What I’m Reading and Why
Thought some of yins out in the world wide web would like to know what I clutch on the subway. There’s actually a lot.
The Mammoth Book of Horror Comics, Edited by Peter Normanton
This beast of a book has been following me around lately. It all started when I had the bright idea to make a horror film, but couldn’t come u p with, ya know, plots or characters or those things you need to get some decent writing done. I don’t want to reveal my diabolical plans just yet, but I can tell you that I’ve been fascinated by zombies lately. I’d really love to get to know them better, get inside their heads (though I bet they’d want into my cranium more).
Anyway, killing time in the graphic novel section at B&N last week, I happened upon this tome of murderous tales. So far it’s tons of fun. Most of the comics I’ve read so far have been from 1950-1955, and while none have literally terrified me, they certainly have been quite entertaining. The one that will be toughest to top in this book is “Hitler’s Head” by Don Heck (and co.). It tells the tale of a decorated Nazi laying low in South America after the war who is haunted by the ghost of Hitler and his Army of demons. From the beginning right down to it’s head-scratcher of an ending it is truly fascinating. It is grizzly, but not gruesome. Plus, it’s easy enough to cheer on Nazi on Nazi action. Read on...
Review: 6 Sick Hipsters by Rayo Casablanca
I remember last summer’s article in Time Out New York that offered up the following thesis: Why the Hipster Must Die - a modest proposal to save New York Cool (May - June ‘07, Christian Lorentzen). It seems debut novelist and confused wordsmith Rayo Casablanca took this idea to heart, or missed the point entirely depending how you look at it. His new novel, “6 Sick Hipsters”, is an attempt at intellectualizing the nomads of Williamsburg who voluntarily go by that moniker, a futile effort to say the least. Perhaps, for a fleeting moment, Mr. Casablanca forgot how passé it is to call oneself a hipster, but alas, let’s try and get to the meat of his novel.
Primarily it is the story of a boy and a girl who find themselves in extraordinarily gory circumstances. Our hero, scientist/porn aficionado and author Harrison, spends his time cavorting around Billyburg with his equally fame-obsessed gang of pals, the self-titled Whole Sick Crew. It’s hard to tell what has brought this motley bunch together, but to spend too much time wondering would keep you from ever making it more than 10 pages into the book. In any event, some of his cohorts start drawing connecting the dots between prominent hipster murders. For some reason, Harrison falls in love with Beth-Ann, a knitter on the verge of blindness who indulges his friends’ detective work. Read on...
Review: I Am Legend
It was little more than a decade ago that Will Smith danced his way atop a defeated alien spacecraft and announced his box office allure. “Welcome to Earth!” burst forth from his mouth after an interstellar sock in the jaw, and immediately, it was clear that this was the man with which boffo bliss could be made. (in Independence Day for the uninitiated)In I Am Legend, we see a more mature, more finely attuned and more ripped actor than we have been watching in the ensuing years. The film begins and ends with Smith, and I don’t mean temporally. Francis Lawrence’s film has much going for it while remaining wrought with problems, but it is Mr. Smith’s impressive on-screen presence that makes it even watchable. In fact, anyone could have directed this film, and many were slated to before the experienced music video director finally took the reins, as this was really a vehicle pushed heavily by Mr. Smith along the way. We can see why he wanted to star in this film: because he’s just that damn good.In the film, Smith plays Robert Neville, the last man on earth after a deadly virus destroys everyone, leaving around a half billion infected and the few immune survivors, like Mr. Neville, who the infected all ate. Gruesome yes? Well at least he’s got man’s best friend with him. The story opens three years into this nightmare, following our hero as he hunts, eats, entertains himself, and makes it home before dark when the scaries make it out (they melt in the dark).Next to Mr. Smith’s phenomenal performance, the reason to see this film is the surreal post-apocalyptic imagery of New York City. There is a mixture of satisfaction and fear seeing what would become of the decaying Gotham three years out. The filmmakers’ recognize the jungle-like setup the city already possesses: streets are the rivers that flow through mountainous buildings. Once the laws that we have impressed upon this space have disappeared with humanity, we get to see alternative possibilities for such a monumental man-made heap of metropolis. Through the magic of boatloads of cash and some digital trickery, the audience is given a starkly accurate (there were a handful of PhDs and MDs in the credits) vision of the end of Manhattan if the end came a hair sooner than the Mayans are telling us it will. Read on...
