Horror Movie Classics: The Innocents

Oh, here's a movie I put on my queue some time ago as a "classic horror film." 1961's The Innocents starring Deborah Kerr, who is an actress I've heard of. It begins with a black screen and a creepy singing child. A+ milieu establishment, film. Birds tweet. A lady's hands look like they're praying as she cries at the birds or something. Lady cries and whispers in her brain about wanting to save the children, not hurt them or something. Fade into:

Same lady? at a job interview. It's old-timey. Lady interviewed by a rich bachelor man. He's a "very selfish fellow." He's become "saddled" with two orphan children and he's like, "FUCK THAT." The children live at his country estate. She's the daughter of a country parson. Miles and Flora. She's going to be their governess. Miss Giddens. It's her first job. The dude doesn't want any complaints or to be bothered ever. What a dick. The former governess died and traumatized everybody. "It was all very odd," Mr. Dick says. Miles has been at school and Flora watched by the housekeeper since then. Dick wants to hire her so bad. She's got to handle everything on her own if she agrees to accept the position.

Now we're in the country. Horse and carriage nonsense. Picturesque pond. Giddens asks the coachman to stop at the gates to the estate so she can walk in past the pond and such. It must be the 1860s or so with those giant hoop skirts happening under there. Walking up to the house, Giddens hears some singing but also sees a fancy gazebo by the water. Giddens sees Flora and tells her someone was calling her name. Flora wants to show Giddens her turtle. His name is Rupert and he's adorbs. Mr. Dick is Flora's uncle. Flora's chatty and excited. She brings Giddens up to the house. The housekeeper is very glad to see Giddens. Giddens is amazed by the fanciness of the huge mansion. "It's a heaven for children." Housekeeper sets Giddens up with some tea. She wasn't the one calling for Flora outside. BECAUSE IT WAS THE GHOST OF THE DEAD GOVERNESS OBVIOUSLY. Giddens: "I expect to be here for a very long time."

So many white roses. The housekeeper says something about "the devil's own eye," but apparently wasn't referring to the master. Housekeeper (Mrs. Grose) has set up Giddens in another bed in Flora's room. Bullshit. I'd insist on my own room. How is she supposed to masturbate? Flora can't sleep next to Rupert because she might roll over and CRUSH HIM. Flora has prayer questions. She implies some people don't go to heaven, but just stay and walk around. Weird squawking outside. Mrs. Grose says they have to ignore such things. In the middle of the night, much wind in the curtains of the wide open windows. Flora creepily watches Giddens sleep. Flora looks outside and hums. Probably at a ghost.

Next day. Giddens' ruffles are OUT OF CONTROL. Flora holds Giddens' mail hostage because she's a bitch. Giddens has gotten a family photo from her sister. Dick uncle's gotten a letter from Miles' school. Giddens looks upset. Giddens asks Flora about knowing Miles was coming home before she did. She watches a butterfly being eaten by a spider. Giddens tells Mrs. Grose Miles has been expelled. Mrs. Grose is ILLITERATE. The letter says Miles is "an injury to the others." Mrs. Grose laughs at the idea that Master Miles could corrupt anyone.

Giddens and Flora pick the kid up from the train station. He's a creepy little charmer and gives her a nosegay. Miles says he's home for the holidays, but they're not holidays. He won't answer questions about the school term or anything else. Miles tells her she's too pretty to be a governess, and she gives him shit about it. At home, the kids run off to see the pony.

Giddens claims the school letter must have been a misunderstanding, but she'll talk to him about it later. Mrs. Grose is worried about there being "trouble." Miles is too excited to sleep at night. She asks what he thinks about while lying awake. Oh come on, he's clearly at wiener-pulling age. Not a good convo. She confronts him about being expelled. He knows his uncle won't give a shit. Giddens tries to make excuses for Dick uncle, but insists she cares about Miles. He cries a single tear, but won't tell her what happened back at school. "Trust me," she says. The window crashes and the candle blows out.  "It was only the wind, my dear," says a 12 year-old to a grown woman.

THIS IS A TOPICAL JOKE.

Daytime. Giddens cuts some of the billions of roses. The singing again. A creepy ceramic cherub statue. A bug comes out of its mouth and the music stops. Giddens looks up at a tower on the house and sees someone standing up there through some haze. It's silent for a moment, then he disappears. Then the birds and the singing start back up. Her clothes are so stupid. Good thing she works in a mansion with gigantic wide doorways, because her skirts have like an 8-foot diameter. She enters the stairs to the tower through an ivied wall. At the top, she finds Miles, charming all the doves. They're standing on his shoulder and head. He claims there was no man up there. "Perhaps it was me," says the creepy kid. He says she's imagined it or may need spectacles, though she's "much too pretty" for that. CREEP. He says Flora told him she makes groaning noises all night, but Flora makes up lies all the time, so who knows!

Mrs. Grose brings Giddens some scissors from the garden that she dropped earlier while investigating the OBVIOUS TOWER GHOST. She asks Mrs. Grose if there's "anyone else living here." OF COURSE NOT. JK, this is either a ghost or a clear Secret Garden/Jane Eyre crazy person wing of the house situation. Flora grabs Giddens to show her Miles riding around on the pony (too fast?).

OOPS I Skyped with an old friend for like an hour and half and now I'm not sure how long I can stay awake, despite the second energy booze I started at the beginning of this blog. LET'S SEE WHAT HAPPENS. Giddens' skirts are so huge and dumb. The kids draw pictures. Miles calls his sister "dear." He says he doesn't want to grow up. Giddens' old house was too small for secrets. The kids want to play hide and seek. Giddens will seek. How could you play this game at night without electricity? In the dark, Giddens sees a lady walk behind a curtain, but hears a voice calling her upstairs and ignores it. In a creepy attic, she finds creepy toys. An old dusty rocking horse and a bouncing clown doll. She bumps a CLEARLY HAUNTED music box, which starts to play. Inside she finds a cracked photo of a man. Miles busts out to catch her. "Now you're my prisoner!" She tells him to let her go because he's hurting her, but he doesn't care. Clearly he's a creepy sociopath.  Flora busts out to save her and insists Giddens hides this time.

She takes her gigantic skirts downstairs and hides behind some curtains as the kids creepily count in unison. At the window she's hiding behind, Giddens sees a man approach and then dissipate. She goes outside to look around, and just hears noisy birds. Mrs. Grose comes to check. It's the guy from the tower and the attic picture. Mrs. Grose says it must be Mr. Quint, the master's valet, who is DEAD. The kids laugh maniacally from the stairs.

Another day. Giddens looks at the little photo. Later, she has a nightmare and wakes to wide-open windows in a thunder storm. Guys, thunderstorms are the best. Now she's staring out at heavy rain while the kids are doing lessons. Flora throws her pencil. Miles yells that she's begging for attention. Giddens comforts her. Giddens says they'll pretend it's Flora's birthday and they're going to have a costume party. They're going to surprise her with their outfits. Mrs. Grose says the attic is no danger to them, but Giddens isn't convinced. Apparently Quint drunkenly slipped and hit his head on the icy steps outside. He had secrets. Miles discovered the body. (Sure, "discovered.") Quint was Miles' hero.

The kids come down in costume. The music box plays and Miles recites a poem, pacing in a crown, holding a candle. Something about his lord being gone. Giddens thinks there's something going on. Mrs. Grose says nothing is wrong. Quint was once in charge. The previous governess maybe fell in love with him? Mrs. Grose won't say. The kids yell at a convenient time. Okay, a man clearly invented hoop skirts. So, so stupid. So, so large.

Giddens sits in the gazebo by the pond. Miles rows out on a boat. Flora wishes she could row, too. She asks if tortoises can swim. Uh-oh, that means Rupert is dead. Flora is humming the music box song, but doesn't know where she learned it. Giddens sees a woman in black standing in the reeds across the water. Flora apparently didn't see her. Giddens is freaking out. She tells Mrs. Grose there are two "abominations." Mrs. Grose has a weirdly optimistic view of the kids, claiming Flora wouldn't lie about seeing the ghost. Giddens knows it's some kind of "indecent" game. Quint and Miss Jessel were clearly in love. Mrs. Grose thinks it was fucked up. Quint was violent and abusive. Giddens makes Grose tell her that they were fucking, I think. She's not sure what the kids saw. All the whispering. The framing is weird. Giddens thinks THE INNOCENTS have been corrupted by Quint. Miss Jessel stopped eating and sleeping when Quint died until she herself died OF A BROKEN HEART. Mrs. Grose doesn't want Giddes to talk to the vicar about the whole ghost situation at their house because of possible SCANDAL.

Giddens has a restless sleep. She sees Miles whispering to Flora about secrets. Something about the tortoise. The kids giggling in the woods. The man on the tower. A man's and a child's hands grabbing. Doves. Whispers. The music box. Flora dancing with a woman in black. Giddens prays. Church bells! Giddens tells Mrs. Grose she's going to London to talk to their uncle. Sure, they're well-behaved, but not necessarily "good." Just "easy to live with." She knows there's more going on. The ladies' capes are wonderful. She knows the kids are talking about the ghosts. Giddens insists she must know how Miss Jessel died. She apparently killed herself in the lake. Makes sense, actually. She doesn't go into church yet and sees Flora running through the churchyard. She finds Jessel's grave with flowers on them and whispers "Flora." Does she think she killed her somehow?

Giddens is insistent upon leaving for London, despite Mrs. Grose's protest. Giddens goes to get a book from the schoolroom and encounters the sobbing ghost of Miss Jessel. She gets to the desk and she's gone, but there's blood? on the slate. Mrs. Grose comes to tell Giddens the carriage is here. She says she's not going now. She says the children can't be let out of their sight. Okay, so Giddens claims that the ghost of Jessel is so hungry for Quint that they've both possessed the children so they can be together, I guess? So this is getting pretty incest-y. Cool. Obvs. Mrs. Grose wants to tell the master, Giddens won't leave them but wants to write him. She's going to try to make the kids confess the truth.

At night, Giddens has her hair down, reading (probs the Bible--BORING) by the fire. Okay, yeah. Bible. A white rose petal. "Always happening here." She pokes the fire. The piano makes a sound. A whisper. A giggle. Her nightgown is supes ruffly, unsurprisingly. She goes out into the hallway with her lil candelabra. Mysterious noises. Voices. Pre-electricity times must've been HAUNTED AS FUCK. I can only imagine. Giddens wanders around upstairs with her candles. Spectral giggling. A locked door. A door opening? "The children are watching," says the ghost. Lots of locked doors. The voices get louder. A creepy cherub carving. Giddens runs to the bedroom, but Flora isn't in bed. She's at the window. A bird call. "Somebody's walking in the garden," she says. It's Miles in his night shirt. She yells and he stops walking, but is seemingly possessed or something. Giddens runs off with her candles as Flora snuggles up with her doll in bed.

"I just thought he was quiet."

She pulls Miles into the house. He said he knew she'd look outside. Miles claims he'll explain everything now. He claims he wanted to pretend to be bad to amuse her. They planned it together. Under his pillow, it's a pigeon. A dead one with a broken neck. He says he'll bury it tomorrow and then kisses her HARD on the lips goodnight. She's all freaked out, obvs.

This is a pretty good nanny job, eh?

Next day, she wears all black and writes to Uncle Dick. Miles knows it's about him. He plays the same old tune on the piano. Flora disappears and Giddens freaks out, disturbing Mrs. Grose petting the cat. Flora knows she's gone out on the lake in the boat by herself, possessed. She spots Flora down in the gazebo, dancing to the music box. She's got to get these kids out of here. Writing a letter is NOT going to help. Giddens sees the dead lady across the lake as it starts to rain. She tries to make Flora admit she can see Miss Jessel across the lake. Mrs. Grose comforts Flora as she screams. Now Giddens is sadface in the gazebo.

Miles sits across from Giddens by the fire. He likes when the fire crackles. They both warm their hands. Flora screams elsewhere in the house. He's a pretty good creepy kid. Flora won't stop screaming. WTF? Mrs. Grose tries to calm her. Give her some booze or something, whatever they did back then. Apparently she's swearing and stuff. Mrs. Grose says she didn't see Jessel's ghost. Grose claims Giddens turned Flora into this by forcing her to face a bad memory. Um, okay, lady. Giddens wants everyone to go away except for her and Miles. Giddens tells Grose to tell the uncle the truth when she shows up with Flora in London. Grose is super freaked out, claiming she won't judge Giddens, but we all know Giddens is just going to fuck Miles because he's possessed by the HANDSOME, CHARMING, ENTRANCING Mr. Quint. Grose and Flora and apparently the rest of the servants have gone away.

Giddens hugs a doll in the schoolroom, waiting for her Man to come back from wherever he's wandered away to. Thunder. Wind. Creepy statues on the lawn. That lake would be a good place for Colin Firth to emerge from. Mmm yeah. At some point, Giddens hears a kid yelling, but then Miles just saunters into the sitting room. "I feel quite the master of the house," he says. He knows she's scared. He calls her "my dear." GROSS. "Don't worry, there's a man in the house." He claims he's happy after asking about Flora. Miles finds Rupert the tortoise in an arboretum.

Giddens wants to know why he wandered at night. He tells her she gets ugly when she's mad. Fuck you, kid. He tells her he was sent home from school because he's different. He admits he stole her letter to his uncle. He admits he "said things" at school. He heard things at night. He scared the other boys, but now says he made them up. She sees Quint in the window as Miles gets mad. He calls her a "hussy" and laughs maniacally. Miles then throws Rupert through the window and runs away. He trips in the yard. She hugs him as he says "forgive me."She says it would be over if he says the name. "He's dead!" He's very sweaty. "Where, you devil!" and then faints. Giddens strokes his head and says he's hers now. But then she realizes he's dead and screams. Bird chirping. Now she kisses his lips creepily. Her hands in a praying position as birds chirp.

Okaaaay. The end, I guess!

Ghost hunting and picnicking and money!

Have you ever thought, "I would love to pay for the pleasure of Lauren's company and at the same time support local theater"? HERE'S YOUR CHANCE! My improv home, HUGE Theater, is conducting their annual fundraising hangout auction. The stuff you can bid on is LITRALLY hanging out with improv people WHAT. All you need is an eBay account, which I know you use mostly for trying to find obscure Saved by the Bell memorabilia. So this time use it to help somebody for once in your goddamn life, okay? I've got two horses in this race to enjoyment:

Will we meet a transparent nightgown lady?
MAYBE!

Ghost Hunting Adventure with Sally Foster & Lauren Chesnut! Guys, you know how I'm obsessed with ghost shows? Now's your chance to see me doing my best GhostBro impression. I've insisted on being billed as a "paranormal scholar," but Sally's actual done ghost hunting before and will bring equipment and it's going to be creepy fun! For up to five people.

Snack time with Snack Time! Just what it sounds like. You and up to two companions can join Minneapolis' premier snack food-based improv cult on a picnic. We are fun! And loud! And will bring piles and piles of snacks!

Here's all the items for sale. All auctions close Tuesday, April 14 at 10:59 p.m., so get your bids in. It should go without saying, but you have to be in the Twin Cities to collect on your hangout if you win.

If these auctions are too rich for your blood and/or you don't live in Minnesota and thus have to be denied the presence of our charms, you can always benefit HUGE by buying whatever shit you were going to buy anyway on Amazon by using smile.amazon.com and selecting "HUGE Improv Theater" as your charity. It costs you nothing extra, but Amazon will kick a little change in our direction.

And here's a reminder that my group Trust Pit is performing our original form The Reconstruction (not this Reconstruction) at 8:00 p.m. Fridays through the end of the month. Tickets!

You guys are the best. I mean that. I really hope we can buy a new rug for the green room. Now get bidding!

I finally watch "The Shining" and drink and blog it

I know: shame, shame, I've never actually watched The Shining (1980), but I've got the basic gist of it. Now it's time! I've got some booze and an Isaac. Let's do this thing. SORRY, ANOTHER SUPER-LONG MOVIE.

Mountains and yellow slug bug. Not a fan of Jack Nicholson, so this should be fun. I generally like Stephen King stuff, but haven't watched or read a ton of it. There's the giant ski lodge that I've seen ghost-investigated on TV shows. Shelley Duvall is so weird looking! We just saw her in Three Women, which was also weird. Tony is the little boy's finger friend. Creepy. Jack Nicholson/Jack is a writer and teacher interviewing in an ugly peach-orange office. This lodge closes in the winter because the road gets snowed in all season. "The winters can be fantastically cruel," says the guy with the awesome wide and textured tie. J.Nichs is so young here. "Solitude and isolation can itself become a problem." FORESHADOWING? No big deal, but some other dude taking care of the lodge during the winter killed his whole family with an axe. Just a touch of cabin fever. Jack's eyebrows are disturbing.

Shelley Duvall is wearing an amazing '70s jumper and her hair is stringy as always. Little Danny and Tony are having an argument. Blood surges out of the elevator and there are creepy twins. Apparently this is Danny's vision? I've read enough about this movie to know that this psychic gift is the so-called "shining." He wakes up with some doctor. She asks to see Tony, who apparently has hidden in his stomach. Danny doesn't want to talk about Tony, OKAY, lady? OMG Shelley's red tights with boots make this outfit even more amazingly awful. This doctor lady claims "episodes" like "self-induced trance[s]" are totes normz for kids. Apparently Danny and Tony have been hanging out since he started nursery school, which Danny was not into. Shelley really needs to tap the ash on her cigarette and is relating the story about how Jack came home drunk and dislocated Danny's shoulder. NO BIG DEAL. Supposedly Jack no longer drinks, sober for five months.

The family drives up to the lodge and apparently they don't make Danny wear a seat belt. Jack does not seem to like kids. Donner Party reference. FORESHADOWING? Jack is really into explaining it to his kid, who knows about cannibalism from TV. Ominous clouds/fog in the mountains. I think the Torrance family is going to have a great winter, you guys! Indian designs in the decor--I hope they're not BURIAL ART. Danny sees the creepy twins in matching blue dresses and knee socks. They are holding hands like no real sisters would. Well, not me and my sister, anyway. The caretaker's apartment is all pink and creepy. There's a hedge maze, 13 feet high. I'm sure nothing eerie will/has ever happen(ed) there. INDIAN BURIAL GROUND. Knew it. There's some kind of snow tank that supposedly drives just like a car. Pink and gold are Shelley's favorite colors. EW. No booze on the premises all winter. WHAT A NIGHTMARE.

Dick, the chef guy is black and friendly. He shows Shelley/Wendy the kitchen because it's a WOMAN'S PLACE. Dick shows them the huge walk-in freezer which is full of meat, even though they're going into the off-season. I know it's frozen, but it seems kind of wasteful. Dick somehow magically knows Danny's nickname is "Doc" because black people. Apparently Dick and Danny can communicate telepathically. Dick's grandma called it "shining." They are bonding, but Tony doesn't want Danny to talk about it. Tony sounds more and more sinister, as he is clearly a creepy ghost and also Dick says some bad things have happened and left their marks on the hotel. STAY OUT OF ROOM 237. I'm not going to lie, it seems like Danny's a bit old to be riding a little three-wheeler. Jack's a sarcastic dick whose wife brings him breakfast in bed for some reason. Jack throws a tennis ball violently against the wall like he's fucking Toby or something. Wendy and Danny wander into the hedge maze with a Polaroid camera. LIKE YOU DO. DRINK REFILL TIME.

Now Wendy is dumping out an industrial-sized can of fruit salad. I used to open big cans like that of pineapple at my pizza job. The trick was to poke a couple of holes and let it drain first, though. TRUE STORY. YOU'RE WELCOME. Danny wheels past room 237 and is intrigued. Tragically locked. Vision of the twin girls. Get that kid a fucking bike, he's too old for that nonsense. I think he's supposed to be, like, five, but he looks, like, seven to me. I could ride a two-wheeler at four. Wendy is so obnoxiously upbeat, but Jack's a cranky dick who doesn't want to be interrupted. Why are these two married? OH, NOW HE'S MANSPLAINING. Don't come into his working manspace EVER. What a fucking asshole. I'd like it if a Native American ghost axed him to death.

Snow. Jack, not looking good these days. Title screens tell us what day of the week it is, but it's unclear how many weeks have passed. OMG WAIT, Wendy's wearing some faux-Indian/Southwestern jacket thing that is terrible. The phones are out, so she uses the radio to call a ranger station from the Overlook Hotel. No phones until spring, probz. The ranger's got pretty sweet hair. Gee whiz, Wendy's got fake moccasin things on her feet and is going to leave the radio on from now on since they have no phones. Fucking Danny wheels around and around the hallways. He runs into the twins again. "Hello, Danny. Come and play with us." They might be British? "Forever and ever." Unison is always creepy.They were totes axe-murdered in his bloody vision. SHINETY SHINE SHINE. Danny turns to Tony for comfort.

That fucking carpet. The '70s, man.

Apparently the phone lines are down, but they get at least one TV station. Apparently they have to LITRALLY tiptoe around fucking Jack while he's asleep. Danny is wearing a sweet Mickey Mouse football sweater. Jack is awake, though, and awkwardly picks his son up. Danny looks super uncomfortable on Jack's lap and asks if his dad feels bad. He's noticed Jack hasn't been sleeping. Jack says he wants to stay in the hotel FOREVER AND EVER. Danny asks if Jack would ever hurt them. AWKWARD. When he says he loves his son and would never hurt him, he sounds so fucking creepily sarcastic. As per usual. God that carpet is hideous. Danny is now wearing an awesome Apollo rocket sweater! Isaac is totes jelly of the kid's fashion. Uh-oh, room 237 is open with the key in the door. Wendy is checking the heaters and shit because she does all the real work in this family. She hears a scream. It's Jack nightmaring at his desk. He dreamt that he hacked up his family. Danny shows up, all beat up and sucking his thumb. OMINOUS. Wendy thinks strung-out Jack did it to Danny. Things are going great. Only, like, four more months isolated up here!

Jack wanders up to the empty bar. He talks to a bartender who I'm pretty sure is not actually there. LLOYD. Lloyd looks like a vampire. Jack says some shit about "white man's bourbon." Jack Daniels is gross. Jack (Torrance) is now pissed that his wife thought he abused his son (again). Wendy runs in and says that there's a woman in the hotel who tried to strangle Danny. In Miami, Dick lounges in his orange room with pictures of amazingly afro-ed naked women. Supposedly the news in Florida covers the weather in remote Colorado. Dick has a vision of room 237, which has sweet mint green walls and fixtures in the bathroom. But I guess now Jack is up in there, looking for the strangler. A naked lady is in the tub. Jack is into it. She's real skinny, but at least she's got pubic hair, I guess. They're going to get it on now, I guess? Because I love making out with possible ghost chicks who like to strangle kids. He sees in the mirror that the back of her body is unattractive and rotting. Now she's old and gross! Danny's having a nightmare/seizure right now, too. Jack escapes the room because ew, old ladies.

Jack tells Wendy he didn't find anything in the room. LIES! Isaac just called the ghost a "moldy oldie." HA! Jack tries to convince his wife that Danny bruised up his own neck. Is he really in denial, or just a lying bastard on top of being lots of other kinds of bastard? Danny sees "redrum" written on the wall as his parents discuss getting him out of the hotel. Jack accuses Wendy of "creating a problem." WTF he is terrible. He does not respect the hotel's property, either. Jack finds evidence of a party elsewhere in the hotel. Dick keeps trying to call the hotel, but he can't get through. He wants the ranger to radio up there to see if the family is okay.

This is totally really happening, right?

Jack is now walking into a full-on 1920s party with flapper ladies and shit in the Gold Room with Lloyd at the bar. Lloyd won't let him pay. A waiter spills all over him and they go to the bathroom to clean up. The men's room is SO RED. The waiter is not "Jeevesy," he's named Grady. Grady's the name of the axe murderer guy! He's also BRITISH, just like the dead twins. Jack knows who he is. Grady claims he doesn't remember murdering his family. He tells Jack, "You are [now] the caretaker. You've always been the caretaker." Sure, okay. Grady tells him Danny's trying to bring someone in from the outside. Who? RACIAL SLUR TIME. Danny's trying to subvert his dad's patriarchal authority. He's WILLFUL and NAUGHTY. Probably a good time to punish him. Jack looks aroused as he explains that Wendy "interferes" in Danny's discipline. Grady gives him some really good parenting advice. "Corrected" his wife and daughters, he did.

Tony starts yelling, "Redrum! Redrum!" (Which is murder backwards, duh.) Wendy in her overall dress thing finds that Danny's gone, it's just Tony. Tony is very polite and calls her Mrs. Torrance, though. Jack hears the check-up radio call from the ranger station. This is a real good development for everyone, I'm sure. Jack just up and takes the radio apart. Dick Halloran is still CONCERNED. Dick, in a sweet orange dress shirt, stripy tie, and olive green corduroy suit is on his way to Colorado on uh airplane now. Jack types and types. I'm sure it's really, good, what he's writing now. Not insane ramblings or anything. Oh, another black guy! He and Dick know each other, of course. The other black guy, who is in all the Rocky movies, apparently, will lend him a snowmobile tank thingy to get up to the hotel. I like glaring Tony Danny. Wendy, don't go talk to "Daddy." BAD IDEA. Tony is watching the Road Runner do shit on TV, which is still working, I guess? I mean, they've got electricity, but who'd think they'd be getting television reception in a snowstorm in the mountains in 1980? I would not think that they would.

Well, this happened.

Wendy wanders off to find Jack while carrying a baseball bat (wooden, not aluminum, clearly a mistake). She sees that he's just typed "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" on the typewriter over and over again. That's a good sign. He's also typed many, many pages of it, in paragraph form. Sometimes in block quotes! Poem form! So many formats! She just keeps paging through the pile for some reason. Jack wants to know how she "like[s] it." He chides her for being in his workspace. Same old sarcastic douche. She's scared. Finally. Tony knows what's up and keeps seeing bloody visions. I bet the role of Jack was super-fun. Menacing/sarcastic/happy/angry. YES. She keeps backing up, clutching the baseball bat as he walks towards her. Apparently he can't comprehend that she might need to leave with Danny and leave him there to fulfill the contract with the hotel. Jack play-grabs at her and calls her "darling." NICE. He says he's going to bash her brains in. He playfully sticks his tongue out and asks for the bat. She hits him a little bit and he falls down the stairs.

Jack wakes up as Wendy drags him to the walk-in freezer. She can't get it open because she's stupid, apparently. Oh, just the storage room. Too bad. She locks him in there right as he figures out what's going on. Now, run far away with that knife you just grabbed. Get your kid and sled down the hill. Better to die in the snow than chopped up by your husband, I say. He begs to be let out. Nobody who's ever said, "Open the door!" should have the door opened to them. He pretends to be hurt/sad. Run away, Wendy! She's crying and telling him her escape plan. Apparently Jack's already fucked up the Snowcat in addition to the radio. PEE BREAK/DRINK REFILL.

Lots of high-pitched peaks in this soundtrack. That big chef's knife's not going to put those spark plugs back into that snow tank thingy, Wendz. Just sled. SRLSY RUN WAY. Sled down the hill, mofucker. Butler Grady comes to visit Jack in the storage room. Grady emasculates him by pointing out he didn't "take care of that business we discussed." Jack wants one more chance to murder his fam. Are there really, like 25 minutes still left in this movie? Grady is letting him out. Dick Halloran approaches the hotel in his snowmotank thing. He's ballin pretty hard. Tony, wearing another sweet sweater chants "Redrum" and plays with Wendy's knife. How is she sleeping? He writes "redrum/murder" on the door and is maybe back to being Danny. Jack is at the apartment door, breaking it with an axe. Wendy runs into the bathroom with Danny and lets him slide down the snow bank out the window. "Wendy, I'm home," Jack announces. In some bizarre turn of events, Wendy is "too big" to get out the tiny window. She tells Danny to run. Jack is pretending to be the Big Bad Wolf now. AWESOME.

Nobody here is working up to their maximum havoc/escape potential.

As Isaac pointed out to me, it's stupid he's just chopping the door, not the lock. What a waste of energy. Here's, "Here's JOHNNY." Wendy slices his hand a bit. NOT ENOUGH. Halloran approaches the hotel. Will it be soon enough? Everybody hears the vehicle arriving. Jack wanders off. Danny is now hiding in a kitchen cabinet in a twist of Jurassic Park-iness. Dick finds the hotel door ajar. Jack is limping, Isaac says from the stairs probz. FORGOT ABOUT THAT. Was that still today? This is a long movie. Jack chops Dick in the chest and Danny screams because he can see it with HIS MIND'S EYE. Danny tries to run away now. Wendy's still wandering around with that fucking knife. Now there's creepy chanting? And a furry with a bare ass is giving a man in a tux a blow job? WHAT. Okay, let's wrap this thing up, people. Jack turns on all the exterior lights to find his son hiding outside. Just try and catch him now, gimpy. Danny, of course, runs through the snow to the hedge maze. PERFECT. Uh-oh, snow = footprints. Wendy is uselessly running around, as usual. She finds Dick's body in the entryway. Now she sees a bloody tuxedoed man. Apparently his furry BJ is over.

Slow snow chase through the maze. Wendy finds a bunch of skeletons and spider webs around a corner. Ew. Danny figures out he should step back through his own footsteps/remove evidence of his path. Now Wendy is by the bloody elevators. Splash! I expect the Kool-Aid Man to burst through any second. How does he feel about murder? "OH, YEAH."

This is happening. Just accept it.

More maze chasing/scariness. Isaac says (of Danny), "That's where all the Big Wheel cardio comes in handy." HA! Danny emerges from the maze to his mother. Stop fucking hugging and get in the snowtank thing and drive away! Jack yells incoherently from the maze. He's still got his axe, so you can't see he isn't focused on the task at hand. I think he's yelling "Wendy" sort of. The Snowcat drives away. He freezes to death with his eyes open in the snow and it's hilarious.

Hilarz.

Some creepiness, some serious suspense, but not scared. Also, now Jack's in some 1921 picture on the hotel wall. HE'S ALWAYS BEEN THERE, JUST LIKE GRADY. Another movie down, kids. Up next: The Exorcist. 

WATCH THIS SPACE

Hey guys, my secret project/webseries Teenage Casper is in production, by which I mean I am editing videos so much in my own amateur but enthusiastic way. Here's a li'l teaser for episode one:

How psychic believers made me more of a skeptic

Guys, as I have mentioned before, I'm like, obsessed with paranormal TV shows: investigation-y ones, ones with cheesy reenactments, personal anecdotes, scientific or "scientific" analysis of the phenomena, whatever. Obviously, my default television network is Investigation Discovery because, duh murder shows, but if there's a ghost hunt or first-person account of a haunting or even a paranormal debunking show on that I somehow haven't seen yet, I'm watching it. I've also written numerous academic papers on paranormal investigation TV (and even got one accepted to an academic journal for publication mwahmwahmwah) because I think the genre's popularity can tell us some really interesting things about our culture.* Do I believe in ghosts? Maybe? I've stated before that I am like Mulder's poster when it comes to the paranormal:

But I kind of gave up on believing things when I stopped being Mormon (eight years ago this fall!). I mean, I grew up being taught to believe in some weird shit. For a long time after leaving the church, I thought of myself as an "apathetic agnostic"; I didn't know if I believed in a god, and I didn't really care. I lean more toward atheist now, and my inability to believe in a deity also makes me awfully skeptical about stuff like souls and an afterlife. Which makes the whole "ghost" thing confusing. But lest this turn entirely into a multi-thousand word post about which scientific theories of alternate realities/universes/energies or whatever I think might be valid, let's just leave it at: I have always been fascinated by and drawn to paranormal stuff. I like the idea of it, I think people have authentically unexplainable experiences, but I have no firsthand experience and my liberal arts-addled/critical thinking brain is like, "It's probably bullshit. It's cool and creepy, but probably mostly bullshit."

The other important thing to know about me is that I am very uncomfortable with genuine displays of emotion. Sincerity is like my Kryptonite. I cannot handle earnest people and all their feelings and enthusiasm and faith and I'm just feeling icky thinking about it. I only hug when I'm drunk! I use sarcasm as a shield! Et cetera! I don't even know how I handled all those years of testimony meeting.** Which is not to say I've never been caught up in "the Spirit" or whatever. That's what Girls' Camp and EFY were for. I've moved pretty far past that whole Mormon teenager "I have to believe" mindset, so today even things like my local Occupy meetings drain me because of the all the goddamn belief in change and earnest effort. I was just so goddamn embarrassed for everyone. I hate the Q&A sections of academic lectures. You just do not know what people will say! It is so awkward. I hate it. True believers are huge turn-off for me. But I went to see psychic/medium/badass Chip Coffey last night anyway.

I can't say that the actual presentation/show was worth the $50 I spent to sit in the very back of the general admission section, but Chip was, ultimately, very charming. He's an adorable southern-ish gay man who likes to swear and give people tough love. How can you not be into that? I also tend to believe that Chip Coffey is sincere in his belief that he can speak to the dead and has general psychic abilities. I don't believe the man is a charlatan (though I do kind of just like using the word "charlatan"), and I've seen him come up with some pretty specific, creepy shit that he really has no way of knowing on his various TV appearances and even in a few of the short readings he did last night. I can't explain those. But most of what he does is read people. OBVS. Psychics are like Sherlock Holmes, but more tactful.

The crowd who showed up at Coffey Talk with Chip Coffey was largely made up of white ladies, and skewed toward middle age, I would estimate. And some of them had their very own PSYCHIC KIDS with them! Which is one of Chip's things, obvs, but when the woman next to me pressed him during Q&A to write, like, an instructional manual about children's psychic development he was like, "I actually do very little work with children." In part because it is kind of controversial, which he admits. And she was filled with disappointment, but luckily she could chat with the ladies in front of us about their psychic kids together during the break, at which time I escaped to the bar. Then at the bar, while slurping down my raspberry vodka and Sprite (I had less than 15 minutes), a middle-aged white lady with a very short, very unfortunate haircut and a commemorative satin jacket from Alcatraz ("The Rock") was telling some other lady about her life-changing experience with cars from the past and reliving her childhood to find peace with a dead loved one or something and I was texting my friends like, "OMG these people" because I am terrible.

There were lot of people walking around with VIP lanyards (pay extra to actually meet Chip) and Super-VIP lanyards (pay even more extra to meet Chip and do a paranormal investigation of the Wabasha Street Caves with him) who read pretty "ghost hunter-y" to me (Think: Paranormal Challenge contestants). Most people who were picked out of the many volunteers during the second portion of the show to have readings done either wanted to contact a dead friend or relative or to ask about, like, health problems they have or something. Chip was generally charming, he handles people well and didn't let anybody yammer on and on awkwardly. But of course his readings for people were incredibly general, and even some specifics seemed pretty easy to guess. He did (apparently accurately) mention boats in relation to two of the men he "read," but since this is Minnesota and practically everybody's got a cabin on a lake or at least a friend who has one, I'm not sure that's really narrowing it down much. As I watched the sad, mourning people gain comfort from Chip telling them their loved one says they love them and that they are okay, I was in some ways disappointed. Nothing amazing happened. Those readings could have been for anybody. I would still be open to getting a personal reading done some day (when I've got money to burn), just to see if they said anything actually applicable, but I feel as though it would be a lot like when I got my patriarchal blessing at seventeen and was like "Vague much?"

Though pretty decent entertainment, watching all those believers watch Chip do what he does, I just felt kind of sorry for everybody. Their eagerness to believe just reminded me of my church days. Of teenagers really trying to believe, to claim that the "knew" the Church was true, to "feel the Spirit" and cry and hug each other because of Jesus*** (or just sleep deprivation/peer pressure, but whatever). Of little children in testimony meeting repeating the words of truth and belief into the microphone that their parents whispered into their ears. And because I was there alone, I had nobody to snark to (a great tragedy) or to express my skepticism about certain claims that Chip or his fans were making. It was that community of believers that just kind of creeped me out a little bit. I would read the fuck out of an ethnography about psychic believers, but I would never, ever want to conduct one. I didn't even raise my hand to volunteer for a reading because a) What the hell would I ask? "Can you tell me some vague things about my future career as Amy Poehler?" "Please contact my dead grandparents, but not really because even in life it was awkward to talk to them on the phone, as much as I loved them, and what if this is real and they tell me I've ruined my life by not being Mormon anymore?" Also, b) I probably wouldn't have gotten picked anyway. I bet Chip would have been able to smell the cynicism on me. Though I did wear a semi-sparkly fashion scarf in scarf solidarity.

Anyhow, we all know I have a cold, blackened heart that cannot be touched by the power of love, hope, miracles, or the Invisible Hand of the Marketplace. This is not news. But goddamn if all that sincerity made me turn my skepticism up another couple of notches. Chip is great. Probably not actually speaking to spirits, though. Everybody else at the show last night should maybe think about getting a new hobby.


*Or at least that is maybe what I will write my dissertation about, but that is another essay in itself probably.
**Yes I do: snark. And avoidance. Just like when awkward situations happen on TV, I hide my face and/or do something else or talk over it for a minute because it is SO PAINFUL.
***Not this Jesus. I hug Him all the time, but only when we are both super-drunk. And then we insult each other affectionately and sing karaoke together. It is possible that my friend Brock is the Sexy Gay Jesus.

Things I read, things I'm doing

I read all of the internet every afternoon between doing the Lord's Work. I see interesting stuff sometimes.

Guys, Wonders and Marvels is both wonderful and marvelous. So much fantastic and strange historical nerdery! I particularly enjoyed this post by Jack El-Hai about how a) people used to watch kangaroos "box" for funsies and b) a tragic elevator accident made people realize that maybe this was not such a good use of our precious kangaroo resources. Fact: several years ago, I was buying a new pair of Adidas Sambas (the world's greatest shoe, probably) and was slightly chagrined to learn that they were made of kangaroo leather. But then I consulted the internet and found out that kangaroos aren't endangered or anything and I no longer felt guilty. True story.

In crypto-anthropod news, apparently a hot Siberian summer sent the local Yeti population to seek cooler climes farther north. Highlights of this article from the Voice of Russia include a description of one encounter where, sadly the Yetis "'did not answer our greeting,' one of the eye-witnesses, Vitaly Vershinin, said." Yetis can be such fucking snobs, you guys. Don't take it personal, Vitaly. Also, one expert's description of the alleged humanoid creatures: "They use neither instruments of labour, nor clothes or fire, but they are sufficiently intellectual. Besides, they are well known for their paranormal capabilities." I for one can't wait to find out what kind of intellectual/paranormal contributions Yetis and their Samsquanch cousins can make to human society. It's really only a matter of time before Bobo catches one, right?

In a post on his WaPo Wonkblog last month, Ezra Klein takes on the issue of poverty and "personal responsibility." Being poor is soul-suckingly depressing, it is hard, and it is expensive. And oh yeah, it requires you to be personally responsible for nearly every aspect of your day-to-day life. Can't put food stamps in an off-shore account, bro.

Sadly, I will not be live-blogging tonight's town hall presidential debate. Which is probably the best for both my sanity and my liver. But I WILL be attending a Chip Coffey event here in St. Paul! Will seeing the fantastically no-nonsense bescarfed psychic in action convince me to believe in an afterlife? I suspect that my ambivalence will be confirmed, but that Chip will be charming. I'm going to try to make myself ask for a picture with him when I get my book signed. We'll see if I can follow through.

Also, remember when this happened? I bought a few more flavors (they're only $1 a can!). I'm drinking the pomegranate berry flavor Max Velocity right now and it is delicious and awesome.

The end.

UPDATE: I just wanted to send a link love over to Blair (the blogger formerly known as B.), the blogmistress/curator of STFU, Parents a collection of majestic parental overshare and self-righteousness. She recently un-anonymized herself and people be hatin' on her for apparently not being attractive or child-having enough to qualify for internet snarking. This is misogynist bullshit, obviously.

Drunk Ghost Hunting and other business

Guys, remember when I posted that hilarious drunk ghost-hunting teaser video? I finally finished editing the actual "ghost-hunting" parts of the footage, so here it be:



Also, you have a few more days to enter my Neuro giveaway contest! Do you or someone you know need to calm the fuck down and/or get the fuck off the couch? Get yerself a free case of neuroBLISS or neuroSONIC courtesy of M80. Email me your reasons why you should get it. Or don't even include reasons, just tell me you want them, and you just might win because no one else is entering. I'll color you a picture just for entering! Do it now, otherwise Scout (kitty), Lola (doggy), and their lovely owner Elissa will win them ALL and you will be SOL:

You even don't want to see how vicious she gets on caffeine, bro.

Clearly, this one's the frontrunner so far.

Get ready for drunk ghost hunting, friends.

The internet has helped us document and enjoy drunk history and drunk cooking, why not drunk ghost hunting? (I refuse to Google that shit, because somebody else is probably already doing it.)

Behold:



Stay tuned here/on YouTube/whatever for all the spooky findings!