The music is outside

It’s happening now.

The other day was of great import.  I awoke and simply waited until it was finally online: Blackstar, the title track to David Bowie’s newest album (itself scheduled to be released on his 69th birthday, January 8).  My thoughts were many and a bit scattered and I felt it appropriate to share them here.  Some time has passed since this first single release (so much time in fact, that a second single was released last week) so my thoughts shall be even more worthless than usual!

I am delighted that we do not have to wait another decade for a new release like the wait between 2003’s Reality and 2013’s surprise release The Next Day.  To be clear, I loved The Next Day and it has become one of my favorite Bowie albums; certainly in the top 10 though I could not say if it would be in the top 5.  Aside from the obvious, one of the benefits of a new release is it helps to further contextualize the previous work.  To that end I look forward to rediscovering The Next Day and its place within Bowie’s oeuvre as well as within my own personal ranking upon this new album’s release.  

I’m always reluctant to review an album or song (or anything really) so soon after its release because the anticipation and fandom make it very easy to simply be swept away.  Likewise it can also be easy to have an instant negative reaction if the style or direction is not exactly what one was hoping for.  But now that 2 weeks (or a month) has passed I think I can make an accurate assessment of things and I now believe that when I think of key Bowie songs Blackstar will be included [along with other songs this century such as Bring Me the Disco King, Valentine’s Day and Heathen(all)].  

It would be too easy to note sonic similarities between this new tune to the work produced in the last two decades by that other mad genius Scott Walker but there has always been an undeniable link.  Still, this most definitely does not sound like something that would appear on Tilt, The Drift or Bisch Bosch and it seems these two greats feed off each other in some ways to push themselves to greater musical heights.  If they were both cannibals I would want them to brutally murder and then subsequently consume me.  I felt Heat – The Next Day’s concluding song (not counting the many bonus songs of course) also felt very haunting and Walkerish to me and was one of my personal favorites from that disc.    

The song itself is something of a marvel.  With its 3 act structure it’s easy to compare it to Sweet Thing from Diamond Dogs in that sense though the third part of Blackstar doesn’t shift as much as that classic.  From the first preview I was immediately intrigued by the initial refrain and the imagery it paints in my head created a rather grim and inviting world.  However I was not at all prepared for the  shift that takes place around 4:30 and upon my initial listen I burst into huge crocodile tears.  The music and vocal melody and performance is simply beautiful.  As this part moves on it shifts into more a showtune deal with a recurring “I’m a Blackstar” refrain (this part reminds a bit of the feel of Dirty Boys and features some groovy dance moves) before moving into my favorite moment at 5:55, which is just epic.  It’s hard to analyze and write about a song.  I’m such a piss poor writer.  But yeah, that part at 5:55 and the whole fucking song really is exactly why I love this man’s music so much.  Bowie’s voice is in fine form though he does seem to be using studio trickery a bit more than before.  

I’m reluctant to speak about certain grim impulses and allusions that I’ve often wondered about in regard to his music.  I will say that lines in this song about an angel falling and Bowie referring to himself (or a character he is playing referring to himself) as the great I Am and of course just that image of the book with a black star on it and all that a star can represent – especially combined with some other imagery in the video of some apparently worshipful practices and odd scarecrow laded crucifixes – gives me some pause and causes a decent amount of questioning.  I wonder if the rest of the album will help shed light on these questions.   What the hell does it all mean?!  I love it!! 

The Davester has never been shy about self-referencing and self-mythologizing in the grandest ways.  Many have already interpreted the skull as belonging to Major Tom (referenced first in the song Space Oddity and then years later in the amazing Ashes to Ashes from Scary Monsters and Super Creeps).  Additionally, the line that begins this blog post was used on Bowie’s Facebook page and website before the song’s release.  This line is from the title track of Bowie’s 1995 album 1. Outside which is very likely my all-time fave album by the man.  Pieces of other songs seem to recall Outside’s haunting horror filled landscapes of jazz and electronica.  Dare I hope for another album on that level?!  This song gives me that hope. 

Speaking of the video itself I must say it is quite fantastic with some great imagery (I won’t use the word surreal because I use it far too much in polite in conversation; I often describe my breakfast cereal as surreal).  I don’t want to pontificate too much over whether Blackstar is a new identity for the man but I applaud his willingness to put himself so front and center in the video as I believe many artists his age would be too self-conscious to do so.  I love the entire array of absurd, creepy, heartfelt and funny gestures he makes; a mad prophet preaching his bizarre message. 

Since I already broached the topic of age I have but a few words: If I may be so bold to read into this particular song and its style I think it is fantastic that Bowie feels comfortable enough to release exactly what he wants without worrying about chart positions or mainstream acceptance.  But even more important (to me) and exciting (to me) than this apparent disregard for popular conventions is that this song – along with a couple others I know will be on the album – shows me that Bowie is still interested in pushing himself and exploring new layers in all facets of his art from the lyrical, musical and visual.  As always, It is incredibly exciting to me to see an artist pushing himself and succeeding so well.  To summarize things a bit it seems he is taking some of the dark (though definitely with decent dashes of humor and irony) lyricism and imagery as well as the jazzier elements of Outside (see songs like A Small Plot of Land and compare that to Sue) with the abstractions of Scott Walker’s last couple decades and funneling it through his own post new wave, post glam melodic stew. 

Ziggy Stardust, The Thin White Duke; Major Tom has died.  How many times does an angel fall?  This is a new era, another rebirth…I’m a blackstar.

Iller too

Pendejo!

So I recently watched the trailer for Star Trek Beyond and was entirely underwhelmed to the point where I seriously considered blowing my brains out right then and there.  No, I kid!  It wasn’t as bad as all that.  The flavor of the trailer actually reminded me most of Star Trek Insurrection which is one of my favorite Trek films.  Still, I can’t say it looked great and I think I must accept the fact that these new Trek movies are not for me. 

There are so many massive trailers set to premiere before Star Wars: The Force Awakens this Thursday that it’s not even remotely humorous.  It’s such a pity for yours falsely that almost none of these trailers seem to be advertising good movies!  I just have shit taste, that’s all.  You can go ahead and say it.    

I’ve been listening to a lot of Was (Not Was) recently and by a lot I mean very little though I think soon enough I shall be listening to them a lot.  They’re a bold new discovery on my part and it will be nice to take a break from Scott Walker for the time being.  Though of course when Bowie’s new album drops in January I suspect I will not be listening to anything else for at least a further 5 years (that’s all we’ve got!).

I finished The Flash season 1 at some point recently and feel safe in calling it one of the single most satisfying seasons of television I have ever had the pleasure of viewing.  Those who know me best know that Flash rogue Captain Cold is one of my all-time favorite villains and the writing for this character and his portrayal by Prison Break alum Wentworth Miller is so pitch perfect it makes me want to fling myself from the top of a skyscraper that my body may splatter on the pavement below!  I gave the highest props and kudos to all the talent involved.  I am now watching Breaking Bad finally.  The TV show format bothers me. 

Speaking of rap I still have not yet acquired Public Enemy’s recent live blu ray.  When I get it you best believe I’ll be bouncing around my living like I don’t have the sense I was born with.  

“Cool mama!”  You do not know what you are asking for!  Why was not I born in the 80’s I desperately wonder?  I also wonder why I was not born good looking.  I am such an ugly individual.  I keep running backwards up these hills. I’m never allowed to make any deals.  Good ol’ Kate, she never lets me down (and down and down and down).  Oh yes, I like lots and lots of makeup.  How I miss it so!  Egads, who is this mysterious man living in the hole in my wall?!  Good thing I drew on the wall with Crayola Crayons so I would not forget where he lives.  I think he talks to me at night and that is truly terrifying.  There’s my bottle of Jack!  Thanks heavens; I was sure I’d left it at the Laundromat!  Once again, hosiery, nothing compares to you!  Please don’t ever doubt yourself.  It’s still inside my brain and I can’t get it out and it’s doing things in there (please help me).  

I see now I have no choice but to watch La Nave de Los Monstruos seven times in a row today!  Oh Lorena, why?!  Then afterward I think I’ll watch Las Mujeres Panteras!  Oh Elizabeth!

Speaking of suckling on the glass teat I was as pleased as the proverbial pig rolling around in a steaming pile shit to view the preview for season 2 of Lucha Underground.  I’m throwing a Lucha themed party at my posh flat next month where we will marathon watch the first season in prep for this premiere!  Please RSVP at the resoundingly negative!  And don’t forget to bring a mask.  Oh, but I am pumped.  This show had the best wrestling in decades!  I miss you Sexy Star!  You have stolen my heart and seeing you in the preview made me want to postpone my grisly demise for another few months.  Me robaste el corazon!  Vuelvate mi ladrona!  Vuelvate!

Prince unexpectedly released a new album this week, some 3 months after his last release in September (he’s slowing down these days!).  Like a good boy (who swallows it all!) I am eagerly awaiting the physical copy and I will listen to it on repeat while in the streets and barking orders through a telephone to my underlings!  

I suddenly and without warning have an incredible urge to take my imaginary dog out for a four mile walk and afterward I think I’ll eat a chicken Caesar salad despite my utter contempt for salads.  A touch on the shoulder is so intimate.  Only a few more days until I can watch my favorite movie of all time. Maybe afterward I’ll throw myself in the river (which always reminds me of another river, especially when I am wearing my cowboy hat).  I think something is going to be awful.

I have feelings too you know and it hurts just as much when you trample all over them!   There’s a hive mind you see and everyone is a part of it.  What a bunch of dirty rotten scoundrels!  Marauders, the whole lot of them.  I oughta put on my Mickey Mouse style gloves and dance a ballet naked while guzzling down a frothy glass of NesQuik chocolate milk.  Then I think I’ll go outside and ride a flamingo to the moon.  Oh jeez, now I’m laughing hysterically and I don’t understand.  Maybe it’ll help things if I lick a little glass!  I’ve always had a fascination with glass ever since I was young boy (which incidentally is when I began to play the silver ball) and would often gaze longingly at windows for their beautiful clarity.  Good ol’ Gates!  Windows was a brilliant invention!  Yes, you guessed it: I’m of course talking about Gates McFadden who played Dr. Beverly Crusher on 6 seasons of Star Trek The Next Generation and 4 feature films!  I love trek so much.  It’s always there for me even I repeatedly fail to be there for it.  It’s all comes full circle you see. 

Please don’t tell me anymore about these magic discs!  I don’t think I could take another crushing disappoint.  Why is there so much scrambled egg in my field of vision?  I wonder sometimes about sound.  Well, that’s twenty dollars American currency I’ll never get back.  Still, the scissors.  Seriously.  Few things are more incredible to behold than scissors.  I am filled with envy.  I’m also filled with pudding but that’s another story for another millenium.

  
I have a great idea fellas: Let’s all go outside and enjoy the sunshine and eat ice cream and look at rainbows!  Then when we’re done we can come back inside and gorge ourselves on prescription pills! 

People call me a cynic but it’s only because they’ve never met my evil twin brother (we’ve been estranged since shortly after birth).  I think its way past time I drank a glass of ice cold water.  I’m so parched I could eat a horse!  First I delicately peeled back the layers of his mind and then I planted a post hypnotic suggestion that during the next lunar eclipse he would do everyone’s taxes with the same fervor and drive of a three legged cat learning to speak and then burping the alphabet.  My hands feel incredibly warm.  I don’t know where I slept last night but you can be damn sure it was not inside the rotting carcass of a dead animal!  

I’ve got to get away but I loved her!  Post script: I’m living in London (it rains everyday!).  

It was green and transparent

After she was done with her travels in dark heaven she continued to sing.  There were emeralds in my eyes.  She wore satin and laughed daily at the boys demanding strange things.  I ought to think more about prayer during these moments of terror and sex.  I’m still waiting to have conscious contact with my higher self.  I’ve committed a love crime.  He saw her and she was profane and beautiful.  She was chaos and her form was bountiful and delighted.  

The wind in her hair and there is her ankle and what she is wearing is flesh colored.  There is vinyl being played.  He looks at her unaware and her secret thoughts are quite treacherous and they are both trembling but it is unclear in whose mind this is taking place.  She rises up and down and there is a bizarre fleeting memory of a carousel and riding atop a fake pony, hand clinging to a golden pole.  

This is just a fairy tale then.  Once upon a time….  Then everyone is in a ballroom again, it always comes back to a ballroom.  And I am merely an observer, I watch and I listen but I cannot truly recognize any of these signs of love and lust and rarely can I differentiate between the two.  Dimly, in the back of my mind I am aware I spent the better part of the last year eating my own heart.  Oh sweet profanities.  I have never been your biggest fan yet somehow now it is all working.  I am in an ancient library and learning so much. 

Her laughter has the unexpected effect of melting my brain.  She wants expensive things and makes demands and judges and it all so exciting it causes explosions in his veins.  Then she’s on the street with a cord in her hand she’s running toward him and he imagines murderous intentions in her mind.  She’s so business-like right beside the bed and imposes a penance for every display of physical affection.  She smiles when she points down and makes demands.  He is humiliated in grand fashion.  

He is constantly on his knees, as is his wont, and she is laughing quite raucously.  She thinks that at some point she had a set of rules which she followed but this is no longer the case.  Outside their window there are strange bright lights in the dark sky and they are both aware of them but only one is afraid.  

Consummation is the correct word I believe.  I still have the mistaken belief I am in control of my actions.  I am barely held together anymore by the contents of that bottle.  He is begging for forgiveness now and she withholds his breathe.  Oh my poor friend, I have had to listen to you for so long and it is no longer in the least bit amusing.  There is something lace on his wrist, perfume on her thigh.  

These glorious emeralds in my eyes.  if you think you are about to truly understand what all this desire has been creating you are badly mistaken.  Finger tips graze against the shoulder while a message is delivered and so much excitement is aroused in the body and his blood all heads in one very specific direction and he wants to be wearing something of hers when it happens and wants to be quite short of breathe.   

He is bathing in red wine.  What a strange baptism that is about to take place.  He rarely lets them truly see him, only what is absolutely necessary.  And yes, but it must be said right now that these arches are truly absolutely heavenly. She sits on the corner of the bed with one leg crossed over the other and she looks like a painting.  What does she make him do?  

Once more this river is only reminding me of another river.  My curtains are red and the sheets on my bed are red too and I often wake up in the fetal position and it takes me a moment to recognize my own bedroom.  I never feel more alone than when someone else…but no, it is best not to finish that particular thought.  

The ground is blessed; and inside where everything feels such exquisite pressure and perfumed by the drudges of everyday, to be underneath would certainly be the purest of pleasures and the sweetest of subjugations.  If there was ever an effigy erected in his honor he would surely want for it to be desecrated.  

This storm enters his thoughts again no matter how many times he succumbs.  And there is a party and wonderful music and oysters and so many flavors and it is all flowing quite liberally.  And then that old thought process, that cursed fantasy impossible to trace, comes back once more and he is over the tongue and down the throat and falling and falling and it is such sweet ecstasy.  

I am lying on a bed and I smell like candy apples and thyme.  My nerves and tendons are exposed and despite all the drugs coursing through my veins my head still feels like it is on fire and if I could I would be screaming.  But there is a stroke of inspiration in my eyes and the doctors are wearing red robes and I believe in another life they designed bizarre instruments for operation on genetic mutants.  There is a band somewhere in the corner playing something which sounds Middle Eastern and the music is quite exciting.  Eventually they replace which was lovingly taken from me (as best they can) and I am raised up on a platform and a mirror placed before me and oh but it is wonderful.  

Still after all this time the initial creation is the most superior.  Despite all the advances and the beauty which was arisen since that time, nothing compares.  Everything in my field of vision is bathed in red and green lights.   

I’m doomed, in the classic sense.  

So entwined

I was trying to be so quiet but the night started playing its tricks.  Everything inside of us is disguised.  There was a great man who predicted the blackout and made constructs of glass and I have his black and white photograph.  He has ascended but his words remain clear.  I was in the city at one point though all I have now are the memories.  But these are flowing and strangely malleable and things begin to happen I do not immediately recall.  This is all like an experiment I tell myself.  Voices and spirits wander in and out and they’re changing rooms and I often do not feel the shame I should.  There are separate corridors and gold on the pages and these are the senses that surround.  

I’m lying in bed but so alone and deprived.  I feel a strange and wonderful presence and wonder if it’s all in my mind.  Words are whispered in my ear and I realize they are just inside my head and they sound like spells once bottled up and now joyously released.  The sounds outside comfort as they surmise the strange passage in which I am traveling.  I see a hood of many colors and her voice is sounding like every language at one time.  I wonder why this music sounds so perfect and I feel her touch my shoulder and she is at once terrifying – my personality begins to disintegrate – and she is also the source of my comfort and tells me everything will be all right, always.  I believe her.  

Obsolete imaginings, no matter that I do my best to deny them.  Blue and blonde, this mother sings like she’s crying.  Every time he tries to escape, his ship is pulled back and crashes once more on the rocks.  Sweet intimacy in the open, he cheats like the finest of libertines.  The harmony is too bold and my fingertips trace lines around these destroyed pictures.  Her anger is pure and her salvation is a lesson and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in any other way.  There is only this temptation, of loves inside eternal unrest.  Is it she who comes to the masquerade ball that night; so tired and elegant but never more sure of her devotion?  She pulls death from her body and releases it back to the earth.  And I hope I am still dancing with her when she realizes how lost we are.  And the hooded woman in the hotel room is still protecting us all.  There is purity that reads like history.  But she is still around us and inside us and he can’t take back any of his sinful desires.   

But the laughter turns to rain that falls into coal black hair.  There is only mystery and pedestal and the glorious downfall of an empire.  She just smiles and turns a blind eye.  Inside there are so many colors he has never been able to discern.  She removes the formalities and he shakes with the disquiet.  There is only the dream where he is underneath everything and she creates and he rests on her shoulder.  I see this all happen and I know he will always come back.  She is vampiric and wonderful; so cruel and so chaotic.  His spirit is trapped just as she walks away without saying goodbye.  

Why am I so conscious of my blood?  Everyone’s eyes need to be averted as they pass by.  There is a tornado above my head and I am doing my best to feel fine.  It’s time to begin a release but there’s no moving on when there only exists denial.  From the vantage point at the hotel, the streets below were all festivals and brilliance.  There were so many it was easy to feel so gloriously alone.  Climbing the stairs, he had already numbed his desire.  He had drinks on the roof and imagined the bridge and it was a pleasant memory to recall almost jumping though sometimes he remembered actually jumping and dying and this offers its own special touch.  

But he cries again and they present themselves once more in their own way.  One can match his despair and offer a chance at something higher.  She is limited by her maternal bonds and beautiful in this fragility.  She knows dominance only as a symptom of his mind.  But when she opens eyes these thoughts have become her reality and she holds his hand during the torture.  

The second laughs and wreaks havoc and knows her distance will only provoke and inspire.  She demands to be worshipped and discovers such propensity to dominate.  He enjoys feeling used and worthless and this is the reality inside his mind and from the perspective of the few who care enough to look.  He does not understand his own words anymore but this hardly matters.  

These two at once are the greatest painting; the colors mix in the night.  They mingle and combine in perfect time.  They make demands and form connections and fingers interlock.  They say I love you and he simply wants to die.  Why was a kiss made to be so wonderful that everything else must be derided?  Walking into the room wearing a black dress, there are fireflies and gold fairies.  

And the last one – who was the first one – returns and still does not remove her hood.  She kissed the spirit and forgave and when on to appear to someone else at the exact same moment.  Did she forgive all of us?  So three people lost and one always saving, catching when they fall as they fall each and every time.  And I have watched all of this only to realize I have no true claim.  I could never be the passive observer that I describe.  I hope to stay in that ballroom forever but I can’t figure with whom he is dancing but I know the other will circle around him.  And they will look up the ceiling and see her there instead of mistletoe.  

I love bringing people together! Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice trailer #3 review

So by now everyone in the entire world has seen the latest (last?) trailer for Batman v Superman Dawn of Pork Rinds and has had ample opportunity to spill their opinion to everyone within earshot.  I have chosen my preferred method of the written word and my razor sharp prose to deliver my humble ruminations on this latest tease. 

I love like a sumbitch the opening scene with Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne facing off and throwing barbs at one another.  Despite Kent playing coy, the barbed nature of their dialogue leads me to believe that perhaps they already know who they really are behind those all too convincing human skin masks.  That being said, it is an odd scene with which  to begin a trailer and it takes up perhaps too huge a chunk of the running time, creating a disturbing unbalance. 

I have slowly but surely been won over by the casting of Benjamin Affleck as Batman.  Part of this was certainly due to his career best performance in David Fincher’s 2014 hit Gone Girl and his excellent directorial work in Argo and Gone Baby Gone certainly didn’t hurt (though this gave me more confidence in the behind the scenes machinations as it seems Affleck and his faithful co-writer Chris Terrio are helping shape the DC film universe).  This new trailer features his most dialogue ever so far and showed me that it will be surprisingly easy to forget about Christian Bale’s Batman.  That is not meant in any way as a slight to Bale who left an indelible mark on the character but this looks to be another worthy interpretation.  I will throw in a slight sight to Bale in saying I am so beyond happy Affleck is not taking any cues from the infamous Bale-voice.  I’m not sure I’m love with what seems to be a pointedly mechanically altered voice but I would wager almost anything would be preferable to Bale’s insane growl.  On the flip side of all this I will also say the footage showed me yet again that Michael Keaton will likely always be the best live action Batman.  Still, Affleck looks like he will do fantastic and I am pleased as ever to have the big stupid mouth on my fat ugly face be shut in such a decisive manner. 

 
Ah and then he bursts in: Lex Luthor.  The greatest criminal mind of our time and likely my favorite comic book villain ever.  It is somewhat baffling to me that it seems we – the ever fair and even-minded comics fans – will never be granted a cinematic portrayal to compare to his comics counterpart.  I love that I’m judging it in it’s entirely despite having not seen the film but what else are trailers for?!  This long haired, hyperactive screeching does not immediately line up with any Lex I’ve ever read.  And yet…and yet there is something that genuinely excites me about this new iteration, something that just provokes a real pronounced crease in my pants.  If I had to put a point on it I guess it seems like a such a bold interpretation there is virtually no way I will be able to straddle the fence on whether I enjoy it or not.  I feel I will either love it or hate it and that seems like the best route to take.  I recently watched Spectre where Christoph Waltz was utterly wasted and left no impression (in fact I forgot he was even in it until I just now saw a TV spot) and that is the (tar) pits!  I would rather Jesse Eisenberg’s Lex be astonishingly bewildering shit than the pile or boring dull suckage that was Waltz because at least that tells me they’re going for something.  Of course, I’m definitely hoping for brilliance and not smelly shit!  And there are things I like: He  seems to be mocking Clark and Bruce in the beginning (though I could go with that zany way he talks a bit readily if it seemed like an act the character is putting on for the public but it appears that he talks that way no matter what).  Still, it is an interesting moment if nothing else.  His dialogue overall seems rather on point, as do what little I can discern about his motivations and I love that we are getting the classic mad scientist aspect of the character thrown in!  I guess maybe I’m full of horse crap because he sure seems Lexish!  It’s just the manic, in your face style of the performance that keeps throwing me off like a rat bastard.  I guess I have no choice but to grudgingly wait until I see the feature film before passing my final judgment.  

I defecated devastatingly in my jockies when I saw Doomsday appear.  Pay close attention to that adverb because it is not simply there to illustrate the strength and mess of my defecation but also its tone which was decidedly morose.  I am sick to grisly death of all-CGI villains and giant endless CGI fight scenes that littler all blockbusters these days.  At this point it has nothing to do with any Marvel/DC rivalry (which honestly only matters to internet losers like yours truly anyway) because at this point both companies are repeatedly guilty of this mortal sin.  There is no reason superhero movies cannot last and remain popular for a further fifty-nine centuries BUT I truly believe they will have to evolve and move on to braver storylines.  Of course I haven’t seen this movie yet so I could be completely wrong but I fucking doubt it!  And whether this is Doomsday or a revived and deformed General Zod or Wraith or Bizarro or some other random monster it won’t matter because big CGI monsters all blur together nowadays; he looks just like the Abomination from Incredible Hulk or one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or the rock troll things from Lord of the Rings.  That monster is just the (arm) pits of this trailer, just the absolute (peach) pits.  Doomsday’s appearance changes in the source material so I suppose I am mildly interested to see if that holds true for the movie (if it is the Doomster).  

As a lifelong Wonder Woman fan it has been and was genuinely exciting to see her showcased here in what looks to be a very impressive introduction.  I haven’t been secretive about my piggish trepidation over Gal Gadot’s casting but I haven’t been distraught over anything I’ve seen yet from her.  It surely helps that all I’ve seen her do so far is pose but she has that down like she’s been doing it for years!  Whatever the case may be I am very pleased to finally see this great character on the big screen and I look forward to her own upcoming movie.  Normally, it might piss me off that they’re cramming in so many damn characters but I guess I just don’t a give a tin shit when I love the character this much.  

I have been consistently disappointed with the lack of Amy Adams in these previews and this trailer was no exception as she appears in roughly 4 seconds.  However in those 4 seconds she proves yet again that she’s currently one of the hottest actresses around.   I constantly fantasize about her Lois Lane publicly humiliating me and then further ridiculing me in private and forcing me to kiss her feet after she’s done with a hard day’s reporting.  On the less chauvinistic side I will also say her presence adds some great gravitas and she is easily the second best thespian in this flick, behind only the great Jeremy Irons who looks to be a truly epic Alfred.  There ain’t nothing wrong with second best and the third best is pretty far behind her.  

One little Easter egg: this constantly teased scene with soldiers wearing Superman logos, a covert goggled Batman fighting em in the desert and then being captured and unmasked by pissed off looking Superman; I’ve been going back and forth in my diseased mind as to whether this is a dream sequence or something which actually happens.  The new footage in this shows some very familiar flying little monster things in that scene.  I could be wrong but they look an awful lot like parademons which comics fans will know live on the planet Apocalypse, home to the dastardly Darkseid.  This leads me to believe that it is perhaps some sort of vision – not exactly a dream – and likely a glorious commerce infused hook to lead into the Justice League movies.  

Since virtually everything has been given away it seems disappointingly simple now to parse out what the basic plot will be: Wayne is stupidly pissed at and leery about Supes for the Zod led Kryptonion invasion in Man of Steel and Kent is dumbly and hypocritically leery or Batman’s vigilante tactics.  The two bozos are manipulated by the red bull and coffee swilling Lex Luger into fighting one another (I’m guessing Lex frames Superman for something) despite the wise sage Alfred (and probably Lois and Ma Kent) admonishing them for being a couple of macho idiots.  Bats dons a hi tech mech suit while the last son of Krypton just stays strong and the two throw down before realizing what unbelievable assholes they’re being and subsequently becoming superfriends.  This royally pisses off the (not so) bald billionaire who Frankensteins something together using Zod’s rank and rotting corpse and this fierce CGI beast nearly proves to be too much for our roided out heroes until the svelte (how does she do it?!) Amazonian Wonder Woman shows up to chew bubblegum and kiss ass and save everyone’s sorry superhide.  The three team up, defeat the special effect and throw little Lex in prison where he has his head shaved (or maybe he loses it when lightening brings the monster to life) and vows revenge on the superfucks!  Also, a couple other plot devices show up along the way like Kryptonite and a vision of apocalypse to tease the next big bad.  Throw a couple other (cool) D-listers like Aquaman (played by the guy who played Carl Drogan in Game of Thrones!) and Cyborg and maybe some others for laughs and boom!  Instant slam banging ultra-unique superhero adventure!!! I understand trailers are for the general audience and not for the minority of comic fans so in that sense it makes cents that they’d need to show a villain other than Luthor and show more factors to bring the common folk in aside from Bats fighting Supes.  But I wonder if they’ve shown too damn much now.  My heart weeps.  

But I’m going to contradict my own miserable self here a bit by saying it shouldn’t matter too much if key plot points are given away. Plot is a cold deadly thing anyway and I have always maintained that in every storytelling medium – be it movies, shows, books, comics or campfire tales – if the story and, more importantly, the characters are truly strong and well written then it will be rich and enjoyable no matter how much has been revealed beforehand.  However, if the movie is simply a bunch of money-shots than spoilers will definitely have a detrimental effect though in that case the movie would ultimately feel unsatisfying regardless.  

Damn I love comics!  I’m actually really excited for this movie so I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole!  It’s seems like those two glasses of champagne have gone straight to my head (of course it could also be the bottle of wine I had right before!)  It’s overall a very awkward trailer, very bizarre, strangely edited with jarring tonal shifts (especially in comparison to the previous trailers).  Still, I’ve watched it roughly 459 times by now and I can say it is improving with every viewing.  After all, only the coldest of comics assholes could not feel at least a little perky seeing the trinity standing there at the end ready to throw down!

In the end, despite all this, despite all my endless bitching, moaning and complaining there is no doubt in my diseased mind that I will be there on the very first showing of opening night wearing my cutoff vintage Superman t-shirt and with my Batman thong underwear wedged firmly between my hirsute and jiggling butt cheeks!  Such is the nature of wisdom.  

REVIEW: Dark Knight III: The Master Race book one

So here I am friendly friends, back and better than ever with my belly of meat and potatoes and ready to vomit my thoughts on Frank Miller’s newest creation all over the screens of your PCs, laptops and cellular telephones.  Of course I could only be talking about none other than the slightly clumsily named DKIII The Master Race Book One, the first issue in an 8-issue miniseries (though I think there’s some spin off stuff that’s coming out too but I’m not sure).  For those not keeping track this is the third part in what began in Frank Miller’s groundbreaking 1986 4-issue miniseries The Dark Knight Returns and continuing in Miller’s controversial and not very fondly remembered 2001 3-issue miniseries The Dark Knight Strikes Again.  

Quick upfront confession: I have always felt The Dark Knight Returns to be highly overrated as a BATMAN story.  I’ve been savagely raped and sodomized in the past for voicing this opinion in comic shops so let me be clear: as a comics story it is deservedly looked at as a milestone and is every bit as vital and necessary as ever.  I can remember reading those issues (and issues of Alan Moore’s and Dave Gibbons’ incredible Watchmen) on the subway during that summer of 86’, sitting there in slack jawed awe and knowing the industry would never be the same.  But as a Batman story, as a DC universe story, it leaves me rather cold and the thuggish Dark Knight and milquetoast Superman which are featured are not the most compelling visions of these heroes for me.  In an effort to invalidate my opinion even further I will say that I prefer by a large margin The Dark Knight Strikes Again for all its bombastic energy and sheer bizarre antics.  It’s a brave book and I have similarly great memories of defending its bold gargantuan vision to irate fans (I also prefer Miller and Jim Lee’s All Star Batman & Robin though I’m not quite as quick to defend it).  

I’ve provided this preponderance of exposition to make the largely unimportant point that I may not fall into the target audience for this project.  Actually, I’m a Batman junkie and buy pretty much everything in which he appears so I’m exactly the target audience but what I mean to say is that I was not hotly anticipating this release.  I think the saturation of unimpressive “events” in superhero comics initially quashed my enthusiasm.  However slowly but surely the prerelease hype began to seep into the moist crevices of my brain and infect it with insatiable curiosity.  I’m far from the only one as issue #1 is looking to be DC’s bestselling comic book in a decade (more on that in a bit).  So this past Wed I hitchhiked on down to Ye Olde Comics Shoppe and purchased on a copy with American legal tender and upon returning to my posh flat I poured myself a glass of Macallan 12 on the rocks, kicked back on my bourgeois sofa and let Miller’s latest romp wash over me like a refreshing deluge.

5 thrilling minutes later I was done! 

No, I kid haha.  But I’m going to say it right now: this issue was pretty low on content and by that I mean pretty low on story.  Basically Batman has returned again (or has he?!), beats some people up, Wonder Woman is reintroduced and we learn she’s had another child and Lara visits the fortress of solitude to find that Superman is literally frozen (seemingly self-induced) though we don’t learn why and the people who live in the bottle city of Kandor need help with something. 

That’s it.  At this point there is no actual story, just a couple barely teased threads that could turn into a story.  I should say right now that Miller’s actual involvement here seems akin to George Lucas in the new Star Wars movie: ideas man, plotter, final say guy but the one really writing this is Brian Azzarello of 100 Bullets fame among many other notable works.  Because of this I’m not sure who to hold more accountable for such a thin narrative but I can say that Azzarello’s other superhero work that I’ve read such as Superman: For Tomorrow, the Joker graphic novel and that Lex Luthor miniseries suffered from a similar vacuous streak where I frequently felt the need to question when any of this plot was going to amount to something.  Worse, Azzarello has a tendency to indulge word play and needlessly convoluted narrative tricks.  It popped up here with Kira’s dialogue about whether she’s part of the part or part of the whole and it immediately set my head on fire.  That may sound like a nitpick but over the course of 8 issues he could really run rampant with it.  At the same time the aforementioned All Star Batman & Robin is not exactly well revered for showcasing great writing on the part of Miller so really either or both of these men could be to blame. I’m happier than a rat bastard that they’re including things from DKSA again rather than ignoring it but this comic positively reeks of weak-event-first-issueitis. 

In this modern day and age one can say maybe they’re writing for the trade paperback and it will read better once complete but a great story can be written that satisfies both in installments and in a trade format as Scott Snyder’s New 52 Batman run has continually proven.  Even closer to home, just dig out the back issues or the trade and re-read that first issue of The Dark Knight Returns.  It is incredible how much story Miller fit into that without anything feeling rushed or crammed and while somehow subtly setting up a dozen others things which would have huge payoffs.  There is no excuse or need to kick off a story in such a thin way. 

A quick positive about the story: I won’t spoil the ending but it is a neat little twist and were I not already committed to the long haul out a sense of righteous duty I can say it would be enough to get me to come back for the second issue to see how that turns out.  

I have far fewer complaints on the penciling side of things!  I’ve always been a fan of Andy Kubert and he does not disappoint.  Kubert’s dynamic larger than life figures remain intact and the way he is clearly paying homage to Miller’s style with some of the layout and blocking of certain scenes is brilliant and Klaus Janson’s inks compliment this as well as they did on Miller’s own work (Janson is a super pro inker).  I loved the slight redesign of Wonder Woman from DKSA and am pleased as punch to find she looks the same here and it was exciting to see Kubert draw Superman again – albeit briefly and in the form of popsicle – as his Superman is one of my all-time faves!  Sadly, I found Brad Anderson’s coloring to be a bit drab and uninspired, especially following Lynn Varley who provided such rich ambience on the original and psychotic Dario Argento-esque Technicolor madness on the sequel.  Anderson appears to be trying to ape the former work which is understandable but the results often feel like a pale imitation

Something swell about this miniseries is that each issue is going to feature a backup story about an ancillary character in this universe which ties into the main plot.  These are co-written by Mr. Miller and Mr. Azzarello and drawn by Mlller (still featuring inks by the indelible Janson).  I was not prepared for how cute the formatting would be though as they come in the form of a mini comic inserted in the center of the main issue.  It was so cute it immediately made me want to blow my brains out with a shotgun.  I will say I enjoyed this backup more than the main issue and it told the same amount of story (actually slightly more) in a fraction of the pages. Miller’s art is a scruffy delight and though Ms. Varley is still missed Alex Sinclair’s coloring here works well. 

 As I alluded to earlier, the words on the streets is this premiere is set to be DC’s bestselling comic in a decade which shows that despite (or perhaps because of?!) how divisive Miller has become he still holds a mighty cache in the comics world – as does Batman and the legacy of this particular iteration.  In that jolly celebration of legacy and commerce DC has seen fit to give fans a plethora of collecting choices as this issue ships with an absolutely fucking staggering 71 different covers!  71 fucking covers!  Seventy-one!  That means 1 standard cover and 70 variants!  Incredible!  Thankfully, I left the halcyon days of obsessive collecting back in the past with other remnants of my misspent youth and I was quite pleased with the standard Kubert cover (which is pictured at the top).  It’s a simple striking image in keeping with the history of this series and though I have reservations on Miller’s characterization of Batman I have always loved the beefy hulking appearance (and I’m very much looking forward to seeing that  look in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Cheez-Its next year!).  With the sheer number of covers and the fact that many are retailer exclusive variants – meaning places may have to order 50 or 100 or more copies just to receive a specific variant and which guarantees obscene prices for some of these – I do not envy that collector minded fan who wishes to hunt down their favorites and I especially don’t envy the psychotic and deranged lost soul that attempts to collect em’ all!  Though I would love to get my hands on the Kelley Jones cover, and Darwyn Cooke too, oh and Gary Frank, fuck, Brian Bolland too, and most definitely Bruce Timm, and Frank Miller’s own 1:100 variant is super gritty wonky badassery!

Hmmm, so with all that above information what do I ultimately score this?!  It was entertaining if nothing else but I wasn’t expecting something so…light?!  Not light in tone but light as in a lacking substance.  I hope to be proven wrong, especially because the art really is quite good but I have to give this a 6 out 10.  If I ignored the backup feature and Kubert’s art it would be lower.  

And yet I’m still excited for the second issue to come out!  What the hell is wrong with me?!

thunder ocean

I always remember that loyalty and dignity is valuable.  But is my life valuable too?  I think I used to think so but now I am not so sure.  I’m learning to live with this but I do not want to live with this.  But I’m learning.  There is something grey waiting for me in every room.  

There’s an old black-and-white photograph that always makes me cry.  I set out it in a spot where I can always see it.  But that’s still no reason.  Sometimes I just like to pack my bags.  

I never want to leave this place.  I don’t think I understand you anymore.  

It’s overdone, the misunderstood child.  This is not optional.  Everyone tells everyone else how they should feel.  

This is all a big illusion.  It will softly come apart around us.  Why do you always burst into tears and scream at your child; twisting their brains inside your gnarled angry hands?

 You are so beautiful sometimes and I wish we could see each other at a ball where everyone is wearing masks except the two of us.  All we have is our dreams and there is never a moment where we are not desperately clinging to one in order to survive.  But that ugly monster always comes out to greet us and I see it in you when I’m just starting to turn the other way and I see it in me all the time now.  And I think I am probably farther away than I have ever been before.  A little girl lost.  I don’t know what to do.  I can always feign.  My mind is full of scorpions.  

I’m never sure which of your names to capitalize but I am mostly certainly the farthest I have ever been even though I beg to please not let it be so.  These white statues don’t always seem real.  No, that’s not quite right.  That is not really what I want to say.  I think what I want is permission.  But I could ask everyone and they could all say the same thing – they could all respond in the resoundingly positive and it still would not be enough.  There are shards of glass in everything now.  Things are orange and then they are black.  I think I know what that means.  I must have learned it from someone much smarter than I.  

Whose permission do I need?  Would it really make everything feel all right?  This has all turned to erosion and everything is so old.  I’ve burned down an entire nation.  For some reason I feel compelled to record everything.  Recordings always feel more real than the actual moments.  I’m afraid I may be waking up quite bloody very soon.  I am found in a field somewhere and my attempt to turn everything into water was a complete failure.  It was always going to be a failure.  I am awful.  

I will say it in a secret way.  I will whisper it into no one’s ear but I know you will hear it anyway.  Are all those visions false?  Are we just lying to ourselves every time?  That is a very realistic possibility.  You’re lying to yourself right now, aren’t you?  I’m afraid right now, isn’t that true?  Are these manifestations born out of desire?  Is there any truth to selflessness and devotion?  I want to understand you.  I feel this love and then I ingest (in jest) poison but I don’t even have to do that anymore because I have learned so well how to destroy all the lovely things without anyone’s help.  I don’t even have to say I’m sorry anymore or ask forgiveness because I write it all down.  You were quite wrong: thoughts and desires eat you up.  

We are stuck without any surprises coming our way.  We are receiving exactly what we deserve.  You have been deserted and rightfully so.  I don’t know how to lead anymore.  Free choice is a disguise and what is underneath is so cunning.  

I am terrified to ask to see you.  That would not be right at all.  Why do you come out when all the lights are turned off?  What have I done recently?  It’s a moody verse and he is questioning far too much these days.  Two women are making love.  At some point they realize the triviality of their own bodies.  Is anger really a gift?  

He cannot speak to the leader(s) anymore.  All he can do now is take orders.  And smile. 

Would it be entirely wrong?  It must be, yes?  But is it possible?  Is it possible a mistake was made with the pronoun?  Is it possible a mistake was made a million times over?  Or is it possible that information was simply withheld?  Can he even dare to think something like that?  

She is sleeping alone and the fire inside her skull has been temporarily put out.  Anguish should not have been her gift.  The night always plays its dirty little tricks.  

I’m rich in nothing and safe in solitude.  I have laughed too often in moments that were fragile and now never to return.  I cannot ask permission.  I am learning to live with this.  

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.  She tells him that and laughs and the room is spinning and he remembers looking out at a river that only reminded him of another river and he knows he is just as lost and split down the center.  

“I Love you.”  

There is a future out there very much like this one and it is just waiting.  There is only sadness meant for you but I suspect you will savor this until it is much too late.  I don’t know what to hold onto anymore.  There are too many carvings.  Please forgive me.  I feel that request is sincere.  

She looks down on him and he feels so much comfort.  May he light a candle?  

I’m just a little girl who never leaves her room.  My eyes are always grey now.  

Written in minutes, it means nothing.  

It took me years to find La Ciudad del Crimen

I sense I’m gesturing out of place here.  There’s a purple book on my knee.  Holy moley I am tired.  I’m always tired nowadays.  And.  I’m not sure why.  My blu ray copy of Cannibal Holocaust arrived today though I’m still waiting on my blu ray copy of Salo (or The 120 Days of Sodom).  When both are in my possession I think I’ll fix myself a delicious rib eye steak prepared medium rare (with a warn pink center) with a sides of green beans and mashed potatoes and a couple glasses of old red wine.  Then I’ll watch em’ back to back and then I’ll probably burst into tears which I’ve already done several times today.

I was pleased to see Mr. McFeely also deliver my Bronson soundtrack and I promptly listened to the second song roughly 159 times in a row while exercising naked.  Then I covered myself in butter and then I drew a little but I ended up crumpling and throwing away every pathetic drawing I made.  

I am not sure what to make of there being two cuts of Cannibal Holocaust included on the blu ray – the original theatrical version and an “animal cruelty free” version.  Anyone who knows anything about this flick knows one of the reasons for its infamy are several scenes depicting the killing of animals – animals which would not have died were it not for their involuntary participation in this movie’s making.  I – like most humble folks – am against animal cruelty.  Yikes, I’ve already lost interest in my own train of thought here.  People are unbelievable hypocrites.  Has anyone eaten meat?  Double checked all their clothing?  Ever killed a spider who just trying to stay warm and taking up a few meager inches of space in their home?  That’s right, I’m no better!  I just don’t know what to think.  Forget this paragraph.  To discuss the complex social issues of the animal cruelty presented in Cannibal Holocaust we would need to converse in person where we could banter back and forth and show our innate superiority.  We could go for coffee!  Or alcoholic beverages.  It’s bad I know.  I guess I just don’t know what I’m saying anymore. 

I was pleased as punch to see that the deluxe blu ray also came with a copy of the soundtrack.  I’ll listen to it while I take part in an upcoming expedition exploring primitive Amazonian cultures.  Is there anything more frightening than people?  I already feel horrible about my decision because animals really are wonderful.  I think I prefer animals more than people because people are by and large ugly and disgusting things.  I am polluting myself.  These confessions mean nothing.  But am I not a participant simply by watching?  That much is fact.  All the disclaimers in the world don’t change anything.  And why did I not have this reaction with Apocalypse Now?  Or Oldboy?  Is it because octopi aren’t very cute?  I am nothing if not a complete reprehensible hypocrite.  I’m ugly too!

The color scheme in Krzysztof Kieslowski’s 1991 flick The Double Life of Veronique reminds me more than a little but perhaps less than a lot (or perhaps not) of the color scheme in Wim Wender’s 1977 movie The American Friend.  They are both gorgeous movies through and through and they both make me cry uncontrollably.  In my greatest moments my ever fracturing mind loses its perennially tenuous grip on reality and I truly believe I am a character in one of those movies.  It is always a brutal shock to the system when I am thrust back into this harsh reality and I typically shake and weep for several hours afterward, sometimes I even soil myself during those moments, staining my crisp white jockies a rich chocolate brown.  

I must acquire a copy of Peter Gabriel’s 1989 album Passion at once.  The music on that release is truly lovely.  I understand there is a companion album full of songs from the world artists that inspired the music on the former release and I must obtain that as well.  The tunes were sumptuously used in Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ and I am eager to see how they feel without the imagery.  

I think there are subliminal messages in the music I listen to which is slowly affecting changes within me.  Things are inside my mind and doing things in there and I don’t know how to stop them.  All I know is that I am very frightened.  I think there was a voice coming from the sink last night.  Someone was speaking to me from the sink.  If you come over, please don’t look at the carpet because I drew something awful on it.  

That little purple book has put a spell on me.  Mavi Gioia has also put a spell on me but for entirely different reasons.  Oh Mavi, can a vision such as you truly be real?!  

I brought up James Bond in my last seminal blog post and I’m going to bring ol’ 007 up again here for a moment and just lay all my cards on the table: my favorite James Bond bar none is Barry Nelson from the original 1954 television adaptation of Casino Royale followed very closely by Peter Sellers from the 1967 adaptation.  I should add that both versions are far superior to Martin Campbell’s gauche hollywoodized 2006 Casino Royale.  I still stand by Monica Bellucci being the best Bond Girl.  I suspect I will be standing by that proclamation until the day of my grisly demise.  

I recently heard the rumored casting choices for Guillermo Del Toro’s Justice League Dark movie which may or may not ever happen.  Ron Perlman as Swamp Thing?  Perfect!  Colin Farrell and Ewan McGregor as John Constantine?  Whatever!  Whoever doesn’t play Constantine playing Jason Blood AKA Etrigan (one of my favorite of Jack “King” Kirby’s creations)?  Sure!  A comedic actor for Deadman?  Great!  Monia Bellucci as Madame Xanadu?  Holy shit yes!!!  A Hispanic or black actress for Zatanna?  Fucking brilliant!  A few happy suggestions: Salma Hayek, Patricia Navidad, Catherine Siachoque, Shakira (she’s made guest appearance on shows like Ugly Betty and Wizards of Waverly Place so she’s an actress!), Chiquis Rivera, Kate Del Castillo, Yamila Herrera, Estrellita, Ana de la Reguera, Lina Santos, Galilea Montijo, Sofia Vergara, Yadhira Carrillo, Eva Garbo, Salma Hayek, the list goes on!  I’ve got a million of them!  Though this project does excite me I think that if someone pointed a standard police issue Glock 9 millimeter handgun to my temple and asked me to choose I would ultimately rather Del Toro make Hellboy 3 or his long gestating adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.  Hell, just give me all three!

The other day I attempted my first recipe culled from the book Nigella Express.  It was a smashing success and I now consider myself to be an unparalleled mastery in the culinary arts.  I shall be plying my gastronomic trade again tonight!  Oh Nigella!  Oh Mavi!  You are both too much!  I’m not worthy!

If you jerk the handle, I’ll die in my dreams.