Will there be an Evil Dead 4?

That’s the million dollar question. Bruce Campbell isn’t getting any younger. Director Sam Raimi's busy doing his other thing. Namely, the Spiderman films. He’s got to move on to bigger and better things.

Who’s to say that fans can’t clamor for more? It’s been 1993 since we've seen Bruce defeating the last “deadite” with the habit of saying, “I’ll swallow your soul!” He’s got his girl. He’s the king of the world. Hail to the chief. Evil Dead managed to go beyond its horror underpinnings to find a place in mainstream audiences.

Bruce doesn’t have to do anything else. He doesn’t need to make another Evil Dead flick. He’s made his fame and fortune off the Evil Dead series and became one of the most recognizable faces in TV and films.

You’ve seen him before in "Hercules" and "Xena." He directs, produces. This guy never gets any sleep. He’s made cameos in both Spiderman films. Both times he got to annoy the hell out of Peter Parker.

Bruce found his place in film history. He could make junky movies and it wouldn’t put a dent in his career.

He’ll always be fondly remembered for the role as Ash in the Evil Dead series. They even made several action figures out of him. He’s set for life.

So we ask again. Will they make Evil Dead 4? Listen up you primitive screw-heads. There's three other movies. It’s enough. For now. There’s a couple of things that comes closest to a sequel. There’s “Bubba-Ho-Tep.” It’s got Bruce Campbell and a dead guy. There’s “They call Me Bruce” being produced by Dark Horse Indie. Real-life actor Bruce Campbell is forced to save a town from a plague of demons. Sounds an awful lot like Evil Dead to me.

Cherish what we’ve got already. The Evil Dead trilogy. They’re good fun. You can try watching all the Evil Dead for New Year's Eve. They go for the jugular. Buckets o' blood everywhere.

There are worst ways to spend New Year's Eve. Like getting hammered and maybe ending up with an DUI. Just be careful out there. For me, I might just kick back and watch Evil Dead at home for New Year's. Maybe have a Mike's Hard Lemonade on the side. It's a horror-fest with the sharp wit of a guillotine.

Who can forget Bruce's lantern-jaw looks? He always deliver the goods. He’s the average guy. The reluctant hero. There’s a little Bruce in all of us. Maybe that’s why we always hope to see another flick. We can always dream.

Watch for rollers.

Another calendar year is on its way out, and that means Saturday is Amateur's Night at your local bar and/or tavern. Remember, pros: if you get in a gentlemanly disagreement over who was the greatest British Prime Minister with someone who is feeling their likker for the first time since the latter of July 4 or their birthday, and there will be many of them, remember that the drunker person is usually the loser, and the loser is the one laying on the ground, bleeding. So don't get too messed up.

That also means that there's plenty of good stuff going on. I'll be at Peabody's and the Palace (get some websites already guys) at some point of the evening, for a punk show and Mudbone, respectively, but I hear Fratello's, Tom's Garage, and probably every other bar in the area that has a stage and a brain-functioning manager will have some kind of live entertainment along with all the cheap champagne and those little horns that sound like a high-pitched fart. (A little-known fact is that this is also the night that musicians traditionally get their upcoming tax bills paid for, as long as they don't drink what they make tonight before April 15, which they always do.)

Those of you under 21, you unfortunate bastards, go to the New Moon (they're open until 1a this NYE) and experience the Family Groove Company, unless you know a house party, and then don't get caught.

In an earlier revision, that final clause had something to do with the title of this blog post. Try not to kill anyone either. It's a new moon, and that means things are effed up (lame, but I'm told if I use adult language here they take away my toys) and usually bad.

In any case, as it comes time to get a new calendar -- not me, I'm still stuck in June on the page-a-day Zen Buddhist one I got stole for me last January -- I'm reminded of the wonderful Hives song "The Hives Declare Guerre Nucleaire," which contains the immortal phrase "Did some atomic tricks/in two-thousand and six."

Hey that's my plan, too.

-BlackAndy

An ol' Spark of Texas

I like Joe R. Lansdale.

One of the few true American writers who has a grasp of the English language with crisp dialogue that comes from a slice of life. Its fast-paced movement takes you on for a ride the same way Lyndon B. Johnson used to drive his guests while drinking bourbon and hitting eighty down the uncluttered Texan highways.

Lansdale writes with the heart and soul of Texas. As a life-long native of east Texas, he captures the southern hospitality with his words. His stories offer strange characters in even stranger places. Then there's the style.

His style’s like none other. It’s like listening to your favorite uncle shooting the breeze around the campfire while hammering another whiskey. His sense of humor. Well, that’s another thing. His kind of humor is like putting you in the car trunk on a hot day. Maybe comes back a little later and asks if you want a glass of lemonade.

My first exposure to Lansdale is the then little-known story called “Night They Missed the Horror Show.” From there, I was hooked. He’s crass, vulgar, using every dirty word in the book. But woven between those subtleties blooms a poetic writer who knows his side of Texas. This same story is now one of the most published in horror anthologies these days. Lansdale's responsible for writing “Bubba Ho-Tep” about John F. Kennedy and Elvis Presley going up against a soul-sucking cowboy mummy at a retirement home. It was later made into a movie with Bruce Campbell.

However, the jewel of his writing belongs to six novels with an oddity for a pair. If anyone wants to see an odd couple, this is it. Written through the eyes of narrator Hap Collins, he teams up with friend Leonard Pine on several mysteries. They go through a lot of trouble to solve a mystery with plenty of smarts and fists and guns.

I could probably bump into someone like Hap at a local grocery store. He seems like a real person. Very average. He goes through relationship problems with women just like any other guy. Like the author himself, he's loveable as a big teddy bear.

Leonard Pine is both gay and black. Yet he isn’t stereotypical. He doesn’t wear high heels and a cheap party hat. He oozes male chauvinism. He saves Hap’s bacon several times. And vise versa.

“Bad Chili” is a tour-de-force in Lansdale writing. It begins with Hap being bitten by a rabid squirrel. Then it goes on to a mystery about an underground operation selling snuff films. Read these books at your own risk.

I write plenty of fiction novels in my spare time. I do mysteries, horror and thrillers with a creative streak. In fact, that’s all I ever really do. And I owe a lot to Lansdale for his inspirations.

"It's Clobberin' Time!"

Those are the words I should've said when I saw The Fantastic Four.

For some, it's a nightmare to get a movie together based on superheroes. Fewer have managed to become mainstream hits.

Many fail to rise above the norm. An example of this? "The Fantastic Four."

Planned in the development stages for years, the heavyweight Marvel Comics film brought its own problems. A weak script. Not-so-good acting. A dumbing down of science-fiction. Not even the brilliant special effects can help lift the story. There’s a disrespect to the F.F. canon. That’s too bad. There was potential. It’s all been wasted away.

The problem? Respect for comic books. There’s none. Most people just don’t see them as a work-of-art. They see it as just something to fill closet space. No, it’s considered fodder by most folks.

It depends on the directors. Joe Schumacher, who brought us the awful “Batman and Robin,” didn’t care about comics. He never gave it any thought. His attitude?

Schumacher once said about his film: “It wasn’t funny enough.”

That’s enough to make me cringe. No respect for the canon. You can see also it in the F.F. movie. I’ve always dug the F.F. when I was a kid. I still do. It’s like a fun science lesson. They were explorers. They were the first Marvel Comics superhero team. They were family.

Then the film ignores most of this. The story is uninteresting. It’s unsettling to see a film turn a goldmine like the F.F. into an abysmal loss. No respect for the history prior to the film. It’s a mistake.

Not all of it’s bad. Chris Evans as the wise-cracking Johnny Storm is probably the most interesting. Jessica Alba's sure got pretty curves as the Invisible Woman. I shouldn’t complain much there.

I always thought they should’ve waited twenty more years to do something monumental like the F.F. It’s like wrestling with Mount Rushmore. It's too big. Now, I’m thinking they should just get a good script. Something that brings in credibility to the story.

Not surprisingly, a trilogy is set with a second film expected to hit the screens in 2007. It's made enough money. If it gets a decent script, it’ll work. Otherwise, they should forget it. The F.F. remains an icon too powerful to portray on the big screen. Read the comics instead by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. Even John Byrne. You’ll get more out of it.

A feeling of déjà vu hits me when seeing this film. It feels like my favorite characters are ripped away from my childhood. Commercialism takes over. They’re fakes instead. And I’m seeing my heroes fading away. It’s nothing any fan should have to see.

Kolchak. And I don't mean Telly Savalas.

I’ve still a warm spot for the Night Stalker series. I hold it very close to my heart. Even after so many years. Carl Kolchak seemed larger-than-life. He’s the reluctant hero. Just a reporter doing his job. But with a sense of justice. His greatest weapons? Sarcasm and bad jokes.

Horror in the television landscape. A good scare came from the things unseen, just-around-the-corner variety. It’s like you’re ready to open a door and you’re not sure what’s behind it. That’s what was so fun about the old stories.

The Powers-to-Be in the show—the cops, government, higher officials—couldn’t stand Kolchak. They hated him. He was annoying. They didn’t want him around. He asked questions no one else liked to ask. His very pragmatism cropped up often. It worked because of Darren McGavin’s acting. Believability worked on a high note here.

However, there were more bad shows than good. But it always had its own charms. “Horror in the Heights” and “The Vampire” was some of the highlights. Even better were the TV movies, scripted by horror-master Richard Matheson, made prior to the series.

An investigative drama with its own quirks. He chased down vampires or anything that went bump in the night. Providing they didn't get him first.

The first TV movie “The Night Stalker” debuted in 1972, and up to its time was the most highly rated on TV. Not bad for something subscribing to fangs and scares.

The CBS network tried to bring the show back earlier this year. The new version of Night Stalker was presented to a new audience. But there was something wrong with it.

The new lead actor. Stuart Townsend’s an okay actor. But he seemed far too perfect in the role. It’s hard to relate to someone with no flaws. He didn’t even wear a crummy hat. Kolchak was supposed to be a seasoned, crusty veteran who’s been beaten by life’s rougher edges. He looked like he went through hell. And McGavin played the part with believability. The new guy couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag.

It’s surprising. The new show was created by Frank Spotnitz, responsible for many X-Files stories. He brought with him the gritty realism, the shuffling lighting and a sense of horror. But none of the charm. It was, frankly, a little dull. I haven't heard much about it lately. The new series probably disappeared into its own Bermuda Triangle.

The old Night Stalker came to light on DVD on Oct. 25 during Halloween season. Worth the time to see. It’s still packed with good nostalgia. Plenty of scares.

And fangs for the memories.

Xmas for everyone!

Another end-of-year, another minicontroversy over what to yell at each other to soothe away our stress.

I'll admit I'm no fan of Xmastime. Obligations, in general, are not my bag, and feeling obligated to go do things that I'm not normally going to do (shopping, taking time off work to see people, etc.) is stressful, which I don't like, especially when the reason for it anyway is ultimately 'because everyone else is doing it.'

It's the same for other holidays, if you scroll down to my first post you'll see that Thanksgiving wasn't much fun for me either. The only holidays I can truly say I look forward to would have to be the 4th of July, and that's mostly because it happens to be my birthday and I can usually find a party or BBQ or something to co-opt into my celebration, and Bloomsday.

Enough about me. Tomorrow's Northwestern prints two letters to the editor regarding this issue. One references Hitler. The other suggests that those complaining about "Merry Christmas" go volunteer at a worthwhile charity instead of complaining that people say "Merry Christmas".

Ahem.

[I don't know how far the powers that be will let me get away with talking about work, which with the exception of sleeping is probably the largest aggregate chunk of my life, unfortunately. In this kind of situation (ie. one where grey areas are large and boundaries poorly defined), I push the limits of what I think I can get away with:]

In these two letters, I again note, a reference is made to Hitler, and a suggestion is made that people complaining about this issue do something worthwhile with their time.

Incidentally, if you haven't noticed I like using the notation 'Xmas' to refer to the season. 'X' is a representation of the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter in the word 'Christos', in romanized lettering roughly 'Xpirtoc'. 'Christos' means 'Christ' or in English 'Anointed', the word in 'Jesus Christ' that does not have anything to do with a certain religious figure's actual name, which was probably something like Jeshua ben Joseph. Dec. 25 is not in fact the known birthdate of this figure, that date having a roughly 1/365.25 chance of being correct. The date was likely chosen by the Christian Church in the 4th century CE in response to the nonchristian rituals and feasts also held around that time of year, which stemmed from celebrations of the Winter Solstice, a date that was finalized around 4 billion years ago, or whenever it was that the Earth's axis tilt and day length stabilized, and probably was one of the earliest festivals celebrated anywhere by anyone. It was not a popular Mass for centuries, only beginning to gain widespread popularity in the last few hundred years, around which time it also began to become commercialized. Many Christian denominations, particularly very conservative ones, do not celebrate it.

And X also has, I'm told, some sleazy connotations.

Personally I always thought Festivus sounded like a pretty good time, too.

-a

Who? No, it's Doctor Who.

This could be a start of another British Invasion. It’s seeing another golden age of greatness since the early eighties.

So popular is the much-revived Doctor Who that it’s wiped out all Saturday night teatime competition. It’s consistently reached number one with viewing numbers shooting through the roof. Not a bad comeback for an old favorite that was once thought dead.

A new budget that rivals many of today’s shows. Excellent writing which is pacier. Some really great acting. Story arcs that keep viewers clamoring for more. It’s old territory given new life. People like to feel like they’re a kid again. They get that chance while watching the new Doctor Who series.

Christopher Eccleston helms the time-traveling machine this time around. In fact, he’s the ninth actor to get the part. He’s joined by a spunky, stronger female lead named Rose Tyler played by England’s pop singer Billie Piper. However, the time machine is still in disguise as a London Telephone Public Call Police Box. Some things never change. And rightly so.

Stories. With a British flavor to them. The writing of Russell T. Davies, along with others, breathed new life into the stories and characters. In fact, the writer helped bring much mystery to the established character of the Doctor. Here, Eccleston plays the last of the Time-Lords, a race of people destroyed in a war.

Those who remember the old Doctor Who knows the series worked on a shoe-string budget. Why? Because the stories mattered. It was the most important thing. Now it’s recaptured a sense of wonder and excitement. Even scarier.

Highlights include the “Unquiet Dead” which offers a unique scientific explanation for the raising of the dead. Another is “Father’s Day” about Rose who meets her father on the day he died. There’s even a familiar enemy who creeps back in “Dalek.” It’s never violent either. They keep the kids in mind when making this show.

The heart of the story is the most important. Davies takes us to that point and reminds us every time why we should care about these characters. There’s humor to the show, showing a very human side. Some horror elements harken back to the Tom Baker days.

The BBC just has to find a way to get these shows to American audiences. It’s not being promoted at all. It feels like we’re missing out on something special here.

Next year. A new lead actor. New ideas. New frontiers. I’ll grab my floppy hat and scarf. And I’ll be feeling like a kid again.

No One Can Hear Me Scream... Maybe

No one can hear me scream in this blog. More to the point, there’s no reason for me to. I have seen the director’s cut of “Alien 3.” I’m still amazed at the number of differences in the film, a vast improvement over the crappy theatrical release in 1992. It’s a stunning piece of filmmaking. I’m wondering why the 20th Century studios stuck their noses into this film and screwed around with it. They should have left it alone.

The biggest difference is the narrative: it focuses on religion.

A very touchy subject for many.

David Fincher’s original vision is a religious allegory. The prisoners on this barren planet, trapped in an isolated place with no place to look up to, don’t have much to do. So they turn to religion. Or rather, Charles S. Dutton leads them into a higher place for forgiveness. Each person's a convict. He carries the full weight of sins on his back.

The sweeping references to the bible fit into the narrative perfectly. The oxen, the only animal seen in the film, appears. It’s considered a sacred animal in India. So it makes sense to have the oxen here. Not some dumb pet dog in the other version.

There are scenes of the barren wasteland, savage, relentless, like the desert Moses crossed for forty years. You can see the horror of the skies and the landscape that does not bear life.
None of these scenes made it to the final cut. It’s been stripped of its narrative… none of the religious material made it. Otherwise, the film would’ve made a departure from the other Alien films.

The acting is stunning here. Paul McGann (Who gained fame as the eighth Doctor Who) has a
much bigger part in this one. Before, he’s barely seen in glimpses. Here, he plays a bigger role, and hell, he’s a fine actor. They all are. There are many bits of humor threaded out throughout the film. Good characterization.

Thankfully, it’s not lost to viewing. You can get to see Fincher's intended piece on the collector’s edition on DVD. It’s the special edition. I’m hoping this film will find its rightful place next to the other Alien films. The third film stands well compared to the others, a fitting epitaph to a film that’s been sadly neglected.

Watch it. Rejoice in it. Hallelujah. Now, you might not want to look over your shoulder. There’s something mighty fierce with large teeth and a vicious hunger dripping…

You gotta leave the house if you wanna get X.

I decided not to leave the house yesterday. This is the result of the last several Mondays I did leave the house, during which either a) I decided that leaving the house had been a bad idea or b) I ran into a friend who had been though such a horrible day that it seemed like leaving the house had been a bad idea.

Given this track record, staying home seemed like a good idea, even if it did mean missing the Monday Burger Club at Ohio Street Station again. Also, I was tired. Getting back into the swing of the night life, baby meant that I was out too late, doing too much again, but it looks like I'm not ready for it yet. Chuck Berry has a song about this kind of thing.

Kirby's post, specifically the section about how he won't be able to find an overseas magazine he likes, reminds me that the Fox Cities are lacking a decent alternative bookstore. Kirby, take a look at that link. I'm sure they'll have a lot of stuff you're into, and they can probably put it all in a box and mail it to you. But it doesn't change the fact that there's nowhere to find a decent zine within a half-hour drive of Oshkosh.

p.s. to Beth, Adam, and everyone else who makes Sundays the best night of the week to hear live music in Oshkosh...I keep tryin' to get down there but keep failin'. My fingers are crossed for the 18th.

So Long and Thanks for all the Discounts

I’m very depressed.

One of my favorite stores is shutting down as I’m writing this. Media Play in Appleton isn’t going to be around much longer due to corporate decision. That store and sixty others across the country share the same fate. I just found this out Saturday night and the news hit me like a rushing locomotive. I’m still feeling a little off-kilter. The Fox Valley area is losing a cornerstone in the popular media culture.

I talked to a guy who worked at Media Play in the video department about the store’s closing. He wasn’t sure when the store is going to officially close. All he knew was that it was going to happen. The sister companies such as Sam Goody and Suncoast will remain open. Hopefully those businesses will grow to their full potential.

I asked what’s going to happen to him and his colleagues who worked in Appleton’s Media Play.

“We’ll have to get new jobs,” he said.

That’s too bad. It’s the only place where I can order some of the hard-to-find stuff. Best Buy, located just across the street, won’t even order anything for me. I have to do it online on their website. What if I don’t like computers?

Media Play is also the only place where I pick up a science-fiction magazine printed in England. It’s called SFX. I’m not going to be able to find it in many other places around here. I’ll have to special order it.

Maybe I’ll have to go to the newly opened Exclusive Co. to order. It’ll save me the trip of going to Appleton.

It could be any number of things as to why the store’s shutting down. It could be Wal-Mart. Welcome to the pothole of commercialism. It’s just a corporate decision that feels like a bad Christmas present thrown in everyone’s faces. It feels very heartless, a little ruthless to be doing while December snow is still dangling to the ground. The management will still get their severance pay. And even that can’t be guaranteed. The rest of the folks will have to make do.

Does this Christmas present come with a bowtie and gift-wrapping?

Never Get Sick. Ever.

November was the equivalent of hell for me.

For the last couple months, I've been involved in a germ-warfare race with my friend Jess. Despite our living on different continents, we've been one-upping each other over who can get the virulentest plague. I have the flu for a day, she has it for two. I get a chest cold and miss a day of work, she misses two-and-a-half. I thought I'd won, finally, with my antibiotic-mandatory lung infection, but then I saw her post this to my profile:

"My throat is like hairy sandpaper. I feel like a woman who has been smoking for 30 years. I sound like a tranny. Damn the lurgy!"

I like having a lurgy support network, but I still feel sorry for her.

So instead of doing what I normally do, that being go out and see shows and meet people and drink and smoke a lot and generally acting like a damn fool, and not particularly healthy, I decided a month ago to buy a computer game, to give myself an excuse to stay at home. As of this writing, Scrotch the undead rogue, on the World of Warcraft server Agamaggan, is at level 38 and is in serious need of some more blue items, especially a dagger and a one-handed sword, so I can kill Alliance players easier (they wipe the floor with me now).

That is pathetic. I am ashamed of myself.

Even worse, it didn't work. I kept getting worse and worse the entire month, even though I didn't really do anything except sit at home and play that dumb computer game. (Dumb because when I play a computer game, I like it to consist of less than 50% running around looking for something that I know where it is but can't quite remember, unless it's actually somewhere else entirely and I'm thinking of that one of the other 19 things I have to do before I level again and they turn grey and useless to me. This is fun? It sounds like being an accountant. Oh wait, there's a whole economic system built into the game too. Bleh.) Eventually I decided to listen to people and went to go see a doctor, who gave me a scrip for the afore-mentioned antibiotics, which did make me feel better but ruined my ability to interact with family at Thanksgiving, which made my mom yell at me.

Beth at the Reptile Palace told me last weekend that she thinks she's getting the same thing I had. "Stop smoking right now," I told her, and in a very subtle gesture she expressed the value of my advice while deriding it as futile, given that she owns a bar, and the Palace at that. "I pretty much have except for here," she answered. Myself, I'm getting back into the usual things, except my alcohol tolerance has crashed and burned. Fortunately my drink of choice has the octane of high test gasoline, so I'm sure I'll get back into it soon enough.

Things to look for this weekend include something called the Salty Dogs Bluegrass Happy Hour at the Palace (no cover 6p Friday -- I'm hoping they're playing later also, because I like bluegrass, and I really like the name, but I doubt the paper will approve of me hanging out at a bar during my break) and the Dr. Kickbutt vaudeville-style (think Muppet Show) 'performances' at the New Moon ($5 8p Saturday) and a local school ($5 individual $10 family 3p Sunday).

Superman Lives

Have you ever seen a man fly?

Christopher Reeve made us believe that a man can fly in his role as Superman back in the late seventies and early eighties. So well-known was he in the role that he barely escaped typecasting in the part.

We may be ready to break away from the old Superman films in favor of something new. Not exactly a remake, the new superhero franchise will build on the old--using Marlon Brando once again in unused footage from Superman II reprising as Jor-El, Superman's father. Not bad for an actor who's been dead for well over a year. The new actor Brandon Routh looks remarkably like Christopher Reeve in his younger days.

Not only does he need to be convincing in the part of the man in tights, but also as the mild-mannered Clark Kent. It's not going to be easy.

The new film may actually jumpstart the flagging movie series the same way Batman Begins did for the famed caped crusader from Gotham City. If it works, we may seen a new lease of life for Krypton's last, surviving son. Exactly what studio Warner Brothers needs. An adrelaline rush to fuel this summer's release.

A long and troubled history comes along with this film. It went through several re-writes including a screenplay by Hollywood maverick Kevin Smith. His battle with the movie studios regarding keeping a pivotal scene with Superman and Lois Lane on top of Mount Rushmore is famously known.

Several years passed before a dream becomes a reality.

Will it become a hit? It depends on how well the audience accepts the new actor in the role of Superman. It depends on how the story plays out. Most importantly, it depends on how the film pays respect to one of the most celebrated characters in comic book history created in 1938 by Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel. There's a lot of responsibilty on the shoulders of the director Bryan Singer. Will it work? I hope so. He'll need to be able to do a lot more than leap over tall buildings in a single bound.

Perhaps we can believe we will be flying with Superman this summer in his long-awaited return to the big screens.

"Carnivale"-- a small television gem

Sherlock Holmes vs. Moriority. Captain Ahab vs. Moby Dick. Mephistopheles and Faust.
Good and evil. Always the battlefield that rages through our liteature. It's the balance that keeps everything on a thread. Everywhere we turn we find the same battle in books, movies and even television. It is the story stripped down to the core. The bare minimum. When it comes down to it, the story depends on this classic battle.
The same battle can be found in a small television gem called "Carnivale." It is a religious allegory. The mysteries of heaven and hell play out through a different series of events leading to a point in time when good and evil eventually clashes. It is 1934. The American mid-west is a dusty landscape flooded with sandstorms of biblical proportions, the skies seem to bleed with dull, flagging colors reflecting the great depression of its time. One person is born out of light. Ben Hawkings, a troubled healer. The other, pure evil. Infested in a conflicted evangelist Brother Justin. Each one has dreams leading them down to different paths. Eventually, like a boiling cauldron ready to explode, their paths will meet in a battlefield known simply as the United States of America.
Those who have seen the first season know of its offbeat, strangely appealing beauty of every scene set in the 1930s. It's well scripted, acted and directed on every level. The stories unfold like a novel on television. When I sat down to watch the first season on DVD, I was captivated by its oddity. Ben Hawkins is taken into the wings of a carnival troupe, led by a midget, learning about his own past and role in the fight between good and evil. The characters are always shady, in the grey area... you never know who's on which side. Everything is led by a supernatural magic... the people are placed together like pieces of a chess board. In many ways, it's like finding a different side of America, one where it's keeping hidden legacies of magic out of the public eye. It take a simple healer and an evangelist to crack open these mysteries while we stand helpless, as an audience, while the titanic forces go to work.
Television has always been, for me, an empty landscape of junk that sucks your brains out and turns it into mud. It's nice to know that some good television is still being produced. You just have to dig through the murky television garbage and find the good stuff beneath. Find it. Revel in it. I envy your first discovery of this series. I managed to find a used copy of it in Green Bay and think it's worth every penny. My favorite character is Clayton Jones, an ordinary man who tries to take everything at face value, just a simple guy caught up in this magical war.
Season one is out on DVD and it should be relatively easy to find in most stores. Sadly, HBO isn't renewing the show for its third year. Yet, for prosperity, second two should be coming along soon on DVD. Haven't heard anything yet about its release. Worth seeing. It's an undeniable television easily overlooked. Check out the following link for a closer look at the series http://www.hbo.com/carnivale/

On a Foggy Night ...

It's cold. People stay home cold. The streets are quiet. Winter's grip is solid. It's a solitary walk to Peabody's and I have to say I like it. I hear echoes of the music even before I cross the street and head in the back door. (I can't help but remember Melissa's missive: always go in the back door.) Inside is cookin'. The somehow steady chatter of a dozen conversations gives way to the music. The esprit de corps runs high in the crowd and the Jazz Orgy rarely disappoints. Tonight is no exception.

The crowd is a little thin, but I remember the bitter elements that seemed to sap all energy right out of me. It takes true grit to make it out on a night like this, but luckily a little insanity pulses through Oshkosh. A city like this calls out to a certain breed of people who like a little down and dirty action now and again, who aren't afraid to get their hands a little dirty.

The band doesn't disappoint. Cooper's back in the saddle. Underwood's ready as always. Mertens has brought the real stand-up bass. Stevens confidently sits in for Martin. And the night burns on. Release comes musically and spreads to conversation, to smiles. To friends. It could be 30 degrees south of 0 and we'd never notice. Match has been set to gasoline and the rest is inevitable.

Only in Oshkosh. It's not the same in Neenah. Nor Appleton. The same sense of abandon and release doesn't come. It's not an experience. There's no interaction. Crowd and music do not fuse into the fluid pulse that swallows opposition and drives passion to excess. In this moment, we have something more powerful than Appleton's money and attention, something that cannot be purchased, only achieved. This is Oshkosh. This is life. Live at your own risk.