Saturday, October 28, 2006

SAW 3



Three years ago I downloaded Saw 1 and watched it unabashedly on my monitor. It was great to see Princess Bride cut his fat leg out of the shackle to go and die anydamnways. I had no faith in the thing, and that is why I disrespected it so. I mean, face it: horror movies suck these days and have sucked for a looooonnnng time. Modern horror films are slutty. Like diseased slutty. Like the kind of slutty that is not enjoyable and you need to take an introspective shower afterwards slutty. The kind of slutty that makes you go to the clinic. The kind of slutty that makes you wonder if you cinched up the condom high enough. Give me DePalma's Sisters. Give me Friedkin's Exorcist. Give me the Raimie Evil Dead. But this Ring/Feardotcom/Grudge/Hostel/Texas Chainsaw Massacre/House of the Dead whorish horror zone isn't worthy of anyone's respect. Yes, 28 Days Later. Yes Shaun of the Dead. Yes, the new Dawn of the Dead. Yes to Rob Zombie's attempts at making a horror show what it used to be...but by and large, Hollywood is weak, and splatter is their solution for horror. Truth in film? Perhaps. Truth in horror films? NOT A CHANCE.

Saw 1 was a step away from that. Gore was offscreen.
Digression:
I had this conversation with my father the other day. I was explaining to him why I thought Tarantino is a bitch. The reason why is that Tarantino thinks I am an idiot. He has to get the camera right into the middle of the gore and show me with painstaking details what I am experiencing. I fully believe in the creatures of the Id however. If the camera backs off, then I am left with my mind to connect the dots. My mind is a brutal organ for a filmmaker to employ, lemme tellyuh. Here is my deathblow to Tarantino: Rez Dogs. The camera pulls away when the ear gets sliced. We go back to see Marvin the cop with a messed up head. We don't get to see Mr. Blonde putting in the work. However, Tarantino filmed the actual pulling of the ear...he just couldn't nail the special effect, so he covered his pretentious ass by pulling the camera away and then back in. I personally think that the scene is gold. But it wouldn't have been gold if Tarantino had been working with a budget.
Back on track:

I went to the theatre with Dave (R.I.P.) last year to see Saw 2. The stuff was dope. It was well thought out. It was a carnival of sadism with some sort of strange redemptive quality underneath it all. I dug on it. Not in the, "I will buy this DVD and watch it all the time like I do with Superfly" dug on it, but a dig nonetheless.

Yesterday, Matt and I loaded the mudguns and went to see Part 3. I went in there prepared to have nothing special happen. I am correct. Nothing special happened. Except for in the first 10 minutes. Donnie Wahlberg (superior to Marky Mark in all respects BTW)is shackled to a wall at the beginning (following right on the heels of the end of Part 2). He figures out that he has a hacksaw and that the only way to get out is to saw his foot off. But he looks around. He finds the lid to the back of a toilet. Donnie proceeds to pound the lid into the shackle. At least that is what I thought he was doing. But NO, he is breaking his foot so that he can get out of the shackle. And he does. This was one of the most badass moves I have seen in a Saw movie PERIOD.

The rest? It was alright. The gore is front and center. Gratuitous. You see bones popping. You see pig guts splashing:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=kCuVbdJ_Ils
You see the stump of a blown off head. You see open brain surgery. You see what you want to see, and you see it done well. You also get the cliffhanger that should drag your ass back next year. The twists are solid enough for a horror film of this type budget. Lion's Gate is known for making slutty films, and this one is much more of the "I haven't gone all out and become a full-blown whore" slutty type film, but it does have "easy" written all over it. She is easy, but she is also a good time...and you don't need to have an AIDS test afterward.

Where am I going with this? Nowhere, really. Saw 1 and 2 seemed to be more about Jigsaw's twisted way of having people face their shortcomings with some sort of torture device. How bad do you want to survive? This sort of thing. The permeating theme underneath this year's installation however, is forgiveness.

Forgiveness in a horror film? NO WAY, you say. I am serious. And Jigsaw isn't looking for the kind of forgiveness for someone taking your lunch money. He is asking for the forgiveness that you must bestow on someone who has given you a SOULWOUND. This is the truth. This is what lifts the Saw franchise above WRONG TURN or THE HILLS HAVE EYES.

If forgiveness isn't hard, then what is?

I wasn't even going to blog about this sub-par film that won't even show up if our society gets nuked and people go through the ashes in a thousand years. I wasn't going to give this film any credence, besides the fact that I was going to mention in conversation that NKOTB fokking owned this film. But then I was on Rotten Tomatoes this morning and I read a post from some religious zealot. The truth. We all want the truth. And I saw the TRUTH play out in this thread. The responses to this guy really hit home in my mind. So, into the didactic whirlpool you must go:


username999999 says:

Please understand the question. I am not asking if a Christian SHOULD see SAW III. I am not calling for a boycott.

My question is if a true Christian would be able to spend God's money and see such a horrific movie based on watching people suffering unbelievable pain and torment.

I believe some professing Christians are seeing this movie. Please post your opinion here and on our "Share Opinions and Ideas" topic. Also cast your vote on this topics poll at...

Bible Fourm


This is a standard question from a standard sterotypical Christian. WTF is a true Christian? I have no idea. But I like the way this bastard gets taken apart.


Noggy3230 responds with the blistering:

Yeah I am going to argue that Passion of Christ was a movie about torture simlar to Saw. I love the Saw series. They have been the most creative horror movies released in decades other than J-Horror films. It suppose to be entertaining thats it but if you want to bring religion into then I will.

Jigsaw only tortures people in order to help them in a sick way. He picks people have sinned so couldn't that be considered doing God's work? In the first movie, the girl that survived said that Jigsaw saved her life so you could say what that the tortures are justified.

Just don't look down on people that enjoy horror movies because they find them entertaining.


Finisher from the Bounty Hunter:

While SAW III is filled with violence, profanity, and nudity, a major theme of the movie is forgiveness. In that respect I would say that SAW III is morally higher than some of the drug and sex glorifying movies that are out there.

My opinion? If the movie can get this kind of thought and theory behind it,it can't be all bad, que no? I am not saying for one second that SAW 3 ranks up with THE DEPARTED or THE PRESTIGE for that matter...but there is some truth underneath it all, and that is what brings this franchise it's strength.

But on a final note, I think I am done with the franchise. The cliffhanger that was set up seems to me to be a little too tedious. Saw 3 is good. It has family values (err..the valuing of one's family). It has a moral standing (murder is not good). It has the quest for forgiveness. It also has a twisted old man trying to figure out what makes us all do what we do...from his deathbed. Don't take it too seriously, but understand that there is some truth here, folks. The kind of truth that you will not find in Silent Hill, Final Destination 3 or The House of Wax. Horror films. How far you have fallen? Why must I sing the praises of something slightly to the right of mediocre like Saw 3.

I think the truth of the matter here is that Hollywood and its regular consumers all need a serious enema. We are so far off the mark that it hurts. So far off of the mark that when something looks like it might be a nickel glistening on a pile of dogshit, we glom onto it. We are not looking for the diamond in the rough. We really should be looking, but it doesn't exist.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Cancer Ward

I thought about sitting here at this computer in the bowels of the Stanford Medical Center and talking smack as I usually do. I came into this sterile building sassy, full of caffeine and ready to do such a thing. I'd planned on drawing attention to all of the bullsh*t posturing I see all around me. I wanted to focus on the colorful personalities that surround me. I wanted to mock a bit, but then to also get some sort of view of the reckoning with thanatos that a lot of people around me are going through. I didn't realize that I would see so much futility and hopelessness in the countless eyes I have scrutinized today. The depression here is thick. Tar pit thick. The moments that I have had with these people have been grim. We are all contemplating mortality in our own ways.

I had planned to talk about what a good sport my father is as they bleed him dry and push saline solution through his open veins. I wanted to write a blog that would show you people what a badass my old man is. How he is staring down the barrel of the cancer cannon and he is stronger in some ways than I have ever seen him.

I wanted to elaborate on all of those points...and more, but I won't.


This place is f*cking depressing.

Monday, October 16, 2006

All I have in this world are my balls and my words.

Casson Demmon in response to my last blog about my Mustang:
What year is that?
I thought you were going to get a fixer upper, you got a fixted upted for sure.
I bought an old car too, I went for less power, its the slowest thing I've ever driven. Long, loaded down trucks flex on me because they know they have better acceleration.
Is this our version of an early midlife crisis? Should we get some hairplugs and start working out?



Look Pal,
A man gets married. Things are good. Then, the wife gets pregnant. Things start to really move. In my case, I was driving an '78 Mini Cooper when my wife got preggo. We had the kid and then it was the countdown till we got a new vehicle. Sure enough, Luther found out how to use his legs, and soon he could kick me in the back of the head from his little seat in the back of the Mini. It was time to move on. All around me were the hints and the proddings that I should get a minivan. That I should just reach into my pants with a boxcutter in lefty and slash my bag open, find the cords and saw my testicles off. I didn't want to clip my balls off. I didn't want to be a soprano driver. I wanted to live! Hey man...I like my nuts.

When I was a kid in Canada, some other kid told me that an ancient chinese torture was to cut your nuts off. That you would die instantly once they were clipped. That story haunts me to this day. It haunted me at that very minivan considering point of my life, and I wasn't about to have the bells slashed and tossed into a garbage disposal. No freaking way.

There is only one thing worse than a man with his balls in a garbage disposal because he is driving around in a mini-van. That is the man who uses the mini-van for his own transportation outside of his wife and kids. Any male who is rolling around (I don't care if he is going to the 7-11 for Similac) he had BETTER NOT DRIVE IN THAT MINIVAN without a passenger that demonstrates his need to use the minivan. This is the kind of man who has lost his member as well as the balls. The pork and the beans...GONE.

I was totally screwed. We had no income for a second vehicle, so we had to make the family vehicle COUNT. It had to count like Luke Skywalker's only photon torpedo shot at the Death Star. I couldn't risk the potential "driving around by myself in the minivan" scenario. I have some dignity. I have pride. I like my nuts. I didn't want people looking at me like I had once been a man. FOK THAT.

So I made the move on a Volkswagen Westfalia. VW Campervan does not equal a minivan. A VW van has class. It says "counterculture". It says, "I am going somewhere, and you aren't invited". It says "Woodstock". It says "Germany". It says "naptime". It also says "You are never in a hurry". In a lot of ways, it also says "FOK JOO". I won my battle against the minivans. Many nutless individuals that I know have not won this battle. Their balls pack the garbage disposals of motor city like some sort of vulgar egg factory getting ready to make a seriously compromised omlette. The switches are thrown once every two minutes in America. Every two minutes, a minivan is sold, and if you listen to the open air outside your office, you can hear testicles bouncing against the blades as water rushes down the sink. You can hear the balls getting flayed, shredded, wounded and sliced. You can hear the loss of manhood if you listen hard enough.

Huevos Rancheros, my friends.

Checkitout: Men who drive minivans have been neutered. This is an absolute. Furthermore, they KNOW that they have been neutered. There is no defense that they can offer in regards to this cold-hearted FACT. The duty of the rest of the males (with nuts intact) in their lives is not to remind the neutered males too often that their balls are in the fakking garbage disposal and the switch is still flipped and the blades are still chewing. There is a self-loathing that is involved here too. What man in his right mind pays big money to have his jewels torn from under his pudendum to be thrashed to bits in the whirling attack of a heartless, metal bitch? I have known such men. Stupid men. Men with no understanding of the phallic representation that the vehicle he drives carries. Men who traded in their hyper-phallic 4X4 vehicles for a mangina on thin tires.

Let's think more about this poor joe. Let's think about this pathetic sot, who cut off his own balls and dropped them in a garbage disposal because that was the only solution he could think of to move his family around. This sorry bastard will go for ten to twenty years driving around in a vehicle that states to all "testes-free". What a sorry lout. What a sucker. What a fokking she-male.

The most cynical part about this whole thing is that the bitches at the top of the auto industry know this. They sit around and make fun of the consumers. They say in their little closed door, donut and coffee meetings things like this:
"What is the ugliest fokking vehicle we can foist on the working family man?"
and
"How can we laugh at a fool for paying us twenty grand and feel good about it?"

Their aim is to make this misshapen castrati hungry. They know that if he buys a bland, no flavor having box with a name like "Voyager" that sooner or later, if this man ever returns from his nutless, zombie state, he will be a consumer FOR REALS. He will strap himself down with some serious debt to prove to all the men around him that he indeed has nuts, and that these nuts still work.
The auto industry tycoons' aim is to make this androgen want like nothing else to purchase a sports car. A car that he can ride down the street in and motherfuckers like myself won't point at him and yell things like, "Your nutsack is like a deflated balloon!"
So when that low-down sonofabitch finally clears, and the car seats are out and his kids can open and close doors by themselves and there isn't a steady trail of Cheerios behind him or in every last one of his jacket pockets, he makes a move on a different car.

Motherfuckers (not me, I understand the male desire to preserve/regenerate balls) step to this guy who is in his late forties or early fifties and they wonder why he picked up that sporty new vehicle. Why is he suddenly behind the wheel of a Corvette Stingray with the same sharktoothed hood that Mark Hammil had back in Corvette Summer? Why is this mildly paunchy, no fashion sense having father of the year suddenly rocking the Mustang? The Viper? The Challenger? The Dodge 300?

HE IS SIMPLY TRYING TO REGENERATE HIS BALLS.

Society calls this "having a mid-life crisis" and a bunch of other trash. That is all bullshit. This issue has been going on as long as I have been alive. Back when I was a kid, I would see these pathetic-assed fathers trolling around in station wagons with the wood paneling (no offense Dad, you get a pass here). The minivan is the same damn thing, only modern. We all laugh. We all snicker and we all know that someone is missing their balls.

So, Casson, in response to your statement: NO. I am not having a mid-life crisis. I never lost my balls in the first place.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Her name is Hector.

Pics from October 11 and 12.

Behind the wheel of Hector.

Notice Ferdinand in the background.

"What, punk?"

Checking my drawers before I roll out.

Saying good morning to Hector.

Me and John, the dude who is working this deal.

This shot is so gangster that I need to go take a cold shower.


This is me back when I was about 20. The fuzziness is because this was taken by one of those disc cameras. Casson and I ran around Marina shooting ourselves silly. The bulk of the pictures should never see the light of day, but this should give you an idea of my frame of mind back then. Note the Milli Vanilli braids. You think those braids were funny? I should come forward in time from that point and kick your ass.

10-13-06
Let me tell you that Hector drinks a lot of gasohol. 35 bucks fills the tank, but when you have a .351 under your hood (stock? wtf is that? stock is for teh ghey) you drink like a fish.

I had Luther, Yz and the Eyeball in that thing tonight. I put it up to 90 mph in takedown bursts on Blanco road. It is so low to the ground that I really need both hands on the wheel. If the road changes a bit? I'M CATCHING AIR. I have to land that sucker on the regular.
Yzzy is into the coolness of it. She likes to enjoy the speed and the moment. I could see in her eyes that she was taking the moment down so that she could tell other people her experience.
Ivan is a screamer. "WOOOHOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" Is what I was getting out of that kid as I did a takedown on a silly 2006 white Ford truck. I couldn't tell what else was going on back there, but it was loud and thrashing, whatever it was.
Luther barely had his pulse flicker. He had been in "one of these cars before". Old news. Old hat. No big deal. I told him (jokingly) that if it was so boring, then maybe he should walk. He understood where I was coming from and I think his heartbeat suffered a murmur or maybe he was just sighing.

Hector is all power. Step too hard on the gas and you will leave a patch and go sideways. Most of my in-town driving is merely keeping the thing in drive. I had to go to the studio today at work, and I wrestled my way from downtown Monterey back to the office. I had this distict feeling of "start/stop" when I got back to my desk. I felt like I had been in a sea-vessel or something. My equilibrium was off. Damn, technically, I feel it now. It is a feeling that I have been holding the leash of a terrible animal. It is tiring, and it sets a pace for me. It is tiring...but I LIKE IT.

20 years ago, I was on the market for a car. I test drove a few Mustangs then. My master plan was a Mustang, but I got sidetracked by a sexxxy '70 Ford Torino. I am a sucker for that .302 engine. Probably a good thing I went for the Torino, because the drunken wreck I was in with that thing would have killed me if I had been in a Mustang. It definitely would have killed Mike Frazier, who only put his head almost through my windshield in the Torino. My corpse would probably have Barbie's teeth in the back of its skull. Barbie would have never married Robbie and Timor would still be a mystery to all.
I am back on the market yo. Hector is mad sexy. It is late, I need to pay more attention to this blog and stop posing for pictures.

Whatever, I'll get back to this as more shows up.