2017 Movie Wrap-Up

It's that time of year again! I get to look back on all the movies from this past year that I've seen and give them the one paragraph treatment (some of which deserve it more than others). So let's just jump into it, shall we? We shall.

Movies

The Lego Batman Movie

This may have been my biggest disappointment of the year in terms of how much I thought I would enjoy it versus what I walked away feeling. It was entertaining...enough. I guess. But The Lego Movie set a really high bar for story quality, and this one didn't even match the fun of the Lego Batman Video Game series cut scenes. Two main problems. Will Arnett's Bojack Batman is much funnier as a scene stealer than as the lead. And there's honestly nothing at stake in this movie. The Lego Movie figured it out; horror to a Lego character is being crazy glued permanently to one spot. The destruction of Lego Gotham doesn't mean anything.

Logan

Dear God, I didn't like one single thing about this movie; a sentiment made all the more nerve grating by the fact that everyone in my social circle insists on how great it is. Here's the problem: who do I care about? Wolverine is not a consistently interesting character. In order to crack his shell, he has to be in a fish out of water scenario. In Logan he's in his element, and it's Dark Knight Rises level dreariness. Xavier is waiting around to die, and an obviously bad decision on his part gets an innocent family killed. Laura is completely unsympathetic (that store clerk was only doing his job) and she never needed Logan's help in the first place. I come to the movies to get away from hopelessness, my trending on Facebook feed covers that.

Beauty and the Beast

I've made it no secret that the animated version of this story is not my favorite film, but I wound up quite pleased with the live action remake. The flaws in the original are hammered out to full effect here; the town's idolization of Gaston, the servants' role in their own punishment, a more careful build up of Belle and the Beast's connection, Gaston's more active hand in his own demise. Even Maurice gets a badass upgrade. The songs aren't entirely consistent in quality, but the movie has a lot of life in it. If only Disney would quit with the remakes here.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2

The short version: I disliked it less than the first one. I still think the core characters are shallow, and by the end of this second film they've had about as much growth as most get in their first act, but it's still growth. I can't say they got that in their first film. The new characters fare much better. Mantis was a delight. Ego was engaging. Nebula completely won me over, and since she left literally no impression on me in the first film I'm treating her like a new character. I can't really say I felt like my time had been well spent by the end of the movie, but I didn't feel like it was wasted either. I basically watched it because it's part of the MCU, and I didn't mind.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales

This movie was passable. It also cost between two and three hundred million dollars to make, which is an uncomfortable price tag for passable. It's better than we'd normally expect from the fifth film in a trilogy, but Jack Sparrow honestly ran aground two films ago and there hasn't been anything new to the series to really call us back to sea. Javier Bardem manages to work in some convincing sneers, and Kaya Scodelario could have made a solid protagonist if the script had bothered to favor her. But Geoffrey Rush's Barbossa really deserved better, and it's evident the film is trying to have fun but not actually succeeding.

Wonder Woman

Everything that needs to be said about this film has been said, and it's all true. It's fantastic, and it's my number one film of the year. No, it's not perfect, but it doesn't matter that it's not perfect. What matters is that it's awesome. Now unfortunately I think we're still raving about the fact that a female led superhero film directed by *gasp* a woman director did so well, when we should honestly be well past the point where those things stand out. But if there's one lesson we've learned the hard way from 2017, it's where we are as a society. We need Wonder Woman. And until we invite her into the real world we have her movie to inspire us.

The House

Did I finish watching this movie? Hang on, let me read the synopsis. No, I think we gave up on this one. I imagine on paper this seemed like a good idea; stick Amy Poehler and Will Ferrell in a movie together about a suburban couple who has to run an impromptu casino in order to cover their daughter's college tuition. But sadly they both resort to standard SNL caliber performances which often don't carry through four minute sketches, much less a feature film. And I really wish comedies would stop reaching for that coveted R rating. If you earn it, that's fine. But shock value doesn't equate to laughs, and this movie (the first half anyway) was tepid on both.

Spider-Man: Homecoming

I have to address the inescapable. Since the dawn of the age of superhero movies, this is their third freaking time trying to get this character off the ground. It's unfair, but that shadow looms over Tom Holland. With that said, this is probably the best Spider-Man movie to date in terms of balance, pacing, emotions, action, characters, and plot. The highs of the past might peak a little higher, but the lows- you know, I'll just let you fill in the end of that thought. In addition to effectively integrating Spidey into the MCU, the movie has an inspired use of Michael Keaton to crack their villain problem. You have a good thing going, please don't screw it up again. Um, one quick question though. Who the hell has been asking for a Venom movie?

Atomic Blonde

This is another one I only got halfway through before losing interest. I mean, yeah, it's an action movie with action in it, but it fails to overcome the fundamental issue with any movie about a spy who's not James Bond. Spies aren't inherently likable. It's a competent spy movie, a bit paint by numbers. I guess the big selling point is that it's a woman in the role that's usually a men only club. Charlize Theron plays the role with all the coldness you'd expect from a real spy, which makes her, you know, kind of boring. Believable yes. But like I say, the movie didn't keep me engaged. We certainly need action heroines, but invulnerability doesn't read as character. May I suggest looking to Geena Davis in The Long Kiss Goodnight for an example of a badass you can root for?

Logan Lucky

The previews promised something they didn't deliver on. It looked like we were going to get a caper comedy. Instead we got a caper...what do you call a drama that doesn't really have drama? Just a movie? That exists? We have a caper that exists. It had some good elements. It's always nice when Channing Tatum gives a performance that- well, gives a performance. Adam Driver clearly has a range on him that we haven't seen the full extent of. And Daniel Craig looks like he's having a blast, probably happy to finally have a recognizable role besides that one Stormtrooper that Rey put the whammy on. But overall this movie started at the pace of a casual mosey, and then stayed there. Not a bad movie, but I'm pretty sure I've flipped through more exciting atlases.

Goodbye Christopher Robin

A story, by its nature, isn't primarily concerned with relaying information. It's concerned with telling you something. Hence the challenge with any story based on real events; inevitably accuracy and narrative are going to come into conflict with each other. While I can't authoritatively say this movie is accurate, my guess is that it's probably the case since narrative took so many hits. It seemed like every other scene the film introduced a new element that I was more interested in following than the primary arc, and never got to. Performances were strong. Margot Robbie is clearly going to have a long career. But in the end it was almost like the film version of a well written term paper; solid but not necessarily anything to say. Therefore I wouldn't know who to recommend it to.

Thor: Ragnarok

Tony Stark was the character who breathed a new dignity and gravitas into superhero films, which is why he led off the whole seventeen film and counting MCU. But Thor was the character they had to get absolutely right in order to have any sort of staying power, namely because he skirts the line into preposterousness. Lucky for us that Chris Hemsworth went into acting. Even then, it's been a slow multi-film process to get at his character. But by Ragnarok, we're convinced Hemsworth is Thor, and we've seen what he can do. This is the movie that truly let's us see who he is at his core. It turns out he's noble, and funny, and vulnerable, and able to hold his own against notorious upstagers like Tom Hiddleston and Jeff Goldblum. As for the movie, it comes together more episodic than single thread. But the ride is so much fun you don't mind so much.

Murder on the Orient Express

So how do you remake a classic mystery that damn near everyone already knows the ending to? Simple really, you treat it like a really good drama. This is the strength of Kenneth Branagh's direction; the same guy who gave us Dead Again, which I never get tired of re-watching. As usual the story is about the murder, but this version is equally about the way it affects the great Hercule Poirot and his black and white view on crime. Unlike a typical detective story, our sleuth is clearly changed by the end of his summation. It's unfortunate that not everyone in the all-star cast has enough opportunity to strut their talent, but the older cast members have proven themselves dozens of times over. And they're kind enough to let Daisy Ridley, Josh Gad, and Leslie Odom Jr. demonstrate their staying power. Oh by the way, Michelle Titania Eris Sukie Ridgemont Catwoman Mindy Simmons Pfeiffer still has not peaked as an actress. At this point, it's quite possible she never will.

Justice League

I kind of liked Batman Five Superman. Sure the Martha thing was silly, but I think people have been unnecessarily harsh on it overall. With that said, I thought Justice League was even better. Perhaps not where we want it to be (truthfully, we're fans, we don't know what we want) but the franchise is moving in the right direction. Steppenwolf was decent enough, and at least a step above the majority of Marvel's Phase One and Two villains. The Flash, Aquaman, and Cyborg were all a lot more likable than I was expecting. And Henry Cavill finally owned his role as Superman. My past criticisms about Zack Snyder still hold, but out of all the working directors in Hollywood I think I've seen the most growth from him. There were a lot more good things here than bad. So listen nerds, quit being bullies. We're better than this.

The Disaster Artist

I'm assuming you've experienced Tommy Wiseau's The Room; if not, I can't help you in this one paragraph review of a different film. So let me skip to James Franco. I'm happy to be wrong about this, but Franco strikes me as one of the cool kids. I don't mean that as a compliment, just a categorization from someone who grew up as anything but. For whatever reason, Franco seems like a cool kid who has a bizarre attraction to being a misfit. It would explain his draw to completely-detached-from-reality Wiseau. But unlike Franco's past attempts to infiltrate the world of misfits, he does a thorough job here. It's inevitable that The Disaster Artist gets compared to Ed Wood, a similar concept about a passionate director with limited-to-no talent and the fruit of their labors. Whereas Wood's problem was that he was best suited for radio drama (a flavor that translated poorly to film), Wiseau's obstacle is a chronic lack of understanding human behavior. This film about a film succeeds in humanizing Wiseau in a way the man himself never could. Early buzz is that the film is an Oscar contender, and I quite agree; James Franco may very well have earned a director's nomination. But for acting, that accolade goes squarely to his brother James for his portrayal of actor Greg Sestero, the audience surrogate caught between Tommy's world and our own. And kudos to the ending. While Ed Wood was kind enough to omit the part where people treated the director as a joke in favor of a fabricated happy ending, The Disaster Artist embraces the reactions as a vital element to what makes the bad movie something so special.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi

I loved it. Are there flaws? Yes. Do they matter? Honestly no, not to me. There were some things that could have been handled better (Laura Dern's character, Finn's sidequest, where the hell Lando is), and the sequel trilogy still hasn't given us that ONE iconic lightsaber battle on par with Darth Maul and "No, I AM your father", but this movie did everything a Star Wars movie needs to. It advanced it's own arc, challenged the overall mythology, and showed us a few things we hadn't seen before. I think at this point Rey has proven herself every bit as much iconic as my childhood action figures. Right now, this movie has edged out A New Hope as my second favorite Star Wars film. I'll need a few months to decide how exactly it compares to Empire.

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle

Ginny and I went this morning to an early showing, and it was the perfect movie to end a really horrible year on. Even better than the premise and the funny lines, the characters were legitimately likable. The jock, the nerd, the princess, and the bookworm (Scooby-Doo minus the dog) get trapped in a sentient video game that just wants friends; kind of like a Tron version of The Breakfast Club. The bulk of the fun in any body switching movie is watching the actors pull off the multiple layers of credibility. The Rock's charm as a Hollywood star is his refusal to take himself seriously, but he's quite adamant about treating the high school kid inhabiting him with respect. Kevin Hart is clearly in his element, and Jack Black has been waiting his whole career to play a teenage girl. But it's Karen Gillan who really shows off her range, always presenting both the Lara Croft expy and the terrified girl inside her simultaneously. In the end I found myself wishing to spend more time with the characters outside of their game. But less is more and the movie is best left sequel-free; the short but sweet jewel of the Jaguar's Eye that it is. Jumanji!

The Ghosts of Christmas Specials

Ebenezer Scrooge! You suck! Just thought I'd drop by to remind you. I mean, yeah, you've changed your miserly ways, built a few hospitals, supported the local humane society and all that jazz, but you still suck! And why? Well, I'll tell you.

You see, you have forsaken Christmas once again by embracing it too much. I know that doesn't make any sense, stop looking at me like that! I'm talking about sacrificing quality for quantity. Have you looked at the Christmas specials in your Netflix cue? What on earth have you been watching? Saccharine, that's what. Flimsy plots that barely tie together acapella renditions of "Jingle Bell Rock", people throwing their careers away for a single kiss in the snow, and 101 ways to derail Santa's whole racket with one poorly timed appearance at the North Pole (haven't we all just wandered in there?). These aren't Christmas specials. These are Christmas mundanes.

So that's why I'm here, to warn you that you need to cut that out if you really want to save your soul or something. And with that in mind, I've taken the liberty of assembling the usual lot. Tonight you will be visited by three specials that did it right. Listen to them. Watch them. Do what they say. Or your chain, which I forgot to mention earlier, will be longer than mine. What chain is that, you ask? It's the one where you make ten copies of this letter and send them anonymously to strangers so you can experience good luck, and if you don't you'll single handedly ruin everything! Yep. Global warming is all on you. Merry Christmas!

Mystery Science Theater 3000: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians

To start with, this episode is very funny. Every MST episode has some good laughs, but occasionally you get one that strikes the right balance of having a bad movie that's intriguingly watchable on its own paired with a running commentary that's pretty damn solid from start to finish. Martians is one of those gems that you can show to a non-MST fan and at the very least get them to understand why people rave about the show (even if you don't convert them).

But what really makes this episode stand out is the flavor of the host segments. If you don't know, MST is a show identified by its biting sarcasm. Sentiment isn't really a concept that has any room in the intentional cheapness of production and the team's refusal to take anything about itself seriously. Even when Joel Hodgson left the show, or either time the series ended, you never really felt anything about the characters. You weren't meant to. The show was wit, not heart.

Which is why Martians is unique to the show. Somewhere between Crow's Christmas wish that he gets to decide who lives and dies and Tom Servo's suggestion that Santa was killed in Viet Nam, Joel pauses to reflect on whether or not they've become so jaded that the spirit of Christmas has been lost to them. And then Gypsy (good luck getting that name in the final script today) silently presents a manager scene with no facetiousness and no punch line, before going to commercial. It's quick, and they don't big deal out of it, but it may be the most poignant acknowledgement of Christ since Linus recited the Gospel of Luke.

To the best of my understanding, the MST veterans are predominantly Christian. I am as well. Perhaps you aren't, and I'm not remotely bothered by that. But if you celebrate something around the time of the cold and the shortening of days, I do hope it has a meaning for you. Whatever it may be. Even if you don't know what that meaning is, I hope you get to experience it some time this season. The Grinch never figured out exactly what Christmas meant, but simply accepting the possibility of a meaning was enough for him to feel a joy he hadn't felt before. And for MST, a mere moment of reflection among an hour and a half of one-liners speaks volumes.

The Bells of Fraggle Rock

How about a Christmas special that never mentions Christmas (if you factor out the wraparound segments)? Fraggle Rock was a brilliant show that set out to end war, and would damn near succeed if world leaders would take the time to listen to their inner songs. Gobo is the most level-headed of the Fraggles, approaching things like magic with a certain scientific mindset that he developed purely on his own accord.

As the Festival of the Bells approaches, Gobo finds himself experiencing a crisis of faith that he can't quite describe as such. Being the only Fraggle who can't accept the story behind the festival at face value, he declares that he'll be able to prove the existence of the Great Bell; something that he thinks will restore the festival's significance that has slipped away from him.

The takeaway is ultimately left ambiguous. Does he become a believer again? Does he accept comfort in the story as metaphor? And who exactly is this particular story meant to reach? I wonder what would happen if an agnostic told this story to a group of children. Which elements would be emphasized?

Christmas can be a frustrating time for people prone to wanting spiritual answers. My experiences with most churches is that if a conversation about doubt is even permitted to begin, it's cut off by a traditional non-answer like "Well, you just have to have faith," which appeases the one who was never comfortable with the question in the first place while pushing away the one who's asking.

The bottom line here: some people simply cannot do things the easy way, their inner song dictates they try to observe the invisible. From a purely goal-driven perspective, the pursuit is futile. But experience teaches the lessons it has, not the ones you expect it to have. And that feeling we refer to as 'the Christmas spirit' only pokes its head in when we stop listening to our own voices and just hear what's around us.

The reason it's fun to ride in a one horse open sleigh is because you're fully invested in the journey as you're experiencing it. The Christmas party at the home of Farmer Gray will happen when it does. For now, just jingle. And commit to doing it all the way.

ALF's Christmas Special

It's probably nothing more than coincidence that all three of these specials involve puppetry. Although if there really is anything to it, I guess I would argue that puppets are inherently more human than human. They have no poker faces or repressing workplace etiquette. Ulterior motives don't exist unless they show up in the character's voice or mannerisms. In that regard, a puppet will naturally be more honest than any of us will. And I guess that makes them the ideal catalysts for Christmas tales of any sort of emotional weight.

So ALF. Some people may not know; he was a brown puppet alien character from an eighties sitcom of the same name (it stands for Alien Life Form). After crash landing on earth he winds up in the care of the Tanner family, trying to find ways to integrate himself into daily life without being discovered by the government.

In the Christmas special, ALF pushes the Tanners about as close to their breaking point as his performer allegedly did in real life to the production team, and they order him out of the cabin they're staying at for the holidays. The alien gets stuck in the back of the cabin owner's truck, which is full of toys destined for a children's hospital. ALF soon finds himself posing as a Christmas toy to a little girl named Tiffany.

He intentionally blows his own cover sooner than you'd expect and asks her for help getting out of the hospital so he can return to the Tanners. It's kind of a tear jerking moment, because Tiffany was clearly bonding with what she thought was a stuffed animal for her to keep. But not to worry. That moment gets completely overshadowed by the kick in the gut you receive when you find out she's also terminally ill, and this is going to be her last Christmas.

Not kidding here. Tiny Tim undoubtedly got cured and grew up to be a key activist in the fight against starvation. Tiffany gets no Christmas miracle here in this eighties sitcom. In the end, the Tanner's come to spend Christmas with her in the hospital, and that's nice enough. But the episode makes it clear that she's not going to live. It aired thirty years and five days ago, and I'm still about to lose it just thinking about her.

Luckily we have a much needed bit of ALF-ish hijinks when the furball gets stuck in an elevator with a pregnant woman and has to deliver her baby himself (which is apparently not that hard to figure out, if television is to be believed). It's a welcomed palette cleanser and a return to Christmas special form, as the normally selfish ALF gets to be the guardian angel for a stranger in need. And it makes the episode's Act III mood swing feel all the more like a drop kick when ALF witnesses the aforementioned cabin owner one step away from committing suicide. What the f**k happened in 1987 to take us down this road?

Christmas comes at a time when our side of the world is literally heading into a dark place (or technically, just as we're coming out of it). It's odd to me that Christmas specials rarely go as dark as this one does. Many people hurt during the holidays, and because of the reflective nature of winter that pain seems to make itself known in different ways. Contrary to popular belief, the suicide rate is actually at a low point around Christmas (April being the high), but it certainly doesn't mean the pain isn't there.

We all carry things that hurt, and the older I get the more I notice what kind of stress the holidays put on us. It's like, bringing joy to the world is such a gritty determination for us that we easily lose sight of how to experience it. Maybe what we should be doing instead is granting ourselves some time to mourn. Every one of us had at least one connection last Christmas that we no longer have now. I wonder what would happen if we allowed ourselves a chance to be sad, instead of trying so hard to be happy. Maybe, just maybe, the Christmas spirit is something we need, not something we can make or buy or binge watch.

Merry Christmas, and may God bless us every one.

How to Fail at Humor -A Survival Primer

Claiming something isn't funny is a difficult claim to support, especially when people are laughing. Concepts regarding humor are ambiguous at best. As the world changes, or the people in it change, humor adapts. There are many jokes which are mean spirited, offensive, and/or damaging that still make certain groups laugh in certain situations. So for me to call said "joke" unfunny is only partially correct. It's unfunny to me, and possibly to anyone with a basic understanding of human integrity. But there are always going to be assholes who laugh at inappropriate things, some of whom make very comfortable salaries doing so. That's a topic beyond the scope of my ability as a blogger.

Instead, I'm here to discuss the merits of joke telling; the inner rhythm and timing that makes a joke succeed or fail. Everyone has a sense of humor, but not everyone can tell a joke. I've known many people who are convinced they have great senses of humor because they've found a small panel of humor buttons to push repeatedly. And yes, they may be getting laughs from their peers, but they still fail at humor. My goal is to explain why. To you who are reading this, I hope you come away with a new appreciation for the complexity that is humor, or at the very least confirmation of what you've already figured out.

Let's look at some examples of failure.

1. "That's what she said".

May as well start with the most obvious one. This is the commoners version of "The Aristocrats", with its punch line that brings nothing to a joke that has already run its course. You know the ritual. Literally anything that can be taken as a sexual innuendo, something as simple as "This is hard!", is followed by a near automatic response of "That's what she said."

First of all, the joke doesn't even work on its own; you have to have already heard it to get it, otherwise you're looking around the room trying to figure out which 'she' is being quoted. But the heart of the problem is that this joke requires absolutely nothing out of the person who says it. No cleverness. No creativity. It's merely a line said on cue, like the person who says "Who's there" after being given the traditional "Knock knock" setup. I mentioned earlier the concept of pushing a button. Humor requires effort. There's no effort in pushing a button. But the "that's what she said" joke tellers are trying to take undeserved credit, as if it's unexpected that the doorbell keeps ringing every time they press the buzzer.

Automatic response humor is never funny. Here are a couple of non-innuendo examples that come to mind. One, you've just told an actual joke. It may not be a particularly funny one, but it's recognizable as a joke with at least a minimal amount of effort behind it. Someone in your audience responds, not with a laugh or even a groan, but by deadpanning the onomatopoeic phrase "ba dum tsss". They're only acknowledging they get that you've told a joke, but clearly don't find it funny enough to give you a real reaction and are trying to one-up you by implying your joke wasn't funny. (A justifiable exception here is when someone accidentally tells a joke without realizing it, and the "ba dum tsss" draws attention to it. Inclusiveness is the key).

A second example is a misuse of riff humor in daily life. Picture this: you and your passenger have just gotten out of your car. Doors shut. Lock. Keys still in the ignition. A spoonful of stress wells up in you and spills out of your mouth. "Damn it!" you mutter. "Janet," your passenger responds. Now all you can think about is your tightening fingers around the throat of someone who, until that moment, had been dear to you. Mystery Science Theater 3000 gets a pass on this, as they write around nine hundred jokes for an hour and a half; even the lame ones are acceptable. And (this is the point) the movie isn't in that moment with them. It can't respond to the needling or ill-timed thoughtlessness.

Automatic response humor is thoughtless. "That's what she said" is the worst offender because it combines thoughtlessness with the easiest, most obvious joke in the adult lexicon, "Gur! That could have been taken more than one way! Huh huh!" I encourage everyone, the next time one of your co-workers responds to anything with "that's what she said," to outwardly fly off the handle. "What?! WHO said that? That is inappropriate workplace conversation! I want names! Of everyone who has ever undermined this company's integrity!" Yes, you'll look like a dumbass, but it's worth it to smother out this monster.

2. "That sounds like a personal problem. That's all I'm saying."

This is practically the same situation, although personal problems range from sexual to psychological. So I can at least grant that it's a step up from "that's what she said" in versatility. I knew a girl who I'm going to call Fred, because that's obviously not her real name. This whole phrase became Fred's mantra in group conversations. Being around her was the equivalent of being at a taping of Full House with a guaranteed reaction from the audience. It didn't matter what the set up was, anything could sound like a personal problem to her. "My throat's sore, I'm having trouble swallowing," and "I can't make change for a dollar," are on two very different points of the logistics spectrum, but either one could be followed by "that sounds like a personal problem" *laugh track* "that's all I'm saying" *precisely same laugh track*.

Two things going on here, and I'm going to work backwards through them. "That's all I'm saying" has no meaning. Fred just wanted twice the laughter for one joke, and she knew she could get it by cueing the audience. "That sounds like a personal problem" as I mentioned is similar to "that's what she said". But there's a subtle difference.

"That's what she said" is the mantra of people who have never tried to understand humor, i.e. people who aren't, and never will, be funny. "That sounds like a personal problem" is an actual joke. It's not a good one. In fact, it's an incredibly lazy one. But it is a joke. And it illustrates a curious phenomenon in the spectrum of humor, namely how the way an audience perceives the jokester has an effect on their reception of the joke.

Fred was the 'funny friend', and it took her a certain amount of Monty Python recitations and spotlight hogging to achieve that status. And having been established as the 'funny friend', Fred no longer had to try so hard to get laughs. Fred was well liked. You were used to laughing when she spoke, so in essence all she had to do was cue you. "That sounds like a personal problem" was your cue. It's effective in certain circles, and it's dreadfully lazy.

I haven't seen Fred in at least a decade, so for all I know she may still be getting laughs with the minimal effort. But I expect she at least has encountered a higher class of humor on more than one occasion, made up of people who notice immediately that she's not bringing her A-game. That group only gives courtesy laughs to children. Adults who deal out the "that sounds like a personal problem" card are met with blank stares. If you've ever tried doing standup, that reaction is worse than being heckled. It's eerie. Especially coming from people who understand humor better than you. When you get those looks (and you'll intuitively know) take them seriously. That's your crossroads. You need to decide if you're going to swim with the bigger fish or go back to the comfort of your little pond. But the bottom line is, you're failing.

3. "You're very punny! You deserve a 'round' of applause."

One of my college school mates only knew these two jokes, and they were told often, and always in succession. The 'round' of applause (if I need to point it out) was accompanied by the visual aid of golf clapping in a longitudinal air circle. Get it? Of course you do, because you're not three.

Generally speaking, puns are not funny. Now if you knew me in my teenaged years, you would be correct in screaming "hypocrite" at me right now. I was all about puns in high school and college. Hell, it was the only way I knew how to connect most of the time. Were they funny? Generally no. Did anyone ever think to mention that to me? Oh, you bet! Ask yourself if it stopped me. Go on. You know the answer.

Here's my defense of puns. It's not about being funny or not, it's about a phase. Particularly in adolescence when you're figuring out who you're going to be for the rest of your life, your awful pun phase is the wax on/wax off exercise that trains you to do real karate down the road. You're learning a skillset without realizing it.

One, you're experiencing what it feels like to lose your audience. Watch any late night comedian, you'll catch them at a moment where they lose their audience. But they have a whole arsenal of ways to dance back into the hotspot. Every single one of them got that skill through years of failing.

Two, you're training your brain to think like a comedy writer. If I say "there was a meltdown at the plant", you're automatically processing the alternate definitions of the words in the sentence to see if there's a surreal way of putting them together (instead of asking if everyone got out all right, you horrible person). Wordplay is the stew mix of comedy. Too much of it may give off the wrong flavor, but it's an indispensable ingredient.

And three, you will eventually get one that lands. Your audience (and if you're still doing puns, 'audience' means peers) who normally takes joy in chastising you like Charlie Brown's classmates are suddenly covering their mouths and turning their eyes away so as to deny that this one time you said something that was actually funny. On purpose. You're cooler than they are.

This is the moment when one of them plays an egregiously amateur move by trying to connect with your hard work by calling you 'punny' and topping it with their handography. Um, no. You're not funny. And the fact that I was just now, doesn't grant you the privilege of riding my coattails. You're only emphasizing the fact that you will never pull off what I just did. Because you haven't failed as many times as I have.

4. The exclamation point

Let's just start with an example. Pretend I'm submitting my author's bio for The Carousel, because I'm sure by now that book is more than fifteen percent done. "I was partially inspired to write the book in 2008 while working at the library, regularly walking past rows of fiction authors and thinking how amazing it would be to have my name among them. At that point I only got a few chapters in before temporarily shelving the project. If there's one thing I learned at the library, it's how to shelve!"

*sigh* It's okay, you can grind your teeth. I know I am.

To be fair, written humor has two immediate disadvantages to the more familiar spoken format. You have no control over timing, and no inflexions. From that perspective, I understand why people try on the exclamation point for punch line 'punch'. So much of humor is nuance, and the typed word is sorely limited. I don't think there's a really good solution forthcoming.

Here's the thing though, let's examine the Muppets. The Muppets are really funny. And they're really emotional. And with few exceptions, their expressions are limited to mouth closed and mouth open. Jim Henson himself always warned incoming writers that the puppets could do about ten percent of what they needed to do, but they managed to overcome those obstacles. With a certain amount of creativity, solutions present themselves. Maybe not all-purpose solutions, but there are usually ways to work up an arsenal of workarounds.

Hopefully in this blog I've made you smile at least once. Assuming so (I have such a high opinion of myself), then that at least proves it's possible to crack the challenges of the written word. And if I haven't connected with you, why don't you do a Google search for Jack Handey? That should get the point across.

Not every joke works in every format. You can't really 'tell' a sight gag. Likewise, I'm sure you've read many a children's joke book containing such attempted zingers like "Q: What's the best time to go to the dentist? A: Two thirty (tooth hurty)". The fact that the joke requires a parenthetical explanation only emphasizes the incompatibility of the outlet.

In the case of the exclamation point, it only draws attention to the lack of 'punch' in the punch line. Now I'm not talking about dialogue, where characters are raising their voices for whatever reason; exclamation points are often vital in conveying that nuance. But in cases where you personally are the omniscient narrator, your exclamation points for comedic support turn you into Fozzie Bear, and your reader into Statler and/or Waldorf. Don't do that to yourself.

5. Anything on Saturday Night Live that has been said more than once

Ah, catch-phrase humor. I think every successful comedy writer has a tolerate/mostly hate relationship with this concept. Here's what happens. Comedy writers go to work for the establishment, because it keeps them off the street. In SNL's case, that establishment is NBC. By its nature, comedy is anti-establishment. And by their nature, successful members of the establishment got that way by having literally no understanding of what makes a joke work. To the executives, if people are quoting their show it means they're watching, which in turn means the show is succeeding. So the memo comes down to the comedy writers "Insert more catch phrase humor". And the writers begin their decade-long love affair with cocaine. By the time "Well isn't that special" and "I love it! I love it! I love it!" reach the audience, they're dead weight.

Now to be fair, a lot of the experience of laughter is social. If I start a "cheeseburger, cheeseburger" chant and people join in, I've activated a temporary community. We've all seen that sketch, and we're agreeing that we liked it for whatever reason. I'm not hurting anybody per se, but I'm also not being humorous.

Now let's look at the class clown. I've never known a class clown who was actually funny. They were always good at convincing the class that they were, but the truth is they weren't. There was no cleverness, no wit, not even any sense of timing. They were just loud. Their whole shtick was disruption, and everything in their catalog was a combination of obvious dirty humor and a parroting back of verbal memes from whatever happened to be popular at the time. They got laughs, certainly. But they never got respect. And never will.

Of course, respect might not be necessary for you to make a comfortable living doing cheap jokes as obnoxiously as possible; I'm sure Hollywood is always on the hunt for the next Jim Carrey. But my gut tells me that here in the age of Youtube with its leveled playing field, you're really going to accomplish nothing by being lazy with your humor.

Nobody can teach you how to be funny. Part of it is an X factor that simply wires your brain to think like an adult child. The rest comes from a lot of trial and error, blank stares, and projectile soda cans. But my best advice, if you're interested in nurturing your natural talent, is figure out what isn't funny and don't do that. It should be enough to keep you pointed in the right direction, assuming you're somebody who cares enough to want to experience legitimate humor.

I think that's the key, caring. Caring enough to risk not being funny, in exchange for a deeper connection to that world of "I was really funny today!". Laziness is never funny. Desperation is never funny. Vulgarity is rarely funny, and considering how common it is, I'd encourage you to steer away from it entirely in favor of something fresh. Always try to be better. Comedy is fleeting, and the moment you feel like you've made it is when it soars off without you.

To paraphrase the old inspirational quote, shoot for the moon. Even if you miss you'll wind up in the cold vacuum of space, frozen and suffocating. And if you can survive that, you've got what it takes to handle comedy.

Doctor Who: What Would You Do if You Were Steven Moffat?

The Doctor Who Christmas Episode Twice Upon a Time is right around the corner, and with it we bid farewell to Peter Capaldi's Twelfth Doctor as he regenerates into Jodie Whittaker. We'll also see the return of Pearl Mackie as Bill for one last hurrah, and quite possibly an appearance by Jenna Coleman. Moreover, as has been teased, David Bradley will be appearing as William Hartnell's First Doctor in one final multi-Doctor story before Moffat slips quietly out of the show runner's chair.

I'm sure it's going to be a warm, tear inducing goodbye for all, and ultimately give us exactly what we'd expect from such a sendoff, right?

Except...

This is Steven Moffat we're talking about. Mr. Misdirection himself. The man who practically reinvented the 'there is literally no way out of this- but PSYCHE! You forgot about the pack of chewing gum didn't you? Oh you gullible fools!' trope *name needs revision*. You don't really think he's going to go quietly do you?

Moffat has his flaws as a writer, but you have to admit he's ambitious. And I can't really think of another Doctor Who writer who has demonstrated having so much fun with the timey-wimey elements of the show. This is likely his swan song, and you know he's going to put his stamp on it. That one last go round that he's been saving since everybody lived, just that once.

So it's not 'if' but 'what'. What rug is he going to yank out from under us? Well, in an attempt to answer this question, let's examine what said Moffat-ism has to accomplish.

1. The tools of the trade

One rule Moffat has always abided by is fair game. Like Agatha Christie (usually) he'll give you all the pieces you need in advance. It's only as the plot unfolds that he's showing you how to put them together, but it's all laid out very early. And knowing something as crucial as the First Doctor's appearance months ago, it means the twist is staring us in the face.

2. A clean slate

I don't know what goes on behind the scenes, but Doctor Who writers at least convey a professional respect for each other. With Chris Chibnall taking the reins, it would be keeping with Moffat's character to leave the office in work ready shape. No major dangling plot threads, or dead ends to back out of. Writers tend to clean up their messes when they know they're vacating their workspaces.

3. Writer's revenge

With that said, the one collective voice I'm sure Moffat has gotten sick of listening to is the fan base. There's no pleasing us. I'm sure Moffat's main advice to Chibnall is "take their whining and petitions against you as a sign that they're still paying attention, but don't ever expect praise or gratitude from the selfish bastards". Meaning, as considerate at Moffat will inevitably be to Chibnall, we deserve no such kindness. And as this is his last chance to really piss us off, you know he's going to really throw it in our faces.

4. Mythology

Moffat knows the history of the show at least as well as any of us do, so when we cry "But what about-" he knows. He's already thought about it.

So what then does that leave us with? One of the biggest continuity issues right now is the character of the Valeyard. If you don't know, or need a refresher, the Valeyard was a villain in the Sixth Doctor's final season; the huge reveal that he was a future incarnation of the Doctor (kind of between his Twelfth and Thirteenth incarnation. It's complicated).

So on the one hand, we have Capaldi's Twelfth Doctor on the cusp of regenerating into Whittaker's Thirteenth Doctor, which seems like a now or never point to address this loose end. On the other hand, what number regeneration are we really on? Between the War Doctor and Ten using a full regeneration to create Ten-light, are we actually moving into Fifteen? And it's also not clear what the Time Lords granted Eleven when they allowed him to regenerate into Twelve. Was it a whole new cycle? Does that mean Capaldi is the new First Doctor?

We're not going to get anywhere trying to untangle that series of knots, so let's focus on Moffat instead. He could easily say "Well, you know what? The Valeyard got erased because of a butterfly wizard. Get over it," and he wouldn't be outside the realm of sanity in doing so. But remember in the Moffat penned episode The Name of the Doctor, the Valeyard was name dropped as something that's still canon. So even Moffat acknowledges that there's a continuity issue.

I don't think the Valeyard is going to make an appearance in Twice Upon a Time because it's too big of a deal to tackle in one episode, and I'm sure Moffat wants to leave it up to Chibnall whether or not to address it at all. As part of the "Clean slate" directive, we need to treat the Valeyard's position between the Twelfth and Thirteenth incarnations intact, as well as pushing it as far away as possible to deal with now or deal with later as the current or future show runner deems necessary. What do we do?

*Fake Spoilers Ahead*

This is my best guess, trying to imagine the most Moffat-y thing Moffat could do as he takes his final bow. The Valeyard's goal was to steal the Sixth Doctor's remaining regenerations. From the Valeyard's perspective, those regenerations had already happened. So it's been established that a Time Lord actually has the ability to go back really screw around with the timeline. What wasn't established was how this would happen. It's assumed the high council would have removed Six's regeneration by force.

River Song voluntarily gave up all of her regenerative energy to save Eleven. So it's also been established that one has a certain amount of choice in the matter.

Now what is our situation in Twice Upon a Time? Calpaldi's Twelfth Doctor on the verge of regenerating and Bradley's First Doctor on the verge of regenerating. What if they swapped regeneration cycles? Capaldi regenerates into Patrick Troughton's Second Doctor closing the circle, freeing the First Doctor to regenerate into Jodie Whittaker, who will become the new Second Doctor. Wouldn't that be the biggest clean slate Moffat could give Chibnall while infuriating the fan base who are already infamous for hacking Moffat's Wikipedia page and filling it up with the sentence "Steven Moffat is ruining Doctor Who"?

I'm calling it now. And if I'm right, I expect a K9 Mark V on my doorstep come New Year's. I'm sure Baxter will be thrilled with the companion.

Home is Where the Dogs Are -A Thanksgiving Gathering

November. The month of neglect. That introspective middle child between the rebellious drama queen of October and the always-on-the-honor-roll-perfectly-straight-teeth-mom's-favorite-princess December. I'm not bitter. I'm a Scorpio. Scorpios don't get bitter. We get passive-aggressively pleasant.

It's not just that my birthday falls in the month of undertow between the all inclusive party of Halloween and the huge production of Christmas, it's that I'm perpetually tied to Thanksgiving, the holiday that literally nobody looks forward to. It's all the work of Christmas without the payoff, no specialized soundtracks, lights, or Doctor Who specials to look forward to. Thanksgiving is a time of family; a statement likely to inspire one to reach for the Advil prior to the dress shoes.

But in the interest of togetherness, and the fact that all my creative energy is going to nanowrimo at the moment I thought it might be nice to present a tribute to all of my siblings throughout my life, conveyed here through a metaphorical spread beyond the mortality of time. Let's meet the dogs.

Now forewarning: as we all discovered in kindergarten through the collective trauma imposed on us by teachers, librarians, writers, and publishers, the dogs always die. Here is no exception. This is real life. When you own a dog, you accept the harsh reality that you are most likely going to outlive the creature. As all but two of my furry family are no longer of this earth, this blog is invariably going to have to mention a few deaths. But my goal here isn't to be morbid (that was last month). Instead I'm hoping to provide them with a little internet immortality. Hang on, somebody's scratching at the door.


The Big Three

Now when I say big, you have to factor in that I was an infant. Bill, Marcus, and Alexis were the three dogs born before me. It was like growing up around horses.

Bill was the oldest, and unfortunately I don't know that much about him. He was a large hound, possibly a mix breed with a little bit of German Shepherd in him. He might have been my mom's first dog, and he was absolutely sweet to everybody. As tolerant as he was of me, he could have been a therapy dog. I don't think he and I ever technically lived in the same house as we were in an apartment with strict pet rules and my grandparents were only about ten miles away. I'm not sure when or why he died, I just remember one day we went for a visit and Bill was no longer there. I was too young to really feel the sense of loss. So Bill was like that older brother who was in college.

Now Marcus was my mom's protector. He was a black and white hound who lived until I was eleven, and it was only in those last few years that he could even stand me. I was growled at on a daily basis and bitten countless times. Strangely, it never deterred me from wanting to bond with him. Marcus was a watchful protector, and I daresay I looked up to him. Whenever I got sick, which was quite a lot, Marcus admitted that he cared about me. It was just when I had energy that he enjoyed taking me down a few notches.

And then Alexis, or Lecky. A weird fuzzy combination of poodle and sheepdog, my parents got Lecky from the pound because they thought Marcus needed another dog to keep him company. Marcus wanted nothing to do with her, but she certainly got attached to him. Lecky, or Dumb Dora as my grandmother called her, had a simple mindset. All food within grasp was for eating, people's faces were for licking, window blinds were for destroying, and leaves were gifts. Any time we came back to the house, Lecky would find a leaf from outside to present as a welcome home token.

So as the three of them have arrived in the same car, I'm going to have Marcus take over in the kitchen where he can be left alone. I'll keep Lecky away from the food and have her create the centerpiece for the table while Bill and I lay out the tablecloth and silverware.


The Middle Mob

My mom had a history of collecting the animals that nobody else wanted, or were equipped to handle. It started with Tassy, a cocker spaniel from next door, whose former family underestimated her ability to claw through the walls of the washroom. We secured Tassy when she was still a hyperactive puppy, and as our first dog who was younger than me, we spent a lot of time roughhousing. Out of all the dogs we had, Tassy was the most centrally placed, having interacted with seven other dogs throughout her life. She was the new kid with Marcus and Lecky, naturally assuming the place of canine matriarch for the next batch (Alexander, Wolfgang, Boone, and Sarah).

I'm going to talk about Wolfie first in this bunch to kind of cover the death issue at the same time. As I mentioned, Marcus died when I was eleven, and that was my first experience with death that really resonated. He got old, his body began shutting down, and a few days later he died. It can't get much more natural than that, but it's still terrible. Soon thereafter Lecky started to deteriorate, possibly affected by the fact that she missed her older brother. Her death was a bit slower, but still reasonably 'acceptable'.

Wolfie on the other hand died when he was three. He had a genetic condition which was described to us as having a very poor immunity system. In the short time he was with us, he was an active dog. Very playful. And also having many of Marcus's physical features and Bill's personality. But then one day he got sick with what seemed like a simple infection. And even though w knew about his condition, we all felt blindsided when his body couldn't fight it off. I think my mom took it the hardest. Wolfie was the kind of dog who would try so hard to stay awake, just because he wanted to see what you were doing, and you could watch his head slowly sink into your lap as he drifted off to sleep. His death was one that just felt wrong.

But his wasn't the worst. That honor belonged to Tassy, who I honestly thought was going to live forever. She was old by the time I was in college, and every time I came home I thought it might be the last time I'd see her, so I'd give her an extra warm goodbye. Then I graduated and moved back home. And a few years went by. And Tassy was still alive. And it's with a certain amount of regret I have to say that she introduced me to the most amoral side of myself. You see, in that period of about five years, Tassy began decaying. Her eyesight went. Then senility set in. She'd sleep the whole day and bark the whole night. Nobody could sleep. And she smelled of urine. I don't know what the right thing to do was, but my mom absolutely would not put Tassy to sleep, and by the time she finally died on her own I'd been driven too insane to feel anything about it.

But let's remember Tassy for her best, not her worst. We brought in a new puppy named Alexander shortly after Marcus went. Lander was a terrier who looked a lot like Toto from The Wizard of Oz, although a lot more high strung. Lecky didn't take to him, but she wasn't around much longer. But Tassy did. The two of them were so funny together. Lander had the advantage of agility, but Tassy learned tactics, like knocking him off the couch with her body.

Lander was adorable as a puppy, but he became a little shit once he was full grown. If he grabbed something, he would not let go. He would never back down from a conflict, no matter how out weighted he was. And the vets wouldn't see him unless we got a muzzle on him ourselves. Wolfie came and went during Lander's tenure, and while they could play tug-of-war just fine, Lander expressed no loss once Wolfie was gone.

Around this time, Boone was a neglected dog from our next door neighbors on the other side of us. I don't know what she was, she had some lab in her but she was almost as small as Alexander. Her name was technically 'Boo', and I have no idea why we didn't change it. I added the 'ne' to her name because I refused to call her by an interjection. Boone was terrified of displeasing us. She'd roughhouse with Alexander, but not us. Once he was trying to get away from her but she had his tail in her mouth. He turned around and snapped at her, and she was so startled she bumped her little head on the wall. Boone was determined not to bite us, but if you gave her a treat you might wind up bleeding a little. She'd feel awful about it, but there was no self control for her when it came to food.

And then there was Sarah, who was like a miniature Bill. She was a stray that someone brought to our church and we wound up taking her. Sarah was the first dog who I honestly felt was mine. We bonded quickly. We played. I'd take her for car rides. If she got her toenails caught in something she knew to come to me. yeah, sometimes she would bully Boone, nobody's perfect, but she was the one I really felt responsible for.

So this group shows up for Thanksgiving at roughly (ruffly, ha ha) the same time. I send Bill out to set up the croquet wickets in the backyard so they can get a game going. Alexander is competitive as always, but Boone is better at the game than he is. Wolfie is just out there to have fun, and he and Bill figure out how much they have in common. Tassy and Sarah come in the house. And since I know Tassy and Marcus get along pretty well I ask her to go see if he needs any help in the kitchen. Lecky is whimpering about eating, so I have Sarah help me with cheese, cracker, and olive tray, moving it outside for the masses. Sarah makes sure that nobody wolfs down too much. We're only waiting on one more car.


The Young Ones

It was difficult to figure out where the dividing line for the next wave of dogs was, but in the end I decided on the arrival of Bela the Dalmatian as the transition. One, he was freaking huge, which meant simply placing our sandwiches on the counter didn't mean lunch was out of reach of the beasts. And two, Bela was the first dog who outlived my mom, the primary force in why I had so many canine siblings (I was probably the reason I never had a human one).

Bela (named after Lugosi, not Swan) was utterly neglected by his former owners. When we went to pick him up, he just climbed into the minivan with no love lost at all. We could have been dropping him off at the bus station for all he knew. But we got him home, and he became acclimated to the other dogs, quickly developing his high strung/problem solving personality. Bela was almost as big as me, and it took me about three months to convince the little moose that I outranked him. He had a sense of humor. One day I was laying on the couch with a sinus headache, but Bela decided that my time would be better spent in an argument with him. Bela was on his back on the rug, right near where my hand was, squirming around like dogs do, and occasionally brushing against my fingers. As I was resigned to ignore him, it didn't occur to me that he was deliberately trying to annoy me. Then he quite adamantly rubbed against my hand and sprang to his feet an arm's length away. And waited. When I didn't react, he bounded from where he stood, planting his paws right in my stomach, and scurried down the hall to the soundtrack of much profanity from my voice.

The next one was Serena, a Jack Russell Terrier, and a virtual beacon of energy. I came home one day and she was just there; this tiny little thing with her big fuzzy face eyes. My first thought was of horror. "Bela is going to kill her!" I told my mom. But she was convinced otherwise and it turned out that Bela registered immediately how fragile she was. Serena took to him straight away, placing her paws on his front shoulders and licking him in the face, while he gave me this look of 'what the hell have you brought into this family'. But they got close very quickly and had a tendency to wear each other out. So a win all around.

Willow came next. She was a golden retriever, and had a kind of maternal sensibility about her. She could tell when you were upset, and she would express her concern as respectfully as possible. She'd come sit next to you and be available whenever you needed something soft to pet. And if a few minutes went by without you reacting, the paw would come up and touch your hand or leg, whatever was available. You couldn't help but love her.

The last one was Peanut, another Jack Russell Terrier and the only dog to enter the fold after my mom had died. My father has made it clear that she'll be the last dog he owns, which means she's permanently the baby. She's like a little sheep with a wolf face, and a few weeks ago my father brought her for a visit and the three of us got to go to the drive in. She was really well behaved.

So by the time this pack pulls up all in the same car, with Bela driving and Serena demanding that she be allowed the passenger seat over Willow, the turkey is ready. There's a stampede to the kitchen, and I have to run interference to get everybody over to the table. "We're not eating until you're all seated!" I shout over a dozen voices.

It takes me a while to settle the commotion down, but I finally get all the dogs in front of their respective name plates, with an empty one between Alexis and Bela. "First off," I say, "I want you all to meet my little one." I bring out our miniature dachshund. "This is Baxter. Ginny and I adopted him, and he's our pride and joy." I then go around the table and introduce all the animals who came before him, each one of whom had a profound impact on the person I became in one way or another. I insist we take a moment to honor the woman who brought us all together, our mother. May she rest in peace when she's finally ready. But until then, may she always find the next roller coaster, explore the next museum, and save the next dog.

I have Willow say grace before serving (as Alexis and Boone would certainly not wait for the all clear), and I take a moment to cherish my whole family. Bill, Marcus, Alexis, Tassy, Alexander, Wolfie, Boone, Sarah, Bela, Serena, Willow, Peanut, and Baxter. Four and a half decades of one pack. You'll all be remembered until there's no longer a need.

Let's eat!

9 Trick-or-Treating Tips: I'm a Fluffy Bunny

I'm not really a fluffy bunny, nor do I have any intention of pursuing said career path in the foreseeable future. For those who don't know, the phrase "I'm a fluffy bunny" is the 'safe word(s)' for at least one popular litigation fuel haunted house attractions where the scare actors are allowed to touch/grab/relocate you into various horrible settings.

This October has been a rough one. Our bank account got hacked at the beginning of the month, followed a week later by my car's inability to shift into any gears except third and fourth; meaning no interstate, no reverse, and every stoplight on the way to the mechanic was an exercise in spreading out of profanity. And then we lost the internet for a few days, which is enough to drive you into the arms of the primal monster within.

So it's been a bit of a mad dash to get into the Halloween spirit in the final week, but fortunately my job offered me the glorious opportunity to work three kid's events in a row. Needless to say (since I'm writing it instead) I will not be at the house for trick-or-treating this evening. Alternately, I will be running, screaming, hiding, and possibly be curling up into a ball as the mood strikes me while praying for the release of something less stressful; like nanowrimo.

But before I place my blog in bed and let it drift off to the nightmares that await it, I wanted to offer up some useful trick-or-treating tips that will hopefully make tonight's proceedings go smoother for those of you rooted in tradition.

1. The rules of trick-or-treating are a lie. You don't have to say "Trick or treat" to receive candy. The stranger whose sanctuary you're invading wants you to leave immediately. If you're carrying around one of those plastic pumpkin containers with an opening the size of a basketball hoop, the adult in question will likely have pitched in a box of nerds from the earliest comfortable distance.

2. Hold your bag open. And up. Remember, you want this encounter, the adult doesn't. Those Kit Kats would be all mine if not for you. Don't make me do all the work on top of it.

3. Don't try to be funny. Comedy is a sophisticated art form that requires years of failure to even scratch the surface of comprehension, much less master. You're a child. You know at most three pirate jokes related to your costume, and I've heard them before. There's nothing more unpleasant than having to fake laughter at a dying punch line, and the adult hates you enough already.

4. It's all the same processed sugar. You wanted the pink Starburst, but Stephanie got it, leaving you with the orange one. That's a tragedy, isn't it? You could try to learn the game of negotiation with Stephanie if it matters that much to you, or you could also consider the reality that your lack of pink Starburst is not quite as devastating as, say, losing access to your bank account, car, and internet all at the same time. And, no. You don't get to fish around in my bowl yourself.

5. There's no need to say thank you. I know you want to teach your children good manners, but I can see their delight as they greedily scurry off to their next victim, and that's enough gratitude for me. When you make them return to me, feeding them their only-important-to-you line of dialogue that's going to take them multiple provocations to utter, it makes the encounter twice as long. My Stepford smile takes energy, and I had to work today.

6. Never have kids.

7. Adults can trick-or-treat as well. I don't know who made the rule that twelve is the cut off age, but they can stuff it. The adult world is miserable, and any temporary release from our collective sorrow is a welcomed change. We need Halloween more than you do, and I'm not opposed to inserting a secondary Halloween in April to get us through tax season.

8. I'm Sam-I-Am. How do you not know this character? Green Eggs and Ham is a fairly popular book. I'm not a chicken, or Big Bird, or a witch, or a fire truck man (???). I'm also not the Cat in the Hat (how did you get that close and still screw it up?). If you don't know, you can ask. I don't mind waiting until your back is turned to seethe under my breath.

9. And lastly, but not leastly... Halloween is the one time of the year where we get to admit how truly horrible we all are. Even the concept or trick-or-treating is based around the threat of pushing a local resident closer to their breaking point if they don't comply with your demands. So tonight if you find yourself glowering at someone who deserves it and feel a twinge of remorse for shattering societal norms, I encourage you to get over it. You're only participating on one of our grandest traditions.

Happy Halloween!

Haunted Attraction 2017: The Checkered Game of Death

At long last (you know, I have things to do) I present this year's Halloween walk-through exhibit. It took me a little while to find the right place with a rich history, but here it is.

This is the (former) home of Miss Charlotte Parker, one of the few members of the upper crust of society to evade the Stock Market Crash of 1929. Her father George had been a successful mechanical draftsman for the locomotive industry. Upon his death, George's substantial assets were divided equally between Miss Parker and her much younger sister Henrietta.

The two sisters' handling of their inheritance could not have been more different. For Miss Parker, the comforts of familiarity were the key to her sense of peace. She never married, nor desired to, for such a change in her life would have been unacceptable. Months prior to the Crash of 1929, she'd decided to bring all of her wealth into her home, turning it into a sort of personal bank. As such, she benefitted from very lucky timing. But it was also not in her nature to help those who came calling for her aid in the years that followed. Some felt she was stingy (and called her many other things), but the truth is that she wished everything about her life to stay exactly the same, frozen in one moment of tranquility, and she felt she had the right to see it so.

On the other hand, Henrietta had felt that money was to be spent and its acquisitions enjoyed. She was not one to build a collection of wine bottles for very long without cracking them open. It's not to say that she was the typical 'prodigal daughter', but her lavish lifestyle was a point of contention for her older sister.

Henrietta died fairly young from illness. But not before giving birth to two sons, Bradley and Milton; and instilling a similar sense of frivolity in them at an early age. Her husband died within the year as well from the same illness, and the brothers were sent to live with Miss Parker, presumably against her wishes.

The brothers had a certain amount of money left over from Henrietta's inheritance, which they were free to spend as they wished. They took to playing games with formal rules and pieces, many of which were quite expensive to obtain in that day. Miss Parker's disdain of their "trivial pursuits" were ignored, and the tensions only grew as the brothers reached adolescence.

Then Miss Parker contracted the same illness that had taken the life of her sister. For months she became bedridden, and essentially neglected by the brothers; who by then had depleted their own finances and taken to dipping into those of their aunt. Her rage at this insolence, combined with her inability to do anything about it, resulted in a fever so inflamed that the news records suggest "it's a mystery as to how she has not burned to death from the inside."

The records unfortunately stop there. Neither Miss Parker nor the brothers are mentioned again. But the house still stands. But knowing what we know about the brothers, I wouldn't be surprised if they collected quite a number of interesting board game relics, maybe even got a sneak peek at some classics that wouldn't be released until many years later. Let's have a look inside.

Entranceway

First off, don't let the "1313 Dead End Drive" address concern you, that's just something the park officials thought would be amusing (you guys, seriously). We enter the foyer area which is completely barren of furniture. the overhead lights keep blinking off every few seconds showing phrases written on the wall in glow-in-the-dark paint, such as "Trouble ahead", "Aggravation", and "Roll the die" with the word 'the' crossed out and 'or' painted over it. On the floor is a huge circle, large enough for at least five people to stand in, that says 'start'; and a series of smaller circular tiles leading through the doorway into the next room.

Living Area

There's a bit more furniture here, although it's all rotted beyond use. An unlit fireplace is off to the side, and a painting of what we can assume to be Miss Parker hangs from the chimney stones; the caption "The Old Maid" engraved in the frame. She sternly glares down at us.

If we meant to continue following the tiles on the floor, the feat is impossible as they continue in all directions, up the walls and across the ceiling. Randomly scattered next to the tiles are instructions to 'move back seven', 'move forward' two, etc. In the center of the room, on what's left of a coffee table, sits an Ouija board that seems to be spelling something on it's own ('Lose a turn' if you're interested).

As we move through the room, we spot a shelf overhead that looks like it was once a tunnel for a model train leading from and to another room. Now there's a row of brightly colored dominoes, which topple in sequence at our approach. Several moments later they reset themselves in reverse. The room narrows into a corridor with unfinished jigsaw puzzles adorning the wall; they look like family photographs, but none of the faces are completed. Slightly further down appears to be the missing pieces arranged on the wall to spell out "I want to play a game"; at which point we have our first semi-jump scare. A ghostly young woman (possibly Henrietta) pokes her head from opposite where we're looking to tell us "It's never the same game twice."

The Study

We enter the study and are greeted by the inimitable sound of a Speak & Spell rattling off the letters to 'Roll again'. Henrietta meets us again with no warning, ordering us to go to the head of the class. Sitting on a desk is a large cloth map of the world with plastic pieces scattered over various countries. An occasional gun shot, cannon, or explosion comes from the map. We climb a short series of five white platforms resembling steps, to reach the higher opening in the wall; letters painted on the platforms spell the word 'WORDS'. In the opening is a slide leading into darkness, which we have no choice but to take. A sound cue of child voices greets us with, "Oh, you're going down...down...down..down..."

The Basement

It's a little disorienting down here. We're surrounded by pipe works, which keep spraying us with mist through various fractures. At least someone saw fit to duct tape a wrench in front of one of the leaks. It feels like we're wading through a flooded area. Around the corner is a prison area with a police officer who demands to know if we've been sent here or if we're just visiting. Barred doors shake from the prisoners on the other side. Certain doors are unlocked as some prisoners have a 'get out of jail free' card. Towards the end of the room is a prison made entirely out of Jenga blocks. It shakes violently, with a boy's voice pleading to be released from within.

The Beach

It's then that we find out we're in a ship with the hull torn out. There's a wobbly bridge over some barrels leading out, but it's too dark to see the water which is apparently just below us. It looks like another ship is firing at us from a distance, as the sound of missiles hitting the area next to us gives us another spray. We pass a giant shark with its mouth gaping open, full of junk pieces like tires and human skulls. With no gaff hook available to us, the shark is just out of reach, which is implicitly good news.

Our path takes us into a swamp with trees blocking out most sightlines, and a sign pointing to Molasses Swamp. A huge rhinoceros-looking creature roars in our direction, but it's knee deep in molasses. The scout warns us not to get stuck. We get a series of jump scares from brigands who keep mistaking us for someone else. Three giant frogs eye us hungrily as we walk by, but they're really the misdirection from the hippo that lunges at us from the other side.

The Maze

This next room is well lit, but claustrophobic. It looks like we're on a frozen lake with huge icicles scattered about. Anthropomorphic penguins warn us not to break the ice, and we narrowly miss being crushed by a giant hammer. We go through a rotating tunnel that indicates an avalanche, and make a beeline for the cave ahead.

From here, we're sent back into darkness and a deliberately disorienting section, with lights that move in a tight labyrinth on a floor that tilts. The words "Run yourself ragged" light up in Lite-Brite pegs and a Simon-like spinner keeps flashing different colors around the exit. We find ourselves in a small room where we're surrounded by a Twister board, complete with piles of human limbs all wrapped up in each other that make a grab for us.

There's a flash of light above us, and the underside of a large playing piece comes crashing down where we are. Strobe lights and Spirograph patterns surround us, as the voice of an elderly woman laughs an insincere "Sorry!"

Entranceway 2

We emerge in a scene identical to the first room, except our path is blocked by an elephant spouting butterflies at us. Henrietta pops up to instruct us to "Go back four!" We make a sharp turn to our right and slip into Miss Parker's vault.

The Bank

The room is filled with stacks of colorful money, and a western shootout between bandits and a pair of deputies. We come close to slipping through the teller's office decorated as "Go" but the sheriff blocks our way, sending us past the cannon instead. We're startled on one side by a pewter dog, and a horse on the other. Headlights flash in front of us, followed immediately by the sound of a crash. A pewter car has saved us from being run over by Miss Parker in her plastic car filled with pegs. "Pretty sneaky, sis," she mutters. We get a Reverse card on the wall sending us on another sharp turn, this time to the left.

The Operating Room

Another maze. Lots of curtains here, but a series of black and white peg configurations guide us where we need to go (Hint: four black ones is what we're looking for). Doctors jump out with dares for us to do things like take out somebody's spare ribs for one hundred dollars. A dead end places us in front of a corpse whose red nose buzzes loudly. All the while, we hear a ticking sound, which ends in a ding every thirty seconds. As we leave the room, we find out the timer is attached to a table full of medical instruments under a transparent dome that pop up on every ding.

The Hall

The final stretch to get out of here is a long narrow hallway, with plenty of opportunities to be threatened by a man in a safari outfit wielding a wrench, a woman in a red dress with a candlestick, and so on. The hallway ends at the front door, which swings open to reveal "the dud" who proudly declares the game over. But a quick detour takes us into a side door through the kitchen. Human hand baking in the oven hammer on the glass from the inside, and we're screeched at by a giant rat creature which has been caged by a bell-shaped prison.

The Finale

The last room is another disorientation-driven experience. We're bombarded with visuals of Lego blocks, Slinkys, Hula-Hoops, Paddle Balls and marbles, before we come face to face with the ghost of Miss Parker (a projection on the wall). She peeks out from behind a giant Dungeon Master screen with an unsettling look of delight in her eyes. "You have failed your initiative," she whispers. We step out of the attraction and into night sky, but not without a cheap scare from a large mechanical dinosaur, known to a select few as Zoids Giant Zrk. Well, at least in death she finally learned how to enjoy play time.

13 Frightening Entrances: The Best of Horror Theme Songs

Say you're James Bond; well you don't have to say it, just pretend. Now imagine it's your off day. You've slept in a bit, watched some cartoons, maybe filled out half of a crossword puzzle. Now you hear the mail truck outside. You wait a few minutes so as to not appear too eager. You step outside. And your theme song starts playing. dunnn...Dunnn...DUNNN...Dunnn; you know how it goes. The sense of something cool about to happen. You get to the end of the driveway. And right on cue as you open the box. Ba Da! DA DAAAA! Da da dahhhh! And there it is! The most awesome water bill in the history of utilities!

The right theme song can allow a character to transcend their medium. It's true for all genres, but horror is a unique case where a baddie's music can actually serve as a placeholder, signifying their proximity to the audience when nobody on screen is meant to be aware of them. Many of these themes are so iconic that they appear on Halloween soundtracks with no real context, and they still work.

I've seen a few sites listing the best horror film theme songs and I thought I might try my own hand at it. I'm putting a few requirements on the songs I'm choosing, not the least of which is the song has to be specifically associated with a threat, so hero songs like Scooby-Doo are out. I also think they need to be traceable back to a single character or basic concept, so things like The Twilight Zone or The X-Files don't qualify. And I think the music needs to evoke some sense of fear, or at least unease. Darth Vader has a great theme, but it's more likely to get you pumped up than covering your eyes. Most of my selections are going to be predictable, but hopefully you'll see a surprise appearance or two.

Here then are my top thirteen picks for villain theme songs.

13. One, Two, Freddy's Coming For You (Freddy Krueger)

The first three entries are going to be kind of the runners-up. The reason why this one is way down at the bottom is because it's the only song on this list that relies on lyrics. Children are inherently self-centered, and it's not too much of a leap to transform a jump rope rhyme into a sociopathic chant. The message here is, you're going to die and nobody is going to help you. It's creepy, but it's also quite obviously trying to be creepy. I think we might see a better example of this concept closer to the top spot.

12. Why So Serious? (The Joker)

It's a nine minute piece on the soundtrack to The Dark Knight, but I'm mainly referring to the fundraiser scene. Composer Hans Zimmer uses a variety of instruments to create a discordant buzzing sound that feels like strings tightening until their absolute breaking point. I might have placed this slightly higher if it were from a horror film, but it's quite effective nonetheless.

11. Friday the 13th Theme (Jason Voorhees)

Apparently it's composer Harry Manfredini's own voice doing the iconic "ki ki ki ki ki...ma ma ma ma ma" himself (and no, that doesn't count as lyrics, it's vocal percussion. So there). It's primal, and instantly recreatable who wants to frighten/annoy their younger sibling, but it's not particularly versatile. It's like the chorus of "Who Let the Dogs Out", there's nowhere to go once the initial point has been made.

10. A Night on Bald Mountain (Chernabog)

Now admittedly the Modest Mussorgsky piece was 73 years old before the big guy appeared on the screen in 1940's Fantasia, but you really can't hear the melody without thinking of Disney's version of the devil (with apologies to Slavic mythology). While this is probably the most complex piece of music on this list, it ranks at number ten because of how easy it is to avoid the underlying threat. As long as you're not already dead, or Sora, or some schmuck trying to scale Bald Mountain at night, old Cherry really isn't going to be much of a problem for you.

9. Hello Zepp (Jigsaw)

One of the most recent entries on this list, Charlie Clouser's piece of incidental music appears 38 times throughout the first seven movies. Most horror themes indicate something bad is about to happen. This one means you're already screwed, probably for forgetting to wind your watch or losing your towel or not donating to UNICEF. Funny thing though, this song has not stayed in my head. If you play it, I'll immediately recognize the franchise. But for the life of me I can't remember how it goes.

8. Toccata and Fugue in D minor/The Phantom of the Opera (The Phantom of the Opera)

Yeah, I'm cheating here by using two songs for one guy. Johann Sebastian Bach's Toccata and Fugue has been associated with gothic horror as early as 1931's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It wasn't until the 1962 Hammer Film version of Phantom (starring Herbert Lom in the title role) that the piece became attached to the iconic masked organist. But ever since 1986, you can't mention the Phantom of the Opera without also thinking of the Andrew Lloyd Weber (and arguably Pink Floyd) composition of the same name. In the end, I can't really choose which one is the better representation of Erik Opera Ghost. The Bach is probably the song he's most likely to play on the organ, while the Lloyd Weber is what runs through his head; both being exceptionalism in isolation.

7. The Psycho Theme (Norman Bates)

Better known as Bernard Herrmann's Fingernails on Chalkboard for String Orchestra in E flat, this is music's most famous jump scare. On the downside, it's impossible to really experience the shock of this scene the way it was intended. Maybe you haven't even watched Psycho, but you've most definitely seen the sequence on A&E or a Youtube video, or any number of imitations (Gus Van Sant managed to muck it up). It's unavoidable. But it doesn't mean you can't appreciate the craftsmanship behind the slow setup. It's in your head right now, isn't it?

6. Something Lacking (Daniella)

I bet you have no idea what I'm talking about. I've slipped in one video game character, because this one is just amazing enough to compete with the big kids. Capcom's Haunting Ground (with music from composers Seiko Kobuchi and Shinya Okada) is a survival-horror game featuring Daniella as the second of four stalkers you have to evade. She moves like a malfunctioning robot, with her head and body bent at asymmetrical angles, and her theme reflects the whole concept of breaking down. "Something Lacking" is one of the most discordant pieces I've ever heard. While most songs on this list provoke feelings of dread or suspense, this is genuine terror. Run, you fool!

5. The Myth (lycanthropy)

Top five, and now it gets harder. I don't actually care that much for the 1982 film Cat People because I can't sympathize with their plight. The deal is, whenever they have sex they transform into panthers, and then they have to kill (usually whoever they had sex with) to change back. You know, there's a pretty obvious solution? It just involves, like, getting over it. But whatever. "The Myth" is the instrumental version of "Putting Out Fire", with David Bowie's hypnotic baritone voice humming the melody. Something ominous lurking beneath the surface. Waiting.

4. Main Title (Bruce the shark)

Contrary to popular belief, the Jaws theme isn't just two notes, but you can certainly recognize it from said pairing. John Williams may not ever be placed on Felix Mendelssohn's level, but he knows how to score a film soundtrack better than anyone. Courtesy of a troubled production, his "Main Title" had to fill in for the animatronic shark in a majority of scenes. Boy, is it effective. The music not only signifies the presence of the shark, but how fast it's closing in. "Today's secret word is 'tension'. Whenever you hear it, scream real loud!"

3. Halloween Theme (Michael Myers)

The 1978 film had a budget of about three hundred thousand dollars (the average cost today of a family night out at the movies). Probably to save a few bucks, director/writer John Carpenter composed the soundtrack himself; gracing us with "Halloween Theme", the unofficial theme of the actual holiday. An odd 10/8 meter, and rapid piano keys that mimic a typewriter, "Halloween Theme" is eerie. Don't believe me? Program it as your ringtone and leave your phone in the workroom. I guarantee you'll get some nasty e-mails from around the office.

2. Carol Anne's Theme (the spirits)

I am honestly surprised this one from 1982's Poltergeist never shows up on the scary music lists. You can thank Jerry Goldsmith for this gem. It sounds like a music box lullaby, which has always had a certain something-not-quite-right feel, and when it plays in the first act of the film over various Spielbergian shots of E.T.'s neighborhood you naturally fall victim to a false sense of family friendly security. And then the movie happens. One killer tree, some pool corpses, an extended sexual assault up the wall and across the ceiling, and a count of strangulation from a human sized stuffed clown doll (that they really should have known better than to have staring at the children while they try to sleep) later; this lullaby is perpetually menacing.

1. Tubular Bells (Pazazu)

Amazingly, the 1973 Mike Oldfield album was never written with the "scariest film of all time" in mind, or anything else for that matter. Like most creative people at their purest (in this case, nineteen years old) Oldfield was only following his muse, composing music for the sake of itself. Around the same time of the album's release, notoriously short-tempered director William Friedkin dramatically rejected the musical score for his romantic-comedy-that-took-a-wrong-turn-somewhere The Exorcist, and happened upon the Oldfield recording. Thus a legend was born.

So why does it work so well, and why is it at the top of my list? To answer the second question first, shut up. But more to the point, it involves the kind of abstract journey on which music can take you. I'm far from a music theorist, but minor keys can evoke emotions in an audience without ever indicating (or having to) why. In the case of "Tubular Bells", you naturally sense trepidation. Something is coming. Even if it's not as violent as a demonic possession, it's clearly something unsettling. And if you listen to this song while you're alone, you may find yourself glancing over your shoulder at the window or the closet door.

And when you factor in the percussive quality of bells, i.e. something striking something else, there's a subtle element of violence behind the music. Oldfield allegedly cracked some of the bells in the recording by hitting them too hard, and every added clang makes itself known. There's a musical passage that repeats like approaching footsteps, and a chaotic randomness that accompanies it. But unlike a more comedic counterpart, such as a Spike Jones song that welcomes you to the circus tent, "Tubular Bells" convinces you that it's your only floodgate between safety and...God only knows what. This is the scariest song here, maybe ever, because it can't fully be understood. That's why it's at the top of the list.

Good night.

Meat Loaf -From Hell and Back: The Grand Ole Wagnerian Opry

Mark Twain famously stated "Wagner's music is better than it sounds", although he was actually quoting Edgar Wilson "Bill" Nye the Humorist Guy.

So in the mid-seventies, when a young composer named Jim Steinman began pitching a futuristic version of Peter Pan as a "Wagnerian rock opera" to record executives, you can imagine the collage of rejections that followed. It's likely that many of them had no idea what 'Wagnerian' meant, and those that did were probably even more turned off by the idea. Hell, up until this very moment I didn't actually know the definition of the word (having the enormous dramatic scale and intensity of a Wagner opera) but I think I've always understood it on an emotional level.

The short version, Steinman (who I'm going call Jim from now on, because I've listened to his music my whole life and I feel like I know him personally) is audacious. Most song writers strive to hit that bull's-eye with pinpoint accuracy, but Jim is the type who wants to see what happens if you catapult a wagon full of milk jars at the target. It's one brilliant shower of chaos momentarily unleashed that you will never forget.

I'm simplifying of course. If it was just about gusto, anybody could do that; whereas Jim truly is a talented musician. But the main difference between Jim and his compatriots of the time is he makes you feel like you're listening to a soundtrack, not an album. A soundtrack to a story that you can't possibly follow because the snippets really don't fit together, but you feel like you've experienced something from start to finish once the album fades. I guess, what could be more Wagnerian than that?

So in the spirit of Halloween, I've decided to give the Bat Out of Hell trilogy a full opera house treatment. So sit back and enjoy, keep flash photography to a minimum, and please keep all trash and screaming children out of the aisles and/or amphitheater. Remember, your safety is our inconvenient priority. Jerks.

Act One: Bat Out of Hell

We open on a dark stage with a pair of car headlights on a lonely road come into view. They click off, revealing our first character inside the car; known to us only as the Poet. The opera is ultimately his story. The Poet is very loosely based on Jim, or more accurately his role in the development of the whole franchise.

We're going to be exploring the concepts of Heaven and Hell in this opera, but not necessarily as understood by Orthodox religion. In the most simplified terms, Heaven refers to a sense of ultimate connection, whereas Hell is a complete isolation. In much the same way as human beings are all compelled by two incompatible drives (the need to belong versus the desire to be exceptional), the theme of self versus community flows through the whole opera.

In the distance, off to the side and down a bit, a light glows. The Poet exits his car and begins the descent down to it. Cue the overture.

Bat Out of Hell: This is one of the all time great epic rock tracks, and it manages to sum up adolescence in the first two chords; loud and unignorable but still posed as a question. It's a teenaged tragedy song, where the guy on the motorcycle (usually named Johnny) dies at the end. But unlike "Leader of the Pack" there's no engagement ring, disapproving family, or plot for that matter. The guy is hot for the girl but loves his freedom too much to get tied down to her. Then he can't stop thinking about her and crashes his motorcycle. But his heart lives on, continuing his fast ride down the road on a metaphorical level.

And it's here we meet our second main character, the Voice (a semi-surrogate for Meat Loaf). The Voice needs to be exceptional and desires the freedom of the road above all else. The Voice could arguably represent the Poet's own ego. At the end of the song the Voice pulls his motorcycle up to the Poet and offers him a ride to where the light in the distance glows, the Carnival of Limbo.

The Carnival looks exactly like what it says, a combination circus and state fair lit by reds and oranges. At the far end is a large Gate, which we don't care about right now. Just remember it's there.

Standout line: "And nothin' really rocks and nothin' really rolls and nothin's ever worth the cost" -just because the percussion does something really cool underneath it.

You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth (Hot Summer Night): Jim loves his long titles. The main thing about this one is it's divided into two sections, the spoken and the sung. The spoken is the more interesting. A male voice flirts with a female in one of the most bizarre pickup lines ever.

The spoken section takes place near the Gate, which is shrouded in shadow. A female figure, known from now on as the Angel, enters the Carnival passing near the Gate. The male voice is the Bat, which we don't see at this time. The Angel is surrounded by a white glow, and she's clearly flirting with the Bat. The dialog ends in a mutual respectful stale mate between them.

The action moves back to the Voice and the Poet for the song proper. They have arrived at the Carnival and the Voice is greeted by a chorus of denizens who seem to recognize him. The Voice presents himself as a Casanova to women, and kind of a consequence-free fantasy that the Poet wishes he could be.

Standout line: The increasingly agitated "Yes!"

Heaven Can Wait: The first song sung by the Poet, and it's a reflection on what he's experiencing at the Carnival. Again, this is not Heaven as death to paradise, but Heaven as accepting one's place in a community. Basically the Poet isn't ready to settle down, and he's assuming his life of freedom will be parallel to the wild adventures the Voice seems to have had.

Standout line: "And I know that I've been released but I don't know to where. Nobody's gonna tell me now and I don't really care".

All Revved Up with No Place to Go: I know I'm not talking that much about the music, but I'm assuming that anyone reading this has more than a passing familiarity with the three albums. Also, while the first album has the most raw passion of the trilogy, it's also the most shallow. This song in particular is great on its own but it doesn't really cover new territory. The Voice gets his third song and he's now taken the stage for the Carnival's denizens, establishing the common trait among them all as being unsatisfied.

I typically steer clear of sexual terms as much as possible (they're easy and obvious) but for the Bat Out of Hell trilogy they're inescapable. This song is about sexual frustration. And it provides a simple motivator for the Voice. Everything about him is looking for that sense of climax and not quite getting it. I expect we'll be revisiting this concept on a later album.

Standout line: Honestly none. Sorry Jim.

Two Out of Three Ain't Bad: The album so far has been epic, good, beautiful, and good enough. But this song is the first of two consecutive 'big guns' in the rock arsenal (read: the greatest anti-love song ever).

In presentation, we witness how the Poet got here in the first place. It's revealed that he was once in love with a girl who broke his heart, and then he kept his heart permanently guarded, wounding another girl in the process. Both of these characters are seen in flashback. Dora is the one that got away and Ruby is the one the Poet left behind.

*See what I did there? Nope? Okay, Dora is short for Pandora AKA Pandora's Box the all girl group Jim Steinman formed in the eighties which included singer Ellen Foley who appeared on the first Bat Out of Hell album. And Ruby means 'red' which connects to the name Russo, a la Patti Russo, the singer who toured with Meat Loaf for nearly twenty years. It's just not as cool when you explain it all is it?

Standout line: "But there ain't no Coupe de Ville hiding at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box". Only Jim Steinman could pull that line off.

Paradise by the Dashboard Light: If you've only heard one Meat Loaf song, it's this one. The Poet is taken into a tent where the Angel (remember the Angel?) gives him a little fortune telling insight into his greatest fear, settling down with the wrong person. The Poet is shown an alternate reality of what could have been and what he's running from. The girl in this sequence is actually Dora wearing Ruby's outfit as a deliberate amalgamation of the two females.

Again, I hate referring to things in blatant sexual terms but it's appropriate here. At several points in his career, Jim has built a song up to the point of musical orgasm (Holding Out for a Hero comes to mind), but here it feels like he's faking it by going into the major key. Whether or not this was intentional, it's effectively keeping with the motif.

Standout line: The whole baseball monologue, capped off by "Stop right there!". It's a thing of beauty.

For Crying Out Loud: Closing out the first album is this little gem that goes mostly unnoticed. The Carnival is closing and the denizens pack everything up and head through the Gate. The Poet leaves the way he came, leaving only the Angel and the Voice on stage. The Angel is on her way out when the Voice calls out to her with this song, hinting at a painful history between them (best left implied).

Plot-wise, this song reveals the Voice's fascination with the Angel; particularly her ability to handle joy and pain simultaneously (the Voice has proven by now he's all about pleasure-seeking and pain-avoidance). The Angel is flattered by his passion, but she's ultimately unattainable to him, bidding farewell. The Gate opens, demanding the Voice return to where he came, but his ego is too strong and he stays on this side as the act comes to a close.

Standout line: Not a line, but the loudest chord Jim and company could strike after several minutes of lullaby inducement (this being the moment the gate opens). If you weren't awake before, you are now.

Act Two: Back Into Hell

Act One was adolescence. Act Two is adulthood of around the age of thirty-five. Same setting, except we open on the Carnival grounds before the Gate opens up for business. The Angel has arrived early for purposes known only to her. And off in the distance, the headlights of the Voice's motorcycle are spotted in approach. He may very well have been chasing her for the past sixteen years.

I'd Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That): While I don't think this song is as good as it's given credit for, I am pleased that the sequel album produced a track as iconic as the first album did. The Voice courts the Angel in full blown production while the denizens slip out of the Gate to set up the Carnival again. His words are sweet and thorough, but the Angel is still not buying it, and she rejects him.

Standout Line: "But I'll never forgive myself if we don't go all the way tonight." Thirteen words undo nine minutes of promises by revealing his true intentions. He wants sex, and everything else is just empty froth. Runner up: "Will you raise me up? Will you help me down?" The moment where she finally gets sick of his crap. She's toying with him, but anyone familiar with the song knows how many steps ahead of him she really is.

Life is a Lemon and I Want My Money Back: The Carnival is up and running, and the Poet has made his way back to it. It's implied that he's tried modeling his life off of the wildness in which the Voice has existed and it has paid off poorly for him. And now he returns to the place of his teenaged years where he first got the ideas in his head with an eight minute lament (because for all of Jim's amazing talent, he has no intuition regarding appropriate song length).

Standout line: "There's desperation!" Not when Meat Loaf sings it, but when the chorus calls it back to him. It sounds so very pained and angry from a bunch of faceless souls.

Rock and Roll Dreams Come True/It Just Won't Quit/Out of the Frying Pan (And into the Fire): Up next we have twenty minutes and thirty-five seconds of not much going on, maybe this should have been the intermission. All three of these songs are okay, but just that, and certainly not rock opera quality songs. The short version: music speaks for you, I'm frustrated, and Jim came up with a title that he liked and had to force a song on it. I don't know what to do with these songs except cram them into a medley to get them over with. Leave me a comment if you have a suggestion.

Standout line: None. Not a freaking one. Eleven hundred and seventy-seven words and I can't find anything memorable. Sorry Jim, but this really feels like lots and lots of filler. No worries though, you're about to have the crowning comeback of awesome.

Objects in the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer than They Are: In all of Jim's catalog, I can only think of one that might challenge this as his all time best (and we'll get to it). This isn't teenaged angst where you're afraid of the world as you perceive it. This is the result of the beat down that only adults can process the long term effects of.

Allegory, symbolism, and a three act structure of brokenness. The Poet returns to the lonely road, having not found the answers he'd hoped for, and engages in self-reflection. He lets the unhappy memories spill out until he's reached full meltdown before finally getting in his car and driving away.

Standout line: "I'll probably never know where she disappeared." The song is thoroughly melancholic, so it never pretends that there's going to be a moment of joy tuck away in there. His first memory is of a childhood friend who was killed in an accident, and his second was of his abusive father. We're not fooled in the third verse when he starts singing about 'the girl' (Dora). What should be a happy experience is inevitably going to take a turn south, it's only a question of what happened to her. And then we find out. He doesn't know. And that lack of answer is more gut wrenching than any tangible tragedy.

Wasted Youth/Everything Louder than Everything Else: It's at this crucial juncture that the Bat awakens (remember the Bat?) and gives the audience the first glimpse of his physical form; a wing, some teeth, glowing eyes, but nothing fully visible. His voice relays the spoken tongue-in-cheek monologue. Then the Voice assumes control of the Carnival's crowd and belts out his credo.

"Everything Louder" is a fascinating song, in that it succeeds and fails at the same goal. It comes out of the gate at full throttle and tries so very hard to top itself without making it. We're back to the sexual metaphor unfortunately, but this song it doing everything in its power to reach climax. Maybe it's the result of trying too hard, but it winds up not getting there. The Voice may not even realize it, but we're in adulthood now. Sometimes that's the first thing to go.

Standout line: "If you want my views of history then there's something you should know. The three men I admire most are Curly, Larry, Moe." The line stands out for completely the wrong reason. It's stupid. This may be the only time Jim's lyrics have honest to God fallen flat. Luckily we're able to shake it off, because for any other artist that would have been the jump the shark moment.

Good Girls Go to Heaven (Bad Girls Go Everywhere): This song was originally written for Pandora's Box. With that in mind I think the female voice should reclaim it. For this opera, it's performed by the Angel.

While it's not specified, the Angel clearly comes from a place other than the Gate, and subsequently the Carnival's denizens. She a little wiser than anyone else here, and more openly sympathetic. The message behind these lyrics is, you don't have to give up all your passions, just find the balance.

Standout line: "You've been nothing but an angel every day of your life and now you wonder what it's like to be damned." Gee, I can't imagine why that would speak to me...

Back into Hell/Lost Boys and Golden Girls: "Back into Hell" is an instrumental. The Gate opens just a little, and the forces on the other side try to recapture the Voice to bring him back where he belongs, but he's too fast. He escapes by fleeing the Carnival and looking down on it from the spot where the Poet was last seen. From here he sings Act Two's epilogue.

Standout line: "And we'll never be as young as we are right now." I'll just let that speak for itself.

Act Three: The Monster is Loose

Another thirteen years go by. Meat loaf and Jim Steinman have a falling out that time can't repair fast enough, and the Bat Out of Hell franchise gets caught up in the divorce. Not getting a third album would be tragic, but you can't do it without both artists. Enter step-producer Desmond Child.

The Steinman purists disavow this album purely on Jim's lack of involvement, and yes, his baby was stolen from him. But sometimes shit happens, and you can only move forward. Bat 3 exists because of Child, and damn if he doesn't know what he's doing. First, he's a better record producer than Jim, there's no way around it. Second, look at his Wikipedia page. His fingerprints are all over everything you listen to. He's both talented and versatile. And finally, he produces a Bat out of Hell album with (and I can't believe I'm saying this) humility. He's only there to complete Jim's trilogy, matching his style as best as he can without outshining him. Desmond Child is a hero.

And thus, we open Act Three with the introduction of our final character, the Kid.

The Kid isn't literally a kid, and may not even be human; his origin is left intentionally ambiguous. He might represent a younger version of the Poet, and what could have been had he faced his demons instead of running from them. Or he could be something else entirely. Whatever he is, Act Three opens with him alone on the stage, stumbling across the unopened Gate. Like the lure of Pandora's Box (the actual box, not the musical group), he's compelled to peek inside. And all Hell breaks loose.

The Monster is Loose: In a special effects light show similar to the climax of Raiders of the Lost Ark, the Kid releases the Bat in its abstract form. By the end of the song, it has possessed the Kid, but we get one beautiful full spread-winged reveal of it at the song's climax.

And how about that climax? Child's opening contribution effectively matches Jim's sillier lyrics but supports them with an orchestra crescendo that I think even Beethoven would have respected.

Standout line: A musical one. The way the bridge teases the chorus, backs off, and then builds again four times as strong before hushing for about three seconds and then erupting like the final drop on a flume ride is worth the price of the album.

Blind as a Bat: I'll admit I usually skip this track. It sounds much bigger than it is, which in a way is Child capturing the whole of Jim's talents including the weaker bits. This is the Voice in a nearby field (probably among gravestones for the décor) calling out to the Angel. Naturally she doesn't come when called.

Standout line: "Your love is blind, BLIND as a bat" and not in a good way. It's painful enough on the ears hearing Meat Loaf scream the all caps word every time he gets to it, but knowing how badly he messed up his voice over the years makes one wonder if it could have been avoided with a little care.

It's All Coming Back to Me Now: The first Jim Steinman song on the album shifts the focus to the Poet, wherever he is in the world. He happens upon Dora after so many years, and that spark of attraction is still there; she feels it too. But the song gives more insight into just how unhealthy the relationship actually was.

This album's version Disney-fies a happy ending out the lyrics, but for this opera I'm going back to the original. It's not good.

Standout line: "There were those empty threats and hollow lies, and whenever you tried to hurt me I just hurt you even worse and so much deeper."

Bad for Good: We're back to the Voice. The Carnival has not been rebuilt yet but the denizens are crawling out of the shadows. The Voice performs one last time for them assuring them that he will never change (clearly a relic of Jim's unrealized Peter Pan opera).

Standout line: "I wasn't built for comfort I was built for speed." Just, wow. How's that mentality working out for you?

Cry Over Me: Ladies and gentlemen, presenting songwriter Diane Warren, the woman responsible for the rest of the music you listen to. We catch up with Ruby here (remember Ruby?) and see that she has not in fact passed on the "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" curse, opting instead to embrace the pain. She has not healed from being unceremoniously dumped by the Poet, and for the first time she's experiencing the call to the Gate.

Standout line: It's hard to pick one, but "I want your heart broken, some sign of emotion" probably best encapsulates her motives. She doesn't want him back, she just wants to know that she actually mattered.

In the Land of the Pig, the Butcher is King: One of the few traces of the Jim Steinman Batman musical that we never got to see (I'm not making this up you know). The Bat now singing through the Kid is recreating the Carnival in front of the Gate, summoning the denizens from earlier.

Standout line: "You know what to say if they stand in our way. Don't stand in our way." The song is the Bat trilogy at its most gothic horror, but tucked away in the bridge is this really funny anti-joke. Q: What did Batman say to Robin to get him in the car? A: Get in the car. Hilarious!

Monstro/Alive: I kind of like the pairing of those titles. I'm going to start shouting "Monstro alive!" when I'm taken by surprise; we'll see if it catches on. "Monstro" is a dramatic instrumental where the Gate finally opens all the way revealing what's behind it. But surprise! Kingdom Hearts is light! The Angel steps out, and the trolls immediately take to the message boards to gripe about the opera's continuity. She kisses the Kid and the Bat inside him fades. The Carnival's reds and oranges are bathed in a blanket of blue and white (coincidentally, my high school's colors). The Kid performs "Alive" for the denizens, who in turn consider that therapy might actually have some benefits.

Standout line: "And if my shadow's all that survives, I'm still alive."

If God Could Talk: The Poet has made his way back to the spot on the road that overlooks the Carnival. He catches sight of Ruby heading there in the distance, even though she doesn't see him. He almost calls out to her but decides against it, expressing his thoughts to the audience instead.

Standout line: "Did you tear all the pictures of us living life together? Did you burn all the memories that have been made in a fit of rage?" I listened to this album well over a dozen times before I realized how good this song is. It's a complicated exploration of someone who wants forgiveness, knowing they don't deserve it.

If it Ain't Broke, Break It: The Poet gets back in his car and tries to drive off, but it won't start. He throws a fit inside worthy of Basil Fawlty when the Voice rides by on his motorcycle and hits the car with his fist, bringing it back to life. Curiously, the Poet follows the Voice down to the Carnival where the Kid has roused the denizens in a massive musical number known as 'the showstopper'.

Standout line: The underlying brass section that sounds like they're invoking the Peter Gunn theme. Anybody could strut confidently down a back alley without fear of assault if they've got this music playing.

What About Love?: Ruby has made it to the Gate. She and the Kid make eye contact and there are sparks of familiarity even if neither is sure why. They sing the duet together.

Standout line: "Don't let fate make the choice for us." Possibly the point of the whole damned opera. Thanks for sticking through this for as long as you have, by the way.

Seize the Night: Sung by the Angel. The Gate is fully open for the Kid and Ruby to go through (and beyond to better things). Slowly some of the denizens get the idea to go through the Gate as well. A few hesitate and some flat out turn away. Eventually the Gate begins to close, with the Angel remaining on the outside. The Poet decides at the last second to try to go through as well, but it shuts and disappears before he can get there.

Standout line: "Dies irae, Kyrie! Sanctus, Sanctus exultate!" Latin just sounds good.

The Future Ain't What It Used to Be: How do you go from exultation to despair in one track? Probably when you realize that you could have been part of something wonderful and let it slip by. The Poet realizes he's blown it every step of the way and sings his metaphorical death song, accompanied by the Angel before she makes her final exit.

Standout line: So very many. This is the song that challenges "Objects in the Rear View Mirror" for Jim's finest. But the line that I think carries the most weight is "It's always so cold, and I'm too young to be old." Both the Poet and the Voice have expressed a refusal to grow up, but the Poet leaves knowing too late how unrealistic not growing up was. As for the Voice...

Cry to Heaven: He never had any intention of going through the Gate. He loves his freedom too much. But now he finds himself nearly alone, with no denizens cheering him on. His life was exceptional but disconnected, and now he has to pay the price for it.

It's only at this moment that he notices Dora has been here the whole time. Her life has presumably unfolded in much the same way as the Poet's, leading her to the same Gate and ending up equally devastated. His final song is a lullaby to her.

Standout line: "Go ahead and cry like Hell." Curtain.