2019 Movie Wrap-Up

Another year, another three and a half blog posts for me: man I love working two jobs and having depression issues! Well, 2019 sure sucked. And considering 2018 set the bar so low you could roll on the ground and clear it- seriously dude, were you even trying?

But let's focus on escapism. The movies I saw this year were pretty good overall. Maybe I'm just getting better at choosing which ones to skip, but I had a fairly enjoyable movie run. In fact I think my biggest disappointments came from the movies I din't see (why did so many of you jackasses pay for The Lion King?). So as per tradition, let me take you on a tour of every film I saw and my one paragraph reaction.

Escape Room

This was almost a good movie. I'm a bit of a sucker for plots where people have to use their wits to get out of life or death situations, and this movie did so many things right. The characters were well fleshed out and the focus weighed suspense over gore. Moreover, unlike the Cube series that invariably influenced it, the horror element never overpowered all sense of hope. Unfortunately it tripped in the last act by revealing just a little too much about the organization behind the death traps, which makes me feel lukewarm about next year's sequel. But it's entertaining enough to be worth a rental.

The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part

We're going to see several examples on this list of sequels not being quite as good as their predecessors, and I think it's worth pointing out why that is. The first Lego Movie had a major reveal that upped the emotional ante and it simply couldn't be duplicated. So that was working against the franchise. But pushing past the elephant, everything else about the film was on point; a stronger story arc for Lucy, a natural progression of (literal) world building, some delightful additions to the song library, and an ironically topical subtext about divisiveness. Despite the usual trappings of sequeldom, this film succeeded at everything it set out to accomplish. But fair warning: a third film is not likely to maintain that quality, so why don't we all just be happy with the gift as it is?

Happy Death Day 2U

I can't think of another franchise so skilled at bouncing around genres. Tree is back, and that's good because her hero's journey in the first movie made me want more of her. The sequel tests her resolve to continue being the hero she had the misfortune to stumble into previously. It's easier to do the right thing when your back is against the wall than it is when you're in the shadows facing a consequence-free choice between personal want and greater good. Even if the silly factor of the film occasionally gets a hair too pungent, Tree remains as engaging a heroine as any who wears a cape. It's heart that makes a hero, not power. Hey! Speaking of...

Captain Marvel

I just realized how good of a year it was for female figures in cinema. The box office might not accurately reflect it but 2019 had a substantial sampling of sisters doing it for themselves (See, boys? They're not so scary). So the MCU finally got on board with diversity and gave us the Superman movie DC seems allergic to. On the one hand, Captain Marvel didn't carry the cultural impact Wonder Woman and Black Panther did, but it did everything else right. Brie Larson brings all the fun, conflict, and humanity an overpowered character like Carol Danvers requires. Her 'getting back up' montage is something we all could stand to benefit from by internalizing. "I have nothing to prove," she declares. Damn right girl. I'd vote for you.

Shazam!

Okay, the back-to-back releases coupled with a perpetual dispute over which superhero is the legitimate Captain Marvel makes a comparison inevitable, so here's mine. If I have to pick, Shazam! is probably the better movie. But with that said, I've seen Shazam! once and I feel like I've gotten all I'm going to get out of the character, whereas I've seen Miss Danvers's debut twice and I'm looking forward to revisiting it; you tell me which is better. But on the merits of its own studio, Shazam! encapsulates everything that was missing from The Dark Knight Rises through the Zack Snyder period. Hope. A sense that things might actually get better if we work together to make them so. I really can't imagine where a sequel would be able to go, but Shazam! is an inpsiring beginning to end story about love and support.

Avengers: Endgame

I'll be honest, I was lost from the opening scene; I feel like I needed about twenty-one films worth of back story just to understand what was going on. Did anyone else even go see this one? It looked pretty expensive, I wonder if it even made back half its budget. Oh well, you can't win them all, I just hope the studio behind it had something else this year to absorb the deficit. But milking that joke aside, you don't need me to tell you that the most amazing thing about this film was that it pulled off the expectations plaguing it. Kevin Feige, the Russo brothers, and probably two countries worth of cast and crew created the cinematic equivalent of the planet Jupiter without it crumbling under its own weight. Flawed? Yes, it was a finale that probably needed another hour to effectively smooth out. But sometimes you just have to embrace the flaws and accept the wonderfulness the way it is. Wow, that's a sweet message, somebody should make a movie about that...

UglyDolls

I had a couple of pleasant surprises from the cinema this year, and this animated film was the biggest gem. At first glance it looks like The Diet Lego Movie, basically a feature length toy commercial with a soundtrack and hopefully a message about something uncontroversial. Yeah, that's all it is. Until you start paying attention to the lyrics by Glenn Slater and the script by Alison Peck (keep an eye on her career). The psychological effects of unrealistic beauty standards is a heavy topic for children to grasp, and indeed way too many adults. This movie isn't going to prevent the bullying and verbal abuse that all children will invariably face from their peers, but it just might plant a seed in their minds that gives them a handhold in adolescence. Special mentions goes to Nick Jonas's despicably abusive villain song "The Ugly Truth" and Janelle Monáe's brokenness disguised as pop sugar song "All Dolled Up". You know you totally ignored this one. Trust me, give it a chance now.

Detective Pikachu

Kudos to the team that did the first trailer, they made it look just bizarre enough to be intriguing. It's another Roger Rabbit template, this time with Justice Smith in the thankless role of actor who has to emote off of dead air. You might not notice but he's really good; Smith is destined to be a powerhouse in a few years. But the truth is, nothing matters until Ryan Reynolds shows up. Here's the thing about Reynolds: post Deadpool he could have a career spanning the next decade just by phoning it in, but he doesn't do that. His comedic timing is as solid as you'd expect, but he looks for those emotional beats as an actor. When he finds them, he swings right at the sweet spot. I've never cared about Pokémon, but I cared about these characters. I'm sure it was much more riveting for a Pokémon fan, but even with my mere passing appreciation for Mewtwo I left the theater in a very good mood.

Aladdin

Notice I skipped the live Dumbo? We really need to stop encouraging this. I waited until my library had it on DVD, and I think if I'd paid anything for it I'd be more honed on the weaknesses. But if you imagine you're watching a really good TV-movie version of Aladdin it has a certain charm. Will Smith is decent as the Genie, even though I don't think he's really doing his best. Mena Massoud fares better as Aladdin, adding a few more layers to the character. But it's Naomi Scott's Jasmine who ultimately hijacks the movie. Gone is the marrying-for-love angle, she's trying to understand the people her lineage is in charge of. It might have made for a better story to put her in as the protagonist, because in the fleeting moments where the movie manages to step away from the source material it starts to work. At least she finally got a solo, and it's a powerful one.

Dark Phoenix

I didn't hate it. Unfortunately that's the good news. The X-Men franchise has a special place in the history of comics to screen, but the party ended a long time ago. It's become brand loyalty now. Days of Future Past was probably the last chance to fix it, and that didn't really happen. Just let the horse retire with dignity before you beat it to death.

Toy Story 4

How many frigging times can we say goodbye to these characters? Going into it I felt like it was unneeded. Coming out of it I felt like it was unwanted. Too many story arcs without any particular one taking the focus, vital characters pushed to the background, and I don't know what everyone is on about but Forky is a Saturday Night Live catchphrase character. Pixar is becoming DreamWorks. I know it's a cash cow for Disney, but in terms of quality I'm beginning to wonder if the company really needs two animation studios anymore.

Spider-Man: Far From Home

Ever since the Summer movie season extended from March to October, actual movies released during the Summer have had a dip in finesse. Fortunately Avengers: Epilogue rescued me from the July 4th weekend. Tom Holland IS Spider-Man; and even better, he IS Peter Parker. With a little less push for spectacle and more attention to character moments, Far From Home demonstrates how the MCU has plenty of room to mature (I mean it in a good way). Jake Gyllenhaal absolutely nails it as Mysterio, tapping into his natural charisma as a tactic. Michael Keaton's Vulture was scary because he looked it. Mysterio is scary because he doesn't. Poor Peter Parker, you just know these guys are going to be teaming up at some point.

Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs and Shaw

I love action movies, but I just don't connect with alpha-male machismo. I find those characters really have no heart, just a drive, and thus there's nothing for me to root for, making a movie with no tension. The Rock and Jason Statham are inherently likable action stars, but the Fast & Furious series reduces them to caricatures. The stunts are impressive, and I'm sure some very talented people put their lives on the line, but these movies just don't make it feel that anything really matters. It's just strange to me how the fate of the world can be at stake and still feel like nothing's at stake. Ultimately this isn't my series.

Ready or Not

Man, I wanted to like this movie, and I did to a point. Samara Weaving has a range and a real future in films. This comedy/horror about a bride marrying into a super-wealthy bat-shit crazy family had everything in place, and it did so many things right. Because of a pact with the devil, the family has to hunt (and evidently kill) their newest member before sunrise. It's a great set-up, and their incompetence with the antique weaponry gives the game a realistic feel (did you know it takes more than one arrow to kill somebody?). The problem is, at no point does the bride get to become the hunter, which is the whole point of a movie like this. She fights back, but she stays on the defense, and it's unsatisfying. I'd much rather go back and rewatch Happy Death Day.

Joker

I'm lying. I didn't see it. And I'm not going to. I've put it here because as someone who deals with a mental health disorder, I continue to be insulted that Todd "Society's-gotten-too-easily-offended-for-me-to-do-comedy-anymore" Phillips ever attached a mental health disorder to a character like the Joker and that so many people praised it. I don't care if it's good or if it reminds you of Taxi Driver, it's irresponsible. That's all I have to say about it.

Maleficent: Mistress of Evil

Moving on to a happier subject; fantasy genocide. I love the Maleficent movies. I know they're far from perfect, but the character of Maleficent has always held a special place in my internal challenge of what is and isn't a villain. The arguably past due sequel to 2014's Maleficent is a bit plot heavy and probably chews more scenery than it can swallow, but it's a passionate ride. Angelina Jolie is back in the horns that she spent her whole career waiting to glue on, this time facing off against real life fairy queen Michelle Pfeiffer. These actresses shared scenes are sadly underused, but they count while we have them. Interestingly enough it's Elle Fanning's performance as Aurora that leaves the deepest impression as she's fully turned to the Mistress of Evil as her maternal figure and believes in her even more than Maleficent herself does. I doubt the franchise has a future, but I hope I'm wrong because I'll never get tired of it.

Charlie's Angels

I get it, nobody asked for this movie and nobody likes Kristen Stewart. I'll wait while you reiterate those two points a few dozen times. Dum de dum de dum. Okay, finished? Good. This movie was great. Popcorn flick great, but still great. Elizabeth Banks knocked it out of the park as an action director, and Kristen Stewart was electrifying. Ella Balinska and Naomi Scott (Princess Jasmine, remember?) round out the main cast in a suspense thriller that's tense and heartfelt in all the right places. Get off the bandwagon hate and give this one a look.

Frozen II

The first movie suffered from realizing too late that Elsa was the POV character we wanted. Frozen II sets out to rectify the error. This is very much Elsa's story, or ideally chapter two of its trilogy, and knowing the self fear she's spent her whole life struggling with makes the payoff all the more powerful. It's refreshing to see Disney tell a story with barely a villain in it, and the end result is the American version of a Miyazaki film (save for Kristoff's solo which could ONLY come from Disney). I don't know if really young kids will get much out of it, but the ones who aged six years along with the original should still be ready to stand in the five hour lines at the theme parks to meet Arendelle's royal family.

Knives Out

You've got to hand it to Rian Johnson, he took all the crap he got from Star Wars fans from two years ago and did something productive with it. The Agatha Christie whodunits are making a deserved comeback, and this story makes for a pretty tough act to match. Perhaps a bit more on the howdunit side, knowing the ending doesn't detract from the fun in getting there. Daniel Craig's Benoit Blanc is a welcomed addition to the private detective Who's Who, regardless of whether or not his accent is what he thinks it is. Soon-to-be Bond girl Ana de Armas makes a solid impression, and Chris Evans reminds us of his non-Steve Rogers acting range. This movie is a delight.

Jumanji: The Next Level

If you liked Welcome to the Jungle you'll like this, it's pretty basic. The surprises come from the human moments scattered throughout the playground. In the first film the kids were essentially The Breakfast Club archetypes. This time around we get to know them in ways that we didn't realize we wanted to. Dual-Danny's DeVito and Glover could easily have been thrown in as a mere shtick, but the film wisely utilizes their abilities as performers to layer their characters. It's Awkwafina who has the heaviest lifting thrown on her and she proves herself more than capable of stepping into the role(s) required of her. Jumanji: The Final Boss can't get here soon enough.

Bombshell

I don't think you need me to give you a movie synopsis, a testament to quality, or what kind of a chameleon Charlize Theron is. Instead, I'm going to single out one sequence; the scene where Margot Robbie as Kayla Pospisil (who's an amalgamation of several women who reported being sexually harassed by Roger Ailes) goes through the experience. It's brutal, and not in an over-the-top Lifetime movie way. It's brutal in its realism. John Lithgow wisely underplays Ailes as a man who matter-of-factly has power over Pospisil. The scene is carefully constructed. There's an easy discussion about what technically is and isn't happening, but in the end it doesn't and shouldn't matter. What does matter is he destroys her. I believe the arts and entertainment are important as a whole, but I rarely assign that importance to specific examples. I'm doing it now; this scene is important. If you're still unclear what the #metoo movement is about, this will explain it. And I truly believe it's a journey you need to take.

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

And finally we have the end of the trilogy-trilogy. The suns set on Tatooine, the first last Jedi rises, and the last First Order strikes out. Frankly, I don't know what the hell everyone's problem is with this movie. Yes this trilogy had issues, namely the lack of a single show runner to keep Rian Johnson from killing off too many characters, but all things considered it's a satisfying conclusion to a saga that introduced multiple generations to Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey. It may take a while for the sandstorms to settle but I believe in time people will love the new trilogy for what it is, instead of resenting it for what it isn't. Final thoughts: Daisy Ridley is a treasure. Adam Driver is going to win an Oscar before 2025. And there will be episodes X-XII, hopefully without involving another Death Star. The Force was with us, so quit being such an Anakin.

Editorial: And Eight Tiny Pain Pills

I have been completely out of touch with the holiday season this year. August overstayed its welcome, hanging around until mid October, and by the time Halloween arrived I was only starting to get in the mood for it. I picked up a second job and worked the whole day of my birthday. We kind of skipped Thanksgiving. Now Christmas is in a week and we have yet to put up a tree. I'm thinking we're just going to call time on this one.

And you know what? I'm fine with that. The past couple of Christmases have been exercises in forced pleasantness. Maybe it's a step up, but I'm actually quite content not faking the cheer. This year's been miserable. 2019 had an incredibly low bar to clear and it still fell flat. So screw it. And with that said, I'm just go all in and spread some of the Christmas grouchiness to the world around me in the most intrusive way possible. Through Christmas carols.

I've blogged about caroling before, highlighting some lesser known gems and providing a few safety tips for surviving the yule. This time I'm going to focus on the negative. These are the top eight Christmas carols I really can't stand.

1. We Wish You a Merry Christmas

This song is the equivalent of a commercial. Hell, it IS a commercial! They've dusted off the Hershey's Kisses posing as bells thing every year since Coke kidnapped Santa Claus. I've hated this song my whole life because it's so...uninteresting. As a child I can't remember how many times I got dragged into hospitals and nursing homes to go sing this one damn song over and over. It's easy, and it's boring. And all the other kids insisted on accenting the 'sh' sound in 'wish' like they were unconsciously trying to silence themselves. And I know the recipients seemed grateful for the *ahem* effort. But were they? The older I get the more I wonder if it's just a societal pressure to act like any part of this process is touching; just like when you're obligated to say "Yes, I'd love to see pictures of your grandbaby who looks just like every other baby." Wow, I'm in a worse mood now than I was before.

2. All I Want for Christmas is You

...to shut up. I never got Mariah Carey. She can belt out notes, but are they really notes worth belting? I don't think she has one melody in her whole catalog that can survive on its own, her music is just an excuse to show off her decibels. And this is unquestionably the Mariah Carey Christmas song. And you know what it's about? The last note. Nothing else matters about it. It's become a permanent staple of Christmas playlists because people are waiting for that moment they can screech out the word "you" instead of using that energy for something more productive, like actually screaming into a pillow. It's really time to stop equating the quality of this song with genuine classics, like the one they sang in that Fraggle Rock episode.

3. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer

I'm not going to give this more attention than it deserves. It's an annoying ear worm. And worst of all, it thinks it's funny. Anyone who tells you this is their favorite Christmas song is not worth your association.

4. The Twelve Days of Christmas

Now the problem here isn't the song itself, it actually succeeds on every level a folk song should. It even has the added bonus of a changing time signature which most people don't notice. The problem is the heated arguments about the lyrics. From day nine on, there's no official ruling on when the dancers show up or how many drummers there are. Everybody feels the same way about it: 'MY way is the right way!' And unfortunately nobody ever thinks to work the issue out until the milk maids have been purchased on day eight. The song just provokes contempt and is best left alone. (Incidentally, 12 lord a-leaping, 11 ladies dancing, 10 piper's piping, 9 drummers drumming. Now take it to the rest of the world).

5. Good Christian Men Rejoice

It's a matter of personal preference, but I don't like triplets (in music that is). In spoken word, I think the rhythm is quite cool; i.e. "and to THINK that I SAW it on MULberry STREET". In song form, triplets just seem to emphasize that the melody is dragging. I grew up in church choirs and sang a lot of Christmas programs. This carol was always slated in the first handful of selections and it's the equivalent of running laps in P.E. Every verse serves as a reminder of how many more frigging times you're going to have to press on through the same horse trot of da-dun *beat* da-dun *beat* monotony before the ordeal is just over.

6. Jingle Bell Rock

Look, I get it. This was 1957, two full decades before rock music actually understood itself. But dear God, why does nobody but the Muppets and the Rock-afire Explosion understand that song with 'Rock' in the title have to, you know, rock? And not rock you to sleep like the Hall and Oates version did (they really should have known better). Every time I hear those sluggish opening chords I want to evict a music engineer to the corner until they turn in a term paper on Desmond Child.

7. O Come All Ye Faithful

This one is straight out of the hymnal. If you go to any candlelight service, you're destined to close on Silent Night, but in the process you're going to be hitting the big three of prerequisites; Hark the Herald Angels Sing, The First Noel, and this one. It's almost like the value of the hymnals is measured by how often these specific songs get sung, and since they're limited to the month of December you're going to see them in multiple programs. Hark usually goes first as it's the most vocally draining, and Noel is actually a pretty decent carol for a hymn so you naturally want to put a little something into it. But O Come is tedious enough on its own, when you triple it with the other two it's simply mind numbing. Something fun I always like to do in church is time how long the organist sustains the final chord of each verse in O Come followed by how long of a pause before the next verse starts. Sometimes it sounds like she's as fed up with the song as I am.

8. Toyland

We all know this song. Essentially it's the Christmas version of It's a Small World. But despite the fact that this 1903 predictor of commercialism blares through the speakers of every department store and parade route, I can't think of any recent holiday album that has included a cover of it. It's almost like literally nobody wants to be responsible for its longevity. Toyland is filler, when you need a song to run on endlessly while the costumed toy soldiers stumble through the marketplace. Nobody voluntarily listens to the song, much less sings it. In fact, maybe it's accurate to say this never was a carol to begin with, but a mere leitmotif for the Krampus. Come to think of it why don't I throw this out to the bleachers? Does everybody despise this song as much as I do? If that's the case then maybe there's a fuzzy takeaway after all. What if the season is capable of uniting us all in a collective hostility towards a melody line can never be smothered out of existence?

Wow, I think I just wrote the ending to a Hallmark movie.

Merry Christmas Grinches!

Chasing the Rabbit: Chapter Twenty-One -Everybody Knows Your Name

Click here for the table of contents.

Meg gently lay Alice down on as dry a mound as she could find with the moon's light guiding her. "Rest," she insisted, trying to catch her breath. The pain in Alice's broken ankle caused her to cry out, and she bit her fist in an attempt to stifle herself.

The mirror kept them pointed in the direction they felt they needed to go, but unfortunately it was leading them back through the woods where the Headless Horseman apparently held dominion. Meg set a smooth stone under Alice's ankle to try to alleviate the pressure.

Alice wiped away her tears. "I'm sorry you have to carry me."

"You're not the problem, Lilies. It's the convertible hibachi chef." The truth was, Meg was getting worn out. Alice wasn't heavy in short bursts, but they'd been scrambling through uneven terrain for well over an hour and having to dodge the sound of approaching hoof steps a good half dozen times by hiding behind whatever brush was available to them. "Doesn't he ever clock out?"

"He may be patrolling," suggested Alice. "Perhaps he follows a set pattern."

Meg fidgeted with the mirror. "This thing would be more useful if it had a night light."

"Miss Meg, you know you have some of the most peculiar idiosyncrasies when it comes to describing things."

"Well, I don't really understand half of the words you use either."

"I mean no disrespect," Alice insisted. "It's just that...it's only occurred to me how little we know of each other."

Meg instinctively gave her an incredulous look, but not wanting to harm the already wounded girl's feelings she quickly suppressed it. "I guess a little information wouldn't hurt in case we need to contact each other's next of kin. Where are you from?"

Alice expected herself to answer without hesitation but the information stalled in her head, like a sequence of numbers one could rattle off without thinking but become lost once thought is applied. "London?" She hadn't intended to inflect it as a question, but her memories of home came to her as images instead of names. "Westminster," she decided. "Yes, I'm certain of it."

Meg touched Alice's hand. It hadn't been comforting for either of them to be dealing with such unreliable memories, but at least it was taking the twelve year old's mind off her ankle. "It's okay Lilies. I'm only about sixty-seven percent sure I'm from Thebes."

Alice shook her head. "I'm disappointed with myself. I should have attended to my lessons with greater discernment. I do hope this is only a temporary amnesia."

"You didn't do this to yourself."

"I've filled my head with nonsense."

"I've been dead before. And I mean literally soul-split-from-body dead. Trust me, whatever this Acheron is you weren't pushed in because you skipped Pythagorean-" Meg heard the sound of galloping. Alice was about to ask a question but Meg shushed her while wrapping a protective arm across her. "Here comes nonsense's Ginsu again," she whispered.

They both held their breath as he passed by, the trail only a few yards away. By now they'd grown accustomed to the horseman's periodic arrivals and departures. It was clear he wasn't looking for them, and may not have even been aware of their presence in the woods. But this time he let out a loud cackle that jostled Meg. It seemed to echo from deep inside an empty shell and carry through the whole forest. And again, he was gone. But Meg lay still for several moments longer than necessary, just in case that had been a performance for them.

"How can he laugh without a head?" Meg growled. "Better yet, how can he even see where he's going?"

"Those are valid questions Miss Meg," said Alice. She stared at her ankle. The makeshift splint was making her travel possible, if only slightly bearable, and she really wasn't looking forward to having to move again. "Do you think we stand any chance of surviving the night if we sleep here?"

"No. Too exposed. And too close to the trail." Meg glanced around at the lower branches in the area, wondering if any of them had the kind of elastic resilience that could theoretically knock the horseman to the ground. It was a possibility, although a huge gamble as his horse might not cooperate with an unfamiliar rider. And there was still the issue of Alice's injury which would no doubt be further aggravated by bouncing on the animal's back. She collected the mirror that Alice had been cradling against her chest and stared into its darkness. "Okay, let me think."

"Miss Meg?"

There was a seed of despair creeping into Alice's voice that Meg chose not to acknowledge. "Something to spark an idea. It's too dark where we are," she thought out loud, "and anything nearby that the glass can show us would be in darkness-"

"There's an unpleasant reality we may have to consider-"

"No, Lilies." She gave the tip of Alice's nose a gentle but stern tap. "Not gonna happen."

"I haven't said-"

"-and you're not going to," Meg interrupted. "I'm not leaving you behind."

Alice had been masking how afraid she was behind a decided curiosity and a lexicon she was only mostly sure of. But at this one moment the facade was cracking, and she covered her own chin to try to prevent it from quivering. "I can't see a way out."

Meg stroked the hair out of the girl's face. "Doll, I was a slave in the Underworld. If there was ever a dark place that kept you from seeing a way out, it was there. I've seen a lot of people come through; every one of them holding onto any grasp of hope they had. Like a candle. A flickering, dying candle. And they all had the same look in their eyes the moment that light went out. A surrender of hope."

"What none of them realized was, the way out is still there whether you can see it or not. The darkness can take your light but it can't take your hope. It's always your choice to sacrifice it. And people do, all the time. They give it up for no reason except that the darkness has tricked them into thinking they'll never see the-"

Wait a minute. Meg peered into the glass. The black void peered back. Waiting for instruction. She knew it could only show things in the present, but some things were always there. Somewhere. It could work. She held the mirror up and commanded, "Show us the sun."

The reflection shimmered. And almost a second too late she thought to turn the glass downward as the vicinity in which they'd taken refuge lit up in a concentrated spotlight. Meg looked at Alice as uncontrollable smiles appeared on both their faces.

"Eureka," Alice giggled.

"What a spark!"



It was high noon somewhere; in fact, the sun was beating down on the roof of the local saloon. The gravel road was barren, save for a string of recent paw prints that nobody was likely to notice. And in the back of the saloon a wooden door, carefully painted to blend in with the wall, opened ever so cautiously.

Bugs poked his head around the frame at floor level to check for any sign of immediate threat. Bagheera joined him. The two of them waited silently, listening for anything amiss. Moments passed, and nothing. They exchanged a confirming glance and Bugs hopped out onto the saloon's floor.

"I knew dis tunnel lead somewhere. Good eyes, O'Malley."

Bagheera crept out a little more alertly. "It looks like we're in a man-village."

"Deserted. Lucky us." He gestured to the overhang with the heads of a buck, bison, and moose mounted on it. "We should fare better'n dese Easter eggs."

"It's unusual that this place is empty."

"Galaxy's Edge must've reopened." The rabbit sprang over the bar and began wiping out the cups. "What can I getcha Slim?"

Bagheera gave Bugs a perplexed look. "Getcha?"

"To drink. Before da show let's out." He duck behind the counter and rummaged through the supply. "We got it all. Strawberry Colada, Banana Bomber, Kungaloosh; eh, it looks like the censors figured out the Old Panther gag."

"What show are you talking about?"

"Da one with da banjos." Bugs popped back up and slid a bright pink cocktail with four umbrellas and a bendy straw down the bar to where Bagheera sat. "Do you guys never get off da lot? We're in Frontierland."

The name wasn't familiar. "Is this a place I should know?"

"I always t'ought dey covered da tour on day one. Da theme parks? Main Street, parades, da castle cable dat no one will admit to?"

Bagheera snorted. "I understand the words you're saying..."

A tired voice from the road outside disrupted the panther's thought. "Alex!"

"That was Elsa."

"Good. We're outta ice." Bugs poured his own fruit cocktail. "Your name ain't Alex Bagheera, is it?" But the panther had already darted through the door. Bugs sighed and downed his beverage, grimacing at the aftertaste.

Outside Elsa was steadying herself against a hitching post. The continuous heat was causing her to feel lightheaded, and at first the sight of a large cat sprinting towards her appeared like a mirage. Her first thought was that she was about to be mauled, and she took a defensive stance even though she didn't have the strength to protect herself with ice. She just hoped it would be over fast.

"Elsa!" Bagheera called to her.

"Thank goodness," the Ice Queen's hand slipped and she fell to the ground. Bagheera reached her spot and nudged his way underneath so he could carry her back to the saloon. "Alex. Did you see him?"

Confident that Elsa was balanced enough to not fall off him, Bagheera scurried as steadily as he could. "Who's Alex."

"Fur," Elsa muttered. "Long ears." She was fighting to stay conscious, but any more words that entered her head never made it to her mouth until she felt the indoor temperatures touch her skin.

Bagheera let her slide gently onto the floor of the saloon and gave Bugs a nod to help her. The rabbit poured two glasses of juice. "Are you talking about him?"

It took Elsa a few seconds for her eyes to focus. "Yes," she said as soon as Bugs's shape became clear but changed her mind once she realized the color was off. "No. He's brown."

"Another rabbit?" Bugs asked.

"Donkey," Elsa gasped. "He's alone."

"Drink dis." Bugs held the first glass up to her lips but she refused it.

"Please! He's scared!"

"I'll go look," Bagheera assured her. "Your thirst needs quenching."

"Thank you." Elsa took the glass in her hands and tried to sip but wound downing the whole concoction.

"Take care of her," Bagheera told Bugs.

"On the job."

The panther was out the door again, and Elsa finished off her second glass. Bugs took them both back to the bar for a refill. "I guess it's da heat dat bothers you in several ways. I'll keep 'em coming 'til you're ready to slow down."

Elsa drew in a deep breath but only exhaled a puff of cold air. The fluids were helping but she'd really dehydrated herself. "You were the one on the beach."

"Being shot at, yeah. Except dis guy weren't no stormtrooper."

Elsa struggled to get into one of the empty chairs and Bugs stopped what he was doing to help her up.

"You know," he said, "if you need to go to sleep dere's some towels under da counter; we can build you a mattress."

"I'll be fine."

"Anybody on da beach get hurt?"

"Tarzan was."

"Really? How bad?"

Elsa told him about her own wound and how Tarzan had taken care of her, but then the creature of fire had awakened. And she described the image she'd seen of him afterwards, where he was motionless. Almost like he'd been frozen solid. To her surprise, Bugs reacted with understanding instead of confusion.

"Yep," he said. "Sounds like the poor guy's outta the game. It's a pity, 'cause he had all da information."

"What game are you talking about?"

Bugs pulled out a second chair and sat down. "I probably shouldn't be tellin' you dis, because I don't think I'm supposed to know myself, but I got a pretty good look at da roster before dis whole thing started. See, we're all in a game. Kind of a Survivor/Musical Chairs kinda thing. I think if you die in here, you go into a stasis until the game is over. But Tarzan was a plant; he was in on it. Every game like dis needs someone on da inside to keep things moving and nudge the rest of da group in da right direction."

Elsa's eyes widened. "So he's the reason why we're here?"

"No, you're why you're here. Apparently you don't remember it, but you agreed to be part of da game. We all did." He stopped himself, realizing just how complicated this was about to get. "Elsa, do you know what Disney is?"

She shook her head.

"Oh wow. Dey really did a number on you guys. How am I gonna explain dis? Frozen was a movie- Wait, strike dat." That was going to make no sense at all to her. "Have you ever heard of Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Yes."

Great. Now what? "Okay. What do you think she did on her off day?"

Elsa stared at him. "I don't understand the question."

"When Red Riding Hood wasn't in her story, what do you think she did?"

"What do you mean when she wasn't in her story?"

It was rare that Bugs felt like he was out of his depth, and he rubbed his eyebrows. "Don't you think Red had a life outside of dis one day where she met a wolf on da way to Granny's house?"

"I've heard a different version than that." Elsa was really trying to follow him, but she seemed to only be frustrating him further. "Are you talking about the character Red Riding Hood, or are you talking about whoever the girl was that the character was based on?"

"Let's go with da second one."

She nodded. "So you're wondering what her life may have been like?"

Bugs decided he was going to make one last attempt before abandoning the conversation. "Imagine if dat little girl inspired a story dat people told over and over; she knows the details inside and out. But den one day she gets cursed. All her memories are gone and all she knows about herself is what's in dat story."

Elsa mulled that over. "So she would think she's a character in a story."

"Exactly. But she wouldn't know dat it's a story."

Her brain finally had the flash of connection. "Are you saying where we are right now is the result of a curse?"

No, but...Bugs shrugged. "Sure. We'll go with dat. It's affecting all of you. Jasmine, Kronk, What's-his-name, even old Battle Cat. Dat's why you all have such a limited understanding of who you are and where you're from. It's a group curse dat's kind of a game."

"So Tarzan is alive?"

"As far as I know, yeah. But I think he's gonna be stuck where he is until all dis gets resolved."

Elsa leaned back and eyed the rabbit. "So why is it you know so much then?"

"Dat's a good question, and I don't have a good answer. But I know one thing dat we all need to keep in mind whatever we decide to do."

"What's that?"

"Only ten names on dat roster. You, me, Tarzan, Bagheera, Jasmine, Kronk...um..." He trailed off.

"Frollo?"

"Yeah, all dere. Dat's seven."

"And then there was a woman I met with horns on her head."

"Yeah, Maleficent. She's got a key to somethin', by the way."

"And then Alex." Elsa thought back to the woman and child she'd seen on the monitors. "And two more. That's eleven."

"Little blonde girl and a purple hourglass figure?"

Elsa blinked. "I think so."

"Dat's Alice and Meg. Both on da list. Guess who da odd one out is."

"Oh," was all she could say. It meant something, she didn't know what. But they wouldn't get answers unless Bagheera could find him.


Return to the table of contents.

Revisiting the Stauf Mansion

Halloween may be over, but there's still some life left in the world of the dead (which is probably the very core of Halloween's spirit). And one of the eleventh hour additions (Get it? No? Well, you will.) to the season this year is the release of The 13th Doll, a long awaited threequel entry to The 7th Guest franchise.

In case you need to be caught up on Trilobyte's classic, the 7th Guest was a flagship interactive movie/puzzle point and click game released in 1993; on April 1st of all days. The PC was in its new age infancy, and this pre-Myst title was probably the highest profile game to summarize the direction PC gaming was going. Puzzles, story, cut scenes, exploration, atmosphere; this was the game that did it all first.

And best.

Now that's a bold claim that I'm going to need to support, after all you can take any of those aforementioned variables and find a game that did it better (i.e. with fewer flaws). Maybe even one that managed to check off all five bullet points, Zork: Nemesis comes to mind as a viable contender. But The 7th Guest had an X-factor that made it something truly special. Immersion.

That concept gets thrown around a lot in describing games and it's about as reliable an adjective as words like funny, smart, or scary. It's purely subjective. If you're a game designer, you can confidently say you had puzzles that you poured a lot of effort into trying to find the right balance of fun/difficulty, or you devoted several layers to hammering out a coherent story, and so on through those tangible elements. But immersion describes the player's emotional experience, and no game designer can control that. And the fact that 26 and a half years later people are still talking about The 7th Guest leads me to conclude that this game did it best. I didn't come away from it feeling I'd played a game. I felt like I'd been to the Stauf Mansion.

I'd like to revisit it now, hence the title of the blog. I know my skill as a writer is nowhere in the realm of where it would need to be to take you with me, but I do hope it's enough to intrigue you. If you've never played the series, I encourage you to check it out in whatever capacity you have available. I understand there's ways to play the original games, although they're beyond the scope of my dying Chromebook. There are websites and Youtube playthroughs that can at least give you a taste of the journey. And for those of you who are already veterans of the mansion (probably why you're here in the first place), my goal is to make you love the series even more than you already do.

So let's dive into what's sort of a review but mostly a celebration of the house that Stauf built.

The Mansion

First off, has anyone else noticed the layout of the Stauf Mansion is very similar to the home of the Simpsons? If they ever decide to do a Treehouse of Horror segment that lasts the whole episode, this is the one to go with.

The history of Gothic fiction has given us countless great haunted mansions, including the Gracey Manor, Disney's theme park superstar; the one that earned the 'The' in front of 'Haunted Mansion'. But almost all of them create a mood of 'Keep Out' foreboding. The Gracey Manor, with its rich history of story arcs that don't quite intersect, is one of the few to give off a vibe of 'Please, come in'. Stauf's Mansion is carved from this template, but takes it up a notch. Gracey Manor doesn't mind you exploring it. Stauf's Mansion wants you to. In fact it DARES you.

That's the beauty of incorporating the puzzles into the narrative. You wonder how anyone is ever dumb enough to make a deal with the devil, the Stauf Mansion answers that question. It caters to your intelligence. It makes you think you can beat it. Each puzzle unlocks a new mystery, giving you the sense that you're winning. Stauf's voice mocks you (repeatedly) for failing to solve a puzzle, granting a catharsis when you finally do. You bought the game yourself, of course you're going to keep playing it. If this were a real pact with the devil, you would need him to dangle motivators of greed or lust in front of you, you'd fold to intellectual temptation. There. You've just learned something awful about yourself. You're welcome.

I'm going to talk more about the acting as we go through the games individually, but as the central figure of Henry Stauf, actor Robert Hirschboeck is a freaking rock star. It's perplexing to me why his acting career is so limited; you'd think at the very least sci-fi television would be throwing work at him. Hirschboeck is that horror movie host who would out-scenery chew the Muppets. You can see the whole history of horror throughout his performance as Stauf; from the silent film menace of Nosferatu to the soft spoken sadism of the Saw series, with every over the top evil-is-hammy moment in between. If Stauf ever manages to fulfill his end of whatever deal he's made with the underworld, you get the impression he'll keep working for free. He's having that much fun.

The 7th Guest

Now I'm not really going to spend much time addressing individual puzzles because that's really the adventure you have to go on yourself. But suffice to say, these are always a mixed bag. I hear people complain about the cake puzzle the most, which I've never understood what was so difficult about it. 'Solve the Soup Cans' is an official trope, and The 7th Guest named it as such. "Shyly, spryly tryst, wait what?" This was also the first, and to date only, time I've seen the word 'ruddy' used in a sentence. And the less said about the microscope puzzle the better, in fact just pretend I didn't type this sentence.

But really we're here for the iconic cast of characters who manage to not be knock offs of Clue. They're all already successful members of the upper class (assuming Hamilton Temple is a magician people actually hire) and yet they all want more. In a couple of cases the motives aren't entirely unsympathetic; Elinor Knox just wants to start over with her husband Edward after their fortune ran dry. And Hamilton Temple is understandably drawn to the prospect of (let's say it together) "Rrrrrreal magic". The other four are purely self-interested. Edward is actively cheating on his wife right in front of her with young aspiring actress Martine Burden, who has the best last name of the bunch. And then there's corporate climber and Brent Spiner understudy Brian Dutton who has no poker face when it comes to reading letters, and Julia Heine who seems forgettable at first but becomes one of the most engaging characters down the road.

Blue-screen acting is hard. It's easy to knock the performers around for the bits that come off as silly, but it's not a fair assessment of their talents. Often they're having to overreact to nothing, and I'm sure their direction amounted more to hitting marks and holding poses than to figuring out how to make the performances seem natural. And for that, it's pretty impressive that they're all as into it as they are.

That's one of the charms of the series. If this were a film, those moments could break the quality; but here they somehow make the game all the more endearing. This is community theater acting, or the type you might see at Halloween Horror Nights. A friend and coworker of mine once shared the most insightful truth about acting with me. He said that acting isn't about convincing an audience that you're that character. It's convincing the audience that you've convinced yourself that you're that character. These performers are acting the hell out of their roles in a completely unfamiliar medium, and I give them all the credit for what they accomplished with what they were given.

Like the Haunted Mansion, the Stauf Mansion erupts with fanfic fuel by how much...stuff there is. Talking paintings, ectoplasmic soup, a physically impossible layout, a secret passage down a bathroom sink drain; there's a whole lot of window dressing in this place that serves no purpose other than it takes you further into the lore of the place. The fact that the main plot is told through non-chronological fragments that may or may not line up adds to the overall impact. It's fascinating to watch the narrative unfold as the guests start killing each other for an ambiguous reward they're never going to get (Oh Julia, you nutty flapper). And dear God, Elinor! I don't know what she ever did to deserve that fate, but suddenly the donkey from Pinocchio who still knew his name seems to have drawn the long straw.

The 11th Hour

This whole game takes a beating from the fan base that I think is undeserved. Some of the criticism is fair; there are way too many games you have to play against Stauf that require dumb luck to win, and the piano puzzle is the stuff of walkthrough-proof legend. But I honestly didn't have a problem with the fetch quests. There's a lot of detail throughout the mansion and you can't really get players to appreciate it without making them explore. Yeah, pre-Gamefaqs.com this was a frustration but it's not as big a deal as people are making it.

Gameplay-wise it's more of the same, which is exactly what you want from a 7th Guest sequel. But the changes in the approach to story-telling has people divided, and to be fair I get it. There were dangling plot threads from the first game for which I'd love to have gotten resolution. How exactly did Martine die? When was the 'now' that the events were happening? And of course, who was the woman in white?

Did I forget to mention her? Much like the enigmatic attic bride of Gracey Manor, the woman in white appeared out of nowhere with no explanation on the second floor, and once in the crypt maze. For the longest time I thought she was Martine, but that doesn't seem to be the case. At any rate, her sudden lunge towards the camera is one of the eeriest and most paranoia inducing moments in the game. Alas, her role will go unanswered for now.

What we have instead is the assembly of a short film starring quite an attractive cast that may have been rescued from a soap opera that never got past the pilot. Stauf is back, in all of his more-is-more glory, and I can't help but find the differing acting styles riveting. Carl Denning, Robin Morales, and the townsfolk are performing for television, while Hirschboeck and a few cameos are still projecting from the stage. You'd think this would create a disjointed clash, but I think it works surprisingly well. There's a fine line when actors have to play characters who just can't believe the situation they're in; it gets dangerously close to the actor losing their character. Fortunately the cast stays on the side of credibility, with Carl playing a round of Let's Make a Deal as the apex.

So, plot. Honestly a lot more going on than you'd expect. A string of disappearances in the town where Stauf's mansion sits, a relationship drama between television journalists, a lackey lawyer, a severed hand, and two women who were raped by the house eighteen years prior resulting in the birth of a demon offspring. This is actually a well written X-Files episode that never feels too overstuffed. And Samantha, the other victim, manages to be the strongest-willed character in the series; from the confines of a wheelchair no less.

This game added a level of substance that The 7th Guest missed out on. Stauf is hammy, but he also has layers. He has quick but noticeable moments of vulnerability when he realizes how easily his plans can be unraveled. Edward Knox pops up in one scene, affably resigned to helplessness, which is more development than he got in the whole first game. Previously unsympathetic Martine has a heartbreaking moment where she can't quite wrap her head around the fact that she's dead.

And Julia. Like Stauf, she seems much happier as a victim to the house than she was alive. In The 7th Guest we were left thinking she'd won the game but dispatched for being useless. Here we get an aftermath; she's become a valuable member of the house. In her one scene she seems to have become Stauf's partner in crime, delighted at being able to murder the lackey lawyer. Maybe he granted her wish after all.

All in all I think this game is underrated. Yeah, you can't top the raw inspiration of the original, but the story matured with The 11th Hour and expanded the mythology of Stauf and company. I can't imagine playing The 7th Guest and not continuing on to the sequel, it just feels wrong to leave unfinished, if completion is really an option. But, we still have one more stop to go.

Although before we skip ahead two and a half decades I want to mention the character of Marie, the demon offspring of the Stauf Mansion played by the late Michelle Gaudreau. I keep saying demon, but let me stress it wasn't through a makeup job, it was pure performance from Gaudreau. She looked venomous. Every line and reaction from her seethed with contempt, for no reason other than it's who and what she was. That character had grounds for a spin-off, and it's a real shame we'll never see one.

The 13th Doll

So full disclosure, I don't have Steam access. I'm not sure how long it's going to be before I get my hands on the new game, but I've been watching its development carefully. And ever since the release date I've been scavenging playthrough videos on Youtube to see how the game stacks up.

The fact that The 13th Doll exists at all is a testament to how beloved the original games were. The tagline for the title is "A Fan Game of The 7th Guest", and I certainly appreciate the humility Attic Door Productions has on display, but as a long time fan I can confidently accept The 13th Doll as a solid installment that stands alongside its predecessors without a need for any qualifier. This was a labor of love, and you can see it in every carefully reconstructed nook and cranny of the recreated mansion.

I can't personally speak to the puzzles as I skip over those segments, but they look true to form and I've read nothing but praise for their design. As a narrative, it's closer to The 7th Guest than The 11th Hour with a few creative tweaks, such as a dual-sided story with only one happy ending (as best as I can tell). Special kudos to the creators who were wise to avoid making too different. The Stauf Mansion has always been about giving the player just enough information to keep you engaged but not to the point of explaining everything. The 13th Doll does a wonderful job of building on the mythology without smothering it. The only questions that get answered are the ones that allow the story to blossom, the rest are left to your own untangling.

Now I have to be fair about this, the same issues that plagued blue-screen acting back in the nineties still exist today. Often the actors have to deliver performances with their feet anchored to their marks in a way that comes off as unnatural. This probably can't be helped, but unfortunately it tends to lead reviewers to the conclusion that the acting is bad. And its not. The actors are very good; better than you might realize. As I said before, this kind of acting is hard to do, and I believe every one of them accomplished something they should be proud of.

Risking spoilers ahead: Tad is back. He's been in a mental institution (and not a very good one) ever since his tussle with the house as a child. The ward thinks he's insane, but of course we all know better. Hunter Menken plays the role not as someone broken and defeated, but as someone broken and angry. It's a smart choice, as it gives Tad the kind of heroic determination that we've only previously seen from Samantha in The 11th Hour.

Joining Tad for his kill-joyride is Dr. Richmond, played by Mathias Blake. It wouldn't be a 7th Guest story without watching someone fall to Stauf's corruption. But interestingly, Richmond starts at a place of pure intentions, not the amorality of Carl and Robin. Blake plays him as a man unaware that he's turning to the dark side imbuing his journey with a douse of tragedy (well...maybe).

Rounding out the triumvirate is the long awaited return of the woman in white, played by Julia-Kaye Rohlf. I can't say too much, but her role in the game is as important as Tad's, Richmond's, or even Stauf's, and I'm grateful to the production team for giving her more of a presence than simply answering the question of who she is/was. For each mystery resolved with her character another arises, and not in a way that's unwelcomed. In the end The 13th Doll does something impressive, it concludes the series without necessarily concluding the series. And it's satisfying either way.

The End, or Is It?

By the definition of a ghost story, you can't keep the dead down. The Stauf Mansion has lots of ghosts and even more stories, so it's quite possible we haven't had those front doors slam behind us for the last time. After all, there's plenty of numbers left (The 18th Birthday, The 39th Step, 101 Damnations); when you're in the underworld there's no place to go but up.

In 1993, Trilobyte created something more than a computer game. They created a journey; one that people were, and are, willing to take over and over, no matter how many times they've assembled the phrase "There is no possible way". As fans, we love the journey. We cherish the precious moments to face the power behind the monster behind the man behind the mansion. We care. And a team of game designers known as Attic Door Productions cared so much that they were willing to feed the house, resurrect Stauf, and grant us a whole new journey to love.

Books are meant to be read, films watched, music listened to, games played; I think at best any creator just hopes their work will be correctly experienced for what it is. But once in a while a work becomes loved, and then it transcends itself into something special. I believe the Stauf Mansion has achieved this, and that may very well be the "Rrrrrreal magic" we were promised.

Thank you Trilobyte. And thank you Attic Door Productions.

"Development Hell": The Ultimate Horror/Comedy

Full disclosure, this isn't a real movie. But damn it, it should be!

I once met actor Doug Bradley (of Pinhead fame) and I'll always remember his suggestion that horror and comedy were two sides of the same coin. Both rely on timing and surprise, and both are judged in quality by what kind of feelings they provoke in the audience. But as similar as they are, they're not the same. And it takes a master of both to have any hope of ever blending them into that rare success story called the horror/comedy.

Do something for me, Google "best horror comedies" right now. Go on. Look at the list that comes up. Out of those titles, how many of them legitimately qualify as both horror films and comedies? "Young Frankenstein" was a comedy. Period. "Ghostbusters" was a comedy. It had some jump scares, but it was definitively a comedy. "Fright Night" was a horror movie; humorous elements, yes, but it wasn't a comedy. "The Lost Boys", horror. "Beetlejuice", comedy. "Scary Movie 2", neither. And "Gremlins" was just kind of that thing that sort of happened in the eighties.

See, I'm a proud comedy snob. I find bad comedy tedious (i.e. most of Jim Carrey, and all Happy Madison productions). I have a bit more tolerance for bad horror movies, probably because they still have the chance of transforming into unintentional comedies. But for me to consider something a good horror/comedy, it really has to do something special; "Happy Death Day" is my go to example.

So what's all of this a preview to? Well, I got to thinking about the horror films that most people agree are masterpieces, and what makes them so. Funny thing, even though Universal churned out a whole bunch of black and white monster pictures back in the 30's, the movies that people really cite as being the apex of horror tend to come from the 70's. But the comedy giants all seem to come from the black and white period of film. Maybe horror really needed to be born on film (the Dracula/Wolfman period) and given a chance to grow up, while comedy got to reap the benefit of having matured throughout the vaudeville circuit.

It's probably a conversation best saved for another time. The point is, I had this bizarre thought exercise to take classic film comedians and mix them into some of the popular post-classic horror films and see what kind of explosion might occur. Here's the result: an anthology-styled horror movie (similar to "Creepshow", or "Tales From the Crypt") made up of six one-reel segments, about twenty-two minutes each. Obviously we're still a few years away from reanimating dead performers so stand-in talent will have to fill some huge shoes, but that's a studio thing. I'm just here to describe the movie to you until someone steals the idea.

1. Gone to the Dogs (based on "An American Werewolf in London", starring Bud Abbott and Lou Costello)

We'll kick off the proceedings with something familiar. Abbott and Costello are no stranger to horror, having tangled with Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney Jr. Usually regarding a comedy duo the straight man drives the plot and the comic delivers the flavor. I haven't had a vast experience with Abbott and Costello, but from what I've seen it's always been Costello as the engine while Abbott usually stands on the side and lobs in the variables to trip him up. So with that in mind we need a story that places them on unequal footing.

The duo are traveling through England and stop in a pub, just like the original. It doesn't take too much confusion with English idioms for Costello to get them both thrown out. They're attack by a werewolf; and being a horror/comedy, Abbott is killed. Costello in infected and taken to a nearby hospital (you know the drill).

From there it's a sequence of the hyperactive Costello having to come to terms with the fact that he's a legitimate threat to innocent bystanders. But being Lou Costello, invariably he would take on more domestic dog-like traits than ravenous wolf. He's not a killer, but he's capable of infecting people. The rest of his story follows his attempts to get himself locked away, all while dealing with Abbott's apparition trying to guide him. Characteristic wordplay routines ensue, and in the end Costello is taken to the pound, presumably after turning all of London into a pack.

2. Wacko (based on "Psycho", starring Charlie Chaplin)

We now turn our attention to Alfred Hitchcock, who knew how to decorate his thrillers with some hilarious material but couldn't seem to get a straight up comedy off the ground. Here we use Charlie Chaplin's little tramp character to retell "Psycho" the way Gus Van Sant should have -interestingly.

Chaplin was a master of pathos, and Norman Bates was oddly sympathetic. It might be odd seeing him as the story's killer but we're doing dark comedy. In this version, it's revealed from the get-go that his mother is a corpse (oh, sorry, spoiler alert) and we get to see Norman's daily routine of having to run a hotel while remaining oblivious to the fact that she's dead.

The plot beats are pretty much the same as the original except that his 'mother' persona is more directly involved, meaning Chaplin has to keep doing quick changes to maintain both guises. We have to believe that HE believes he's actually two different people. After Marion Crane is killed and people come looking for her, he has to up the ante by also playing her as if she's still alive. This leads to a complicated slapstick chase through the hotel where he's finally apprehended and taken to the station. But unlike the original, Chaplin's Norman escapes custody because he also thinks he's the psychiatrist at the end and delivers the closing monologue so convincingly that Marion's family don't realize they're still talking to Norman.

3. Diet and Exorcists (based on "The Exorcist", starring Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy)

Stan Laurel honestly never needed a partner, you can do a Youtube search for 1925's "Dr. Pyckle and Mr. Pryde" for evidence (one of cinema's earliest examples of parody). But for whatever reason, he attached himself to Oliver Hardy and who am I to argue?

We jump right in; a little girl demonstrates possession by a demon, and our duo are the priests assigned to exorcise her. As with everything they've ever tried to do, they're ineffective. Each attempt winds up hurting Ollie and damaging property. As the girl becomes more antagonistic a classic L&H tit for tat battle escalates, sending Hardy tumbling down the fire escape stairs.

It's turns out the girl has been lying; there was no demon, she just didn't want to get dragged to school or church or whatever kids got dragged to in the 20's. But she convinces Laurel that the demon has left her and gone into him. He goes to tell Hardy, who characteristically overreacts, and all hell breaks loose on the city streets involving every pedestrian and delivery truck in sight. I'm not sure exactly how it ends, but the legendary "fine mess" Laurel has "gotten them into" will probably be worse than purgatory, probably dead and locked outside Heaven's doors until they figure out how to get rid of the demon that isn't actually there. Well, that's certainly darker than I usually go.

4. Yawn of the Dead (based on "Dawn of the Dead", starring the Three Stooges)

We need a palette cleanse after that one, so we turn to the Stooges. As impulsive and chaotic as they are, I find the trio very hard to root for unless they're actually fighting for something noble. For that we turn to George A. Romero's blueprint of zombie survival in a mall while having to protect a pregnant woman.

This segment is not all that plot heavy. It's the Stooges turned loose in a shopping mall having to fight off a zombie hoard using whatever is available; I should think the bits essentially write themselves. I think the real question is whether or not they live. Invariably they'll succeed in saving the pregnant woman's life, but it doesn't seem particularly Stooge-like if it's a happy ending all around.

Probably it makes the most sense for Curly to get bitten by a zombie but the transformation doesn't have any effect on his personality. Larry would get himself infected by finishing off a half eaten hotdog that he procured from Curly, and Moe would accidentally get bitten by one or both of the other two in the middle of a Stooge brawl (and then blame them for it).They're about to transform fully and start eating each other when it's revealed to be just a nightmare that Curly's having. It turns out everything is fine when out of the blue Shemp walks in. Moe asks him where he's been, and he takes the trio outside to see a UFO floating above them.

5. A Night at the Slaughterhouse (based on "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre", starring the Marx Brothers)

You know, I'm tempted to just leave out the description entirely because I can't think of anything else that would effectively shuffle horror and comedy together better than those fifteen words. The Marx Brothers were subversive; particularly Groucho, whose characters were always active members of the very establishments he was destroying. Unlike most comedic troupes who inflicted anarchy through incompetence, the Marxes knew what they were doing. Theirs was the comedy of equalizing, dragging the upper crust down to the pig pens where the peasantry dwelt.

Overlaying the Marxes on top of Massacre's Sawyer family (here referred to as the Hungadungas) isn't all that much of a stretch. Harpo is obviously Leatherface, mute and unstoppable. Groucho fills the role of the service station proprietor/active patriarch. Chico is the enigmatic hitchhiker. And grandpa, who's barely in the film, would be the long overdue appearance of the Gummo on film.

But as turbulent as dinner with the Marx Brothers would no doubt be, we still need a minimal excuse to stay on their side. For that let's revise the victim count. They aren't just average teens who breakdown in the middle of nowhere, but Kardashian-like reality stars who get stuck between private airports. We, as the audience, tolerate bad behavior from the Marxes; partially because their targets deserve it to a degree, but mainly because they're entertaining enough to make us abandon our ethics. At the end of the segment, the lone survivor escapes on a passing truck with a driver who looks suspiciously like Zeppo. She tries to summarize the events she's endured, listing off the family members, to which Zeppo repeats the famous line "You've left out a Hungadunga. You've left out the main one, too." He gives a knowing wink to the camera and the story ends.

6. I Am Legend Jr. (based on "I Am Legend", starring Buster Keaton)

Closing out our anthology is a genuine silent black and white segment, homaging everything from "Nosferatu" to "Halloween". Keaton is in the Robert Neville role, the last human alive in a world of vampires. Just like in the Richard Matheson novel, Keaton is both the victim in his perspective and the predator from the perspective of the vampire community. He resides in a mansion with all the science stuff, while the vampires 'live' in a castle at the other end of town.

We skip straight to the arc where he meets the partially infected woman and tries to figure out how to cure her. What follows is a back and forth infiltration/kidnapping where he keeps trying to bring her back to the mansion while the other vampires retrieve her and chase him off. Eventually the vampires get the upper hand and try to execute Keaton. Simultaneously the woman (who's been left alone in Keaton's mansion) has the chance to look through his notes. She realizes his intentions were never harmful and goes to rescue him.

A chase scene with multiple sight gags across town later, and the woman is finally able to defuse the situation with the vampires. They collectively forgive Keaton and all decide to move into the mansion with him. It takes mere seconds for him to realize that suddenly being thrust into a huge populous is going to make him miserable. So he dons his hat and heads to the now empty castle to live alone. A bittersweet happy ending, but undoubtedly the best note to go out on.

The Halloween Monster Auditions

Wow. There's nothing like 101 degree weather two days into October to make you wonder if Halloween has been cancelled. Traditionally this is my favorite time of year, but I have to admit I'm not feeling it right now. There's hope, this third consecutive month of August is in its infancy, so we'll see how I'm doing closer to Grinch Night. For now I'm just kind of zombie-ing my way through my own lineup of monsters.

What monsters are those, you didn't ask? Well, multiple credit cards for one. That's a monster. I think I'll personify it as the horror of the Taxman, the predator who won't kill you but keeps leaving you worse off than you were before. Then there's ongoing car issues, my favorite. Let's make that the disobeying Android that has its own agenda now and you gradually realize you're fully dependent on it but no longer among its priorities. And lastly, but certainly not lastly to the party, my mental health has sprung a new leak. I've been taking poor care of myself, as most of my energy has gone towards pretending that I'm not taking poor care of myself, and as such I didn't realize I was having a breakdown until I curiously looked up the signs of a breakdown and checked off six of the seven symptoms (Seroquel, you're a good friend but you need to be cheaper).

I don't have a decent mimesis for chronic depression in monster form; I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to bat it around over the next recovery period. I will say I started a new therapist yesterday, and I feel good about the direction I'm going. I mentioned that I had a blog and she asked if I write about what I'm going through mentally. No I don't. I write about anything BUT that. I don't know if you've been reading the past 255 posts, but I've only occasionally slipped in actual personal information. Genuinity has never been my jam. But as I'm finding myself at the front door of Halloween season without a costume, I thought I might try being myself for a couple of paragraphs. Just to see.

Well, that was fun, wasn't it? Thanks to whoever you are out there; including my one recent visitor from the Philippines, I hope you enjoyed whatever the thing was you stumbled across.

But I'm not here to focus on me, I'm here to welcome Halloween. And this year I'm going to do that by bringing in some of the common, but less revered figures of spookiness and try to figure out how they got cast in the holiday's ensemble among more obvious presences like vampires and witches. Besides, my Taxman and Android need some company until depression finds its costume. So here we go, the B-Team of ghoulies and what it is that's scary about them.

1. The Scarecrow

I'm not talking about the Batman character, just a standard pumpkin-headed strawman that invariably causes birds to wonder just how effing stupid the human race thinks they really are. The Scarecrow has 'scare' in its name, so you wouldn't think there'd be a whole lot to deconstruct, but let's explore it a little bit.

No matter what kind of face you give it, the Scarecrow isn't inherently frightening. Barring supernatural influence, it just hangs there. In fact, it's whole utility is about trying to convince small animals that it's something it isn't. In fact, there's something oddly comforting about the sight of a Scarecrow. Maybe it's the hat? Or maybe it's the marker of civilization among acres upon acres of the same cornstalks.

Imagine you're lost in an unfamiliar countryside, pushing your way through wheat, thinking "Dear God, don't let me run into something with claws!". You step into a clearing and stand face to face with old vegetable head himself. Your first thought is not to run away, but to feel momentarily secure in your new options. It means there's a structure nearby. It could be a family of cannibals, but at least you've made progress towards something. The Scarecrow has a strangely opposite effect of its original purpose; it bestows hope.

So what makes a Scarecrow scary then? Certainly not because it does anything, but because it doesn't have to do anything. Whatever happens in that field (chainsaw maniac, aliens, or Kevin Costner's dad) the Scarecrow is just a spectator. It's not in any danger. But you might be. Nobody is out to get the Scarecrow, and even if a loose machete swing decapitates it, that head is replaceable. Yours isn't.

The real potential for fear with a Scarecrow is that you've suddenly stepped into a spotlight that you don't necessarily want to be in. And the Scarecrow isn't going to help you. It's just going to watch, and wait. With that said, I think at some point I'm going to storyboard a horror music video, and I'm going to have one moment where the lead realizes that they're a character in a movie, by accidentally seeing the audience. A whole theater full of Scarecrows. [copyright me]

2. The Clown

Again, let me stress I'm not referring to a specific clown with a fully crafted backstory. As unintentional horror master Jim Henson once demonstrated, furniture can be traumatizing in the right context. But out of these characters the Clown is the only one to regularly show up on the lists of common phobias.

If the multiple bus stops throughout the uncanny valley aren't enough of a giveaway, let's take a moment to explore why someone becomes a Clown. Presumably to make people laugh, or (on a more basic level) to connect. No harm there, and I'd expect most hopeful Clowns go into this field of performance with a heart of gold; and only slightly fewer leave it with their hearts untarnished. But I'd argue the best nightmares start with purity, which makes the Clown a prime candidate for corruption.

I recently had an online debate about Todd Phillips, who has given us a Joker movie that I never wanted. My takeaway, in the interest of brevity, is that Phillips left comedy because he feels the world has gotten too PC. This is untrue. The world has been PC since at least the early nineties and has not changed. In my opinion, Phillips is a limited comedian who can't handle honest feedback about his limitations and he'd rather blame the audience.

I bring this up because it illustrates a fundamental truth about comedy. It's a wild animal. If you approach it correctly it will let you pet it, feed it, even ride it, but it doesn't tolerate your bullshit. The moment you forget to respect it, comedy will bite your head off. You may not feel you deserve it, but too damn bad, you knew it had teeth when you stepped into its den.

When the Clown is scary, it's because of that sense of desperation. This Clown knows the motions, be loud and intrusive, but doesn't have the intuition to actually be funny. Most Clowns of this type are not the actual threat themselves, but catalysts for invoking comedy's wrath. And you're right in the blast radius because Beepo just won't get the f**k away from you. That's the horror of the Clown; an awareness of their own demise and a determination to take someone down with them. You.

3. The Captain

And by extension pirates, but that archetype more often leads to dark adventure than real horror, regardless of skeleton count. The Captain is a bit of an oddity among these characters, in that his fright factor isn't immediately obvious. I mean, dude just drives the boat right? So why does he show up so much in ghost stories and Scooby-Doo mysteries?

Ultimately the Captain is a symbol of control. Whether you're on safari or traveling through space, the Captain is the one calling the shots. At his most benevolent, he recognizes his responsibility in keeping you safe from the unknown elements surrounding you. But with great power comes great corruption, and the Captain of horror doesn't give a leaky lifeboat about you and the other peons' well-being.

It's hard to make him scary without any sort of context, otherwise he just comes off as a grump. A Captain willing to sacrifice his crew for a greater (self) reward opens the ship's hatch to some of the aforementioned elements of the deep. Likewise, there's a psychological horror of a Captain who orders an obedient crew to do something clearly immoral. There are lots of possibilities here, but as we're doing deconstructions what's left over when there's no scenario?

The ship. The creaky, echoey ship. Those never thick enough walls separating oxygen from frigid salt water and tentacles. It's not the place you want to be, but it IS where the Captain wants to be. Why? Because it's his world. He's the boss. He's attuned to every bolt and railing on this imposing vessel. In fact, he might be so in sync with the rhythmic bobbing of metal that he's stopped being purely human and become a sort of avatar for the ship itself. The line between his personality and the ship's becomes nonexistent.

There's a reason the Captain goes down with the ship, it's where he belongs. Land is for lubbers; the helm, come hell or high water, is his place. When you look into the eyes of the ghost Captain, you're looking into the heart of the whole ship. And if you meet him on land he's there for a purpose, and it's probably not one that's going to work out in your favor.

4. The Knight

Suits of armor are a permanent staple of any gothic architecture, and with good reason. They're shaped like a human, but there's no indication as to who or what is inside. And unlike the Scarecrow, these things were designed to move. But they don't, because nobody's in them. Right?

If you're doing a haunted castle story, the easiest way to convey that all hell is about to break loose is by having one of these bastards turn his helmet. As a predator, the Knight is a perfect blend of concreteness and abstraction. You know what the shell looks like, but there's no telling what knave, phantom, or magician is controlling it. And unlike Michael Myers's repeated stretch of credibility, there's no doubt this zombie is going to survive a ballista to the chest.

Have you ever heard of the trope 'What you are in the dark'? In fiction it refers to a moment where a character reveals exactly who they are to an audience they're unaware of because in-universe they're completely alone. It's a chance to break a promise for personal gain with no evident consequences. It's kind of like the Groundhog Day thought experiment; who are you when there's no tomorrow?

The Knight is a kind of variation on this idea. He's anonymous. He may not even have an identity behind the visor, and if he doesn't have to look himself in the eyes, what does that make him capable of? Moreover, what is it we imagine he's capable of. Smarter people than me have pointed out, in all of our folklore we're truly afraid of ourselves. Our Draculas and Jasons are frightening, not because they're so far removed from who we are but because they're too close to who we think we might be.

It's possible that it's just Mr. Wickles in the suit of armor being a dick again, but our nightmares demand that we don't give ourselves that as an easy out. We know, with every intuition that something intangible is under the bed, that the Knight is hollow. And if we dare seize the opportunity to peer inside his metallic figure we'll be left with the ultimate horror that there's nothing inside. And the sight of it may very well displace our souls so there's nothing inside of us either. And that's worse than whatever he was going to do when he got his gauntlets on us.

5. The Bride

I saved her for last because I find her the most fascinating. I'm sure Brides sprung up in horror long before Edgar Allen Poe started killing his female characters, but this is the guise in which she's most observed. It's the day of her wedding, obviously because she's wearing the dress and veil and holding the flowers. But a sadness has struck on this day that has been reserved to be her happiest. She's dead, or the groom's dead, or the cat ate the cake, the details typically don't matter. The point is her wedding day has become tragic.

One of the most famous Brides resided in the attic in Disney's Haunted Mansion ride. Her multiple choice histories are actually quite fascinating. At one point the story of the Haunted Mansion centered around her (and still does in Paris). That didn't exactly come together, but her placement on the ride is at the center point where the ghosts transition from eerie to fun. Currently she's a black widow Bride named Constance Hatchaway, and despite the visual effects she's a lot less interesting now.

So back it up to the previous Bride who's just...there. The Wedding March plays in a minor key and the Bride waits. That's all she does. What the hell happened? We don't know, but the feeling of loss stays with you long after you're back in the relentless sunlight.

Weddings are a lot of things, and all of them carry an emotional charge. Change, hope, joy, loss, endings, beginnings; it's an overload. And right in the middle of it all is the Bride. It's her day, for better or worse. And when some event happens which causes the day to unfold in a direction opposite where it was expected to go, it may very well transform the Bride permanently. Her day is ruined, which means she is ruined. What happens to her then? Does she keep waiting for the resolution that she was expecting? Maybe. And that's a story with a sad ending. Or does she fight back?

I recently watched the movie Ready or Not, which told the story of a Bride who married into an extremely wealthy family, only to find herself on the short end of a sacrificial ritual. I wanted to love this movie, because it had all of the elements in exactly the right places; and to be fair it did so many wonderful things with those elements. But it dropped the ball on the only one that truly mattered. Going into the third act the Bride deserves to become the monster.

It's rare I can say I find myself rooting for the monster; Maleficent comes to mind, and Jigsaw on an inconsistent basis. This kind of Bride is such a monster who has earned her blurred line between villain and anti-heroine. The world of horror tends to be amoral. But when those amoral forces screw with the wrong woman on the wrong day, the retaliation is strangely comforting. Almost like a roundabout way of suggesting that justice can still be special ordered.

An Open Letter: Where is the Evidence of God?

Hi!

We haven't met yet, and may never, but a very interesting question seems to have brought us together for this brief time. As a Christian, I ask myself that quite a lot. I don't really bother with asking other Christians, because the answer always circles back to things like the Bible, the eyes of a baby (probably the least compelling argument), or the ever popular "There is no evidence, that's why it's faith".

That last one is true, but it's not why I'm here, and I think it's probably not why you're here either. Maybe there's something we can uncover if we temporarily withhold that conclusion.

How about this for an answer? Evidence of God is everywhere................maybe.

Yeah, I wasn't all that convinced either. Why don't we try it from a different angle? Evidence is more the language of the scientific method, so let's do some observation.

What do we know beyond any reasonable doubt? We exist. The existentialists may want to debate that one but we have to draw the line somewhere, so let's take our own experiences at face value. We exist. The world exists. And our understanding of the way the world is now fits nicely in the theory of evolution.

Cool. Is God anywhere in that? Well, right out of the gate we're open to interpretation. Assuming God exists, then the fact that the world exists would then be evidence of God's existence. But then again, God is a pretty massive concept which makes that a pretty massive assumption. And therein lies the problem. Viewing God through scientific eyes is impossible because our existence is essentially God's petri dish; the bacteria cannot observe the technician at the microscope.

I guess you could say God is a hypothesis that unfortunately can't be tested. But maybe at this point, the best question to ask is, why did this hypothesis come into being at all? If you already believe the Bible, then your answer is there, but for the sake of discussion let's remove that variable and see what's left.

Let's say you and I and some other people are sitting around a campfire in our tribal garb, and the conversation turns to the topic of death. Things die. We've seen it. It's a foregone conclusion that some day each one of us will die as well. Bummer huh? Kind of ruins the evening. A few of the younglings cry a bit. But then our tribemate Crazy Og pantomimes out "What if some part of us continues to exist in a different form after our bodies cease to be?"

Well that's a ridiculous and oddly profound question from Og, isn't it? Where would an idea like that even come from? And that, frankly, is a bizarre quirk of our existence as humans that has always baffled me. If no part of us continued to exist beyond death, why would any subspecies of ape ever have gotten it into their heads to even ask question like this? From an evolutionary standpoint, it seems to serve no real purpose.

Who knows? It's possible that all of our intellect and abstract thought is the product of a random aberration that simply is. That's a hypothesis. An alternate hypothesis is that there's something beyond our perception that we might have gotten one very brief glimpse into and it changed the course of our evolution.

For me, that's as close to an answer as I'm going to get in my life on earth. The fact that we're so passionately prone towards questions that we can't answer at least indicates to me that answers are out there; even if they continue to be unattainable. I call those answers God, because it's a convenient language I was taught; and with God as my witness, there are times I REALLY need to discuss my thoughts on the matter.

Isn't that funny? I have this need. I wonder if my dog ever ponders the mysteries of the universe.

But getting back to the original question, where is the evidence of God? And maybe what we're really asking is, are the things that we can observe evidence of anything? And if so, are we simply using 'God' as the placeholder term for whatever these things are evidence of?

I think the scientific approach pretty much has to stop here, allowing philosophy to take over. And with that, I guess I really can't end on anything other than what I personally believe. I believe that some part of us continues when we die. Some form of energy (which isn't exactly incompatible with the scientific notion of energy being neither created nor destroyed).

I believe in God. "The God of the Bible?" I pretend you ask. Yes, specifically the loving God described in the gospels. "How come?" Because God makes sense to me. The lessons in those books contain a really solid moral philosophy about compassion and tolerance and things that aren't always easy but require us to live for something beyond our natural state of self-preservation. Morality has to come from somewhere, and experience doesn't exactly lead to nature being the source. By Occam's Razor, a higher power is the simplest solution.

"Could you be wrong?" Uh...yeah. I think the universe contains endless possibilities. The odds of any of us hitting the ultimate truth on the nose is one point away from impossible.

"Then what's the point?" Fair question, and again one without a solid answer. I don't know. The best I can give you is a paraphrase of something Eleanor Powell once said. Who we are when we're born is God's gift to us. Who we are when we die is our gift to God.

Now if you don't already believe in a higher power, that might not resonate with you, but clearly part of the human experience is navigated by the questions we ask ourselves. These unanswerables change us, and give each of us a unique identity. The 'spiritual struggles' are important because they truly feel important. To us. Why not to God?

One last thing. I mentioned I'm a Christian. You may not be. My God is unconcerned with those specifics. I believe that all souls belong to whatever that higher power, whatever it prefers to be called. No matter what anyone believes in or doesn't believe in, we're all pointed in the same direction. None of us have the monopoly on truth, we're all just searching. So you, whoever you are, keep doing exactly what you're doing. You're on the right path for you.

The Wax Buzzard Files: Chapter Six -The Final Chapter at Least Until the Next One

You have found Chapter Six of The Wax Buzzard Files. You should feel very good about yourself because not everyone has. No, seriously. Turn to the nearest stranger and ask them if they've found Chapter Six of The Wax Buzzard Files. When they say no (and they will), point and them and laugh and say "I found something that you didn't" in a really bratty voice, and then run like mad because that's a really good way to make mortal enemies. Sorry in advance about that.


When I woke up I found myself in a dark room; I could just tell it was me, I'm always close by. Especially because I was tied to a chair; no way I would have gotten out of earshot. Hey me.

The whole world was spinning. That was consistent with astrophysics. By extension the room was spinning, and probably still is if it hasn't been torn down. But there was something else. No, not there. Hang on. There! Right there was something else. My chair, spinning, inside the room, on the world, with the lead pipe. Man, that really was something else. I was on one of those junior death traps of nausea- what do you call them? Merry-go-rounds. I call them junior death traps of nausea, but yours is shorter so let's go with that.

The lights came on, and went back off. And on. And off. And on. The pawn shop clerk was playing with the switch; that's so annoying. "All right! I'll talk," I said, thus creating a self-fulfilling prophesy. The clerk left the switch in the half on/half off position (that old gimmick never works) and stood at the edge of the merry-go-round. "Detective Guffey," he said as we briefly made eye-contact.

My continued rotation gave me a chance to inspect my surroundings. Air duct, too small. Window, too high. Cellar, too creepy. Porridge, too cold. Cabinet, empty. Painting, crooked. Plants, dead. Mirror, cracked. Safe, locked. Crowbar, missing. T.V., broken. Drapes, ugly. Elephant, I made that last one up, but there was nothing else to talk about. I completed the circle and faced my captor again. "Yes?"

It took another half dozen rounds before the conversation could continue. First the guy got a phone call, next he apologized for it, I told him it was no big deal, then he forgot what he was saying, I had to remind him; by that point I was getting motion sick.

"Why don't you hop this children's merry-go-round so we can talk like adults." I said, very quickly. He did as I suggested, not because I suggested it but because he couldn't understand what I'd suggested and wanted to find out; my suggestion had only worked ironically (all those years of not being a hypnotist were finally paying off).

"Detective Guffey," he repeated, even though once would have been enough. He must have had kids.

"That's my name," I said, "And profession. Although not in that order."

Now that I could get a good look at my captor's face I thought I recognized him but I was wrong. He was third banana in an unmemorable bunch of low-tiered thugs known internationally as 'Hey, it's those guys'; right between Joey "You Look Kind of Familiar" Norris and Melvin "Didn't You Used to Work at Borders" Washington. No way to tell who he was.

"Someone's put out a contract on you."

"I didn't sign any contract."

"It was verbal. You don't need a signature for a verbal contract."

"Tell me about it," I said. Either he thought I was being rhetorical or he didn't, but I never found out what the contract said. It didn't matter; like a narcissist taking a selfie, somebody wanted me out of the picture. I had to think fast. And then act quickly. And I didn't have much down time between the two. "A verbal contract does have to be confirmed by a notary, otherwise it's based on a lie."

"It...it is notarized." He tripped over his words. It was very funny.

"I think you're lying," I said.

"I'm not lying!" he said.

"So you say," I said. "But you could still be lying," I also said. I was arguing him into a corner, all the more impressive considering our platform was round. "You know how this works. No notary, no contract. No contract, no nothing."

"Aha! A double negative! That means it IS something!"

"Yes, but working backwards from something still supports the claim that there's no notary. We can go around in circles all night. But at the end of the following day, it'll be your word against mine."

"Then that's how it has to be!"

"Fine. I'll go with 'Quetzalcoatl'. You?"

That was worth more points than he could handle. He dove off the merry-go-round and ran around the room waving his arms. It got the attention of the neighborhood watch from across town, who called the police. Within mere minutes, 257 to be exact, the pawn shop was surrounded by every officer in the precinct, including the undercover ones who were going to have to come up with some pretty creative explanations when they went back to their assignments. My captor got arrested on a 'failure to not be a criminal' charge while the Police Chief sent her best escape artist to untie me from the chair; he even got a round of applause.

I took a long walk without leaving the merry-go-round, trying to put the pieces together and bumping into the stupid chair every rotation. Something didn't add up. Everywhere I went, someone was trying to throw me off the trail. That, I expected, ever since I was a junior ranger in the Mean Scouts. But something was missing.

The trail.

I'd never accepted Miss Nomer's case. All I'd done since I met her was leave the office, forget my breakfast, do a whole bunch of stuff, and take a joyride on a metal turntable. Not once in that whole plot summary did I actively try to get to the bottom of her issue with the card.

A detective takes a case. Action. The underbelly of society tries to prevent said detective (because I said detective) from solving that case. Reaction. Detective overcomes the obstacle and gets back on the path of Action. Another Reaction. Action-Reaction, back and forth until a resolution is inevitable. What happens if the detective is never on a case but the underbelly doesn't realize it? They react. To nothing. Then the detective reacts. And the underbelly reacts. Then it's a series of Reactions with no goal. No trail. The senselessness of it all suddenly made sense. It was a dramatic moment for me.

I hopped off the merry-go-round and asked the Police Chief if it was okay for me to leave the crime scene. I startled her, because she hadn't realized I was still there. Not good. In this town, startling a police officer can land you an overnight stay in the lecture hall. I decided to play dumb.

"I'm dumb," I played.

She took out her notepad, drew a stick figure of me with a ridiculous expression on my face, and sent me out of the pawn shop with orders to not do it again. I ran to the nearest bus terminal, which was forty-seven miles away, and asked if the ticket seller if she wouldn't mind calling me a taxi. She did mind, but she hailed one for me anyway, completely missing the opportunity for a classic punch line.

The cab pulled in front of the ticket seller and I climbed into the back seat. "Where am I taking you?" asked the driver.

"To see a friend," I told him. His dumbfounded expression kind of irritated me. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"I'm actually on my way home from a different story," he explained.

"Oh, sorry. Hospital please. Vinnie and I have some unbegun business..."