Movies about F'cking Losers: Sherrybaby

Okay, Kids...It’s Story Time

Once upon a time, not long ago...last week to be specific...I was on a very crowded flight home from Las Vegas, Nevada.   

I was near the back of the plane, seated next to a rather hung over older man.  I engaged in the minimum amount of small talk with him.  I had assumed our “single serving friendship” (to quote Fight Club) had ended soon enough.  At the last minute, an even more hung over but very attractive blonde lady rushed to sit between us.  

Very quickly, it became obvious that she just wanted to talk.  It didn’t particularly matter who she blabbed at.  The older guy, despite being married, was eager.  He started preaching to her about the love of Jesus.  In the same breath, he handed her a business card and said: “Call me.”

So, very quickly, we both got her life story...

She was a recovering (?) alcoholic with a six year old daughter.  Her much older husband had dumped her recently because she just couldn’t stop drinking.  She had gone to Vegas with her AA friends (yes, the logic there escaped me too).  

Oh, but there was more!  She had been to Jail for DWI...she had almost died from liver infection in her twenties.  She had even gone to the same high school I had.  She was exactly two years older than me.  (Liver infection and jail have yet to be on my resume though.) 

Keep in mind that we weren’t the only ones to bear witness to this story.  The entire back half of the plane was probably listening with a mixture of fascination and horror.

Here’s the crucial fact: This was a highly elaborate performance.  She obviously had told these stories several times over.  We weren’t privileged enough for a confession.  The strangers on the plane were just a captive audience.  

So what did I think about this?  “Dear lord, this is a train wreck...”  I couldn’t listen to her story without feeling saddened.  Mostly though, I felt for the people that were a lot more intimately involved in her life.  This wasn’t judgmental thinking at all.  It was just honest.  

The classic line is: “I hope you get the help you need.”  I didn’t say that to her, but it crossed my mind. 

I found myself rooting for her, despite the fact I knew it was sort of a lost cause. 

  

So What Does This Have to do With Sherrybaby (2006)?  

A few nights later I pulled Sherrybaby out of the pile of cheap DVDs.  The woman that Maggie Gyllenhaal portrays in this film is the fictional version of my travel buddy.  

What are the similarities?  

Okay...

Gyllenhaal’s Sherry is recently out of jail, and has a small child.  She’s a drinker, and a druggie, and more than anything she is just plain vulnerable.  This is a fact that doesn’t escape her.  She uses it to manipulate men to do various favors for her (quite literally, with her promiscuity adding a very uncomfortable plot element).  

She initially crashes at a half way home.  That doesn’t go so well after she half way provokes a fight with another resident.  (The movie has several interesting, telling scenes that don’t state anything outright.  You can say that the other former egged her on, but her reaction speaks volumes about the character.)   

After that, she goes to crash with her brother Bobby (Brad William Henke, who was also the sad eyed shoe salesman in Me, You, and Everyone We Know.)  Bobby is clearly a good hearted, generous guy who has sincere love for his sister.  What’s the problem in this situation?  He’s been raising Sherry’s child with his wife, and she is very much their girl now.  (To name check two other very good performances: Ryan Simpkins gives a very natural performance as Sherry’s daughter Alexis.  Bridget Barkan creates some real sympathy for Bobby’s wife Lynette.)

What’s the ray of hope?  Sherry at least has the good sense to go to a NA/AA meeting led by Dean (yes that is Machete’s Danny Trejo).  Dean is a good guy, who genuinely wants to help Sherry clean up.  Yes, he sleeps with her (and who doesn’t?).  Still, you get the sense that their relationship could work.  

What else happens?  Other stuff, honestly.  This is a very quiet, observant film.  The plot isn’t structured in a literal sense.  Most of the enjoyment comes from watching smallish scenes unravel to new discoveries.  

I’ve read some other reviews that fault Sherrybaby for falling into “Lifetime” territory.  Frankly, I find that an unfair criticism.  I like to credit myself with being fairly intuitive about where a movie is going.  This one surprised me.  The conclusion, while ambiguous in many ways, is hopeful without being forced into a “happy ending.”  

So does Sherrybaby succeed as a true “loser” movie?  

When I first started writing about anti-heroes, I had one inflexible rule: Have I been coaxed into sympathy for this fucking loser lead character?  

What’s the answer in this case?  

Remember my travel friend?  After hearing her long rant, I did sympathize with her.  There was absolutely nothing I could do other than listen.  Still, I couldn’t help wondering what was going to happen.  Where was her life going to go?  She had me (and the rest of the impromptu audience) hooked.  

Sherrybaby works in the same way.  Most of that credit goes to Gyllenhaal.  Her stock and trade as an actress (when she is well used) is to create this kind of vulnerable blank slate of a character.  “The lost little girl” who is rapidly becoming too old for that particular trap.  Her performance in Secretary was in the same ballpark.  You liked that woman, even if you didn’t understand why she needed to be chained and shackled.  

As good as Gyllenhaal is, she threatens to over shadow writer/director Laurie Coyller.  Her approach to both the script and direction is everything in this case.  The fact that she started off as a documentarian makes total sense.  She has well honed observational skills that she draws on here.  

This is a good, small movie that’s worth seeking out. 

I just wish I could have told them not to use that generic, “sensitive” acoustic guitar soundtrack.  

Movies I Actually Enjoy: Carnival of Souls

(Editor’s Note: Oh dear, where has the time gone?  I had this idea for a continuing series during March.  Unfortunately, though, life did a fine job of getting in the way.  This is going to have to wrap it up so I can move on to other things...with more regularity.  Also, this is another entry that begs familiarity with the film.  If you haven’t seen Carnival of Souls then watch it and we’ll talk later.  I’m going to have to toss in some spoilers.)

At the top of the piece:

After much struggle, I’ve decided that I need to set up an important ground rule.  

I absolutely can’t be objective about Carnival of Souls (1962).  I love it.  It’s (to be frank) my favorite movie.  

I know that there are many movies that are vastly superior to it...if you want to nit pick about “quality.”  There’s some real stumbling blocks for amateurishness.  The acting is stagy, the script is too literal, the ghouls have some serious pancake make up...  

Really, though, quality be damned.  Let’s talk about striking a chord.  Let’s talk about personal taste.  

This movie has meant something to me...and continues to repay that interest year after year.  I’ve seen it more than any other film I can think of.  It’s the one flick I feel obligated to watch at least once a year.  

My collection of various copies has been a bit of a mania: I once paid $20 for a VHS clam shell that was shipped from the great city of Columbus, Ohio.  After that, I’ve gone through three or four cheap DVD versions.  As we speak, I have a scratchy public domain copy saved in my itunes account.  

That tells me something: Carnival has moved beyond being “just a movie” and become some kind of personal hallmark.  The best thing I can do in this scenario is try to answer that elusive question: “Why?” 

Okay: “Why?” 

That’s a great question...now let’s back track.   

As I’m sure most of the faithful can tell you, this was a staple of late night TV.  Sandwiched rather unmercifully between cheap infomercials and cheaply produced “shock TV.”  

I was about all of 16 the first time I watched it.  

I was about to cash in the remote, but something about this movie hooked me from the get go.  We’re going into the land of the intangible here.

From the first frame of Carnival, there’s a sense of almost unbearable dread.  The movie begins with a car full of innocent girls being plunged off a bridge to their doom.  It ends with the (now) obligatory “she was dead the whole time” finale.  (This particular twist was a relative novelty in the early ‘60s.)  

What happens in between the two isolated events?  What’s really going on underneath the surface of this cheap little horror flick?  

The fragility of being both mortal and human plays itself out in black and white.  Carnival about alienation in its deepest sense.  

The scenes that perhaps have affected me the most don’t involve the ghouls at all.  I’m talking about when Mary (Candance Hiligos) falls out of reality.  She can’t get another human being to see or hear her...despite flailing through the streets in a state of desperation.  That is truly scary: How many of us have felt an amped down version of that at a party full of strangers?  What about the first day of work?

People need acknowledgment, and a world without it is truly hell.  Loneliness is just another form of death.  There aren’t many films (horror or otherwise) that tackle this reality head on.

This leads me to ask a slew of other questions: 

What about the rest of the movie?  What about the “souls” themselves?  What about the creepy pavilion? 

While watching Carnival again for this review, I had a realization.  The scares (appearances of the ghouls) are just about perfectly timed.  Carnival has a very strict logic to it.  Mary is allowed to coexist with the living for just a little bit.  She has a conversation, or performs a mundane organ solo.  Could it be that she is finally at peace?  

No.  The head ghoul (referred to as “The Man”) is always right behind her.  He pops up at the window of the boarding house.  He shows up at the church after Mary’s first afternoon there.  I know this makes for a rather literal experience: Death is always lurking around the bend.  

Everyone knows that, but it’s a terrible idea to face.  The rationalist in us doesn’t believe in dime store tricks like the Grim Reaper.  The more emotional and superstitious side of us recognizes the sheer power of that symbolism.  “The Man” is just a glorified version of an ancient mythological figure.

Mary is a young, vital, beautiful woman.  There’s no real reason she should be dying now, is there?  No, there isn’t, just as there is no good explanation for anyone unexpectedly croaking.  That is what is so deeply frightening about what is happening to her.  By extension, it’s also happening to you right now.  

I’m dying as I write this.  You’re dying as you read this.  We’re all united in the fact that we don’t get to be here for very long.  

Packaging an idea that lofty into a simple entertainment is a big accomplishment.  That’s probably why I like Carnival as much as I do.  You get cheap scares with philosophy...and in a tight eighty minute package.

Philosophical Rambling Aside, what has stayed with me?  

The atmosphere, honestly.    

Say Carnival of Souls, and I can just see it in my head.  The organ score...the ghosts rising out of the water...

What other movie is quite like this?  It’s one of a kind.    

Does that really answer my question?  

No, I’m still only about 75% there.

In a sense, I’m not obligated to offer any kind of explanation for my favorite movies.  The fact that I have my own blog is the only incentive.  

Movies I Actually Enjoy: Blade Runner

(Editor’s Note:  A cursory knowledge of Blade Runner will be very helpful for this post.  I’m going to toss in what might be considered spoilers, though not really.  It’s an old movie.  Also, I’m too lazy to write full bodied explanations of terms such as “replicant” and “off world.”  If you haven’t seen Blade Runner, find yourself a copy.  I think you might get more out of watching it than reading this.)  

A Little Refresher Followed by a Question

So, just a quick reminder about what I’m doing this month.  (Mostly for myself, like a post it note stapled to my forehead.)  I’m only going to talk about movies I like...and this particular time around I’ve decided to talk about Blade Runner.  

Here’s the Question: Why Blade Runner?  

The interesting conundrum I’m having: I love Blade Runner.  To be perfectly honest, though, it’s not a movie I “know” all that well.  What do I mean by that?  

There will be nothing particularly novel about this statement: There are some movies that are like favorite relatives.  You’ve spent much time with them.  You’ve seen them multiple times, and know them inside out.  Sometimes they are comfort food.  Sometimes (for you personally) they hold deeper truths.   

I’ve only seen Blade Runner a total of four times.  I’m almost positive that each viewing consisted of a different cut of the movie.  (I’m not well versed in the subtle or major differences in each version.  The parts that I find the most memorable are left in tact from what I can tell.)   

To the best of my recollection:

• The first time was around 12 or so.  My mom rented it for me.  She dozed on the other end of the couch while I got caught up in bloody replicant shootings and grungy cityscapes.  The whole package was fascinating, but I felt like it was somehow over my head.  This wasn’t Indiana Jones or Star Wars.  This was made for adults, complete with tragedy and terror.  I liked it, but wasn’t quite sure why yet.  
• The second time was during my college years.  (I almost wrote  “formative college years,” but that’s not completely accurate).  One of my film teachers talked about the climatic fight between Deckard and Roy.  What was the context?  I believe it had something to do with transcendent moments in film.  When does something cross the line into being “not just a movie?”  In this case, it was Roy making the decision to spare Deckard’s life.  He makes a statement about horrible it is to live in fear, and then “dies.”  This isn’t a cheap way of ending a fight.  It’s a statement on how fragile life is.  What do you do with it?  How do you deal with the fact that it doesn’t last forever?  I remembered that scene, and needed to see it again.  More of that nebulous adult stuff made sense this time around.  
• The third time was only four or five years ago.  The version known as the “final cut” made it out into select theaters.  I went with a friend to the local art house and sat through it one more time.  This is when Blade Runner snapped into sharp focus.  You can wag your tongue about how it’s “one of the greatest science fiction movies ever.”  That doesn’t quite cut it.  You can rave about how spectacular the production design is.  That’s an accurate statement of fact, but somehow inadequate.  What was it, then?  
• The fourth time was just on Saturday.  I watched it on my blu-ray player.  Did I answer my own question?  (Are you waiting with bated breath for the answer?)

So Once Again: Why Blade Runner?  

The best reason I can think of is that Blade Runner haunts me.  There are not many movies (despite my number of viewings) that I have instant recall for.  Just name drop the title Blade Runner, and my head is full of images.  Attractive pictures are one thing, but you need to consider the sensory stuff beneath them.  

Blade Runner has been criticized for being an emotionally distant movie.  I’ve always had the complete opposite experience with it.  Why?  Let’s consider “the final cut” version that I watched.  This is clearly a movie which is more about the “replicants” than it is about the “humans.”  They are articulate, emotionally astute, and ultimately doomed Frankenstein monsters.  Do you really blame Roy for crushing Tyrell’s skull?  Do you not feel his loss when Pris dies?  

At the same time, you can’t say that Deckard is a total burn out.  You need to consider that he is a hired killer for the next best thing to human life.  The shooting of the exotic dancer in China Town drives that home.  The key there is the staging of the scene.  You feel the pain as the bullets rip through the flesh.  You wince as the girl goes through the plate of glass.  

On top of that: What can be made of the Rachel/Deckard love story?  That’s heartbreaking in and of itself.  He gets the girl in the end, but for how long?  That implicates them both as fugitives, and her clock is ticking.  

I mentioned the production design before.  That is certainly a factor, but you also need to consider for what end.  The artificial Los Angeles that we see feels extremely oppressive.  That adds one more element to the sense of dread in the movie.  

This time around, I was fascinated by the fact that the story is set in 2019.  That is now only seven years away.  Does anything in Blade Runner feel that much different from American life in 2012?  I don’t think so.  

That’s Why Blade Runner  

I can’t get it out of my mind.  You might have had the same experience.  I’d be curious to know if you had. 

“More human than human.”   

Next Up: A movie that put a large dent in my cinematic taste.  A real game changer for me.  Carnival of Souls.    

Movies I Actually Enjoy: Chilly Scenes of Winter (1979)

A Little Refresher about The Challenge (and the paradox)

I, your humble blogger, have solemnly sworn to spend an entire month (March) writing about movies that I enjoy.  

Why?  Well, read the majority of my blog entries.  Or don’t.  They are relatively easy to summate: “This movie offends my delicate sensibilities.  “This movie wasn’t offensive enough.”  “This isn’t the way that yours truly would have done it.”  “This...sucks.”

In the grand scheme of things, there are two issues with this approach to writing.  

Number One:  I’m the male, over thirty version of the mythical character called Debbie Downer.  The kind of sad sack who you are prone to ask: “Well what DO you like?”  Only to receive a numb and slightly confused silence.  

Number Two: Who the hell asked me?  No one, really.  I took it upon myself to start this blog.  That doesn’t qualify me as an expert.  I have a marginally established credential, and an equal amount of hot air.  

So I will try to follow my own edict for this month.   

That being said, the first film I’ve decided to write about is the definition of “acquired taste.”

That would be Chilly Scenes of Winter (1979), a nasty little wallop in the face of the standard romantic comedy.   

All the Reasons This Shouldn’t Work: An Introduction

I’m going to be very upfront about this: Chilly Scenes of Winter is about a stalker named Charles (a great performance by John Heard).  

The fact that he could so easily carry the label “stalker” is not readily apparent.  Why?  This is a movie about the contradictory nature of reality.  We spend some time with what any movie watcher would rationally term: “average people.”  They don’t seem to have any foreseeable flaws on the outside.  We’ll soon see that they’re held together by the emotional version of Elmer’s Glue and Silly Putty.

Let’s start with Charles: a nice looking guy who presents himself with just enough confidence.  He has a steady job as a civil servant (he describes his job as: “writing reports on reports.”)  He has a relatively supportive group of friends (they live with him rent free in a house he inherited from Grandma).  This includes his best pal Sam (Peter Riegert), a “depressed, out of work jacket salesman.”  

His mother (Gloria Grahame) is in good physical health.  That doesn’t stop her from routinely swallowing laxatives and trapping herself in a bath tub.  (Some kind of half hearted suicide attempt that doesn’t work.)  

Charles had a fling with Laura (Mary Beth Hurt) that ended a year ago.  She was on hiatus from her marriage to an A-Frame salesman named Ox (Mark Metcalf).  She has since gone back to him, but Charles still clings to the glorious two months they had together.  He obsesses about her, day dreams about her, calls her on the phone...

Charles is fully self aware...he’s the one telling us the story, directly to the camera in some cases.  We watch the entire relationship unfold, along with the rest of the debris of his personal life.  

Then there is the character of Laura herself.  Charles is a stalker...and Laura lives in the state of intense emotional detachment.  She runs as soon as there is any trace of intimacy in whatever situation she comes across.  

Laura’s emotional detachment does not mix well with Charles’ obsessiveness.  That’s the crux, and it’s like watching a train wreck unfold in slow motion.  

Reason This Shouldn’t Work #1: It’s Funny

Readers unfamiliar with Chilly Scenes have no doubt made some conclusions.  This is a kitchen sink drama, right?  The sort of story that might get a low budget, indie “ready for Sundance” treatment in this century.  You can assume that, and you’d be dead wrong.  

This is the perfect illustration of what Samuel Beckett meant when he wrote that: “Nothing is funnier than unhappiness.”  We are fully invited to laugh at the misery which is on display.  Charles, despite his delusional nature, sees the humor in it too.  This is a comedy about behavior.  The tragedy isn’t skimped on, but it’s treated with some levity.  

This is going to be a shaky argument, but I’ll make it.  If this story was treated dramatically, the characters would be completely unsympathetic.  Charles would not have the grace and charm to talk to the camera.  He wouldn’t have any kind of perspective, because that would be sacrificed in the name of “realism.”  

At the same time, writer/director Joan Micklin Silver has the wisdom not to go over board.  500 Days of Summer tells an almost identical story, but it’s power got lost in Hall and Oates dance numbers.  (Don’t get me wrong.  I like that movie, but don’t have any strong need to revisit it.)   

This is a tricky tone to sustain...and equally difficult to write about.  The only solace I can provide is: “Watch this and you’ll see what I mean.” 

Reason This Shouldn’t Work #2: This Is About a Stalker

Charles becomes increasingly lost as the movie progresses.  Now here’s an important distinction: he never becomes deranged or violent.  He just finds himself parking outside of Laura’s house at night.

Then he goes a step further: He constructs a model of the A-frame Laura lives in with her husband.  The model is complete with dolls that represent each member of the family.  Charles talks to them at night before he goes to sleep. 

(Remember point number one?  This is funny, really.)  

He then goes even further: The most awkward and hilarious scene in the movie involves Charles and Sam posing as gay men interested in an A-frame.  They end up in the house that Charles has built a model of.  This is when the band aid is torn off the wound.  Charles declares his love of Laura to her husband.   

How many movies have there been featuring sympathetic and comedic stalkers? 

The question of Charles’ emotional trouble being genetic is floated.  Charles’ mother is batshit insane.  Charles is clearly headed in the same direction...he even applauds his mother’s decision to go crazy.  She never has to deal with anything.  

Reason This Shouldn’t Work #3: It’s about Reality

Everyone knows there is “movie reality” and then there is “real life.”

I’m a refugee from Civil Service work, and I can tell you that Chilly Scenes gets the details right.

People like Laura and Charles are products of their environment.  They spend their lives doing what is essentially meaningless work.  Trust me, that takes a toll.  You spend most of your waking hours wishing to be somewhere else.  Remember the old cliche about “quiet desperation?”  This is it.  

Now Have I Answered My Own Question?  

Why do I like this movie so much?  I just do.  You might too.  

(Note: You can stream this on Netflix right now.  It has yet to make it to DVD).

Next Up: What’s next in this cavalcade of personal taste?  Blade Runner.

Movies I Actually Enjoy: An Entire Month of Positivity

Well, hello there....

Yes, I took one big ass kicker of a hiatus (the longest ever).  Sorry, personal reasons, burn out, "real life," look does it really matter?  

I'm back.  I'm attempting one post a week, and I'm going to focus on Movies I Enjoy.  That's right, I'm going to be spreading some positive vibes on here for once.

What movies am I planning to review?  That will be a surprise.  Will I review them to the best of my ability?  

That will also be a surprise.  

Thanks for hanging in there with me.  Now let the blogging begin.  

The Playground Gets Ponderous: Some Ranting and Head (1968)

(Editor’s Note: Hello 2012...you mean the John Cusack movie wasn’t prophetic?  We’re all still here?  I was really hoping for an apocalypse so I would have an excuse not for writing  No such luck.)

So, where I am going with this?  

There’s going to be a whole lot of personal flotsam and jetsam...after which I might get around to a review of Head.  

If you want to get straight to the Head, skip over all this other junk.  

Let’s Be Honest...

I was going to try to make my first entry of this year extra special good.  I sat down on New Year’s Day and watched Wings of Desire, which is an absolutely incredible movie.  That being said, there’s very little I could tell you about why it’s so good.  (Though I would have loved to be a fly for the pitch session:  There are these angels, right?  And they fly around...but they can listen to the inside of everyone’s heads.  But the only person who can see them is Columbo...”)  

Actually, there’s very much I could say, but my forehead might start to bleed.  The gist of my ranting would be this: a filmmaker would have to have enormous professional and personal confidence to even want to attempt something like that.  (If you want to see how the same movie looks through a Hollywood filter, check out City of Angels.  I was stupid enough to like that movie at the time it came out).   

After my lack of motivation to write about German speaking angels, I asked myself a hard question.  

What do I really want to write about?  What’s going on inside my mind right now?  

Since I’m Volunteering, Here Are the Answers to My Questions

This isn’t even the tip of the surface, but here we go.  

• I’m still struggling with that beast “reality”: What the hell is it?  Yes, I’ve been reading about Buddhism and mindfulness and Zen...not to mention doing my own study course called “Why The Inside of My Head is Like a Crowded and Dirty Closet.”  I get that there is a “moment” that we all live in, and it’s a point that strikes me as logical.  Still, doesn’t everyone’s version of reality look different?  Would you like me to give you a text book example of this?  Think about a car accident...there are always two wildly different stories about what happened.  On top of that, I’m deeply guilty of consuming popular culture as a form of reality.   You invest in certain movie resolutions, messages, and philosophies because they sound appealing.  The problem is that you wave your hand over a household appliance, and then realize...Wait, I don’t have the force.  
• What is a “movie,” really?: This question originally arose in my head because of practicality.  Cue the Ray Charles song...I’m “Busted.”  I’m cash poor at this point, and don’t have the proper funding to execute some of the ideas I have for “proper” film projects.  Wait a moment, though.  Isn’t any projected image essentially a movie?  While I was contemplating this, I happened to watch (on accident, really) The Man with a Movie Camera (1929).  This was a landmark Russian film, created to be the first movie without artifice.  No sets, no actors, no script.  The filmmaker, Dziga Vertov, simply went around Russia and shot the stuff he found compelling.  That made for an interesting, non-linear film.  Believe it or not, yours truly used to lug his camera around the University of New Mexico campus and do the same thing.  I made several “movies,” but didn’t show them to anyone.  It’s all about expanding your relationship with the medium...while keeping your ego in check.  

Now What Does Any of this Have to Do With Head (1968)?  

Head is an interesting “fake” film.  This is a meditation on what makes a “movie” is or isn’t.  

Let’s back up a minute: What exactly was Head?  This was a monumental act of career suicide by the long gone pop act The Monkees.  The first scene we bear witness to is the rather unsettling site of the Monkees hurling themselves off a bridge, one by one.  

This was also the “coming out” moment for Bob Rafelson. a deeply contemplative and sensitive filmmaker.  Despite his talents, Rafelson somehow got roped into creating the Monkees group and television series.  The Catch 22 was that it brought him a fortune, while getting in the way of his more serious ambitions as an artist.  Now he finally had a chance to direct a real, honest to God film!  (Rafelson went on to produce and direct two of my favorite movies, Five Easy Pieces and The King of Marvin Gardens.)   

There’s a not so subtle conceit at the center of Head.  The Monkees were entirely fabricated, and at the mercy of their creators.  Does that mean they could fit into just about any situation with minimal coaching?  The plotless structure of the movie places them in a Western, a David Lean desert epic, and even as dandruff on Victor Mature’s head.  The boys continue to grin, good humored about whatever the screenwriters pass their way.  (Jack Nicholson coauthored the script with Rafelson.  Would you be surprised that they were both doing tons of acid at the time?  No, you wouldn’t).  

Yes, this is a “movie,” but there’s also a deconstruction going on at the same time.  The modern audience is gullible, and will digest anything.     

The kind of manufactured surrealism Head trafficked in was about twenty years before its time.  We’ve all watched countless music videos and TV commercials that use the same trick.  This has been accepted as common place, and we know how to digest it.  Think about the last ten advertisements you watched.  Mucus talks, cartoon cats and dogs beg for food, and there’s a robot counterpart for Flo the Progressive Girl.  

I was going to tie this all up in a neat resolution by referencing “Post Modernism.”  That would just be a cop out.  

Here’s what I would like you to take away from this instead: Film (and art) is whatever the hell you want to make of it.  Just be happy that we have it, no matter what form it is in.  

The Playground Gets Ponderous: Our First Ever Holiday Spectacular

A Magical Visit from the Ghost of Christmas Nonsense 

Once upon a time, not long ago, there lived an obscure blogger...

He had a magical Christmas wish...no, not for world peace or good will towards men.  He thought that was all abstraction and a complete waste of time.  

No, he wasn’t on crutches, with a desire to dance around without them.  No, he wasn’t a frail (possibly female) orphan that dreamed of one day meeting her handsome and rich father.  He wasn’t even Mariah Carey, screeching on a decibel level that only Chihuahuas can appreciate, about the strong need for a sugar daddy this Christmas. 

His Christmas wishes were not as earth shattering...in fact, they were rather trivial.  He just wanted a bigger audience for his blog.  

So one night, he did something he never did before...he got down on his knees and prayed...”Please, please, let my blog go viral...let me be seen by someone with influence...let me feel self important by waking up on Christmas Morning to find a swarm of traffic and followers.  I just work so hard...”  

Now, there was a mass of contradictions in this...he was not a Christmas person.  Truth be told, he found it to be an entire holiday based on the asinine ideals of guilt, shame, and empty consumerism. 

He dreaded every holiday because he knew that he would be flooded with a barrage of Christmas Crap.  Commercials with Santa Claus limping until he gets the right brand of aspirin.  Bad, cheaply produced Hallmark Holiday Specials...sickening public service announcements which feature starving Africans while John Lennon sings “So This is Christmas” in the background.   

Yet as he got older, he couldn’t help but wonder if that didn’t make him a Scrooge.  Maybe there was just a little bit of softness in his heart?  Maybe he just needed to find “The Real Meaning of Christmas.”    

As if by magic that night, his prayers were partially answered. 

There was a shining blue light, and then an apparition appeared.  

“What are you?” said the blogger.    

“I’m the Ghost of Christmas Nonsense,” said the ghost.  

“Wait a minute,” inquired the blogger “Why didn’t they send the Ghost of Christmas Past, or Present, or Future?”  

“Well,” said the ghost “I work for free...and you don’t have any money.” 

“Good point, but why are you here?”  

“It’s simple, I came to help you choose your favorite Christmas movie.  That way you can write about it...and title the entry `Our Favorite Holiday Films.’  That will attract appreciative and excited readers to your humble site.”  

“Are you fucking kidding me?"

A Discussion of Holiday Films

“Well, no,” said the Ghost.  

“First of all,” said the blogger “I don’t have a favorite holiday movie.”  

“Surely you do.  Everyone has a piece of entertainment that gives them a warm sentimental feeling.  Just think deeply.  What about It’s a Wonderful Life?”  

“I’ve never made it through that without falling asleep.  The only reason it comes on during the holidays is because it’s like having toilet paper in the bathroom.”  

“Elaborate on that.”  

“Let’s say you go into a strange bathroom.  You see the toilet paper...and you know you can take a dump there.  It’s that same kind of familiarity that people get out of that movie...it’s on TV so it must be time for us to celebrate Christmas.  No matter what the circumstances are.  You can show images from that movie to a room full of catatonics and they’ll subconsciously get the Cheer.  It’s a perfect example of cultural brainwashing.”  

“But how can you judge it if you’ve never finished watching it?”

“In the same way I can unroll the toilet paper without looking at it.”  

“All right, what about Miracle On 34th Street?”

“I haven’t seen that in close to two decades.  Remind me, there’s a little girl who thinks Santa Claus doesn’t exist, right?  Then there’s some old dude that shows up to play Santa at Macy’s.”

“But he actually is Santa...”

“Really?  That’s not the version I saw.” 

“Why?  What happens in the version you saw?”  

“About half way through the movie, Santa Claus shows up at Macy’s with an Uzi...”

“That’s not what happens...”

“Then there’s a cut to the girl covered in blood, shouting `see, I told you so...’”   

“No, that’s not it at all...”

“Oh, maybe that’s the colorized version...

“I’m beginning to see the hopelessness of this endeavor,” the Ghost said “What about A Christmas Story?  It’s a watershed film for your generation...”  

“A Christmas Story was great...until it was seized by Ted Turner and played for twenty four hours every Christmas Eve.  That’s what caused it to fall apart for me.  You watch it as an adult, and your nostalgia is totally ruined.  All you’re really looking at is a Norman Rockwell picture with a little edge.  It was an ideal movie when I was five.  Which leads me to the point of why people watch Christmas movies...”

“Hold that thought...”

The Ghost of Christmas Nonsense floated out of the bloggers bed room...

The boxes were opened up, and the tiny crap hole apartment was soon flooded with DVDs.  

The object of the Ghost’s was soon revealed...a cheap dollar store copy of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. 

“A-ha...”

“Wait, oh my god, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians...I watch a chunk of that every Christmas...it’s horrible.  Watching it is like a closet rebellion...Oh my god, I do have a favorite Christmas movie...”  

Suddenly, the joy of Christmas filled his heart...music swelled...the Ghost vaporized while intoning: “You’ve found your favorite Christmas movie...now go forth and write.”  

The next day, he sat down to write, and came up with the following sentence:  “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians...it sucks.”  

That was it.  

Happy Holidays everyone.