Find it here:
Last night, during Asian Genre Movie night (with Adam and Haz), we watched a difficult piece and a cheese piece.
The cheese piece was the first live action adaptation of the anime Angel of Darkness, and man was it bad. In a Joe Bob Briggs style nutshell, a professor with six foot long, brown painted cheese log tentacles coming out of his hips fails to fight his urges for his oversexed students and ends up slathering these girls with KYJelly, sliding his tentacles over their breasts and under their skirts and ultimately making them orgasm to death, while the school nurse and gym teacher try to stop him. A dozen naked breasts, three dead bodies, several tentacle-sex deaths, slime fu, stake fu, a dozen unintentionally funny lines, 70 minutes worth of film stock that anyone with a VHS video camera would be proud of, the most notable acting since Billy the Kid Meets Frankenstein's Daughter. Dan Bob says pass this one by unless you want a home version game of MST 3000. Oh, and if you like this one, there are 4 more of similar quality(?).
Rasen was a difficult movie to pin down. Ostenisbly a sequel to the Japanese film Ringu, and an adaptation of the second of Koji Suzuki's novels in the Ring trilogy, it attempts to transform a horror film into a science fiction piece via a detective story. Not surprisingly, this film does not succeed. This is a shame. The problem lies in the lack of directorial talent (which has a sort of television style going for it) or budget (which is minimal, as this film was originally produced to be a quick and dirty sequel to Ringu), it is hard to say which.
I have to applaud the effort, however (though the ending is abysmally poor--too many talking heads filmed in a rather boring fashion). In many ways, Americans are too comfortable with genre (I cannot say if this is true for other nations, I can only refer to the stuff I know first hand about). As soon as a film has the temerity to defy the genre it has been pigeon holed into, it will automatically be seen as somehow inferior. This is rather foolish. Unfortunately, I find myself falling victim to it, as well. I am just as guilty as anyone else.
Upon my last viewing of Cronenberg's remake of The Fly, I began to ponder how Horror Movies often times don't try to be anything else. They are scare factories alone and therefore often fail. Movies that stretch their elbows--pulling a little of the eerie, a little of the surreal, a little of the scientific, a little of the romantic comedy--oftentimes sit better with me than single minded flicks...
So, there's a magazine I picked up at World Horror Con, called New Genre, which aims, the publishers told me, to try to find the Art in Genre. Interesting. I have some philosophical differences with one of the editors (at least in terms of his multipart editorial entries refuting Douglas Winter's seminal essay about Horror--if you've ever heard the phrase "Horror is an emotion, not a genre" that's Douglas Winter's--but overall, it's a fine magazine. Check it out. I've been kicking around the notion of trying to write some fiction for them. I find my own stuff has been evacuating the typical horror stuff for a while now. Does this mean I'm just not interested in that stuff any more? Well, maybe. I'm still not sure about that.
So the trip to Oregon was a strange experience. It was like time traveling, a little bit.
My friends out there have known me since college, however, I haven't spent a HUGE amount of time with them in about 7 years. A vacation here and there, the occasional phone conversation, but very little otherwise. So, the image they have of me is current to about 7 years ago. Boy, am I different than I was back then.
However, I got to know a couple of my old acquaintences better, this time around (a pair of vacationers from Michigan, Corey and Lorna), who I had a decent relationship with, but who weren't what I'd considered CLOSE friends. Now, I have to reassess that. Such good people. I find myself much closer to them.
Too bad I couldn't develop any feelings for some of the friends of friends out in the Portland area... A couple of them rubbed me the wrong way, and they probably didn't even know it. Personality clashes, I suppose. Ah well.
Do I still want to move to Portland? Not really, right now. But then again, I'm feeling weary and blue (da bu dee, da bu dai) and trying not to think suicidal thoughts or spiteful misanthoropic thoughts. This will pass, this will pass, this will pass. If I keep saying it, maybe it'll come true.