What are you feeding my dogs?

Something about this exchange which took place earlier today made me squeel with delight in the knowledge that I have at last begun to unravel every major mystery in the known universe. 

The last two episodes of the second season of television program Hannibal have included two of my favorite moments of the series and in recent television history.  Episode 11 – entitled Ko No Mono – contained such a beautiful, tear-inducing intimate conversation between Will and Hannibal, discussing Abigail, time and philosophy.  It summed up so much of the intellectual and emotional heart of the series which keeps me frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog who has just mauled a child because his government funded leech parents weren’t paying attention and let him run all over the damn neighborhood while they watched something on their 75” widescreen TV and chatted with their friends on their new iPhones for each new episode.  And then episode 12 – entitled Tome-wan – finally showed Mason’s fate.  It was something fans of the books and movies already knew would happen but that only made the anticipation greater.  And it was delightfully brutal, once again striking that perfect balance of horror, gore and absurd black comedy.  This show was made for me.  Tonight is the season 2 finale and I may cut off my own face in anxiousness.

 

I awoke on my sofa sometime after midnight after falling asleep while watching William Friedkin’s 1977 film Sorcerer.  This is no indictment against the film as I was quite tired at the time.  However I awoke with a very palpable feeling of dread.  I did not want to leave the living room for the bedroom but I was expected.  She was waiting but I was somehow certain there was going to be someone or something else other than her in that bedroom.  I heard a man’s voice from behind the door, guttural and almost mocking.   For some reason I still opened the door and only saw her lying on the bed, her face masked by the darkness.  Despite the familiarity of her presence I did not feel any comfort and part of me wondered if that was really her at all or she had been replaced by some kind of doppelganger.  I lay down next to her and tried my best not to cry.  Something else was in there with us.  A few minutes later she stood up from the bed and left the room without saying a word.  I knew what would happen next.  I know the door would fling back open again and things would come inside and they would join me on the bed.  I would be having sex with monsters and they would get inside my head and inside my body.  Their skin was red and they wore black robes.  I was too frightened to ever scream.  They chanted things I could not understand.  I think for a moment I was floating.  My hands clutched the sheets and trembled along hot and rough skin.

Astute followers of my work no doubt noted with much anguish the extensive preamble I gave to the film Dracula 3D in Monday’s blog post (here is a helpful link for any new fans http://creamybrandenblog.blogspot.com/2014/05/where-have-all-brides-gone.html   ) while not following through with a proper review. 

I continue to be stunned by the sheer amount of garbage we prioritize on a daily basis.  This cannot be what was intended.  So many artificial people running around and screaming and judging and fucking, everyone so deeply loves the exchange of body fluids.  You are so grotesque, so unbelievably disgusting but I guess that is true about the rest of us as well.  What useless things we all are.  How can anyone take pride in the bullshit they do every day when none of it means anything?  How can anyone care when it is all so empty?  Fucking pathetic, every last bit of it. 

Sunday I tuned in to the Billboard Music Awards despite my searing hatred for awards and billboards.  My chief motivation was to see Shakira perform her song “Empire”.  Upon deeper reflection and examining the darkness of my soul I now realize this was my sole motivation.  Yet my world was thrown into chaos as I did know when the Colombian songstress was going to perform.  As such it was by complete accident that I watched Iggy Azalea’s performance of her song “Fancy”.  My initial reaction was a frozen state of abject horror.  Yet after roughly one minute – 60 seconds for all you time fans out there (my jungle love!) – my subjugation (incorrect usage) swiftly turned into adoration.  Simply put, I fell in love with the song.  Everything from her 80’sesque flow to her gangsta tude’ to the sexy chorus by pop charmer Charli XCX all contributed to a song which left me in a state of hippity-hop delirium.  And yes, I am well aware that all the true hardened urban music loving homies and g’s out there will dismiss this tune as so much faux rap drivel but if I cared what they think then I wouldn’t have started that infamous gangland war in east L.A. last year where no less than 89 people lost their lives with over two hundred more being hospitalized and roughly 3.5 million dollars racked up in property damage.  But damnit, I still think we can bring back our fair city.  If we can just cut through all the bureaucracy and peck away at the knees of Big Business we can clean up the streets and make sure no child ever has to walk to school afraid ever again.  Basically, what I’m saying is that for the past 5 days I’ve done but walk around with a smirk and say “Who that? Who that?  I-G-G-Y.  Who that?  Who that?  I-G-G-Y.”  This made some of my co-workers band together and form an elaborate plan to discredit me in a public venue, frame me for embezzling millions of our tax dollars and insure that I end up in a federal prison where I will be penetrated covertly (just as our army does to Middle Eastern countries) on a nightly basis.  Azalea’s studio album debut is entitled The New Classic and it is a foregone conclusion that I will purchase this album and listen to it while driving in my car to go visit my formerly estranged daughter at her new ocean view penthouse where she lives with her fiancé who is a hotshot CEO at a cutting edge software company.  I’ll wrap my arms around her in a fatherly hug and tears will well up in my eyes as I beg for forgiveness yet again for all the softball games missed and all the letters not written during all those lonely Christmases. 

 “What do you think of the painting Lavender Mist by Jackson Pollock?” I asked.

“I like lavender,” she said.

Where have all the brides gone?

It seems I have reached an impasse. 

The other day while driving around and imagining how mutilated my corpse would look depending on what nigh-unmovable structure I chose to slam the car into I decided to take a pause and head on over to Ye Olde Best Buy.  Upon arrival I sprinted to the movie section with all the grace of a man literally on fire sprinting for a ham sandwich at an all-night diner but I eventually arrived relatively unscathed.  Even though I knew full well where stood the horror section I still asked a kind-faced, khaki wearing clerk for directions to test his mettle.  His immediate verbal direction and accompanying pointing finger was as humbling as it was helpful. 

And so I stood there gazing at the racks, waiting until it leapt out as I knew it would.  There it was: Dracula 3D as directed by Italian horror maestro Dario Argento – he of such classics such The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Deep Red and of course Suspiria.  The film had bounced around the convention circuit for the better part of last year before finally making its way to blu-ray in this year of our Lord twenty-fourteen.  I virtually heard nothing but horrible things about this flick.  Literally everything from the acting to the special effects, set design, lighting, general direction and 3D effects (which sadly I would not be able to enjoy due to my heartbreakingly impoverished lifestyle which does not permit me to buy a 3D television set) had received the most trenchant of criticism.  This alone would have ensured a purchase by yours truly but what made it a particularly special and personal kind of buy was my love for the director.  Those aforementioned films (and many others) have provided me with untold hours of enjoyment.  It is true that his status of a horror master faded years ago and the quality of his output for the past two decades would make anyone call into the question the validity of his famed and respected reputation.  Yet I am someone who can savor Mother of Tears as much as Inferno and so this purchase was made with refreshingly un-ironic love and fandom.  The fact that it stars his daughter Asia Argento – whom I have been in love with for untold centuries – also surely helped in making this buy a wholly satisfying experience. 

And so it was that I sat down on my bourgeois sofa (after playing a game of hide-and-seek with  a woman of Colombian and Arabic descent) and began consuming a short stack of blueberry pancakes while viewing Dracula 3D. 

My above sentence reminds of the fantastic first 10 issues or so of Ben Edlund’s comic book The Tick.  If any of my dear readers have any interest whatsoever in things which will enrich their lives they owe it to themselves to seek out this work (in one of its many editions) and read it cover to cover.  Beautiful line work and masterful comic – both in the comedic and in the sequential art sense of the word - writing.  I recall loving the cartoon as a child but do not remember much of it at all.  However I do recall there were some fantastic action figures which were released when the cartoon was in its day of hay.  There was even a special bendable gold colored Tick figure which was individually numbered and limited to only 2,500.  One of the great personal tragedies of my life is I actually saw one of these figures at a Toys R’ Us department store and failed to act.  It was a gorgeous thing to behold and I coveted its greatness; I wanted to own it.  Yet for some reason I opted not to make the purchase.  I cannot recall if this was due to a simple fiscal dilemma such as the then continually decreasing value of the American Dollar or if I was too intimidated by its beauty; my avarice failing to compensate for my other glaring inadequacies.  Regardless of the reason – and I think it is quite telling that the reason has left my memory while the yearning ache still remains strong as ever – I left the Gold Tick there on the rack and I would never see it again.  This failure has haunted all my days.  Very recently I discovered a Gold Tick on the online auction and shopping website eBay.  Once again I was faced with the same choice, the same chance to shape my destiny into something greater.  But once more I decided against making the purchase.  However this time I had a reason and the decision not to make the buy was a self-imposed punishment that I may never forget the consequences of cowardice and hesitation.  Thusly, I remain entrenched in my own personal hell where the brilliant sight of a Gold Tick always remains in the distance; teasing and taunting, I hear its siren song but know it can never truly be mine.

Here is a link for you to see a Gold Tick with your own eyes.  Look.  Look and see.  See what I've denied myself.  See what I've lost....

http://www.ebay.com/itm/The-Tick-Gold-Metallic-Bendable-Action-Figure-from-Gordy-Toy-Limited-2500-Made-/171310317197?pt=US_Action_Figures&hash=item27e2e3fe8d

I recently purchased the new Lacuna Coil album and listened to it while coming home from a brief trip wherein I decided the fates of no less than 5 people.  It can be truly said my first exposure to this band came from a woman who was living in a tee-pee in a park at the time and scarcely had more than a pair of shoes and a very expensive water purifier to her name.  I look back on her with fond, wistful sentiment.  I know now she is in a more economically stable point in her life.  But is it a better point?  That is the sort of question which keeps me up well into the blackest hours of the night. 

One thing in one of these paragraphs is a complete lie but I am far too much of a gentleman to specify.  Though if any of my followers have the guts to corner me on the street and stick a knife in my engorged belly I may have no choice but to elucidate. 

Did the world just explode?

The poodles never bothered me

The real problem is that almost no one truly knows what they want or what is good for them.  More government interference and control is necessary.  I would like to record a concept album extolling the virtues of increased government control.  There are too many distortions present in mass media today and I am constantly afraid of people I see on the streets, people who live near me. 

So many terrible truths revealed. 

I am forgetting the face of my father.  I am knowingly living in sin.  There are no deals which can be made and I will not allow myself to believe otherwise.  I have disappointed you and I repeatedly disobey and tarnish everything you have created.  I sometimes like to consider the first time you smiled upon me. 

Also, Ang Lee’s Hulk from 2003 with Eric Bana is light years better than Louie Leterrier’s The Incredible Hulk with Ed Norton from 2008.  I honestly challenge anyone and everyone in the entire world to watch both of these within a week and try and say with a straight face that The Incredible Hulk is a superior film.  In these days where superhero blockbusters run serious dangers of becoming nothing more than anonymous corporate chuff the original Hulk movie feels even more unique and more like a genuine artistic statement while the newer – and already more forgotten – film feels as weightless and sluggish as the worst of these movies.  The original was very much ahead of its time.  I will take all comers and welcome much discussion.  If need be I’ll devote 10,000 words to why I feel Lee’s film is greater. 

I see changes all around me, everything moving so much faster than before.  There is a wildfire coming for us.  Life has become like glass.  I cut myself and the skin does not heal as it did before and I do not know why.  They came into my room again last night and I screamed but I could not move and they took me with them. 

The dynamism and influence of Jack "King" Kirby’s work can never be overstated.  Kirby’s art is the exact opposite of my life: it is vital, beautiful and necessary. 

Can you feel my power?  I screamed this over and over again.  They all looked so terrified.  Sometimes I have moments where I forget who I am and sometimes I have moments where I become someone else.  There is such mutilation.  Why do I see these things?  There was a tiger looking at me last night as while I lay in bed.  I think it was a tiger.  I cry and my hands shake.  Someone is putting these things inside of me they are inside of me and they make my head hurt and my stomach hurt and they make awful things happen and I am so scared I do horrible disgusting things because of them and my body stains everything please let me go please don’t make me do this again please don’t come inside of me anymore I don’t know what to do no one believes me but they want to take me away to where they are from they have changed my body and my sex and I am something else and my face is burning. 

I must confess I have only ever read one comic strip of Mother Goose and Grimm but I find the art style to absolutely delightful and it makes me want to read all the thousands of strips which have been produced since its inception. Perhaps one day I will have the courage to do so.  The strip above is genius.  

I have seen you before.  It begins in the span of a few seconds.  I wonder how long it took for her to create the universe.   We travel across the dimensions and our trajectory marks out a line which divides them all.  You made a garment from the clouds and how it longed to finally cling to your body.  Are my desires so improper?  Is it ever supposed to be just one?  Where were you at the moment of my birth?  When I entered this world were you looking down upon me?  Were you smiling and did you hold me in your arms?  Was it your kiss which created everything beautiful inside of me?  Temptation is a wonder.  Our bodies are entwined and we dance to sweet music of angels.  There is harmony and bliss and I realize I have never known such splendor.  The morning stars heard her voice and all began to sing.  The children danced as my heart wept with joy.  Everything beginning again.   

Last night I purchased the James Bond movie Thunderball on blu-ray at a local conglomerate.  It has been years since I first viewed this feature film and I cannot remember anything other than the fantastic titular song by Tom Jones so I am not sure if I will even enjoy this film.  Still, something buried deep within compelled me to make the purchase, something big and mean and scary.  Speaking of which, many of the classic Godzilla movies – all iterations from the black-and-white original classic to the recent Millennium series – were released on blu-ray this Tuesday and I scooped up 5 of those films.  Godzilla movies make me so happy.  I am still cautiously optimistic about the new flick which opens next week.  I know I will be there opening day with my eyebrows shaved and sporting my Godzilla thong underwear.  I hope it does not disappoint.  So much of my life has been marked by disappointment.  That is why I so frequently imagine tying barbells to my legs and jumping into the river.  I enjoy the thought of looking up as I sink ever deeper in the murky depths and seeing the sun gradually eclipsed by an inescapable darkness.  I knew an old sailor once.  He told me he went overboard, tangled in the sails.  They pulled him out but it took him 5 minutes to cough.  He said it was like going home. 

When the mystery is over everyone dies. 

My compliments to the chef

Last week’s episode of Hannibal – entitled “Futamono” – has taken the place of “Sorbet” from Season 1 as my favorite episode of the series.  It was a perfect mix of elegant horror, beautiful gore, compelling and plausible character development, genuinely intriguing revelations and absurdist humor.  The last dinner scene in particular may be my favorite scene of the series thus far and showcased this blend of humor, horror and classicist sensibilities which fills me with joy.  I am still stunned by how cinematic this show is, top to bottom from the production design to the score to the photography it is a gorgeous thing to behold.  It is impossible to know how the quality of this program will change as time goes (if it lasts more than this season) and also impossible to know how my critical eye will view it years from now after all is said and done.  However at this moment I can say with certainty that Hannibal is one of the most artistic, beautiful and fully realized shows I have ever seen in my life.  I doff my hat to Bryan Fuller for his design and all actors involved – particularly the trio of Hugh Dancy, Mads Mikkelsen (swoon) and Lawrence Fishburne for their impeccable work.   

In the bedroom they lie next to each other.  Clay is naked with the sheets only partially covering him.  The only light coming into the room is what has leaked in from the part in the curtains.  He can see enough of himself to remember former feelings of shame when in this state.  He still does not prefer the lights to be on for this.  Janine still has her shirt on for some reason and she is lying on her stomach.  Her head is against the coverless pillow and her bleached hair has spilled across her face, somehow leaving one eye perfectly uncovered.  The sounds of the room include their breathing and faint music coming from laptop speakers. 

The scattered, almost incoherent pastiche feel of The Beatles’ White Album and gives my brain a comfortable tickle.  Sometimes when my day devolved into a pure pile of smelly shit I like to listen to “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”, screaming the lyrics until it feels like my throat is going to tear apart and pounding my chest like King Kong.  This always makes me feel better.  What is especially is that the follow-up song is “Wild Honey Pie” which makes me want to slit my wrists in a vertical fashion and then and then try to eat a tall stack of pancakes with its awesomeness.  Pancakes are my life.  Though I do truly love The White Album I think I prefer that feel just a little more from Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart.  I strongly encourage fans of either album (but not necessarily artist) to check out the other.   

It’s become detrimental to other people in the neighborhood. Losing penance because these particular remnants cannot sing a song.  Back alley glove compartment is looking for false allegations.  A beach dwelling super gang with futuristic weapons from another world is working with the glove compartment. When I get all cohorts back, we will be germinating these cognacs. 

Everything stems from successful communication and it is my honor and privilege to be a part of this ever expanding field. I hope that one day I can use my experiences and opportunities to further advance this and contribute to a stronger, more aware society.

My sophomore year of college, I decided to take a class about Hispanic culture. It was in an effort to learn more about myself and my history, but the experience turned into something much more.  It tore a hole in our universe.  I feel so scared when the voices from there start to speak to me.  I start to cry and I hide under a table and I close my eyes and I pray she will come to protect me.  Why can’t everybody just leave me alone?! I want to start the play off with talk about steak, then segue to talk about women, racism, and politics; this play is about an application transaction and the many foibles of love’s unedifying spirit.  It is also about the time I rode my 59 speed dirt bike to the top of the mountain, looked down and realized everything I thought existed was actually an elaborate hoax perpetrated by cabals of government agents who wore slick black suits and whose speech patterns were slash are replete with outdated slang.  They are everything.  

Once I thought my dreams were dead so I baked them in a loaf of bread.  I owe that mistake to none other than gubernatorial candidate and fresh faced filmmaker Steven Spielberg.  Sometimes I laugh so hard my brain actually liquefies and stains my hand woven argyle socks which were made by strange little in faraway places.  Of course he would ask me what it is all for when we can alter biology and I would only repeat the same line over and over again until we were both beating each other with newly purchased spaghetti strainers.  I’ve become so buff these past thousand weeks or so, I can’t believe how jacked I am, my muscles are so large they take up the spacial equivalent of the majestic Yorkshire blue whale (boilerplate boilerplate).

There used to be so many words and they flowed so freely.  I have taken a trip to a dark and promising past and I have wept uncontrollably for a darker and meaningless present.  Where has he gone?  I don’t think I will ever see him again.    It is no secret that people who are at younger age, younger meaning when they are coming into their own physically during their formative years, are better suited to produce children.  After all there is a reason those years between a person being a teenager and going into their twenties are referred to as their “physical prime”.  My sweet Pearl, where did you go?  Are you happy now?  Do you remember what I made for you during those long, hot nights where I thought of nothing more than you and I?  How brief the encounter.  I have never been able to keep anything for very long.  I can feel myself starting to slip away little by little.  My mind is no longer my own.  My life never was. I ran out of excuses a long time ago. 

My caloric intake seems to be in the safe range with respect to DRIs but I do have a problem with binging on the weekends and then the numbers increase to unsafe levels. Obviously, I have more free time on weekends so I need to concentrate on other things rather than excessive eating. Additionally my nutrient intake is about half good, half bad. I am often low on fiber and most of the vitamins. I know this is because my diet is severely lacking in fruits and vegetables so those are things I need to make a strong effort to incorporate more into my eating habits.  Sometimes I even put on a chicken and run around my living room screaming out profanity laced rants against psychotic left wing extremists who want to turn the country into a pink land of unshaved faces and hip t-shirt slogans.  Every single night I realize how alone I truly am.  I scream every day and every night and no one hears and my face is starting to fall off and I feel anxious and frightened all the time and I don’t think I know what anything means anymore.   

Only Leonard’s Concrete can make support this sexy.

AND I'M LIKE...!!!

Forget pottery wheels and pie baking, this was something on an entirely different level. 

The listen was pure jubilation.  It was so great I experienced incredibly strong urges to dig my nails into my arms and shoulder blades and in particular my wrists in the rich vulnerable veins.  I also wanted to run around the room and slam my head repeatedly into the walls until blood gushed from a thousand wounds and painted the carpet and furniture a stark red.  My ears reached the peak of aural excitement and they ejaculated all over my pea coat and the stacks of paperwork sitting idly by waiting to be processed.  I began grinding my teeth with a vice like strength until my fillings shattered and several molars were dislodged, tearing my throat in ragged swaths on their way down to my acid filled gut.  I then sank the sharpened remains of my chompers into my soft silver tongue and a scarlet river of pain filled my mouth.  My eyes welled up with tears and my body continued its macabre gesticulations like a dog just hit by a car and going into mad, unbridled convulsions.  I opened my mouth to scream along with the song at the top of my burning lungs and blood and vomit gushed out in a guttural, almost otherworldly roar.  I tried to sing along but the lack of teeth and tongue gravely affected my pronunciation and projection and I was left only able to growl and grimace along with the basic rhythm. 

I know my prose can sometimes seem a bit on the vague and undefined side so I have opted to share a few words of a clearer persuasion.  The rich description presented here is a bit late.  In fact it’s so late I briefly considered making a delectable breakfast of bacon, eggs and plantains for my talking horse Fredericks who lives out in a barn 5 miles west of my posh flat that I built one lazy summer afternoon after making love like a rabbit to my high school sweetheart of 19 years.  I am of course talking about the release of Shakira’s song “Empire”.  Dedicated followers of my work will no doubt note I never fulfilled my promise of reviewing the first single from the album.  To those die-hards I would only say one thing: it’s coming…the moment you’ve been waiting for is coming….  Cleverly sandwiched between this Monday night post and the eventual album review will be my thoughts on the first single.  However here is where I choose to discuss the aforementioned second song released from the disc (ostensibly a promotional single) in terms of my initial gut reaction.  Here we sit on the eve of the album release and my excitement is as sweaty and feverish as it always is for a new release from one of my favorite artists. 

This song essentially exploded from my blue collar office job speakers and blew my face off as though I were gleefully using a hand grenade for a pacifier.  This is the explosive Arena Rock Shakira – always one of my favorite sides of her.  Having dutifully avoided any leaks or pirated copies I still do not know what to expect from the remainder of the album (though I have heard it is a bit more ballad centric) though this track is definitely an early contender for a favorite of the disc.  It immediately called to mind “Devocion” from 2010’s Sale El Sol, a song which I famously described as the most rocking tune of that year (and this was the same year when Iron Maiden’s epic album The Final Frontier was released) and I would give it the same much coveted Branden Instant Classic status I gave to David Bowie’s “Valentine’s Day” back in the early spring of 13’.  That’s right!  Shakira’s “Empire” has earned the first official Branden Instant Classic of 2014!  Hopefully the musical landscape will be so rich this year that I will award many more to the point where billions of songs share that title!  Other giant rocking Shaki songs this recalls for me are “Poem to a Horse” from 2001’s Laundry Service and – dare I say it? – “Inevitable” from 1998’s Donde Estan Los Ladrones.  All right, it’s not as good as “Inevitable” but very few things in the history of mankind even approach that one.  Still, it’s a testament to my love of this song that I would even make such a comparison.  Time will tell where this song and album with ultimately reside in my musical and Shakira heart.  For now I can at least say I bleeping love this song and the bit that starts the chorus – the very title of this post – slays me with its brutal excellence. 

Oh sweet melodic ecstasy, oh divine harmony of heaven.  How unexpected in the beginning, the palette so different from what I was accustomed.  Yet the wine flowed and its color was the shade of intimacy and its scent a bouquet of passion.  There were so many stairs spiraling up a tower of heated desire.  Oceanic pools which offered dreams of swimming through the very act of creation and witnessing the wonder as it unfolds.  I dared not to approach for I knew to taste from this most forbidden of fruits would certainly leave my soul in a state of perpetual decay and my body casted out from the circle and rendered pariah across the lands.  And yet, temptations arose with new sounds and sights.  The numbers came forth then and it was a delirium to be measured in numerals of four, everything increasing and flowing and reaching.  And then the euphoria, together in a moment with our waves crashing on eternity’s shores; fantasy at once made flesh yet born again pulsing with new and precious life.  There was love and the singular desire to be swept away, gentle as a single tear of joy and powerful enough to create a universe.  I saw it all and would never be the same; a visage to part the seas and a caress to make the heart surrender forever.  Side by side, breathing in the rapture, our spirits played together in the skies above and I was lost inside her song.  To quote Mebarak, “And my agnosticism turned into dust”. 

This rain is meant to wash us off the face of this world!

With the release of Darren Aronofky’s Noah firmly upon us like a pair of tight black spandex pants I have decided to examine the pre-release waters.  I speak specifically in terms of support and audience reaction.  Keep in mind that only a select few have actually seen this movie yet trillions of people the world over are already forming diamond hard opinions. 

When it comes to a Christian oriented movie  - be it a clearly evangelistic movie like the recently released God’s Not Dead or one seeking to relate a specific story from the Bible such as the film in question here – I find there always exists two extreme groups on opposite sides of the spectrum: Extreme Christians and Extreme Atheists.  Dear readers, please allow me a brief sentence or two of explanation for these groups.  I do not say extreme in terms of commitment or knowledge (though there may be some overlap) but rather in a measure of off-putting and often condescending behavior.  Understand, I have no issues whatsoever with respectful Christians or respectful Atheists.  I think it is more than groovy to live in a happy world of rainbows and ice cream where everyone has their own accepted beliefs where they are free to practice those beliefs (so long as those beliefs don’t impinge upon the rights and freedoms of others of course).  Yet these groups do not seem content to let that happen and would prefer to raise a fuss over nearly everything that happens in our fair world (even that time I chose to mow lawns naked in a New York suburban neighborhood using only my teeth and an old Giant Nickel paper bag for grass depositing).  These are the groups I will make mention of in this post.  Just to show there are no hard feelings they both receive cool acronyms.  I shall refer to Extreme Christians as “EC’s” which is cool because EC was a great old comics company which published tons of gritty and gory horror and science fiction comics throughout the industrial boom of 40’s and 50’s America.  I shall refer to Extreme Atheists as “EA’s” which is cool because EA is one of my favorite SI units of electric current.  Before continuing I want to also note that many of the thoughts and opinions I shall ascribe to these groups are not necessarily extreme or off-putting in and of themselves.  In fact, there is nothing really wrong with most of these viewpoints.  The wrongness comes from the arrogance and continued attempts to force those views on others. 

To provide a bit of context Noah is directed by Darren Aronofsky whose filmography includes Pi, Requiem for a Dream, The Fountain, The Wrestler and Black Swan.  Those who know me best know I am not a huge Aronofsky fan though I have seen all of his flicks.  I deem The Fountain to be his best movie though I’m sure I’m literally the only one in the worlds who feels that way.  Generally speaking I find his approach to character too clinical with the spectacle of his narratives taking too much of the focus [this could also be fixed with even less character and a full surrendering to the spectacle rather than the unfulfilling middle ground which seems to plague his work (only my humble opinion cinephiles; berate me if you wish but I have to remain true to my heart)]  Still, I cannot deny the supremely endearing fact that he does not have any of the markings of a “for-hire” type director who simply makes and adheres to whatever the studio offers.  Having never met the man I’m going to say with 100% confidence slash intellectual arrogance that each of his movies has been a story and work he was passionate about and Noah seems to be no exception.  This flick has been in development since 2007 and while waiting for studio backing he even helped publish a graphic novel version in 2011.  He has also continued to fight for his final cut of the movie as to not allow for studio interference.  

I will make my first real reference to the aforementioned groups here and mention there are some EC’s who feel with the violent/sexual/drug related content of some of his past movies that Aronofsky should not receive support for directing something taken from the Bible or something with Christian themes.  It is as though he does not have the “right” to make this movie given his filmography.  It has been rather surprising and somewhat upsetting for me to see the backlash or resentment certain Christian groups have been lobbying against the director and this film.  As stated, this is not even a director I am passionate about but I believe free artistic expression is highly important.  Also, since the Bible would teach there is no one without sin I’m not sure who would actually be fit to direct a Christian film except God him (or her) self.  If God directed a movie s/he would surely cast Sam Neill, Mads Mikkelsen and Salma Hayek in key roles though and I’d bet there’d be a kickin’ Trent Reznor soundtrack in the mix!  I have to backtrack now for all those folks who get peeved at the word “sin” and clarify I am not suggesting Aronofsky sinned by making the movies he’s made (see how careful I have to be with any type of religious discussion?!  We should just go eat waffles and bathe in maple syrup for our troubles!)     

The Passion of the Christ is an interesting parallel to draw from.  This movie also sparked controversy with accusations of anti-Semitism and glorification of violence (in fact this movie is so fascinating as a film I am sorely tempted to write 5,129 pages analyzing it but I think I will save that for when my kids are all grown up and I have nothing left to do but stare at an empty house and wonder where the best years of my life went).  In subsequent years director Mel Gibson’s reputation has been essentially destroyed due to his various meany comments about Jews, homosexuals, African Americans, women, Latinos and pretty much anyone who has ever existed anywhere in the universe or whoever will exist.  Yet I don’t think many people who found their faith nourished in some way by this film have disowned it due to Gibson’s bizarre self-destruction.  I believe any piece of art is an extension of the artist but is also changed by whoever is absorbing it.  It signifies and represents much more than simply the person behind it.  For instance, how many people have admired the painting Starry Night but know nothing about Van Gogh [myself included (I also love the Iggy Pop song “Starry Night” from his classic 1990 album Brick by Brick.  Honestly, Iggy has some of the best and most underrated rock albums in history)]?  A piece of art takes on a life of its own and that is one of the most important things about them.  

 I believe it is a mistake to criticize something before viewing or listening to or reading it as both groups are guilty of doing.  Aside from the director and his character it seems the other upsetting thing to some people are deviations from the source.  It has been some time since I read the story of Noah (even longer since I famously attempted to construct my own ark out of balsa wood during a particularly rainy summer when I was working as a women’s shoe salesman in Buffalo) but I don’t remember it being too lengthy.  I think it is natural that any adaptation would have to make some additions and alterations.  It seems impossible for any adaptation to be 100% true to scripture.

Returning to the earlier example, The Passion of the Christ also has its share of artistic license, something as simple as the blue lighting in the scene where Jesus is in the Garden of Gethsemane (beautifully rendered depiction) to the more extreme examples of demonic children taunting Judas Iscariot or Satan’s depiction as this grotesque androgynous figure that routinely pops up in the crowds during Jesus’s torture and crucifixion.  This includes a scene of Satan holding some kind of stunted figure which Gibson later clarified was meant to represent a perverse reversal of artistic depictions of Mary holding the baby Jesus.  It is a striking image in the movie but it has no direct ties to scripture.  Even the easy-to-overlook-because-it-is-almost-a-cinema-given fact that it has a score meant to emphasize certain moments and enhance emotional impact is an inherently artistic choice that cannot in any way reflect the true accounts.   

However, just because something is more interpretation than transcription doesn’t mean it is without merit to a Christian audience.  I remember watching The Passion in the theatre and seeing people all around me being moved to tears.  This reaction is not entirely brought from the movie’s actors and crew of course, as stated we each bring something to the films we watch and this contributes greatly to our individual experience but surely the film must be credited in some regard for moving people.  And if a piece of art – one with any sort of Christian backbone – can bring people to tears or reaffirm their faith or even simply make them consider different possibilities that should be considered a success and not reason to grouse for EC’s. 

Instead of shying away from Christian inspired art I believe churches slash Christians should be more embracing and appreciative.  Strictly messaged themed movies are often the cinematic equivalent of the sex-education videos one watches in high school with awkward situations which do not ring true coupled with questionable acting.  I do not believe they are effective as evangelism either (if evangelism is indeed the goal) because they play mainly to an audience whose beliefs are already securely in place.  From an artistic or even simply from a narrative standpoint it rarely ever works to start with a theme and then try to construct something around it.  The more secular works must have equal merit if for nothing else than because they can reach out to a wider audience which can hopefully inspire intelligent conversation and thought. 

Terrence Malick is one of my favorite directors and three of his last four films – The Thin Red Line, The Tree of Life and To the Wonder – all have overtly Christian themes (especially the latter two) while not strictly falling into the often stigmatized category of what is considered a Christian film.  I have heard from people who have no beliefs in a God at all being spiritually moved after watching The Tree of Life.  Whether this is the work of God, Malick, the actors, the score, the imagery, what they themselves brought to the viewing or any combination of those factors (or any I missed) surely the fact that they were moved at all in that way, and by a film which while does not adhere to any specific story from the Bible still is filled with overt Christian themes and images, is a positive thing and should be a comfort – not a detractor due to a lack of adherence to scripture – for any Christian.  

And what of other overtly Christian themed works in the secular world?  Songs like I Would Die 4 U by Prince from the album Purple Rain or Word on a Wing by David Bowie from the album Station to Station or a dozen or more brilliant U2 songs.  Or things like William Blake’s paintings or The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri, written hundreds of years ago and still marveled at.  These works were all in some way inspired by scripture or Christian faith.  Even if they do not necessarily adhere to a rigid idea of Christian artistic works (just as Noah likely does not adhere to this) I truly believe the inspiration which drove so many disparate and accomplished artists throughout history to produce such poignant and enduring works is something to be grateful for and should nourish any Christian’s faith. 

EC’s do a great disservice to their own faith by trying to somehow monitor and dictate what should be considered worthy of being associated with their beliefs.  Rather than being embracing and understanding – two things which are often cited as tenants of their faith – they perpetuate the already widespread notion that Christians are arrogant and judgmental and hypocritical.  If this notion is sadly correct it is because too many spend too much time mired in a desire of cleric-like control rather than nurturing their faith. 

I think EA’s are also equally guilty of pushing to a proportionately extreme level their viewpoints.  I don’t have as much to say about this group and I think it is because I find myself less in their company (more by the way life rolls rather than through any conscious decision).  The odd thing about this group is how they seem genuinely offended that there still exists anyone who believes in the Christian God (I rarely see these groups responding so harshly to any other faith) to say nothing of the vitriol and eye rolling which arrives when someone thanks God in a speech or when a popular artist writes a song referencing a Christian belief or if someone actually dares to make a movie about a story from the Bible.  Those who would simply dismiss the Bible and call it a book of fairy tales for children invalidate their opinion not because their beliefs are different but because they cannot discuss their beliefs without belittling an opposing viewpoint.  Debates are a wonderful thing and if people want to discuss the logistics or scientific plausibility of a worldwide flood or storing pairs of every animal in an ark to survive said flood I think that is great.  However if someone thinks it is okay to mock someone for their beliefs or feel they are more intelligent for the foundation and basis of their beliefs, that is not okay. 

The company releasing Noah had this to say:  The film is inspired by the story of Noah. While artistic license has been taken, we believe that this film is true to the essence, values and integrity of a story that is a cornerstone of faith for millions of people worldwide. The biblical story of Noah can be found in the book of Genesis

This makes the most sense to me in terms of where people should go if they want to stick with the source (nothing wrong with that) of if they want to investigate further (nothing wrong with that either).  At the very least I would hope we can enjoy the movie as a movie, as a piece of art or entertainment first.  If lucky, maybe it can inspire a different kind of discussion afterward.    Anyway, any type of belief – science based, deity based, Shakira-based (one of my preferred belief systems) – requires some type of faith, there is always something unknowable, unprovable.  I’d like to think we could all feel a little unified in that.  

Pretty!