Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Goodbye Great Mind

I’m in a crappy mood, so I’m going to stay away from me and talk about someone else who deserves attention.

Shoei Imamura passed away. He was a Japaneese filmmaker who has never really received much credit in the U.S. I’d put him up there with Kurosawa, but in a different light. He was all about getting into the Japanese mind and scooping out some interesting stuff for us to look at.

He has a few films available on DVD and video here and I’d appreciate you checking one or two out. You’ll be surprised at how good they are.

The Pornographers – great film, but not as dirty as you are thinking it will be… pervs.

The Eel- One of my all time favorite films. It stars Koji Yakusho from Shall We Dance and several Kiyoshi Kurosawa films.

Warm Water Under A Red Bridge- Again staring Yakusho and involves a woman’s sexual fluids reinvigorating the fishing. Seriously, She squirts gallons and the rivers start teeming with fish again. A metaphor? Hmmm.

The Insect Woman – Not available on DVD or tape, so keep you’re eyes open at revival houses. This one focuses on a chunky prostitute. She’s not very nice to say the least.

A Man Vanishes – Not Available. A documentary about a woman whose husband has disappeared and her search for him. Along the way she falls in love with the director of the documentary. But is everything what it seems?

Black Rain – I own the DVD, but will admit, I’ve never watched it. I picked it up for a couple of bucks and now it’s worth some cash because it’s out of print. Now I have a reason.

Dr. Akagi – Good stuff, but I only saw it once and have never taken the time to revisit it..

Ballad of Narayama – He made this film twice, once in the 50’s and once in the early 80’s. Another one I haven’t seen, but have heard nothing but great things about it.

Anyway, for my money, Mr. Imamura will be missed. Very few Americans know or even care. He’s a blip on the radar and for most he’s not even on the radar.

Rest in piece Mr. Imamura, you worked hard, made some spectacular films. Sleep comfortably knowing there are those of us who care.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

I've Been To THE ROOM

Have you ever been to The Rocky Horror Picture Show? People dress like the characters, act out scenes and scream comments in unison at the screen.

It appears that a new contender is vying for that midnight honor. It’s called THE ROOM

  • The Room

  • It is directed and stars Tommy Wiseau, a man who resembles Jeremy Irons after surviving a grease fire. With some European accent that has a touch of Schwarzenegger and a touch of Olivier, but he won't tell you his nationality.

    When talking, the guy makes no sense. Then again, nothing about his film makes sense. Well, it makes sense in the way that every scene says the same thing to the point of the dialog actually repeating itself. See how that last sentence felt really repetitive. Stretch it out to two hours and you've got The Room. The supposed plot revolves around a love triangle in San Francisco and how it ends up hurting everyone involved... I think. Maybe it’s a testament to existentialism? It’s pointless to put too much thought into it. It would be more that Wiseau did.

    Wiseau claims it’s a black comedy. Who the hell knows? Half of it plays like a bad Cinemax softcore flick, with Tommy’s wrinkled bobbing ass flexing; the other half plays like a bad Tennessee Williams play.

    The whole thing is an incredible mess. From the acting to the sound to the script, there isn’t one thing about this film that works. The kitchen is somehow located out the front door, a window opens into the bathroom, and the T.V. is one of those empty Ikea display models. And that’s just a few issues with the set.

    The audience was eating it up. There were fans that have been to every screening of this piece of shit since it’s discovery last year. They wear t-shirts, throw spoons whenever a framed spoon portrait is displayed, and even scream how they want to have Tommy’s baby. At least that’s what the men were screaming.

    I have to mention one of the story lines. It’s not really a story line, because it’s brought up and never touched upon again. The mother tells her daughter that she has breast cancer. She says it with the nonchalance of someone remembering they forgot to turn the lights off before leaving the house. That's it. That's all that's ever said. “I’ve got cancer, but it’ll be fine.” End drama here. Wow!!

    The most interesting part of this whole fiasco is watching people develop jokes to shout at the screen. A few have already been standardized. Whenever there is a shot of Alcatraz, everyone shouts, "Alcatraz!". There is also a recurring establishing shot that is the same as the television show Full House. So everyone screams, “FULL HOUSE!” Then there is a lot of babble and individual jokes, some of which will stick and become part of the growing audience script at the next screening.

    Purposefully or not and I seriously doubt it was, Wiseau has made something that brings people together in a way that very few films do. They trash it, laugh at it, and love it all together in social unison.

    Thursday, May 25, 2006

    Hot Off The Press #2

    By Scoop Snoopum

    In this town where the mighty fall, the mighty have truly fallen.

    Not too long ago a television show of epic proportions graced our living rooms.

    Beat The Geeks not only stole America's Neilson ratings, but also our hearts. This game show was bigger than big! It was a homunculus, invading pop culture like no other show had before or since. It kicked M.A.S.H in its Korean balls. It raped Friends and made it beg for more. Seinfeld converted to Buddhism. Hell, even Fraiser needed therapy after a visit from the Geeks. See what I’m saying… BIG!
    But just like that (poof), it was gone.

    Who killed it, what happened, when and why?

    There is one question that can be answered my loyal readers and that is the where. Where are the geeks today?

    At least one of them still exists. Mark Hueck, also known in the professional world as, “The Movie Geek” walks among us mortal men.
    It was my crafty tipster Yellow 7 who guided me to the Nuart Theater in West Los Angeles. There standing at the usher’s podium quietly tearing tickets was Mr. Hueck himself.

    Graying hair, baggy eyed and sad, his fingers shook as he attempted to tear the perforated ticket I had handed him. I was ready to ask the ultimate question, “Who killed Beat The Geeks? Why has the man worked so hard to keep you down?”

    As my mouth opened to begin my tirade of hard hitting questions, he raised his head gently and mumbled, “Enjoy the show.” I couldn’t do it dear readers. His pain was too great. My drudging up his past would simply be salting the wound. I moved on and enjoyed the film.

    I learned a powerful lesson this night. There are a limitless amount of stars up in the sky. Quite often, they fall and fall hard. The reason behind the fall isn’t what’s important, but that they land safely.

    Sleep well tonight Mr. Hueck; your geek soul is much too beautiful for a world as ugly as ours.

    Monday, May 22, 2006

    Hot Off The Press #1

    by Scoop Snoopum

    One of my Hollywood contacts, code name: Yellow 7, sent me this link.

  • CBS Local News

  • I was shocked, shocked I tell you, that something like this would happen in my white as snow virginal town.

    Freddy Krueger stabbed somebody with his finger blades? Violence in Hollywood? This would not, nay, could not stand. Not on my watch.

    I grabbed my camera and went to the location of this brutal crime.

    Looking for witnesses, I found one. Jack Sparrow and his harlot were itching to talk, so the truth could be told.

    “He was protecting himself.” Sparrow confided, “Freddy has been robbed three times in the last six months. It was self-defense. Anything that you read was just a pack of lies, argh.”

    Chucky backed up Sparrow's story in between slaying Japanese tourists.

    I knew it. The left wing liberal press had fucked Americans again.

    When I asked where the incident took place, Chucky pointed down the street saying, "Down by Kenny Logins star.”

    I Walked down to Loggins star to survey the area. I could find no blood, no signs of struggle. All of this leads me to believe that the Krueger was set up and used simply to draw attention to the cbs2 website. For shame!

    I asked a passerby if he or his special lady friend had heard of the incident that had taken place near the Loggins star. He refused to give me his name and she would only identify herself as Vanilla Love, but did give me this tasty nugget.

    “Fuck, Kenny Loggins!”

    No words have ever been truer my anonymous brother. Fuck Kenny Loggins indeed.

    Note: The part about it being self defense is supposedly true. That was the answer I got when I asked not only Jack Sparow and Chucky, but also Blade, Michael Myers, and a Freddy replacement.

    Picture This

    I was down in Newport Beach the other day having dinner with my Father and Stepmother. He had pulled out an old 8mm projector that I had been given as a gift from a teacher back in high school. I had forgotten completely about it. More surprising was the damn thing worked and the bulb was still striking.

    So my dad went and dug up some old family movies. When I say old, (I mean from when he was around college age. That was odd. I was looking at images of myself. Not exactly a clone, but the features were strong and you’d easily call me my father’s son.

    What was more disturbing was seeing my aunt Shirley. The last time I saw her, she had probably weighed in around 300 pounds. I’m not a great judge of weight, but I’m trying to get the idea across that she is not a petit woman. But in these home movies, she was not only svelte, but a real knockout. I mean just stunning. A beautiful, beautiful woman.

    Then my head caught hold of the young vs. old thing. It’s something that is a reoccurring theme in my life. A moment in time where I see the young child, then see the old senior and that weird time space continuum that they were once one and will become the other.

    There was a Vonnegut book that talked about the creature that at it’s tale was the infant and it stretched out like a snake, the form showing the aging of the creature until you reached the head which was the old man. I’m not describing it well, because I’m not Vonnegut, but you kind of get the picture.

    It’s just this very odd thing to me. I’m sure parents get it more. Watching the newborn grow into the adolescent, then into the adult. The only thing separating one physical form from the other is time.

    These two pictures are not of the same person, but for argument sake pretend they are. Just give it a minute and think of all of the history, all of the moments in life that change the child into the old man. And that’s what a human being does as its natural progression.

    I just find it interesting and feel this flow of energy pushing me towards the next state. Like I can actually feel time in a sense that hasn’t been defined by humanity.

    Or maybe I just have low blood sugar.

    Sunday, May 21, 2006


    Three photos I took white touring around Newport Beach.

    A Ferris Wheel near the Auto Ferry

    I too was running around in my pyjamas with feet.

    Always coordinate your outfit with your business. It's simple logic.

    Saturday, May 20, 2006

    Gay/Not Gay 2

    'nuff said


    Filling Space

    I’m feeling lazy right now so I’m just going to throw out a few things that make no sense, or maybe they do.

    Have you ever smelled something funny and realized it was you?

    I have a blister on the side of my right foot. It’s from my shoe, but my initial response was, “it’s cancer.”

    Is it a bad sign to be bored by masturbating?

    If you’re attracted to a woman who has hair on her upper lip, is it a sign that you’re gay?

    Are there any tattoos out there that are original?

    Pupma: A young form of dogma.

    Do all student films have Jesus allegories in them?

    Why are clowns scary, but mimes stupid?

    Is guilt exponential the next morning if you have group sex the night before?

    Thursday, May 18, 2006


    I had a plan when I made the decision to move down here. So far, it has not been put into action. There are two projects that I wish to complete. Since I am not working and I continue to be lazy about looking for a job, I should take advantage of this opportunity to sit down and continue my writing.

    The fear of starting these projects is quite strong. It seems that I have put myself in the place to create; now I must create. How do I start? Where do I start?

    I just thought of the book Bird By Bird by Anne Lamot. The title comes from a story about her younger brother. He had a project for school, a report on birds. He kept putting it off and putting it off. The night before it was due, he was in a state of panic. His father walked by the table where he was working and saw all of the textbooks and pictures of birds and asked how it was going. The boy said he didn’t know where to start. How would he ever complete the project? As is given away in the title of the book, the father patted him on the shoulder and replied, “Bird by bird.”

    Time to pick a bird.

    You Tube Test

    This is a video test to see if I can do it. It's Gay/Not Gay episode 3. Something I did just for kicks.

    Yes, I can. Yea!!

    I Took One Up The DVD

    I keep screwing myself. It’s out of fear and not enough knowledge of what things should cost, as well as a lack of esteem for my skills.

    See, I’m doing this wedding video for a friend of a friend and I quoted an incredibly low price. I did this for two reasons.

    1.) I’ve never done a project like this before and was not given very specific orders on what they wanted. So they are going to get whatever I gave them.

    2.) He kept asking how much it would cost, so I finally just blurted out something that was low. This is because I had never done this before and didn’t know what they wanted. So they were going to get whatever I gave them.

    Well the footage, which I didn’t shoot, wasn’t exactly great. It was barely good. No audible sound, bad lighting, no tripod so the whole thing looks like it takes place during an earthquake. But I became fixated with making something at least watchable out of it. And I think I did. I’m not trying to toot my own horn, but I was able to work with the material and create something that had tempo and flowed and told a story of the days events and the people in them. Plus it’s all mushy and lovey-dovey.

    Once of my teachers once told me it’s not the equipment, but the person using the equipment that is the greatest tool. So I guess that makes me a worthwhile tool.

    Anyway, I get the project done. I’m really trying to do a nice job, so I get cases and print out fancy labels for the disks and get the whole package looking really good.

    So, I’m excited about being done and I call him up about delivery. I ask how many copies he wants and he asks how much it will cost per copy. I pause and blurt out three dollars. Now I know I’m an idiot. I buy a lot of DVD’s and even though this thing runs maybe an hour tops, it’s worth more than three bucks a copy.

    Now it’s not a big deal, because I figure they’ll only want a couple of copies. So he says he’ll call me back. Well he hasn’t called and I had a nightmare last night of the couple making a list, checking it twice, and adding more people to it.

    Anything over ten copies and I’ll lose money on this deal guaranteed.

    But I have something decent for my reel, I’ve gotten to practice my editing skills, and I now have knowledge that I must do the research on rates before taking something like this on again. So there are quite a few positive things that came out of this.

    If you know anyone who needs some editing done, you’ll find me living under a bridge. But I’ll have a head full of wisdom.

    Wednesday, May 17, 2006

    The Devil’s Anvil

    That’s a Lawrence of Arabia reference. It refers to a stretch of desert that must be crossed, but very few come out alive because it’s so hot. It is also a reference to my bedroom during the day, because by the end of summer, the odds of me coming out alive are slim to none. It’s hot, damn hot. I’ve been pusified spending all those years in the bay area. Since I come from Arizona, I understood hot. When I first moved to San Francisco, I made fun of the people screaming about the heat when it reached 70 degrees. Now I’m one of them.

    That’s all I’ve got for now. It’s too damn hot for me to think.

    Oh, wait…nope nothing.

    Tuesday, May 16, 2006

    Blow Out My Candles

    Today I turned 34. It’s pretty inconsequential in the B-Day spectrum. I’m told next year is going to be a bitch. I’ll let you know when it happens.

    This is my 3rd birthday sober and that in itself is a little more interesting. I used to sit on the couch and get plowed. I didn’t go out and do anything, just get drunk and high and channel surf. The funny thing was I did that every day so it didn’t exactly make any of those birthdays special.

    My first birthday sober was also my first day out of rehab. I had sushi, and good sex. I believe in reverse order.

    My second birthday sober, I was thinking about my first birthday sober. I got a Fritz Lang box set of movies, had P.F. Chang’s, and good sex. I’m not sure about the order.

    This being my third birthday, I’m buying myself a DVD, going to I-Hop for stuffed French toast and not having any sex. Huh… I’m sensing a downward swing on this one.

    To be perfectly honest I’m not very good with sex anymore, anyhow. I’m not sure what happened exactly. I did seem to be better at it when I drank. it's probably a sensory thing. So as part of my ongoing education, I’ve started reading a better at sex book. I’ve no plans of putting it into practice. As a matter of fact, I bet the first time I get a chance to use these new tactics, I’ll forget, do the same old thing and as I’m driving home after feeling like a failure, I’ll remember the book. So it goes.

    Now is a time for me to discuss my dislike for B-Day cards. They are not funny. Everyone walks down the aisles at Hallmark, picking up cards and every so often you hear a big laugh. I never laugh. The jokes are stupid. Usually some pun that deals with getting old or sex. I want to sit in on an interview for the writer at one of these card places.

    Interviewer: Your resume says you worked on the, “Now that you’re getting old, you’re breasts are sagging” series for Humor Cards Inc.

    Interviewee: Yes, I came up with the, “You can always use them as earmuffs” tag.

    Interviewer: That’s good.

    Interviewee: I also developed the “At least a dog can lick his own balls” series for Cardmart.

    Interviewer: You're hired!!

    See how you didn’t laugh at that. It’s because birthday cards aren’t fucking funny.

    Please send any e-cards to my email listed on this blog.

    If You’re Going To Shoot, Shoot. Don’t Talk.

    These words are uttered by Eli Wallach’s character Tuco in, The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly. When A baddy has Tuco cornered, gun in hand, he goes on and on about how he’s been looking forward to getting his revenge. Yak, yak, yak. The guy is full of cocky bravado because he’s holding the gun. Tuco outdraws him of course and says those famous words.

    The supposed origin for the line comes from some Italian saying, "Do it, don’t yak about it." I'm sure it sounds better in Italian.

    It had been used to poor effect in the wretched Van Helsing. That time hissed by Kate Beckensale. Her tight leather pants couldn’t save that rotted turd of a movie.

    Nike has used this concept to sell slave labor shoes.

    Etcetera, etcetera. I’m going off point.

    Put simply, those who talk are simply talkers. Attempting to make others and themselves believe in something that is probably not real. It is action that shows what a person's mettle is. It may seem like a cliché, but actions do speak volumes while words can be as empty as the soul who speaks them.

    Then again… these are only words.

    What a quandry.

    Sunday, May 14, 2006

    40 Dicks

    I went to a Sam Fuller double feature at the Egyptian and the first film was “Forty Guns”. It’s a great movie, a really great movie. Barbra Stanwyck runs the territory with an iron fist and a herd of dragoons. Yes there are forty of them and apparently they can’t satisfy our whip cracking Stanwyck.

    One thing bothered me. It’s not a big thing since the movie is about masculinity and the potent male (Barry Sullivan) is the winner in the end, but that was the problem. At the end, in typical movie fashion, Stanwyck has changed from black pants and shirt into a white dress and is chasing after our male hero.

    You might be asking why I used the penis to describe this picture. Simple, it’s because every gun metaphor is used to represent the male member. The best moment being when discussing Barry Sullivan's legendary pistol, Stanwyck asks if she can, “Touch it.”

    Sullivan: It might go off in your face.

    Stanwyck: I’ll take that chance.

    Wow! A facial metaphor, get it?

    I guess in today’s day and age you couldn’t get away with this type of movie. They’d want the woman to remain strong and there being some kind of compromise between them. Maybe no compromise at all, they’d never get together.

    But Fuller isn’t about equality, he’s about men and being a rough, brutal, manly man who believes the concept that all a woman needs is a deep dicking

    It may be true, since I have a small dick, I’ll never know.

    Saturday, May 13, 2006

    Shuffle, Step, Bounce

    There are a lot more joggers in L.A. than I would have thought. I mean I expected them to be in gyms on a treadmill and not out on the street. But I did notice one common factor amongst 75 to 80 percent of the female joggers.


    Yes, L.A. is known for fun bag implants, but jogging is one of the best ways for women to show them off. As a matter of fact, I don’t think they jog to get exercise, but to show off the latest in mammary technology. They all jog weird. They don’t look like joggers, but have this odd kind of choreography to guarantee maximum boob bounce.

    Shuffle, step, bounce. Shuffle, step, bounce. Shuffle step, bounce. Red light. Stretch, lean, hop, bounce.

    I’ve seen this more than once in just a few days. Now I may be seeing this with shallow, horny, ogling eyes, but I don’t think so. Yes, there may be some new exercise regiment that explains burning more calories with this special jogging step, but to be honest I don’t think so.

    In case I sound as if I am condemning this, I am not. As a matter of fact if you want to throw a flash into the sequence, go for it. I support female empowerment 100%.

    Friday, May 12, 2006

    The Real Day One

    So I spent my first night in the new place last night. It was odd. Not really odd, just different. I’ve been putting it off for a while, staying at Aaron and Barbra’s for as long as possible. Up until now I have been able to make it feel like I was on an extended vacation. Going to movies, touring around town, relaxing on the couch. Now it is very real, very permanent. The other day I was having very strong reservations about my move down here. I felt I was doing the wrong thing. I ended up calling Shea at one in the morning to talk. She’s such an incredible person. She took the time and spent an hour with me on the phone to help me get through it, even though she had to be at work the next morning and is famous for needing her sleep.

    I felt better and now here I am. I’ve got a place to live. I’ve got the wheels to get around. That only leaves one more item on the checklist, a job. So get that finished and I can start on the next thing, whatever that may be.

    Am I just another one of those dreamers that steps off the bus with dreams of a career in Hollywierd? You betcha. So what makes me different? Nothing, I just intend to do the work, keep my feet on the ground and take the bad with the good.

    I say that now not having to deal with the bad. When the bad hits, I’ll be crying in the corner like a little girl. That should be exciting to report on.

    Thursday, May 11, 2006

    Late to the Game

    Why is it called Mifune’s Ghost? It’s based on the late great actor Toshiro Mifune. In a way I feel very much like the character he played in Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai. A lot of shit going on inside, while I cover it up outside with a crazy person. That’s probably bullshit. I just like the name, so stuff it.

    Here are topics that will be covered.

    Los Angeles
    Recovery from alcohol & drugs
    Any old thing I need to get off my chest.

    This puppy is going to probably upset some of my friends who read it, but I need to be honest and I’m not out to hurt anyone, I’m just expressing my feelings. Feelings aren’t always true or correct, they are emotions that need to be addressed and worked through.

    Blogs are dead, so I’m starting one. Makes sense right?So anyone who knows me and decides to read this, take it all from the point of view that I’m talking through things. It has nothing to do with you as a person, but me as a person trying to grow and understand why I behave the way I do.

    Best of luck to us all and lets see how long I keep this thing up. Place your bets.