In 1938, Raymond Chandler published a short detective story called “The King in Yellow.” It takes its name from the victim, a musician named King Leopardi. When the hotel dick, Steve Grayce, finds the man shot to death in his bed, clothed in yellow silk pajamas, he remarks, “The King in Yellow. I read a book with that title once.”
As a kid I was always fascinated by weird things. Like a lot of the children of the 80s, I was exposed to a wide variety of cinema at a young age, thanks to the proliferation of video stores. Most of this stuff we probably shouldn’t have been watching but we did anyway, often because it was a science fiction and/or fantasy film, or even a horror film if we managed to get an older kid to rent it (although the guy behind the counter usually didn’t care who was renting what).
In 1998, someone gave Roland Emmerich $130,000,000 to make a Godzilla movie. This was not because Emmerich was a fan of the storied Japanese Kaiju film franchise, but rather was down to the fact that he had earned a reputation for producing popcorn spectacles in less time and with smaller budgets than other directors.
Even as The Lone Ranger and Man of Steel shook our faith in popcorn movies to the very core, there was sanctuary on our living room couches in what’s turning into the golden age of television. As Walter White’s life imploded, or as Don Draper broke his daughter’s heart, or as the Stark lineage shrank before our very eyes, our favorite characters’ misery gave us unprecedented joy in 2013. But it wasn’t all darkness and heartache: there was the triumphant return of Arrested Development and Eastbound and Down and plenty of laughs with goofy new kid on the block, Brooklyn
Thanksgiving is upon us, America. I used to think of Thanksgiving as the holiday sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas. Sure, there’s a great dinner in there, but it doesn’t have the taboo overtones of Halloween, nor does it have the gleeful anticipation that surrounds Christmas. Thanksgiving is centered on an enormous supper with family. Its practice is, ideally, wholesome (even if its storied origin may not be, but that’s a tale for another time). Over the past few years, I’ve come to appreciate Thanksgiving in its own right. It’s a time of reflection – a time to be thankful for
In last week’s episode of The Walking Dead, a zombie ripped someone’s throat out and then that guy got up and ripped someone’s stomach open and before you know it a bunch of zombies were attacking a bunch of people until the humans came in and busted the zombies’ heads open with pipes and knives and I thought “Meh, that doesn’t seem that bad.”
I don’t scare easily. I can get as startled as the next guy, and the typical realms of death and gore usually manage to shake me, but getting a good honest scare out of me through a movie is tough. It may be because I didn’t really grow up with any of the classics – I saw The Blair Witch Project as a youngster and was frightened for a whole week afterwards, but I didn’t see Halloween, The Exorcist, Nightmare on Elm Street or any of the other classics until high school, when I started looking at them with a
