There Are Worse Imaginary Friends Than An Octopus Monster

I am very fortunate to work in a profession where my nerdliness is not only tolerated, but encouraged to grow like some kind of heinous, flesh eating monster plant. Such was the case this past week when the subject of conversation turned to H.P. Lovecraft, specifically the Cthulhu mythology. Much to my surprise, it would appear that far less people know about Cthulhu than I imagined. Shocking, I know! It’s sort of like that time my sister didn’t even know what a necromancer was! I thought doctors were supposed to be smart!

Anyway, who the heck is Cthulhu? Well, the simple answer is he’s a bad ass octopus-dragon-man being who’s trapped in a frozen underwater city, because if he wasn’t, he’d be busy taking over our dimension or at the very least, hanging out with his fleet of Cthulhu cult worshippers. Lovecraft first brought Cthulhu onto the literary scene in 1928 for the pulp magazine “Weird Tales.” A fairly appropriate title, I’d say.

I’ve always wondered, what exactly was going on in the brain of young Howard Phillips Lovecraft, considering just how weird his tales are. I mean how crazy does a man have to be to invent a maniacal squid alien monster living in an ice city? He certainly has an interesting history, riddled with despair and mental disease. With all that happened, I suppose the real wonder would be if Lovecraft had become a boring, stable investment banker instead.

The family madness goes all the way back to when little Lovecraft was only three years old, when his father, a traveling jewelry and precious metal salesman, was first institutionalized after going “acutely psychotic” in a Chicago hotel room. What on earth does that mean? Well, apparently it means he had syphilis and went mad from it. Sources are unsure if young Lovecraft ever knew the true nature of his father’s illness, though, so if you’re reading my blog, ghost of H.P. Lovecraft, sorry you had to read about your crazy father‘s STD on a web diary.

Thank goodness Lovecraft wasn’t completely alone after his father’s death. No, he had Whipple Van Buren Phillips to take care of him. Suddenly the name Cthulhu doesn’t seem all that weird. Seriously, I want to time travel back to this era just to meet Whipple Van Buren Phillips and say, “Hello Mr. Phillips,” and have him say, “Please! My friends call me Whipple!” Anyway, we science fiction/horror nerds should all say a little thank you to good old Whipple, for he was the first one to introduce young Lovecraft to the macabre and strange, telling the boy ghost stories he’d written himself, much to H.P.’s mother’s dismay. Well, dear old Ma had very little to say in the end. She ended up in the same mental institution as her dear husband did, though not necessarily from the same STD. And despite Lovecraft’s moderate success, he only continued to grow poorer and poorer the older he got, until finally dying of intestinal cancer, Bright’s disease, and malnutrition at the age of 47.

In conclusion, writers have horrible lives.

No, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. I would simply like to pose the question, was it the harsh circumstances of his life that lead Lovecraft’s mind to wander to these dark, disturbed worlds? Had he been wealthier and happier with more stable, less diseasy parents, would his lack of misery led to a lack in creativity as well? Or would his mastery of prose simply have churned out brighter stories and adventures? How fine is the line between genius and totally whackadoodle crazypants?

And if you have an answer to this question, I’d love to hear it. Because, I may or may not have written a story where some sort of demonic earth monster rips a bunch of gold prospectors to pieces before nailing their body parts to a tree, and I’d kind of like to know exactly how crazy that makes me.

Well, At Least The Title Wasn't A Lie

Listen, I know we all get old some day, but have you seen Harrison Ford in “Cowboys & Aliens?” He looks like King Triton after the sea witch turned him into one of those shrimp slug things. Seriously, he was two seconds away from yelling “Get off my lawn!” at Daniel Craig.

That film had a whole heap of potential. Cross genres are cool, and John Favreau is fresh off the success of two “Iron Man” hits. Though to be absolutely honest, “Iron Man 2” was a little bit of a shambles. Still, it had impressive action sequences and Mickey Rourke with a freaking bird. Made no sense, but it was entertaining. “Cowboys & Aliens,” however, was about as dull as a sixty-nine year old man who used to be in better shape riding a horse around the desert and yelling at people.

What a coincidence, that’s exactly what that film was! Oh, and just to warn you, if you’ve really got your heart set on seeing this film, it would probably be a good idea to stop reading now. From here on out, it’s all smack talk.

I didn’t have terribly high expectations going into “Cowboys & Aliens,” but I certainly expected more than what they offered, especially considering the cast and director. But as the film started, my gut instinct started gurgling up trouble when I noticed there were no less than six screenwriters credited to the film. For peeps not in the biz, this basically means it was passed back and forth between a multitude of creative people, which typically leads to one of two possible outcomes. 1. The script is overcomplicated and convoluted, with numerous plot holes and characters that come off as schizophrenic. Or, you get a film like “Cowboys & Aliens,” watered down, with possibly a clear plot, but no real depth, character or heart. As the movie progressed, I held out hope that at least Daniel Craig’s hotness could keep me entertained. Alas, no. Sorry Daniel, you are not quite hot enough for even that.

What makes it even worse is that “Cowboys & Aliens” started out so strong. It had one amazing action sequence when the aliens first attacked the town (most of what was featured in the trailer), and then after that it was chaos. Seriously, the final ultimate battle looked like they told a bunch of extras to just to ride their horses around in circles while screaming and firing their guns wildly into the air like Yosemite Sam.

The characters were stunted and vague. They went from apathetic to melodramatic with no build in between. And as for our leading lady, I never thought there would be a human being with bigger eyes than Elijah Wood in Lord of the Rings. Olivia Wilde seems to have him beat. I don’t remember her eyes being this gigantic when she was in “House” or “Tron,” but maybe they CGI’d them up a bit while they were working on the aliens.

And the aliens! Oh dear lord. Was there a sale on CGI aliens this summer? Please, someone who has seen both “Super 8” and “Cowboys & Aliens” this year tell me if I’m wrong. I won’t say they looked exactly the same, but they looked similar enough to me that my monkey brain made a subconscious note of it. Regardless if they look the same or not, the alien was not mind-blowingly original. I have not read the graphic novel this film is based on, (for inquiring minds, it's written by Fred Van Lente and Andrew Foley) so possibly they were just copying what had already been established in the comic. Further research necessary.

“Cowboys & Aliens” is sadly another case of excellent premise and poor execution. They probably spent a lot of money on getting big budget stars and putting together flashy effects, without a whole lot of substance to glue it together. I am very quick to forgive films with lame plots as long as the effects and visuals rock off my proverbial socks. Heck, even if the effects aren’t good and the acting’s terrible and cheesy, a movie can still be fun! Instead I was left staring at Harrison Ford’s wrinkles and looking at my watch.

Even Gary Oldman's Mustache Can't Make Me Smile

Dear Christopher Nolan,

I saw Captain America today, and I finally discovered what I don’t like about your movies. They are not fun. Captain America was fun. I felt good watching it, even in the “dark moments.” It’s not that I expect comics, or comic book movies, to be cheerful romps through and through, but there’s also this little thing called depth. Complexity. Emotional layers. Not just sad and dark all the time. Am I getting my point across, or would you like me to pull out my thesaurus?

Yes, throwing a few jokes into the mix can lead to a certain amount of cheesiness in your film. I can’t count how many times in Captain America when Chris Evans flew or drove or punched his way through a room without getting hit by a single bullet. I swear, I could almost see the POWS and THWOKS superimposed every time he punched a Nazi super soldier in the jaw. Sure, Captain America was unrealistic and dopey at times, but do you know what it was NOT, Christopher Nolan?

1. Boring.
2. Broody.
3. Confusing.
4. Too long
5. Full of Katie Holmes.

So you can keep your dark, emo, tortured Batman, and I will keep my campy, brightly colored FUN Marvel comic movies.

Now, let me play the devil’s advocate to myself. Batman is about a guy who lost his parents to thugs. He’s a rich guy, who goes a little crazy being a vigilante. I can see where that storyline might make you want to play up these themes of “dark knights” who must sacrifice their own image for the sake of the stupid, innocent sheep of Gotham.

Now, let me play devil’s advocate to that devil’s advocate! The original Batman comics were as campy and cheesy and ridiculous as the rest!!! Do you remember the show with Adam West, Christopher Nolan? Do you?!?!? I believe I recall a joke about a ball point banana or something? I’m not saying they were good, I’m just saying, BATMAN DOES NOT HAVE TO BE EMO! In fact, comic book heroes can be both serious AND funny! You can use humor to lighten the mood, AND lull audiences into a sense of false security. Then, when something bad happens, it actually has an impact, and audiences actually give a crap about your characters! Shocking, I know.

And since I just saw it, let‘s use Captain America as proof of my argument. Starts off as a skinny, awkward nerdlington, then gets pumped full of magic juice by a zany German scientist! I’m laughing already. Captain America saves a bunch of people, looks really good doing it, says some cool lines, and he’s a hero! Weee! Next, Captain America gets his little wacky multi-ethnic team together, lots of laughs at their expense, ha ha ha etc. They win some battles, and the Captain delights us in some cheesy dialogue about not understanding women after his girlfriend tries to shoot him in the face. Then, after all that, something tragic finally happens, and we actually feel bad about it! Why? Because we haven’t been bombarded with sorrow and internal torment from the first second.

Maybe I should have just waited until you were asleep, Christopher Nolan, and Inceptioned this idea into your head. Or maybe I should just shut my trap since you’re the one sitting on a giant pile of money and acclaim and not me, but haters gotta hate. I left Captain America feeling excited and gleeful. Christopher Nolan, your Batman just brings me down.

Ironically, Heath Ledger, who was the only thing I did like about The Dark Knight, seemed to be trying to tell you the same thing. Why so serious?

Love,
Steinho

Harry Potter and the Franchise of Plenty

It’s been over ten years since I first climbed down off of the pretentious trolley and read the first book in the Harry Potter series. Like with many things, (Mac products, Christopher Nolan movies) I resisted it for a long time simply because it was popular and I like to be contrary. Then one day, I think it was my junior or senior year in high school, I was at my friends house baking a cake. I don’t know what you did for fun in your teenage years, but apparently we liked to bake. We must’ve forgotten some key ingredient because my friend had to run to the store. Why she left and I stayed when it was her house, I can’t tell you. All I know is that in the time she was gone, I read a third of “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone,” which she had left on her dining room table. It was magical and fun, and appealed to the fantasy nerd in me.

Any fantasy scholar knows Harry Potter is not the first child wizard learning magic to come on the young adult literature scene, but it seems the first to resonate with such a massive audience. What could be more appealing to children, or any reader for that matter, than a story of a boy who had nothing, but grew to possess powers and great strength. A young lad faced time and time again with obstacles, but through his own abilities and good friends, always comes out on top, no matter how dark it may look at times. It’s probably the same reason why Star Wars is so popular. It’s the most basic hero’s journey of all time.

After that serendipitous baking mishap, I couldn’t resist any more. This was just after the fourth book had come out, and I went on to read all four within a week. Then the waiting began. Over the years I have eagerly anticipated the release of the remaining three books, and all eight Harry Potter films. I’ve dressed up for Harry Potter parties, lied to friends about social obligations to attend midnight screenings, and almost broke up with a boyfriend once after he questioned why it was so important I pick up “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” the night it was released. Like for many people, Harry Potter had become more to me than just light reading. It was a ticket to someplace special and joyous, both intensely captivating and surprisingly meaningful.

Yet I felt curiously empty of emotion when I finally sat down in a theatre to watch the final film adaptation of book seven, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” Maybe it was because I already knew how it was going to end. I remember reading book seven a few years back. I stayed up all night to finish it, finally collapsing on my friend’s bed, well after dawn. I’d been emotional then. Tired, and sad, wanting more and feeling dissatisfied. J.K. Rowling had given us such an elaborate world, so dense and detailed, and then it was just gone.

The film, less than two hours, was exactly what I’d expected of it. It had all the important parts, the glowing hero moments and the quiet tragedies. I enjoyed it, to be sure, especially when gangly, awkward Neville finally gets to kick some ass in Harry Potter‘s army of wizard teens. But still, it was a far cry from the frenzied joy I’d felt for previous Potter releases, and I don‘t believe it was due to any fault of the film. In the last ten years of Harry Potter films, I have been constantly asked how the books compared to the movie, and every time I had a rather difficult time answering. In reality, it’s never truly the book we’re comparing it too, is it? It’s our own imaginations. How did we imagine Hogwarts to look? Or any of the characters? To be honest, it’s been so long since that initial reading, the film actors have nearly drowned out my initial impressions. In the book, I loved that Rowling described Hermione as having bushy hair and buck teeth, and therefore resented poor Emma Watson’s prettiness from day one. This is the nature of the adaptation. No matter how good the film is, it can never be good enough.

So I implore you all, if you haven’t read the books already, and you’re interested in seeing the movies, read the books first. They’re terribly easy to get through, and at times make much more sense with all the little bits and pieces filled in. And I promise you, while it may not be the moment of literary nirvana I experienced in my youth, at least it’ll make you hate Hermione a lot less.

Good Cop, Extrasensory Perception Cop

At times it seems that the comic world has exhausted its store of superhero powers. Telekinesis, super strength, lightning speed, laser eyes, even some of the weirder stuff like mutant wings or feet or the lamest of all, talking to fish.

Well, someone finally found a super power that hadn’t been used yet. CHEWING! Yay originality!!!

How could masticating comestibles save helpless citizens from super villains? A little thing called cibopathy. And what the hell is that? It’s something I assume was made up by John Layman and Rob Guillory, the creators of the graphic novel “Chew.” Cibopathy is a extra sensory ability where a single bite of food can tell that person where an apple was grown, or how horribly a cow felt during slaughtering. It also helps the hero of “Chew” solve crimes…by tasting blood and eating pieces of bodies.

Yeah, okay, so that’s pretty gross, but it’s also wicked cool. Such is the power of Tony Chu (haha, it’s funny because his name is Chu and the book is called CHEW! I love word play!) Tony Chu starts off as just a cop in the Philadelphia PD, until he uncovers a serial killer after eating a bowl of soup tainted with the murderer‘s blood.

Tony then gets a job working for the FDA, which in this world has expanded its reign of power due to a nationwide bird flu epidemic. Now, instead of busting drug rings or weapon smugglers, the regular policeman go after poultry dealers and chicken speakeasies, and the FDA trumps all other law enforcement officers.

Everyone thinks Tony is a freak, which I think is part of the appeal of his character. He’s a good cop, who would rather just play by the rules instead of eating decomposing human toes. His timid, awkward behavior irritates most of his coworkers, but makes him the perfect type of hero readers will root for. He’s truly a good guy, just socially inept, somewhere along the lines of a shyer, quirkier, Asian Peter Parker.

“Chew” is strange, dark and has been known to make me shriek with laughter in the middle of a crowded laundromat. For example, John Colby, Tony’s former partner in the Philadelphia PD, is an obnoxious renegade cop. Think every 1980s action film hero that played by his own rules. At the beginning of the first volume, Colby takes a butcher knife to the face. Normally, people die in that situation, but not Colby. No, he is too cool to die, and so he becomes a cyborg. I think Colby is probably the funniest character in my opinion, or at least has the best one liners. Like this little gem: After the now bionic Colby takes Chu to a bar, he warns him saying “Don’t go using your crazy hoodoo to tell me my drink has trace amounts of rhino snot or pterodactyl jizz -- or anything else that’s gonna ruin my good time.” If a man said that to me in a bar, I think I’d take notice. If that man was also a hot graphic novel character who was part cyborg, then I’d probably propose marriage. But I guess I’m just that kind of girl.

I don’t want to give away the entire story, so I’ll conclude by saying that you really ought to read “Chew” now, before Showtime turns it into a TV series and either does such an amazing job it ruins the reading experience for you, or does such a horrendously nauseating job that it ruins the reading experience for you. It’s allegedly being made by Stephen Hopkins, the director of “Predator 2” and “The Life and Death of Peter Sellers,” so make of that what you will. I’ll keep my snarky judgments until it airs. Until then, I have one more volume to read, “Chew: Just Desserts.” Sounds delicious.

I Expect Perfection From My Props Department

There are people who enjoy the movies, who might refer to themselves as “movie buffs,” if you will. These people know a lot of trivia, enjoy discussing their favorite directors, and like to discuss with their friends afterwards what a movie “meant.”

I am not one of those people. If you work in the television or film industry, you may understand what I’m about to say a little better than everyone else. After years of going to see at least a movie a week in theatres, watching even more on netflix or DVD, not to mention the endless scripts I’ve read during class, internships, and in my own free time, I have nearly lost my ability to suspend my disbelief. For the layman, I refer to the act of letting oneself be completely absorbed into the story and can laugh, cry, gasp, and cheer with the characters as the journey on the screen progresses.

Flashback to:

Int. The Grove Movie Theatre - A week ago (Night)

Steinho sat alone in the dim movie theatre, irritated by the fact that the new assigned seating policy forced her to sit next to a couple on a date when there were five million empty seats available.

The film was “Super 8,” and on a purely superficial level, I enjoyed the film. No. The train wreck in the beginning was incredible and intense, and the teen actors were quite good. They were weird looking and funny and behaved more like normal teens than in any other movie I’ve seen lately. Do I think it was a classic? No.

Without going into an intelligent, analytical film review, I’ll get straight to the point. Towards the end of the film (SPOILER ALERT) the young hero, Joe, played by unknown actor Joel Courtney, watches with his roguishly handsome cop father, played by Kyle Chandler, as an alien being finally escapes the grim clutches of the government.

Wait, wasn’t there already a film with that plot line produced by Stephen Spielberg? Anyone? Anyone?

So anyway, they’re watching E.T., I mean the alien, prepare his ship for blastoff. This process apparently requires sucking up all the metal left lying around the street. Cars, skateboards, appliances, and Joe’s dead mother’s locket. Just as it’s about to be ripped away from him by magnetic forces, Joe snatches the locket in mid air, and it opens, revealing a photo of him and his dead mother. Joe and his father embrace, and at last, they’re both able to let her go, symbolized by Joe physically releasing the locket into the air.

What a touching moment! Except for the fact that the picture was upside down.

Wait, what? What nonsense are you talking Steinho?

Yeah, so when the locket flew out of his hand, he caught it with the charm pointing up into the sky, upside down. Yet when the locket opened, the picture was perfectly oriented for Joe and his pop to have their touching moment. So either Joe’s mom walked around wearing an upside down picture in her locket, or this was a conscious decision to fuel the emotional moment, which I totally get. We go to the movies for escape, not to face the harsh laws of reality and gravity.

The locket bit was so far into the film, and so minute, it certainly didn’t keep me from enjoying my cinematic evening. There were other things that accomplished that, like the overall anticlimactic ending. But I bring this up, because it was remarkable how quickly my brain picked up on it. I wonder, am I forever unable to watch anything without thinking of the number of scripts the production assistant had to copy? Or if there was a meeting between the director and the head of props concerning which way should the picture face in the locket? Have I become a freak of nature…or has my mind and powers of observation simply been honed to a razor sharp edge? Or, does this merely mean I have too much time and need to go watch some “Futurama” reruns?

All of the above.

In Which the Author Proves the Full Extent of Her Nerdliness

Last Friday, at ye local purveyor of books, Messrs Barnes and Noble played host to one of my favorite actors, Simon Pegg. You may remember him from such films as “Shaun of the Dead,” “Hot Fuzz,” and most recently, the grown up version of E.T. “Paul.” He was visiting the book store to promote his new biography, “Nerd Do Well.” Now, normally I am not a fan of the celebrity biography. Or regular biographies. Histories I like, but only when they’re written in the style of a sweeping epic fiction novel.

To be honest, the only part of Simon Pegg’s biography I’ve read since purchasing it five days ago was the few chapters I took in while waiting in line during the signing. No offense to Mr. Pegg, but the book was the equivalent of all that chocolate the little children ate in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” to try to meet Willy Wonka.

I purposely went by myself to the book signing, and I’ll tell you why. Having lived in Los Angeles for almost six years now, I’ve gotten used to running into Orlando Bloom at a breakfast place on La Brea or the guy who played Hiro from Heroes in West Hollywood. Celebrities are typically very boring, shorter versions of the people they play in the movies or on television. Except for when they’re your nerd hero. In that case, they are not boring at all, and in fact make you act like Renfield from Dracula. For those of you unfamiliar with this character, Renfield used to serve Dracula with undying devotion and later ate bugs. I did not do this when I finally met Simon Pegg, but there were a few minutes as I approached his table where I thought I might puke on myself.

I’m getting ahead of myself though. I’ve gone to a few of these book signings before. Basically you show up early, stand around for an hour or so, then spend five minutes oggling at the celebrity/writer in question before you are herded towards the front, someone slaps a book with your name written on a post-it note onto a table, and the celebrity/writer endeavors to make small talk with you in the time it takes them to sign your and their name and whatever witticism they choose to grace you with.

I arrived for the Simon Pegg signing about an hour and a half before he was supposed to come on the scene. The geeks, dweebs, nerds, and spazzes were all lined up in numbers. I’m very sorry to say it, but these were some of the least attractive people I have ever seen. I spend so much time trying to convince the “normals” that nerds can be attractive, functioning people, too. Unfortunately, none of those people decided to show up to the book-signing that night. There were a few normals mixed into the crowd, including one of the lovely accountants from another Disney show who I recognized. Still, this was definitely one of those situations where I felt out-nerded by the masses. There were girls giving him fan art. If you don’t know what that is, you’re probably too cool to be reading my blog.

At long last, Mr. Pegg arrived on the scene. Like always, he was shorter in real life. Most of all, he looked very normal. Like a normal dude I might run into walking around England. When the press started flashing his photo, he seemed rather pained to be standing there, holding a copy of his book. Not angry, or obnoxious or anything bad. He seems the sort that when he says he’s not doing this for the publicity and fame, you actually believe him. I was instantly charmed.

Back to the part where I was standing five feet from him and thought I might faint or hurl. The regimental bookstore employee passed my book over to the table and I shuffled forward, my mind blank. I was a writer dammit! Where was my banter? My hilarious quips? But every ounce of cleverness had evaporated into the ether.

The scenario went a little like this.

Simon Pegg: Hello, Amanda. Thank you for coming.
Me: Thank you for coming….. I like your hat.
Simon Pegg: Thank you.
Me: I’m sorry. I tried to think of something clever to say, but I couldn’t.
Simon Pegg: (Charmingly disarming) I’m going to tell you a secret about this hat. I’m only going to share it with you. It’s a Canadian hat.
Me: (Swooning) Your secret is safe with me.

Then we talked for two seconds about Vancouver and Mission Impossible:4 and then he shook my hand and it was all over. I walked away, clutching the autographed book like it was a notebook doodled with hearts. So thank you, Simon Pegg, wherever you are, for making this nerd feel even if just for a few moments, that I was a little cooler than I really am.