Dracula Bingo!

Or: Why I’m going to need gallons of alcohol in order to make it through this show. 

 (And yes, I've read the book. Repeatedly. So several gripes will be of a strictly canonical nature.)

 

Unchecked dramatic pauses such as: “Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you tonight… POWER!”

Dramatic pauses of such nature are only allowed from one person.
 

Dracula as sexy-romantic (anti)hero.
"Sometimes, the people we are meant for take us by surprise."
 

Lengthy tracking and/or close up shots of Dracula watching people
 

Overt attempts at inserting modern feminism ideals into female characters (who will still probably fall in love with the mass murderer known as Sexy-Drac)
 

Dracula licking/wiping his lips

Non-canonical romances

Dracula as over-protective stalker douche (but I’m sexy and ily so it’s OK, right bby?
 

References to immortal love of any kind (including the ‘immortality is a curse I would never bestow upon you’ spiel -- usually followed by making said beloved immortal)
 

References to Dracula not eating or drinking

Bosoms heaving for no other reason than boobs look awesome when stuffed inside corsets

Anytime a character comments on a new invention of the ‘modern age’

Dracula is talked about/portrayed as the ‘mysterious American’ (and if they don’t keep that facade for long, then being the ‘mysterious foreigner’)

Random shots of predatory/ominous animals (yes, including bats and wolves -- if they don’t actually interact with people ever and serve a real purpose but are just there for ‘mood’)
 

Dracula described as ‘unlike anyone I’ve ever met’ or any variation thereupon

Heavy fog orgy

Van Helsing being crazier/more manic than Renfield
 

Complete annihilation of canonical character traits (Lucy as a sex pot)

Insertion of contemporary music (this includes original score that features synthesizers and/or electric guitar)
 

Anyone seductively consumes food or drink

FLASHBACK

Bad vampire makeup

Recreational drug use

Use of creative ‘swearing’ or ‘cursing’

Ridiculous rationalizations/explanations for people dying

So, in order to cope with this insanity, I did what any rational modern viewer would do: I made a BINGO game! Copy it. Print it. Share and drink to it with friends

I'm am returning...

I know... it's been a long time. I wish I could say many important, cool, exciting, and/or life-altering things have occurred in my absence, but that would be an utter lie.
However, in the next few weeks I plan to resurrect this blog as a place to air some creative/life grievances and offer some opinions and silliness and fangirling and ranting over the upcoming fall season of new (and returning shows.

First up: Dracula Bingo! (Or, Why I'm Going to Need Gallons of Alcohol to Survive This Show)
Coming really, really soon...

You couldn't be that small.

October Read #1: Hell House - Richard Matheson

With the exception of the adapted Dracula for Marvel comics, which I have not read though I've read the novel dozens of times, this is the only 're-read' on my list. I've read Hell House probably four to five times over the past several years. Each time I read it I find more to like about it, more that gets under my skin, and more that makes me excited to read it again.
Hell House is a true American ghost story, building on the base of the traditional and adding to it the exploration (and in some cases, the breakdown) of science, sexuality, faith, and personality. As a reader you're rather left to your own preconceptions to decide if the psychology of the house and how it affects people is caused by their own ideologies, or by paranormal entities. Each character has their individual ideas, and each seems plausible in the face of how situations are posed to us. The fact that their own beliefs cause (and cloud) their judgment makes each one an unreliable narrator several times through the course of the narrative and it's only in the last twenty pages that we are let in on the definitive answers.
It's not a story without loss, as no horror story really ever achieves acceptance in its genre without it, but the losses are incredibly calculated and important. It's not the body count which is important, it's the timing, the effect, and the reasoning which make them impactful. Matheson doesn't always excel at character development, but in this instance there is beautiful detail and specificity to each character. And I'm just going to say it now: I love Ben Fischer. If anything, he is the core of this novel and in a lot of ways the closest lens the reader gets to a 'typical' person being trapped in that environment. Yet he is truly anything but typical in his abilities.
Overall, the story is engaging, horrific, detailed, and insightful. It's also not a long, complex read. Clocking in at just over 300 pages, it doesn't talk down to the reader in terms of its scientific and parapsychological terminology, yet remains accessible. It's creepy and cool, with a resolution that doesn't feel cheated or forced, and will keep you thinking after completion without making you want to sleep with the lights on for a week.

October is "Read More, Bitch" Month

...and update your blog more, too.

I need to read more. Again. My mind has once again become stagnant and dulled. It begs for life to be breathed into it and at best I've been able to manage a weak sigh.
So last night I sat down, took out a fake Sharpie and a piece of construction paper (because sometimes for important lists you have to be eight... that's just how it is), and wrote down a short-ish list of book to read for next month. Seeing as how it's going to be October, and I love all the fallishness (or what I remember of it, since southern California doesn't have seasons) and Halloween funtimes that go with it, it's a pretty Gothic-centric list.
However, to keep myself on task, I'm tacking on the added challenge of blogging a review of these once a week, hopefully on Tuesdays. That way I satisfy two goals in one, and help my poor story-starved brain recover from its lack of imaginative air.

If you want to peek in every week to check my progress, please do so -- and if you want to know what I might will be reading, here's the list:

Hell House - Richard Matheson (re-read)

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen

The Vampyre  - John Polidori

Roald Dahl's Ghost Stories - Roald Dahl

Dracula (graphic novel) - Bram Stoker / Marvel Comics*

Bonus Book TBA

*The Dracula graphic novel review will actually show up over at The Comics Observer, likely on 10/29, but I'll post a lil' tidbit and lingage here on that date.

Read along with me... IF YOU DARE. MUAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAA!
(See. Halloween. Love it.)

Jane Snare

Yes, Charlotte Brontë, even dead and unable to collect royalties you still get my money. Even though I have a hate-appreciate relationship with your critical blockbuster of a novel, I still cannot resist the siren call of another adaptation when it comes creeping into theatres (or onto my telly). Thus I gave in this weekend and ventured out, armed with a trusty band of ladies, to see what this new film adaptation held in store.
To start, I must say that the cinematography, lighting, and overall mood of the film better matched the tone of the story than just about any other adaptation. Also, though he doesn’t exactly qualify as a member of the Less Than Handsome Club (understatement), Michael Fassbender made a better-than-normal Rochester. Miss Mia also portrayed Jane’s different states of vulnerability and self reliance quite well. However, the chemistry between them left something to be desired, a fault I attribute more to the structure of the film and the absence of some vital moments from the book than to either actor’s performance. Let’s face it, carrying off believable chemistry between a man of forty-ish and a woman of seventeen presents a difficult challenge. However, as proved a few years ago by Ruth Wilson and Toby Stephens, it’s entirely possible to do without being at all creeptastic.
Now for the, erm, issues. I’m going to try to steer away from the issues that relate directly to the source material (i.e. Rochester’s a douchebag), and just stick with the problems inherent in condensing and style. The concept of crafting a darker, more gothic adaptation worked well as a whole, however within the confines of a two and a half hour movie, some of the extended dark sequences in the end took up time that could (and should) have been given to some of the even darker and more important moments in the story. This, coupled with extended sequences of Jane moping around Thornfield grounds and a highly repetitive ‘escape’ sequence from the hall not only slowed the pace of the film, but took up time which could have been dedicated to more important moments… like the gypsy sequence, or the veil tearing, or Jane’s nightmares, or ALL of Grace Poole’s scenes. You know, the REALLY dark, gothic, scary and important sequences. These sequences not only showcase the best of the story’s gothic side, they develop and deepen Rochester and Jane’s relationship… so when she gets all mopey that he’s gone, you understand it better.
The flashback method worked well to a point. It helped speed along the childhood moments which, to be frank, aren’t why we watch the adaptations. We want to get right to the juicy stuff at Thornfield. Jane’s aunt and cousins are assholes; Lowood School is full of douches except for one friendly girl who dies, the end. Also, it was a nice change to see Jane start out with St. John and his sisters to see their kindness extended and give a basis for Jane’s affinity for them from pretty much the start (also, Jamie Bell, Holliday Granger, and Tamzin Merchant are all made of awesome -- I hope they continue to get more and more work). However, as the film progresses, there aren’t enough returns to the Rivers family to make their relationships with Jane strong enough to sustain her caring for them when they reach the climactic scenes. Also, um, cousins anyone? Did we just feel making that connection would get to creepy or something?
In any case, conceptually this adaptation works in bringing the darker (figurative and literal) aspects of the story out. However, too many sequences of empty moping and unnecessary eye flirting and candle lighting didn’t leave room to cover some of the most important emotional (and darkest) moments in the film, thereby not allowing for the real chemistry between Jane and Rochester to come through, thus leaving me more emotionally empty than I have been while watching other interpretations.
Sorry, Fassbender, Bell, and BabyDickens, you’re still trumped by Toby Stephens.

Got a little Lycan in you? Would you like some?

While doing some cleaning and organizing this weekend (both mental and physical), I happened to spend a ridiculous amount of time with the telly on in the background, flipping between Indiana Jones trilogy (There are only three. Just three. Do you hear me? Only three movies exist!), and the Underworld trilogy.
Now, much as people might react with surprise and dismay, I am not really on the Underworld fan-wagon. Why not? Well, a) not a fan of Kate Beckinsale. She just does nothing for me. B) For being movies crammed with cool action sequences filled with almost as much gore-splatter as a Tarantino flick, they move at a snail’s pace. Every time I watch one I feel like six hours of my life have gone by; I don’t know what it is but the pacing on those films is so awkward. C) Vampires vs. werewolves stories need to have something really compelling for me to engage in them (like Taylor Lautner with his shirt off, or Ian Somerhalder being the NewSpike, or Seth Green as a tiny-man-by-day-wolf-badass-every-full-moon kind of guy, or Ian Somerhalder with his shirt off… you know, deeply compelling stuff). Actually Underworld has a rather compelling take on the whole vampires vs. werewolves mythos, it’s just buried under horrid pacing, electric blue contacts, and Kate Beckinsale’s dripping wet latex suit. So why did I spend a not-insignificant portion of my weekend with this train wreck of a series in the background of my life? Simple: Michael Sheen.
Don’t get me wrong, the Brit actors in these movies kick a ton of ass: Tony Curran, Derek Jacobi, and Bill “I’d watch him read the phonebook” Nighy, but they all behave pretty much as one might expect them to behave in this kind of genre. Waltz on, Michael Sheen, and it’s goodbye Tony Blair, hello tortured badass Lucian. The first Underworld features Suave Badass, except for the brief scene where he tells Michael about the start of the war and his forbidden love affair with Viktor’s daughter. I just spoilered you for the whole series -- Whoops :P That one sequence earns him the cred to have his own movie where he gets to Maximus Decimus Meridius his way through the whole movie, except Michael Sheen’s such a badass that he lives through it all, damaged though he may be, to carry on another seven hundred years (just spoiled Gladiator, too. Don’t think I missed that). Also, unlike many of his lycan comrades (and nowadays seemingly EVERY vampire), Lucian never gets whiny about his situation. His life blows massive food-poisoning-from-KFC sized chunks, but he deals with it. He takes one look at his lover’s dumbfuck daddy and says, “All right, old man, you want to have at me for centuries for loving your daughter? Bring it. ‘Cause Im’ma throwdown with a vengeance you think only you possess… and then I’m going to even the score and blend the races like I did with your babygirl, just to piss you off.”
Now, I admit to my affinity for tall, lanky, (generally) pale English blokes, but I don’t typically go in for Michael Sheen. Yet you lather that man up in movie sweat, give him some longer-and-dirtier-than-Strider hair, tan & buff him up a bit and turn him into a badass Lycanthrope and I will watch the slow-moving hours tick by content with my British werewolf hunk keeping me company.

Horror, Horror Everywhere!

Makes me a cheery Goth.

On a random venture to the ATM this past weekend I decided to take a stroll down the local drag since it has been months since I did so. Imagine my surprise, delight and abject fear for my finances at discovering that two new stores stood side by side in dangerous luring. The first, a store for writers, I managed to keep from flying into like a chocoholic passing a Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory (though rest assured my resistance will not last long). The second drew me in through its portal of horrific awesome and held me with talons of terror.
Previously located about an additional half-mile further from me than the new location, I eschewed Dark Delicacies only because I knew it would get me into trouble, fiscally that is. Still, a bibliophile can only resist the siren call of books for so long before succumbing to their entrancing song and crashing ourselves on the rocks of debt in order to feed our addiction. Thus, though I entered with a steeled demeanor, I was no match for the pleadings emanating from tomes on the shelves.
However, I do not regret venturing into this fabled land of the Gothic as it rewarded me with two wonderful books (and a third I will purchase very soon). The first is an autographed first edition of Mansfield Park and Mummies (which you may recall me gushing about previously), the second is a Dracula-related teen novel (yes, I need another one; I need them all) I'd never heard of -- which is saying something.
Though I missed a signing on Sunday due to an intense headache brought on by too much theatre, I do know that Dark Delicacies can depend upon me to wander its floor and continue singing its praises plenty in the coming months.

Mullholloween

Anyone in the LA area who must commute daily from the east valley to anywhere on the west side knows what a clustermess it is right now. Every avenue of getting over the hill and to any area within a three-mile radius of the 405 is completely backed up. I've left my home at 7:40, 7:30, 7:20, 7:15... no matter when in that window I leave, no matter what route I take, my morning commute lasts 75-90 minutes. Every day. The same commute home rarely takes more than 45.
This morning I attempted one of my remaining two avenues of 'escape' from these horrors. Reduced driving time to about 55 minutes, which is comparable to life prior to bridges being demolished and school being back in session. The elation at a possible alternative (that doesn't leave me wanting to take a high-caliber automatic weapon to 98% of the drivers in LA) actually underscored something in the drive which reached deep within me to a much darker, yet pleasanter, place.
While driving along Mullholland, my car became enveloped in the more-than-regular-marine-layer fog which has draped itself across the area on recent mornings. Though part of me trembled inside at the absolute dissolution of all homes and hills contained in the view that stretch of road ordinarily provides, outwardly I found myself cackling maniacally at the incredible power a simple concoction of air and water vapor held -- making the world round me shrink to just the road in front of me, hills or an occasional house on one side of me, and cliffs to nowhere on the other. Several times I found myself contemplating what might happen if the road and fog just kept going and I never reached my work because it no longer existed. Nothing on that drive existed except me in my little sedan, the road, and the fog.
Were I a 'normal' individual terms such as 'eerie' 'creepy' 'macabre' 'desolate' might frighten me as they jumped into my brain during this drive. Was I freaked out? A little bit, deep down inside. Did I like that feeling? You bet your fog spewing sky I did. I reveled in it. When I finally began descending the hill and houses and trees returned to view, it saddened me. Granted, had this occurred in the dark, my reaction might not have been so elated -- and when civilization started sprouting around me again and I noticed deer crossing signs I reflected on how devastating a deer jumping out of that fog would have been. Still, I think nature served me well this morning in reminding me of my Child of the Gothic status.