After being burned by Legion, I decided to watch a horror movie that I hoped might turn out to be good. I went with The Ritual on Netflix, which has a 73% on Rotten Tomatoes and a pretty nice trailer.
Four friends, grieving their lost buddy, go backpacking across the Scandinavian Mountains. One falls and hurts his ankle. The men to decide to go off the trail, taking a shortcut into the woods. Weird things happen. A dead animal, impaled on high on the branches, drips blood. Strange letters appear on the bark of trees. Something is about to go horrifically wrong.
The Ritual is well-crafted and beautifully shot. The actors all do a good job of making their characters seem believable. They’re everyday blokes who find themselves in an increasingly horrific situation. I bought into the premise from the start, and because of that, for the first half hour of the movie, I was genuinely unsettled and frightened. But the longer the movie went on, the less it scared me.
On a purely visual level, the antagonist is unique, creepy, and even occasionally beautiful. But the story failed to develop the antagonist’s motivation and mythology. This caused the final act to collapse in on itself. The Ritual turned a simple premise into a complicated, muddled mess. It remained beautiful and well-crafted until the very last shot, but by then, I had stopped believing in it. I left the movie with mixed feelings and vague sense of disappointment.
Why is that though?
(Warning: From this point on, I will be a LONG, scene-by-scene summary, that will SPOIL every plot point of the movie. If you haven’t seen The Ritual, read on at your own discretion.)
I thought I liked bad horror movies, but it turns out not all bad horror movies are created equal. Some I just hate.
Back in 2010, while living in a small town in Japan, I saw the trailer for Legion. In a small, greasy spoon diner, a group of strangers find themselves in thrust into the apocalypse. An old woman turns into a demon and attacks them. A fallen angel declares that humanity’s only hope is a pregnant woman’s baby.
This seemed like an interesting premise. But the movie scored dismal reviews (19% on Rotten Tomatoes) and a pretty poor opening ($17 million, for an eventual $40 million domestic, $67 million worldwide). That’s a pity, I thought, and moved on. But I have a weird memory which can inexplicably remember obscure movie trailers from 9 years ago. So when Legion popped up on Netflix, I thought I’d watch it.
I am so glad I didn’t see this in theaters.
There are few bad movies which have actively pissed me off as much as Legion. I absolutely hated the anti-hero, fallen angel protagonist, who managed to be both holier-than-God self-righteous and a soulless, compassionless jerk. The antagonists were non-threatening cartoons with no brains. The ending was anti-climactic, and the themes were a mess. Legion spouted faith while ripping out its foundations. It sacrificed a basic understanding of good and evil in an attempt to be edgy. This movie did not know what it wanted to be and juggled action, fantasy, and horror set-pieces that might look cool, but had no tension, suspense, or emotion.
It wasn’t that nothing worked. There were characters I liked, there were ideas that could have been developed, and certain elements did genuinely hold my interest. However, the story as a whole was so muddled and soulless, it soured even the parts I liked.
(Warning: From this point on, I will be giving a SUPER LONG point-by-point summary of the movie and spoiling everything. If you feel you must watch the movie first, go ahead. Personally, I don’t recommend it.)
It’s officially summer. I want to relax and watch movies. But not necessarily the Hollywood-appointed summer blockbuster. In fact, not necessarily good movies. For whatever reason, I’m in the mood to dig up some older, more obscure, potentially bad horror movies.
Hey, I like bad horror movies. I watch Mystery Science Theater 3000. I’ve seen “Manos” the Hands of Fate over twenty times. My tolerance is pretty high. Heck, sometimes if I watch them often enough, I end up liking them. They may not be perfect or even make sense, but there is something that draws me in.
So I picked up a copy of The Apparition.
The Apparition is a horror movie that came out in 2012. It bombed in theaters and was eviscerated on Rotten Tomatoes. The problem with The Apparition isn’t that it’s offensive or graphic or horrific. It’s not. It’s also not scary or emotional or interesting.
The Apparition is a lot of nothing. The plot, characters, and setting are so thinly drawn they disappear into vapor. If there’s a concept or meaning driving this movie, director/ writer Todd Lincoln didn’t choose to share it. In spite of this, I kind of enjoyed it. It was like playing in an empty cardboard box. Sure, there wasn’t much to look at on the surface, but if you use your imagination, it could be anything you want it to be.
(Warning: I will now be writing a LONG point-by-point summary of the movie and spoiling every plot twist. If you want to see the movie first--and you can find it--you may want to hold off on reading this article.)
Early in April, I signed up for the Local Author's Showcase, at the Cumberland Library in Fayetteville, NC. When it came time to go, I was nervous. I've only done a few of these events, after all, and I'm not exactly a social butterfly. (More like an introverted dragonfly.) But I told myself I was just going to show up, have fun, network, learn, and not put too much pressure on myself.
On Saturday, June 15, I attended the Local Author's Showcase, with a bagful of my books to sell, a box of business cards, and some freshly-made, framed signs. I was surprised (and a little intimidated) by the number of authors who set up booths in the room and how professional they were. Some had screens and toys and merchandise for sale. But I took a deep breath and got set up. Someone came up to talk to me. I started to feel better.
All in all, it was a fun day. People were friendly and open. I got hear author's stories and share my own story. I even made a few sales. It was a good reminder, for me, of the power of putting yourself out there.
Authors and Their Books
These are some of the local authors I had the pleasure of meeting as I made my way around the room:
One of the authors, Alison Paul Klakowicz (whose book I bought, by the way), wrote a tremendous article in the Hodge Podge Podcast and Blog with pictures of everyone and their books. If
you want to get a feel for the event, I suggest you check it out.
Title: The Shadow Club
Author: Neal Shusterman
Genre: YA, Contemporary
No matter how hard Jared tries, his rival always beats him. Bad enough that Austin is the best runner on the 9th grade team, bound for the Olympics, but he also has the nasty habit of rubbing it in Jared’s face. Jared’s best friend Cheryl understands the feeling. No matter how good of a singer she is, her younger cousin Rebecca always outshines her. While commiserating, Jared and Cheryl hit upon an idea: a club for people who always come in second place. The Shadow Club was just meant to be a place to vent… and maybe play some harmless pranks on the people who wrong them. But when the class weirdo Tyson overhears them, Jared fears everything they built may be in danger.
Since I’ve enjoyed other works by Neal Shusterman (Unwind, Evermore), I decided to pick up The Shadow Club when I found a copy at the used bookstore. Unlike other Neal Shusterman works I’ve read, The Shadow Club didn’t feature fantasy or science fiction elements, but it did carry the author’s signature blend of flawed but sympathetic characters, tight plots, and dark situations with a sprinkling of hope.
I have issues with heroes. Generally, I tolerate them. Sometimes I like them. Sometimes I hate them so passionately I start actively rooting for the bad guy, no matter how evil they are. But very rarely do I love them.
Yet I find myself drawn to stories about heroes. I like high fantasy, I like stories about good and evil. I want there to be dramatic, end-of-the-world stakes. I like my stories with a hero in them, I just never like the hero I’m given.
So, a few nights ago, after watching Avengers: Endgame, I was thinking about how Marvel has ten thousand heroes, and yet my favorite characters, are, unsurprisingly, Loki and Bucky. (I’m on the verge of liking Nebula, if they’d only give her a little more character development.) I like most of the heroes just fine, but I’m not always invested in their stories.
I began to wonder why I had so much trouble with heroes.
And then I thought about butterflies.
I used to hate butterflies. I’d dodge whenever one tried to touch me. I shuddered to see one. My family always thought I was afraid of them, but it wasn’t fear, so much as a deep disgust. You’d think I’d want them dead, but no, just the opposite. I hated dead butterflies worse than live ones, and I’d always spot the dead ones, a single wing lying on the ground.
I remember learning, as a kid, that a butterfly’s taste buds were on their toes and if they landed on you and you pulled your finger down too hard, their toes would rip off. I learned if you touched their wings, you’d rub off their scales and they couldn’t fly. I saw a nature documentary about a rainforest with a bird catching a blue morpho butterfly; the narrator explained that the bird had to rip off the wings before they ate them alive, and I covered my eyes. I remember going through a monarch migration and seeing butterflies smash the car window. I think I screamed.
I hated butterflies because they were fragile. Because they died.
I didn’t really hate them.
I hated seeing them get hurt.
And this logic translated to heroes. Maybe I didn’t hate heroes, per say. Maybe I loved them. Maybe what I hated was seeing them mistreated, misused, even mislabeled.
So I thought about what heroes I really, really loved and connected to. My idea was to first, figure out what made a good hero using my own personal examples, and then to figure out why I hated the current platter of heroes being served to us.
The results surprised me. As it turns out, I have ridiculously high standards.
I'm very nearly halfway done with Camp NaNoWriMo, and it's been tough going.
National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), that crazy challenge of writing 50,000 words/ 200 pages in 30 days, typically occurs in November. However, there are also more casual "camps" that happen every April and July. My goal for Camp NaNoWriMo this April is to write 6 chapters in The Originals, the sequel to my epic fantasy novel, The Changelings. Although my word count is up to snuff (21,000), I've only finished one chapter, with another chapter only half written at best. What I have written, I find useful, and ideas are pouring out. Whether or not my goal is achieved, I'm slowly but surely making progress.
When I get stuck or tired, I find that taking walks is a good way to stretch and get the creative juices flowing. Nothing like looking at nature to gather inspiration. Below is a short video I made of me walking the dogs and appreciating the little things around me.
April is National Poetry Writing Month, or NaPoWriMo for short. Now, I'm not a natural poet, but I do tinker with poems every now and then. Poetry helps hone my description and teaches rhythm and sound. It's a chance to play with language. The challenge of the above website is to write a poem a day, with a prompt and a poem to provide inspiration. Despite also doing Camp NaNoWriMo (which is a whole different can of worms), I've been keeping up with my poems. I even decided to do make some haiku riddle poems just for fun. Please enjoy.
Click below to read the answers.
Title: Magpie Murders
Author: Anthony Horowitz
Editor Susan Ryeland sets about reading the draft of her client Alan Conway’s latest mystery novel: Magpie Murders. In it, detective Atticus Pund sets about solving the gruesome murder of Magnus Pye and unlocking the sleepy village’s secrets along the way. When the draft ends right before the murderer is revealed, Susan is annoyed. When she learns Alan Conway is dead, she is shocked. When she suspects murder, she goes about playing detective, for justice—and to finally read the end of his book.
What drew my attention about this book, when I spotted it in the library, was that it contained two mysteries in one. The first is the story of Atticus Pund, an obvious rip-off of Hercule Poirot, in an Agatha Christie type mystery. The second is Susan Ryeland’s search for the lost manuscript. Presumably, you need to read the first mystery to solve the second one. It was ambitious, and I was interested to see if it worked.
Title: Sister of Blood and Spirit
Author: Kady Cross
Genre: YA, Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance
Lark and Wren are twins. White-haired Lark was born living. Red-haired Wren was born dead. Nonetheless, the two continue to communicate. Being known as the girl who talks to her dead sister has a way of making Lark’s life miserable. After being labeled the school freak and attempting suicide, Lark hopes to re-enter high school without attracting unwanted attention. Unfortunately, she is soon confronted by a group of students who ask for her help. Among them are Kevin, the medium Wren called out to when Lark lay dying; Mason, the boy who held Lark as she bled out and begged her not to die; and Ben, a handsome boy who seems weirdly cool with the supernatural.
It seems Lark’s new acquaintances have trespassed onto an ancient hospital, where an angry ghost attacked them and left spiritual wounds on their body--wounds invisible to everyone but Lark. Lark realizes the angry ghost has marked them as his own and will continue to suck their spirits dry unless someone puts a stop to it. Lark prefers that person not be her. But when Wren guilts her into helping, Lark will put everything on the line to save a group of people who may become her friends.
I picked up this book at the library because the ghostly themes reminded me of a book I’m currently writing. I liked the concept of supernatural sisters. I was interested to see how the author addressed the afterlife. I wanted to like Sisters of Blood and Spirit, I really did. But I didn’t. Every element felt under baked, and the more I read, the more bored I became.
Writer. Critic. Dreamer.