My Take on Tron

Okay, so if you don't want spoilers.  Just stop.  Come back later.  If you don't care, don't say I didn't warn you.

Overall, it was okay.  I'd give it a solid C, 2 1/2 stars, whatever you use to rank something directly in the middle.  This is sad considering they've had decades to get this right, they understood the expectations, and they ladled money onto the project.  I'll never say it's a terrible movie, but it's certainly not the movie anyone I know was waiting for.

The Good
It's gorgeous.  Every single shot makes you want to live on the grid.  It's all so sleek and dark and crisp.  As far as seeing this world the way I daydreamed it; it's flawless.  Costumes are great, effects are as close to perfect as you get.  As eye candy this movie is enough to make your eyeballs fat enough to swell up, pop out of your head, and hang there like a couple of wet oranges.  Very, very pretty.  Oh, and the 3D was actually pretty sweet.  They didn't overuse it.

They captured the 80's really well with the flashbacks and the return to Flynn's arcade.  I actually felt nostalgic for the days of loitering in arcades, something I did a lot that is no longer a part of our culture.  There wasn't too much "lingo" like in the original, the whole trying to make things in Tron world parallel to the things in computers we recognize.  I didn't mind that they didn't touch on that.  Ultimately, it's a fantasy world.

Jeff Bridges is great, does a fine job and they somehow managed to go back in time and shoot him.  Honestly, the age reversal on his evil twin got me wondering if any actors are ever going to age again.  Sitting in this made me think they just might be able to pull off movies with young Bruce Willis, or Schwartzenneger.  Not that we need them, but still, they could.

Oh and not only is it a feast for your eyes, don't forget your ears.  The whole soundtrack is DaftPunk-tastic.  Absolutely loved it.  One of the few times in my life I actually felt like going out and getting the soundtrack.  Daft Punk rules.  They also cameo.

The Bad
This script was written by a team of lobotomized Disney mascots.  Oh, and they'd been hit on the head with a 2x4.  And then it was rewritten by the art direction team.  Then the marketing team.  And then when they realized there was no way it made sense, they brought in the Wachowski's to ensure that it was as convoluted as the Matrix 2 and 3, just to be sure.

This is not the story anyone ever wanted to see and even as it progressed, I kept wanting to see something else.  Keep in mind, this must be a powerful bad story to cut through all the pretty effects.  Even half mesmerized by how cool it looked, the sheer mass of stupidity in the story kept hammering me out of my happy place.  Wait?  The grid spawned alien life?  The bad guy has a truce with anorexic David Bowie?  They're going to invade Earth with glow-sticks?  Off the grid looks sorta like the moon? *sighs*

The sad part is there were kernels of a story I would have liked to see.  The fact that Tron was reprogrammed and re-purposed as a sort of evil Norton Anti-virus bad-ass was pretty cool.  Even the idea of a program seeking order and perfection and becoming a dictator was pretty cool.  But it's HOW they handled that that wasn't great.  Clu is never really a villain worth anything because we find out who he is and what he's doing far too late and when we do, it's stupid.  Invade Earth?  Really?  Cuz that makes sense.  As cool as Tron disks are I wouldn't put any bets on how they hold up against machine guns, tanks, and missiles.  Besides, why would you invade something you've never even seen?  Maybe check it out first.  I mean, this is as stupid as the aliens from Signs who are allergic to water and invade earth.

The whole plot structure lends itself to a sense of desperation.  They're desperate to make us sympathize with the lead chick, they're desperate to make us sympathize with Flynn and his son's relationship, they're desperate to have us feel like something is at stake with this invasion.  Desperation isn't really appealing.  They're trying sooo hard and being sooo ham-fisted there's some of the worst dialogue I've heard in a while.  Very heavy handed.  SUPER heavy handed with laying the groundwork for the sequel too.  They clear the board and Disney is all set for a whole string of these.

Maybe next one they'll hire some actual writers, but I'm not holding my breath.

That's all I've got.

END OF LINE

Image Inspired Mini Story #6

Travis ran the Big Monster at the carnival and nobody ever suspected. He wore his yellow reflective vest like a priest and people treated him as such. Although he was just a lowly carnie, they would stand in line for him, move to the cars when he indicated, and wait for him to come by to inspect their lap bars, faces upturned as if begging communion. When they were ready, he would bless them with a ride. If they annoyed him, he’d claim mechanical difficulties, make them get off, and go have a smoke break. They didn’t annoy him often though.

Travis enjoyed his holy work.

The spinning lights were hypnotic, the patterns enchanting. It was hard to make sense of the movement of the ride. It didn’t make sense and confused the eye, folding in upon itself, twisting back in strange arcs. It tipped wrong. It curved around itself, around the rules. Travis never got tired of looking at the unspeakable gyrations of the machine.

Across the country, town by town, Travis brought his machine. The people loved it. Their sweaty excited faces grinned, sticky with candy. Eyes filled with mindless enjoyment. They screamed in joy and praised the Big Monster as it flung their bodies, turned them upside down, and listened to their exultation. Travis knew it was listening. He could hear it, beneath the engines, sucking, pulling, drawing up from the deep places it slept. Eyelids flutter like bats, algae covered bones creak, and things long dead awaken.

Someday, there would be enough fervor.

Someday, it would come back.

For now, Travis smiles, and waits, and lets another group of teenage girls onto the Big Monster, blessing them as they go.

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Found this image and saved the artist's link, but for some reason their website is gone, gone, gone. So, no clue anymore who the artist is. I'll try the site every now and again and if they ever return I'll update and give some credit here. Until then, just enjoy the pic!

Image Inspired Mini Story #5

I strolled through, enjoying the warm summer breeze. At the end of a particularly curvaceous trail I came to the edge of the property. There was a rod iron fence that ran the entire perimeter. I had been here earlier and infused the bars with time. Now they emanated the feel that they were older than Methuselah's bones. I opened the gate and closed it gently behind me, making sure not to damage my trailing gossamer. A gravel road extended in either direction, forest ahead. I took the left path.

It was a considerable hike to the end of the road. To ease the tedium I picked up a stick and ran it along the rod iron fence beside me. A mile ended the fence and another ended the road.

It was replaced with a chasm; deep, rocky, and filled with the sky. There was no guardrail, the world just ended. I gathered up some of the thin cord I’d been towing and tied it around a rock. Once secure, I pitched it over the edge. It vanished, leaving a shimmer-sheen of string behind it. I stood for a while, watching the clouds, before I remembered that I was on a schedule. Turning, I walked along the cliff-side until I came to a plain of rocky shale. It extended out over the sky, forming a considerable isthmus across the blue expanse. In the far distance, I saw another island of land; her Sphere

The wind was very strong here. The flat stones were cracked and broken creating loose piles, like hills. Some of these jagged monoliths jutted high, like immense fingers, scratching at the clouds. Others lay dead on the ground, exhausted from the reaching. They reminded me of the futility of effort, the impossible stand we all take against life. What can I say? You rate it by the ride and mine had been far from pleasant.

We all have places like this, on the fringe. As we grow, we herd it along before us on into the God-knows-what that lies beyond. I'd pushed mine pretty far. I smiled in appreciation of her, as of yet, undefined space. I would have to sneak back here some day to see what becomes of it. What became of her. Anything was possible.

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Image is by an artist named Isil Metriel. I don't know anything much about them. This image actually reminded me of a very old story idea I had years ago. This is a fragment of scene from that very vintage daydream.

DeathScribe 2010

 So Monday night was DeathScribe!  It was here...

 And while the Mayne Stage isn't as old fashioned as the Music Box, it's still pretty classy and you're also able to take a pee without feeling like the chicks in the lobby can see your junk (any guy who's been to a Music Box event knows what I'm talking about). There's sweet balconies so you can loom like a gargoyle, and there's tables for drinks, etc... Actual serving staff who, while they didn't seem excited we were there, were certainly tolerant of a crowd comprised of the type of people who would brave icy cold Chicago on a weeknight for the chance at some horror.

And there was some horror, lemmie tell ya.  This year totally raised the bar.  I took third place.  This is nice.  Last year I took "You didn't win and we didn't rank any of you non-winner types place".  Third is a step up.  I think.  Who knows, I hypothetically could have taken second last year, or fifth.  My point: I like my copper.  Hell, my frame shop is covered in copper pipe.  I prefer it.

That awesome bloody axe went to David Schmidt.  He wrote and directed his own indy horror movie called The House of Black Wings, which I haven't had the chance to see, but looks pretty sweet for a do-it-yourselfer.  I'll toss the trailer at the bottom.  His DeathScribe entry was full of boils with tiny mouths on them, radioactive meteors, small town quarantines, and (my personal favorite) mutating trees that had leathery fruit the size of dogs and were, of course, filled with bloody meat.  It was a whole hell of a lot of pulp goodness.

This here's my story, Monitor Spectare.

It turned out excellent and the actors did a really great job.  Lance Baker even managed to find a kid for the creepy little girl role; Jennifer Baker.  Sadly, she broke her leg yesterday.  No joke.  It was too far after DeathScribe to attribute any sort of supernatural correlation though.  I hope she gets better soon, poor kid.  She did a great job.  Joe Foust and Molly Glynn haven't broken any limbs (yet).  They simply kicked all sorts of ass and conveyed my characters perfectly.  I was really happy with how this year turned out.  As soon as it's available, I'll link the podcast so you all can hear it too.

So, I don't want to ramble on, I'm new at this blog thing, but the other three stories were also pretty damn great.  There were demons and haunted husbands and the worst ding-dong-ditch ever.  The foley was sweet throughout the evening, I particularly liked the wind.  There were some musical sets between the intermission breaks and they were really good (appropriate witch themed songs).

It was really nice seeing a bunch of actors I'm getting to know up on stage doing their thing.  These people amaze me.  They're such good fakers.  I don't fake well.  I lie well, all storytellers do, but I can't fake.  Always impresses me.

For now, I leave you with a trailer from this year's DeathScribe winner.  Later...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDDvwJD_k7c

Image Inspired Mini Story #4

Mr.Boraga looked down at his class and, not for the first time, they reminded him of grasshoppers, what he remembered of grasshoppers. They wiggled on the bench, giggling and hissing, unable to contain their excitement.

“Ok kids, one last time before I open the blast doors. What are the rules?”

There was a jumble of answers, all different, all muffled by the masks. Mr.Boraga put up his hands. “One at a time, one at a time. Michael, tell me a rule.”

Michael stood up. “If you hear your box alarm, it’s time to run from harm.”

Mr.Boraga nodded. “Very good, you’ve all got your boxes, if you hear anything from them, get back in here, as quick as you can. Tom, what’s another?”

Tom scratched the back of his head, near his mask strap. “Birds are bad, don’t make them mad.” He punctuated his rule with a little jump.

“Right. If you see a bird; leave it alone! Call me over. And the most important rule Claire?”

Claire got to her feet and dramatically turned to face the other kids. She pointed a warning finger.

“No bleeding! It’s bad to bleed, ‘cuz blood goes bad!”

“That it does,” said Mr.Boraga, his mind filled with red memories, “That it does…”

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Couldn't find the credit for this picture. If you know what it is, drop me a line. So creepy, I'd love to give props to where it came from.

Image Inspired Mini Story #3

When the green sea swallowed Marty Doman it felt more like milk to him than water. The dense algae laden soup turned his world into a thick viridian, and slowed everything down. He imagined being trapped inside one of his grandmother’s lime Jello dishes. The kind she always put mandarin oranges into, only now, he was inside it. This tray was as vast as the ocean and tasted of salt, not bitter fruits. It slowed his arms, his legs, but also his lungs, his thoughts. A bubble escaped from his nose and he watched it rise, gently, in front of his left eye. It took its time, undulating and wobbling, as it drifted to the surface, to freedom. He hoped he would find freedom too.

He started to take another step, to continue his walk along the bottom. He didn’t know how long he’d been going already. He smiled at the thought of checking his watch. It was supposed to be waterproof, shock resistant, and capable of telling him when he needed to be where, for his responsibilities. He didn’t look at it. Kelp stalks wound around his legs. There were no fish.

He wondered how far he would get. Could he reach those dark places? The ones so deep the sun could not touch him anymore, where the weight of the water would crush down and hold him tight, like being gripped in a loving fist. He hoped so. It had been so long since he’d been home.
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This image is an artist named Kerry Skarbakka. He's got a whole series of cool underwater stuff, and also some very interesting images of people sort of falling, flying, being tossed out windows, etc... Super great stuff! It's all really fantastic. Check out his site. http://www.skarbakka.com/

2011 Cult Fiction Lineup!

An organized cult is a happy cult.  With this in mind I'd like to release our show schedule for the entire year of 2011!  Yes, the whole damn year.

Once every three months the cult brings you chilling tales of terror, read dramatically on stage by wonderful actors at the upstairs room of the Lucky Number Grill.  There is creepy atmosphere, cheap well drinks, eerie ambient music, and s'mores.  Yep.  Indoor s'mores!  On top of all this goodness, our next year will be introducing some horror burlesque and unsettling performance art between the stories.  For a measly $5 cover, it's not to be missed!

Without further ado, the lineup;

January 28th, 8pm -Cult Fiction: The Dark Hunt

April 22nd, 8pm - Cult Fiction: Unholy Sacrifices

July 22nd, 8pm - Cult Fiction: A Splash of Red

October 28th, 8pm - Cult Fiction: The Bone Harvest

And remember, if you're an author looking to have your story considered for one of these events, feel free to drop by the Lucky Number any Tuesday between 7 and 10 to join in on one of our weekly cult writers workshops.  We're always there, plotting and scheming away...

DeathScribe 2010

Only two days until DeathScribe!  Come out and support my radio play, Monitor Spectare! 
All in all it's a fantastic night of fun for just $20!  There's music, five plays, live foley artists doing sound effects, comedy skits, and psuedo-celebrity judges!  See you there!
All the details and ticket info is here.
http://www.maynestage.com/WildClaw-Theatre.aspx

Image Inspired Mini Story #2

The russet horizon blinked and blinked again. From edge to edge, Mira ran, tearing space, ripping her way to freedom. No Alasha had ever traveled so fast. Her bones ached, her nose bled, and the reverberations from jumps caused her ears to go deaf. She was a lightening flash strobe, pulsating, the manifestation of flight and fear.

But it wasn’t enough.

In a millisecond between, he was there. A slap from his hand shook her teeth loose and sent her careening to the stone. The run was broken. She crumpled.

There was no reason to look at him, and she did not. To set eyes upon this thing that had caught her was a torture in itself, one of the few horrors she could now prevent. She felt him, the rusty iron presence, the smell of his molten heart, looming. Leering.

But then she felt something else.

To her side, the ground erupted in a splash of limbs and gravel. Stone tentacles, bird wings, and flesh burst up like a blossom, growing up out of itself, rising into the air on legs of granite and bone. The form was not a man, but it was manlike, twisting and shifting in a storm of strange matter. A voice rumbled from this maelstrom.

“Get away from her!”

Her Illrian had come.

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This image comes from Mario Sanchez. Everything in their gallery is freaking awesome. One of my favorites. Check it out. http://aegis-strife.deviantart.com/

Image Inspired Mini Story #1

“I cannot express how much I’ve grown to love my darling Ixodoidia, almost to the exclusion of all else. For a time my fascination for her was such that I simply forgot all manner of personal responsibilities. The result of such foolish activity was not without consequences. My appetite diminished, and as it did, so went my health. I took on a most sickly pallor and lost a great deal of weight. It was only when my dearest reminded me of her own needs that I was roused to action. Now, all is well on that front. I ensure at least one meal daily and with it, an assortment of multivitamins. I am much refreshed. "

"Were that my social standing could be so easily repaired! Due to what I must admit to as inferior and inattentive behavior in the workplace, I have lost my employment. While this is no great tragedy, for I have an abundance of savings on which to support myself, I find myself embarrassed, and often ashamed, that I should have let my employers down in such a manner, and I worry about what friends and family think of my failure. Ixodoidia reminds me that people are gossips, looking to find fault where they can, and that I should not spend so much time concerning myself over it. I try not to. Besides, what I have found in her is a joy worth trading all manner of relations. Many of my friends have expressed concern, but I pay it very little mind. If they knew a love such as mine, they would certainly behave in the same manner. By god! Aren’t all men seeking, from the time they leave their mothers, for that elusive and perfect harmony of relationship? I count myself lucky to have found it."

"Ixodoidia is everything to me. We share our breath together. We go everywhere with one another. When I sleep, she caresses my forehead and shares of my dreams. I can hear her whispers constantly. Certainly, I would do anything for my love!”

Excerpt from the personal journals of Edgar Chelic, the Butcher of LeVille
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The image is from artist Vania Zouravlio. His stuff is pretty great. 

More here http://www.bigactive.com/illustration/vania-zouravliov/general-portfolio

Kicking off the Blog!

Okay, it's about time I had an "official" blog page, so here we go!  I'm starting out by re-posting a bunch of my image inspired mini stories and we'll see where it goes from there.