Tag: fear

Jay’s Take: 100% Wolf

A movie review.

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Picture this: it’s Tuesday night. Tuesdays in my neck-of-the-woods means Cheap Movie Day at my local multiplexes (both makes). Not only is it Cheap Movie Day, but – quite clearly in a desperate & disparate state – it’s buy-one-get-one, as both brands mid-pandemic have fought long-and-hard over my email Spam folder to see which one has irritated me enough into going there. Let’s look at our options. On one hand, there’s “Landmark”: reasonably-priced food (except the pizza); electronic recliner seats; and reserved seating, clearly-marked with enough light on the row & seat to find your place. On the other, there’s “Cineplex”: outrageously-priced food (especially in the colossal failure that is their VIP lounge); old-school stadium-style rocker seats spaced close-enough together that anyone can use your shoulders as a footrest; and reserved seating – earmarked by Little Jimmy in Grade 11 and his Michael’s-brand label maker – where you can never see any of the row or seat numbers because the theatre lighting hasn’t been adjusted for the change and the seat stickers don’t stay on well to the plastic chairs and are literally peeling off. It’s a frightening state-of-affairs: not only has my local Cineplex all-but-ignored renovating since its VIP & D-BOX upgrades almost 10-years-ago, but 10% of its square-footage sits unused since the start of the pandemic; and its these malnourished arcade machines that formed the backbone of their new horizontally-converged “Rec Room” line they announced last year, and then subsequently forgot about. How do you keep those things clean? You don’t: half the appeal of going into an arcade now is scrutinizing what it was exactly you just touched.

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saturday in the park

A micro-story for mature readers.

i dont know whats been happening in my life lately thirty six and divorced two kids from different men im sitting in the park on a warm saturday afternoon and the sun is beating down relentlessly hottest february on record i can feel it too sometimes you cant sometimes the skies are blue and its minus seven i tilt my sweaty brow back and forth in the light to make sure im covering every angle some tan might be nice ive always wanted to try tanning not spray tanning thats cheating but maybe in one of those ultraviolet coffins people always tell me im too pale what are they talking about ive got these rosy cheeks my ex always used to comment on my cheeks said it was my brightest part wait a minute he was an asshole thats right i always have to stop myself when im reminiscing like this i dont know whats been happening in my life lately

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Jay’s Take: Possessor

A spoiler-heavy movie review.

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Know what really irritates me? Movie trailers containing critic quotes and awards notice. For a long time, I was indignant of this technique, which appears to only be reserved for film festival selections trying to make their way in the Big Scary World of the modern multiplex. I’d be watching a trailer for something that looks interesting, when all of a sudden they cut to a wall of text telling me that someone from the New York Times thought it was good, and so should you. If you can’t sell the movie on content alone and you have to bolster its status by telling us what the “professional movie-watchers” thought of it – before it’s available for mass-consumption – then my expectations of your product immediately drop. But readers, I think I’ve cracked the code. Let’s assume that the average trailer runs 60 to 90-seconds in-length, at least. If this is a Very Important film festival movie, then let’s also assume that you aren’t a big-budget production and you don’t have enough “money shots” in your film to fill a full-length trailer and sell the movie to a mainstream audience (Marvel movies now have nothing but money shots, and a 2 to 3-minute trailer without ruining the movie is entirely possible). Let’s assume further, that your low-budget film is only three actors in a room the whole time. You have enough intriguing shots to build a 30-second spot without spoiling anything, but anything more than that and your movie starts to look dull (like it’s three people in a room the whole time, which it is, but you don’t want Joe Cinema and his Scenetourage to know that). So you have to pad it with filler, and positive reviews are cheap filler.

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Jay’s Take: The Broken Hearts Gallery

A spoiler-heavy movie review.

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Yes, your boy Jay went to see a chick movie. There is no way around it: “The Broken Hearts Gallery” is for girls, through-and-through. And it was the only other major new release playing that my wife wanted to see for her birthday, that wasn’t subtitled (or I’d be all-over “Train to Busan 2”). But I was able to get through it like a champ. Allow me to explain: before the film, there was a trailer for “Ammonite”, which looks like the latest period-drama about an older, professional woman falling in lesbian with her much-younger assistant. It has Kate Winslet – who is fantastic – and Saoirse Ronan – who is mouth-gapingly pretty – so obviously it looked like something I would watch. My problem was that, hasn’t that particular film been done a few times now? It did seem awfully familiar. So it wouldn’t be in my best interest to assume (lest I be disappointed) that A: there would be steamy reel-to-reel sex, because there wouldn’t be, and B: that it would follow any kind of original plot or story-progression. There will obviously be some persecution; maybe the younger woman initially rejects the older woman’s advances; and the affair will probably ruin their lives, whether that means a lynching or a sad, lonely death at home like queer Alan Turing in “The Imitation Game”. Maybe the younger will leave the older for a man? Who knows. The point is, we’ve reached a precipice in cinema, where it doesn’t matter what you write, because it’s all been written before, either in books or on film, in English or any other language. So then it was all about how it looks; what directorial decisions are made; aesthetic choices that stand separate from whatever the writer originally intended behind their words.

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fred

A short story.

“A middle-aged Chinese man’s well-oiled weekend plans are repeatedly-hampered by karmic intervention.”

I don’t want to hear another word about it! Now just get it done! They were almost thirty-feet separated and Freddie was screaming like it was a First Aid emergency. Rogelio wished it was a real emergency: like something had snapped and crushed Freddie, even in the forklift. Like a beam: a big beam would break from the rafters – like an act of God – and fall and land at just the right angle to impale Fred through the open roof of his lift, and then he wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Rog recused himself before he fell down that depressive rabbit hole and ruined the rest of his shift: he wasn’t a young man anymore and couldn’t be bothered playing a young man’s game. But here was Fred again: driving too fast and too close for comfort off the main drag where the lifts were actually allowed. Rog put his head down and concentrated on his work, pretending not to notice as he knelt on old knees to pick up the product for stocking. But Fred must have felt Rog’s energy, because he screeched to a halt beside him, leaving barely-enough room for him to get off and down to Rog’s level. Well, not really: Fred was only five-foot-four. What’s your problem, Rog?
Problem? No problem, buddy. Rog was flustered & gasping for air, and trying his best to be diplomatic.
There’s something going on and I don’t know what it is. But I don’t want it to become a regular thing, OK?
What are you talking about?
Don’t think I haven’t been watching you. You’ve been frustrated for the last few days. And I don’t care what happened to you at home, just don’t take it out on me, OK? I’m trying to help you here.
Rog took a deep breath. …Fred, I’m very busy, OK? I don’t have time for your accusations.
I’m not accusing you of anything. What I’m saying to you is, you need a better attitude.
Attitude?
Your behavior! It sucks! Your work effort, too! You only have an hour left and look at how much you still have left to do!
OK OK OK, can you leave me alone now, please?
What, are you trying to get rid of me now?
Yes! I told you I’m busy! You dropped too much again! Now please go away!
I know that you’re busy, and I don’t like over-dropping any more than you do, but it’s what Kathy wants. That’s your job, right? To do what your manager wants? Not what you feel like. I just want to make sure that you know, that I’m working in your best interest, here.
Best interest? What are you talking about, best interest? You think that by making me stock all this heavy stuff so quickly that I’m not going to be paying the price tomorrow?
Oh, so you can call in sick again? That’s typical.
That’s your fault, buddy! That’s what I’m saying to you, man. You never stack any of the smaller pallets so I have to bend down so far to pick everything up and it hurts my back! You never put any of my short-stacks in steel and make me condense everything! And now there’s an hour left in my shift and I still have to finish the moves and clean up, and you’re dropping more? Because you think I need more to do? Fuck you, if you think that!
Fuck me?
Fuck you, Fred! You are an asshole, man!
Excuse me, you’d better watch your fucking language around me.
Or what?
Or we’re going to have a problem!
We already have a problem! You!
There’s nothing wrong with me! You don’t know me!
Everything’s wrong with you! Who says you get to talk to other employees this way? You aren’t a manager! You’re just a driver!
You’d better bet that Kathy is going to hear about this!
What, you going to run away now? Buddy, I’m just getting started!
You’re the asshole, Rog! You knew this was the last day before my vacation! Fred drove away at full-speed and Rog suffered his wrath for the rest of his shift. And as he wiped the sweat from his brow as he squatted by a pallet he was wrapping – his lungs panting and his heart racing and his back throbbing and only twenty minutes left in his shift; and his manager Katherine behind him, yelling at him about what he said to Fred and that he needed to stand up and explain himself right now – Rog cursed Fred under his breath. Worse than any wish of death or bodily dismemberment. Rog knew that he didn’t have any supernatural powers – or, at least, none that had awakened yet – but he’d heard of “The Secret” and the law of attraction and thought that, maybe, if he wanted it bad enough, it would happen. Yes, Fred needed to be taught a lesson. A lesson that was beyond Rog’s reach to teach in the material world. He cursed Fred, and his vacation, and his family, and anything else tied to him. His best friend in High School. His wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, whoever he was with. His parents. Him. And then he stood up.

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