R.I.P. Richard Matheson

Posted on June 24, 2013 by Arleigh

News hit the internet today that legendary author Richard Matheson passed away at the age of 87.

Matheson has been instrumental and influential in horror and dark fantasy pop culture of the 60 or so years. Stephen King and George A. Romero, undoubtedly two of the most recognizable masters of horror of their generation, has called Matheson a major influence in their work. Where would the zombie genre of today be without Matheson’s groundbreaking vampire novel, I Am Legend, which gave Romero the idea to make his Night of the Living Dead. It is also this very same vampire novel whose influence could be seen throughout King’s own classic vampire tale with Salem’s Lot. Even King’s own foray into a zombie novel, Cell, would be dedicated to Matheson.

Yet, Matheson’s influence wouldn’t just be felt in the literary world. He would pen some of the best Twilight Zone episodes and would also provide Roger Corman with screenplay adaptations of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories and novellas. He would also provide Hollywood with screenplays based on his own stories that would become classic horror and dark fantasy films in their own right.

There’s no way to quantify just how many people Richard Matheson has touched and influenced with his work, but one would be hard pressed not to find someone who hasn’t come across something that had Matheson’s fingerprint whether it was one of his stories, films based on his works or a tv episode that he didn’t have a hand in writing. Then there’s those who have seen or read something that had been influenced by his work.

Today the world has lost of the giant’s in his field of work. Yet, as his best known work says as it’s ending, Matheson will survive far longer than he had lived: HE IS LEGEND.

On a personal note, I count Matheson as one of the biggest influences in my life. Everything he has done or touched have had a hand in showing me the power of the written word. Much of what I watch and read has been influenced by his work. Where would horror and dark fantasy be without him to set the path for future writers and filmmakers. Whether they care to admit it or not they, just like myself, owe Richard Matheson a debt of gratitude for work in the field.

A giant of a man has passed into legend and it’s now up to us, his admirers and fans, to continue on his work of providing the world with quality genre entertainment.

Artist Profile: Walter Popp (1920–2002)

Posted on June 24, 2013 by Dazzling Erin

The son of German muralist Gustave Gutgemon, Walter Popp was born in New York and studied art at the New York Phoenix School of Design. After serving in the U.S. Army during World War II, Popp launched his career as a freelance illustrator. Popp began as an illustrator for pulp magazines before moving on to painting paperback covers in the 1950s. He remained active, designing the covers for gothic romance novels, into the 1990s.

A small sampling of his work can be found below.

Anime You Should Be Watching: Toaru Kagaku no Railgun

Posted on June 24, 2013 by pantsukudasai56

Hello again all. Technically I’ve been away for awhile. On the other technical hand, anything anime posted here has been because of me since I am Arleigh’s primary anime supply source. So, since I love taking credit without doing any actual work, yay me for bringing all those great AMVs and other anime recommendations. (Also, don’t believe everything I write, especially in these opening bits since they’re usually alcohol influenced) So, even though it’s my birthday today, I’ll be giving you all the gift of a new anime recommendation, Toaru Kagaku no Railgun, or in English, A Certain Scientific Railgun.

I debated recommending this particular title not because it isn’t any good. It’s a very good title that’s quite worthy of being watched. Rather, this is a spinoff from another franchise, Toaru Majutsu no Index, or A Certain Magical Index, and in explores a character from that show, Misaka Mikoto, more in depth. However, while I feel that this show can be easily enjoyed without having seen the main franchise, at some points it does assume that the viewer has seen Index and is familiar with the world that they both share. In both worlds, certain people are born with special esper powers that grant them certain abilities. The protagonist here, Misaka (her first name is actually Mikoto, but I’ve heard it said the Japanese way of family name first so often that it just sounds better to call her by her last name of Misaka) is one of only seven level 5 espers in Academy City, which is where all people who have the potential to become espers are brought. Her particular talent is manipulating electricity and electromagnetic waves, hence she is often referred to as the Railgun. She often uses this power much the same way you’d expect a 14 year old to use a power like that, rather selfishly, such as zapping soda machines to get free drinks. But even though she often does minor things like that, she is a Level 5, and as such is quite capable of doing large scale things, like even controlling every wind turbine in the city!

One of the big draws to this show is definitely the humor, and Misaka’s roommate Kuroko brings a lot of that. Kuroko is a Level 4 esper, so while not quite as powerful as Misaka, she’s still plenty strong in her own right. Her ability is teleportation, not only of her self but of anyone or anything she touches. Kuroko also has a bit of an unhealthy obsession with Misaka. She goes about showing her love in some rather, well, here is a fine example:

And that’s fairly mild, for Kuroko. Yes, she’s that kind of girl, but she is capable of getting serious since this show isn’t all about comedy. In fact, it gets downright dark, especially with the Sisters Arc in the second season. Even events in the first season aren’t all fun and games, but there is certainly a lot more comedy in that one than the second. The first season also see a lot more of two characters who are I believe exclusive to the Railgun series, Uiharu and Saten. They both get a good amount of screen time during the Level Upper Arc, while Misaka takes a bit of a back seat for some of that and their characters are fleshed out more than you’d expect from supporting characters. Saten and Uiharu are also responsible for another of the running gags in the show, where Saten can’t seem to start her day without giving Uiharu a skirt flip.

At its heart though, it definitely gives off more of an action vibe than a pure comedy one, so if juvenile humor isn’t your thing, there’s plenty of other stuff to enjoy, like watching Kuroko use her teleportation abilities to warp spikes at people, or Misaka showing why you shouldn’t piss off a level 5 electromaster. Once you get a feel for the world they’re in, the show is very accessible to anyone, but there are also plenty of little nods to the Index world that fans of both can get a lot of enjoyment out of them too. If you like action, drama, and comedy, then this is the anime for you. If not, then I suppose go watch K-ON. But I’ll tell you this much, K-ON doesn’t have scenes like this!

And I think we can all agree, that that’s just a crying shame.

Why I Hate Bubba Watson

Posted on June 24, 2013 by necromoonyeti

I have two major hobbies: music and sports. I only tend to write about the former because frankly, I have no idea what it’s like to be an athlete. Aside from some peewee baseball and my Army training, I can’t say I’ve ever physically exerted myself for reasons other than a paycheck. I love watching sports for the suspense and the statistics; I don’t pretend to know the game better than any of the players and coaches actually involved. It is with that in mind that I’d rather not pass judgement on Bubba Watson’s controversial comments to his caddie over the weekend. For those of you unfamiliar with the headlining golf gossip of the week, Watson headed to the 16th on Sunday with a two stroke lead and then managed to triple-bogey and blow the tournament. With all cameras pointed his direction, he appeared to criticize his caddie for one bad shot after another rather than accepting blame for his mistakes. Were his complaints legitimate? Probably not. He’d already played the par 3 16th three times that week, scoring two pars and a birdie. I would hope a professional at his level knew what to expect without relying on his assistant to make the calls for him. But I don’t play golf; I just watch it obsessively. Maybe his caddie really did cost him the tournament; or more realistically, maybe the media, riding off Sergio Garcia’s fried chicken comment, was desperate to create ratings-boosting controversies out of nothing. He is probably only guilty of forgetting that the cameras were rolling while venting his general frustration over a series of shots that cost him more than $800,000.

But let the pundits sling their mud, because I hate Bubba Watson’s guts. When he beat out Louis Oosthuizen at the 2012 Masters, I practically fell into a depression. There is always a bittersweet feeling when unrepentant athletes with substantial skeletons in their closets achieve the ultimate goal in sports, but at least no one thinks Kobe Bryant or Ray Lewis are good guys. Watson is different. Not only is he the biggest asshole in sports to have never killed somebody or beat his wife, but he has convinced a sizable fan base that he is the ideal Christian role model.

Bubba wants you to know that he “loves Jesus and loves sharing his faith”. It’s the very first line on his official website’s “Who is Bubba Watson” section. Moreover, “Bubba and his wife, Angie [sic] are committed Christians who share a passion for philanthropy and dedicate as much time as possible to giving back.” At every turn in Bubba’s career, he is careful to remind the media of his faith and philanthropy. He tells us through social media. He tells us in press conferences. He tells us in private interviews. Most athletes talk about “giving back” at some point; it’s PR 101. But Bubba wants you to know that he’s not just your average athlete philanthropist. No, his entire life is a service to Jesus Christ and his good word. Let us count the ways.

Bubba Watson adopted a child. He gave some poor Chinese girl about to be drowned in a river, or maybe some AIDs-ridden Nigerian teen, a shot at a good life, right? Oh, never mind. He adopted a one month old white male when his wife couldn’t get pregnant. You know, the sort of kid you have to go on a years-long waiting list to acquire, because every rich white asshole who can’t produce an heir wants one.

Bubba Watson places his family first, even at the expense of his tour schedule. That’s what he told us when he canceled his May tour dates, including the prestigious Players Championship, after winning the Masters last year. He wanted to be there for his little Caleb, and teach him how a responsible, caring a dad ought to act. He’s got his priorities straight, unlike those other pros. Now Caleb will have lots of great memories of his dad being there for him when he was… two or three months old? Yeah, it’s regarded as highly unprofessional in golf to take a month off just because you “feel like it”, but so what? Bubba had just banked $1,440,000 and accomplished the greatest goal in professional sports: he won a championship. Instead of just ignoring the petty media buzz over his vacation, he twisted it in his mouth and in his mind into some sort of charitable expression of Christian values. Give me a goddamn break. Phil Mickelson showed up to the U.S. Open jetlagged this year because he flew over night from his daughter’s graduation in San Diego, and the only reason the media made a big deal about it was because it’s Phil and he almost won anyway. He–like the majority of PGA tour members–knew how to responsibly balance his personal and professional priorities, and he never bragged about it. All Phil proved is that he’s a good father. He never suggested he was better than all the other good fathers out there. Bubba took a month off to party and celebrate his own accomplishments–that much is arguably tasteless but fine–and then he intentionally projected it as though this made him the PGA’s ultimate family man.

Bubba Watson raised over one million dollars for charity this year, through a combination of donations and his own earnings. Charitable giving ought to be expected, since, according to Bubba Watson, “Bubba’s character exemplifies the strength and humility it takes to succeed in life.” But what athlete doesn’t donate a little to charity? What has Bubba done towards this end that somehow gives him more bragging rights than the rest of them? Is it the fact that he does it with God on his side, whereas the others are just decent human beings? Bubba just loves to talk about what a humble guy he is–as long as the topic is distanced from his boasts about wearing a $500,000 watch (did I just say a $500,000 watch?…) and driving the original Dukes of Hazzard General Lee stunt car. Hey, I’d live large if I was a celebrity or sports star too, but I don’t think I’d brag about following the teachings of Jesus while doing so. I mean, I don’t read or believe in the Bible, but I’ve never seen anyone quote that passage where Jesus talks about the virtue of investing the vast majority of your earnings into frivolous social status symbols.

Bubba Watson donates for breast cancer research. That’s cool. He also donates to a military veterans service for wounded Green Berets. I’ve got no personal issue with that, though I think Jesus was a pacifist. But here’s what I really love: he donates to The City Church. I don’t know how familiar the average, non-psychopathic American is with non-denominational Christian mission organizations, but I grew up surrounded by them. They’re absolutely traumatizing brain-washing centers where you are taught at a young and volatile age that all of your friends and family will suffer terribly if you aren’t prepared to die as a martyr for their salvation. You learn all about how America ruthlessly persecutes Christians (i.e. non-denominational Christians, because anyone who acknowledges multiple interpretations of Christianity is clearly misguided and requires your guidance for salvation), how homosexuals, feminists, environmentalists, socialists, non-Christians, and really most Christians too–basically anyone who doesn’t watch Fox News–are corrupting God’s kingdom and distorting his values, and how only you have been entrusted by God with “the truth” and the power to fight back. Stellar fucking stuff; the real “Onward Christian Soldier” mentality. I have enough personal experience to recognize by browsing that website exactly what Bubba’s “charitable donations” are going towards. But it comes as no shock to me. It’s entirely in keeping with everything else the man does.

Bubba Watson is not afraid to speak out against corruption and evil when he sees it! Why, at the Alstom Open de France in 2011, when his classy 5-star hotel had the nerve to pollute his room with bottles of vintage wine, he dumped them out his window and let the world know about it. When the crowd heckled him the next day, he did not back down from righteousness! He bravely announced his total disgust with European culture and refused to return to any future European Tour event. (Except the Open Championship of course; he can make a lot of money there and maybe buy a second watch.)

Athletes and celebrities can do whatever they want with their earnings. While I think some of the charities he supports are better branded as dangerous hate groups, there is nothing fundamentally wrong with the majority of his actions. But Bubba adamantly insists–and adamantly believes–that he is the most humble and charitable man in golf. He’s the 21st century version of a white supremacist piece of shit, and quite possibly the most egotistical, self-righteous bigot on the PGA Tour. And did I mention he has openly criticized Tiger Woods for not setting a good example?

Finally! It’s time for Six More Trailers!

Posted on June 23, 2013 by Lisa Marie Bowman

It’s been about two weeks since our last edition of Lisa Marie’s Favorite Grindhouse and Exploitation Film Trailers. Personally, I blame the trailer kitties! It’s difficult to find good help nowadays, especially when your help insists on sleeping for 12 hours a day.

However, despite taking way too long to do so, the trailer kitties have returned with six more trailers!

1) Sex Kittens Go To College (1960)

2) Girls Town (1959)

3) Vice Raid (1960)

4) Gun Girls (1956)

5) The Cool and the Crazy (1958)

6) Common Law Wife (1963)

What do you think, Trailer Kitty?

Trash TV Guru : “Skywire Live With Nik Wallenda”

Posted on June 23, 2013 by Ryan C. (fourcolorapocalypse)

Okay, I’m gonna step waaaaaayyyy out of my usual “comfort zone” as a self-appointed critic here — and probably step in it, quite literally, with some points I’m going to make about what the over-two-hours-in-length self-promotional, self-congratulatory pablum I just watched on the Discovery Channel, Skywire Live With Nik Wallenda — says about our society in general and our collective taste in television programming, but what the hell? I’m in the mood to piss off a lot of folks who deserve to have their delicate sensibilities prodded at worst, completely shattered at best, so here we go.

First off, Nik Wallenda , an umpteenth-generation daredevil and great-grandson of the legendary Karl Wallenda, has balls of brass. He just walked across a 1,400-foot gorge that’s over 1,500 feet high on a fucking cable. It was incredible. It was an amazing feat I couldn’t undertake if the lives of myself and everyone I loved depended on it. Bravo, sir. That was some genuinely incredible stuff and I tip my cap to you with all the respect in the world. I’m not here to denigrate your amazing accomplishment, in and of itself, in any way, shape, or form. Unfortunately, the show that featured your breathtaking, heart-stopping, courageous, death-defying performance was complete shit. And a lot of that, Nik, is your own fault.

That’s because you allowed yourself, I’m guessing quite willingly, to be used. By a ratings-hungry cable network, a shove-it-down-your-throat segment of Evangelical Christianity (not that there’s really much of a mellow, “live-and-let-live” contingent among that bunch), your own fame-starved ego, and the American public’s passive-aggressive thirst to see our idols brought low at any cost — even and especially if it means their death.

Taking those culprits for this show’s demise, then, in order : obviously there are a lot of worthless channels on the tube competing for our attention right now, but few are are as openly hypocritical and shamelessly self-aggrandizing as Discovery. During the numerous commercial breaks that peppered the interminable, 90-plus-minute lead-up to Wallenda’s actual walk itself hosted by low-rent presenters Natalie Morales and Willie Geist (go on, say it with me — “whoever the fuck they are”), which was every bit as hype-inflated as the Super Bowl pregame and loaded with obviously staged “candid interviews” with Wallenda and his family and “actual behind-the-scenes footage” of his training (that just happened to include a shot of him parking a Mitsubishi car and Mitsubishi just happened to be the main sponsor of Skywire Live), they kept pimping the show debuting right after, Naked And Afraid, a “reality” program that apparently drops an overweight, middle-aged couple into the middle of the jungle with no clothes, no food, and no dignity, and dares them to survive. Real classy stuff. And this from a network that still tries to pretend to specialize in educational programming? Please. Discovery is a channel featuring lowest-of-the-lowest-common-denominator shows that are developed by greedy, shameless executives and watched and enjoyed by stupid people. Rumor has it that not only was Wallenda’s walk not over the Grand Canyon as advertised (actually, that’s not a rumor — it took place on Navajo Land along the Colorado River that, frankly, isn’t part of the Grand Canyon, and the local tribal chief is apparently quite pissed about the network constantly referring to his area as being something it’s not), but that he had a light-weight emergency parachute hidden under his shirt in case he fell. I actually hope that’s true, because I like to think that there’s enough humanity left in the assholes that make these shows to at least not want to see their star performers get killed, although that same promise of potential death seems to be at the crux of Naked And Afraid‘s apparent “appeal,” as well. But more on that in a minute.

Next up, the Christians. Despite Wallenda’s wife insisting that her husband’s main goal with this spectacular stunt was too — yawn — “inspire other people to follow their dreams,” it’s quite clear that what he was really trying to do was promulgate his religious faith, and make a boat-load of money in the process. You’d think a guy in his position would be doing everything he could to keep the amount of weight he was balancing on that cable to a minimum, but he wore a heavy, dangling silver cross around his neck, thanked Jesus with every step he took and God with every fourth or fifth step, and indulged in some of the most purple, over-the-top, nauseating proclamations of faith you could imagine. “Dear sweet Jesus whose precious blood sanctified us all and in whose honor and glory I move forward across this gorge, please, I beg in your holy name, make these winds rising from the canyon floor die down and carry me across in safety to the other side so I can give you all the credit for the work that I’m out here doing” isn’t exactly a verbatim quote from Wallenda, but it may as well be. And did you happen to notice the not-exactly-camera-shy televangelist phony Joel Osteen on hand to pray with Nik, his wife, and his kids just before he went across? Of course you did, a snake like Osteen wouldn’t be there otherwise. It seems a little bit weird that a guy of Wallenda’s background — who uses his mother’s last name rather than his dad’s, a most non-traditional way of keeping the famous family name going , and who grew grew up in the ribald world of carny performers — would throw his lot in with repressive, right-wing Bible-thumpers, but that certainly appears to be the case . You’ll find less overt religiosity in any given episode of the fucking 700 Club than there was on Skywire Live.

And yet, for all the talk of wanting to give the “praise and glory” for his achievement to his “lord and savior,” Wallenda sure seemed to enjoy stroking his own ego, as well. Every one of the completely scripted “interviews” with his family before he actually hit the high-wire was a puff-piece designed to portray our ostensible hero in the most glowing — dare I say radiant — light, and when he did finally begin his perilous crossing, he first insisted that he just wanted to ‘quit talking” and be alone with his thoughts , before duly proceeding to to yak (and, as we’ve already established, preach) to the camera the entire twenty-plus-minute duration of his trek. He complained of being thirsty when he was finished. Gee, wonder why that would be?

Finally, we need to focus some of the blame for this debacle not on its star, nor his hangers-on, nor his network bosses, but on ourselves. We watched Wallenda’s tight-rope act, at least in part, to see what would happen not if he made it, but if he didn’t. Just like the folks who are really watching NASCAR hoping to see a fiery and fatal crash. Or who are watching an NFL to see a gruesome, career-ending injury. Or who are watching Naked And Afraid to see the couple starve to death or be eaten by wild animals (another thing Discovery would, presumably, never allow to actually happen, at least for legal, if not moral, reasons). At least in the Roman gladiatorial arena they were upfront about why the crowds were there, but these days we don’t have the guts to look at ourselves that closely and honestly. There’s something deeply flawed within the human mind, or heart, or soul, or wherever it is, that the supposed blood of Nik Wallenda’s supposed savior can’t fix — in fact, the very notion that we think we need some poor schmuck’s blood to save us from anything (well, okay, specifically to save us from ourselves) is just further proof of what I’m talking about. We feel that the death of another somehow not only justifies our existence, but even more perversely sanctifies it. I’m no saint. I’m a flawed, contradictory, complex, perhaps even entirely unfathomable human being. And so are you. There’s no way that somebody’s demise is gonna change that and somehow make us “pure” — whether that somebody is Nik Wallenda, John F. Kennedy, Dale Earnhardt or Jesus Christ. We may desperately want to think that seeing someone of great accomplishment die a very public and spectacular death somehow “proves” that we’r every bit as good and worthy as they are, but honestly, folks — that was never in doubt. Nik Wallenda puts his pants on one leg at a time just like you and me. He doesn’t need to die to prove that, and his “savior” — whether real or imagined, which is another debate for another time — didn’t need to die to prove it to him. Can we please just grow the fuck up as a species and leave all this blood sacrifice bullshit behind us one and for all? Countless “living gods” and heroes of one stripe or another have either mythically or actually sacrificed themselves for us by this point, and we’re still the same sorry-ass bunch as ever. This whole “purification by blood” thing just ain’t working. Can’t we try something else?

Well, no, apparently we can’t. Not as long as there are TV networks willing to tease the possibility of death in order to grab ratings, and not as long as there are people willing to prostitute out their talents to said networks for that purpose. Wallenda can pray with Joel Osteen to find any other angle on why people were watching his show tonight all he wants to, but the ugly truth of the matter is that lots of folks were secretly hoping to see him perish, and 2,000-plus years of the kind of Jesus-freaking he was doing tonight haven’t changed that fact. It’s said that every society gets the monsters it deserves, and while Nik Wallenda hardly qualifies as a monster by any stretch of the imagination, his show tonight — and all its ilk — are definitely monstrosities that exploit the darkest recesses or our human nature, stoke them to a fever pitch, and make suckers of us all. They pervert even the most astonishing feats and twist them into something cheap, ugly, degrading, and degraded. And we respond by loving every minute of it and lining up for more.

What Lisa Marie Watched Last Night #84: Jodi Arias: Dirty Little Secret (dir by Jace Alexander)

Posted on June 23, 2013 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Last night, I turned over to Lifetime and I watched the world premiere of Jodi Arias: Dirty Little Secret.

Why Was I Watching It?

If you know me then you know that I can’t resist a trashy Lifetime film. And could anything be trashier than a film about Jodi Arias?

What Was It About?

The film is based on the true story of the most hated woman in America. Mentally unstable fake blonde Jodi Arias (Tania Raymonde) meets motivational speaker Travis Alexander (Jesse Lee Sofer) and eventually becomes obsessed with him. Finally, Jodi goes back to her natural hair color and, in a disturbingly graphic scene, murders Travis.

What Worked?

In the role of Jodi Arias, Tania Raymonde (who is probably best known for playing Ben’s daughter on Lost) gave a genuinely unsettling performance. Not only did Raymonde look a lot like Jodi but she was convincingly crazy as well.

What Did Not Work?

Honestly, this film left me feeling incredibly icky. Does Jodi Arias really deserve to have a film made about her?

Perhaps I would have felt differently if the film had provided any sort of psychological insight into either Jodi or Travis (who remains a cipher for the majority of the film). However, the film is content to just reenact all of the sordid details that we’ve already heard about. The end result is a film that’s occasionally watchable but ultimately disappointing.

“Oh my God! Just like me!” Moments

I refuse to acknowledge seeing any “Just like me!” moments while watching a movie about Jodi Arias. Judging from the response on twitter to this movie, I was not alone in this. For the most part, people seemed to be watching specifically so they could point out how little they had in common with Jodi Arias. Perhaps that’s the true appeal of films like this, the chance to say, “I may be fucked up but at least I’m not Jodi Arias!”

Okay, I will admit that, much like the film version of Jodi Arias, I believe that dancing can be a great tool of seduction and emotional expression.

However, judging from the moves displayed in this movie, I’m a much better dancer.

Lessons Learned

I’ll watch just about anything that’s on Lifetime.

Review: True Blood 6.2 “The Sun” (dir by Daniel Attias)

Posted on June 23, 2013 by Lisa Marie Bowman

After last week’s anemic season premiere, I have to admit that I was a bit worried about the direction of season 6 of True Blood. I watched that episode and I thought to myself, “I don’t want to have to spend an entire season with Bill acting weird, Eric not having sex with Sookie, and Jason chasing around Rutger Hauer.”

What a difference a week can make!

Tonight’s episode was a return to form for True Blood. Tonight’s episode reminded me of what made me fall in love with this show in the first place. In short, tonight’s episode was True Blood the way I wanted it to be.

It helps that this episode featured a lot of Eric acting like Eric. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

First off, tonight’s biggest revelation was that, despite what he said last week, Rutger Hauer is not Warlow. Instead, he’s Sookie and Jason’s faerie grandfather and he’s specifically come to help Sookie defeat Warlow.

And I have to say that this is brilliant casting. We, as viewers, have been so conditioned to automatically view Rutger Hauer as a villain that it’s actually surprisingly refreshing to see him playing a good guy and Hauer seems to be having a lot of fun with the role.

Anyway, Grandpa explains to Sookie and Jason that Warlow is obsessed with the Stackhouse family, specifically because the Stackhouses are actual royalty (making Sookie into a literal faerie princess). However, Grandpa explains, Sookie can defeat Warlow by harnessing all of her light and literally going supernova. The only side effect is that Sookie can only do this once and she’ll no longer be a faerie after doing so. Sookie, who spent most of last season trying to deplete all of her power, immediately starts practicing harnessing her light.

And that’s probably a good idea because Warlow is already in Bon Temps.

Speaking of Sookie, before she meets her grandfather, she meets another faerie. This one is named Ben (Rob Kazinsky) and when Sookie comes across him, he’s lying on the ground after being attacked by vampires. Sookie nurses him back to health and it becomes obvious that the two of them are attracted to each other. I have to admit that I groaned a little when Ben showed up. It’s not that Rob Kazinsky isn’t cute, because he is. And it’s not that he and Anna Paquin don’t have a lot of chemistry because they do. However, Ben is not Eric. For that matter, he’s not even Bill.

Speaking of Bill, he began tonight by going into a catatonic state and he remained that way for most of the episode, despite the best efforts of Jessica to wake him up. At one point, Jessica even brought in a hilariously trashy prostitute named Veronica so that Bill could feed. Even in his catatonic state, Bill still ended up graphically drawing out every drop of blood from her body.

While catatonic, Bill has a vision where he stands in the middle of sun-drenched field and talks to Lillith. Lillith explains that Bill’s purpose is to save all the vampires from destruction. The scenes between Bill and Lillith were perfectly filmed and acted, with an obvious emphasis being put on the fact that the bright sun was effecting Bill and Lillith not at all. When Bill finally does wake up, he tells Jessica that he can now see the future.

And what is that future?

Every vampire in Bon Temps being herded into a stark, white room where, once the roof opens up, they are all burned to death by the sun.

Meanwhile, Eric has also taken it upon himself to try to prevent the future that Bill has seen. Eric sneaks into the Governor’s mansion, confronts the governor, and attempts to hypnotize him. The Governor (and have I mentioned how much I love Arliss Howard’s villainous performance) responds by laughing. It turns out that the Governor is wearing special contact lenses that make it impossible for him to be hypnotized.

After managing to escape the Governor’s armed guards, Eric tracks down the Governor’s daughter, Wilma. In a nicely gothic touch, Wilma looks out her bedroom window and sees Eric floating outside her window. Eric asks for permission to enter and she gives it.

And seriously, who wouldn’t?

I got so caught up with the vampires tonight that I nearly forgot that some pretty important things happened to Sam as well. I always feel bad for Sam because he literally cannot catch a break and tonight was not any different. First off, he found himself being harassed by Nicole, a political activist from L.A. who wants Sam to come out publicly as a shape shifter. (I have to admit that I have a sinking feeling that, with Luna dead, Nicole is going to become Sam’s new love interest. I’m not looking forward to this development because Nicole is kind of self-righteous and annoying.) Then, Sam ended up getting beaten up by Alcide, who has taken it upon himself to make sure that Emma is raised among the werewolves.

Seriously — bad Alcide!

I loved tonight’s episode. If last week’s premiere felt like True Blood fan fiction, The Sun felt like true True Blood. Hopefully, the rest of Season 6 will follow its example.

Random Thoughts and Observations:

Unofficial Scene Count: 53
That precredits sequence with Warlow appearing on the bridge was pretty effective, I thought.
Rutger Hauer deserves an Emmy for his delivery of the line “I am your fucking faerie grandfather.”
Alexander Skargard is so hot and sexy! Oh. My. God.
The sudden appearance of Patrick’s wife reminded me of how much I disliked last season’s Iraqi smoke monster subplot.
I’m sure that the writers of True Blood meant for the Governor to come across as some sort of right-wing boogeyman but, to be honest, he reminds me more of our current President.
I love the way Jason got so excited when he said, “That makes me a faerie prince!”
It’s interesting to note that both True Blood and the Walking Dead feature a villain called “The Governor.”
“They attacked the Chuck E. Cheese yesterday.”
“You’re not going to read me my rights?” “You don’t have no rights, vampire.” “Well, that’s not nice.”
The performers on True Blood never get enough credit. Tonight’s standout was Deborah Ann Woll. Jessica’s episode ending prayer is definitely the highlight of the season so far.

Ten Years #42: Burzum

Posted on June 23, 2013 by necromoonyeti

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSa4wFaynho

Decade of last.fm scrobbling countdown:
42. Burzum (756 plays)
Top track (42 plays): Key to the Gate, from Det Som Engang Var (1993)

I remember watching some comedy in the early 90s where a cave man frozen in ice gets thawed out and has to adapt to life in modern Los Angeles. I don’t really remember any details about it, except that it was bad. This has pretty much been Varg Vikernes’s fate since being released from prison in 2009, and no one ought to feel the least bit sorry for him. Varg ultimately made his name known through his crimes, not his music, but he used to deliver a sound to match. There is a tinge of the deranged in classic Burzum. Albums like Det Som Engang Var carry such a lasting appeal because they simultaneously capture the pagan spirit of early 1990s black metal and the air of madness that overtook the scene, landing many of its participants in coffins or jail. Varg’s first new recording after his release, Belus, was sufficiently better than anyone expected to open the door for a potential second chance at a successful musical career. But after more than a decade with no means to record, Varg let his longing for creative expression take him, pumping out five new albums in the four years that followed with little quality control, coupled with an endless sea of writings. The overwhelming majority of this material was ho-hum, and for any other aging artist this would be fine. Plenty of other later-career heavy metallers have earned sufficient respect in their younger years to maintain a fan base as their capacity for greatness dwindled. Plenty of revolutionary thinkers have maintained a right to social commentary extending beyond their original mode of expression. But no one respects Varg Vikernes nor views him as a revolutionary, and no one really should. In spite of the quality of his early albums, he remained rightly subject to criticism, leaving prison to run head first into a sea of high expectations and further demands for proof of talent. He failed to rise to the occasion, and now no one cares. He is busy writing treatises and filming documentaries that no one will ever grant the time of day. He is chugging out album after album that most of us will never bother listening to. Sorry Count Grishnackh. It is too late for your opinions to ever matter.

We can certainly continue to derive enjoyment from select Burzum material while rolling our eyes at any mention of its creator, but for me Varg is a bit of a disappointment. Black metal is something of the thinking man’s sledgehammer–a genre which oddly entangles disgust for intellectualism with ideas which require a great deal of formal dialogue to express in other-than-artistic ways. But if the fault lines of egotism render my favorite forms of music necessarily esoteric, I have always preserved the hope that some musician might have something intelligent to say about it. Varg runs his mouth ceaselessly, and I think it a shame that nothing substantive has ever come out of it. No one has ever been in a greater position to serve as the spokesman for the genre than Varg Vikernes, granted for all of the wrong reasons. The murder of Euronymous and Varg’s outrageous, self-incriminating comments which followed propelled him to a level of stardom that his music alone could have never achieved. Sure, he was entirely at odds with the genre; he could never, unlike artists such as Ihsahn, point to unlawful actions in the early 90s scene as an immature expression of an entirely justifiable state of mind. But he had the one thing no other black metal artist could hope to achieve: extensive public attention beyond his niche genre.

I guess I hoped that more than 15 years in prison would have given him the opportunity to grow up a little. I thought maybe he would fess up to having been a dumb-shit teenager who ruined the Norwegian scene by letting his emo jealousy of Euronymous get in the way of his commitment to its values. I thought he might very carefully and very professionally take his time crafting an outstanding album as proof that he was moving on to bigger and better things. Belus succeeded in buying time, but Fallen and the works that followed proved beyond a doubt that the dumb-shit teenager was nothing more than an educated, bearded, dumb-shit adult. He never acknowledged his debt to metal–and his potential for adding a substantial new flame to a musical movement that has since rapidly left him in the dust. In short, it irks me that a man of so many words, once returned to the spotlight in 2009, had so little to say and show for it. Nevertheless, classic Burzum has stood the test of time and remains a quintessential example of the sound that swept Scandinavia in the early 1990s and continues to influence countless bands today.

What Lisa Watched Last Night #83: Degrassi S12 E39 & 40 “The Time Of My Life”

Posted on June 22, 2013 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Last night, I watched the 12th season finale of my favorite Canadian show, Degrassi.

Why Was I Watching It?

Because it was Degrassi, of course! As if you had to ask!

What Was It About?

Another school year has ended and it’s time for the senior class of everyone’s favorite Toronto high school to graduate and get on with their lives.

However, while everyone else is enjoying prom and graduation, a few of the show’s longtime couples have to work through a few issues.

Imogen tries to sabotage her girlfriend Fiona’s attempt to get an internship with a famous Italian designer. Imogen does this by pretending to be Fiona and insulting the designer. The designer decides that he wants nothing to do with Fiona but then Imogen has a change of heart, apologizes, and the designer turns out to be the most forgiving guy on the planet.

Meanwhile, Eli and Clare are still broken up but not for long. On prom night, Clare finally loses her virginity but it also appears that she might now have leukemia because that’s the way things work when you’re a student at Degrassi…

What Worked?

Yay! Season 12 is finally over! Seriously, I’ve been watching Degrassi since it started and I’ve always appreciated its unique combination of over-the-top melodrama, self-reflexive humor, and Canadian manners. However, Season 12 was perhaps the worst in the series history and now, it’s finally over! Now, we can look forward to season 13 with a whole new group of seniors and incoming niners and we can hope that we won’t have to deal with any more storylines about hockey or politically-themed musical theater productions.

On another note, Degrassi has always been pretty good at capturing the excitement of things like prom and graduation. The show has always understood how important these rituals are when you’re a teenager and, to its credit, it’s never taken the condescending approach that you find in so many other shows about teenagers. If you didn’t get emotional watching all the graduating students singing at the end of last night’s episode, then you just don’t have a soul.

What Did Not Work?

I’m tempted to say that, since this was Degrassi, it all worked. However, I do have an issue with this episode and the show in general.

Degrassi has a really bad habit of dealing with the fact that everyone eventually has to leave high school by randomly having otherwise intelligent characters mysteriously flunk all their classes and end up having to retake a grade or two. The most famous example of this was the popular character of Spinner, who eventually managed to graduate at the age of 26. In Spinner’s case, however, it wasn’t that big a deal because everyone knew Spinner was an idiot. However, in the years since Spinner finally graduated (and somehow ended up married to Emma — don’t even get me started on that), more and more Degrassi students have ended up having to repeat a grade.

What’s odd is that no one ever seem to be that upset about being held back and nobody seems to suffer any sort of unfortunate consequences from having to repeat a grade. In fact, Fiona Coyne was last night’s valedictorian despite the fact that this was her second attempt to complete her senior year. Seriously, what does this say about Canada’s education system?

Anyway, this season, Imogen somehow managed to fail all of her classes and, therefore, did not get to graduate and will be back next season. Unlike a lot of Degrassi fans, I actually like Imogen but I still find it hard to believe that she would not only fail all of her classes but that she would also be so accepting of the prospect of having to spend another year in high school. I mean, I loved high school but, if you told me that I had to stay a year longer than planned, you would have seen one angry little redhead.

“Oh my God! Just like me!” Moments

One difference between previous seasons of Degrassi and this latest season has been that this season had a definite lack of just like me moments. While Degrassi has always been melodramatic, season 12 saw it get rather preachy and didactic as well.

So, really, about the only thing I could relate to was the fact that I had fun at my prom too. I also sang at my graduation but, unlike the Degrassi grads, I was asked to stop.

Lessons Learned

In Canada, you don’t just get a diploma for showing up. You’re expected to pass your classes as well.