Getting Inked

With swirling colors of blue, green, orange and red curling around both arms and inching mid-way down all ten fingers, Chris Howton, owner of Cynical Tattoos, no doubt possess the power to intimidate.  However, in the midst of the recent reality-television tattoo craze he finds a way to stay true to his passion by remaining a humble member of an often-misunderstood tribe.

As someone with two tattoos of my own, I have to admit that I don’t really understand people’s obsession with thinking negatively of the art form.  Yes, the stereotypes associated with the inked race are sometimes true, but I think just as often, they can be totally shattered.  Take me for example, I didn’t rush into the decision, it wasn’t a drunken spring break tribute, rather, I thought about each of the tattoos I have for years before I ever stepped foot inside a shop.  Likewise I have never been convicted of any crimes, I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle, I grew up going to a private Christian school and still answer questions with the respectful terms of ma’am and sir.  I am a college educated, occasional pearl wearing southern girl through and through, and, I wear my ink with pride.

I realize this is a culture driven by appearance, and to an extent I have to say that I agree with this.  If I owned a large successful company, I cant say that I would want my employees walking around with 56 stars tattooed on their face, but at the same time, must the negative connotation with this medium be so severe as to warrant warning posters on campus bulletin boards?

I took a class in Reese-Phifer last month.  One day, as I was walking to my class, I noticed a list of “What to Do’s” when getting ready for a job interview.  As I read the list, a lot of it seemed to be common sense stuff: Don’t be late, Come prepared etc.  What I was surprised to find was the remark that said be SURE that no tattoos are visible; as if insinuating that a glimpse at the Cherokee word on my wrist would be enough to deter a potential employer from hiring me.  I can understand someone being turned away due to meager credentials and a general unkemptness, but do our educators sincerely think that even the tiniest hint of a tattoo still caries a weight heavy enough to sway the opinions of the working conglomerate?

While I will respectfully disagree with the belief that my tattoos are scandalous enough to keep me out of a profession of my choosing, I recognize, and must admit that, more than likely, someone will always find something wrong with them, even friends and family from time to time.

It is, however, my hope that, with time and the continuing infiltration of inked individuals into the working society, we can eventually reach a point where we admire and accept the artistry and beauty of a portrait done on skin, as much as we admire and appreciate those presented in other formats.

by Jennifer Jeffcoat

The Passing of Michael Jackson

As well all know, because of the extreme media coverage on all major news stations and music channels, The King of Pop, Michael Jackson, has passed away. Millions upon millions of people have been (and still are) affected by this shocking, heart-breaking, and sudden event. The headline on the homepage of my computer read “The King of Pop is dead.”  Personally, I was shocked at this headline, but I did not freak out like most of the world did. But, after seeing the headline, I knew that the world would be sent into a frenzy and that my newsfeed on Facebook would be dominated by statuses memorializing Michael Jackson.

Jackson’s music had an indescribable impact on not only the United States, but the entire world. When I think of global icons, Michael Jackson is the first person that comes to mind. He was so ahead of his time with his music and his music videos (which I think should be called mini-movies rather than music videos). Jackson also had a huge influence in many of the music artists that we enjoy listening to today. For example, artists ranging from Justin Timberlake to Usher and Ciara to Keri Hilson credit Jackson for influencing them and their work.

The sad part about Michael Jackson dying, besides the fact that he died, is that I believe that people will focus on more of the negative side of his life. It is well known and documented that Michael Jackson went a little crazy in the latter part of his life. I’ve seen on all the news channels talking about his extreme drug use, not being the biological father of his children, who was going to take care of his children, and who was going to have to take on his extensive 400 million dollar debt. Yes, these are important details that need to be dealt with, but they are also private matters that don’t need the input of people who have nothing to do with this unfortunate situation. Being a major celebrity is usually synonymous with having no privacy, and that’s being shown right now. Michael Jackson was always under the microscope of the entertainment world ever since he was a child performing with The Jackson 5 and the lens of the microscope was magnified more and more as his behavior became more unusual. I’m no expert on human behavior, but I have to believe that the stresses of celebrity life and lack of childhood were a major cause of his abnormal actions.

Not to take away at all from The King of Pop, but these past few days just haven’t been good for famous people at all. Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and Billy Mays all passed away recently. I feel that these people did not get the appreciation that they deserve because the death of Michael Jackson totally eclipsed them all. Jackson and Fawcett died on the same day, how many of you knew that?

All in all, when someone dies, I think their life should be celebrated, not ridiculed. We all know that not everyone has a perfect life, and for people to pick apart all of the bad things in someone’s life is not the right path to take. Hopefully after everything is sorted out from Jackson’s death, he will truly be able to rest in peace.

by Jonathan Holden

Bonna-rain? Not a problem-a-roo! — Bonnaroooooooo!

Imagine, if you will, a vast landscape of Tennessee hills and fields with fluffy clouds strewn across a bright blue sky.  Great music fills the air and you are surrounded by thousands of enthusiastic, surprisingly amiable people. I don’t know about you, but it sounds pretty much like heaven to me… until you throw in debilitating heat, torrential rain, quicksand-like mud, copious amounts of intoxicants, and an element I like to call “grossness.” But this is Bonnaroo, what did you expect?

For those who don’t know, Bonnaroo is an annual music festival in Manchester, Tennessee. However, the music is only half the experience: festival attendees camp out in the fields surrounding the festival grounds, and a temporary tent city is created for one long weekend, officially lasting from a Thursday morning to a Monday morning . Music starts each day at around lunchtime and the bands don’t stop until four o’clock in the morning, at the very earliest. It’s not a music/social event for the faint of heart, to say the least.

I have wanted to go to Bonnaroo for years and knew I’d have my chance when I was in college, but it still came as something of a surprise when I ordered my ticket. It was even more of a surprise to find myself in the line of cars leading into the event. But the surprise wore thin pretty fast – I’d say about half an hour into the wait in near-standstill traffic on the side of a hot country highway.

After I finally made it down the highway, onto the country road, and through the ticket and security checkpoints, I entered Bonnaroo grounds. Volunteers with flags directed the stream of traffic to a field where cars were packed in as close as possible, leaving only enough room for a small campsite behind or in front of the car. I was eventually flagged into a spot, and directed all of my pent up energy into throwing together my campsite. My camping partner for the weekend was not able to arrive until late Friday night and I had never been camping before. However, I brought a tent I have used since I was little for “backyard camping” so I knew what I was doing. My neighbors were a group of older guys from New Jersey, and I could tell they were a little amused to see me throw together a tent largely by myself, although one guy was nice enough to step in and help me with one difficult part. After that it was a matter of pulling out coolers and blowing up my air mattress. Two friends met up with me, we grabbed a juice box and our map of the grounds, and made our way to the epicenter of the festival.

Huge archways mark the entrance to festival grounds, and a crowd is usually found behind these gates waiting to have security volunteers search and pat-down to look for contraband and the like, but if you’re lucky security may decide the lines are too long and open the flood gates. Once inside, there are a series of regular stages and tented stages to choose from: What Stage (aka, the main stage), Which Stage, That Tent, This Tent, The Other Tent. Smaller stages include the Sonic Tent (which features mini-sets and interviews by big-stage bands), the Solar Stage, the Silent Disco (a dance tent where you can only hear the music through headphones), Troo Music Lounge, Arcade Discotheque, and Café Where. Not only that, but if you get sick of music, there is a comedy tent and cinema tent featuring top comedians and movie classics and previews. All of these stages surround an area known as Centeroo, which hosts numerous vendors, water dispensing stations, a huge fountain, a post office, and a ferris-wheel, among other things.

It’s impossible for anyone to fully explain his or her Bonnaroo experience briefly. The four days I spent in Manchester seemed to go by in a flash, but so much happened in that short span of time that it was overwhelming. So, instead of droning on, I’ll touch on certain key points.

The first thing I learned about Bonnaroo is that you cannot possibly do everything you want to do. Part of this is purely due to scheduling. At one point there were four bands I wanted to see playing simultaneously on different stages, nothing to be done for it. When this happens you can make the decision to stick to one band and dedicate yourself to getting a prime spot, or float from stage to stage and watch from further back in the audience. In addition, I cannot communicate just how hot, humid, and therefore draining it is. I made the mistake of not pacing myself well enough the first few days, and as a result missed literally half the music I wanted to see, if not more. On Friday I stood in a dense crowd for about seven hours, finally returning to my tent at around midnight for what was supposed to be a snack break. Six hours later I woke up to discover that not only had I slept through Phoenix, Public Enemy, Crystal Castles, Paul Oakenfold, and GirlTalk, but that GirlTalk was still playing at 6:30 in the morning. I cursed myself for missing out on a five-hour-long, sunrise-lit dance party, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

A related lesson-learned is that there’s no shame in leaving a set early. I am usually the kind of concert attendee that stays through every encore, no matter how tired I get, but Bonnaroo got the better of me. You find yourself stuck in a crowd for hours, you can’t move an inch without elbowing your neighbor, your water supply is running low, humidity is filling what little space isn’t filled by bodies, your feet are covered in mud, but it isn’t until about the time that a steady stream of sweat is flowing down your nose that you decide that you’re woozy and have had enough. Following Friday night’s disappointment, I decided I had to take things slower. This meant that I had to leave Of Montreal and the Mars Volta’s incredible shows early, but in the long run was why I was able to save up some energy to see Yeasayer and MGMT, who didn’t start their back-to-back sets until one o’clock in the morning.

On a lighter note, I also learned quickly that it was astonishingly easy to move up in the crowd. My friends and I joined the congregation in front of Which Stage on Friday afternoon at around four o’clock, when Animal Collective was finishing up their set. I had meant to be there hours earlier, with my ultimate goal being up front at nine o’clock for David Byrne, of Talking Heads fame. I am fairly proficient in large crowds and have been known to weave my way up pretty close for local festivals like Birmingham’s Crawfish Boil and the late City Stages. However, I knew that I didn’t have much of an advantage in this crowd, which was teaming with people who had just as much or more crowd experience than I did. The sea of people was massive and packed in so tight that I started to loose hope of getting a decent spot within a few hours. Luckily, I soon discovered that there was a pattern with Bonnaroo crowds: as soon as a band left the stage, fans would begin to pour away from that area to another stage, leaving those behind to surge forward to take their place.

When I say surge forward, I mean that in a few seconds one can find that they have pushed and been pushed twenty or thirty feet closer in the crowd. It’s not an ideal situation if you are claustrophobic, but it gives avid fans the opportunity to obtain optimal crowd positions. In one surge I was thrust towards the front of Which Stage for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Karen O was the very essence of sexuality and coolness as she screamed into the microphone and urged thousands of haggard fans to jump with her for hours in the wilting sun to old hits like “Maps” and new singles such as “Zero” and “Heads Will Roll.” When their set ended, the masses rushed forward again and I was a stone’s throw away from the front when TV on the Radio took the stage at seven o’clock. Although I am not a huge fan of TV on the Radio, I was struck by their energy and the lead singer’s stage presence. Then there was one final surge at the end of their performance, and with a little effort I claimed a front row spot for David Byrne.

David Byrne was the lead singer/guitarist for the Talking Heads, a legendary band that was at the peak of its fame in the late seventies and throughout the eighties. I grew up listening to the Talking Heads, and recently became interested in Byrne’s solo career when I picked up his newest album; a brilliant and bizarre project he co-created with Brian Eno entitled Everything That Happens Will Happen Today. David Byrne took the stage dressed in all white, to match his now white hair, and proved that he is still ingenious and down-right weird; it brought to mind the old Talking Heads lyric, “same as it ever was.” Byrne is known for his efforts in creating a full concert experience. His performance style still resembles that of the Talking Heads, with back up singers, multiple percussionists, and plenty of dancing. Everyone on stage was dressed from head-to-toe in white and every movement was choreographed. Byrne played old Heads’ fan-favorites spanning from the famous “Burning Down the House” to the more obscure “I Zimbra.” Songs from the new album were also featured, like an encore of “Home.” Perhaps the best part of the entire show was the integration of new and old, such as when modern dance performers integrated Byrne’s dancing from the Talking Heads’ concert film Stop Making Sense into their routines.

My final tip is something I found out on my final day at ‘Roo: the comedy line up is just as good as the music line up. Although there was plenty of music to be had Sunday afternoon, I decided to give my sunburned, aching body a break from the heat and headed to the comedy tent. It was bizarre to sit in fields for days, and suddenly walk into a tent with something as civilized and organized as stadium seating or air-conditioning.

I was able to get into the final Daily Show Stars gig, featuring producer Rory Albanese, current correspondents John Oliver and Wyatt Cenac, veteran Rob Riggle, and underground funnies Kristen Schaal (who plays Mel on Flight of the Conchords) and Kurt Braunohler. I had seen several of them backstage during the Mars Volta the day before, and when each comedian staggered out looking dead-to-the-world I could tell that they had partied as hard as everyone else there. In fact, at one point Rory Albanese messed up a joke.

“Hey, I’ve been out here doing what you’ve been doing,” he said. “I’ve done it all, and I have to do this too, so deal with it!”

Although all of the acts were great, Kristen and Kurt stole the show, without a doubt. The other guys were funny, but Kristen and Kurt, who recently won an award at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, knew exactly how to mix stand up with skits and keep the audience fully engaged and entertained. They were silly, and sometimes I laughed uncontrollably without being able to pin-point exactly why the bit was funny.

After the show was over, I immediately jumped back in line for the next one, Michael and Michael Have Issues. Michael Showalter and Michael Ian Black hosted this show in promotion of their newest Comedy Central series by the same name. Although many of their television shows and movies have become cult-classics (the State, Wet Hot American Summer, etc), the two comedians have never done well among the masses and most of their work has failed in the box office and in ratings. But Bonnaroo pulls in the kind of audience that adores Michael Ian Black and Michael Showalter, as evidenced by the impressive line of fans that filed into the comedy tent. The comedians previewed a clip of Michael and Michael Have Issues (which was disappointing, to be honest), but didn’t do too much stand up themselves. Famouse stand-up and writer Nick Kroll first took the stage with a routine that was gut-busting and flawless, including a bit that will be a featured character on the next season of Reno 911. Kroll then handed the microphone over to surprise guest Margaret Cho, who cracked jokes about hipsters before performing a few songs from her new album. The final act was break-threw comedian Aziz Ansari, from NBC’s new Parks and Recreation as well as the final season of Scrubs. Some may even recognize him as the racist fruit vendor from Flight of the Conchords. Ansari broke up the line-up of ‘90s comedians, adding something new and fresh to an already amazing program.

When I exited the comedy tent for the second time that afternoon, there wasn’t too much left on the schedule before the festival came to a close. Since I am a heathen and didn’t care to see that night’s headliner, Phish, I decided to end my trip a little early and leave that night, so as to avoid traffic and another night in a damp sleeping bag. Before I left, however, I ate some organic food near That Tent while I listened to Coheed and Cambria play a cover of the Church’s “Under the Milky Way.”  I reflected on the last few days and ultimately decided that although they had been some of the most uncomfortable days of my life, it was definitely worth it and I would be coming back. I then walked to my car, got in a line of traffic behind two neo-hippies riding atop a Hummer and a police car that paid them no notice, and left the Bonnaroo grounds behind.

by Katie Fraley

Going Off to Jutland

“Daddy’s gonna stroll down that far subterranean shore, all littered with the flotsam of hopes and dreams. Relics of ancient times. Lonely cenotaphs. Standing along that melancholy tideland.”- Noah, Tideland (Film) 2005

“Before sleep, the last sound to fill my ears was the beating of my heart, and I knew I was slipping past the tideland, going beneath the ocean and sinking away from What Rocks.”

-Jeliza Rose, Tideland (Novel) Mitch Cullin, 2000

When friend and fellow Monty Python member Micheal Palin saw a rough cut of Terry Gilliam’s Tideland, he told his long time friend, “This is either the best or the worst thing you’ve ever done. I can’t tell.” Terry Gilliam has said often in interviews and even in an introduction to the film, that not everyone will like his film and that in fact, many people will hate the film. My first reaction to the film was one of horror. I was depressed by its length and overall message, as well as the way it looked. But recently, I watched the film again, and it was like seeing it for the first time. I wanted more than its two hour running length, I saw the beauty and innocence played against a scary world, and it’s beautiful, rich colors and jarring contrasts made for a unique looking film.

An homage to Alice in Wonderland, a sort of southern gothic take on the whole story, Tideland begins with the family situation of Jeliza Rose ( pre- Silent Hill Jodelle Ferdinand). Both her parents are washed up drug addicts, with her father, Noah (Jeff Bridges) being something of musician that found fame some time somewhere. He is obsessed with the Jutland Peninsula (complete with a map and a book about the customs and interesting facts of the place, including an obsession with “Bog-Men”), and is seen waking his daughter up in the middle of the night to tell her stories about the place. Her mother, (Jennifer Tilly) never named, is an overweight junkie who both loves and hates her daughter. When she dies one night following an overdose, Noah grabs Jeliza and takes her to his childhood home, What Rocks farm, out in the middle of nowhere Texas. They find it abandoned, with Noah’s mother having passed many years ago. Soon, he too succumbs to his addiction, leaving Jeliza in an abandoned farmhouse with no food or water, and a fresh corpse to boot. She starts to create a world made up of her Barbie doll heads that are her only friends, and fears of the Bog Men. Her explorations of the area have her stumble upon her neighbors, the paranoid and frightening Dell and her simple brother Dickens. And this is where the movie gets really strange.

Tideland is the culmination of all of Terry Gilliam’s work. It’s surreal, strange, innocent, corrupt, and oddly enough, well grounded. The obvious parallels against Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland are not hidden or ignored, but rather played to. The whole movie is a twisted version of Wonderland, only influenced by the imaginations of those around. Each person adds their own spin, mutating it until it becomes something far scarier and more sinister than it was before. Tideland plays like a bloodless horror fairy tale, combining the fears of childhood with the horror that is adulthood. The elements of fear and the elements of fantasy intermingle until telling them apart is impossible. If you are familiar with Gilliam’s work, this film is by far his most perfect film.

The acting in the film is phenomenal as well. Jodelle Ferdinand is capable of being a little child while also carrying around with her a wise look in her eyes. Jeff Bridges plays a corpse beautifully, and Janet McTeer is frightening as the religious and insanely strict Dell, but arguably the best actor in the bunch is Brendan Fletcher playing Dickens. His performance alone elevates the film to an even higher shelf. He becomes the emotional lynchpin of the story, helping Jeliza delve deeper into her fantasy world and capturing the spirit of innocence and youth that is slowly leaving her as she grows and sees the world.

Tideland is a strong film full of images and moments that challenge the viewer, while captivating and holding them in full attention. The story feels complete, the pacing perfect, and the script heavy but exciting. In the future, a film like Tideland will be the cinematic legacy that has been left behind by a great film maker.

by Henri Cheramie

No Sparkles Needed

No doubt, the film Twilight will change vampire movies forever, and not for the better. I normally stay away from vampire movies, as I find they are he same film over and over again, but after the deluge of Twilight related media, I decided to re-evaluate my feelings. I was sure there were actually GOOD and WELL MADE vampire films out there that weren’t embarrassing or silly or overly romantic, and most of all…didn’t sparkle. Now keep in mind, I’m not a professional vampire film expert, but a GOOD vampire movie is like obscenity: You know it when you see it.

To begin with, I’ve always maintained that one of the best vampire films I’ve ever seen is 1987’s Near Dark. It’s dark and suspenseful and incredibly moody. A young man (Caleb) meets a hitchhiker on a lonesome road one night. Soon, he meets her “family”, a seemingly insane dirty biker gang, and Caleb soon learns why there are untold dangers in the night. They live off blood, burn in the sunlight, and have lived for centuries this way and now Caleb has a choice to make: Become one of them or become lunch.

What’s important to remember about this film is the word “vampire” is never spoken. By use of dialogue and special effects, you develop a sense of what they are. They begin to smoke in sunlight, recall events from the past like they were there, and of course, feast on the blood of the innocent. With a little western flair, such as the use of guns and tough guy quips, Near Dark creates a near perfect vampire film with out all the silliness and hokum usually associated with the genre. The bloodsuckers here are dirty. They do not care how people see them, or even if they are seen. They kill unmercifully and actually enjoy themselves doing it. They may be tortured by their affliction, but they sure have a good time in mourning.

This next film, in essence, isn’t just a vampire movie, it’s a fantasy film, but vampires play a huge role. Night Watch is a Russian film from 2004. It concerns the goings on in a sort of necromantic police agency in post-Communism Russia. The case that holds the film together concerns a young boy who is heeding the “call” of a female vampire, and a Night Watch investigator who, in order to save the boy, must become a vampire partially to protect him. The vampires here need licenses to kill, literally. They can also exist during the day and hold jobs (Butchers, mostly), and drink animal and human donor blood to survive. But in order to make a fresh kill, they need a license from the Night Watch, an agency that polices the actions of Werewolves, Vampires, and other Dark Others during the night. And during the day, the policed people watch the Shape Shifters, Warlocks, and Seers and form the Day Watch. If I tell you any more, it could just confuse you. Here, the vampires are working stiffs (pardon the pun), just like any other supernatural being. Also, almost everything we believe to be true about stopping vampires is false having been put out there by vampires as a little joke. So stake through the heart, that’ll kill them. Garlic? Not such much. It’s an interesting take on the idea that though immortals live among us, they need stable jobs like everyone else.

Finally, I want to discuss possibly the most lyrical, beautiful, heart wrenching vampire movie I’ve ever seen. Let the Right One In is a Swedish vampire movie from last year. It tells the story of Eli, a child vampire and her quest for love and acceptance in a weary and cold world. Eli is an anomaly in vampire movies. Eli, at one time, was biologically a boy, but presents as a girl and answers to ‘she’. At age 12, since being right there on the cusp of puberty, it’s perfectly normal for people to mistake her for a girl. Though explained in the book why this is, the movie chooses not to, and it makes for better viewing, because it never gets in the way of the story. Ultimately the story is about how hard and torturous life can be for children. If they have no one to turn to in life, no one to trust, it’s a much harder road to hoe. In this story, a young man named Oscar who is teased , unmerciful, at school, makes friends with Eli, the new kid in the neighborhood, all while a rash of ritual killings around the area has made everyone nervous. Oscar is obsessed by these killings, wondering if he’ll be next, and intrigued by Eli, who even in the coldest weather, wears a light sweater and only comes out at night.

What makes this film beautiful is how the vampirism is handled. It’s not seen as either a good or a bad thing. It’s just an affliction that this young child has and has had for years. There is a definite sadness to this film, but also a definite beauty when it comes to the children and their love for one another. The title also refers to the concept that vampires cannot be let in somewhere without being first invited, which is a brilliant sequence when Eli must prove that it is indeed true.

Vampire films are an interesting genre. Like the zombie film, the market is flooded with them. To find good ones, you have to go by word of mouth, as most of them are all interchangeable with one another. Hopefully I have helped you in this task. You’ll know it when you see it.

Until then, I remain yours in Horror.

by Henri Cheramie

On Weirdness

I got a lot of use out of the word “weird” when I moved into my dorm in Japan four months ago. My friends and I would say, “They drive on the other side of the road! That’s so weird!” Or, “There are so many people here with bicycles! Isn’t that weird?” Or even, “Look at her outfit! It’s so weird. I love it.”

We newcomers, especially we Americans, were excited to point out the differences and find the kinds of things we deemed “weird.” After all, I left America in search of weirdness; growing up in Louisiana and going to college in Alabama meant my life had so far involved few drastic changes of scenery or community for more than a week. I had been abroad before on a vacation to Italy, and I’d been up North to see my cousins in Buffalo and visited New York City. I’d even been to Alaska. But no week-long visit completely acquainted me with a new place, and I was happy to find that there were so many ways in which Hirakata City, Osaka, Japan, was something different from West Monroe, Louisiana, or Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

And so the “weird”s went on. “Weird!” we would exclaim, “They don’t have soap in the bathroom!” Or, “People are always staring at us. Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” The “weird”s continued, even after a month, even after two months in our new country. Even the last week we all spent in Japan ,we were still at least mentally coming up with new “weird”s to add to our own personal collections of weird. In addition to all the Japan weirds, though, we had the hypothetical weirds that we anticipated upon our return home.

“I can’t wait to be literate again!” we would say, “It’s going to be weird being able to read food packages.” Sometimes, “I can’t wait to get a waiter I understand again. It’ll be really weird to be able to make small talk again.” We even thought, “It’s going to be weird blending in again after sticking out so much here.”

Now that my fellow Kansai Gaidai students and I have arrived home, we like to discuss the weirdness of being home. However, these weirds are different from the ones we assumed not so long ago. Sure, we are literate; I can walk up and down the grocery aisle and know exactly what is in every box, bag, or can. We can communicate without struggling; I had a long conversation with my waitress at Olive Garden tonight. Also, we fit in to the crowd again; I wandered around Wal*Mart feeling and looking like I belonged, being taller than some people and shorter than others and not the least bit out of place in my t-shirt and shorts. The funny thing is—it isn’t weird. In my mind, things in West Monroe are the way they are supposed to be. The way things work and the places in which they work that way are failing to strike me as weird at all because that’s how I know and remember them.

What my friends and I are discovering, then, is that the truly weird part of studying abroad is coming home and having to remind yourself that you are, indeed, home. When I picked up my American cell phone for the first time in months and tried to send a text message, or when I examined the contents of a drawer that I hadn’t opened for so long, I felt as if I had gone back in time. Technically, I really have time traveled: when I crossed the International Date Line back in January, I went to the future, and when I crossed it again on Monday, I traveled back into the past. However, this minor literal detail has no real effect on me other than sounding like a cool thing to say. The reason I feel like I’ve time traveled, then, is everything here is as it was before I left, and now that I am back, it is still the same. I am the thing that is different. I am what has changed.

Before I left this country, I was taught about the stages of culture shock. After the euphoria, the general grumpiness, and the slow acceptance, comes the stage in which the student abroad comes to feel like the country in which she is living is a place where she feels at home. With all the “weird”s so present in my life in Japan, I never really thought that I would get that far. Certainly I was used to living in Hirakata, taking trains, spending this much money on a meal whenever I ate out, but in the back of my mind I knew that I belonged in the American South; no way this country where I could barely communicate with anyone outside the dorm would become “home” to me.

I was somewhat surprised, then, as I, newly arrived home, said to my parents, “I think partially it’s because back home—”

I stopped short and was met with twin confused stares. Standing in the kitchen of my parents’ house, in which I have lived practically my entire life, speaking to my actual parents, I had referred to an impersonal dorm in a minor city in a foreign country as “back home.”

That, I think, is the weird part.

by Margaret E. Brandl

In Defense of Horror in the 2000’s

Every so often, horror films have a wave, subside, and then for like three years, people wander around going “Where are all the horror films?” “How come they don’t make them like they used to?” “Why are those vampires sparkling?” and then some studio or young filmmaker comes in with a play on an old concept or a remake of a certified classic. Then people begin to get interested in horror again, start making demands, and the studios take notice, over saturate the market, and then people begin complaining there is too much horror, and demand dies down, and the studios stop producing horror. Another three to five years of drought.

Many people right now are claiming the early ought’s horror boom is coming to a close. We began the decade with such weak, unoriginal, but hopeful films such as Wrong Turn (think The Hills Have Eyes and Texas Chainsaw Massacre) or the ill advised, but ultra stylish remake Dawn of the Dead. But the decade also has it’s gems, we’ve also seen the throwback horror film High Tension from France and stateside, films like Cabin Fever, The Descent, and Jeepers Creepers all provided chills and scares well worth the title of horror films.

Horror comedy has never been a very monetarily wise. Some people say that combining the two is very hard because people don’t like to be scared when they are laughing and vise versa. Sure, films like Gremlins or Return of the Living Dead succeeded, but the was probably more in spite of their combination. This decade, however, the horror/comedy bar was set much higher with films like Shaun of the Dead and Slither, both films gained instant cult status and were praised for their acting, execution, and skill at handling the humor and gore. Ginger Snaps combined the angsty teen coming of age film with the werewolf movie, making for the female answer, about 30 years later, to the male oriented An American Werewolf in London. House of 1000 Corpses and it’s follow up, the more serious yet still funny, The Devil’s Rejects, also helped in genre bending. They combined not only horror and comedy, but also crime films of the seventies and the slasher films of the eighties. The sensibilities of these films were new. Confident, exciting, and done with love and care rarely seen in most low budget horror. Also, we had the return of George Romero with Land of the Dead, an exciting, scary, and funny continuation of Night of the Living Dead as well as a “re-boot” of the series, (that has been the key word of the decade, not remake but “re-boot” of a series) Diary of the Dead. Both films garnered critical acclaim and horror film fans respect, a very hard thing to do.

This is not to say that there were not some misses as well. Danny Boyle’s Bio-Terror Non-Zombie (That’s right, they are not dead, so they are not zombies) blood bath, 28 Days Later, was followed up by the dystrophic and somewhat rushed 28 Weeks Later. And, as good and creative of an idea that it was, the dubious double feature Grindhouse (Planet Terror and Death Proof) did little business in the theatres but found new life when the two films were separated on DVD, and lengthened. Some especially loved Death Proof’s 1970’s retro feel, while others found Planet Terror to be a great recall of the latex and make up driven “small town terror” films of the 80’s. But when seen together in one 3 hour sitting, people often complained, not understanding the fake trailers for fake horror films directed by new horror talent, or thinking the movie was over after the first film played and felt “ripped off” that they didn’t see the second film. (When I saw the film, half the audience left after Terror, mumbling about how they didn’t see Kurt Russell.) We also had the long awaited prequel to The Exorcist, only to find that they replaced the original director after shooting because his version was too quiet. When the reshot, chopped up film was released, it was panned almost immediately. When it came time for a DVD release, the studio released the prequel (Called The Exorcist: The Beginning) directed by replacement Renny Harland and then released original director Paul Schrader’s original cut Dominion into a limited theatre run later, but by then, people were so confused, no one bothered. Now, in hindsight, Dominion is praised as a thoughtful, psychologically frightening, though extremely flawed, film. Renny Harland’s only gets laughs and jeers.

So, with the end of the decade coming soon, we are finding that horror films are starting to slow down. Things like Underworld and Twilight are helping put horror in it’s box for another few years, and unfortunately, with the underperforming but critically admired (not loved, just liked) Drag Me To Hell being the first nail to seal the box…soon enough we may have something that will throw it into the quarry, and watch it sink to the bottom. We can only hope when the resurrection of horror happens, a shotgun blast to the head won’t kill it, but make it stronger.

by Henri Cheramie

Scary as “Hell”

Scary as “Hell”

Soon, Sam Rami makes his return to his horror hiatus with the film Drag me to Hell. While the previews promise horror the likes of which we’ve seen before, but enhanced by computers and quick editing. Though I sound angry, I am not. I am actually looking forward to this movie, Sam Rami having a great effect on me early in my film viewing life. But here are a few more films you may want to see that are scary as well, and may help you in your own opinion of this new horror.

Session 9: Director-Brad Anderson, 2001.

Creepy abandoned hospital horror about an asbestos crew clearing out an empty psychiatric hospital. Soon, someone goes missing, and a crew member begins to suspect a sinister force at work. His suspicions however have a more personal answer waiting for him.

Carnival of Souls: Director-Herk Harvey, 1962

A young women survives a car accident and that’s just the beginning of her troubles in this chilling black and white chill fest. Creepy people, odd music, and an abandoned Salt Lake amusement park are just some of the odd goings on. This film is very important to horror, as it was the inspiration for Night of the Living Dead.

The Call Of Cthulhu: Director-Andrew Leman, 2005

An experimental short film done in Black and White and silent retelling one of the most chilling horror stories put to paper. Done on a low budget by a group calling themselves The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, this is an excellent film, chilling and worth finding.

Cemetery Man: Director-Michele Soavi, 1993

Italian horror comic icon Dylan Dog becomes Francesco Dellamorte, Cemetery Man. His sole responsibility is to keep zombies from escaping a graveyard. He didn’t count on falling in love with the wife of one of the corpses he has put down. And then having to kill her three times as well. Anything for love.

The Butcher Boy: Director-Neil Jordan, 1998

Psycho child Francie Brady takes life way to seriously in this very dark comedy. Obsessive, angry, and murderous, the 10 year old Brady goes through abuse, visions, and Communist paranoia before learning to grow up imperfect in an imperfect world.

The Gravedancers: Director-Mike Mendez, 2005

Dumb name, yes. Scary? Most definitely. Three drunken kids dance on graves and the souls, each with its own power and Chelsea smile, haunts them until they can claim their soul. Horror and fear ensue.

by Henri Cheramie

Big Adventure, Small Adventurer

George Lucas has a less than stellar record as of late. As flawed as it is, his best movie in the last ten years is Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. As many critics (Not this one mind you, I loved it) would suggest, Lucas has lost his once magic touch. But, keep in mind, even before The Phantom Menace; Lucas’s track record was also less than stellar. His involvement in films outside the Star Wars pantheon didn’t bring audiences a running. Though they found new life on video, these other films where much maligned in theatres, found new life at homes in the Eighties.

One such project is the ambitious and exciting film Willow. A high fantasy directed by Ron Howard with a story and concept by George Lucas, this wild and wooly film, aims at creating a whole new world for the viewer to inhabit, while pulling from known resources to create a familiarity, so things don’t seem so alien.

The story concerns a race of small people called “The Nelwyns”, not unlike the Hobbits, who are farmers and simple folk who stay away from normal sized people. One such Nelwyn is a farmer and a magician named Willow. Due to a prophecy that a princess will be born who will destroy an evil queen, Willow is thrown into a situation where he must protect said princess from destruction before she can fulfill her destiny. Along the way, he meets dragons, trolls, armies, drunkard, brownies, fairies, and master swordsmen (Madmartigan, played with amazing gusto by Val “I’ll be a Republican Senator soon” Kilmer).

This film is an odd anomaly. A moderate hit when released, it found its audience of small children and families on video. Its direction, handled with auteur sensibilities by Howard, is a little rough, but good. He allows you to become engrossed by this world and its peoples while telling the story effectively. But that also causes a few problems. Pacing for one. The film hits just a few snags with scenes of travel, and a few talky sequences that, though important, can be like speed bumps. Not enough to make it stop, but it slows down and bumps along just enough to be a minor inconvenience. Ron Howard was still quite early in his career, so he hadn’t set a foothold in the industry. He was known primarily for low budget comedies, and directing the film Cocoon, a film Lucas did the special effects for.

The special effects (supplied by Industrial Light and Magic) for Willow, range from neat in camera tricks, primitive blue screen projection, to early uses of computer morphing techniques later used by Michael Jackson in the famous “Black or White” video. Even the primitive and badly executed special effects seem quaint, because they help remind you of a time when this was the pinnacle of technology.

The lead is played by Warwick Davis, a “little person” by birth, but there is nothing little about him. He’s talented and has a great acting ability, as well as comedic timing. He plays the physical side of Willow just as well as the big people. Also, Val Kilmer is incredible. He plays his wild, lone gunman swordsman perfectly. Kevin Pollack as a drunk, amorous brownie is a treat, as well as Billy Barty as a wizard is pitch perfect. This film is such a success due to, not only the way it looks, but how the actors make you feel. It doesn’t feel fake or silly. No one is playing this for camp.

Willow is a good movie with a lot of things going for it. It’s fun and exciting, a little cheesy, but all in all, the effort is not wasted. There are wonderful things happening on screen, and is you believe in magic, you might just enjoy it more.

by Henri Cheramie

EARTH FEST and How I Managed to Fit Right In

The environment, no matter how many Discovery Channel documentaries you watch, in the midst of VH1 commercials and all nighters coalesced with rampant Facebook(ing), you can never be too familiar with the outdoors and how much it really affects your life specifically.

After a bit of reflecting on the University of Alabama Environmental Council’s 2009 Earth Fest that was held this past Sunday, I came to the conclusion that I may have been in WAY over my head and find it best to appreciate all that I’ve learned so far while tumbling down this rabbit-hole of a social atmosphere that’s nestled in the cozy nooks of Charmical Hall between a group of students who’d make up a meal from vegetables and hummus before they order a pizza.

Honestly, I’ve never been into the whole “environmentalist lifestyle” and have always looked at it like a trend only adopted by people who’ve lost all faith in humans and are resorting to un reasonable amounts of concern towards animals; finding it very easy to do so seeing as how these animals won’t complain – in English. But just as natural as the occurrences that will make this paper relevant, fate would present a situation that immersed me into quirky, mostly viable, mysterious if you’re unaware of the health food stores in your community, tied to a higher calling underworld filled with conscious eating and living in hopes of saving a planet we’ve only found one of.

One night while watching the free cable provided by this institution of higher learning I stumbled upon a very enlightening documentary by Al Gore and 1 hour later I was a full blown vegetarian and I was going to save the world that morning with one blue bin and a baby tree I had named Hope. By noon, over a large Meat Lovers pizza, I had left my baby tree withering away in the trunk of my Chevy Tahoe and was cheering along Neo while watching the Matrix Trilogy.  There had to be a better way.

It didn’t take much but a good search through the CCSO to find an environmentalist group here on campus and within a week I was sitting within a circle complete with one barefoot individual who had been to India and the token chick rocking a tie-dye shirt and peace sign earrings.

Because I’m advertising major it was hard to find a committee to offer my help and they all were very laid back and appreciative. This is when I was first introduced to Earth Fest. My very first meeting with the UAEC, facilitated by New College and Presided over by Daniel Marbury, was the most informative humbug I had ever seen. I was assigned to publicity with Emily Roberson, Senior majoring in Advertising.

When Earth Fest Finally got here this weekend, the only thing we weren’t prepared for was the weather. We simply didn’t have enough tents to keep all of the tables and displays dry. The center of Earth Fest was the music stage and it’s were the majority of the participant accumulated. There was everything from acoustic guitar and poetry, to blues and short forums about Hurricane Creek. The Highlight of the day, for me, would have to go to a band called the PHds. It’s a group of professors with bookoos of swag. They preformed hits from the Blues Brothers and some originals of their own.

Also orbiting the stage were miscellaneous tables such as a FREE STORE that was essentially a swap-meet, informational displays, 18 holes of miniature golf constructed completely out of recycled material, an arts and crafts table, and just beyond Gorgas Library and affront Morgan was a giant bike up for grabs to ride at your own risk.

The Sun was back and forth most of the day but Earth Fest was eventually rained out and ended with frantic scattering of participants contrasted only by the calm cool and collectedness of the UAEC members who, no doubt, anticipated the rain and were simply waiting to execute a pre-meditated game plan.

I was told by Emily Roberson, the Vice President of the UAEC, that it was the biggest the event had ever been and the most important thing accomplished this year was the networking that had been done with the small businesses that contributed and the coordination between similar organizations around campus who share the same goal as the UAEC with is ultimately a better understanding of the environment and where we college students fit in and the most effective way to help in the betterment of the planet; especially as it pertains to this campus.

by jOna