To Eric

This feels really weird, dude, because I have this strong sense that the episode will end and fade to black and then the next episode will start and you’ll be back, like nothing happened. Poof, no problem, back to normal. 

It’s hard in this moment because I feel like I need to say something but I don’t know what that is exactly. I guess I need to say goodbye to you.

I feel guilt because we haven’t seen you much the last few years since we had kids. All day barbecues, all day beer drinking, and late nights babbling about esoteric stuff over absinthe are pretty impossible when you gotta be up at 4am and juggle work, karate, doctors appointments and so on. I know it’s all excuses now that you’re gone and there’s no going forward with you in the picture but it’s the truth.

Again, it feels weird. 

I look at your pictures, watch that video of Kurt talking at you, and you’re alive again. You’re not dead. New episode, it’s all back to normal. 

At your funeral I kept thinking people there were you because, and let’s be honest, most of us were white guys with beer bellies and facial hair in baseball caps. Still, I kept looking up and briefly catching you before realizing it was someone else. 

I also forgot how much your dad sounds like you, or I probably should say that you sounded like your dad. As a father myself I can only imagine his loss in a way that taps into my most primal fears. 

I lost a friend and the ability to make a proper reconnection when the time was right, but your dad and your family lost a son and a brother. Honestly I’m surprised your dad did so well today because I put myself in his shoes and I don’t think I’d have been nearly as composed. 

I’m sorry we’ve been unintentionally distant the last few years. Hindsight is awful. 

I hope that if there’s something else or anything after this that you’ve ended up someplace you’d want to be. I know that at some point after 40 beers we’ve discussed this kind of thing, probably several times, but I can’t remember specifics. 

There’s no easy way to leave this world and there’s no easy way to end this kind of thing so I’ll leave it at that.

I miss you, dude. We all do. 

Film Review: “Godzilla vs. Kong” (2021)

 4 1/2 out of 5

I fucking love monsters, especially big monsters. I don’t know why but I always have, ever since I was little. Monsters of one sort or another have existed on the periphery of my consciousness for my whole life. I was just at the coast and while taking in one beautiful rocky vista all I could imagine was a giant crab crawling up from the depths. That’s just who I am. 

So I’m the target audience here. I could be critical but I’m an easy lay for this, and unlike the prior two Godzilla films that think we want human characters and human drama (we don’t, by the way) this gives us big monsters doing big monster stuff in places that are silly. It’s the best of these Monsterverse movies second only to Kongs first outing in Skull Island and much better than the prior Godzilla films. 

It’s hard to imagine the ground level serious Godzilla of 2014 being connected to all this soft science fiction silliness (hollow earth flying snake monster reverse gravity gobbledygook) but it’s a monumental improvement. If you thought the family drama of King of The Monsters was lame you’ll love the simplistic characters here. Most importantly if you love the monsters you’ll enjoy this. 

Godzilla is mostly cast as an antagonist but Kong is expressive and strangely relatable; alternately exhausted and driven. As a father of three I felt every time he flopped down with the look of “do I really have to keep doing this?” on his face. They did a great job giving the monsters personality. 

I get why some people will balk at this and if you do then go watch fucking Nomadland and pat yourself on the back. I don’t know why you’d watch this if this is the kind of movie you know you don’t like. I like big monsters. I like this movie. 

If you like big monsters you’ll like it too.

A Eulogy For Rush Limbaugh

Rush Limbaugh, or El Rushbo (English translation: “The Rushed Beau”) as he preferred his followers to refer to him as, died and went to Hell this morning with only his beloved humidor of cigars and his tolerated pomeranian Poopsy by his side. A temperamental man of few words repeated many ways, Rush saw himself as an underdog of American Exceptionalism in a time when American Exceptionalism was the standard. Always willing to fight even when there was no fight to be found Rush would make a point of arguing with any inanimate object he found objectionable, up to and including garbage bins, the bread selection of his neighborhood Kroger’s, the wooden Indian outside of his cigar shop, and most notably with a half eaten Big Mac he’d forgotten about on his broadcast desk (“I’ve been infiltrated by feminazi scum! Who do you think you are, you lipstick besmirched chowderhead?!??”). He had many enemies during his tenure as America’s favorite radio blowhard but counted a select few as confidantes. He was known to golf with exiled Cobra leader Cobra Commander, was once spotted giving advice to Ming The Merciless, and most recently was “the devil” on President Donald Trumps shoulder. He leaves a divided legacy, remembered as a terrible father, an inept lover (12th wife Sharon Sharons was quoted saying “Rush called love making a ‘grunt n’ dump’ and it was as passionate as it sounds”), but also as a tender defender of every bad idea the GOP could concoct. He’s survived by his humidor, his second humidor at his studio, and his third humidor at his Boca Raton retreat El Rato Rushbo, as well as his legion of loyal morons The Dittoheads who now, having neither the guidance of Trump or Rush, are experiencing an existential panic and have begun fleeing into the surrounding woods and forests to disappear into the shadows. In accordance with his last wishes his body will be cast in bronze and sunk to the bottom of Loch Ness where he hopes to prove that not only Nessie is a secret hedonistic lesbian but also that this is the location where the corrupt Democratic Party had hidden the Dominion servers that prove Trump won the 2020 election. He also wished to have a plaque bearing his name and a quote, “Daddy would like some sausage?”, left near the shoreline.

In lieu of flowers the staff of his EIB studios is requesting that bags of dog and/or human shit be sent to President Joe Biden 

Goodbye, All The Best Video

I’ve spent the last few years audibly being thankful that in the modern age my mid-sized college town still had a video store, one that was founded the year before I was born, and had survived big box renters like Blockbuster and Hollywood Video and the proliferation of streaming services like Netflix. But 2020 had one last punch to throw and it landed squarely on the temple of my beloved video store, All The Best. 

I feel silly admitting how hard this is impacting me. I see myself going through the grieving process in the expected steps: I feel guilt for not renting more than I did and not racking up heftier late fees than I could’ve, and I’ve begun concocting hairbrained schemes to keep it afloat. Eventually I’ll accept it but I’m already planning on avoiding the street it’s on because the thought of seeing the building shuttered and the purple awning removed genuinely makes me want to sob. 

I can imagine most people will think my reaction is ridiculous. The majority of video stores closed within the last decade and the mass public abandoned physical media almost as long ago. It’s the vestigial tail of an animal that evolved some time ago, I get that. I also get that in an era where you have thousands of hours of tv and movies that are pumped directly to your phone the idea of driving to a building to wander aisles to select something to watch seems an absurd act. 

For me going to the video store was more than just watching a movie; it was an experience and a connection to like minded people. Growing up in the country in a conservative religious family I found culture and saw the world through the movies I found at our local video store. That’s a quaint idea now and I can’t imagine what it must be like growing up with everything ever being available at your fingertips, but in the 80’s and 90’s it was an oasis in a desert, and without it I could’ve easily been a different person. 

Beyond that it was a way to share a part of my childhood with my own children. Going to the video store meant they’d get to pick a movie and some candy and popcorn, maybe buy a used movie or two. I rarely faced a weekend as a kid without renting a 5-for-5 (5 movies for 5 days) and although I think they mostly enjoyed the candy I tried my damndest to give them some of that. 

Times change, I guess, and old ways die. I’m only thirty five but I feel like an old man watching the culture I’ve held dear alter into something unfamiliar and unappealing, as overly dramatic as that sounds. 

I don’t know if I’ll be leaving the area any time soon but I do know that should I ever transplant my family somewhere else one of the first requirements right after good schools and safe neighborhoods is “is there a local video store still?”

All The Best you were the best. Your employees were friendly and helpful and most importantly they liked and knew movies. Your selection was great. You had the popcorn tubs I loved that doubled as a way to carry out my movies and snacks. Most importantly you were a human way of doing things and the sterility of a streaming algorithm will always be a poor substitute to your tangible, tactile humanity. From the bottom of my heart I say thank you for everything you’ve done for our community and for all of us who habitually occupied your aisles. I’ll never wear my Leprechaun shirt in a place where it will be properly appreciated ever again.

I desperately hope there’s an 11th hour reprieve but should we not get the PG-13 ending where the spunky teens of the youth center save the video store then know that your memory will live on in our hearts. 

Film Review: “Scoob!” (2020)

1 out of 5

I never realized how much I loved Scooby Doo until recently. As someone who loves horror, true crime, and Halloween I often try to trace my love of these back to some definitive source. My mom and grandma were big true crime readers, I was allowed to have Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark scar me at a young age, I watched The Twilight Zone and Night Of The Living Dead and spent most of my childhood trying to relive those experiences. But I’m almost certain that my interests in all these things can be narrowed back to he classic cartoon Scooby Doo Where Are You!. 
That show took monsters, ghosts, haunted houses, mysteries, and crime and wrapped it up in a package that was lighthearted colorful fun. Scooby Doo in various incarnations as a staple in my house, and I would come back to it on and off over the years. The franchise is like comfort food for me; the visuals and sounds are a soft blanket that mellows me out.
So when I saw the first trailer for this movie Scoob! became one of my most anticipated movies of the year, especially because I could take my young son to it. And then Covid came and shuttered the world and Scoob! came straight to homes. I was home from work on the day it came out and shilled our the $23.99 it cost to purchase it from Amazon and watched it with my kids.
I won’t mince around it and just say I didn’t care for it. The first ten minutes are really good and shows just how good this movie could’ve been had it followed a traditional Scooby Doo formula. This movie opts instead to focus on launching a Hanna-Barbara shared cinematic universe, so there’s no mystery and little-to-no Fred or Daphne or Velma, and instead we get a cadre of (sorry to their fans) forgotten HB characters like Dick Dastardly, Muttley, Dynomutt, Blue Falcon, and Captain Caveman, all of whom distract from our core group. I can’t be the only person who comes to a Scooby Doo movie for Scooby Doo and the gang, not the cast of Wacky Races. Honestly it’s shocking that Yogi and Boo Boo didn’t show up, I don’t think there’s a real reason they couldn’t have.
The animation is crisp and appealing and the voice acting is strong even if the studio made a big point of not offering the role of Shaggy to the resident actor who’s been behind the character for ten years or more, Matthew Lillard. Will Forte takes over the role but doesn’t really do much of anything that Lillard couldn’t have. Another snubbing is that of Frank Welker, the man who’s voiced Fred Jones since 1969. Fred is now voiced by Zac Efton, but Welker was still allowed to voice Scooby Doo so I guess he wasn’t stiffed as hard as Lillard was. Oh well.
The story is mostly incoherent and appears to have been concocted by a computer, wildly flailing from destination to character to random thing. Given the overall aimless tone this isn’t really all that shocking.
At least the Scooby Doo franchise still has a consistent output of tv shows and straight-to-video movies that don’t need to build a connected universe or feature big stars. The serialized tv show Mystery Incorporated is really good and should appeal to fans of Twin Peaks, the writings of HP Lovecraft, and even the music of Adam Ant. There’s also thirty something S-T-V movies that are either great or terrible with little in between that you can go through. This movie isn’t worth it, which is a total bummer.

Film Review: "Aquaman" (2018)

3 1/2 out of 5

During the big Lord Of The Rings style climax an army of sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads are ridden like horses into battle against an army of crab-people until Aquaman explodes onto the scene riding, and this isn't a joke, on the head of C'thulu. Every other sin this movie commits beforehand (the bad Indiana Jones excursion, the awful de-aging, the stilted dialogue, the confusing drama) are all instantly forgotten in this one ridiculous display of batshit inanity. The climax of Endgame was dramatically satisfying but this satisfied in a way I didn't know I needed satisfied: it made me marvel at the pure ectatsy of stupidity like I was a kid again watching the king of farty blockblusters, Independence Day. Hello boys, I'm back.
The closest approximation to Aquaman that I can think of is the prequels. So much of this movie is obviously green screened even if it probably didn't need to be. Watching Aquaman's dad, Aqua-human-dad, stand on a CGI dock waiting for Aquamna's mom, Aqua-fish-mom, to show up is confusing considering that there has to be at least a few docks in America that someone would gladly let them film on. I'd let Jason Momoa hang out shirtless on my dock. Heck, give me a cameo as "Neighbor hidden in bushes #1" and I'd let him do it for free.
And the dialogue and plot are nonsenical with everyone except Momoa overacting their hearts out. Patrick Wilson is Evilman, the aryan half-brother to Aquaman, who delivers all his lines like he just jumped out of a saturday morning cartoon. Oh yeah, Dolph Lundgren is also a fishman and his acting is surpringly good, probably because his acting prowess is the exact level as this kind of flarp.
But it's so stupid it's amazing. There's a "Fight For The Throne" battle that pretty much the same thing we saw in Black Panther except this has a giant octopus playing drums. A GIANT OCTOPUS PLAYING DRUMS.
What elevates the comedy here is that this is all played up as though it's high Shakespearian drama. Meanwhile, as all the theatrics roll on Jason Momoa is acting like he's on the set of a light hearted movie about a surfer bro who just wants a hot slice of 'za and a couple cold brews. He's just hangin' tough the whole movie and has an acting range that goes from smirking to light grunting. And if Momoa wasn't oozing big dick energy all over the place none of this would work, but he's literally swanging that dong like a hypnotist at the circus who's about to make you cluck like a chicken and it saves the movie from itself.
Look, it isn't high art or Shakespeare or anything like the MCU. It's a sloppy, unintentionally funny mess of a blockbuster that's so silly you just gotta let 85% of your brain seep out of your ear while you ingest over salted popcorn and chug beers just to meet it where it needs you to. It's a big dumb spectacle so have a big dumb time watching while secretely oogling Jason Momoa's beefcake beefiness beef mess. Okay? Okay.

Film Review: "Hellboy" (2019)

1 1/2 out of 5

I'm not a Guillermo Del Toro fan boy because he's made some awful movies (Crimson Peak, Pacific Rim) but I do genuinely love his Hellboy films. It had never occured to me that Mike Mignola, the creator of Hellboy, did not. Apparently he wasn’t a fan.He didn't dislike them to the degree that Stephen King loathed Stanley Kubrick's version of The Shining but he did enough to declare that this is more in line with conception of Hellboy.
And oh man that's disappointing.
If you enjoyed the humor and heart of the Del Toro films then this visually cheap Nu-Metal version of Hellboy is probably not for you.
I won't rehash the plot because it's a hodge podge of barely connected and barely fleshed out gobbledygook. There's a pigman and a witch queen and giants and fairies and zombie witches and a werejaguar and even King Arthur and all of it's slopped together with the grace and precision of a drunk dog falling down a flight of stairs. I'm assuming that at some point during the production someone said "hey this is a mess", but instead of cleaning it up the creative team decided to try and cover over issues with excessive use of the word fuck and cheap gore. So if you're a twelve year boy in a very conservative house in 1998 and your favorite record is Limp Bizkit's "Significant Other" then I have then movie for you! Honestly I'm shocked they didn't put tons of boobs in this, it's the only thing missing from this Frat Boy soup to really drive home the theme of stunted male juvenalia.
I'm loathe to give this film anything but it does have a few fun gems hidden in all the flotsam. The Baba Yaga looks great and is the most interesting scene in the whole film, probably because they put an actual person in make up and not low rent CGI. The character is great looking with a twisted face and an off putting crab walk, not to mention the human child soup she tries to serve Hellboy. It's a brief excursion but one that's welcomed. I also enjoyed the huge demon monsters who roamed around London pulling people apart. It was way too short but a cool drink of water in an otherwise barren desert.
The soundtrack is a mix of bad modern rock like Muse and bad Hair Metal like Motley Crue, and almost every scene starts with some poorly inserted track. It's a fitting choice considering that this movie has the mandate to have a CD soundtrack available for purchase with a "Parental Advisory" sticker prominently placed.
Overall this movie is a solid "Uggggggggh", and with the obvious low budget and crammed script I have to wonder why this didn't go to televsion. Some of the technical and story gripes could be overlooked if I was watching this as an eight episode Netflix series. The biggest bummer here is that this all but assures we'll never get a third Del Toro film in this series and it feels like such a waste.
But this is what Mike Mignola wanted, and apparently Mike Mignola is a stunted man-child who stopped maturing in early pubescence and feels that the height of culture is bad action and the word fuck all set to butt rock.
And if that sound like it's gonna piss off your parents then have I got the movie for you, dingus.