In the eons since I've posted regularly on here, I had the privilege of working on a short film last July. The title of the film is "Sampled," and it's hilarious. And I don't just say that because I was the writer on it.
The film was made for the 48 Hour Film Project, where a group of insane people agree to write, design, film, edit, score, etc. and so on a short film in the space of 48 hours. It was the most fun I've had in...well, probably ever. Up all night writing a script on Friday, table read Saturday morning, filming Saturday afternoon, editing Saturday night and Sunday. It was frantic and exhausting and the best time I've had in...well, ever.
You can watch "Sampled" on YouTube here. And not to brag or anything, but it won a few awards, like Best Graphics and Audience Choice. So...yeah. There's that.
And it's about alien abductions and probing. Who doesn't love a good alien probe?
Monday, April 8, 2013
The Books of Cathy Glass
So I've spent the weekend reading books in what I call the "sad baby" genre. You've probably seen them: mostly white background, with a black and white (or sepia/grayscale) photo of a very sad child looking pitifully into the camera. They're almost always chronicles of horrendous, heartbreaking abuse.
But anyway, I managed to stumble ass-backwards into the books of Cathy Glass, a British foster parent who writes about her more memorable experiences with her foster children. I read one of her books, The Saddest Girl in the World on Friday night, and by Sunday I'd read six more. Literally chain-reading books, one after the other. And I've learned a few things:
1) Ms.Glass has got to be a living saint for dealing with these kids; and
2) I could never be a foster parent, even though I once thought I'd like to try it; and
3) Some people are just evil.
I don't remember the order in which I read the books (they're all stand alone, although Glass's own children's ages change from book to book), but once I started, I was hooked. And I don't know why. Much of it was partly due to the writing style; the books are thoroughly British, and after a while the gentleness of the language and slang is rather soothing. Instead of sleeping late on Saturday, I had a bit of a lie-in. Instead of Sunday dinner, I had Sunday tea, with pudding. That sort of thing.
I think what kept me reading, however, were the children and their stories. Ms. Glass takes in foster children who prove too challenging to other foster parents. They're damaged goods that no one wants, so wounded physically and emotionally and, sometimes, mentally that they seem beyond repair. The abuse these kids suffer is ridiculously cruel, almost to the point of disbelief. And yet...it happened. And it's still happening. These kids were lucky enough to be placed in foster homes. How many of them are left to their own devices with parents who'd rather do meth or shoot heroin than care for their children?
One little girl who came into Ms. Glass's care was so abused and neglected that at the age of 8, she had never taken a hot bath or shower. Her mother's boyfriend terrorized her, at one point killing a litter of kittens in front of her (while the girl got the blame, thanks to Mommie Dearest). Another child, a little boy, didn't even know how to perform basic hygienic tasks, such as wiping himself. He would race around in hyperactive circles, biting and head-butting anything that got in his way. The fact that Ms. Glass had the patience and love to help these two children (among all the others she has fostered in her career) is nothing short of miraculous.
Cathy Glass's books are invaluable to anyone who is thinking about becoming a foster parent. She details the blood, sweat and tears that go into such a commitment, but also focuses on the positive rewards. I only wish I had the fortitude to do what she does, making such a difference in the lives of children who need so much more than a handout from the government. I highly, highly, highly recommend her books. If nothing else, they'll gently remind you that there's always hope.
Books by Cathy Glass (all available at Amazon for the Kindle):
But anyway, I managed to stumble ass-backwards into the books of Cathy Glass, a British foster parent who writes about her more memorable experiences with her foster children. I read one of her books, The Saddest Girl in the World on Friday night, and by Sunday I'd read six more. Literally chain-reading books, one after the other. And I've learned a few things:
1) Ms.Glass has got to be a living saint for dealing with these kids; and
2) I could never be a foster parent, even though I once thought I'd like to try it; and
3) Some people are just evil.
I don't remember the order in which I read the books (they're all stand alone, although Glass's own children's ages change from book to book), but once I started, I was hooked. And I don't know why. Much of it was partly due to the writing style; the books are thoroughly British, and after a while the gentleness of the language and slang is rather soothing. Instead of sleeping late on Saturday, I had a bit of a lie-in. Instead of Sunday dinner, I had Sunday tea, with pudding. That sort of thing.
I think what kept me reading, however, were the children and their stories. Ms. Glass takes in foster children who prove too challenging to other foster parents. They're damaged goods that no one wants, so wounded physically and emotionally and, sometimes, mentally that they seem beyond repair. The abuse these kids suffer is ridiculously cruel, almost to the point of disbelief. And yet...it happened. And it's still happening. These kids were lucky enough to be placed in foster homes. How many of them are left to their own devices with parents who'd rather do meth or shoot heroin than care for their children?
One little girl who came into Ms. Glass's care was so abused and neglected that at the age of 8, she had never taken a hot bath or shower. Her mother's boyfriend terrorized her, at one point killing a litter of kittens in front of her (while the girl got the blame, thanks to Mommie Dearest). Another child, a little boy, didn't even know how to perform basic hygienic tasks, such as wiping himself. He would race around in hyperactive circles, biting and head-butting anything that got in his way. The fact that Ms. Glass had the patience and love to help these two children (among all the others she has fostered in her career) is nothing short of miraculous.
Cathy Glass's books are invaluable to anyone who is thinking about becoming a foster parent. She details the blood, sweat and tears that go into such a commitment, but also focuses on the positive rewards. I only wish I had the fortitude to do what she does, making such a difference in the lives of children who need so much more than a handout from the government. I highly, highly, highly recommend her books. If nothing else, they'll gently remind you that there's always hope.
Books by Cathy Glass (all available at Amazon for the Kindle):
- Damaged: the Heartbreaking True Story of a Forgotten Child
- A Baby's Cry
- Mummy Told Me Not to Tell
- Cut
- The Night the Angels Came
- Another Forgotten Child
- Hidden
- I Miss Mummy
- The Saddest Girl in the World
- Run, Mummy, Run
REVIEW: EVIL DEAD
Ah, the remake. Er, sorry..."reimagining." That's the correct term nowadays, isn't it? Anybody can "remake" a movie, but it takes a special someone to "reimagine" it.
Well.
I wasn't at all sure about the new Evil Dead movie. I was a kid when the first one came out and blew my little mind. I saw it after it came out on VHS and was totally in love with it. Same with Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness. Sure, I could see that the FX were laughable and that logic and reason flew out the window on the wings of Deadites, but I accepted all that because I loved it.
So when I heard about the remake, my first reaction was, "For God's sake, why?" which was followed by, "Great...they're going to screw it up" and then, "Well, I guess I'll have to go see it." (I adapt to these disturbing things fairly well). I heard a few rumors here and there, particularly that they were going to make the character of Ash a female (ugh! I hate when they do that!). Eventually my feeling about the movie was, "Oh, that's nice dearie. Wake me when it starts."
Then the red-band trailer hit the Internet and I was, shall we say, intrigued.
First off, I was impressed with the creepiness of Cellar Girl. Those eyes were freaky as all hell. And then the gore...oh, my, the gore. Box cutters taken to tongues. Mouths being carved like Thanksgiving turkeys. Blood every-freaking-where. The cringe-factor of the trailer made me wonder if I'd even be able to sit through the movie, given my old-age onset of squeamishness.
So I went to see it on opening day. Matinee show. The audience starts filing into the theater--couples, mainly. How sweet. No better way to share your love than to witness demon possession, I always say. Then a woman comes in with three kids.
Kids. Under ten years old. Kids.
My mouth was still agape with that display of stellar parenting when yet another Mother-of-the-Year comes in with four children, who started complaining about being scared before the Ghost House production credit leaves the screen. They make their way to the back of the theater and I'm left to wonder what the hell those kids are going to think about all the gore and violence in this film. Maybe I'm being all Judgey McJudgment, but I don't understand what goes through some parents' minds.
Anyway, movie starts. Good opening scene. Girl is hunted down by spooky rednecks. Wakes up tied to a post surrounded by rejects from the road show of Deliverance. Creepy witchy woman declares that the only way to save the girl's soul is to burn her alive. Apparently the Evil Dead have been busy, so with a gasoline shower and a flick of a match, the demon is dispatched. Cue title card.
My reaction? Not bad. Continue, please.
The thing I liked about this so-called remake is that it doesn't try to redo the original scene for scene. The five nubiles are at the creepy old cabin to help a friend, Mia, go through heroin withdrawal cold turkey, which doesn't seem like the most fun way to spend a weekend, but what do I know? Mia's brother, David, is there to provide moral support, which is new for him since he skipped out on Mia and left her to deal with their dying, insane mother alone, and the other fresh meat are a couple of old friends and David's soon to be extremely unfortunate girlfriend.
The Book of the Dead is found (no face on it, disappointingly, but some gnarly stitches) wrapped in plastic and barbed wire, so you know it's mint condition. The brainiac of the group, Eric, decides he just has to see what it is, so snip snip go the wirecutters and before you know it, he's perusing page after page of weird languages, violent illustrations and, most tellingly, BIG RED WORDS WARNING HIM TO STOP READING NOW.
Yeah.Well. It's a horror movie. I'll go with it.
Of course, Mr. Smart Guy decides it would be funsies to actually say the words that the book itself begs him not to say aloud. You know, just for shits and giggles. And before you know it, we've got swoopy-cam action in the forest as the Evil Dead make their way to the cabin. Poor old Mia, out in the rain trying to pace away her heroin addiction, just happens to be in the line of fire.
If you've seen the original, then you've got an idea of what happens. Mia is the unfortunate recipient of the forest rape scene (which I hate beyond hate in the original and in this one, and I think it could have been avoided) and next thing you know, she's walking around all yellow-eyed and twitchy, spewing the chunkiest blood vomit I've seen on film and promising everyone that they'll die tonight. And in the cellar she goes.
I'm not going to go into detail about the rest of the movie, because that would take all the horrifying fun out of it. Let's just say that there were several scenes that I literally could not watch, and I'm a gorehound from way back. This movie reminds me of a line from The Princess Bride; it's not a battle to the death with these demons, it's a battle to the pain. Everything just looks so painful. Nail guns are used. Crowbars. Hammers. A Jeep. I'm surprised they didn't take the Book of the Dead and start making paper cuts.
I liked the movie, overall, but there were some things I would have liked to have had clarified. Like, for example, who the hell the people at the beginning of the movie were. But it's a better horror movie than most that are coming out nowadays, and it did try to give its characters some personality and backstory. Of course, after Cabin in the Woods, it's nearly impossible to watch a movie like this without thinking of all the tropes and cliches, but it's easy to get caught up in the action and forget about all that.
This movie is hardcore. Brutal. Painful. Cringe-inducing. Butt-puckering. It's also fun to watch, in a cruel, sadomasochistic way. I enjoyed the movie, even though I closed my eyes during the gnarliest parts, but your mileage may vary. See it at your own risk.
And for God's sake...leave the kids at home.
Well.
I wasn't at all sure about the new Evil Dead movie. I was a kid when the first one came out and blew my little mind. I saw it after it came out on VHS and was totally in love with it. Same with Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness. Sure, I could see that the FX were laughable and that logic and reason flew out the window on the wings of Deadites, but I accepted all that because I loved it.
So when I heard about the remake, my first reaction was, "For God's sake, why?" which was followed by, "Great...they're going to screw it up" and then, "Well, I guess I'll have to go see it." (I adapt to these disturbing things fairly well). I heard a few rumors here and there, particularly that they were going to make the character of Ash a female (ugh! I hate when they do that!). Eventually my feeling about the movie was, "Oh, that's nice dearie. Wake me when it starts."
Then the red-band trailer hit the Internet and I was, shall we say, intrigued.
First off, I was impressed with the creepiness of Cellar Girl. Those eyes were freaky as all hell. And then the gore...oh, my, the gore. Box cutters taken to tongues. Mouths being carved like Thanksgiving turkeys. Blood every-freaking-where. The cringe-factor of the trailer made me wonder if I'd even be able to sit through the movie, given my old-age onset of squeamishness.
So I went to see it on opening day. Matinee show. The audience starts filing into the theater--couples, mainly. How sweet. No better way to share your love than to witness demon possession, I always say. Then a woman comes in with three kids.
Kids. Under ten years old. Kids.
My mouth was still agape with that display of stellar parenting when yet another Mother-of-the-Year comes in with four children, who started complaining about being scared before the Ghost House production credit leaves the screen. They make their way to the back of the theater and I'm left to wonder what the hell those kids are going to think about all the gore and violence in this film. Maybe I'm being all Judgey McJudgment, but I don't understand what goes through some parents' minds.
Anyway, movie starts. Good opening scene. Girl is hunted down by spooky rednecks. Wakes up tied to a post surrounded by rejects from the road show of Deliverance. Creepy witchy woman declares that the only way to save the girl's soul is to burn her alive. Apparently the Evil Dead have been busy, so with a gasoline shower and a flick of a match, the demon is dispatched. Cue title card.
My reaction? Not bad. Continue, please.
The thing I liked about this so-called remake is that it doesn't try to redo the original scene for scene. The five nubiles are at the creepy old cabin to help a friend, Mia, go through heroin withdrawal cold turkey, which doesn't seem like the most fun way to spend a weekend, but what do I know? Mia's brother, David, is there to provide moral support, which is new for him since he skipped out on Mia and left her to deal with their dying, insane mother alone, and the other fresh meat are a couple of old friends and David's soon to be extremely unfortunate girlfriend.
The Book of the Dead is found (no face on it, disappointingly, but some gnarly stitches) wrapped in plastic and barbed wire, so you know it's mint condition. The brainiac of the group, Eric, decides he just has to see what it is, so snip snip go the wirecutters and before you know it, he's perusing page after page of weird languages, violent illustrations and, most tellingly, BIG RED WORDS WARNING HIM TO STOP READING NOW.
Yeah.Well. It's a horror movie. I'll go with it.
Of course, Mr. Smart Guy decides it would be funsies to actually say the words that the book itself begs him not to say aloud. You know, just for shits and giggles. And before you know it, we've got swoopy-cam action in the forest as the Evil Dead make their way to the cabin. Poor old Mia, out in the rain trying to pace away her heroin addiction, just happens to be in the line of fire.
If you've seen the original, then you've got an idea of what happens. Mia is the unfortunate recipient of the forest rape scene (which I hate beyond hate in the original and in this one, and I think it could have been avoided) and next thing you know, she's walking around all yellow-eyed and twitchy, spewing the chunkiest blood vomit I've seen on film and promising everyone that they'll die tonight. And in the cellar she goes.
I'm not going to go into detail about the rest of the movie, because that would take all the horrifying fun out of it. Let's just say that there were several scenes that I literally could not watch, and I'm a gorehound from way back. This movie reminds me of a line from The Princess Bride; it's not a battle to the death with these demons, it's a battle to the pain. Everything just looks so painful. Nail guns are used. Crowbars. Hammers. A Jeep. I'm surprised they didn't take the Book of the Dead and start making paper cuts.
I liked the movie, overall, but there were some things I would have liked to have had clarified. Like, for example, who the hell the people at the beginning of the movie were. But it's a better horror movie than most that are coming out nowadays, and it did try to give its characters some personality and backstory. Of course, after Cabin in the Woods, it's nearly impossible to watch a movie like this without thinking of all the tropes and cliches, but it's easy to get caught up in the action and forget about all that.
This movie is hardcore. Brutal. Painful. Cringe-inducing. Butt-puckering. It's also fun to watch, in a cruel, sadomasochistic way. I enjoyed the movie, even though I closed my eyes during the gnarliest parts, but your mileage may vary. See it at your own risk.
And for God's sake...leave the kids at home.
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