Yes, I'm Going to Talk About Twilight Again. But Also Reading.

I went to see "To Kill a Mockingbird" at the theater the other night. It was a pretty amazing experience. Such a quiet film, but every image resonates loudly long after you've watched. It was a respectful crowd at a major-chain theater, which is a rare and delightful thing to behold.

It also happened to be the night of the new Twilight movie premier. I arrive at the theater about 6:40 and there were already plenty of young women camped out in front. They were in pastel hoodies with mittens and Starbucks and they looked miserably gleeful. This was their night, and as I stood out front finishing my cigarette I smiled inwardly and got a little sad that I never got to experience anything like that when I was their age. That would have been a monumental event for me - nerding out with my friends (of which I had few at that age), camping out, laughing and talking about our favorite moments from books and movies. How is that not heaven?

So I stood there, and out of nowhere got very self conscious. I became very worried that someone would mistake me for a Twi-Hard. I am an almost middle aged chubby little goth girl, and after a bit of soul searching have reconciled that it was more about the combination of my age and lack of companion than a fandom association that had me staring at the concrete. But in hindsight I am still pretty ashamed of myself for being embarrassed. And one particular female is the reason why.

She walked in with a plainly handsome young man. She was old enough to know better. They walked back out immediately, and she began screeching as they walk back to a car. "OH MY GOD LOOK AT THEM! THEY ARE SO PATHETIC!" And on and on, she couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry, wondered if they had boyfriends*, and kept turning around and laughing. I totally gave her the stink eye, you guys, and immediately held my head high again. This woman was howling with laughter because a group of people enjoy something. Gross.

Twi-Hards catch an awful lot of shit. It is becoming more and more en vogue to be a nerd these days. Star Wars fans are no longer estimated to be basement dwelling virgins. Ringers are calm, languid linguists and Potterheads are just flat out awesome. But Twi-Hards are still the black sheep. Why?

I read all four Twilight books a couple years ago. I did not love them. I barely liked them, and I did not think they were well written. But I will never, as long as I live, fault someone for reading and enjoying a book. Do you know how many people I've met that literally hadn't picked up reading material that wasn't held together by staples until the Twilight Saga came along? Do you know how many girls felt like they had no one to talk to because they felt their interests were too geeky? Do you know how many adults I know who now devour books because Twilight reminded them how much they love to read? How, in the name of Jean Luc Picard, are these bad things?

I love you, Twi-Hards. I embrace you. Your cosplay may not be as ostentatious as some but you attack it with a zest equal to the dude in the full Wookie costume on a 90 degree day. Your protagonist might be a poor role model for women, but not every heroine has to be Ellen Ripley. Sometimes you just need the fairy tale, and there isn't a damn thing wrong with that.

Some of you might be calling me out here, recalling a previous entry where I had a little bit of fun at the expense of the Twilight saga. I did. But not once did I make fun of its fans. And I never will.

*Tips From Auntie Kat: Attention young nerdling boys: Ah, my sweet little awkward puppies. You wanna meet girls? Read some YA lit that features a supernatural romance or a dystopian future. When the inevitable movie is released, go with at least one of and no more than two of your friends. Ask the girl sitting next to you what part she is most excited to see on the big screen, or who her favorite character is. After the movie, ask her if she and her friends want to go to Steak and Shake. I promise, even if she says no, she will be glad you asked.

Nostalgia is a Hell of a Drug.

Or, how I learned to stop worrying and realize these subtitles stopped being funny several entries ago, but if I stop now I'm totally a quitter.

Yesterday I drove out to my dad's to take him a burger and spend a little quality time in his central air, which as it turned out he had not even considered activating.  It was 92 degrees at 10:30 am yesterday, and despite my unadulterated loathing of summers in Ohio, I was feeling restless.  As I exited Springfield on my way to South Vienna I realized it was Memorial Day weekend - and that meant the Melody Drive In was celebrating its opening weekend, which sent me into nostalgia overdrive.  So I decided that the only way to spend such a grotesque day was to drive around, blaring Skid Row's first album*, and take a tour of the only places that shaped me growing up in that uneventful place: Springfield's movie theaters.

The Melody's sign still lights up in the most beautiful rainbow neon, a beacon among cornfields and Highway Patrol offices, singing "yes, we are open!  You can bring your entire family to see TWO movies!"  Most of the speaker poles hang empty these days, as you tune your car radio to an AM station for audio, but for the most part the Melody's facade (and pre-movie concession stand cartoon) remains untouched by progress.  And I mean that as the highest compliment.  While I may shudder to think what happens in parked cars at the Drive In these days, I cancel that out by remembering all the milestones that happened in our 1974 Chevelle.  Seeing "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves" during such a severe thunderstorm that the screen was erased from view for a time.  Crying so very hard during "The Fox and the Hound" that my father threatened to take me home (for the record, I still cry that hard during that damn movie).  I know I saw my first 3-D movie here, but it is killing me that I can't remember what it was.  When I was a child, The Showboat, another Drive In, was directly across the street.  It's an empty field now, but I will always remember my aunties taking me to see a film, then telling me to go to sleep in the back seat while they stayed for "Top Gun."  I laid in the backseat and watched the entire movie reflected in the rear window.

When we weren't at the Drive In, my mother was taking me to one of three other theaters.  The State and The Regent, beautiful downtown theaters that were built at the turn of the century, had been old Vaudeville theaters.  A friend of mine was a manager for Chakers' Entertainment and he said that the wings were still full of old costumes and props from the antique productions.  

It was here, at The State, that I braved "The Dark Crystal," but years later I told my mother my tummy hurt so I could sit on her lap during "Gremlins" because I was secretly horrified.

I held hands with a boy for the first time at The Regent.  He totally played guitar, you guys.  The movie?  "The Last Boy Scout," which was incidentally probably the last movie I saw at this theater, as it closed in 1991 and has been rotting since.  The State closed for a while in 1990, but has since been utilized for local productions and silent film screenings.  I look back and realize how lucky I am to have been in such opulent theaters.  Can you imagine seeing "The Dark Crystal" in a theater with burgandy velvet curtains, chandeliers, red velvet seats, and 70 year old murals painted on the walls?  It was a gift, and I am grateful.

In 1991, Mr. Chakers opened Springfield's first "good" movie theater.  One of the first movies shown was "Cry Baby," which if you know anything about Springfield is HILARIOUS.  I saw Gary Oldman on the big screen for the first time ("Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula"), saw people get up and leave in the middle of a movie for the first time ("Natural Born Killers").  And even though in hindsight I knew I'd experienced it before, it was here I became aware of how a movie could move you ("Schindler's List," "The Piano").  I still get chills during "The Lion King" when I remember my mother grabbing my hand as the title slammed on that screen.  We looked at each other and knew we were about to see something amazing.   My friend Mercedes died in a car accident over a decade ago, but I will always remember the time we were the only two in attendance at a showing of "Howard's End."  Cede threw a Skittle at Helena Bonham Carter, but I don't remember why.

     Forgive me for upsetting the chronology, but I had to save the best for last.

It's called "Chakers Cinema 5" now, but back in the day it was simply "The Mall."  Located in the front of sad little Upper Valley Mall and eternally smelling a little bit like diapers, it's one of the most important buildings in my life.  My mother wept during "ET," cackled with laughter during "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," and closed her eyes and sighed when Michael Keaton dropped an f-bomb in "Beetlejuice."  History came full circle when my father cried during "Dances with Wolves," which is also historical as it's the only time my father and I were in a movie theater together.  I saw "Wayne's World" five times one summer, because there was literally nothing else to do in Springfield.  "The Goonies," "Back to the Future," and of course, that first damning nail in my social aptitude's coffin . . . "Return of the Jedi" - it all happened here.  I had to grin yesterday as I looked at the "Dark Shadows" and "Avengers" posters in the windows.  Sixteen year old me would have shit her pants over Tim Burton and Johnny Depp making a Dark Shadows movie AND Robert Downey Jr. playing Iron Man.  As it stands, 35 year old me only shit her pants over one of those things.  There was nothing I enjoyed more in my youth than walking through those doors you see in that picture.  Nothing.

There are so many important theaters in my life.  The Neon in Dayton, which gets me through every Oscar season and housed me through the credits when I couldn't stop crying after "The Savages."  The AMC on Olentangy in Columbus, where I held hands and shared tissues with a complete stranger because we were both crying so hard during "Titanic."  The Beavercreek Regal, where I saw "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt 2" at midnight.  Studio 35 in Columbus, where you could drink beer, eat pizza, and smoke cigarettes while watching your movies, four things that were wildly important to 21 year old me.  

Friends and neighbors, I love movies.  And it pains me how much I love going to the movies, as the majority of United States citizens don't know how to behave in public and the event of going to a cinema can be considerably less enjoyable as a result.  But I still love it.  The dimming of the lights, the green screen announcing the trailers, and lately the gigantic slushies to which I have become oddly partial.  All of it gives me goosebumps every single time.  So I guess the moral of the blog is . . . something I never in a million years thought I would say: Thank you, Springfield.  Thank you for giving me this appreciation and all those amazing experiences.  I can't imagine what my life would be without them.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to see MiBIII.

*Super Fun Sidebar:  As I drove around the decrepit downtown listening to Skid Row, I passed a local guitar legend standing at an ATM.  It was the very same man who taught me to play all those songs 20 years ago.  

What Else Has He Been In?

Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love That Guy.

I would be willing to wager a fair amount of money that you have either thought or maybe even uttered the following phrase: "Oh look, it's That Guy." He was in the random re-run of "Quincy ME" you caught the other night, but he's also going to be on Thursday's "CSI." He was in a blaxploitation flick from the 70's, but he's also on every twelfth "Law & Order" rerun on A&E. She's a thin lipped waitress, but she also knobbed Jeff Bridges while he was busy getting an Oscar. The Coen Brothers love That Guy. Martin Scorsese makes Those Guys into something that makes James Lipton swoon. This is my salute to you, That Guy.

What makes a That Guy? What keeps him from crossing over into Household Name? For a woman one can easily blame it on not being beautiful. I could possibly name five actresses that aren't "pretty," but I'd have to try pretty damn hard. Dudes, on the other hand . . . Well, that argument just won't cut it. Whatever you try to argue, I will rebut, and win, with two words: Jack Nicholson. I win. But I digress. Maybe these folks got pigeonholed too soon, maybe they just have shitty agents. But we all know them and we probably love them, and I bet we have even incorporated some of their roles into our own personal pop culture.

Richard Jenkins.
This guy went from being a big gay Fed in "Flirting With Disaster" to a freakin' Oscar nominee. Not bad, eh? Richard Jenkins is kind of a weird That Guy in that he usually has a lot of screen time in his projects, and yet a That Guy he remains. Even after the Oscar publicity. Now he's just "hey, it's That Guy that was nominated for the Academy Award!" I really rooted for him. A lot. Mr. Jenkins has a solid 90 IMDB credits, which ain't too shabby.


Needle Nose Ned!!
Stephen Tobolowsky was most recently seen by me as a bad guy in "Heroes." And boy did I love seeing him as a bad guy. Mr. Tobolowsky usually plays an annoying bumbler, but look into those eyes, man. Those are crazy eyes right there. Stephen Tobolowsky should take on "Dexter." He might even have put the fear of God into Tony Soprano. I seriously think he should be checking into this little niche, if only for a while. And, Mr. Tobolowsky has a whopping 199 IMDB credits.


Brion James, who I believe is sadly no longer with us. Mr. James usually played a bumbling, inept, tough guy, and he played him well. Wide eyes and tough features made him perfect for these parts and he did funny just as well as he did pathetic. Mr. James was in 160 movies according to IMDB.



Jeff Kober is under a shitton of make up a lot. You might not recognize him. But he's a rugged, non-traditionally handsome man and I can't find any logical reason that he is not a star of, at the very least, Val Kilmer proportions. I almost want to call him the poor man's Gary Oldman, but I can't help but think that he's absolutely cool with his current level of celebrity. I have a soft spot for Jeff Kober. I saw him on an episode of "Highway to Heaven" when I was wee, and have recognized him ever since. Plus, he had two different roles on Buffy. Nice. Mr. Kober has 91 listed appearances.


When compiling my list, I thought of Dylan Baker and immediately thought "That Guy aways plays a sick fuck." But when perusing his 90 listings, only two stuck out at me. "Happiness" and "Trick R Treat." Why do I associate him with being a pervert? I'll tell you why. Liver lips. That, and I've aways said never trust a man with two first names. EVER.


I had planned on only mentioning one of Mr. David's roles, because it's the only one that matters to me: He will forever be the man that made Jennifer Connelly go ass to ass for smack. *jibblies* But, upon checking out his 179 IMDB listings, I learned that his first credited role was in a film called "Disco Godfather," which I will promptly be adding to my Netflix queue once I am finished with this blog.


That Knife Guy! Danny Trejo was a juvenile delinquent, a very young addict, and earned a boxing title in San Fucking Quentin. The prison. He has also been in 183 movies. Holy shit, how awesome is that? True, he plays a lot of hooligans, but this isn't a blog about typecasting. A lot of the actors in this list have been in some amazing, ground breaking films. Danny Trejo? Not so much. But he has been in an asston of fun flicks, and that ain't bad for someone who could kill you with his bare hands.


Beth Grant's career encompasses a weird pie chart with the labels "bitch," "fundie," and "white trash." But look at her! She's very pretty! Beautiful hair, lovely figure, and 140 movie listings. Does Angelina Jolie have that many credits? I submit she does not!* But Angelina has one thing that Beth Grant does not. Lips. Ms. Grant is cursed with the American Thin Lip, which I can't help but associate with Doral 100's and a throwaway Mountain Dew. It sucks, Ms. Grant. But I will NEVER doubt your commitment to Sparklemotion.


And last but in no way least, That Man.
Charles. Fucking. Napier.

I saw Charles Napier cry on Dr. Phil's show once. He cried because he had never become a superstar while his own wife and that shrew of a shrink chided him. It broke my cold little heart. Charles Napier has been in 193 projects, and he was being chided. Shame. Mr. Napier is usually an authority figure - Army Guy, Cop Guy. And I can totally pinpoint why he has never hit superstardom. Hear me out on this one.

I was reading "Sweet Tooth" the other night and found myself thinking that if a live action movie were ever made, Napier should totally play Mr. Jeppard. But then I thought, well, maybe not. I don't know if Mr. Jeppard has a heart of gold yet (I've only finished issue 5, so don't spoil it for me if you know), and that's what Charles Napier was born to do: Be the asshole with the heart of gold. There are very few movies that revolve around the asshole with the heart of gold, but one is usually there to further the plot. He's got the voice and demeanor of a total bitch, but the eyes and Southern smile of your friend's awesome grandfather. The one that snuck you beer when you were 14, and not because he was a pervert, just because he was cool like that. Charles Napier. I'm going to write a screenplay someday, one so awesome it will make studio heads weep tears of platinum. And I won't sell it to them unless Charles Effing Napier is the star. Word.




*I'm far too lazy to look that up right now.

A Very Hasty Oscar Blog

I feel shameful. Tonight is my Christmas. I seriously look forward to this night so very much . . . and I normally write, about a week before, a very well thought blog (previously on livejournal, FYI), about my who and why picks of the evening. Not tonight, sadly. Tonight you get a super quick double listing of "gonna" and "wanna." Enjoy!

I have tried for many years to see every film nominated for a major award. Last year I was only one short, this year I am short by three (A Single Man, The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus, and The Young Victoria). Next year is my year, friends!

Oh, for what it's worth, my favorite movies of the year were Up, The Watchmen, The Road, and . . . hmmm . . . probably District 9. Oh, and Precious! That movie blew my mind.

I'll be cracking open my bottle of Shiraz shortly, and a hangover blog will follow tomorrow. Happy Oscar Night, friends and neighbors!

Without further adooooo (*sic, I know):

Gonna Wins:
Supporting Actress: Monique.
Supporting Actor: Christoph Waltz.
Actress: Bullock. I don't even like typing that.
Actor: Bridges.
Director: James Cameron.
Original Screenplay: This is a tough one. I'm calling Up.
Adapted: Up in the Air.
Animated: Up. Duh.
Picture: I really think Avatar is going to win. And if it does, I might be breaking up with Oscar.
Art Direction: Avatar. Again, duh.
Cinematography: Avatar.
Visual Effects: Avatar. Do I need to say "duh" again?
Make Up: Star Trek?
Editing: Avatar
I'm skipping the sound categories, because I truly don't know or understand their qualifications.
Score: Avatar


I want to win:
Supporting Actress: Monique.
Supporting Actor: Woody Harrelson.
Actress: Gabourey Sidibe, baby! I feel good about it, I really do. I'll cry so hard if she wins.
Actor: Bridges.
Director: Katherine Bigelow. I want this. I love her. Near Dark is one of my favorite movies. As recently tweeted, I am way too emotionally invested in her winning of this award. Way.
Original Screenplay: Up. Or The Messenger, I'm torn.
Adapted Screenplay: Precious. Sorry, District 9, I love you too, but Precious touched me more. HA! SEE HOW I'M PUNNY THERE?!!? (Yeah, that was wildly inappropriate but I'm a little giddy at this point)
Animated: Up. But Secret of Kells was cool as hell.
Picture: The Hurt Locker. For real.
Art Direction: Avatar (keeping in mind I didn't see two of the flicks nominated)
Cinematography: The Hurt Locker (but the camera work in The White Ribbon was AMAZING, and I just might pick that topic as my hangover blog tomorrow).
Visual Effects: Avatar. Duh.
Editing: The Hurt Locker
Score: Up.