthed 3 beautiful children. One of whom would go on to later bring us into this world; each and every one of us here today, from the greatest armour-plated caterpillars that slowly undulate across our landscape (stopping only occasionally at villages so that the warrior-like race of beings that use them as mounts may collect liquor, lyrics and lustful glances from any daughters that may be gratefully unsupervised)
…to the smallest blade of grass.

Well, I think that should do it.
Thank-you very much for coming. T’was a fine celebration, indeed.

But all must come to an end.
I own this forest…and I have grown weary of your presence within it.
If any of you are within my sight by the time I put my hat back on, I shall hunt you down and beat you with a sturdy bundle of assorted twigs.

You may all go now. Return to your homes, or trees or wherever it is that you were reluctantly drug out from. But do not get too comfortable. None of us; not even I, can ever know when The Quillmaster may call upon us again for this task or that.

Now kindly be gone.
I am late for my next errand. I must go and baby-sit Princess Lisa and she does not look kindly upon those who keep her waiting.

Good day to you all.”

(Created this as a birthday card for my mother a while back.
She liked it.
I wrote this on 15/6/06)


You do not see enough ornate headwear being worn with pride these days… I want to see more. Much more. Broad-brimmed affairs that make passers-by stop and remark with much awe and respect. Slack-jawed, they would be. These hats of legend must not be without chin-support, though. No sir. The chin-strap would be a no-nonsense example of quality and safety; …all that you require in a strap. Perhaps, it could be made with some kind of intricate bead-work. Beads are at the height of fashion these days…and the modern gentleman cannot afford the serious social cost of being left out in the cold, or heat, without his chin proudly held within the snug confines of a quality, hand-made, beaded chin-strap. I believe the beads would be purchased for quite a reasonable fee from some kind of obscure mythical tribe of indigenous people who have been wronged in some way or another by whichever government/dark wizard is in power at the time. These tribes are different to you and I, so make sure you approach with caution and tread softly. They have customs which many may find frightful and primitive…yet I have learned their ways. I myself, as an educated scholar and gentleman, now find these sticky-eyed primitives merely annoying and disgusting. But my, can they dance! Why this one time, I had just asked the chief’s daughter for directions to the privy and…
…Anyway, I have put many years of dedication and study to good use…and it has come to the attention of my keen trader’s eye that these froth-mouthed, rock-monkeys don’t appear to know head nor tails of common barter practices. …And that brings me now to how I was able to wrangle such a smashing good deal on this shipment of fine, shiny beads.
They really are shiny.
I do say; I must have truly blessed the tribe that day with my tradesman’s skill and gentlemanly manner…for the chieftain was practically beside himself as I bid them farewell; beads safely packed away upon my faithful donkey. Oh the humour! You should have seen it! He was caught up in yet another one of their little manic dances and his eyes were brimming with tears and mucus. He even shook his fist in an attempt to mimic my own wave as I rode off. It really is amazing. We’re so different, yet so alike. …Tears of joy, my little dancing friend. Tears of joy, for all.

Now, if you wish to wear your ornate headwear whilst you engage in various strenuous activities such as clam-throwing or the manly practice of the ‘meat-joust’; a sturdy, well-made and reliable chin strap is a must. For example, say you have just happened to come across and unsupervised mule… First you would scream “FINDERS-KEEPERS!” in heavily-accented Polish; so as to scare off any possible brigands or overly-ambitious baboons which may be lurking in the shrubbery or beneath nearby rocks. After confidently staking your rightful claim to the unattended beast of burden, you may promptly mount said ‘burro’ and proceed to secure your ornate headwear, making sure not to forget about tightening the shiny-beaded chinstrap.
Now you may ride about the town without the fear of hat-loss…or ornate headwear-loss, as would be more the case. …A mere ‘hat’ is worn only by the filth within the gutters and by those who do more than just test their cousins for ripeness…
Dirty, dirty hats.

Well, the possibilities are almost infinite! Think of all of the exotic locations you could travel to whilst sporting your secure, yet manly, ornate headwear. “Quick Mustav! To the cheese-log factory, pronto!” These are just some of the words you may scream with much alcohol-fuelled determination as you ventured forth on your loyal steed. (I would advise against supplying Mustav with his own mule. …He cannot be trusted with quadripeds.)

My, my, my… Just think of all the words of praise that shall be lavished upon you as you make your way confidently through the winding streets; taking care to avoid stepping upon the legless beggars and crippled children that litter the ground like discarded wooden puppets. …Filthy they may be; but remember to show some heart. Hand them a slice of fruit, ripe or otherwise, and be on your way. So grateful will they be of your kind gift, that they will write songs and poetry of you for years to come! (However, do keep in mind that not all of these creatures are capable of such skills with the written word; …some do not even have fingers.)
A little one even managed to wobble forward in an attempt to hug me, I believe, with his outstretched rotting stumps. My faithful donkey put a quick stop to that. (He shall receive a treat with his oats tonight!)
I just do not have the time to stop and converse with every swollen-throated, pygmy freak who wishes to earn a shiny trinket from the handsome, mysterious traveller who happens to be passing by. My quest is important. And time is of the essence… For as my father screamed on his death-bed, “The Mistress of the Clock awaits no man! No matter how handsome I am!” …Hmmm. Truthful words, indeed, Father. Truthful.

I must now provide you with some potentially helpful words of a cautionary nature… If the townsfolk grow restless or slightly irate, and they will, at your constant presence within their community; simply reach for the ‘healing wand of diplomacy’ before you hastily snatch up the ‘spiked prong of conflict’. One must remember to keep a level head and never lose one’s composure and decorum; …no matter what wild accusations they may hurl at you from their rotten-tongued mouths. Believe me, I have heard them all; “Don’t touch that sacred bowl - Don’t eat that berry - Don’t open that tomb - Don’t touch that woman - Where did you get that bowl?” The list goes on and on…
(If all else fails; the good book says nothing against dealing out healthy doses of much-needed justice with the ‘Rifle of Transitional Change’. That’ll bring these wheezing, flesh-lumps to heel, right quick! Before you know it, you’ll have them clapping in time and performing skits for your enjoyment as you grow plump off their produce and enjoy their women! Huzzah!)

For the most part, however, the populace will generally just sit upon their heaped piles of discarded insect husks and stare blankly at their televisions. (These old TV’s are simply broken and unusable sets which have been scavenged by these people over the years from a monumental garbage dump, located many miles away. They say it is protected by a giant snake-woman who can sense fear and dislikes flowers. …I had to beat this information out of a small tribal magician who had a speech impediment. I do not believe his words…but it is still worth the beating… I’ll be washing drool and blood from my silk cuffs for a month now, mind.)
As I was saying; these televisions are located within each mud-walled homestead and are carefully draped in old noodles and a fresh lizard corpse, which is changed daily. As I understand it; they perform this practice, so as to both ‘improve reception’ and ward off evil spirits…which reside within their household radiators.
Which reminds me…
Behind and to the left of the radiator in my second apartment is the precise location in which I discovered, trained and gained the trust of, my late loyal steed and companion, Denholm, the giant tequila-worm.
…May he rest in piece.
I remember it like it was yesterday, ...or 3 years ago, to be precise. I was riding Denholm, with much vigour, through the rolling meadows of the high country; absorbing the lush, green vistas like a visual sponge, and it was at that precise moment that they caught my eye and I thought aloud to myself, “Now, why would those cows be belching flames at this time of year? …Curious, it is indeed…”


...they made me sign some form of legal document. I remember it clearly because the cheap papyrus was brittle to the touch and its typed font hurt my eyes. This simple page was supposed to assure my silence regarding the entire incident. …But the joke is on them, I tell you. For I signed with my left hand.
I use my right hand for general purposes, while I save my left purely for deceitful acts…and some minor cooking here and there. …I just cannot seem to flip an omelette confidently with my right hand.

(Another one of those rants.
This one is just...strange.
Some horrible man swindles his way through some poor tribe in a fantasy land.
I wrote this one on 2/9/05)


Isn’t it confusing the way life seems to lead me in any way it so desires. It never even appears to care about my own feelings. It just does as it bloody-well pleases. HAHAHAHA! That’s right. I understand now. It’s all becoming abundantly clear. My god. I cannot believe that it has taken me this long to unravel the multi-faceted microcosm of baffling moments that we affectionately term as ’life’. Interesting. Why; just the other day I was out having a fairly pleasant and uninterrupted ambulatory journey through the center promenade of my picturesque mountain village. Now you see, I had gotten up exceptionally early that brisk morn’, and for good reason. To be honest, it was a combination of factors that led to the disruption of my ill-fated plans regarding sleeping till the later hours. The first factor being that my weak, low-threshold bladder was straining under its sloshing payload. Relief; …relief was what I desired. …That, and the sweet warm embrace of the suns rays coupled with a freshly baked, plump cinnamon roll. Ah, the goodness. One could not find a more simple pleasure than that. …Well, …of course one could obviously seek out a pleasure of equal status or, perhaps, if one truly applied one’s self, they might be fortunate enough to be blessed by the discovery of an even simpler pleasure, which could yield to the happy participant a level of bliss that would be unparalleled by anything we simple mortals possess upon this barren, desolate, inhospitable, husk of a planet we call home. I like it here. It’s a friendly land in which we all co-exist.

…Where the buggery are my slippers? …Do be quick now, as I’m a man of slight patience. …Ah, splendid. I do indeed like it when everything comes together nicely. It coats my fluffy, well-baked soul with a rich, creamy glaze of happiness and joy. …It is a welcome change from my usual untethered feelings of rage and my insatiable thirst for sweet, milky vengeance against all those who have dared oppose me and any of my ingenious; albeit misunderstood, plans regarding overall global improvement. More geckos in positions of power, I say. That’s right. Let those nay-sayers say ‘nay’. …And rightly so, …lest they be drummed out of the ‘negatively-outspoken-folks’’ union like the secretly positive, fraudulent bastards they are. Trap them in small cages made from bamboo and feed them not sweet, creamy baked-goods but rather a questionable assortment of sweaty meats. That will fix them.

…You there! Yes, you. The one staring at me from that ornate picture frame. Fetch me my satchel! Fetch it at once I say! I wish to go adventuring! Time waits for no man! …Except for he who carries a satisfactory bribe in the eyes of the Great Time-Keeper, …and a staunch old bugger he is. I mean honestly; you offer the gent a perfectly good squid-helmet whose previous owner was an old lady who ate concrete, and he laughs in your face! The gall! The absolute bloody audacity! Needless to say, I was quite taken aback! Bastard. I required one minor favor and he wouldn’t oblige a kind gentleman such as myself. I missed a crucial appointment as a result of his blatant disregard for the well being of his fellow man. He will rue the day! … But worry not. I’ll fix him. While he blissfully slumbers in his cot, I shall release leeches into his wife’s nostrils.
The wheels are in motion.
I can hear them creaking.

RIGHT! Now just hold on a bloody minute! What is the meaning of this! …Come on! Out with it! I demand an explanation, …or at least a colorfully festive fabrication of events that blends a humorous mix of truth and fiction into a dizzying cocktail of entertaining deceit that leaves all involved feeling plump and satisfied. …And it must include a leprous princess and not one, but two, fight sequences involving chain-smoking pixies.

…Well? I’ve got all night people! Don’t be foolish enough to assume that I require sleep! I take a special combination of medicinal herbs and I eat a lot of moths; so do not even attempt to outlast the night against me! …Fools! All of you! Weak-minded fools! You all crowd around, staring into me with your accusing eyes. But I can smell your fear. That’s right! FEAR! …But wait, …what’s that? There is something amiss. One of you is not in attendance. …I can smell them …or rather; I notice the absence of their scent, …that distinctive musk. That damp, fetid aroma that makes me yearn for the long-past days when I was able to suppress my gag reflex. However, that is out of my hands now. I ask you; do you know the discomfort one experiences when one’s fresh, warm vomit lies in one’s lap?
Yes? No? Anyone? Use your hands. Don’t be shy.

…Bah, enough of this. Bring him to me. Now. …I demand it! You know of whom I speak! Stop exchanging blank glances like baboons that have just enlisted in the Colonial Army, and bring him forth! You now fully well! He’s the one who apparently runs this madcap excuse for an institution! Yes! HIM! The one with the limp and the wobbly eye! I wish for a word with him! In fact, I’ve got a FEW words! A veritable ‘word-combination-onslaught’, which will swiftly nullify any chance he held of rebuttal. Tidings of woe, I tell you! That is what I hold for him! Grim tidings of pain and suffering are what I have in store for that louse! HE MUST LEARN OF MY WRATH! …HE MUST BE PROPERLY SCHOOLED IN THE ARTS OF TORMENT AND ANGUISH! I have had quite enough, I say!
However, I warn him…along with the rest of you, if I find another pregnant octopus in my breakfast coffee, …there will be DIRE repercussions. Mark my words…

…Now. Let us move along, shall we? Someone fetch me my saliva-flask and a small wedge of ripe cheese. I’m entertaining a lady of culture this evening…

(I don't know if other writers do this, but I find that sometimes you just need to let it all flow out upon the page.It helps get the wheels turning, y'know?I try not to overthink things and just let my mind take hold of the quill and dance off into the night.
This is what usually happens and it seems that I've a habit of sounding like an insane old man, actually. Bizarre.
I wrote this on 21/5/03)


Probably the worst thing about breaking up…is the reruns.
It’s almost as if your imagination loses the ability to go forward.
To focus on the future.
Embrace the new horizon, if you will.…

None of that.

Instead, your mind will now decide to broadcast an endless supply of reruns from the past. Imagine a veritable back-catalogue of pain and anguish to ever torment you as you mentally roam the aisles of this depressing video-store of memories gone sour. Late-fees are not your concern at this point.

You will be able to enjoy these shows in your own private theatre whenever you close your eyes. And these shows, be they fact or fiction, will continue to play, both day and night, regardless of whatever you may be doing or trying to do.
You may find this unpleasant.
You may find these images distasteful.
You may wish for the picture to fade as you slip into the blissful embrace of sleep.
However, your subconscious does not wish for any change in the current broadcast.
…If anything; your subconscious would like an endless supply of blank tapes with which to record this sordid mental ‘entertainment’.
…For no other episodes draw higher ratings than the ones which feature your respective boyfriend or girlfriend having sex with another person...or persons.
Really well.
Without commercial breaks.

And “WHY?!, you will furiously scream in your own mind, is the volume so much louder on these particular episodes?
Why is the picture so much clearer?
Is the zoom function really necessary?

But alas; do not fret or overly concern yourself if you happen to miss this episode or any others.
The mind is a reliable network.
It will repeat…

(I wrote this a LONG time ago.
Not sure of the exact date.
The day some dame dumps you is not a day one usually highlights in one's mental calendar.


There once lived a great, magnificent Beast named 'Hollywood', that would fill its nights entertaining weary travellers with amazing tales by a warm campfire.

Then one fateful evening; it decided to devour the travellers and steal all of their gold.

Now this Creature simply lurks in the darkness; lights a small fire…and waits.
Hunger and greed; its only companions.

(I wrote this on 3/9/05. I must have just seen a rather disappointing movie.
Now, I understand that showbusiness is a 'business', ...but what the hell happened to the 'show'?These days, the BUSINESS is written with massive, illuminated, flashing neon letters that leave no hope of the show ever being noticed.

Something's gone wrong, folks.)

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

NEW ART: T-Shirt Design

Well, I didn't win the T-Shirt design contest but the piece lives on, y'all.

Enjoy...or throw fistfuls of rotten waste.
Whatever suits your mood.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

NEW ART: Sully

Anybody out there a fan of COMMANDO?
(You should all be shrieking YES.)
If so, then my new piece will please you.


Oh, and my amigos at added it to their fanart gallery. (Just click on the 'Fan Creations' link on the left)
If you enjoy that film, then you MUST stop by.


coraline wallpaper Pictures, Images and Photos

I have just met an amazing young lady.
Her Caroline.
Oops, sorry. CORAline.
A simple mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, and when I am speaking of such high-quality storytelling as Coraline most definitely is; I do not wish to trigger and launch my avalanche of praise with a mere mistake. No matter how simple.
Speaking of mistakes, errors, general oversights or false beliefs; allow me to make one thing remarkably clear:
Coraline will (hopefully) be the film that finally sets all of the misguided souls straight and makes them understand just who it was that directed The Nightmare Before Christmas.
Henry Selick, hand in hand with Coraline, will finally be led out from the dark, musty, shadow of that other guy and into the blinding spotlight where he will receive the long overdue praise that he rightly deserves.

I loved this film.
I thought it was going to be good. I was not expecting it to be amazing.
I'll not spoil the experience for you by laying out the whole plot but I'll just say that Coraline is a young girl who discovers a seemingly perfect alternate world via a tunnel in her new home. If I say any more, plot-wise, I'll be doing you a disservice. Just go and watch the damn thing. It's simply awesome.
I'll also throw in that I love Alice In Wonderland, and this film definitely shares some of the same ingredients. But please know that Selick and Neil Gaiman (who wrote the original novella) have baked a completely different cake with Coraline.
I have to be honest with myself; it's better than Alice In Wonderland...and that's saying a lot coming from me.
It's better than Pan's Labyrinth. (You heard me.)
It's better than Labyrinth. (Sorry, Bowie.)
Coraline has easily taken the crown from these previous works of the 'girl in fantasy world' genre and confidently sits upon the throne as queen.
I do believe she will enjoy a very long reign, indeed.

Alice In Wonderland Pictures, Images and Photos
(Sorry, Alice. Coraline is the better film.)

Coraline is like being in a fantastic dream...but then you wake up and the real world is just as fascinating. This film does not suffer from a condition that I call 'Matrix Syndrome', where the real world within a story is ridiculously bland and tasteless compared to the fantasy realm. This is often the case in tales that involve 2 separate worlds and one can often find themselves saying, “Holy crap. PLEASE return to the magical and interesting postcode.”
Because, really; once you've seen a guy flip off walls and pull an entire catalogue of martial arts moves out of his're really not in the mood to then watch them sit around in a tin the dark...and eat oatmeal or dance in a cave.
For 3 movies.

The Oracle Pictures, Images and Photos
(Stop discussing baking and do a jump kick.)

Thankfully, (for the audience) Coraline's real world is just as intriguing as her 'other' world and there is no sense of dilution or begrudging tolerance whenever we're watching her everyday life.
As soon as the film began...with an unsettling opening credit sequence involving rag-doll senses were locked on a variety of settings ranging from wonder, awe and pure childlike fascination. I marvelled at the stop-mo animation (that still manages to look badass in a market flooded by CG), delighted in the brilliant score (that reminded me of the classic Peter and The Wolf vibe of individual pieces and musical themes for individual characters) and allowed myself to become fully immersed in Coraline's adventures.
...Then something changed.
Coraline, and myself, started to feel...a tad suspicious about things that we were seeing and hearing.
There seemed to be a dark shadow to accompany every light.
There was a bittersweet aftertaste to our surroundings.
Subtle hints popped up like a forced smile or a stuffed octopus playfully saying that it wants to “hug your face”.
...Really, octopus?, suffocate me? Interesting.
It was a sense of foreboding that you couldn't quite latch your fingers around and get a solid grip upon, but it was there.
And it was growing.
I believe that particular unspeakable sense of menace that dwells behind the warm, friendly, candy-scented world is one of the main reasons why this film is so damn exceptional.
If you're gonna make a memorable kids movie, you must accept the darkness.
Just look at old Grimm's fairytales and such. Nice old lady makes a delicious home of candy and baked goods? Yeah? Wonderful.

That bitch wanted to EAT children.

Hansel and Gretel pieces Pictures, Images and Photos
(Bake? She has no arms. Her story is full of holes, kids.)

Hansel and Gretel is a classic, yo. And for good reason.
Stories like that stand the test of time because they have the balls to call it like it is.
The life of a child is not all happiness, naps and sandwiches sans crusts.
There's drama to be found in the playground, folks.
I remember when I was a kid. You believed that there were all kinds of unspeakable shit living within your closet, beneath your bed...and within the old wooden crate in the woods that stunk of old meat and shrieked when you threw rocks at it. Timmy said not to go near it, but what did he know? His mum was a drunk and she screamed at the leaves while raking.


My point is, that generally, the best kinds of children's story, fairytale, junior fiction and so forth that go down in history as classics are the ones that EMBRACE and acknowledge the dark, evil and sinister sides of life that are present at all times...EVEN during childhood.
Coraline is one such story that is undoubtedly destined to become a classic.
Now that a film like this exists, current and future generations of young girls and daughters are going to be able to respond without thinking twice when asked what their favourite film is.

Hell, I'm a 28 year old guy and this film made me feel like I was 13 again. I wanted to hang out with Coraline and explore her new home until we were called in for dinner time.
Then do it all over again.

HIGHLY recommended.