Psycho: Expectation and Inevitability

By Josh Corman

As Hitchcocktober comes to an end this Halloween, it's only appropriate to take a nostalgic look back at Hitch's most frightening film, Psycho. If you're one of the few stragglers who hasn't seen this wonderful film, I warn you that SPOILERS FOLLOW.

Now then, critical evaluation of Psycho is, at this point, a fruitless venture. So much has been said, written about, and filmed concerning Hitchcock's most recognizable and popular work that to revisit it in that capacity would resemble nothing so much as a parrot ineffectually reciting half-remembered lines from an AFI broadcast.

Anybody older than ten years old with any knowledge of American film history knows three things: One, life is like a box of chocolates. Two, Darth Vader is Luke's father. Three, there is a shower scene in Psycho. It ends badly.

I too knew all three when I first watched Psycho, but I knew almost nothing else about the film or its maker. I had seen The Birds (Hitchcock's other "scary" movie), which I had liked, for an old movie (remember, early in high school), but other than the shower scene and the vague notion of the Bates Motel, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I figured it would be like most horror films I had seen. The psycho himself would pick off a crew of well-intended, if slightly over-sexual, vacationers, suffer vengeance from the plucky one smart enough to avoid knifing, and suffer his own grisly death.

Obviously, Psycho's measured, deliberate, thoughtful first half-hour threw me off. Marion chats with her boyfriend, goes to work, steals a bunch of money so that she and the boyfriend can run off. No knives, no blood, no screaming. Just a little ominous music as she drives down the road with the bag full of cash. A cop pulls her over, blah, blah, blah, she buys a new car, blah, blah, blah… and THERE! YES! The rainy night forces her off the road at the Bates Motel. Here it comes! Sliced to ribbons! Norman Bates, the madman himself, there he is! Wait, what? Taxidermy, he's talking about taxidermy? Oh, ok, I get it. Dead things. Building a little atmosphere. I like it! Dinnertime is over, hide the money, and FINALLY! The shower scene! Wait, it's only been half an hour. Isn't this woman the star of the movie? What is going on here?

Evidently, audiences in 1960 went through a version of this same line of thought when they saw the movie, too. Now, their expectations might not have been so molded as mine (horror wasn't exactly a genre then), but the hype surrounding the film and the early death of its biggest star certainly messed with them. Now what? they must have thought. I know it's what I thought.

But as the shower scene comes to an end, Hitchcock hits us with an image so ghastly that it's still the first thing I see when I hear the word "psycho:" Janet Leigh's open-mouthed, blank-eyed stare as the camera pulls back from her very dead face. I don't know how many seconds the camera is on her there, but it feels like thirty. It was that shot that gave me my first real feelings of admiration for Alfred Hitchcock. It took serious guts to pull a string so hard as a storyteller that it disorients the audience, but that's what Hitchcock did. He knew when he made the film that at that moment every person in the theater would feel totally vulnerable, not only because they had witnessed the brutal murder of a totally vulnerable woman, but also because none of them could possibly know what was coming next. Alfred Hitchcock, better than any filmmaker before or since, expertly cultivated that feeling from his audiences: anxiousness, uncertainty, and suspense were the fruits of his harvest. Never was the harvest more bountiful than in Psycho.

And Hitch had planned for all of it. He famously ordered theaters not to admit anyone arriving after the film started because he wanted every moment to have its particularly designed effect upon the audience. He would have been pleased, I'm sure, by my initial viewing. The bewildered look on my face would have sent him into a gleeful fit of laughter and satisfaction.

Vladimir Nabokov said that fiction is successful when a story's resolution feels both unexpected and inevitable. Whenever I watch a Hitchcock film, I'm reminded of that thought and am once again blown away by how effectively he managed to execute, time after time, stories that met both standards.

A few years ago, the Kentucky Theater screened Psycho during their Summer Movie Series, and I went, hoping in part to recapture those initial sensations and see those masterful shots and scenes writ large on the big screen. The showing was an unmitigated disaster. A large crowd had turned out, and, exercising the sort of participatory spirit usually reserved for screenings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, they proceeded to talk and giggle throughout the film's first half-hour.

Then Janet Leigh turned the shower on. The shadow cast upon the curtain. The look of dawning comprehension. The strings. The scream. The 90-odd cuts. The tearing curtain. The drain. The eye. The face, frozen and horrible. And silence. A few hundred people held their breath. And sure, the jerks went back to talking and laughing at inappropriate moments eventually, but for those few seconds, Hitchcock veterans and novices alike were putty in Sir Alfred's hands.

Do yourself a favor with the little time you have left in Hitchcocktober, and let the master tell you a story.

6 Fun Things to Do When You're Poor

By Jonny Walls

Let's just get this out of the way. I'm not actually poor. If you're reading this on your own computer, you're not poor either.

That said, Emily and I have moved four times since we've been married, which means every time we start to get ahead financially, we decide to move again. The fallout of this is that we go straight from paying off one move to saving up for the next.

It's ok. Most people go through these stages at one time or another. We get through them.

Let's face it though, moving and living in L.A. is expensive, and sometimes budgets are a little tight.  Restaurants, road trips, "going out," even trips to the movies have to be severely limited.

I'll say it again: It's ok.

This is the life we have chosen, and it's been a fantastic ride. No regrets. No complaints.

However, this lifestyle necessitates inventiveness. I'm like a filmmaker who is forced by financial restraints into creative thinking.

We're running low on film so we'll just scrap your duel with Aunt Beru.

 My "Fun" skills have been sharpened on the whetstone of frugality over the last few years.

God forbid that if, one day, I find myself with abundant financial means, my capacity for creative fun should be dulled in the lavish breast of abundance.

"I think we need...more in this frame." "Umm...more of what, Mr. Lucas?" "More of EVERYTHING!"

Enough talk. Let the list commence.

6. Wine and Board/Card Games

Two words: Aggra-vation. This stupid, simple, addictive, and ridiculously fun board game is sweeping the nation (read: my group of friends). Six friends, twentyfour marbles, and the luck of the die. Throw wine in the mix and you have delightful mayhem. What's that? You can't afford a good wine that's actually worth drinking? Wrong. Trader Joes carries a lovely little brand called Charles Shaw (affectionately known by most as "Two Buck Chuck"). It is, as one might have guessed, two dollars a bottle and is (often) very decent. From what I understand, they use the grapes that are just barely not up to snuff. Like a cashmere shirt with a tiny blemish, most people won't know the difference. (Disclaimer: sometimes you get unlucky and suffer a bad bottle, but the majority of the time it ranges from very drinkable to delicious. Remember, two dollars!)

Warning: They do call the game "Aggravation" for a reason.

"I'm going to stab you in the eye."

5. Bourbon and Video Games (With Friends)

I cannot stress enough what a perfect match these two little blessings are. I know not everyone plays video games, but that's why games like New Super Mario Bros. exist, where four friends can pick up and play with little to no explanation. It's just good, clean (until your friends cuss you out for throwing them in a lava pit) fun. Grab a cheap yet completely serviceable handle of Very Old Barton, some ginger ale, kick up the Wii, (surely, someone you know owns a Wii) and let the good times flow.

4. Build a Fort

What more to say? Grab the old sheets, a bag of clothes pins, and put your architectural acumen to test. Let your inner kid out. You'll thank him. He'll thank you. You'll thank us. There will be copious amounts of thanks. And yes, we here at Verbal Infusion practice what we preach.

Don't pay attention to the shorts...or do.

3. Google "Free Things to Do" in City of Your Choice

It's pretty obvious when you think about it. When Emily and I were living in Portland, we decided to grab a couple of friends (which obviously helps defray gas costs) and take a day trip to Seattle. The night beforehand, I Googled "Free things to do in Seattle" and printed out the most promising of the lot. The result was a bounty of options that we would never have found if we had been content to surrender our seventeen dollars to the Space Needle. After (of course) seeing Pike Place Market, we shopped at a smaller, artsier market called Fremont Market (where Yohan got a FAT plate of nachos with meat straight off the grill, for cheap), toured the locks, and spent the twilight hours in a beautiful Japanese garden, all for free. The best thing about this method is that you naturally experience the city as you drive or walk from one place to the next. By taking the time to root out these free gems that often lie just under the surface, you get a far more intimate day with a new city than paid tours or tourist hot spots can ever provide.

2. Picnic

There are always good places to picnic. Whether it's where I used to live...

...or where I live now...

...nature is always willing to put on a show for free. Yes, in some places you have to look harder than others, but they're there. I promise. Go find them. (If you live in Detroit, please refer to the other five options on this list. And I'm...I'm sorry.)

1. Read...A...Book

Don't give me some garbage about not liking to read. Don't be a victim of your era. I know technology is great. It's fun, it's useful. I'm with you. Just don't let it spoil the ancient art of  storytelling through words. Slow reader? Grab a book on tape. Can't afford a book? The library has pretty reasonable prices from what I hear. Quit making excuses. Find a genre you like and get lost in an adventure of words. It's worth it.

Don't believe me? Then believe this!

By Jonny Walls

For Elizabeth

By Emily Walls

The Adventures of the Turnip Who Couldn't Blink

Unrelated: Happy birthday, Erin! I love you.

Hitchcocktober Episode 4: The Birds

By Philip Tallon

 

The Birds is easily my favorite Hitchcock film after Rear Window, even though it is not top shelf* Hitchcock and has a number of aesthetic/formal flaws.**

*NOTE 1: First string Hitchcock is, for me: Rear Window, Vertigo, Psycho, The Lady Vanishes, The 39 Steps, Rebecca, North by Northwest.

Second string includes, but is not limited to: Sabateur, Notorious, Shadow of a Doubt, The Birds, Sabotage, The Man Who Knew Too Much, etc.

Third string: Anything equal to or worse than Torn Curtain to anything better than Frenzy.

Fourth string: Frenzy, or anything worse than Frenzy.

**NOTE 2: The Birds' aesthetic flaws include the occasional hokeyness of the bird-effects, the lapses in Tippi Hedren's performance, and at least one bad sight gag (the love birds on the perch in the car). The major flaw is simply that Hitchcock explores the horror genre through such an oddly disparate threat. Birds just aren't scary to most viewers. So the film requires a generous heaping of suspension of disbelief in order to engage with its plot.

Anyway, the point is that The Birds is my second favorite Hitchcock film even though there are at least six films I know are better.

So why do I like The Birds so much?

It certainly isn't the complexity of the story. The story of The Birds is straightforward. Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren) and Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor) meet in a bird shop. Melanie is established as a dilettante prankster, a society girl who's in the shop buying a Minah bird, which she will train to curse and then gift to her aunt.  Mitch enters the shop, soliciting Melanie's advice as if she works there, and Melanie (reinforcing this impish characteristic) pretends to be the shopkeeper - though her ruse is quickly seen through, as she accidentally releases a canary from its cage. Mitch reveals that he was in on the joke the whole time, tossing his hat on the bird, and then returning it, saying, "Back in your guilded cage, Melanie Daniels." Annoyed by Mitch's presumptuousness and arrogance, Melanie buys a pair of lovebirds to give to Mitch, which she tries to drop off at his apartment, but, discovering he has left to go home for the weekend, she decides to travel to Bodega Bay, a small town up the coast from San Francisco.

Once in Bodega Bay, Melanie delivers the love birds, leaving them at Mitch's mother's bayside house and escaping by boat. Because of the transparency of her prank, she is quickly discovered by Mitch. Although there is already an obvious flirtation between the two, the relationship is quickly taken to the next level of intimacy when Melanie is attacked by a seagull as she brings her boat up to dock. Mitch hustles her into a local diner where she is treated for her cut and decides to stay the night in town. 

The next day, during Mitch's young sister's birthday party, the children are violently attacked by more seagulls - the first of a series of bird attacks that occur over the next two days, killing many town residents and one main character. The film ends with the main characters escaping from the town, which has been overtaken by birds.

This set-up is pretty simple and effective. The story is basic. What's so compelling about the filmmaking is how effectively Hitchcock orchestrates the film's fairly simple elements - the relationships, the cinematography, and sound - to create a little world.

1. Relationships in Hitchcock films are rarely complex or well-developed. The director often relies on his A-list talent to make unbelievable situations more emotionally compelling and real than they actually are. This is why Hitchcock films without Jimmy Stewart, Grace Kelly, Cary Grant, or other top stars are far less classic. The Birds suffers slightly from this problem. Tippi Hedren fits the part well, and while she is believable in her role, she fumbles in the film's more emotional moments. Jessica Tandy and Suzanne Pleshette both outclass Hedren in their performances, but not to any great degree. 

Despite Hitchcock's relative lack of interest in creating naturalistic situations, he uses the prevalence of women to explore (not deeply, but still effectively) the inter-relationships of the women that surround Mitch (the "birds" in his life). The emotional tension of the film is between newcomer Melanie, Mitch's mother, and Mitch's former lover, Annie. Both Mitch's mother and Annie are suspicious of Melanie. Annie is skeptical that Melanie will have a successful relationship with Mitch, insinuating that he is forever unattached. She even plants a seed in Melanie's mind that Mitch's mother is rabidly jealous of any women in his life, fearful that they will give Mitch the love she cannot. 

Though these are by no means deep or wildly original themes, Hitchcock (and screenwriter Evan Hunter) carry them to completion, suggesting that Annie's suspicions are not completely correct to begin with, but also showing that these tendencies exist in Mitch's mother. This subtle retuning of our perceptions shows, to my mind, a streak of mature understanding tempering what is in many other ways a pure exercise in genre. Spielberg's Jaws has much the same effect (though by using a more realistic style, showing the influence of verite filmmaking after Hitchcock's heyday), picturing fairly simple characters with just enough grain to suggest a more detailed portrait.  

2. The cinematography and sound design are both exactly right. The rich colors and muted, analog sound are byproducts of bygone filmmaking, but they also perfectly support the sensuous feel of the film. There are also intentional choices that Hitchcock makes that add to the effect. Notably, Hitchcock employs no music in The Birds. Though composer Bernard Herrmann is recruited for the project, he primarily helps Hitchcock generate the sounds of the birds (TRIVIA: one of the first uses of computers in the history of film). The entire movie is blanketed by a sort of peaceful, seaside hush. 

As with Rear Window, Hitchcock's elimination of all but diagetic sound creates a stronger sense of place than is found in most of his other films. In one scene, Melanie and Annie (Suzanne Pleshette) discuss Mitch, the object of both their interests. This discussion is cut short by a thump on the door (something that could not be heard if music were playing). Looking outside, Annie and Melanie see a bird lying on the porch, his neck broken. "Maybe he got lost in the dark," Annie says. "But Annie, it's not dark outside. There's a full moon," Melanie responds, as they both look out at the aforementioned full moon. This scene ends in silence and fades quietly to black.

In the theater, contemporary audiences invariably laugh at this moment - as they do for most of the film's lead up to the bird attacks. But there's nothing particularly funny about this moment. Nor is there anything particularly scary about this moment. I suspect that the audiences laugh because they don't have anything else to do, and want to feel something about the film. This, however, is one of my favorite moments in the movie. It isn't scary or funny, but it is enchanting. It feels as common as any moment from real life, but somehow elevated into a different plane. It's quiet, and a little banal, but also meaningful. It feels like the way I want my life to feel all the time.

Sometimes this is how my life feels, but not enough. Being an overstimulated consumer (willingly or otherwise), my life is filled with noise, and I feel uncomfortable with too much silence. In The Birds, on the other hand, the quiet moments feel pregnant with meaning normally missing from everyday life. The later destruction and chaos of the movie work backwards and make the earlier scenes more peaceful and beautiful. 

3. This brings me to the third, and main thing, I love about The Birds. As I mentioned in my last post, Hitchcock's movies strike me as noir fairy tales. The Birds, in some ways, is the least noir and the most fairy tale (though North by Northwest may be a close second). With its quietness and exploration of place, The Birds has a highly literary tone. It looks the way that books feel. Or, perhaps more accurately, it feels the way maps at the front of fantasy books look. From the spontaneous journey from San Francisco to Bodega Bay, to Melanie's attempt to find Mitch's house, her boat rental, and failed prank, to the simple but believable inter-relationships of the townspeople, The Birds doesn't exactly feel realistic, but it does feel real. I know I can go to the real Bodega Bay. It exists. But I also feel that I could go to Hitchcock's Bodega Bay. And I want to go there, birds and all. 

Not enough movies give me this feeling. This sense of place is one of my favorite aesthetic experiences. This is why The Birds is my second favorite Hitchcock movie, and why I think it is a great film, even if - at times - it isn't even a particularly good film.

By Philip Tallon

I Work, Therefore, I Am: An Insider's Look at Unemployment, Underemployment, and Identity (Part 3 of 3)

by Emily Walls

If you missed them, here are Parts One and Two.

Employment: I'm Somebody now. (The new phone books are here! The new phone books are here!)

When it arrives, gainful employment usually greets you with a slap in the face. You may have been searching for it for months, years maybe, but when it comes, it most often finds you. Employment plays one sadistic game of hide and seek.

Here's Jobby?

The good jobs I've gotten have most often come at recommendations from friends, and the companies have asked me to apply. Never mind that for a year straight I've been frantically sending resumes to every business that has ever been, only to receive polite, grossly delayed, negative responses.

I've also noticed that employment often brings its friends. Three opportunities will arrive simultaneously, precisely when I've given up all hope, because that's how the universe works.

On occasion, employment requires a terrifying leap of faith. A year ago, Jonny and I had to decide if we were going to stay in Oregon or move to California. If we were to stay, I would continue to work a steady job for a solid company where I might eventually get promoted. Jonny, on the other hand, had few prospects in media and no opportunities in film. If we were to move to California, we would have to move for the fourth time in our 1 1/2 year marriage, start with nothing (again), and pay the first month's rent without knowing how we were going to pay the second. On the other hand, we would be in the midst of the film industry. We moved. I cannot yet say we made a smart fiscal decision, but I can report that we have not repented. Our future is wide open now, and even if we bust, we'll never have to wonder "what if?" We made it through the first months, and we're continuing to make it now. Hopefully, we'll be ok tomorrow, too.

When the work comes, the payoff is glorious. It means haircuts and doctor visits, shopping trips and restaurants. It is a giant sigh of relief. I remember so well the day after my dad got his first job out of seminary. He had been in school for four years while simultaneously sending my older sister through college. My dad was unable to work much in those years, certainly nothing full time, so my mom supported us all through her teaching job. Let's review: one 6th grade teacher, two students in higher education, two teenagers. My sister got married during that time, so for good measure, let's throw a wedding into the mix, as well. Those four years were slim in the Jones household, but we held together. The day after my dad was offered his job (a good one), my mom took me shopping for clothes. I remember her joy at being able to give me what she had been unable to up to that point. We went to the shoe section in a department store, and there were two pairs of heels that I admired. I couldn't decide which one I liked better, so my mom said, "We'll take them both." I looked at the price tags with wide eyes, looked back at her in disbelief, and saw that she had the most enormous grin on her face.

When you're employed, you give the parties. You start the day with neither shame nor guilt, and you sleep peacefully at night. You do, therefore, you are. You have made it!

Haven't you?

Employment and Identity: Who am I really?

By our very natures, we humans identify ourselves by our modifiers, e.g. I am mother, I am student, I am serial killer. Sometimes the modifiers are formal: Prince John, President Truman, Captain Crunch. Sometimes they are informal: Single, white female seeks married, albino transsexual.

We take the Myers-Briggs and buy J. Crew and read Dickens, and we tell everyone, "I am a well-dressed, well-read ENFP. What do you think of me?"

Far too often, we treat employment as the holy grail of modifiers. It moves beyond something we do to meet our physical needs and engage in humanity and creation; instead, it becomes our definition. If we fall to this fatal misconception, we spend our lives discontented by the unattained dream, absurdly prideful and protective of the realized profession, or devastated by loss of work. When we equate employment with identity, we build our houses atop fault lines. Inevitably, the houses collapse, and we are utterly destroyed.

I believe it is important to choose a profession carefully and to cultivate skills constantly. I believe integrity and enthusiasm are vital for every position--even menial, mechanical tasks--and grumbling does not belong in the workplace. I believe co-workers and clients should be treated with dignity. Mostly, I believe that profession is just another modifier, and while it forms part of our picture, it is not the paint.

I could easily lose a few modifiers tomorrow. Emily Walls: Proofreader. Yes, that could go. Emily Walls: pianist. Yep, I could lose my fingers or memory. Emily Walls: Jonny's wife. Death is inevitable for us both. Ultimately, I have one modifier that is eternal, and it is the very simple Emily the Daughter. My name is engraved on the palms of one who defines himself only as "I Am." Whether I am wildly successful by profession or not, in the end, I can only say, "I am with Him." That is enough.

I Work, Therefore, I Am: An Insider's Look at Unemployment, Underemployment, and Identity (Part 2 of 3)

By Emily Walls

If you missed Part 1, go catch up.

The False “I”: Underemployment
In a recent position, I had a nameplate that hung on my cubicle wall. It declared, “Emily Walls: Administrative Assitant.” When I left college, I did not think I would be meeting Emily Walls: Administrative Assistant. Emily Walls: Editor-in-Chief, Emily Walls: Program Director, Emily Walls: Duchess of York, sure, but not Emily the secretary. Someday, I hope to hold a funeral for that nameplate, but until then I need to reconcile myself with what it means.

1. It means I’ve been employed. Having a job—any job—means you can contribute to your family’s well-being, you have a schedule, and you have an answer at parties when people ask what you do.
2. It means I’ve been able to pay rent and buy groceries.
3. It means I’ve gained experience. I have been amazed at the number of skills that have come back to help me long after I have written them off as useless or too specialized.
4. It means I’ve failed to live up to my potential…for now.

I've been an administrative assistant a few times, and sometimes, I've found it challenging and rewarding. I have also worked a few jobs that I could have qualified for straight out of middle school. I don’t know exactly how to describe the feeling of clocking in to a job for which you are comically overqualified. First, you punch in with pride because you are paying your bills. Then you grab your cup of Folgers, thumb through the tower of paperwork on your desk, and sprint to the bathroom to cry because what are you doing with your life?

Internally, you wrestle with one, constant thought: I am more than this. Unfortunately, the response usually follows that if you were more than this, you would be doing more than this. To compensate, your mind spews lists of all your past achievements. Every girl scout patch, every science fair ribbon, every citizenship award will rise up to testify, “I knew her before she was the sack of manure you see before you today. She coulda been a contender.” Your shoulders slump and a few more gray hairs sprout.

Of course you're happy to be working, but you can't settle into a job because it feels like giving up. It feels like a statement: I am Telemarketer, and I will always be Telemarketer. You know inside that you could do much more—you might even have detailed plans—but for whatever reason, you have not yet landed the position that will require your skills and education and challenge your ingenuity. You are working to pay the bills, and it feels like lying.

Underemployment is tolerable at best, soul-sucking at worst. If you find yourself eking by every month under the fluorescent halo of mediocrity, take heart. Yes, you can do better. Yes, you probably will do better. This too shall pass, but before it does, take inventory of your blessings and remember that underemployment is just a temporary state. You are not giving up on your dreams; you are doing what you can to survive, and eventually, you’ll do something else.

Look at Donald Ray Pollock who worked in a factory for 32 years and then decided to pursue a writing career. His work has been praised by the New York Times, LA Times, Washington Post, and every other Times you see on the newsstand. Look at Brad Pitt (yes ma'am, the ladies reply). He wore a giant chicken costume for El Pollo Loco before his career took off.

Continue to do good work, continue to show integrity, and someday, the sun will shine on you.

Things will also get sunnier here on the Infusion with Employment in Part 3. Until then, enjoy these projects that I completed while underemployed, having begged prompts from my friend Elizabeth.

He's supposed to be surprised in the 5th frame, but I accidentally gave him angry eyes. Roll with it.

Darth Paper: unfortunately a little on the KKK side

Ode to the Bride

I Work, Therefore, I Am: An Insider's Look at Unemployment, Underemployment, and Identity (Part 1 of 3)

By Emily Walls

Not too long ago, I was sitting at my desk in my cramped office, putting the finishing touches on the final origami car of my office supply diorama. In an eight-hour workday, I had finished my work in 7 minutes and so had 7 hours and 53 minutes left to go. Having begged tasks from everyone in my office (no takers), I went to my supervisor who told me I should just read my book quietly in my office for the rest of the day. So as I was putting the finishing touches on the final origami car of my office supply diorama, I wondered why I had gone to school for 16 years, and I wondered how much longer I could continue with what was feeling more and more like paid prison time. (Come to think of it, I could start carving chess sets out of stone...)

I've been out of college for nearly six years now, and I've spent about half of that time unemployed or underemployed. Like everyone of my age, I assumed that college + graduating = job. Like many, I learned that college + graduating = so? Generation Y joined the workforce just when the economy tanked, so really, we joined the bread lines.

These buns are gluten free, right?

That lifelong sense of entitlement Tom Brokaw and Dan Rather were always reporting on finally got a well-deserved kick in the crotch. We of Y were the first victims of the grizzly market, but we were not alone. I know many of all generations who lost their jobs or took pay cuts, and I know some who are still under wage freezes. Some companies have done fine and even grown during the recession, and the out-of-work have fiercely competed for their open positions.

Really, really, it hasn't been so bad. Those of us who have been out of work have been first-world poor, and first-world poor means you still get to eat and have a place to live and receive emergency medical care. You might be stockpiling debt, BUT you are alive. In light of what unemployment  could mean, I have to be thankful for where I've been, and I'm certainly thankful for where I am now. Things are looking up for me in the employment department, and I no longer spend my days building staple cities. Still, I would like to record a few thoughts on unemployment and underemployment while my memories are fresh. If you have experienced neither, I hope you gain insight; if you have experienced both, I hope you gain comfort. I, for one, hope to remember.

Loss of "I": Unemployment

We humans have ritualistic greetings and communications infinitely stranger and more complex than that bird from Planet Earth (you know the sick freak I'm talking about), and that dude changes color and shape. We say, "Hi, how are you, nice to meet you," and we all know we don't care how you are. It's just how we greet. At parties and gatherings, the next step in the ritual is the dreaded "So what do you do?"

It's a habitual question and doesn't really mean anything, but it is the worst question.

"Has that acne outlasted all of your relationships?"

"So, is that a genetic thing, or have you broken your nose a few times?"

"Aww, how many months along are you?"

To the unemployed, these are all preferred questions to "What do you do?" We always respond with something like, "I'm in between things right now," or "I have several projects going," but you know that we don't do anything. You take pity on us and mercifully change the subject, but the shame of unemployment still hangs between us.

Shame. Yes, that's the word for it. It shouldn't feel shameful to get laid off or have your job outsourced or end up as the #2 candidate among a host of applicants, but the feeling clings to you.  All your life, when people have asked you about your career goals, they have asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up," not "What do you want to do?" Since you do nothing, the logic follows that you are nothing.

Along with the constant, nagging shame, you also experience the strange dichotomy of having all the free time you could ask for but the inability to enjoy it. When you're unemployed, your job is to job search, and job searching has no timeframe.  Experts tell you to get up in the morning, shower, get dressed, and set yourself a 9-5 workday of job searching, but even when you follow their advice, you feel guilty for clocking out at 5:00 if you still don't have a job. The guilt of unemployment drains the flavor from dessert.

To further compound your loss of self, unemployment removes from you your former media of expression. You used to collect books, clothes, and art. You used to be a restaurant-goer and event attender. Sick of asking, "How much does it cost," you now arm yourself with a dozen excuses for why you no longer do what you used to do.

"Radiohead show tonight? I wish I could, but I can't, what with the 16 & Pregnant MTV marathon and all."

You spend your time differently, so you become a version of your former self. This new you is not aways bad, but she is different from your former you and so, by definition, constitutes further loss of self.

With unemployment, you also often give up one or more of your social circles, and your relationships with former co-workers change or break. Unemployment can be isolating if you don't work hard to pursue other people. Left unchecked, it can tear down your view of self and whisper to you that you do not matter.

Fear not. This is the bottom, but things will improve with Underemployment in Part 2. Until then, enjoy this picture of a dynamic city on the move.

And so it was that the good people of Pendaflex raced to outrun the Terror of Staple Valley.

Stupid Shit Episode 3: Get a Room, Armadillo

By Jonny Walls

Today on Stupid Shit, Tex The Armadillo Can Holder

Since this armadillo in NO way looks like he is trying to mate with that beer can, I'll just steer clear of any inaccurate, and therefore unwarranted, armadillo/aluminum sex jokes.

I really have to hand it to the poor jerk who got stuck writing a blurb for this ludicrous item. He desperately attempts to sell a note of whimsy with the claim that one may, "Protect your beverage of choice until you're ready to uncap and unwind!" 

He then attempts the coup de grace by promising countless scintillating conversations and infinite popularity to the owner of "Tex" by stating, "Tex, is a sure-fire conversation piece from his textured armor to his whiplash tail." 

I'm trying to imagine said conversation. 


"What's that there, a, uh...armadillo beer can holder?"


"Yup."


"What'd that cost ya?"


"Bout thirty bucks."


"Shew."


"Yup."


...

"Can I have a beer too?"


"Nope."

...


"I'm leaving."

The reasoning here is, of course, that anyone who would even consider buying this, er..."special" item would naturally be socially ignorant enough to believe this claim, and, therefore, not only willing but desperate to buy Tex the Armadillo Can Holder in some sort of last ditch effort to salvage any sort of meaning and purpose out of his pitiful life.


Or from Texas.


By Jonny Walls

My newest short film: Camellia

Check out my newest short film. It will take four minutes of your life.

Thanks to all the talented people who helped on this. I'm not going to list them here, however. (That's what the credits are for.)


This is a remake (or should I say, gritty reboot?) of a film I shot a few years ago. I actually got great performances from my actors the first time, but felt that in terms of production value, I can do a lot better now. It was always a film I liked, so I re-wrote the script and, armed with much nicer equipment, much more experience, and a ridiculously talented crew, had another go.

Thanks for watching.

(Also, I recommend clicking the "Youtube" link at the bottom of the window so you can watch the film in Youtube, and put it full screen, rather than watching the tiny embedded version. Ok, that's it, I'm done now, I swear.)

-Jonny

Hitchcocktober Episode 3: All Killer, No Filler: Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial “M” for Murder

By Josh Corman


“If it’s a good movie, the sound could go off and the audience would still have a perfectly clear idea of what’s going on.” – Alfred Hitchcock

The quote above won’t surprise anyone who knows Hitchcock’s earliest work as a silent filmmaker. Those movies, like The Lodger, forced actors and directors and lighting technicians and cinematographers to measure every shot by one criterion: If the image onscreen accurately, effectively conveys the desired emotion of the actors, conjures the desired reaction from the audience, and progresses the story, it works. If not, cut it. Precision, simply put, was the name of the game, and Hitchcock, as much as he was the Master of Suspense, was also the master of precision.

When French filmmaker Francois Truffaut interviewed Hitchcock for his landmark book Hitchcock/Truffaut, he asked Hitch if filmmaking should be taught in universities. Hitchcock said that it should, under two conditions: One, each student should have to serve in all the roles necessary to a film’s production. Two, each student should work first on silent films to hone their eye for powerful images. Hitchcock displayed this mentality in his own work for the rest of his career. Anyone who watches his films today will notice his near-obsession with framing faces during moments of great duress. He expected his actors’ expressions to serve the story, to be as propulsive as the dialogue and the action. Janet Leigh in Psycho, Kim Novak in Vertigo, and Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window: watch just a few minutes of these films with the sound off, and tell me you don’t know exactly how these characters feel, what they’re afraid of, or even what they’ll do next.

Never did the combination of Hitchcock’s silent film mentality translate more perfectly to his American films than in Dial “M” for Murder. The film stars Grace Kelly as the target of a particularly sinister murder plot. Because Dial “M” was adapted from a play, all of the action takes place in just two rooms in a London flat, making it a perfect canvas on which to paint the uncluttered vision of pace and plot that Hitchcock is so famous for. Every shot in this film moves the plot forward, captures an essential emotion or thought played out on the faces of the actors, or foreshadows critical revelations (of which there are plenty – he is the Master of Suspense, after all). Dial “M” for Murder is simply a master class in taut storytelling.

Perhaps this tautness, this bare bones approach to showing the audience only what is most critical to effectively construct the narrative, is the reason that Dial “M” doesn’t receive the same critical or historical attention paid to the Rear Windows and Psychos of Hitchcock’s oeuvre. But that statement itself reveals a problem: this is a picture made first and foremost with audiences, not critics or historians, in mind


Listen, I love the complex character study in Vertigo, the social commentary in Rear Window, the pure artistry of Psycho, and the philosophical explorations of Rope and Notorious. Those are great movies; they show off, and they wear their gold and jewels and skills well. Dial "M" is less adventurous, less grand, but no less great than those outstanding films. There are many moments in each of them during which Hitchcock grips the audience fiercely. But for Dial "M" for Murder's entire 105 minute running time, its director holds the audience in the palm of his hand. No distraction, no fluff, just one perfect image after the other, as seen through the eyes of the master.


By Josh Corman

Top 6 Television Side Characters

By Jonny Walls

Anyone closely acquainted with me will know that I'm no television savant. There is a handful (a modest handful at that) of television shows that I have ever truly loved. So, obviously, my limited perspective on this topic does not allow for any sort of comprehensive take on the subject at hand.

That said, I do firmly believe that the (relatively miniscule) rabble of shows that I have come to know and love over the years are among the best in existence. Yes, I'm still missing out on a LOT of great stuff, but the shows referenced here are part of, but do not entirely encompass, the cream of the boob-tube crop.

The rules for this list.

-NO main characters. In a show like Frasier, that would include all the Cranes, Daphne, and Roz, not just Frasier and Niles and Martin.

-To be eligible for this list, you must appear at least somewhat regularly. While a list of one-off, single burst characters would also be a fun list, (think Soup Nazi- and yes, he also appears in the series finale', but that doesn't count) this list is devoted to peripheral characters who have a running relationship with the show, but are clearly not part of the main core.

-No touching of the hair or face. And that's it. NOW LET'S DO THIS!

(My) Top 6 Television Side Characters

6. Ted from the show Scrubs. 

Ted could be the single funniest character on this entire show, and that's saying a lot with John C. McGinley and Ken Jenkins running around. The sweaty, pathetic, unsure, downtrodden, trodden upon, divorced, incompetent, A capella singing lawyer garners laughs almost every single time.

5. Barry Zuckercorn from the show Arrested Development

Barry Zuckercorn's hilarious level doubles instantaneously when we see the actor who plays him. This ambiguous, sleezy, shady, perpetually bamboozled lawyer and friend to the Bluth family makes us squeamish and tickles us pink all at once. Oh, and he has the all time greatest in-show reference to one of his past characters.

4. Bebe Glazer from the show Frasier.

Bebe's devious antics are the shot of wild energy that this brilliant show needs every now and then. Bebe comes roaring back into Frasier's life repeatedly and always when we least expect it, bringing her devilish and manipulative charm to every scene she's in.

3. Lucille 2 from the show Arrested Development

I know I've already included AD on this list, but the show is King in the realm of repeating side-characters, and it even seems a crime to limit it to just two. Lucille 2, like Barry Zuckercorn, enjoys an automatic doubling on the hilarity meter from her casting alone. But it's her pitch perfect mix of endearing, vertigo, and slightly crazy that makes her one of the most memorable in a show stuffed to the gills with unforgettable characters.

2. Sideshow Bob from the show The Simpsons

Kelsey Grammar made the list after all. One could do an entire thesis on the greatness of the side-characters contained within the Simpsons universe. Arguably the greatest of them all, however, is Sideshow Bob. Possibly the most loveable villain of all time, this Yale gentleman sees his brilliant and ultra refined treachery thwarted time and again by Bart Simpson. He is also largely responsible for, quite possibly, the single funniest episode of television of all time.

1. Newman from the show Seinfeld

Climbing over such gems as J. Peterman and David Putty, Newman brings a level of Funny to the table that could actually give Kramer a run for his money. Utterly depraved and eternal nemesis to our hero Jerry, Newman does a whole lot of nothing in particular like loving Drake's Coffee cakes, collecting bottles for deposit exchange, and trying to eat Kramer like a turkey. He's merry. He's a mystery wrapped in an enigma. He's the White Whale. He's Newman.

What are your all time favorite television side-characters?

By Jonny Walls

Hitchcocktober Episode 2: Why Are So Many Hitchcock Adaptations So Bad? (Part 2 of 2)

By Philip Tallon

Following up on my (sketchy) thesis in Part One that the closer the Hitchcock adaptation the worse the movie, I want to offer a few (sketchy) suggestions for why adapting/remaking Hitchcock for today is so much trouble.

Here are three: 

1. Many of Hitchcock's key elements do not modernize well. 

Hitchcock's movies, with few exceptions (Jamaica Inn, Under Capricorn), were set in the modern day and reflected the style and custom of the time. The men wear suits and hats, the phrase, "If it doesn't gel it ain't aspic" makes sense, and the fine for drunk driving is $2. But now, 35 years after his last film, none of his 40+ films are set in the modern day. They are all period pieces. And so many things have changed that key plot elements in Hitch films just wouldn't make practical sense. 

Rear Window, for instance, relies on the assumption that Jeffries is stuck in his wheelchair and his contact with the outside world is limited to his apartment's rear window and circular dial telephone. At the climax of the film, he struggles to get in touch with anyone because his police chief friend is out for the evening and he can only get ahold of the babysitter. The cell phone problem, then, presents itself to anyone remaking the idea now, i.e. "Why isn't he just calling the policeman's cell phone?" Here's where Disturbia correctly solved the problem by making the main character a slight delinquent, put on house arrest and robbed of all his digital privileges - hence solving the cell phone problem.

Plus, so many of Hitch's film tropes have been so absorbed by the film world that remaking Hitchcock is destined to result in dozens of unintentional cliches. (E.g. one of the most striking things about Van Sant's Psycho remake is, of course, how unbelievable it is that any woman would check into a hotel run by a guy named Norman Bates.)  

2. Hitchcock made films before the advent of intensified continuity.

Hitchcock's film style, iconic though it is, is radically out of step with contemporary Hollywood style: intensified continuity. This style, as detailed by David Bordwell in The Way Hollywood Tells It, is defined by quick cuts, intermixing lens lengths, and near-constant camera movement. Hitchcock is certainly not an Ozu-like zen filmmaker. His cuts can be quick, his lens lengths are often changing (even in the same shot, a la Vertigo), and his camera moves in interesting ways. But Hitchcock's arty effects were often seen and understood in contrast to classical Hollywood continuity. His cinematic pops and whizzes required some degree of cinematic stillness surrounding them. And thus, mixed into the age of intensified continuity, these stand-out scenes no longer make the same kind of cinematic sense - or what once made them special has now been absorbed into everyday filmmaking. The fast editing of Psycho's shower scene and the push-pull effect of Vertigo, for instance, were "special" effects that marked key moments of the film. Now that Hitchcock's film innovations have been absorbed and the entire film language surrounding them has been intensified, they are no longer useful for contemporary filmmakers.

Now, filmmakers are called "Hitchcockian" if they make intense but deliberately-paced (read as, "slow") movies. The oft-reviled M. Night Shyamalan's first four major movies (Sixth Sense, Unbreakable, Signs, The Village) reject the principles of intensified continuity in order to get back to a much simpler, more classical film style which Shyamalan can then occasionally puncture for cinematic effect. In a sense, he must erase the last thirty years of film history to get a similar tone to Hitchcock in his movies. 

SIDENOTE: The most Hitchcockian contemporary filmmaker, Christopher Nolan, only resembles the British master in his fusing of art and popular filmmaking. Nolan uses little of Hitchcock's film style but accomplishes the same blend of popcorn entertainment and thoughtfulness. 

3. Hitchcock's movies are noir fairy tales. 

After much bloviating, I finally come to what I really see as the key element of Hitchcock's films that is lost in translation. Hitchcock's best movies have the elevated and slightly surreal quality of fairy tales. 

His films are noir fairy tales in that they almost always deal with the darker side of life. With the exception of The Birds, all the movies I've discussed involve crime. But the more important element is the heightened and nightmarish dream feeling you find in fairy tales. Though Psycho begins in the sad world of Phoenix, Arizona, with its rent-by-the-hour hotel rooms and headaches, it quickly moves into the world of myth. Midway through Marion's flight to Fairvale, we leave the real world and enter some sideways universe - like our own but stranger and more fantastic. Because of Hitchcock's art, it can be a bit hard to see exactly when we cross over into Hitch-land, but it happens every time. 

In North by Northwest it happens almost immediately, when Roger Thornhill raises his hand and the criminal agents think he is Mr. Townsend. In The Birds it happens between San Francisco and Bodega Bay. In Rear Window we slip across on that sweaty night at the moment of the murder. I'll leave it as homework for others to identify where it happens in The 39 Steps, The Lady Vanishes, Sabateur, Strangers on a Train, Sabotage, and Vertigo. Believe me, though, it always does.

And this is what all adaptations seem to miss (except, perhaps, in a few, fleeting moments in dePalma). All the adaptations fail to tingle the spine (which Nabokov saw as the telltale place for detecting enchantment). They all fail to capture that exact proportion which Hitchcock knew and sought, the precise ratio of distance between the average person and that which is just slightly beyond his grasp. 

Hitchcock's films are not about philosophical themes, but they play on the exact same disjunctures and disruptions that give rise to philosophy. They are not about humanity's relationship to the world, but they deal with particular humans struggling with mystery, injustice, horror, and bad luck. They embody - or more accurately - they play with these ideas in ways that are more resonant and more fun than any deconstruction of Hitchcock's ideas ever could be.  

This is why Hitchcock's movies will still be watched fifty years from now. And why filmmakers will continue to butcher his movies.

***

Philip Tallon (Twitter: @philiptallon) wrote an essay on Psycho for the book Hitchcock and Philosophy.

Hitchcocktober 2011 Episode 2: Why are So Many Hitchcock Adaptations So Bad? (Part 1 of 2)

Note from Editors: Comments are fixed! Try it out.


From Emily: Our second installment of Hitchcocktober comes from the talented and clever Philip Tallon, who, unfortunate sot that he is, joins us today having overcome the cruel fate of looking like Hugh Grant, marrying a model, and siring three of the most hideous children I've ever seen.

Gargoyles, really.

Also, he writes books and has a PhD and stuff. Poor, poor Philip. Thank you for taking a break from your daily weeping to contribute to our month-long celebration of the Master of Suspense.

Why are So Many Hitchcock Adaptations So Bad?

by Philip Tallon

I’m sure every wannabe filmmaker has had this moment: sitting watching Rear Window or Vertigo or The 39 Steps, he thinks, “I should make a movie exactly like this!” I assume this must be the case because

 a) I’ve had this thought again and again, and I’m not even a filmmaker.

And

b) there are a fair number of lousy Hitchcock adaptations or remakes out there.

A) and b) coincide in my life when someone actually makes a Hitchcock adaptation that gets released to theaters. Which means that

c) I always want to see these movies and then I am almost always disappointed.  

The prime examples of this would be Jodi Foster’s Flightplan, a riff on a Hitchcock movie I love (called The Lady Vanishes) and Gus van Sant’s Psycho. 


Both of these movies are terrible, but I was super excited to see both of them. And if someone had asked me if making such a movie was a good idea or a bad one, I would have always said, “good.”


There’s something about Hitchcock’s style that makes you want to remake his movies. This is partly because Hitchcock is a filmmaker’s filmmaker. He manipulates his audience like puppets but he lets the puppets catch glimpses of the puppet master pulling the strings. Behind many of Hitch’s great scenes, we can hear him asking, “See how I did that?” Many, many people speak to this quality in Hitchcock. David Thomson devoted a whole book to it: The Moment of Psycho.


So why then does such an inspirational filmmaker inspire so many bad homages? Why are Hitchcock adaptations so bad? And seemingly worse the closer they get to resembling the films that inspired them? 


Specifically here I’m thinking about Flightplan and Psycho. But also many of Brian DePalma’s earlier movies (e.g. Body Double and Dressed to Kill).


In fact, you can chart this out.


My thesis: the closer the adaptation, the worse the movie.

• Psycho (near identical remake) = Terrible.
• Body Double, Dressed to Kill (steals major plot ideas/themes/editing style, uses the same composer) = Pretty Bad.
• Flightplan (uses same idea, many key plot points) = Dull as dishwater.
• Mission Impossible 2 (lifts the concept, uses little else) = Semi-interesting.

Now, there are some potential outliers here.


1. Disturbia, which fits in the Flightplan category (it’s a riff on Rear Window), was actually pretty fun to watch. Perhaps we could file this as a case of exception proving the rule.


2. And many people think that Mission Impossible 2 is utterly terrible. But all this would mean for my thesis is that there’s no significant uptick at the end of my chart, and all recent Hitchcock adaptations are pretty bad.


However, one additional film that will no doubt support my case will be the forthcoming Michael Bay-produced remake of The Birds, which in all likelihood will be so bad it will bring about the second coming of Christ.


Okay, so, I have some theories about why Hitchcock is so hard to adapt these days. But I’ll save them for a second post.

***

Philip Tallon (Twitter: @philiptallon) wrote an essay about Psycho a long time ago for Hitchcock and Philosophy.