On the previous Halloween blog, I claimed Silence of the Lambs as the best horror movie of all time. Since then, I've watched, again, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Here is the case for TCM being the best horror movie ever.
1. It starts creepy, stays creepy, ends creepy. From the start, with flashbulb shots of decomposing body parts, high strings and clashing cymbols soundtrack and shot of the sun as an object of forboding instead of comfort, TCM creates an atmosphere of creepyness and uncomfortableness that grabs you and doesn't let go. The disturbing images, music and, of course, plot, continue throughout. And we end with the classic shot of Leatherface dancing in the street waving his chainsaw around and the girl's eyes that glimmer with insanity.
2. It's scary, but mostly disturbing. There are moments in TCM that make you jump and scream and grab on to the person next to you. But, most of all, you can't get it out of your head. It disturbs you, disrupts your sleep, ruins road trips. Case in point: yes, the first time Leatherface jumps into frame, hits the guy over the head, drags him back and that great stainless steal door slides shut, you jump and scream in fright. But, the image of mostly-dead Grandpa sucking the cut finger of the protaginist, the couch made of bones or even the watch with a nail through hanging from the tree get stuck in your head and don't come out.
3. The filmmaker, Tobe Hooper, trusts in the capacity of the audience's imagination. You see the hook, you see Leatherface pick the girl up, but you don't see the hook go in. You see the chainsaw move toward the gut of the person, but you don't see the cuts being made. You don't need to; your imagination will come up with something worse than the director could show you. (Hostel, Saw, I'm looking at you!)
4. The girl gets away. She is not saved by anyone, she doesn't save anyone herself (like Jessica Biel saving the baby in the remake), she just gets away. Sure, she's completely driven insane by her experience. But, sometimes that's all we can ask , just to get away with our lives. And there's no stupid set up for a sequal, just a girl in a truck and a maniac dancing in the street with a chainsaw.
Thus, with its reliance on the deep dark disturbing recesses of our own imaginations and its creepy-crawly mood, from images to camera work to music, Texas Chainsaw Massacre could be the best horror movie ever!
Pleasant Dreams, B
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.`'
Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door
-Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`'
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.
'Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."
'But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Happy Halloween, Brad
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.`'
Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door
-Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating`'
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.
'Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."
'But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Happy Halloween, Brad
Monday, October 13, 2008
Are You Scared?
What makes a great horror movie? The antagonist? The protagonist? The make-up effects? The music? The answer is yes.
I love horror movies. I'm not quite an afficionado, but I know my stuff. So, in honor of Halloween, the wonderful time of year when even American Movie Classics plays Friday the 13th 4, the one that Jason isn't even in and the killer is actually Cory Feldman (what?), here's my offering of horror movie rules, winners and losers.
There's basically three types of horror movies: nightmare inducing, movie-theater-scream-inducing and vomit inducing. The all have their merits and their crown jewells. For my money, the nightmare inducing horror flick is the best. The villian you see in your dreams for weeks after watching is better than getting scared a few times in the theater by a villian you barely remember.
For years, the golden age, the nightmare genre ruled. In the 90s, Scream ushered in a new era of the, well, scream-inducing movies. And the 2000s gave us the wonder of Saw that introduced the bile-moving horror flicks. With every good revolution comes backlash of course: punk movement gave us Good Charlette, Nirvana led to, ugh, Puddle of Mudd. And Saw, an excellent horror movie, led us to the point of watching plotless, gruesome torture movies. Sitting in a theater watching a man get castrated, by rusty scissors OR vagina dentata (see Teeth), is not scary, its gross.
No, my friends, I am a traditionalist. Its the movies that get into your head, that haunt your dreams, that are true horror movies. They may not be "scary" in the theater, you may not jump out of your seat and grab your seatmates arm in shock, but you can't get them out of your head. Reagen in the Exorcist, Michael Myers in Halloween, Jack Torrence in the Shining. These are the faces I see in my nightmares. Not the goofy knife-weilding killer from Scream.
Alright, my argument for the best horror movie of all time: Silence of the Lambs. Not a horror movie. Bullshapoopi. Sure, there's no ghosts, no zombies, no monsters, nothing supernatural at all. But, sit down by yourself, in the dark, turn off the phone, no interruptions, and then try, just try I DARE you, to not see Hannibal Lector's eyes in your dreams for weeks to come. Try not to hide your face from the screen in the climatic night-vision scene. Try not to hear Hannibal's voice when you close your eyes. In terms of sheer nightmare inducing, horror movie power, you don't get better than Hannibal the Cannibal.
Enjoy Halloween, watch scary movies, visit haunted houses.
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again, B
I love horror movies. I'm not quite an afficionado, but I know my stuff. So, in honor of Halloween, the wonderful time of year when even American Movie Classics plays Friday the 13th 4, the one that Jason isn't even in and the killer is actually Cory Feldman (what?), here's my offering of horror movie rules, winners and losers.
There's basically three types of horror movies: nightmare inducing, movie-theater-scream-inducing and vomit inducing. The all have their merits and their crown jewells. For my money, the nightmare inducing horror flick is the best. The villian you see in your dreams for weeks after watching is better than getting scared a few times in the theater by a villian you barely remember.
For years, the golden age, the nightmare genre ruled. In the 90s, Scream ushered in a new era of the, well, scream-inducing movies. And the 2000s gave us the wonder of Saw that introduced the bile-moving horror flicks. With every good revolution comes backlash of course: punk movement gave us Good Charlette, Nirvana led to, ugh, Puddle of Mudd. And Saw, an excellent horror movie, led us to the point of watching plotless, gruesome torture movies. Sitting in a theater watching a man get castrated, by rusty scissors OR vagina dentata (see Teeth), is not scary, its gross.
No, my friends, I am a traditionalist. Its the movies that get into your head, that haunt your dreams, that are true horror movies. They may not be "scary" in the theater, you may not jump out of your seat and grab your seatmates arm in shock, but you can't get them out of your head. Reagen in the Exorcist, Michael Myers in Halloween, Jack Torrence in the Shining. These are the faces I see in my nightmares. Not the goofy knife-weilding killer from Scream.
Alright, my argument for the best horror movie of all time: Silence of the Lambs. Not a horror movie. Bullshapoopi. Sure, there's no ghosts, no zombies, no monsters, nothing supernatural at all. But, sit down by yourself, in the dark, turn off the phone, no interruptions, and then try, just try I DARE you, to not see Hannibal Lector's eyes in your dreams for weeks to come. Try not to hide your face from the screen in the climatic night-vision scene. Try not to hear Hannibal's voice when you close your eyes. In terms of sheer nightmare inducing, horror movie power, you don't get better than Hannibal the Cannibal.
Enjoy Halloween, watch scary movies, visit haunted houses.
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again, B
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Midterm Papers
Sorry for the recent break. I've been working on midterm papers, getting a passport, filling out charge conference paperwork, writing a sermon series, finalizing reception plans, etc. etc. etc.
Be back soon. Peace, B
Be back soon. Peace, B
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