September Make It Happen

If I could request one thing from the media

this month, what, what, what ever shall it be?

Whiteout. A film to be released Sept. 11, 2009. Starring Kate Beckinsale as a U.S. Marshall investigating a murder in Antarctica (yea, murders happen there too). Based on a graphic novel written by Greg Rucka and penciled by Steve Lieber. To be clear, it was written wonderfully by Rucka and penciled marvelously by Lieber. The graphic novel has no color, its in black and white, with maybe more white than black (reminder, it takes place in Antarctica).

Now, my request is that this film's trailer is exposed as a hoax and that the real film is not this thawed out tragedy of an adaptation. My request, is that the real Whiteout film is in fact in black and white, shot in the widest format of film, does not star Kate Beckinsale as Carrie Stetko (if Carrie looked like Kate Beckinsale she'd probably go into acting not federal law enforcement).

Farewell Atlantis

Here Comes The Flood

by Peter Gabriel

from the album Peter Gabriel (Car)

released 25-February, 1977

when the night shows

the signal glows on radios

all the strange things

they come and go, as early warnings

stranded starfish have no place to hide

still waiting for the swollen easter tide

there's no point in direction

we cannot even choose a side

i took the old track

the hollow shoulder, across the water

on the tall cliffs

they were getting older,

sons and daughters

the jaded underworld was riding high

waves of steel hurled metal at the sky

and as the nail sunk in the cloud

the rain was warm and soaked the crowd

lord, here comes the flood

we'll say goodbye to flesh and blood

if again the seas are silent in any still alive

it'll be those who gave their island

to survive

drink up dreamers, you're running dry

when the flood calls

you have no home, you have no walls

in the thunder clash

you're a thousand minds, within a flash

don't be afraid to cry at what you see

the actors gone, there's only you and me

and if we break before the dawn,

they'll use up what we used to be

lord, here comes the flood

we'll say goodbye to flesh and blood

if again the seas are silent in any still alive

it'll be those who gave the island

to survive

drink up dreamers, you're running dry

September Heart Beats for Christina Hendricks

In Bloom

Between the last two nights, I have watched 5 films that to some degree, starred Claire Bloom. From naive, communist librarian to intriguing vaporous lesbian (marvelously downplayed), loyal nurse and brave wife, a proud citizen and meticulously manipulative widow. Lady Bloom knows range and from how deep a depth to dive and what is more, how much to exhibit, how much to reserve.

The Spy Who Came In From the Cold -

(1965) Directed by Martin Ritt

Starring Richard Burton, Claire Bloom,

and Oskar Werner

Due to its title and an overdramatized trailer, I half-expected a comedy. Richard Burton as a british Derek Flint, super spy, who through a sexy sixties soundtrack tangles and disentangles himself across a varied amount of perils. He'd have encounters with beautiful femme fatales whom are used by Burton as much as he is used by them, of which the cat's claw would be Claire Bloom. Burton would address the audience like a King Richard III and keep us most informed of his thorough english cunning.

Shame on me, I should've known better.

What I got in the stead of my ridiculous expectation was a subtle, intelligent story and film about disinformation espionage.

The Haunting - (1963) Directed by Robert Wise

Starring Julie Harris, Claire Bloom,

Richard Johnson, Russ Tamblyn

The Haunting is the first classic horror film I've seen. Besides being frightening, it was richly textured. The furniture design, wallpaper, architecture, lighting and shadows made for such a thickly dense environment through which, most of the film moves, as a fish through ocean. One is easily lost in the background, the house itself seems an actor.

The sounds in this film are certainly eerie and director, Wise, has a great way of turning the quiet respites after each haunting into the truly scary moments on screen. A shot of a wall, silent, after it had just been banged on, chilled me to worst degrees than the sudden face of one of the characters jumping onto the screen after a build up of tension. A scene where Julie Harris' Eleanor walked away from the other characters while she voiced-over her thoughts of dejection as the background and all in it, are swallowed by darkness, this scene gave me goosebumps.

I'm not into horror films, mostly because they have a tendency to just throw sudden images on screen mixed with loud sound effects, which effectively scares me but does nothing for me during the rest of the film. The Haunting had very little of this. It was also a psychological thriller that became creepier through the increasing tension of atmosphere and tone. The camera worked well in adding to the element of discomfort, lots of angles and the spiral staircase scene was magnificently shot.

80,000 Suspects - (1963) Directed by Val Guest

Starring Claire Bloom, Richard Johnson

Yolande Donlan, and Cyril Cusack

About an outbreak of smallpox in a town and what is done to contain the contamination. Documentary style 60's film. It reminds me of Albert Camus' The Plague for obvious reasons. I enjoyed both. Though the film didn't have a sense of solidarity and the situation didn't seem as grave as Camus' novel, however this is unfair of me as the film isn't an adaptation of The Plague but rather a novel by Trevor Dudley-Smith.

Alexander the Great - (1956) Directed by Robert Rossen

Starring Richard Burton, Fredric March, Claire Bloom

How possible is it for me to watch a film starring Richard Burton and keep myself from trying to impersonate that thunderous voice of his after the film ends? Well today I needed a nap after watching Alexander the Great. Not that the film exhausted me, not at all, I was merely tired from being awakened too early. This film feels like a prequel to Cleopatra, here Burton is the ever ambitious Alexander the Great instead of the ever ambitious and jealous Mark Anthony. I almost wish this film were longer. One would expect two and a half hours should be good enough; but still I felt much was left out to deny an impression upon me, as to why Alexander was so Great.

The Outrage - (1964) Directed by Martin Ritt

Starring Paul Newman, Laurence Harvey,

Claire Bloom, Edward G. Robinson,

and William Shatner

Screenplay by Akira Kurasawa or some portion of it. Claire Bloom in a southern belle accent and appearance. Also directed by Martin Ritt. Paul Newman as a mexican bandido (he's good in the accent but the spanish words sound like they're spoken by a gringo sometimes). I want to own this film. It gives me an idea that any ill deed perceived is only viewed from it surfacing apex, the submerged portion is what inspired and drove the deed, all its factors and intentions. No one can truly, morally judge only the apex.

These Venes Really Love Soap!

YES!!! The girl at the end is a maniac. I'm starting to like the 80s.

Pop Quiz Hot Shot

what's orange and blue and randomly discovered by google sailors when they image search 'dominican women'?

Don't Drink The Water?

After a long, thirsty day I decided to perhaps free a Jackson from the nearest ATM. I was bone dry and though I was still considering l'eau du sink, I was of a certain feeling (the kind that favors water of a lesser gray persuasion). The matter would soon resolve itself for me via a lady stranger. Madame of the Lake, in a white spring dress and short, straw-blonde hair; she no sooner took the problem and sorted its pieces than I took her pieces into account without realizing what she had just done for me. That is, my savior, my clairvoyant angel, so informed of my sinful, desert tongue that held its own Ark and was much overdue for a Deluge, had left for me a resolution as clear as a plastic cup filled with ice.

Parked on top the very traffic drum I removed from the middle of the sidewalk; as if knowing of her offering, I had to set up the altar for her tithe, she left me ice in a plastic cup. From no doubt, farther a distance she had purchased a drink and in the happening of a walk and the repeated expansion of two lungs that pulled out of an orange straw, the beverage, she made her way to me. My distress sung to her ears, in melodies that warmed her to heed my call. It was the reverse relationship between sailor and siren, where the three avian women sail out to the voice of the shipwrecked Odysseus. And there it was to be, a drink for a thirsty soul.

In the sprite-ful spirit that defined the image as negligible when obedience to thirst is to be primarily considered, I knew I would pick up that cup and thank my mermaid. Cherished, Mother of Lancelot, I'd dare not refuse. I saw her from my shop window. And the ice, like diamonds in a crystal glass, hailed lustrous invitations to me. The shop was already closed so my river nymph was all but too timely. As I pulled down the gate and locked up, I noticed I am already the owner of my anonymous inheritance. I notice that no one considers the gift that could easily be as much theirs as it is my possession. However, they did not receive the affair as I had. To any other passer-by on E9th Street, that plastic cup could've been placed on that traffic drum by as much a disagreeable source as their imagination may allow. My thirst and I are of a more intimate understanding, therefore we drink.

My Jessica Christ drank something involving watermelon. That or I fancy her lips are watermelon flavored and from the straw (which I removed with the lid) the ice somehow absorbed this attractive memento. In any case, my thirst and I were closer to satisfied. My Lady Niagara had left me quenched.

If I have not mentioned that this straw-haired, aqua-philanthropist was in fact very attractive, it is only because I wanted to pay appropriate tribute to her deed before acquiring for you, impressionable, physical details. Before continuing I will now also mention my sensitivities which run quite confluent to that of the other passer-bys of E9 Street; who are without my shop window and what we, behind it, were prospectively televised. I would, like any of those passer-bys, have ignored Lilandra's Crystals had I missed the prelude. If a plastic cup filled with ice had appeared sans my knowing who placed it there, I would have taken a very parched, uptown commute. But being that she was pretty enough and I complimentarily, shallow enough, I drank.

Jessica Christ will be physically gauged by my easiness and readiness to drink from her. Wine made water and flesh made cubic congelation of that same wine. You will find me quite narrow when women are concerned. It is not any Godiva that will make a Tom of me. To say I am picky is to say champagne is liquid, it is only the initial generalization from which to begin. But perhaps it may have been influenced by the thirst as well as the excitement I usually feel at the end of a work shift that bids me a euphemistic view. I, no doubt was ecstatic of my work day's end and water was on my mind, as well as beautifying anyone who delivered any of the two. Still, I am of the opinion I got good enough a glance to know gorgeous from gorgon. And from that opinion I will attest, she was pretty enough. In fact, our heroine, the blonde Aspen Matthews was attractive enough that had she walked up to me, as a stranger and kissed me, made out with me, I'd do no more than offer very little protest. I'd accept her lips and our salivating tongues sliding off one another like two orcas in love. I'd be a hypocrite to then refuse Holy Water from this Temple on which I'd gladly prey.

Had she'd been a man, a less appealing woman, or a child, I'd have no problem with making due with my dry throat 'til a South Bronx apartment door was opened and a walk to a refrigerator provided me that overdue deluge. The horror of a child, I shutter. Children are the worse of all possibilities since they care the least, germs and hygiene are at best distractions to them, easily ignored. You'd have a harder time becoming ill washing your face with a handful of phlegm than drinking from the same plastic cup as a child. Circumstance being as welcoming as it was, I was deemed fortunate and presently, grateful.

Thus my anonymous donator is thanked most amicably. In a white spring dress and straw-blonde hair she continued on, as the evening was as young as it was blooming with distressed sailors. Will you read this, from wherever you may happen to be, if ever your reading eyes do stray across this entry, know this my darling, that I drank down to the last cube. I am yours, ever quenched.