No journal and no people watching make maille something something…

I am again without a journal as the pages of my last one sort of filled up with random things like recipes and phone numbers and flight numbers and whatever. And and and. As for when my journal also became my daytimer/odds n’ sods book, I can’t say really. It’s really putting a hitch in my verbosity.

I had the opportunity to attend 4 films from the Toronto After Dark Film Festival; the only event of note during my increasingly boring existence.
First on the docket – Aatchi and Ssipak, a fascinating Korean anime with cyberpunk undertones and poop-heavy humor. In the future, an energy crisis has made it necessary to find other sources of fuel for our creature comforts. The fuel of choice ends up being human feces. This is anime, after all. The reward for each offering is a highly addictive ‘juicy pop’, which has managed to mutate several citizens into weird smurfy types who band together in a ‘Diaper Gang’. My favourite character was certainly the cyborg supercop who pegged off these little dregs of society in a variety of amusing, gut-splashing ways. And, just when I was wondering where the orgy was at, their main female character showed up, jiggling like a Rainbow Brite blow up doll. Needless to say, this movie was right up my alley.

Next up – The latest piece of shit offering by Uwe Boll: In The Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale. Now, I was a little under the influence at the time and so didn’t think of it, but this was, indeed, an attempt to base a movie off of one of the worst real time strategy role playing games OF ALL TIME. You should listen to me, I play way too many of these things. With a cast of shining stars like Jason Statham, John Rhys Davies, LeeLee Sobieski, Burt Reynolds, Claire Forlani and the all-powerful Ron Perlman, one would think this movie would immediately launch into the constellation of camp. Unfortunately, because Uwe decided to take scenes from movies he really liked (The Lord of the Rings Trilogy – seriously, shot for shot and he stole an actor from it), along with movies that made a lot of money (Star Wars, prequels and all), then to combine that with a dash of the worst script ever written, horrendous scene cuts, confusing montages and never-ending orchestra crescendos, this movie can hardly even be called a movie. I am, of course, reminded of Ed Wood; whose visible camera equipment and shoddy sets we now love but, until Uwe puts on a dress, I refuse to sully that man’s memory by putting them side by side. Seriously. Ray Liotta was wearing something from home near the end as I’m assuming they ran out of money doing the aerial shots, and when Burt Reynolds was lying on his deathbed for the 3rd time in a black t-shirt talking about seaweed I just about lost it. Other gems include John Davies expelling about three paragraphs of plot in one breath ending with, ‘and now I must leave you’, and Ray Liotta attacking people with his mind but also with books. The experience was further marred by some jackass drinking Bud in front of us and clapping over his head like a cymbals monkey EVERY TIME Burt was on screen.

The best movie was last that night: an aptly titled ‘Blood Car’ starring Anna Chlumsky. Yeah, you remember her. After seeing ‘My Girl’ all you boys would have hit that had you known what to hit. This is another energy crisis movie where the price of gas is so high, only millionaires can afford it. A vegan elementary school teacher, tired of the state of the planet, attempts to create a wheat grass powered car. When he accidentally cuts himself and his blood mingles with the mixture, he discovers that his machinery has a taste for something other than chlorophyll. Sadly, his taste for freaky meat-selling pussy dulls his senses, and he cannot stop feeding the machine the blood it needs in order to give his girl a ride (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). Anna plays the wheat grass selling geek he isn’t interested in and, since she hasn’t grown since she was 12, I can understand that.

My absolute favourite, however, is an offering from Harry and the Hendersons director William Dear. Starring Crispin Glover as a manic, psychotic sociopath with multiple personality disorder whose other personality is his identical twin whom he murdered, this is a blood-happy gore-fest which, true to the announcer at the festival’s promise, has some of the best kills in a horror film I’ve ever seen. Perfectly annoying, pot-smoking, copulating teenagers head out into the woods and run across Simon/Stanley. They anger him by virtue of being, and he proceeds to murder them all night long baby, along with a few paintball players. He also steps full-on onto a mini poodle who then squashes like a watermelon. Crispin has always been my favourite but, good lord, he was great in this. Telling dad jokes in an over-exaggerated southern accent (where they don’t really seem to even be in the south) and launching mining picks in a makeshift gauntlet at his prey, he is the creepiest guy alive. Especially since he was completely stacked in this movie for some reason.

So that happened awhile ago and I’ve a report on the Hallowe’en deal at Wonderland to give, but for now, I’m going for a walk.

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