Movie Review: "Victor Frankenstein" What Is Dead Should Stay Dead And Not Remade

I've been away for a long time.  Wasting my time on tumblr and twitter, being generally paralyzed by the state of the world, the usual.  But I've found myself wanting to write about films.  Currently I am screening the films of Daniel Radcliffe.  I was knocked out by Swiss Army Man, about which more in a future entry.  I've never seen more than a few minutes of Harry Potter.  So I don't come encumbered with any baggage when I watch his films.

So, I’ve been watching Victor Frankenstein, and I have to say, it stinks. Both James MacAvoy and Daniel Radcliffe do their damndest to bring the story to life. But not only have we seen this before, we have to wait for a hellishly long time for the monster.  Which then explodes in a series of blinding flashes and complete nonsense.  At the end the movie sets itself up for a sequel. Since it flopped, I doubt one is forthcoming.

Watching on my computer screen is a blessing.  I can stop the movie, do some chores, and come back. I can’t imagine sitting through this on the big screen.

Good evening, I'll be your tortured freak for the evening

The beginning is by far the best part of the movie, when Igor (Daniel Radcliffe) is the abused nameless hunchback/gifted doctor in the circus who is freed by Victor Frankenstein (James McAvoy).  Amazingly enough, the “hump” is a gigantic 18-year-old abscess.  Um, okay.  The first intensely homoerotic sequence is Victor smashing the hunchback against a pillar to straighten his body.  Victor names him Igor.  Igor is amazed at standing up.  He is told to take a shower and dress and do something about his hair. Amazingly enough, he knows how to shower, shave, and cut his hair.

Why look, it’s Daniel Radcliffe.

Within hours, his gait has straightened, learned to dress himself in spiffy Victorian fashion, and stride jauntily around the streets of London. Throughout the picture, Radcliffe manages to suggest his former self at moments. But for the most part he becomes a proper English gentleman able to dance, fall in love and have sex with Lady Sybil from Downton Abbey. She has no real identity because we come for the monster, stay for the hot and heavy bromance.  I love a good potential ship as much as the next fan, but I wanted to slap James McAvoy.  My god, man, you probably didn’t need to go to craft services because you were too busy chewing scenery.

Aaaaacting!

Victor and Igor create a chimpanzee and bring it to life, but it turns out to be a crazed killer in a sequence that doesn’t get anybody killed but does break a lot of glass. Hunted by an extremely dull police inspector, they hide out in a castle and bring the monster to life in the last 10 minutes.  Right before the whole big bang finale, we hear Igor saying, “you know the story” which serves to make the ending of the movie even more tedious.

It involves lots of shouting in the rain.  The monster is–well–a monster.  Tries to kill everyone, there are explosions, screams, minor characters falling to their death blah blah blah.  I’ve watched the ending twice and I still can’t figure out what’s going on. Explosions, majestic faux-classical chorus, people screaming. That’s okay, I’ll wait it out.  By the way, there’s huge pieces of metal, guns, electricity–how come it doesn’t occur to anyone to stab the bloody thing in the HEAD?

The movie flopped, in part because of its bloated budget. If the filmmakers hadn’t be so in love with their Sherlock knock-off, they might have cut 30 minutes and cut the redundant dialogue about life/death God/man. Why bother when we know the ending?

It’s not all bad. I opened my mail, paused it and made some phone calls, looked it up on imdb.com and got to look at Daniel Radcliffe. He is sexy and adorable. I’ve only seen him as adult actor. So I have Harry Potter reference points. Probably good, because then I might be thinking of the Boy Who Lived instead of the Monster Who Died.

R.I.P. Prince.... Prince and Morris Day, Part One

Ever since Prince's death in late April, I have been obsessively posting videos and pictures to my Facebook, Twitter and Live Journal accounts.  I couldn't even tell you why.

Then I remembered: I have a blog!  The perfect place to bring it all together!  So starting today, it's going to be PRINCE-O-RAMA around here!

There are fantastic pictures posted on Morris Day And The Time's Facebook page.  Along with Andre' Cymone, Morris and Prince were high school friends.  Here's just a few!

Here's Prince at COACHELLA in 2008, with Morris Day & The Time, and Sheila E.!



This is a MUST-READ article about Day, Prince, and their fractious relationship over the years, from the Guardian:  

Cult heroes: Morris Day – Purple Rain rival who almost stole Prince's thunder 

They came up together. Born in Minneapolis just six months apart, Morris Day and Prince Rogers Nelson played in their first band, Grand Central  later renamed Champagne, while still at high school. The band’s manager was Day’s mother. The duo’s relationship thereafter consisted of back-and-forth favours (and occasional fallings-out). Day wrote the song Partyup for Prince’s Dirty Mind album in 1980, and Prince brought Day in to replace Alexander O’Neal as lead singer of the Time.


Jeff and I saw "Purple Rain" when it first came out.  Then we saw it again recently at a midnight showing.  More about that in a later entry, which will also give me an excuse to post a buttload of videos.

The Wonderful Chronicles - My Sorta Breast Cancer Journey

In May of this year, I discovered that there was a suspicious lump in my left breast.  Two, actually.

There's a history of breast cancer in my family.  Actually, a host of cancers.  So I knew it might happen eventually.  And when it did, I was pissed and scared.  So these are edited entries I made on a private blog.  I called them "The Wonderful Chronicles".

I wouldn't exactly call it my breast cancer journey.  It hasn't changed my life in any fundamental way so far.  Does that make me a bad cancer patient?  Am I not being noble enough??  Should I post photos of myself smiling boldly while wearing a head-scarf?  Even if I didn't go through chemo and I still have all of my hair?  Anyway, in the grand tradition of over-sharing, here we go.

May 23, 2015

It's Saturday, the first day of our three-day weekend. I got three letters from my doctors after a series of tests:

1) Blood work: mildly elevated bad cholesterol

2) I have arthritis in both knees

3) I have a suspicious growth in my breast.

I want to drown myself in the toilet.

Duck Dynasty: Review, Supernatural 10x21, "Dark Dynasty:

Eugenie Ross-Leming and Brad Buckner continue their soul-destroying run of terribly written episodes with "Dark Dynasty," sloppily directed by Bob Singer.




Basic rundown: Sam lies to Dean about book.  Actors with bad Southern accents have dumb conversation laden with "menace" that somehow reminds me of those cheap little cheese n' crackers you get at Gas n' Sips. Cut (literally) to the chase - the Dark Dynasty is the family of--dun dun dun--FRANKENSTEIN!

Oh, for fuck's sake.


Sam feels your pain


Can you believe this cheesy plot?
If we're German, why do we have these terrible Southern accents?


Because Bob Singer is pussy-whipped

Sam lies to Dean, gulping and twitching and holding up small signs that say, I'M LYING YOU IDIOT COULD I BE MORE OBVIOUS.


His lies are so bad they have flattened his hair

While Sam is conveniently in another room, one of the Frankensteins tells Dean the Book of the Damned is indestructable.  Jensen Ackles tries to look like he cares.


Wow, man, I'm destroyed inside.  Or not.

Aside: every time I hear it, Dean shouting "Charlie has the damned Book of The Damned?" it gets funnier.  And more annoying.  Couldn't they have left the first "damned" out?  Oh, wait, Eugenie Ross-Leeming and Brad Buckner.

Sam has gathered Rowena, Cas and Charlie into the Abandoned Brewery of Doom to crack the code of the code of the code of the Book of the Damned.  Rowena is the only enjoyable part of this, so I'm going to skip the rest.  Might as well tell you now, Charlie ends up dead.  No real reason.  She just ends up dead.  Robbie Thompson sobs in the corner.  But, you know, executive producer's wife.  So there.


One of us is gonna die, and it ain't gonna me.
They're saving you for the season finale.
Well, shit.


Rowena realizes that she's an older woman and an interesting character, so she's probably next.
Well, shit.



Meanwhile, to give Mark Sheppard something to do, Crowley talks to a hamster and learns that his mother had a demon lover  I mean whatever who cares how are you going to shoehorn that into the next two episodes maybe it was that Nazi necromancer that got away two seasons ago the dart thing is funny.

For no other reason than to get killed, Charlie needs to be alone.  Rather than wait until Cas does the obligatory leave-the-room-while-someone-escapes gambit (already done once in this episode) to chain up Rowena elsewhere, Charlie bolts to a motel.  The Frankensteins find her, she uploads a file and presumably sends it to Sam, they break down the door and...


Dean's grossed out.  I'm too busy thinking about how hot Sam looks with wet hair.


So, that happened, as the kids say.

This plot was like a huge pile of cafe chairs badly stacked up.  Strange metaphor, but I've seen piles of cafe chairs so I know what I'm talking about.


Jensen echoes my feelings

Twitter explodes, FEELS all over the place.

Random thoughts:

Those Microsoft Surface product placements are getting out of hand.

The Frankensteins caused the plague?  Seriously?  Seriously?

We need Lucifer to show up and bitch-slap some sense into the family.

And why wouldn't Crowley know about them?  Haven't any of the Stynes shown up in Hell over the last few millenia?

Where does Rowena go to the bathroom?  And what was up with that tiny piles of bones on the table that were never referenced again?

Will Charlie come back as a Frankenstein-type monster?  That would be cool.  Or an evil spirit that Rowena turned her into?  Bueller? Bueller?

Next week: it's the penultimate episode, there's 10,000 badly laid out side-plots, Dean is still too reasonable for anyone to be that concerned about him, and stuff will happen all over the place.

I Carry A Badge - Dragnet 1969 Fan Fiction (NC-`17)

Written for the "Come As You're Not" fiction challenge.  The challenge was to write for a bizarre fandom.  I picked "Dragnet 1969".  You can't get more bizarre than that.  NC-17, 'cause it's funny.
Characters: Joe Friday, Bill Gannon.  POV: Joe Friday.

Officer Bill Gannon, Sergeant Joe Friday.

This is the city. Los Angeles, California. It’s a nice place to live. We try to keep it that way. But there are rapists, murderers, thieves. Every 60 seconds a crime is committed. That’s where I come in. My name's Friday. I carry a badge.

(DRAGNET THEME)

It is Tuesday afternoon. Then we get the call: a 163 in progress in Yuma City.
3:10, Yuma City. My partner Bill Gannon and I arrive in an unmarked car. By that time the perpetrators have fled.
Gannon: “Well, looks like we have an afternoon on our hands.”
Friday: “Let’s keep an ear on the scanner.”
3:30, Yuma City. The scanner reports routine crimes. Purse snatching. Marijuana bust.
Gannon: “You know, Joe, there’s been something on my mind.”
Friday: “Yeah.”
Gannon: “How ‘bout we have sex? We don’t have to bring the car back until 6:00.”
Bill is right. The car is due in the police garage at no later than 6 p.m.
Friday: “You know a motel?”
Gannon: “Yeah.”
Friday: “Hourly rate?”
Gannon: “It’s cheap enough. Don’t care who you are. One thing.”
Friday: “Yeah?”
Gannon: “Don’t let the wife know.”
3:45, Yuma City. We check into the Yuma City No-Tell Motel.
Clerk: “You want a single room?”
Friday: “Yeah. With extra towels.”
3:47, Yuma City. Officer Bill Gannon and I check into room 317. We draw the shades. Gannon puts the police scanner on the bedside table.
Gannon: “Well, Joe, here we are.”
3:49, No-Tell Motel. Officer Bill Gannon is stripped down to his underwear, revealing a Caucasian male, 5 foot 10 inches, approximately 195 pounds, with a distinctive birthmark on his right hip. I undress in an leisurely manner, so as to not let Gannon know that I am eager.
Gannon: “You use the police gym, don’t you, Joe?”
Friday: “Twice a week. Looks like you could use it a few times.”
3:51. Officer Bill Gannon proceeds to kiss me. He needs a shave. Gannon puts his arms around my waist and continues his osculation.
Friday: “Good kissing.”
Gannon: “Thanks, Joe. How about some tongue.”
Friday: “If that’s what you want.”
I put my tongue in Gannon’s mouth. From his facial expression I deduce that he feels pleasure. So do I. There is an erection in my briefs, indicating sexual arousal.
Gannon: “You want me to suck that?”
Friday: “No. Lie on your stomach.”
Gannon: “Whatever you say, Joe.”
4:15, No-Tell Motel. Officer Bill Gannon lies naked on the left-hand twin bed. I lubricate my penis, which is still erect.
Friday: “You showered?”
Gannon: “Yeah.”
4:17. I lower myself until I am perpendicular to Officer Gannon. I insert my right forefinger into his anus. He responds with what again sounds like pleasure. We have done this many times. I put the lubricating fluid onto my penis, then push into him. It feels good.
Gannon: “Joe, that’s great.”
Friday: “Yeah. Scream like a girl.”
Gannon: “You got it.”
As ordered, Officer Gannon proceeds to scream like an underage female as I slide in and out of his anus. I increase my speed, until he is arching himself under me. I sit up on my knees and hold Gannon’s hips for maximum penetration. I proceed to pound him with alacrity.
Gannon: “Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe”
Friday: “Who carries a badge?”
Gannon: “You carry the badge—Joe—badge—yes—“
4:26 p.m. Officer Gannon ejaculates. I continue my motions until I, too, ejaculate.
4:31 p.m. No-Tell Motel. We stay in the motel room and share a cigarette.
4:40 p.m. No-Tell Motel. We have sex again. Gannon is always the bottom.
5:02. It is time to return the car.

Twitter Is Not Good For Me :{

Whenever someone asks me if they should get on Twitter, I always say, "don't". Like Facebook used to be, Twitter is a massive timesuck in which you have "convos" with dozens of imaginary friends. It used to be that I did roughly ten minutes in the morning, ten minutes at night, maybe a little bit during the day. But now I'm hanging around like it's the parking lot behind the grocery store where they have some old benches and a picnic table. Me and my Twitter peeps.

With the "notifications" feature, it has become a major addiction. I already tweet a lot, so to see "notifications" -- ah, the satisfaction of being favorited! Retweeted! A random stranger tweeting "LOL"! 

How else would I promote my novel?  And my fabulous self?

I'm Miss Addictive Personality. After almost 16 years of being sober, having to eat less and drink less coffee, it's like all of my vices are being taken away. But--TWITTER!

This would be easier if I didn't have a desktop PC. So when I'm tweeting I'm confined to my desk; not making dinner, or riding the subway, or lazing on my couch watching TV. On recent occasions I have spent several hours on Twitter. Afterwards my eyes hurt and my brain has that weird fried/empty feeling too much internet gives me.

It's so much fun to post pics like this - HOW CAN I STOP??

I have met some great people on Twitter.  Thoughtful interesting people with whom I can enjoy phone calls and even real life meetings.  How do I stay in touch without being on Twitter, and searching their timelines for fun stuff?  I only interact with people I consider smart, funny, and original.

BUT Tuesday night, after Supernatural's enjoyable episode "About A Boy," I spent two hours on Twitter progressively wrecking my pleasure in the episode. The show has a lot of problems, I know that. But focusing exclusively on the same old same old subjects, getting angry, frustrated where I didn't START that way...the next morning I felt kind of crappy.

I don't know if I can curb my addiction. Any time I have to do something, I click Twitter. There I can make jokes, silly observations, and respond to tweets. I crack up over other people's comments.  Most of you are on Twitter, you know how it is.

It was even hard to write this without clicking on Twitter. Maybe I should deactivate my account--but, but I have 2200 followers!

They like me! They really like me!

I feel pathetic right now.

Carry On, My Wayward Winchesters: Review, Supernatural Season 10, Episode 5, "Fan Fiction"

When Jeremy Carver said that the 200th episode of "Supernatural" was a "love letter to the fans," groans could be heard throughout the land.  Then came the promo stills of a girls' high school.  High school girls doing a musical about "Supernatural".  One fan tweeted it beforehand with the hashtag #Atrocity.  The knives were sharpened and ready.

This was the Internet's response after seeing "Fan Fiction," written by Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Scgriccia.



 My twitter timeline exploded.  I rewatched three times in a row until my eyes felt like boiled eggs.  This is "Supernatural: The Musical" in the best possible sense.

 I'm stumped as to how to properly review this episode.  It is packed with in-jokes, fan references, and more meta than you can shake a wooden stake at.   Maybe I should have asked a non-fan to do it, because God knows, I'm biased.

A throwaway line from Sam wondering if there's anything there besides "The Charlie Kaufman of it all," is a brilliant reference to the film Adaptation, written by Charlie Kaufman about a blocked screenwriter named Charlie Kaufman (Nicholas Cage) who is trying to write an adaptation of the (real) non-fiction book The Orchid Thief.  It is trippy and hilarious, rather like "Fan Fiction."

 THEN:

 

NOW: In a high school auditorium, a group of Catholic school girls are rehearsing "Supernatural: The Musical."  Marie (Katie Sarife), the director, is a tiny tyrant who stomps around in a director's beret (but no jodhpurs), accompanied by her technical director, Maeve (Joy Regullano, marvelously deadpan).  The rehearsal turns stormy and the drama teacher slams out, vowing to shut down the show.  "Theater is life!" she yells into her cell phone.  "Why couldn't they put on Godspell like good little skanks?"  Suddenly, a giant scarecrow creature wraps its vines around her and they vanish. Marie is looking at a cheaply made marquee sign saying "Supernatural."  "It needs something," she says:

 
The only one they missed is my favorite, Season 4.  Dang.

We first see Dean in a tight t-shirt, cleaning Baby's fire-red engine, drinking a cup of coffee and standing like a male model, which is obviously intentional, playing on fandom's obsession with Jensen Ackles.

 
"Worship my unreal beauty, slaves."

Sam steps out in a v-neck layer, hair oddly flat. It remains that way throughout the episode--one clanging wrong note.  But since my dream is to take down Jared Padelecki in a flying tackle, I'm giving it a pass. Both actors get to display their comic chops, particularly Ackles. Dean wants to work, so they speed off to the school where the teacher disappeared. 

They enter the auditorium only to see a girl with a trucker's cap and glue-on beard practicing saying "idjits." Horrified, the brothers watch a young girl dressed as "Dean," with blond wig and painted on facial hair launch into a song called "The Road So Far" about the beginning of their lives.  The camera tilts and swings as the Winchesters stare at the stage, replicating their brains imploding.

 

Sam starts to say, "I think it's charming--" but is stopped by Dean's glare.  Sam was briefly a "theater kid" who acted in high school staple 'Our Town,' and did tech for 'Oklahoma'.  Marie thinks they're publishers, disappointed that they are merely "FBI hunters."  Sam sees the "Winchesters" onstage holding out FBI badges, so he quickly stuffs his into his pocket and introduces them: "I'm Agent Smith, and this is Agent..." "Smith," Dean finishes. "No relation."

   
Marie and Maeve are not impressed.

Dean: "There is no singing in Supernatural! If there was singing, and that’s a big if, if there was singing, it would be classic rock. Not this Andrew Floyd Webber crap!" Sam: (under his breath) "Andrew Lloyd Webber." Apparently this was improvised.

 
"We're teddy bear doctors!"

 To keep his brother from completely losing it, Sam suggests he go with Maeve and Dean go with Marie to look in the teacher's office for cursed objects.  As Dean walks backstage, he sees "Sam" and "Dean" leaning against the prop Impala, talking.  When he asks what that is:

Marie: “They’re rehearsing the B.M. scene." 
Dean: “The bowel movement scene?" 
Marie: “No, the boy melodrama scene. You know, the scene where the boys get together and they’re driving or leaning against Baby, drinking a beer, sharing their feelings. The two of them, alone but together, bonded." 

Sam goes to up to the tech booth.  He starts to reminisce about his days as a techie, but Maeve shuts him down and leaves, warning him, "Don't touch anything."  Of course, Sam starts playing with the lights until the actors stare at him with "what the hell?" all over their faces.

When Dean and Marie go into the teacher's office (I demand to know who posed as Shakespeare holding a jackalope's instead of Yorik's skull), Dean puts his hand on a spaceship helmet.  Marie says since the Carver Edlund books had such an unfinished ending, Dean with Lisa and Sam back from Hell, she wrote her own ending. Dean: “You wrote your own ending? With spaceships?" 

Marie: “And robots. And some ninjas...and then Dean becomes a woman." BWAHHAAAHAA!  Since I'm not a fan of anything except Supernatural crack, I love that line. You could consider this whole episode (or most of it) as crack if you wanted to.  Which I want to. Marie defends it as "transformative fiction," which is an argument in fandom as old as time. 

Dean tells her what really happened.  This is done in a long, unbroken tracking shot as they walk back to the auditorium. “Sam came back from Hell, but without his soul. Then Cas brought in a bunch of Leviathans from Purgatory. They lost Bobby. And then Cas and Dean got stuck in Purgatory. Sam hit a dog. They met a prophet named Kevin, they lost him too. Then Sam underwent a series of trials in an attempt to close the Gates of Hell, which nearly cost him his life. And Dean became a demon, Knight of Hell actually."  He finishes with a proud smile.  Marie says that is the worst fanfiction she has ever heard, and says she needs to send him links (hee!)




Sam remarks that besides "the Charlie Kaufman of it all, I don't see a case." Of course they are leaning against Baby. The brothers also find out about "Destiel."  Going back to the car, Sam observes, "Shouldn't it be DEEstiel?" Despite the elder Winchester's freaking out, Sam muses, "Samstiel.  Sastiel.  CasDean?"  "SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

When the actress playing "Sam" quits, despite Marie's pleas, she is also taken by the monster.  I'm going to skip ahead before this entire review turns into a moment by moment recap.  Suffice to say they discover  that the monster behind all of this is Calliope, the Muse.  She takes away all of those who interfere with the author's vision--then she eats the author.  This is extremely bizarre, but whatever.  The show must go on.  Marie grabs a wig to play "Sam," (from her one-woman "Orphan Black" show) and announces, "Let's Barbra Streisand this bitch!"



Dean gathers the cast for a pep talk.  He admits Marie's vision isn't his vision, but hearkening back to his Braveheart speech, he announces that “there is no other road, no other way, no day but today.” Maeve: “Did he just quote Rent?" Marie: “Not enough to get us in trouble." (Hee!)

The show goes on.  Marie warns the audience to put on the ponchos under their seats after admitting the show could be a "Gallagher."

Sam and Dean prowl backstage.  It's a symphony of sight gags as "Dean" sings the opening song, "The Road So Far" (which is STILL running through my head, you bastards!).

 
 Same production values as the show itself!

The monster appears and takes Sam away.  He wakes up in the basement, along with the teacher and the student.  Another fantastic moment is a parody of Sam being flung against the wall, this time sloooowly, his feet skidding across the floor.  Calliope appears, and explains why she is particularly interested in "Supernatural": “Supernatural has everything: Life, death, resurrection, redemption. But above all, family. All set to music you can really tap your toe to. It isn’t some meandering piece of genre dreck. It’s epic."

That sound you hear is the Internet breaking.

Dean chases the scarecrow monster backstage, but it throws him across the stage while "Sam" is singing a song about "Dean," "A Single Manly Tear."   In the basement, Sam kills Calliope. At the same time, bellowing "NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS!" "Sam" stabs the scarecrow.  It shuffles towards the edge of the stage and explodes into a mass of purple goo.  Sam(s) save the day!

 


   
I need to know what exactly this shot is imitating!  "Jeremy"?

At the end of the show, the cast joins together for a haunting acoustic rendering of "Carry On, My Wayward Son."  Not only was this the first time in several seasons that I haven't wanted to commit suicide upon hearing it (there will never be peace! They will never be done! Never, I tell you!), it made me cry.

"Who's he?" Dean asks, pointing at one of the actors.
 
"Still in Hell, God, still in hell..."

“That’s Adam, John Winchester’s other kid. He’s still trapped in the cage. In Hell. With Lucifer.” THANK YOU ROBBIE THOMPSON, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

When the show is over, Marie gives Dean the prop "Samulet," which Dean hangs on Baby's rear-view mirror. Dean graciously tells Marie:

 

The Winchesters drive off into the sunset.  Back in the theater, Marie is accepting the last of the congratulations and flowers. Maeve told her that somebody picked up the producer's ticket.  Her mouth dropping in awe, as the camera slowly turns around, Marie faces:

 
Rob Benedict has a renewed reason to do all of those conventions

GOD!  I mean, Chuck!  I mean Carver...oh what the hell, you know what I mean.  By the time this appears, the nit-picking will probably have started, but I'm satisfied, and that's what's important.  

Stuff: Thank you, Robbie Thompson, for the continuous fan-speak, making "fake" Destiel canon, Castiel's song "I Wait For You," and ADAM!!  A million fans will now stop bitching that the writers forgot about the poor bastard.  For saying that Sam and Dean are "too old" to be Sam and Dean.  All the characters: Crowley, Ash, Jody Mills, the Harvelles, the Samulet, etc.  AND NOBODY DIED.

 Canon Problems: You know I had to.  So, if Chuck has been alive all of this time, what's happened to Kevin?  Is Chuck back for good?  Does this mean there is a God?  Is God going to bitch-slap Dean, not to mention Metatron?  If Calliope the Muse is dead, does that mean that around the globe, all writers will instantly have permanent writer's block?  I had it for five years, and it's a bitch.

Hey, at least Dean didn't go demon on Marie's ass.  He's saving it for the next appearance of Tiny Crazed Marine.

Next week: "Clue" comes to life.

Screencaps courtesy of www.homeofthenutty.com

GIFS courtesy of fiercelynormal at Livejournal.com

Don't It Make My Black Eyes Green, Review, Supernatural 10x3, "Soul Survivor"

Irony of ironies, I had no time to write about last week's excellent episode, "Reichenbach".  We had Tiny Crazed Marine getting the shit beaten out of him, Crowley staring longingly at a hilarious picture of him and Dean wearing oversized cowboy hats, a great ending where Dean says Baby is "just a car".  So, was I ever pumped for this week's episode, "Soul Survivor." Especially the promos looked so great, and it was directed by Dean Winchester himself, Jensen Ackles.

DISCLAIMER: My husband, the all-time baseball fan, actually stopped watching Game 1 of the World Series so I could watch "Supernatural"!  Then he couldn't get it on the radio, didn't know how to live stream on his new laptop, nothing.  So he went slumping off to bed.  The only thing that would have helped my massive guilt was a kick-ass episode.

First, I have to address the CW PR folks:  YOU ARE EVIL. YOU LIE. I HATE YOU.  "The Year of The Deanmon"?  Three episodes, I don't give a shit if he has the Mark of Cain, that's he's all 'roided up and wants to kill, I want Dean to be a demon, goddammit!  If not, I wanted Sam to save him!  Not have Cas swoop in like a series regular ex machina and finish the job.  What a bummer.  Even Kevin Tran knew how to have a bucket of holy water over the door.  And the Winchesters had once fought off demons used lawn sprinklers full of holy water!  If only Sam had done something clever and unexpected, instead of expeditious.

Second, the Deadly Duo Bruckner and Leming wrote "Soul Survivor," and they retconned Sam's "monstrous" actions.  Accidentally selling a guy's soul and then the guy gets killed?  Sam, buddy, you have mowed down HOW many demons in human vessels? Triple digits?  You drank demon blood, killed a nurse, betrayed your brother more times than I can count--and that's only the beginning! "Who's the real monster"??  Sam should've said, "Go fuck yourself, Dean, you're a demon, case closed."

I was hoping for THIS:



AND THIS:


This is really incredibly scary and disturbing...me likey.

FOR AT LEAST MORE THAN THREE EPISODES!

NOW:  Sam looks hot.  There's "Dr. Sexy"!  He scores some pure nun's blood, because if he used his own, dollars to donuts Dean would have turned into Satan.


Priest doesn't find Sam attractive because he's over 12

Sam ties Dean to a chair and demonic handcuffs, so for once Sam isn't tied up.  I can't tell you how relieved I was.  Maybe it was an omen of the series trying out new things?

Oops.  Sam'll be back in the chair next week, I promise you.

“Your guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been MIA for quite some time now. But I’m loving the new model: Lean, mean Dean.” So do I, Demon Dean, so do I.  The abuse that Dean hurls at his brother is so old it's got chin hair.  You killed Mom. Dad was an asshole.  You're a pussy.  You're not my brother.


"Well, aren't you just too precious for this world, darlin'."

The Dean/Sam chase scene in the bunker would have been more exciting if I hadn't seen it in the promos more times than Sam has killed demons.  But even so, it was well done. My favorite part was when Sam locked down the bunker and everything was bathed in red light.  There was a Kubrick homage when Dean smashed down the door, hissing, "I like the disease".  Both Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki acted the hell out of their scenes together, including Sam's terror and unwillingness to kill his brother.

I'm a little distracted by Sam's hair.

Sam looooves Dean too much to kill him, then Cas grabs him from behind.  There's some nice contrasty vfx in their eye color (black and blue), Dean is tied down, and wakes up all "bzuh?"

This had better be a major fake-out, or else.

Sam's all happy and promptly leaves to buy Dean junk food, asking Cas to keep an eye on him.  Cas talks to Dean for a few minutes and then goes back to the angel in the car outside.

Crowley: bored in hell, finds Cas because he wants Cas to follow Dean.  Which Cas and Hannah were doing anyway.  However, Crowley scooped out a rogue angel's mojo, feeds it to Cas, and hoopla!  It's like Alka-Seltzer for bad hangover, Castiel is fine and ready to go to work.  Crowley, sitting in a dime store version of Hell's Throne Room (seriously, couldn't they have thrown a little more money to the designer for that set?) has demons pissed at him for...something.

"You should be grateful I'm a regular, because I'm the only lively thing in this sodding episode."

Castiel: dying, then not dying, telling Hannah not to get any ideas because they are on mission.

"What kind of stupid angel crap do you think the writers will come up with next?"
"I'd be fine with us banging each other."
"That would work."

She presumably waits in the car while Castiel grabs Dean before Dean puts a hammer in Sam's head.  Dean wakes up no longer a demon.  Cas leaves shortly thereafter.

Dean stares at old family photos.  I was so hoping he would tear them in half, but no, he sits there.

How's that for a wham-bam finish?

Oh, wait, there's a bit in Tulsa where a redhead who's not Abbadon sips Scotch and has pinned two dead guys on the ceiling.  As you do.

Next week: stuff.  God, I'm bored even typing it out. Thanks for the catharthis, gang.

What'd I Say - A House MD Fanfiction

For a long time, I wrote silly little House MD fanfictions, mostly post-episode but also a number of House/Wilson fics.  It's been over a year since I wrote one.  But this idea banged around in my head and finally wrote it down.  Whether you like it or not?  HEY MOTHERFUCKERS, I DON'T PLAY THE PIANO!  Ahem.  What I meant to say, was, I spent a lot of time on Youtube piano tutorials.  I don't think you're motherfuckers at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was like a dozen bars they’d walked into over the past three months.  Small, grungy, neon lights advertising Bud Light, ancient framed ads for Schlitz and Schaeffer.  Old photos pinned to the wall behind the bar. Boring.  The patrons were boring.  The smell was boring.  But off to one side was a banged-up upright piano.

“Here we go, Wilson.  Get us a couple of beers.” 

To make their journey more interesting, since House couldn’t teach Wilson medicine, House decided to teach Wilson piano.  This despite the fact that Wilson had less rhythm that a panic-stricken teen at his first dance.  Teaching Wilson twelve-bar blues had taken fifty bars over two states. 

Often, after the lessons, House played the piano and took requests, for tips.  He flat-out refused to play “Let It Go.”  The song was bad enough. Listening to it being mangled by some drunken bar babe was more than House could take.  Sometimes there would be other musicians, and he could jam.  Not often enough.  So he took on the colossal task of teaching his tempo-challenged friend to play the piano. 

Wilson slid onto the piano bench next to his friend. “So, what’s on the curriculum tonight?  You going to make me play ‘Kitchen Man’ again?”

“No.”  House gave a slight, condescending node.  “Tonight, we’re going to learn three simple blues chords for the left hand.  Simple for anyone but you.”

Wilson started to rise from the piano bench.  “I don’t have to take this, House.  There’s got to be a woman in here without herpes.”

“Sit down and put your left hand on the piano.  E to B-B to D to E. Play that twice.”

Wilson did as he was told, frowning. “Where do my fingers go?”  In exasperation, House showed him, thumb to little finger.  “We’ve been over this, Wilson.”

“I’m trying, House.”

A long, thin man wearing a trucker’s cap and a bad case of rosacea walked up to the other side of the piano.  “Mister, you two better be leaving.”

“You better stop drinking before your nose gets any veiny-er.  We’re not together, you retarded tinhorn.  I’m giving this guy piano lessons.”

“Best not do it here.”

Wilson whispered, “House, we should--“

House’s eyes did not leave the other man’s face. “Don’t force me to play Mozart.”

“We sleep in separate rooms!” Wilson burst out.  “Really!  We’re as straight as any of you!”

“Straighter, from what I can see,” House added.  “You wouldn’t hit a cripple, would you?”  He lifted his cane, with just the tiniest hint of menace.

“No, I--“

“Then fuck off.  I’ve got to teach a musk ox how to tickle the ivories.”

Flummoxed, the man went back to the bar.  He said a few words to the bartender, who gave House a look that was supposed to be intimidating.  Didn’t work.

“Musk ox?”

“Okay, chimpanzee. Where were we?  Try again.  E-B-B-D-E, E-B-B-D-E, A-E-E-G-A, A-E-E-G-A.  Again.  Again.  Now, B-F sharp-A-A-B, back to A-B-G-A.  Again.  Jesus, Wilson, put a little soul into it.”

“You’ve already made it clear I have no soul.”

“Again.”

Wilson frowned as he picked out the notes on the yellowed keys.  “This sounds familiar.”

“Keep playing.”  As Wilson played the bass line over and over, House’s right hand went to the keys and played the same rhythm with flourishes.  Wilson stopped.

“I know this song!”  He chuckled.  “It’s by Ray Charles!”  He looked at House.  “You’re going to tell me it was first done by Blind Schlomo Rutabaga, aren’t you?” Wilson rested his hand on the keys.  “My parents took Danny and me to summer camp, we’d always stop in this old-fashioned luncheonette with ice cream sodas and tiny little hamburgers.  It had a jukebox.  We’d beg Dad to play this song.  We had no idea what it was about, especially the moaning part at the end.  Danny thought it was funny.”  His smile turned introspective.  “Danny thought it was funny.  What’s it called?”

“What’d I Say.  One of the great songs of our lifetime, even if you little putzes couldn’t appreciate it.  Okay, play the chords, I’ll come in with the right hand, B-D-E chord.  You keep playing the same bass line through the song, thank God.  For the intro, you play a few times, then I come in and demonstrate how lousy you are.”

After  a few tries, Wilson had it down.  House played the upper part with his right hand.  Several bar patrons had stopped talking and listened to the two men play.

“Faster,” House demanded.  Wilson did as best he could.  Blissful, House went along, his hands deftly flying through the right-hand part, his left hand beating rhythm on the top of the piano.  He started singing.

“Hey mama, don’t you treat me wrong, come love your daddy all night long

All right now, hey hey, all right--

See the girl with the diamond ring, she knows how to shake that thing

All right, now now, all right, all right--“

Wilson grinned like an idiot, so proud of keeping up.  The other people in the bar were now all listening.  Two even clapped along.  The bartender leaned on the bar, the intimidating look gone.

“Tell your ma, tell your pa, I’m gonna send you back to Arkansas

Hey hey, you don’t do right, you don’t right, yeah

Well, tell me what'd I say, yeah

Tell me what'd I say right now

Tell me what'd I say yeah

“I’m not bad,” Wilson said proudly.

“Not good enough to use two hands yet,” House replied.

“Keep ‘er goin’!” yelled the skinny man who had been ready to beat them up a short time before.  The crowd called out similar things.  House nodded to Wilson.   Laughing, he struck up the bass line. 

And I wanna know

Baby I wanna know right now

And-a I wanna know

And I wanna know right now yeah

And-a I wanna know

Said I wanna know yeah

“Now for the part your parents thought was so funny,” House said.  “Hey,” he sang.  “Now you repeat it.  Hey--“

“Hey”

“Ho”

“Ho” Wilson resolutely sang the repeat with no innuendo whatsoever.

“Hey-“

“Hey-“

“Ho-“

“Ho”

Yeah, baby, what’d I say, baby what’d I say, baby what’d I say,

baby what’d I say right now!”

House turned to their new audience.  “Call and response time, people!”  He turned back to Wilson.  “You too.”

“Baby one more time--“ House swiveled around to the audience and nodded.

“One more time!”

“You too, Wilson.”

“One more time!”

“Just one more time!”

“Just one more time!”  House made a distinctly sexual groan - “Huh,”

Even though the other bar patrons echoed him, Wilson stopped playing.  “I can’t do this, House.”

“It’s what all the cool kids are doing.”

Wilson lowered his voice.  “I don’t moan in public.”

“You moaned plenty when you were doing that pediatric nurse in the laundry closet.  Don’t worry, it isn’t insta-gay.”

“But--okay.”

“Huh”

“Huh

“Hunh”

“Hunh”

House stopped playing.  He and Wilson stared at each other for what seemed a very long time.  Then Wilson seemed to realize where they were, dropped his head, resuming the bass line.  He looked up, and his eyes locked with House’s.  House moaned with what could only be called a lot of feeling.

“Hu-nh...”

“Hu-nh..”

“Oooh”

“Oooh”

“Anh”“Anh”“Hyuh”“Hyuh”“Oh”“Oh”“Hyuh”“Hyuh”

“Yeah! Baby, it’s all right, baby it’s all right, baby it’s all right”

Wilson, cheeks fiery red, sang along with House, who grinned from ear to ear.

“Make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right, make me feel all right...”

House was wrong.  It was insta-gay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's the song, in case you've never heard it, or you just want to feel good: