The Conjuring: written by Chad and Carey Hayes; directed by James Wan; starring Vera Farmiga (Lorraine warren), Patrick Wilson (Ed Warren), Lili Taylor (Carolyn Perron), and Ron Livingston (Roger Perron) (2013): This haunted-house movie is based on a true story to only a slightly greater extent than Thor: The Dark World is based on my experiences at Kitchener-Waterloo's Oktoberfest in 1990. It kicks off what looks to be a whole series of movies about the adventures of Ed and Lorraine Warren, self-proclaimed ghost-hunters and demonologists who have been part of a number of what turned out to be America's great ghost hoaxes, including The Amityville Horror.
James Wan directs with a certain amount of skill, though much of it has been borrowed from other movies, most notably Poltergeist and The Exorcist. And the narrative lifts so many specific points from The Amityville Horror (book and movie) that it sometimes seems like a remake. Family buys a new house which makes them house-poor, setting off financial difficulties? Check. Little girl has imaginary playmate that turns out to be a supernatural entity? Check. Family dog hates ghost house? Check. Events seem to repeatedly spike at a time just after 3 a.m. in the morning? Check. Secret room? Check. Entire house unnaturally cold? Check.
Unfortunately, there's no invisible marching band, which I think is a goddamned shame.
The secret room caused the first moment of incredulous hilarity for me. See, the secret room they discover behind a false wall isn't just a room -- it's the entire basement. WHERE THE FURNACE IS LOCATED! I mean, they were going to find it at some point, weren't they? Either that or freeze.
Ghostly and/or demoniac shenanigans ensue. The ghost-hunters are brought in. At this point, the movie slides from simply annoying to offensive for two solid reasons, reasons made much more solid by The Conjuring's claims to be "true."
For one, an exorcism occupies at the climax of the movie. And we've had too many real-life incidents involving people killed by enthusiastic exorcists revealed over the past few years for this sort of thing to be at all dramatically compelling. Nauseating and disturbing, yes.
Secondly, at least some of the supernatural happenings end up supporting the idea that the Salem Witch Trials executed actual Satan-worshipping, magic-using, evil witches. Give me a fucking break. Just because those women have been dead for several centuries doesn't make their terrible fate any less horrifying. What a revolting development!
The actors do what they can with the material -- the four main adult characters are decently acted. Another blow to my ability to even remotely suspend disbelief came when I realized that Patrick Wilson's period hair and get-up (the movie is set in 1971) makes him look like Bob Odenkirk. So I thought, geez, what a great movie this would be with Bob Odenkirk and David Cross playing the paranormal investigators!
By the time we get to a scene in which Wilson must act as an "amateur" exorcist (the Roman Catholic "professional" being unavailable), we're perilously close to the hilarious exorcism of Jonah Hill in This is the End. And let me tell you, this movie really could have used Jay Baruchel clutching a crucifix improvised from two spatulas and spouting the lines he remembered from The Exorcist. Not recommended.
The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (2003): If this non-fiction book were fiction, it would seem ridiculously over-determined. As historical fact, it's ridiculously creepy and weird.
The 1893 Chicago World's Fair, dubbed the 1893 Columbian Exposition in honour of the 400th anniversary of Columbus arriving in the Americas, was also a hunting ground for one of history's most prolific serial killers AND a mentally disturbed would-be assassin with a fixation on Chicago's popular mayor. The fair itself was the greatest spectacle of modern history up to that point. Envisioned as a showcase for modern industry, architecture, and good old Chicago pluck by chief architect Daniel Burnham, the fair delivered against all odds.
"H.H. Holmes" is the Devil of the title. That's his preferred assumed name, not his birth name. He was a charismatic conman, pharmacist, businessman, doctor, and land speculator who came to Chicago in the late 1880's and discovered that he liked it there. The rapidly growing metropolis offered fertile ground for Holmes's endless grifting. It also offered a steady supply of anonymous young women who'd come to the big city to get jobs and found themselves the prey of this horribly prolific serial killer.
Holmes killed about 50 men, women, and children over a 5-year-period before getting tracked down and arrested by the freelance detectives of the Pinkerton Agency for insurance fraud in Philadelphia and subsequently revealed as a mass murderer. An awful lot of conclusions arise from his career. For one, policing was extremely crude in late 19th-century Chicago. Trained police detectives were few and far between not just in Chicago, but in America. And while several people suspected Holmes of being a serial murderer for years, they did nothing, in part because no one really believed the police were capable of catching anything other than a bribe. The relative anonymity created by an America in which transportation had outstripped communication also helped Holmes. So, too, did his charisma. Many of these women walked into the lion's den, leaving their husbands behind in a couple of cases, taking their own children to their attendant dooms.
And Holmes is more a premonition of Adolf Hitler than an echo of Jack the Ripper. He has henchmen, though none were ever brought to trial for the murders. He's eerily charismatic. He's committed to his version of an ideology, his grifting and speculation ultimately being Capitalism in its purest form. I'm surprised Ayn Rand didn't idolize him. He's the serial killer of the American Dream.
He's also immensely cowardly. He tends to kill with either gas or chloroform. And then he would make money from the bodies of the dead, selling four bodies he had reduced to skeletons to medical practitioners. Waste not, want not. Once captured, he spun out a series of partial truths, with the lies and facts changing each time. Thus, no final determination can ever exist of his murder total.
Meanwhile, the World's Fair came together to showcase Chicago to America and the world as a first-class city (this was, of course, New York's put-upon Second City). Daniel Burnham orchestrated the Fair, the White City of the title. The buildings were massive and imposing and painted white. The construction schedule was breakneck. The number of employees needed to make Opening Day a reality was enormous, and enormously beneficial during a period of world economic recession.
The politicking and negotiating and organizing that made the World's Fair a reality are a marvel themselves. Massive buildings went up in the time it now seems to take to fill a pothole. Things burned down or blew down or fell down and were rebuilt. Arguments over architectural style were had, most of them won by Burnham with his pseudo-classical, monumental perferences. People were stunned simply by the massive presence of the Fair. America's finest architects and engineers pitched in, including the legendary, crotchety landscape architect Frederick Law Olmstead, designer of Central Park. The Fair became a monument to progress and to Chicago's emergence as a worthy civic rival to New York.
And the White City brought a flood of visitors who needed a hotel. And H.H. Holmes ran a hotel in a building he had designed with the aim of making murder easy and fun. For him, anyway.
Above it all rose the world's first Ferris Wheel, created by an engineer named Ferris (natch) and almost cyclopean in its scale: 270 feet high, with 36 giant cars capable of carrying several dozen people apiece. It was as if the first tall building had been the Empire State Building. And Burnham also had a hand in one of New York's most famous early skyscrapers, the distinctively nicknamed Flatiron Building.
Erik Larson -- who also wrote the excellent Isaac's Storm, about the hurricane that devastated Galveston, Texas in 1900 -- does a fine job here of marshalling and orchestrating facts in an entertaining fashion. He makes a number of interesting connections and suppositions. And he makes engineering, planning, and architecture fascinating subjects while also situating the narrative in its historical context of the rise of unions, suffragettes, and an increasingly integrated global economy.
Larson does go somewhat over-the-top in a couple of sections in which he tries to imagine things for which there were no historical records. This tends to lead him to speculate on unknowables such as 'What was this person thinking?' It's a hallmark of the history written for popular consumption. Given the horror of what we know of Holmes' actions, these attempts to depict crimes which we don't know the details of seem like overkill. Nonetheless, despite those reservations, this is a splendidly readable history. Highly recommended.
Walt Disney's Uncle Scrooge: Only a Poor Old Man: The Complete Carl Barks Disney Library Volume 12: written and illustrated by Carl Barks (1952; collected 2012): While it's chronologically the 12th volume in the Fantagraphics Books Carl Barks Library, Only a Poor Old Man is the second of these volumes to be published. That's because the general consensus among critics is that the Golden Age of writer-artist Carl Barks started about ten years into his comic-book career, as he fleshed out the character and motivations of Donald Duck's Uncle Scrooge, a character created by Barks for the Disney comic books in the 1940's.
This collection prints about a dozen one-page 'gags,' but the meat of the book comes with the longer adventures. And they truly are adventures on land, on sea, and in the air. These are some action-packed ducks.
Barks remains a wonder. The cartooning and the writing are both still fresh and funny. There are moral lessons here, but they're not rammed down the readers' throats. And the story of the hidden city of Tralala is about as pessimistic a tale about human nature as I can imagine in a comic book aimed squarely at children. Capitalism turns out to be toxic, but there's no conceivable escape from it. Whee, fun! That story remains funny nonetheless even as it verges on being a Jonathan Swift satire, with ducks.
Once upon a time in the 1950's, these were the best-selling comic books in North America. It's a tribute to the pop-cult sensibilities of Carl Barks that they're also rewarding, breezy entertainments that make the typical superhero comic book of the time look ham-fisted by comparison. Mmm. Ham. Highly recommended.
Solomon Kane Volume 3: Red Shadows: adapted from the work of Robert E. Howard; written by Bruce Jones; illustrated by Rahsan Ekedal and Dan Jackson (2013): Solid work from Bruce Johns and Rahsan Ekedal in adapting two stories from Conan creator Robert E. Howard about the heroic 16th-century Puritan adventurer Solomon Kane and his crusades against evil in England, Europe, and Africa. Jones eschews the wordiness of some adapters of Howard in favour of letting the artist draw what Howard has described, and it works for the most part, though some captions explaining Kane's thoughts would make the adaptation more true to Howard. Recommended.
Jonah Hex: No Way Back: written by Jimmy Palmiotti and Justin Gray; illustrated by Tony DeZuniga with John Stanisci (2010): Ill-served by an egregiously awful Hollywood movie, Jonah Hex nonetheless remains a terrific comic book character who's had extraordinary luck in terms of writers and artists. Set in the post-Civil War American West, the original graphic novel Jonah Hex: No Way Back brings legendary (and, sadly, soon-to-be deceased) Hex artist Tony DeZuniga back for a look at Hex's dark past.
Hex may be a homicidal, bounty-hunting anti-hero, but he still possesses a rudimentary moral code. His origins suggest that code was a reaction to the complete amorality of his father and adandonment by his mother. It's certainly a place to start, anyway. Palmiotti and Gray have been writing Hex's regular comic-book adventures for a decade now, and they're worthy successors to such previous Hex scribes as John Albano, Michael Fleischer, and Joe Lansdale.
Their West is a nightmarish place, part-spaghetti-Western, part-horror-show, just as it as been since Albano first wrote the character in the early 1970's. And while DeZuniga's art is somewhat inconsistent at first, by the time the book gets into ultraviolent second half, DeZuniga is operating with his familiar gritty, weathered artistry intact. Recommended.
Dicks Volume 1: written by Garth Ennis, illustrated by John McCrea (1989-90, 1997, 2002): One of the earliest collaborations between the dynamic duo of Ennis and McCrea (Hitman) takes us through the hyper-violent, occasionally supernatural adventures of two Belfast screw-ups.
Your degree of enjoyment will depend a lot on how funny you think Ennis and McCrea are when they get all hyper-violent and super-offensive. I think they're funny, and the dense Belfastian slang just adds to the humour. Recommended.
Spider-man: The Original Clone Saga: written by Gerry Conway, Bill Mantlo, Len Wein, and Archie Goodwin; illustrated by Ross Andru, Sal Buscema, Jim Mooney, Frank Miller, and others (1974-75, 1979-80, 1989-91; collected 2011): The 'Original Clone Saga' comes in at about 500 pages, which works out to about two-dozen comic books spread out over nearly 20 years. However, it would also spawn what is probably still the longest Spider-man narrative in history. That would be the redundantly titled 'Clone Saga Epic.'
The 'Clone Saga Epic' was much-hated when it occupied every issue of every Spider-man title for a couple of years in the 1990's. The 'Original Clone Saga' (TOCS?) is really three story arcs that occur with several years separation between each one.
The first gives us the story of the attempts by somebody to drive Spider-man crazy by convincing him that murdered love Gwen Stacy is actually still alive. The second traces the strange story of Spider-villain Carrion. And the third...well, the third is one of those 'Everything you knew was wrong!' scenarios that, in the process of ostensibly making a previous story make more sense, actually causes that story to become completely goofy.
Nonetheless, this is an enjoyable survey of three different times in the publishing career of Spider-man. And the third arc, written by Gerry Conway, who also wrote stretches of the first arc, may actually be a parody of the 'Everything you knew...' trope that super-hero comic books have deployed since almost the beginning of superhero comics. Because if it's a parody, it's a funny one in which a new explanation that's supposed to make more sense than the old one actually requires much more suspension of disbelief.
The art is competent and, in stretches, quite enjoyable (though Frank Springer makes a terrible inker for Frank Miller -- their styles just don't work together). I especially like Ross Andru's Spider-man, though he, like Miller, is not always served well by his inkers. And the writing gives us, for the most part, that angst-ridden but dedicated Spider-man we know and love. Recommended.
Shrine by James Herbert (1983): Late British "chiller" writer James Herbert is in fine form here with this lengthy supernatural thriller about miracles and monsters and money-grubbing. In a small town near Brighton, a 12-year-old girl seems to start performing miracles, from levitation to healing the sick. She says she's operating on the behest of the Virgin Mary. But if so, why does she seem so focused on the ancient, weirdly twisted oak tree near her parish church?
Herbert deftly juggles a fairly large cast of characters, keeping things in the air while he also develops the supernatural and possibly psychic manifestations that begin to cause people from across Great Britain and, ultimately, the world, to flock to the small church. Meanwhile, the Roman Catholic authorities fast-track their investigation into whether or not these events can be classified as 'true' miracles worthy of endorsement by the Church.
The miracles are a bonanza for the town's businesses and for the Roman Catholic Church. But as the girl seems to become more powerful, the skeptical parish priest seems to noticeably weaken and wither the longer he remains in close proximity to either her or the church. And whenever the girl heals people, terrible things happen to nearby livestock, a fact that goes unobserved by the general population.
A strange alliance will be created between the two priests who are skeptical of the whole affair and the ambitious, agnostic small-town journalist who first reported the story and has become famous because of it. But their efforts may be impotent, given the power the girl appears to possess.
Herbert really does a lovely job here of mixing deft characterization, social commentary, occasionally gruesome horror effects, and more rarefied moments of existential and psychological terror. A scene in the church basement amongst ancient, broken statues really does the job. So, too, does the finale, an apocalypse that manages to evoke pity as well as horror. Highly recommended.
Marshal Law: The Deluxe Edition: written by Pat Mills; illustrated by Kevin O'Neill (1987-94; 2013): Misunderstood and mismarketed by Marvel's Epic Comics line when it first came out in 1989 as a Judge Dredd clone, Marshal Law became perhaps the most scabrous, irreverent superhero comic book of that self-serious, ultra-violent era of superhero comic books. Marshal Law hunts rogue super-heroes, beings created to be America's super-soldiers. And he was one of them. Now he hunts rogue super-heroes for the former San Francisco police (now, after a devastating earthquake, renamed San Futuro) in the middle of the 21st century.
There's a nod to serious drama in the first six-issue miniseries, as Marshal Law's civilian identity suffers a grievous personal loss, and the dynamics of his horrible future America with its horrible super-heroes is laid out. Later installments would abandon drama in favour of all-out satire, and this actually made the series much more satisfying as Mills and O'Neill cut loose in prose and pictures. Targets of Law's violent justice included thinly disguised versions of Superman, Batman, The Avengers, The Punisher, The Justice Society of America, Captain America,The Legion of Super-heroes, and the X-Men.
O'Neill would gain more fame as the illustrator of Alan Moore's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen; here, he's as anarchic as many of Mad magazine's most anarchic early artists such as Wally Wood or Bill Elder, but with way more graphic sex, nudity, violence, and bodily fluids. He's probably the most grotesque of (sort-of) mainstream superhero artists.
Mills is equally high-energy and bleakly satiric. Mills and O'Neill use the heroes as double-layered parodies throughout of both the history of American superhero comics and of the dark side of American history. It's a brilliant, disturbing romp.
Kudos to DC for re-publishing this series, which will delight people dubious about super-heroes and people who are just a bit tired of their dominance of the mainstream comics marketplace. With superheroes now a dominant force at the box office as well, Marshal Law's vision seems more appropriate than ever. Hopefully, the rights issues to the four Marshal Law team-up books of the 1990's (with The Mask, Pinhead, Savage Dragon, and Judge Dredd) can be worked out simultaneously so that there can be another volume. Or new stories. I'd imagine Marshal Law has only become more violent and jaded over the years. Highly recommended.
The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson and the Lutz Family (1977): The Amityville Horror was a hoax that most people don't realize was a hoax because of all the movies and sequels and books claiming to be "based on a true story."
Basically, it appears as if the Lutz family and the lawyer for the mass murderer who lived in the house before them cooked up a story of a haunting -- the lawyer in order to get a new trial for his client (and to make money from a book), the Lutz family to get out from under the crippling mortgage that had made them house-poor. In the real world, the day after the Lutzs reportedly fled the house for good thanks to demonic forces, they returned to...hold a garage sale.
So it goes. The Amityville Horror is, then, an amazingly successful hoax. That it's ineptly imagined and written is beside the point.
But the ineptness does makes it weirdly endearing. The Devil, in the Amityverse, has a Swiss Army Knife of malign powers, the most hilarious of which is 'Invisible Late-Night Marching Band.' He also makes prank phone calls, summons up flies, disguises himself as a giant robed figure and a giant red-eyed pig, gropes people, slams doors, opens windows, tears down front doors and garage doors, fills rooms with the smell of poop, threatens people with a ceramic lion, causes green goo to ooze out of keyholes, summons thunderstorms, levitates sleeping people, loosens the wheels on cars, and generally makes a nuisance of himself.
Anson's pronounced tendency to throw in everything and the kitchen sink leads to a breathless description of how someone showed up at the Lutz's door claiming to be a neighbour welcoming them to the neighbourhood. He had a six pack with him. But he was too poorly dressed to be from the neighbourhood...and then he left, TAKING HIS SIX PACK WITH HIM. And he was never seen again!!!
I want a book about that guy. Was he the Devil? Was he drunk? Where did he come from? Where did he go? Oh, well. Recommended because it's hilariously bad and ridiculous.
