More Fun with Phrases

Phrase that describes this coming Saturday: "Free Comic Book Day."

Phrase that always makes me laugh: "flamboyant Kabuki vampire."

Phrase that always makes my wallet scream: "limited to 1000 copies."

Phrase that I just coined that you should start using: "getting into hog's fat and out of cocked hat."

Phrase that fucking horrifies me: "A Brett Ratner Film."

Phrase that will probably be etched on my tombstone: "Out of Print."


Read: Gruau, by Francois Baudot (brief bio of fashion illustrator Rene Gruau, packed with some of the most beautiful illustrations you could ever hope to lay eyes on)
Watch: Never Give a Sucker an Even Break (dir. Edward F. Cline, 1941)
Listen to: Speak Like a Child, by Herbie Hancock
Visit: http://freecomicbookday.com/ (Find a store and get your free comics!!!)

A Ninja in the Mail. A Lantern in the Heart.

So, I've had kind of a crappy day today. Now I could blather on about the reasons why, but that would neither lend itself to interesting storytelling, nor would it be any fun at all.

Instead, let me tell you about how my day just got better.

For those of you who've read earlier entries, you'll remember I mentioned a comic called Athena Voltaire, drawn by Steve Bryant. You'll also recall that I commissioned Steve to do a piece for me of my favorite pulp hero, The Shadow.

Well, after some understandable delays (the guy's moving into a new house, for crying out loud!), I finally received the sketch today, and it's as lovely (and by lovely, I mean full of biff and stingo) as I thought it would be from the jpeg preview he sent.

But...he said since I was so patient, he threw in something extra. Namely, a piece of original artwork from the book that you should ALL be reading: Athena Voltaire. Even cooler is the fact that, since the book is now moving in a different direction creatively (Steve's taking more of the reins, which is fine by me), the piece he sent me won't ever be seeing print...at least in this form.

Here it is. My apologies for the quality of the photo, but my scanner won't take 11x17.

Heroine in simple, elegant black dress wielding pistol? Check.

Dead ninja? Check.

Guy in black suit and tie, with hint of bloody mouth, reaching for bo. Check.

More than the "playing to my sensibilities in a big ol' way" quotient, it was an exceptionally kind gesture. It's the kind of gesture that effortlessly lifts the corners of my mouth into an unexpected smile. Thanks again, Steve!

This was a surprise, to be sure, but it's not the biggest surprise I've ever received. That honor would go to the thing that, no matter how I'm feeling, always warms my heart.

My Green Lantern plush doll.

To explain: my good friends Brandon & Christina have two wonderful daughters, for whom I'm "Uncle Jake," which is, of course, ridiculously cool in and of itself. Last Christmas, after I gave the kids their presents, the oldest daughter, Karina (she's 5), walked up to me and said, "Uncle Jake? Daddy said Green Lantern's your faaaaavorite, right?" She accentuated the long "a" in that endearing way that only children can. To which I responded, "Yep, that's right."

(Brief note: for those of you who would have thought Batman, I'm happy to surprise you.)

Hiding my present behind her back--much like the way I do when I give a gift, instead of wrapping it--she then presented it like a magician and softly said, "Merry Christmas."

And there it was:

If this isn't the sweetest thing ever, I truly don't know what is. I just get deliriously happy every time I look at it.

I know I said it at Christmas-time, but thank you so much, kiddo! And Green Lantern seems to like it up here. After all, he's giving the thumbs-up!

Go out and enjoy the rest of your day, all. Thanks for reading.

A Second Brief Intermission

I sure am glad the major news organizations are devoting crucial minutes of the news cycle to examine the threadbare connection (pun intended out of contempt) between those guys in the Abercrombie & Fitch shirts at the Obama rally and the campaign itself. I mean, it would be an outright shame if some story of intelligence or gravity replaced that claptrap.

If you don't know what I'm referring to...I'm so glad. As the man said, "Don't go changin' to please me."

And if you do know, I hope you're at least a little annoyed. Not that "stories" like this are anything new.

Here endeth the rant. My apologies for the brief intermission. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.


Read: Portugese Irregular Verbs by Alexander McCall Smith
Watch: Slightly Scarlet (dir. Allan Dwan, 1956) [fun, if highly flawed, Sirkian noir]
Listen to: Good Dog, Happy Man by Bill Frisell

30 Get You Greatness, 3 Get You Damned

Some friends and I were discussing movies over lunch one day several years ago, and we got on the subject of Die Another Day. I quickly broke into my usual spiel: how it's the failed masterpiece of the James Bond series, how I lay the blame at Halle Berry's doorstep, etc. One of the people at the table then proceeded to say one of the most brilliant things I've ever heard:

"Yeah, but at least there were hovercrafts. A movie can't be all bad if it's got hovercrafts."

Hilarious as that statement is, I have thought about it pretty much daily for the past 5 years. What are the elements you can have in your movie and automatically make it better? Make a wretched film tolerable? Make a solid film memorable?

Discussions with friends (you all know who you are), combined with my own ceaseless thought, have produced a list. This one's off the top of my head and is, of course, by no means comprehensive.

If you want to improve your movie, use any or all of these.

(DISCLAIMER: Use of all of these elements in a movie could jeopardize the future of cinematic entertainment by possibly creating the greatest movie the world's ever seen, thus wreaking devastation in the collective consciousness of heretofore untold proportions. So for God's sake, man, show some moderation!)

In no particular order:

1. hovercrafts
2. zombies (dangerously close to removal due to overuse)
3. someone wearing a monocle
4. ninjas
5. use of the phrase "moon cannon"
6. an ejector seat (only one per car; more than that would just be silly)
7. random bullwhip fights (see El Topo for example par excellence)
8. cane swords
9. Martians
10. jet packs
11. a band of misfits coming together to make a family (see The Outlaw Josey Wales, Serenity)
12. brassy score (for best modern examples, see David Arnold, Michael Giacchino)
13. fedoras
14. extended scenes/sequences sans dialogue
15. biplanes and/or triplanes
16. tommy guns
17. capes and cloaks (not merely in a superhero context; add a dash of top hat for flavor)
18. 78-82 minute runtime (see Budd Boetticher)
19. snow (only as applies to Westerns; see The Great Silence, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford)
20. revolvers with silencers (which, news flash, don't work in the real world, kids)
21. moats (alligators optional but preferred)
22. cracked safes
23. prison escapes
24. random musical interlude (either a nightclub sequence like Rififi or, as a friend once said, when a scene becomes so emotional it can only be properly conveyed by bursting into song, for which I would invoke Magnolia)
25. lasers (particularly as obstacles to the aforementioned cracked safes)
26. flamethrowers (only as applies to comedies; see Spies Like Us, Spaceballs)
27. kids who ride bikes and fight evil (see The Monster Squad)
28. use of the word "crawfish" as a verb
29. Cate Blanchett
30. ...and Anthony Wong

A teaser for the list of things that automatically make your movie worse:

1. Sean Penn as director
2. use of the phrase, "72 Hours Earlier," after the first few minutes of the film
3. Juliette Lewis

So, what elements do you think automatically make movies better? Comments are both welcome and encouraged. (Crap, how could I forget? Pool halls!)

Good day, all.


Read: The Gunslinger, by Stephen King
Watch: Walk on Water (dir. Eytan Fox, 2004)
Listen to: Watch the Fireworks, by Emma Pollock

Houston? Tranquility Base here...

Profuse apologies for the absence. I've been vainly duelling with insomnia for the better part of the past week, and my mind has been a bit on the foggy side.

Actually, the word I'd use is "shambolic." Fantastic, that one. I'd not known of it until I saw it used in a recent New Yorker article to describe one of the current London mayoral candidates.

And, boy, does that sound like a wacky contest.

On the subject of fantastic words and phrases, for a long while now, I've considered the phrase "two-fisted tales" to be just about the greatest phrase in the English language. While the phrase "two-fisted" has been in existence at least since the 18th century, my primary reference for it is as a type of "tale" in a ridiculously smart 1950s war comic from publisher EC.

I mean, put "two-fisted" in front of something, and you almost always make that something better. It's the same principle I have regarding the way things like hovercrafts and ninjas always make movies better, but more on that another time.

Anyway, I finally found a phrase that tops "two-fisted tales."

In the aptly titled Bizarre Books: A Compendium of Classic Oddities, authors Russell Ash & Brian Lake have assembled the weirdest lists of authors and titles that are with ease and rapidity, to quote the Bard, "wont to set the table on a roar." I bought this on impulse after spotting it in my local Borders, abandoned in the poetry aisle (of all places) by some hapless browser. After all, this is the kind of shit I read for fun.

As a footnote to one of the many titular oddities, the authors mention a novel called Cockeye Kerrigan, which was "described as containing, 'Hard-knuckled pages blazing with biff and stingo...'"

"Hard-knuckled pages." Solid, yes, but a known quantity.


"BLAZING WITH BIFF AND STINGO."


Wow. Talk about the eagle landing. If ever any phrase described the kind of stuff I love to read and dream of writing (and, let's face it, how a person should live), you betta believe that's it.

Ladies and gentlemen! The winner and new heavyweight champion of English phraseology! (Condolences, Two-Fisted Tales. You're still a damn good comic book).

I guess it's no wonder I found Bizarre Books in the poetry section after all. Containing such a majestically pulpy phrase, that's right where it belongs.


Read: Fell, Vol. 1: Feral City by Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith (10/10 on the "biff and stingo" scale)
Watch: Exiled (dir. Johnnie To, 2006) (the masterpiece of Hong Kong's original "biff and stingo" director)
Listen to: Get Budd: The Soundtracks by Roy Budd (a compilation by the gent who scored Get Carter and The Sandbaggers...I think I'll leave it there)

We Live They Live

I have come here to eat Snickers and kick ass. And I'm all out of Snickers, as you can see.

It shouldn't be news to anyone that advertising has always been firmly ensconced in and, when possible, sliding even closer to the world of They Live's blatant marketing mockery. Naturally, this fact was the first that sprang to mind when I spotted the back of the new Snickers wrapper (followed by uproarious laughter).

Seriously, it should just say OBEY, or in this instance, CONSUME would be more appropriate.

And we don't even need the special sunglasses anymore!

Read: Hieronymous B. 1997-2007, by Ulf K.
Watch: Yellow Sky (dir. William A. Wellman, 1949)
Listen to: Werewolves and Lollipops, by Patton Oswalt
Visit: http://www.labelmaker2600.com/

A Brief Intermission

There are more than a few things in this world that quickly earn--and steadfastly retain--my anger.

Today's examples come from people who either don't proofread or just can't fucking spell.

Reason notwithstanding, whenever I see the word "lose" spelled "loose," or the word "speech" spelled "speach," it's like the written equivalent of stubbing my toe.

And like I've always said, I could get my arm broken, and I'd be able to take the pain. Anytime I stub my toe, though, it's practically the end of the world.

Read: Silverfin by Charlie Higson
Watch: 30 Rock
Listen to: Fading Trails, by Magnolia Electric Co.
Visit: http://www.shotgunstories.com

Mr. Smith Goes to the Wisconsin Film Festival

While biting off more than I can chew is a habit for me in most aspects of life, it's guaranteed that I will do just that whenever the Wisconsin Film Festival rolls around. I always buy tickets with the earnest intention of seeing every movie for which I buy a ticket. I never end up succeeding.

However, I always relish the opportunity and the experience of going to the festival. Of the films that I saw this year, there were three that I loved, and one that frustrated the hell out of me.

First, there was Hollywood Chinese, a singularly smart and matter-of-fact documentary about: 1) portrayals of Chinese people in film, and 2) the experience of Chinese-Americans working in Hollywood. Neither overly tributary nor vehemently damning, the film successfully draws out many of the complexities of the Chinese-American experience from the silent era to the present. I could've used more B.D. Wong, but we can't have it all.

The other documentary I really enjoyed was Constantine's Sword, an examination of Christianity's culpability in anti-Semitism, both historically and in the present. I am amazed that so much material was compressed into around 90 minutes of intelligent, moving screen time, but I wouldn't have minded another 30-60 minutes worth of material (and it's a rare thing these days for me to say I want a longer movie). After starting the book on which the movie is based, I've got my wish for more material.

The best film of the festival, however, was a little film called Shotgun Stories. A meditation on hate, violence, and vengeance, director Jeff Nichols offers up the most promising feature debut in some time. Set in small-town Arkansas, the film concerns three brothers who find out their father has died--the father who abandoned them and started a new family in the same small town. The conflict between these two families in the wake of the father's funeral drives the rest of the story.

Rage, confusion, vulnerability--these are all qualities that Shotgun Stories makes more incisive and inescapably searing than any other film in recent memory. Add to this the fact that the film almost perfectly captures particular aspects of the South, both photographically and emotionally. Yep...the more that I think about this film, the more I love it.

And then there's the one that frustrated me: Timecrimes. "Tidy" is the word that springs to mind when I think of this supposed thriller. Peering through binoculars, a man sees a naked woman in the woods near his home. When he goes to see if she's there, he ends up getting attacked, which sets off a chain of events throughout the rest of the film. And that chain involves time travel.

Now, I probably would have loved this film had I never encountered a story about linear time travel. However, I've cracked a comic book or two. I've watched some Star Trek in my day. So I wasn't terribly impressed with what the film had to offer.

I won't say I hated it, because the narrative was tidily put together. However, when I knew that the film had a limited cast and time travel as its centerpiece, it took me only a few minutes into the picture to figure out where it was going and how it was going to get there. All that was left was for me to wait patiently as it unfolded EXACTLY how I thought it would. In the end, it felt more like an exercise than a story.

Quick reviews of the other films I saw:

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?: Beautiful restored print. Proof that Elizabeth Taylor can act. Didn't really care what happened to the characters after a while.

Big Man Japan: Cool monsters. Tonally very, very odd. Thought I'd like it, but found it tedious and ultimately tiresome.

Mongol: Tadanobu Asano. As Genghis Khan. Bad-ass.

Planet of the Apes: While it was a restored print, the sound in the theater was AWFUL. When a projector broke and a member of the staff informed us that there would have to be a pause between every reel for change, I gave up and left. The only reason I mention this is the eerie coincidence of watching this film, coming home, and finding that Charlton Heston died that very night.

Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion: Awesome title. Great plot. Disappointing execution.

Films I wish I'd seen but times conflicted with other screenings: Alexandra (Sokurov's newest), Flight of the Red Balloon (Hou's latest), and OSS 117: Cairo, Nest of Spies (a James Bond spoof that actually seems funny).

Film I wish I'd rousted my lazy ass out of bed for: My Man Godfrey (it was a restored print, for God's sake).

Another festival come, gone, and enjoyed. And next year, maybe I actually will see all of the movies I buy tickets for.

Read: The Life of a Simple Man (La Vie d'un Simple) by Emile Guillaumin
Watch: Zack Galifianakis: Live at the Purple Onion (dir. Michael Blieden, 2006)
Listen to: American Hearts, by A.A. Bondy

Scattershot, redux

While I'm putting together stuff to write, I figure I'll port some of the stuff from my MySpace blog over to this one. With that in mind, here's a recent smattering of topics I was either too tired, too lazy, or too sick to expand into individual entries.

First off, I wonder who would have commissioned this: http://atomictiki.blogspot.com/2008/03/weed-of-crime-bears-bitter-fruit.html. If comics float your boat, I’d advise you to go out and find Steve Bryant's Athena Voltaire books from Ape Entertainment. They’re about a brunette tommy-gun-wielding aviatrix who fights Nazis and monsters over magic. I swear, it’s like he did those books JUST FOR ME. Thanks, Steve! You’re the best, man.

Think of all the money you’d save by switching to thievery.

New slogan for American Airlines: We know why you fly. We just don’t care.

Battlestar Galactica (that’s the new version, kids) is officially the greatest television show ever produced. If you haven’t watched it yet, I really don’t know what the hell you’re waiting for.

I really, really need to learn how to play the piano.

Other people’s memory never fails both to amaze and to disappoint.

I already have too much to read, so what do I do? Subscribe to a bunch of magazines. Clearly, it’s the only logical way to go.

Ever wonder how many people you’ve laid eyes on in your lifetime?

Incredibly grateful. That’s the phrase I would use to describe my feelings toward the people who put out those grindhouse trailer discs. 2+ hours of trailers, each of them so much longer than they should be, which works so well for me. Since they’re so long (some of them are 5 minutes, people!), I feel like I’ve seen the movies themselves. Thus, I don’t have to watch any of those shitty films, and I gotta tell you how, well, incredibly grateful that makes me.

Go out and read these: Exit Wounds by Rutu Modan, and The Question by Denny O’Neil & Denys Cowan. And thank me at your earliest convenience.

For my money, when he's pulling double duty on script and art, Matt Wagner is the modern-day master of comic storytelling.

I wonder how many people I know would be willing to give me an honest, forthright answer to the following question: what’s the most important lie you tell yourself?

Patton Oswalt is right. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is the best movie title ever. (And chainsaw is two words in the original title, kids. Check the film if you don’t believe me.)

On the subject of titles, I don’t care what anyone says…Quantum of Solace is a fantastic title for the next Bond film.

Alright, that’s about all I’ve got. The only other thing I wanted to mention is more serious, more solemn. Director Jules Dassin died this week. As I’ve said to others, his death wasn’t unexpected, but it’s still a damn shame. This was a guy I really admired, and anything I could write about him would seem paltry, save this:

He made my favorite film of all time, Rififi, which is my idea of perfect filmmaking. And he didn’t name names, which is my idea of perfect character.

Okay, time to get a few other things done before my WI Film Fest screenings this evening, not to mention it's t-minus 7 hours 44 minutes until I completely nerd out over BSG's season premiere.

Read: The Tenth Circle, by Jodi Picoult
Watch: Rififi (dir. Jules Dassin, 1955)
Listen to: Eveningland, by Hem

It's a Start.

Well, I've been blogging for a little while on my MySpace page, but I figured it was time I started one in earnest. Welcome to "The Empty Hand."

Why "The Empty Hand?" Ever in search of clever, I absolutely did not want to name my blog with anything related to Casino Royale, Battlestar Galactica, Green Lantern, Brave New World, Blood on the Tracks, or any number of other movies, tv shows, comics, books, or albums for which I have inordinate esteem. There's nothin' wrong with that, but I already do it with too many other things.

I wanted something that was ME...independent of all of that.

For whatever reason, my thoughts on this subject drifted quickly to martial arts. Specifically, Shotokan karate--the discipline in which I'm trained. Translate "karate"; you get "empty hand." And here we are.

More than that, though, the empty hand is a thing of wonder. It holds no weapon, and yet is all that's required to render ruin. The empty hand is ready to receive help, but it is equally ready to give it. It can be a gesture of salutation, or it can be one of caution. It conceals nothing, and in so doing can grasp anything.

I like to think that phrase is very me. And if I end up with truthful instead of/in addition to clever, well, that suits me right down to the ground.

That's the why of the title. The why of the blog is, um, less poetic. I have some friends who have really enjoyable blogs, and I'd like to join their company. More personally, there was a time at least ten years ago when I wrote every day. Whether for myself, for a friend, or for a teacher (or for those lucky times when it was all three), I put words to pages. Daily. Without fail.

And while I mightn't be able to do it daily anymore, I'd like to get back to that creative regularity. Makes me sound intellectually constipated...which probably isn't that far from the truth.

Well, that's it for now. I hope you enjoy reading my type. Know that I enjoy handing it to you. (This should explain my nifty anagram of a web address.)

More to come. Without fail.