A rambling collection of personal thoughts, feelings, and experiences of popular culture, with serialised creative writing woven in for good measure. Social formality not included, so beware. Filled with natural human error.
Mmm, I do so love me some gratuitous 80s shaft-lighting! There was just a lot more cigarette smoke in the air back then, I guess. In fact, I’m surprised I wasn’t dead by my mid-20s thanks to second-hand smoke.
Certainly one of the more curious love stories you’ll ever encounter. No, not between C Thomas Howell and world-class mumbler Jennifer Jason Leigh, but between Howell and Rutger Hauer. They even share a kiss, in the form of an angry spit in the face. And you just know damn well that that was Hauer’s idea.
Alas! What a great loss.
The Hitcher has developed a cult following like few other films. Nerds meet in shady corners of conventions and whisper to each other: “Have you seen The Hitcher?! Yes? Cool, cool. Solidarity, brother/sister!”. Then they spit on each other.
Ahem…
My first experience of this film wasn’t an actual viewing, but by a VHS copy being persistently offered as a reward to subscribers of a home entertainment tech magazine my dad used to buy. I became sort-of obsessed with that page in the magazine each month and with Rutger standing there with a shotgun. But dad never did subscribe, and I never did end up getting my hands on a tape. I did finally watch it on TV though, with the fate of Leigh’s character disturbing me greatly. As it fucking should.
Roughly 30 years of personal and professional ups-and-downs later, I finally have a gorgeous-looking Blu-ray edition to call my own.
Although I’d still love one of those VHS copies.
As I watched The Hitcher this afternoon, I wondered which’d be the best film to pair it with. The Terminator? Thelma & Louise? Dust Devil? No Country for Old Men? All good candidates. Maybe watch all of them, then go lie down for a week with emotional exhaustion.
I only just realised this was Hauer and Leigh teaming up again after their kinky pairing in Paul Verhoeven’s Flesh+Blood, although they barely share a scene together here. I wonder if they worked together again after this. I could easily check, of course, but who honestly has the time?!
Yes. I do. I know.
So, well, if you’ve never seen or even heard of The Hitcher, then you’re clearly not hanging around in the right circles. People should just hand copies of it out to acquaintances and whisper: “Shhh! Don’t ask. Just watch it!”.
Brits love arguing about petty bollocks, no more so than regarding their own music scene. The Beatles or The Rolling Stones? Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins? Blur or Oasis? And, of course, The Stone Roses’ eponymous debut or their long-gestated and grand critical flop of a follow-up, Second Coming?
Perhaps it’s been answered by now, but there were many rumours flying around after Second Coming’s 1994 release as to why it took so long to produce. From prolonged record label negotiations to drug problems to the band being legit kidnapped by a aliens, the fact that they split up soon after signals, to me at least, the classic “creative differences” reason. Meaning a fight over power and money. The ultimate destroyers!
All the most renowned guitarists to be found across the British Isles are massive-fucking-nerds. Jimmy Page. Brian May. The Edge. Johnny Greenwood. Who knows why. I guess we just flourish in weather that does not encourage practicing on a beach and macho posing. Give us a quiet studio and a mountain of peripheral tech to play with and we’re happy. Just don’t pay too much attention to us, please. John Squire is no exception to this rule, even coming across as shy and sullen in every interview I’ve seen him in. Back in the late-80s and 90s, he looked like the adorable boy-next-door that your sister had a crush on. It took one jangly Stone Roses album for him to finally come out as a hard-riffing rock god.
And the people were not impressed.
Fuck ‘em. I love this album. I agree their eponymous debut had stronger songwriting on it, but I’ve listened to this one the most. It was the soundtrack to my Saturday and Sunday mornings for many years. It’s not just because I’m a contrarian prick, which I most certainly am, but because it’s an album for guitarists. Damn, does it rock like a motherfucker!
But it is flawed. The first problem being that it feels about two tracks longer than most pop albums and, funnily enough, it has a couple of blah tunes on it. Hmm, I wonder how one could solve these two completely unrelated issues?! Good grief. So, yeah, I built my own version of the album, which I will go through with as much brevity as I can muster.
Firstly, I left “Breaking into Heaven” and “Driving South” right where they were. No need to fix what ain’t broke, am I right? Although, some might say the 3-hour intro to “Breaking into Heaven” is a sign that something is broken. For me, it’s a handy track to start your morning off with, as you can press play then go sort your coffee or tea or joint out. You’ll still be able to hear its primordial groove in the background, but the album doesn’t require your full attention quite yet.
Right, now we deserve a rest! So I brought acoustic ramble ”Your Star Will Shine” forward a couple of tracks, with stale single-bait “Ten Storey Love Song” having to wait just a few extra minutes. I love the opening guitar notes of the latter though, with it featuring “dream tone” stuff. It’s just a shame it feels, like Coldplay’s “Speed of Sound”, like a record label-ordered soundalike of a song from their previous album. Perhaps this isn’t the truth, but it’s certainly one of the weaker tunes on Second Coming.
And so we come to my two rejected tracks, one too wishy-washy and one not wishy-washy enough. “Straight to the Man” isn’t terrible, but it just sounds like a remixed version of “Daybreak”, which we only just heard. Out you go! Then we have “Begging You”. Ah house music, the shame of the 90s. Certainly not a sound that sensitive indie rock lovers will appreciate. And it does indeed make my ears bleed, whilst outstaying its welcome at nearly 5 minutes.
And there you have it! Just a handful of simple changes and I find myself, and hopefully you, getting a much more satisfying experience. And not feel travel sick. And unsettled by jarring shifts in tone. Now it’s a mere 1 hour 4 minute slog, rather than a 1 hour 12 minute arse-ache.
Erm…
While every artist across every creative field should always have final say on their work, sometimes a gentle whisper of advice in the ear wouldn’t go amiss here and there. No more so than here. And pretty much every album Muse has ever released. Oh and Lisa del Giocondo could have tried not looking like such a ball-shrivelling pig when she sat down for her famous portrait. Am I right? Anyone?! No? Okay…
Let me know what you think! Unless you’re really pissed-off, in which case please save your energy for a Blur vs. Oasis debate in the pub later.
If you’re totally new to The Stone Roses, my longer selection of their oeuvre can be found here.
I’m guessing every home media distributor in the entire universe is too scared to generate copies of this staggering work of pure art, and critics daren’t even admit to having seen the damn thing.
You will find out why.
Both the above scenarios are also probably why I’ve never heard of the film until now, and why it isn’t considered one of the greatest ever made.
What a horrible shame.
Whether higher or lower, I feel as though I have reached a new state of consciousness after my viewing. Honestly. No other piece of culture has burrowed into my brain and tinkered about so terrifyingly.
For the uninitiated, this series of posts is where I attempt to watch a foreign-language film without the aid of an English dub or subtitles. Often this is simply due to neither being available, such as in this case. At other times, it’s just because I find it fun to play detective, with only the language of cinema as evidence.
I’m going to play this one a little differently though, as I won’t be looking up a detailed synopsis to find out the truth. I feel as though that would ruin it for me somehow. I found the surrealism greatly heightened by my inability to fully understand what was going on, and I recommend you do the same. Still, I shall provide you with my best guess, which has never been so difficult.
Right, here we go…
…deep breath…
I believe Angyali üdvözlet features a representation of mythological breeding pair Adam and Eve being expelled from their homeland of Eden, a subjective paradise built on a foundation of willing-ignorance, only to be shown nightmarish visions of a dystopian future (hence the cities and loudhailers and tools of execution and bowler hats), where society has broken down due to Abrahamic morality not being submissively adhered to and violently enforced.
Or something.
It’s also what it would be like if the “valley of forgotten children” portion of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome was actually interesting.
Populated entirely by a cast of gloriously-intense child actors, all of whom’s parents must have been either very carefree or stood just out of shot at all times, this is absolutely the most disturbing thing I’ve ever experienced. And I’ve seen Cars 2. Basically, think Ken Russell meets Ingmar Bergman meets Werner Herzog, only way way way way way way way way way way way way way fucking darker. And I bet you didn’t think that was even possible.
I initially had a theory that some cinematic visual trickery was being deployed, such as the use of scale-doubles and forced perspective, to ensure that the vulnerable performers were never put in hazardous or provocative situations. And to keep the authorities at bay. But I am now severely doubting this.
They just fucking did it.
I abandoned my first attempt of a screening halfway through, in order to begin again from the start and complete it in one sitting. Now that was a tough decision to make! I just felt I had to experience it as a singular piece, rather than allowing my short attention span to carve it up in its usual disrespectful fashion. I am glad I did now, but my already-weak state of mind definitely did start to fracture two-thirds of the way through. I even half-expected to let out a mad scream at one point, such as a raving lunatic would be want to do, but I kept my composure.
I won’t say much else, as I’m still deep in therapy, but I will try to find a few worthy screenshots to include below. However, the visuals do seem to have been specifically designed to mess with my incurable, hereditary, degenerative eye disease, so it’ll be tricky. I just know there are loads in there just waiting. Also, due to the regularly-sparse costuming, I will need to tread incredibly carefully.
If there’s any justice in the world, Angyali üdvözlet will eventually be rediscovered and projected onto an art gallery wall on a permanent loop, with a fancy frame placed around the flickering images. I already want to watch it again, and I’m still shaking with unease from the experience.
Astonishingly, you can find it here, so kudos to YouTube for being so cool about it.
I’m sure the world asked so little of The Wolf Man, but this pleasantly-meandering psycho-drama gave its all anyway.
An allegory of serial killer behaviour, rather than a fairground haunted house ride (which I was expecting), The Wolf Man delighted me after an uneven start. The creepy telescope stalking stuff offset my watching experience, but, after returning to the film a couple of weeks later, I found its eventual focus on tragedy won me over.
I have nothing but time for Claude Rains, with his rational speech about how life and morality isn’t as simple as some people need to believe it is, in particular, taking my breath away. Rains was how the world coped before Anthony Hopkins finally showed up, and I’m sure my nickers would have come flying off had we ever met.
Lon Chaney Jr gave me Liam Neeson vibes, which is surely no bad thing. I’ve only seen Chaney Jr previously as The Indestructible Man, where he was mostly silent. He does a great job here though, shifting between stoic gent, feral beast, and frightened patient wonderfully!
I was worried the film bore a heavy anti-Romani sentiment at first, with a definite eye-roll from me occurring at one point, but I came to realise that it was the bigoted characters who were racist, not the film. The writers of The Wolf Man portray the Romani community as intelligent and compassionate, which don’t strike me as signs of racism. Perhaps they are stereotyped, but it didn’t feel cruel.
Feel free to be offended, if you are so inclined.
The showdown between father and son/wolf is interesting, as it doesn’t have Rains using an “elegant” pistol to silver-bullet his son to death, instead having him beat the titular beast to death with a silver-tipped cane. Curious. Pretty badass though.
I’d love it if the rough Chaney Jr and more-refined Rains became unlikely drinking buddies on set, as Chaney Jr was apparently something of a boozer, but that’s just in my imagination.
And I shall keep it there very merrily!
Oh and listen out for where John Williams got the idea for some of his music cues for the first Star Wars film. I can’t name that shril wind instrument, but it’s very striking. There’s also a little of Danny Elfman’s Batman theme in there too.
It was my birthday last week, hence a little silence from me and unevenly-written posts. I’m amazed I managed to knock out a short story though, which I may go back and tidy up a bit. We’ve also been struck by a pretty nasty heatwave, which is odd for this time of year. Guaranteed, it usually rains on my birthday. Pretty damn hard. But, instead, I’ve mostly been getting out of my mind on cheap wine and cider, thanks to the soaring temperature making neighbours pour out into the street like rats to be happy and enjoy the comfortable weather with their families and friends.
FFS.
Never has my white noise playlist been used so consistently. Even now, the bastard downstairs is blaring his music at full volume. I once heard a different neighbour sat out on their balcony listening to music at a reasonable volume, which shocked me. I was all like: “Oh right, it is about the volume and not the music! This isn’t obnoxiously loud and intruding on my peace of mind!”.
Respect your neighbours, folks. They don’t want to hear your music. They don’t want to hear your dogs barking. And they sure as shit don’t want to hear you talking to your dickhead friends about inane bollocks.
So, yeah, through all the heat and booze and noise, here are some of my recent cultural adventures…
CLASSIC UNIVERSAL MONSTERS
I’m not a horror fan. I don’t know why, as it seems fun. Same with Halloween every year. I wish I could get excited about both, but I just can’t. Still, the classic Universal monster movies of the 1930s and 40s are super-cute and are helping me relax. There’s a camp, simplistic, earnest charm to them that is very endearing. Sadly, there’s also a ton of vintage sexism and repression on full display. Sometimes the latter on purpose to tell a period tale, but they serve to remind me that we live in a society where people believe they have the right to tell another person what that person can and cannot do with their own body. Sigh. Still, I’ve collected up five boxsets, which will certainly give me plenty to be getting on with! I’ve started on Dracula and The Wolf Man, although I did see the first Frankenstein, Invisible Man, and The Mummy movies ages ago as a matter of cinematic dedication. I was surprised to find I was already familiar with the “lesbian seduction” scene from Dracula’s Daughter, which features in the documentary The Celluloid Closet. It’s not really a seduction with “gay panic” overtones, it’s just about a vampire who wants to suck some blood. But, hey, people love getting up in arms about stuff. Still, it’s pretty sexy, if you want to read it that way. Let me know which is your favourite classic Universal monster!
AGE VERIFICATION
This disease of privacy-invasion, which the UK government set in motion this year, has begun spreading from app to app. I’ve just cancelled my PS Plus subscription out of protest, and will be cancelling other paid subscriptions should they demand my face to be scanned in order to use their services. Fuck this shit. Apple, I’ve had an account with you for two decades, why would you think I’m under 18?! I suggested a protest slogan: “TRUST OUR PARENTING, NOT YOUR SPYING!”. I don’t have kids, but I assume many UK parents are offended by the government taking such duties out of their hands. I’m preparing to go largely “off the grid”, should I not be allowed to watch films or listen to music online anymore. I have stand-alone DVD/Blu-ray players, and have even just purchased a simple boombox, just in case even Spotify wants to invade my privacy too. It’s coming, I just know it. I’m not usually a paranoid anti-government conspiracy theorist, but I now understand why stuff like this sets some fellow mentally ill people off. Remember when the internet used to be fun? No, me neither. If you can recommend a brand/model of basic mobile phone, with no internet access or camera, then I’d love your help battling this dark new cloud of oppression.
DUNCANVILLE
On the lighter side of life, I’ve gotten back into Amy Poehler’s charming animated sitcom. It seems that it died a death after three seasons, probably due to Poehler being allegedly difficult to work with. I mean, even her BFF Tina Fey made her sound somewhat unpleasant in Fey’s autobiography. I also believe Poehler is why half the cast of Inside Out walked instead of returning for the sequel. Saying all of this, three seasons is a perfect length for any comedy show. To quote Mr Tyrell in Blade Runner: “The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long!”. Maybe Roy Batty was quoting from something else, but I’m not smart enough to know where. Since watching the first season back during the pandemic, I’m now more familiar with Ty Burrell due to Modern Family, so it’s been an extra-joy in revisiting this show. He is now one of my all-time favourite people, which is a coveted title indeed! The show has sporadic moments of surrealism, which one could accuse of being inconsistent, but I’ll take that over straight-laced, broad, unimaginative tripe any day of the week. I’m currently working my way through Season 2 and taking it very slow, as if I’m savouring a fine wine. It’s fun hearing the odd Parks & Recreation alumni pop up, including a direct reference to Leslie Knope herself! The show quickly abandons its initial premise of being all about the titular “Duncan”, resting back on standard middle-class-white-nuclear-family territory, but I guess that’s okay. Sort of. There are other types of family units in the world, you know. Even single, disabled, mentally ill shut-ins. Cough. Where’s their hilarious sitcom?! Nothing’s stopping me from writing it, I guess.
BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN
I’ve got a potential blog series in the works regarding this man and his music, so brace yourselves for that! As an icon of American culture and not British, it’ll either be a massive-fucking-chore or an eye-opening delight. I shan’t say more here, other than I was meant to start it just before my birthday. Then the drinking started. And then the heatwave. And then the more drinking. I’m resurfacing now though, so hopefully things will get moving just the second I can type without my laptop electrocuting me. We shall see…
Well, I think I’ve ranted and raved and offended enough for now. I’ve had a hearty dinner and need a siesta. I should really go out for a vigorous walk, but, you know, there are people out there. Did you know about this?! Good grief.
