Since my 2023 media diet featured very little in the way of works released in 2023, I figured I’d extoll the works I read, watched and played in 2023 that were released in prior years. Perhaps some of them will be as new to you as they were for me!
Books
HARLEY QUINN: BREAKING GLASS (2019)
This work crystalized to me exactly what Harley can impart on folks. Fundamentally, Harley Quinn is victim of her own circumstance, and BREAKING GLASS showcases her as a youth, shining a light on how she’ll inhabit that space, her space, while still never browbeating her decisions but — Harley being Harley — she’s rarely makes the ‘best’ decision.
It’s a tale of growing, of self-realization, but also realizing you can be drawn into the webs of others and that they may not have your best interests in mind.
Is it labeled for young adults? Yup. Could anyone read and love and empathize with it? Definitely.
It also helps that Steve Pugh’s art is so fucking energetic and the colors are so vibrant and fitting!
Also, my wife found me the All Saints equivalent of her argyle sweater. (They literally label it as Harley Argyle. They knew what the fuck they were doing. And yes, yes I’m fucking rockin’ it.)
LIFE IS STRANGE: STEPH’S STORY (2022)
While doing research for my LIFE IS STRANGE posts, I discovered STEPH’S STORY, a LIFE IS STRANGE: TRUE COLORS tie-in novel by Rosiee Thor which is something I didn’t know I needed, but I desperately did. It’s an intimate character-based queer romantic melodrama that hit me from all sides and I absolutely loved it and can’t wait to revisit it.
Predictably, I wrote about it almost immediately after reading it.
DOOM PATROL: RACHEL POLLACK OMNIBUS (2022)
Have I repeatedly re-read Grant Morosson’s DOOM PATROL iconic run? Yes, yes I have.
However, I was shocked to discover that I’d never read Rachel Pollack’s DOOM PATROL which is ever queerer and just as inventive and far more heartfelt.
I wish I had been prodded to read it earlier — I only found out about it due to her death earlier this year — but better late than never.
As I’ve previously penned, DOOM PATROL is all about the misfits of society, the ostracized, those who have to live on the edges and never feel like they fit in, except in the house that Chief built who — spoiler alert! — not as altruistic as he makes himself out to be.
It is a supremely resonant work, one that cuts to the quick when it comes to coercion and the desperation to want to be seen and accepted. Again, I wish I had found it earlier.
This was the year that I finished reading Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels.
Yes, yes, I realize that these works are frequently lumped in with (apologies in advance for the pejorative term) chick-lit for reasons absolutely unknown to me.
This is a supremely amazing epic of lives lived, of contrasts, of personas pushing-and-pulling, of classism, of intellectualism, of hubris; it is a lot and I fucking loved it and the fact that it isn’t recognized as capital ‘L’ literature reminds me how much women’s stories are so belittled. Ferrante’s prose is so succinct and exacting in a way that makes me so jealous of her skills.
Cinematic comedic horror at its fucking best. While it doesn’t have the visual verve of Sam Raini’s work, it is so clever, so funny, but also features a human core.
I’m not one for making ‘island’ lists, but I could watch WEREWOLVES WITHIN every fucking day of the year. It’s so funny and endearing and thrilling but never traumatizing. It is an astounding work.
(I’ll note that I did finally try to play the game, but it’s VR-only and while I’m sure they make the most of it? Fuck that noise.)
It is a fucking crime that this film is practically impossible to watch without doling out far too much money or catching it on Turner Classic Movies — R.I.P. TCM Underground — which is why I was so delighted that my favorite theater — the Music Box — wrangled a print of it.
While, yes, yes, Russ Meyer mostly wrote films solely so he could stare at busty women but, perhaps accidentally? This is an extraordinarily subversive work, one that has influenced so many others.
This is a ferocious film, one that simmers with anger and frustration, and while it is definitely meant to be titillating, you can feel the resentment against the motherfucking patriarchy.
It’s goddamn thrilling, a film that makes you pump your fists in the air, one that makes you root for fucking awful people throat-punching even worse people, and those doling out the hits? They look amazing while laying louts to the fucking ground.
PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE (1974)
Brian De Palma at his campy best. This pre-dates the Webber work by a good decade, and is definitely my favorite take on the work.
(I’ll note: I do need to re-evaluate Wes Craven’s take on it. Also: In high school I had to play the cello part of the theme and for fucks sake, nothing else apart from perhaps Canon in D is a duller work to play.)
Yes, it was only available via NBC’s peacock streaming service, but it was still terribly overlooked. This is one steamy potboiler of a neo-noir thriller that deserved more attention. It has an intensity so many shows which they could aspire to.
Due to a number of factors I didn’t get to swim in as much media as normal this year, and what I did read, watch or play often wasn’t released in 2023. Consequently, instead of breaking my favorites of the year by medium, I’ll list them all in one post.
Books
BIG SWISS by Jen Beagin
“I will often buy a book solely because of a sharply designed, well-executed cover. Jen Beagin’s BIG SWISS was one of those books. […] I saw the cover, refrained from opening it, balked at reading the inscription in the slipcover and thought to myself: “I don’t know what this book is about, but I know I need it.‘”
IMPOSSIBLE PEOPLE: A COMPLETELY AVERAGE RECOVERY STORY by Julia Wertz
IMPOSSIBLE PEOPLE — the full title is IMPOSSIBLE PEOPLE: A COMPLETELY AVERAGE RECOVERY STORY — is quite the epic as it’s over 300 pages long and spans quite a bit of time and change. It still contains Wertz’s immaculate architectural reproductions, but also retains her expressive cartoon roots. When I was reading it, I’d gawk at the street in one panel, then laugh at the exaggerated simplicity of her comic self throwing her arms up in the air. It’s a perfectly calibrated work.
“This episode is wall-to-wall horny in a celebratory way, in the way that I wish sex was more popularly portrayed. It’s mostly about Harley buying drugs to give Ivy the best orgasm of her life — which leads to one of the best lines of the show: ‘Oh you cannot possibly be mad about me wanting to get you off too good. THAT IS NOT A THING!’”
Season four doubles down on Harley and Ivy’s relationship, as well as the dissonance between their aspiring goals: Harley is part of the Bat-Family and trying to do good in the world, and Ivy is the Legion of Doom’s — as Lex calls her — “She-E-O”. Hijinks and emotional beats ensue.
Thankfully a fifth season is on its way, and it will almost certainly be on next year’s favorites list.
THE BEAR Season Two
I was not as wild about the first season of THE BEAR as others. Instead of repeating myself, see my post about that season here.
The second season maneuvers in a way that is catnip to me. It made sure to properly convey Chicago’s robust food scene, and turned the show into a character drama anthology.
I know everyone loves Honeydew and Fishes and Forks, but my favorite episode is Sundae. Sydney, portrayed by the endlessly curious Ayo Edebiri, is instructing herself through tasting a variety of foods; she’s teaching herself instead of being taught by others like in Honeydew and Forks, and she does so mostly silently by trekking around the city to low-brow and high-brow restaurants and diners.
It’s all show — don’t tell — which for a show that relies on taste, a sense that can’t be easily conveyed through a televisual medium, makes it all the more remarkable, and that it does so in a such a subtle and nuanced way is a stunning achievement.
BOB’S BURGERS Season 14
It’s hard to believe that this scrappy, winsome show has been on-air for twelve years. It’s even harder to believe that each and every season has been a gem, practically flawless and immensely entertaining and endlessly re-watchable.
Of particular note this season is its second episode, The Amazing Rudy, which focuses solely on ‘Regular-sized Rudy’ and his family issues and general insecurities and it’s such a sweet and heartfelt episode, expertly woven.
This show, while yes it’s often puerile but hilariously so, never ceases to surprise me. Every Sunday it’s on is a delight. For the past few years, I’ve indulged in December 26th BOB’S BURGERS marathons to wind down from the holidays, to remind me about family bonds and laugh and chuckle to myself and just feel my body warmed by the Belcher family.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQdRPJic2z0
STAR TREK: LOWER DECKS Season Four
I enjoyed STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS’s second season although I felt a bit let down a few times — that musical episode could have worked more around the characters, for instance — however, it was the LOWER DECKS crossover that made me seek out the animated LOWER DECKS.
LOWER DECKS is perhaps one of the most reverent and spiritually original recipe STAR TREK, moreso than DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS. It’s both about the wonder of space and exploration, but also about being part of the Federation, something grander and being proud of being a part of that, even though it has its drawbacks.
It is also by far the most overtly nerdy STAR TREK show out there as it really, really leans into the lore and history of the series, to a point where I know I’m not even getting a third of the jokes or references, but it’s so finely crafted that it’s still extremely entertaining.
Also: I would have been watching it out of the gate if y’all had just told me it was basically a BAJILLION DOLLAR PROPERTIE$ reunion.
SUCCESSION Season Four
What can be said about SUCCESSION that hasn’t already been said before? They fucking stuck the landing. The final season is one hell of an emotional rollercoaster from start-to-finish, with pitch-perfect scripting, pacing, claustrophobic camerawork, exquisite costuming, but what I’ll remember most about the series, and especially the fourth season?
Motherfucking Kieran Culkin.
Of everyone in the Roy family, Roman is the most idiosyncratic, the most broken, and this season just heaps more and more shit on him and how he deals — or doesn’t — is a fucking marvel. This is one hell of a performance — in many multi-faceted ways — and so much of the final season hinges on him without calling attention to that fact.
If this is the end of prestige TV — and it certainly seems like it might be — I can’t think of a better show to close the door.
WELCOME TO WREXHAM Season Two
As I wrote in my prior WREXHAM post, I firmly believe this show will be an inflection point for sports documentaries. Everything about it could have gone wrong: the self-insertion, the rich American saviors, the forced attempt at an underdog story, etc. However, WREXHAM manages to acknowledge all of the above and focus on the humanity of what sports do, not just for community economics, not just for townsfolk, but for a greater good.
Everything about this show feels like it comes from the heart, a place of well-wishing. While there is the push-and-pull and tension of budgets and over-spending, this is not an exploitative work. Yes, it does bring up some fundamental questions of capitalism and sportsman-like conduct, but that’s baked in and well-handled.
I can safely say: we’ll never see another documentary like this again. Get in while the gettin’ is good.
Film
BARBIE
This was one of the few first-day blockbuster film viewings for me in 2023, and well, it did not disappoint. (That said, I was hoping for a more energetic audience, but a less exuberant one is probably better than one far too rowdy.) Gerwig deftly threads the needle between American culture and consumerism, nostalgia, social commentary, and gender politics, all while also being endlessly entertaining and a visual starburst.
While Gosling rightly gets many accolades, I feel like Margot Robbie has been unfairly overlooked here, not just for the work she put in to will this into the world, but also her understated and sly performance. While it’s certainly a more subdued and backgrounded performance from her — odd words to type, considering she’s playing the titular role and she’s not exactly quiet — she does a lot with it, and there’s a lot to work with!
(Please note: I mean this in comparison to how broad she could have played it.)
I think most folks knew this would be a fun film going in. I don’t think anyone was prepared for just how smart and subversive it’d be.
It took me back to when I first saw JOSIE AND THE PUSSYCATS in that it’s so witty and intelligent and so winsome and fun and thoughtful. It makes the most out of what film can do; it’s a visual and aural extravaganza that doesn’t speak down to anyone, but can please just about everyone.
In other words: an absolute triumph of a Hollywood film.
KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON
I am not the right person to discuss this film, but its runtime is supremely justified. Not a moment or exchange is wasted, and all of the money and Scorsese’s humanity is all on the screen. It’s a supremely taut epic, albeit one that I didn’t suspect would be more in the vein of GOODFELLAS than some of his more quietly dramatic works.
That said — and I know the editor and Apple were absolutely against this idea — bring back the intermission. The theater I saw FLOWER MOON at? I needed to use the facilities and because it’s in a strange mostly-deserted urban mall with very meandering stairs, well, I lost a good ~12 minutes and missed at least one key point. Would I know where to even put an intermission in this film? Nope, but between this and watching THE IRISHMAN in the theater, I appreciate Scorsese’s big swings but … give us just a slight bit of respite during the film.
Nonetheless, it’s all the more reason to watch it again.
Live
RATED Q
To repeat myself from prior posts: RATED Q is a monthly screening event at my favorite theater — the Music Box Theatre — helmed by Ramona Slick that features queer and underground films, prefaced by a themed drag show.
They’ve held these events on for at least two years now — I have had a hard time finding a list of prior events — and, despite being queer, I didn’t quite think it was for me.
However, when they announced that they’d be screening a print of BOUND, I knew I had to go, and it was a fucking revelation. It was brazen, it was audacious, it was fun, it was celebratory; it was ecstatic and electric. I couldn’t help but keep coming back. CATS! LEGALLY BLONDE! BRIDE OF CHUCKY! HAIRSPRAY! And the next screening? Motherfucking JAWBREAKER!
I know it’s an unfair favorite to post given how local it is, but seriously, seek it out if you’re ever in Chicago on the second Thursday of the month.
(Also? I accidentally intruded on the above photoshoot. Not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed about that.)
SKINNY PUPPY
This was a reunion show (R.I.P. Dwayne Goettel) — allegedly their final tour — of a classic electro-industrial band that I endlessly listened to in my youth and still listen to, to this very day.
I might be one of the few folks out there who will always go to bat for Last Rights. Scrapyard is probably no one’s favorite song, but it’s my favorite song from that album, perhaps my favorite of theirs overall. That fuckin’ break two-thirds through?! If you know, you know.
I have attended a number of reunion shows. Most of those I have regretted attending as they cast a pall over their works. This one I did not. In fact, it was far better than the majority of shows I’ve seen as of late and made me appreciate their works more than ever.
It was wall-to-wall theatrics; they hit all of the right notes and it had the verve of a far younger band. I never saw them live but had seen taped live performances and it felt like they hadn’t missed a beat.
I walked out feeling exhilarated and very privileged that I managed to see it. (It was a sold-out show but I lucked out and knew someone with tickets who couldn’t attend at the last second. Thanks, Chrystyne! Wish ya coulda been there!)
Videogames
COCOON
COCOON is an absolutely exceptional puzzle work of a game. Immaculately executed, absolutely gorgeous; it’s a game that makes you feel like you’re being taught to walk; your body innately wants to do so, but needs certain soft nudges without feeling pressured.
(Except for the bosses. Yeah, I know; there’s no real fail condition here, but I really hated the bosses. I understand the need — escalating action and resultant relief and all — but geez, I did not enjoy those bouts.)
It’s a tour-de-force of game design, one that has raised the bar. The gorgeous art design and soundtrack is just icing on the cake.
VIDEOVERSE
Still planning on writing more about this, so I’ll try to keep it brief:
VIDEOVERSE from developer Kinmoku — who willed into the world the very necessary work ONE NIGHT STAND — is not just a love letter to the days of internet old, but it scrutinizes when folks realized they could reach out and communicate to strangers and form bonds without exactly having to do so face-to-face.
It’s a merger of talkers and WiiU communities. While the novelty of exploring those communities would be worth the price of admission, the interwoven narratives are extremely effective, as well as the striking throwback interface.
It also has perhaps my biggest endorsement: I burned through my first playthrough on my MacBook Pro in my office on launch day.
I almost never game in my office as I like to keep my professional and recreational lives separate. I might play one PC/macOS-only game a year. This year it was VIDEOVERSE and it was well-worth it.
Ready to read about one of the most emotionally devastating Christmas episodes of TV ever? Good.
I’ve previously posted about the Christmas episode of MILLENNIUM, Midnight of the Century, but felt like it needed a deeper look.
A brief summary of the MILLENNIUM series, despite the fact that — like HARLEY QUINN and RATED Q, I will also never, ever shut up about MILLENNIUM — it was a three-season show about intuitive, sensitive FBI profiler Frank Black, embodied by Lance Henrickson’s gruff voice and serious but soulful presence. He has a spiritual sense of premonition, visions, and general human sensitivity and empathy, far beyond most.
In the season that this episode takes place, Frank is no longer with the FBI, but a freelancer. He’s estranged from his wife Catherine and daughter Jordan because of where his abilities have taken him. He’s also disowned his father Henry because he feels that Henry let his wife — Frank’s mother — wither away and die alone.
Similarly, for all intents and purposes, Frank is alone and he’s struggling with that.
This episode — Midnight at the End of the Century — takes place around Christmas. Catherine hands Frank a drawing that their daughter Jordan made. It’s of an angel, and Catherine notes that Jordan said grandma helped her draw it.
Not Catherine’s living mother, but Frank’s dead mother.
This is entirely an episode all about generational and inherited trauma, and the helplessness of the parents who see their brethren walking the same doomed trail as they have, but still wanting and hoping for better. Well-wishing.
Frank: “You know Jordan. She’s just …sensitive.”
Catherine: “Telling me that she colors with her dead grandmother is a little bit more than sensitive.”
Frank: “Come on. You know Jordan. She’s got a gift. You can’t suppress it.”
Catherine: “Your gift gave you a nervous breakdown. This gift makes you see horrible images. It—it’s turned you away from your family, from your daughter. It’s caused you to turn toward the Millennium group.
“Frank, you never even consider that this gift that you have could be lying to you. Because you don’t see yourself withdrawing from your family, hiding behind your… ability.
“If this has happened to you, what is it gonna do to Jordan?
“I want her to have a choice. I want a childhood free from this.
“I want her to know that she has someplace to turn other than within herself…”
Frank: “Like me. Right? It is what it is. There is nothing we can do to fix it.”
Catherine: “… time’s running out.”
All of this provides an impetus for Frank to seek out his estranged father, played by the magnanimous Darin MacGavin (who starred in KOLCHAK: THE NIGHT STALKER, the series that spurred Chris Carter to create THE X-FILES and MILLENNIUM). Frank is seeking an explanation as to why he believed his father cruelly locked his wife in a second floor bedroom until she died.
As you might suspect, the answer he receives is more complicated than that.
I do not want to spoil matters in the off-hand chance you wrangle a copy of this episode, but I do want to note that there is a significant plot point regarding tiny ceramic angels bestowed by the packaged tea that they routinely buy.
You have to have been a specific age and have a specific sort of parent to have remembered these sort of tea-centric figurines. If you bought a box of Red Rose Tea, you’d receive a Wade Whimsey, a small, themed ceramic figure.
My mother collected them and they stood in a glass cabinet in our dining room, looking over us as we supped. So, yeah, you could say that this episode really hits home for me, and I’ve never seen any other work mention them, much less lean on them as a significant plot point, and definitely not as a Christmas-centric endearment.
This episode has Frank — yet again — wrangling with his past. However, this time it’s a moment of reconciliation, one of understanding, of letting go.
Midnight of the Century is a soulful and emotional episode that leaves the viewer worrying about how inherited traits might complicate their life going ahead, while also mulling over the fallout of said traits, how denial of said traits by the progenitors might affect their brethren, and simply living with one’s self.
Is it Christmas-y? I’d argue it is. What is Christmas if nothing else but acknowledging and living with the fallout and repercussions of Christ being born?
Is it full of cheer? No, not at all, but there is a very specific sort of peace that comes with it, even if it is full of hopeful sorrow.
I’m taking a rare moment to not offer a suggestion, not offer a recommendation, but to grouse.
I’ve been watching the cable channel Turner Classic Movies (TCM, as it’s more colloquially known as) for decades. For those with modern cable packages, it may shock you to learn that when I first moved to Chicago as a older teen, it was included in the most basic cable package I could afford. I’d constantly watch it, and still do. It is on practically 24/7 in our household. I attended one of the handful of TCM nationwide screening events — it featured an in-person one-on-one interview with original TCM host Robert Osborne (R.I.P) and Jane Powell (R.I.P.). I’ve glowed while attending the TCM Fest in Los Angeles. I’d been attending Noir City film events hosted by Eddie Muller for years before he was brought in to program Noir Alley. I have so many TCM enamel pins. (So many!)
TCM has always been a cultural staple for me, letting me revisit beloved films as well as giving context and informing me as to works I overlooked in the past.
To say TCM has undergone a transformation recently would be an understatement.
(I will note: there are a lot of old-school TCM viewers who constantly complain whenever anything newer than from the 1950s is played. I am not one of them. Classics are classics, no matter the time period. The 90s were thirty years ago, and those films deserve the same recognition as anything from the 30s. Also? TCM still mostly plays films from the 30s-60s. Anything later — or even earlier! — is rare.)
Several years ago, they went under a significant redesign, one that was meant to modernize the network and the brand. It no longer has a cozy patina but instead all of the bumpers are all high-contrast, black backgrounds and neon-icons, laid upon overly exuberant 30-second musical quips. Given that TCM has a surprisingly high number of youthful viewers, that’s not surprising and, while I found it slightly too bright and boisterous, it was immaculately designed and I had no problem rolling with it.
Within the past year, however, I’ve found the channel to be lackluster. While, yes, TCM traffics in replaying old-favorites, they’ve taken to replaying them within a few days of each other which is tiresome and antithetical to the brand. Warner Bros. killed off TCM Underground, the 15+ year-old cult block that ran late-night on Fridays, programmed by the brilliant Millie De Chirico. Cult films are what drive film as a medium forward and youths need an informed voice to learn from. Warner Bros. fired practically everyone who made TCM into the singular filmic channel that people love. (Thanks to folks like Spielberg and Scorsese, they did re-hire a few of the higher-ups, but certainly not enough.)
I’ll also note that I am still very upset at how they treated their first woman host, Tiffany Vasquez, who was removed from TCM relatively quickly. Was she a bit awkward out of the gate? Sure, but who wouldn’t be?! She had an energy and verve and I firmly believe she would have been a great host if she were given some time to settle into the role.
While I do have issues with how they’ve treated their hosts, I do want to extoll the current hosts:
Ben Mankiewicz is so winsome and gregarious but also very generous.
Dave Karger is the musical/theatre nerd you want in your corner.
Alicia Malone is perhaps the least visually static host in televisual history — she changes looks and hair colors every few weeks — and I love that as well as her insight.
Eddie Muller, well, I already talked about him but I will note that I have met him. He loves to talk just as much as he does on Noir Alley and for as many words as he spills in Noir Alley segments? I know he has at least three times more he’s champing at the bit to spit out.
Last, but definitely not least, motherfucking Chicago’s own Jacqueline Stewart, doing the work to call everyone’s attention to silent films and under-appreciated Black cinema.
I also love a lot of the production design and cinematography updates of the intro/outro segments! Granted, a few of them — specifically the very robotic camera movements for intros/extros — were clearly done because of the pandemic, however they were much needed. The prior efforts had the sheen of 90s video.
However, the channel has become noisier, glossier, and has lost most of its idiosyncrasy. It feels more like AMC in the days before MAD MEN and THE WALKING DEAD, like they’re just tossing on whatever they have available without any sense of theme or engagement. The highly stylized and tautly edited commercials advertising the monthly features that were unlike anything else on TV are no longer. My wife and I would routinely dissect those montages, and I’d break down each featured film for her because I have that vocabulary. That doesn’t happen now.
I realize that brands need to keep up with the times, but TCM was a stalwart. It was reliable and cozy. It wasn’t just a cable channel; it was more like a televisual friend that you could always depend on. That’s no longer the case.
I’ll note that the cheap TCM subscription I had many, many moons ago no longer exists. Comcast/Xfinity realized pretty swiftly that TCM subscribers will do anything to keep their channel, and they had the audacity to move it to the most expensive package, their upper-tier sports package — which is fucking ridiculous because TCM viewers? Not known for loving sports! But they’ll force film fans to subsidize the outrageous prices to broadcast sports! — and, unlike other cable channels, you cannot pay for it à la carte. (I will note: some TCM offerings are available via Max and the streaming Criterion Channel.)
For the first time ever, I’m thinking of ditching TCM. Because I’m a big film nerd, I own a lot of what they already play, but I love playing a personal game where I walk through the living room and glance at the TV and try to guess the film playing. (I’m pretty good at that game, if I do say so myself!) However, nowadays, TCM just makes me long for the days of old, which is depressing, even if it makes me sound like a curmudgeon.
It’s disheartening. As you can clearly read, I’ve loved TCM, but it’s become a shadow of itself, as so much of everything around me nowadays. If there’s anything I’ve learned over the years? When you feel that tug where you’re being taken advantage of, when you aren’t quite getting what you want out of an exchange? Fucking move on and don’t look back.
I just never expected I’d have to do that with TCM.
There are a number of jokes that have been stuck in my head for years, but this one joke from the animated show THE CRITIC — a show created by some of the best writers and producers involved with the heyday of THE SIMPSONS — is one of my absolute favorites.
This is all you need to know going in: A young woman is being fitted for her debutante reveal. She is Margo, a liberally-minded teen who eschews this blue-blood practice she was born into but feels pressured to participate in. While being fitted for her reveal dress, the following exchange occurs between the dressmaker and herself.
“We dressmakers have a very strict code, so I need to know: Do you deserve to wear virginal white? Because if you don’t, you’ll have to wear an off-white, what we call a ‘hussy white’.
“So, which will it be? White-white?”
“…yes. Um, except for the gloves.”
I watched this episode when it first aired and was old enough to realize just how smutty the joke was and could not believe it slipped through broadcast standards & practices. I will not spell the joke out for you, as I give you enough credit to have a prurient imagination.
This joke has everything I could ever want: it’s far filthier than it initially sounds, it has a rare sense of specificity, it is loaded with cultural and sexual commentary, and the voice reading cleverly underplays all of the above. It is a brilliant twenty seconds of animated network television.
(If you don’t believe me, check out the YouTube comments on the link at the bottom, as I’m not the only one who fondly remembers this joke!)
I am in the thick of National Novel Writing Month and my novel this year is specifically focused on a bridal dressmaker and her clients. While this is a debutante reveal dress, it works in very much the same way as a bridal dress in that it is often meant to visually exemplify the best of you, as well as make the person wearing it feel imbued with the best of themselves.
I previously only thought about this joke once a month. Now I think about it every fucking day. (Don’t worry, I don’t even come close to involving any ‘hussy’ notions in said novel.)
(Eventually I’ll write a more involved post about THE CRITIC. For now? This will do.)
Unfortunately there’s no single clip available of it, but you can see it via tubi or on YouTube before a DCMA claim takes it down. (UPDATE: It’s now private. Sorry.)
HALT AND CATCH FIRE was a very little-watched show about brilliant folks navigating Silicon Valley at the beginning of the personal computer revolution, as well as the burgeoning world of the Internet.
There is a lot of strife on display in the show, especially between Joe who is a wanna-be Steve Jobs with severe emotional issues, played by the charismatic Lee Pace, and Cameron — Cam — an exceptional programmer who also has a creative heart. Mackenzie Davis, who embodies Cam, reflects the spark in one’s eyes when they have a revelation. She adeptly conveys the frustration that she constantly feels, partially because of the modern male-dominated tech industry, but also because she does not like to feel boxed in.
Signal to Noise — the second episode of the final season — encapsulates the heart of the show. Its focus is on a phone call between Cam and Joe. Cam calls Joe late at night because of recent life changes. They start talking. Cam falls asleep on her tethered, corded phone without hanging up. Joe stays on the line via his chunky cellular phone until she wakes up in the morning.
When she does wake up, they talk for hours and hours, learning more about each other, feeling each other out and comforting each other.
That’s the underlying theme of HALT AND CATCH FIRE, that technology can be used to communicate and bring folks together in ways that were previously impossible.
I told my wife that she should really watch this episode, despite the fact that she hadn’t watched much of the show previously.
When she watched it, she remarked:
“That’s us.”
My wife and I first met through friends. It was not matchmaking — she was friends with folks I’d recently met and she was in town for a very short time, but knew she’d return a few months later.
All of us went to an ATARI TEENAGE RIOT show and were showered with Alec Empire’s backwash, which is something you more readily accept when you’re young than say, now.
Matters escalated but not the way you think, and that’s all I’ll say about that.
My now-wife tracked down my phone number via directory assistance, which I doubt you can do now.
I answered the call via a very 90s translucent, candy-colored, nicotine-stained corded phone and we would talk for hours. Not two or three hours, but over ten hours and until dawn, much like Joe and Cam.
We’ve been together for many, many years now. We’ve always worked together, from wrangling bands to putting on club nights, to day drinking while going garagesaling, playing GRIM FANDANGO and SYBERIA together, reading each other’s writing drafts and wrangling fabric and aiding in non-conventional public artworks and even being on TV. We have done a lot together — we have put in a lot of work — and I’m proud of what we have accomplished as partners.
We were married on this very day, ten years ago.
If you’ve read prior posts, you may have noticed that life has been pretty rocky for me these past few years, and not because of the pandemic. (Yes, that didn’t help.) I’ve been dealing with a lot of therapy, a lot of mental processing, a lot of diagnoses, a lot of internal confrontation and recalibration, and a lot of coping mechanisms. Also, my coming out has only added to the emotional weight.
It has been a lot for her to endure. She’s been there for all of it, communicative and supporting and accepting and loving, even if what I’m going through is sometimes confusing.
If it weren’t for her finding me through technology, by calling me up one night, we might have only met that one weekend and never talked to each other again. Instead, through technology, we were able to learn about each other and feel matters out and we’ve been married for ten years now and, hopefully, many more.
So I fucking did it: 31 days of (mostly) soft horror recommendations! I know this sort of thing is easier for some folks, but damn, I’m fucking exhausted.
As I’ve previously mentioned, my wife and I have a long-running tradition of just tucking in for Halloween, wrangling wings from BW3 a.k.a. Buffalo Wild Wings — sorry, not sorry as their spicy garlic wings are some of the best things on Earth — and eating candy and watching movies.
Beforehand I send her a list of film suggestions that encompass ‘classic’, ‘cult’ and ‘contemporary’ horror films and she chooses three from ‘em based on trailers and descriptions. (I do not want to be one of those asshole dudebros that force works onto others. Also, this year, just like with Horrorclature 2023, they were all cozy horror films.)
So here’s what we decided on this year. (These are just brief notes! I got other shit to do, y’all!)
CLASSIC
VIY (1967)
This is the first Soviet horror film and it’s all spooky witchy folk horror goodness. Goddamn, the production design and casting here is perfect, especially during the three days the philosopher is stuck in a church with a witch. I still can’t believe that the Soviets went ~40 years without making a horror film.
CULT
THE PHANTOM OF PARADISE (1974)
This has been on my watchlist for a while, and we always love a campy musical, and this delivers in a very Brian De Palma way. If you are a film nerd, you know that De Palma is all about extolling works he loves, and this modern rock opera interpretation of THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA delivers. (I’ll note: it predates Webber’s version by over a decade!) From his split-screens, to his hallmark adoration for Hitchcock, to his fondness of THE WHO’s rock operas and remarkable characters, this is quintessential De Palma and I love it.
Also, it features Jessica Harper, as in motherfucking SUSPIRA lead Jessica Harper. Also in SHOCK TREATMENT! What more could you ask for?
CONTEMPORARY
WEREWOLVES WITHIN (2021)
I rewatched this just a few weeks ago, but I was so stupidly excited to rewatch it again. This film is so, so, somuch fun. It is the perfect amalgamation of cast and script and direction and camerawork. It is funny and witty and spooky and occasionally gory and a glorious ride of a film.
ADDENDUM
Due to scheduling matters, we ended up screening the above the weekend before Halloween, but decided to watch one more scary work on Halloween proper, which I already featured yesterday: MILLENNIUM’s The Curse of Frank Black. There’s no trailer or anything, so you’ll have to settle for my write-up:
Yet again, I am intentionally breaking the rules I laid out for Horrorclature 2023. This episode of MILLENNIUM involves childhood trauma and suicidal references. This is not a happy or carefree work. However, I feel it’s a singular, important work that deserves to be extolled on the day depicted in the episode: Halloween.
Happy fucking goth Christmas! I hope you’re either all slutted up and partying like there’s no tomorrow — no judgement! Been there, done that! — or cuddled up at home, all warm, surrounded by great, scary works.
“Since Willie’s death, I catch myself every day, involuntarily talking with him, as if he were with me.”
Abraham Lincoln — upon the death of his son
There was nothing like it on TV in the mid-to-late 90s. It was astoundingly dark, but had moments of levity. It was super smart, but wasn’t pretentious. It had motherfucking Lance Henriksen as Frank Black, an overly-emotionally sensitive ex-FBI profiler, and LOST’s Terry Quinn as a morally dubious, potentially exploitative head of a quasi-cult.
It is one of my favorite seasons of TV and this episode — The Curse of Frank Black (CURSE going forward) — is one of my favorite episodes from that season.
I know this episode like the back of my hand. I vividly recall my mind being blown when it was first broadcast, and I have revisited it every October for many years now.
CURSE has many of the hallmarks of the best MILLENNIUM episodes: it leans far more on showing rather than telling; there are more than a few scenes where little more than an utterance occurs. It’s extraordinarily visual for network TV at the time. Also, most importantly, it is seriously empathetic. It showcases Frank’s origin story, when he realized he felt too much, felt for people and could read people far more than others. (Hence why he was so great at being an FBI profiler.)
It’s that sense of empathy from a man — who, again, is played by a middle-aged, very craggy Lance Henrickson instead of some young emo 20-something — that is rarely seen on TV. It’s his empathy that undermines his entire life. It’s a trait he inherited from his mother — along with an ability to see the demons and angels that inhabit the world — and it fucks over his career and his marriage and his life. Folks simply do not understand the way he feels, despite the fact that he knows how they feel. Frank is haunted, not just by the demons and angels that he actually sees, but by how much he feels for others.
As noted in the content warning, CURSE takes place almost entirely on Halloweens. One from Frank’s childhood, and one current Halloween. It opens with Frank prepping for Halloween, gutting a pumpkin. Odd events start occurring around him, such as radios turning themselves on or refusing to dial in correctly, electricity going out, and his car sputtering to a stop. All of these events occur around the number ’268’. Frank exits his busted car, runs into kids egging houses, scares them off and then sees his house — the house he and his wife and daughter once were happy in — and he eggs his yellow house himself.
We flashback to when Frank was a youth. He’s dared by friends to trick-or-treat the house of a scary, chain-smoking shut-in who lives at a singular 268 number, Mr. Bob Crocell, played by Dean Winters who has great comedic chops. He is best known right now for being Mayhem in insurance commercials, but also Dennis ‘Beeper King’ Duffy in 30 ROCK, however he was also dramatically great in TERMINATOR: THE SARAH CONNER CHRONICLES. This is not a comedic performance; it is extremely dark.
Crocell is ruminating on his life and just wants to be left alone, but he allows young Frank Black into his abode. He forces Frank to listen to his horrible mental tribulations and his time in the army before he offers him his deserved treat, which is a lone cigarette, and it’s not even a candy cigarette.
Fast-forward a few years: Frank and his friends drive by the house. Crocell is being carted out of his house, dead on a covered stretcher. His friends make light of it, but Frank bluntly remarks about how Crocell was misunderstood.
FRANK: “He killed himself.”
FRIEND: “…yeah, because he couldn’t take being a commie traitor.”
OTHER FRIEND: “He’ll go to Hell for killing himself.”
OTHER FRIEND: “I always heard he, you know, liked men. That’s why he killed women.”
FRANK: “…it’s none of that.”
FRIEND: “How would you know?”
It’s Frank’s empathetic awakening, something that will loom over him for the rest of his life. As someone who has felt too much and felt too hard and felt haunted for so many years, this depiction hits me intensely.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Tell that to Frank Black.”
There’s one amazingly stark, darkly back-lit scene where Frank enters his attic and sees Crocell there, chain-smoking as usual. Then the ghost-of-Halloween-past (or future, depending on how you look at it) Crocell delivers a monologue that chills Frank:
“I know you’re feeling strange right now kid but, believe me, it’s a hell of a lot creepier for me to be back.
That night, I was so dying to know if the dead can return… if there was anything afterwards, ‘member?
The time when you’re really asking the question and when you really need to know just goes by like — nothin’.
But you know the answer.
Forever.
I’ll tell you this: all that stuff your hear about the fire and the brimstone and the rats and the excrement and the demons tormenting you for all of eternity — there’s none of that stuff.
It’s worse. It is so much worse.
It is for me, at least.
Imagine having to suck on this [cigarette] for all eternity. Man, I wish someone had told me!
Others, they uh— they ain’t got it so bad, I guess. I don’t know. But you’ll know… soon enough.
I’ve been sent here here because you’ve become me.
The way people look at you, what they say about you, making stuff up… pretty soon you come to believe it’s true and then it’s really all over.
You know, I threw things at my house too. Not eggs though. I think I threw dog crap.
Yeah. I threw dog crap from my backyard at my kitchen window.
I never cleaned it off. Imagine that.
The one thing you’ve got that I never did is that you’re getting close to understanding what’s about to happen. And He’s been watching you — uh-huh, oh, yeah — more closely and more often the closer you get.
Here’s the deal, kid. Give up the fight. Sit it out. Forget about this Millennium Group.
Go back to your wife and to your daughter and to your puppy and to your yellow house and just live out a nice, happy, normal life. And there’s gonna be a place for all three of you afterwards.
A place, believe me, where a lot of souls wish they could be.
But you pass on this… and you’re going so much farther than I have ever been.
Hell, the way you gutted that guy who took your wife, the anger inside of you, whoo, I don’t know why you’re not being offered a sweeter deal.
You got the heat inside of you to fight for this side so what I’m asking of you is really simple. Sit back and do nothing. Anyone can do it. Hell, most people do.
Take this deal, kid. Secure you and your family’s future because the time is near, and He will win. There’s no way He can lose!”
Frank then responds:
“When will it happen?”
And Crocell is gone.
It’s a harrowing, sensitive piece, one about empathy and trauma and temptation and complacency and giving up, with a perspective that is rarely seen — even in contemporary prestige TV.
What if I were to tell you that there’s an episode of TV that features Peter Lorre, Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney Jr. trek out to a Chicagoland hotel to brainstorm horror ideas for a cooperative project?
You might not believe me. It sounds like something a horror fanboy would either pitch, or get their friends together to make a homemade version of said idea.
It absolutely exists. It was an episode of the hit TV show ROUTE 66 entitled Lizard’s Leg and Owlet’s Wing and was the fourth episode of the show’s third season.
PETER LORRE: “What frightened them in then in the dark ages, it still frightens now. Fear is born into people […] And don’t you sell it short, Boris!”
If you are pressed for time, here’s a brief summary: NAKED CITY and THE NAKED CITY TV show creators Herbert B. Leonard and Stirling Silliphant pitched the idea of two younger men — the over-educated Tod and the suave lady’s man Buz — band together and tour the U.S. and picking up odd jobs along the way to fund their efforts. Unlike just about every TV show at the time, each episode was shot on location, turning ROUTE 66 into a weekly U.S. travelogue.
Lizard’s Leg and Owlet’s Wing does take place in Chicagoland.* As previously mentioned, Lorre, Karloff and Chaney Jr. want to brainstorm a project together. Lorre suggests meeting at an innocuous conference Chicagoland hotel ‘The O’Hare Inn’ and they agree. Karloff suggests that they replace their surname with reversed versions of their first name because, sure, that’ll fool everyone.
It just so happens that Tod and Buzz have wrangled a job at the inn as Junior Executives in Charge of Convention Liasons. The job thrills them — especially Tod — as the inn is hosting a large ‘Executive Secretaries of the Midwest’ conference and features a number of attractive women.
TOD, remarking on the number of young women exiting a bus: “What makes you think it’s a convention group?”
BUZZ: “When two or more girls get together and there’s no guy in the group, it’s just got to be a convention.”
TOD: “Buzz, there are things carved in marble with not the one-tenth of content of that last authoritative remark.”
While Tod and Buzz work on wooing secretaries, the three horror maestros finally meet up. Lorre requests a very specific coffin from Tod before Karloff arrives, so he can give Karloff a special reveal.
Tod quickly sees through Lorre’s scheming and suggests that Lorre and Chaney Jr. try their own brand of old-school terror on the secretaries. Chaney Jr. makes himself into one of his classic monsters and matters escalate. Meanwhile, Karloff consoles a secretary who pines for a love who left her.
It’s roughly fifty minutes of self-satisfying indulgence for writer/creator Silliphant but, happily, is also a raucous and memorable crowd-pleasing episode. This might not be the venue we wanted to see all three of these masters together for, but it is a lot of fun.
I rarely link to full episodes, however, if you’re in New York City, you can also watch it for free at the mind-blowing New York Paley Center which is exactly the first work I watched upon my initial visit.
To Chicago residents like myself, there is a difference between Chicago and Chicagoland. A lot of folks who live in Chicago suburbs often say they live in Chicago. Chicago residents often classify those who live outside the radius of Chicago’s L train support as living in Chicagoland.
This is more horror-adjacent, but I’ve wanted to type about this series for some time. My apologies but my blog, my rules!
I know there are a number of folks out there that are disgruntled with season three of ONLY MURDERS IN THE BUILDING.
Is the mystery not all that engaging? Yes.
Is the podcast — the fulcrum of the prior two seasons — severely backgrounded? Yes.
The third season of a show is always trepidatious. The first two seasons of ONLY MURDERS IN THE BUILDING (ONLY MURDERS going forward) are laser-focused on discussing, reflecting, broadcasting and ultimately solving a crime that others cannot.
ONLY MURDER’s third season backgrounds all of that to showcase the characters and their trials and strife and personal dissonance. In my opinion: Fuck the haters.
If you haven’t seen the show before — and trust me, you can jump into this season without having watched the first two, but the first two are fun and smart! — it features co-creator and absolute fucking legend Steve Martin as Charles-Haden Savage who for many TV seasons acted in a crime drama show as Detective Brazzos. Charles spends most of his days in a multi-unit NYC building cooking omelets and keeping to himself. Also residing in said building is one semi-retired Broadway writer/director Oliver Putnam, played by a surprisingly restrained Martin Short, who often interrupts Charles’ solitude. Also in the building is the solitary Mabel, charismatically portrayed by Selena Gomez.
The three of them initially bond over a murder that occurs in the building. They decide to will their thoughts into the world via a podcast, which becomes quite popular. Matters escalate.
As noted above: that’s mostly pushed aside in the third season. This season is all about character work. Charles gets entwined with fish-crazy Joy Martin, the effortlessly delightful Andrea Martin. Oliver gets entwined with talented-but-oft-overlooked actor Loretta Durkin. Somehow they managed to convince motherfucking Meryl Streep to play her, and it’s amazing. Mabel gets entwined with documentarian Tolbert, and actor Jesse Williams? Certainly showing off his blue eyes.
This season centers around Oliver finally getting back to Broadway. He directs a stodgy show named DEATH RATTLE. It is centered around a murder in a lighthouse where three babies are the suspects.
Yes, it is a schlock parody of Agatha Christie’s THE MOUSETRAP. I love Christie, but even I have to admit that THE MOUSETRAP is one of her lesser works (even if it’s the longest running play ever). Tacky TV actor Ben Glenroy, gamely played by Paul Rudd is cast as the lead, and Charles is enlisted as a supporting actor. Ben gets poisoned, bleeding out on-stage in the opening performance. He survives. Then he’s pushed down an elevator shaft in Charles and Oliver and Mabel’s building.
Oliver re-imagines DEATH RATTLE as a musical. Matters escalate, again.
That sounds like a lot of plot and intrigue, but really it’s all about personal interaction and reaction and attempts at growing as people. Sure, narratively that’s not the most propulsive facet to lean on, but I love it.
There are two musical numbers that the season builds up to, solely to hold a mirror to not only Loretta but also Charles. All of the prior preamble? That’s not necessary to enjoy them. The first — Look for the Light — is penned by Sara Bareilles, GIRLS5EVA star and showrunner and the songwriter of the Broadway hit adaptation of WAITRESS. (Seriously, she has all of the accolades. Look her up. She is amazing.) Everyone involved here knocks it out of the park. I especially love the cello swells.
The second — Which of the Pickwick Triplets Did It — is penned by Broadway legends Benj Pasek, Justin Paul, Marc Shaiman, and Scott Wittman! (You can read about them workshopping the song!) It is an astounding piece of patter.
These two performances are so goddamn passionately perfect. There’s a lot going on in the undercurrent that I won’t detail because of spoilers, but to see Streep and Martin do what they love to do brings me endless joy. The fact that it narratively bolsters the show? Icing on the cake.
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