For the Record: Sam Peckinpah's Batman

Fascism is a subject that seems to plague Clint Eastwood in his crime films. Or perhaps it’s the specter of Dirty Harry that hangs over his Bruce Wayne. It’s hard to say. But it’s also impossible to think Sam Peckinpah would have cast Eastwood if it weren’t for Callahan, and it’s impossible to think that Eastwood would be willing to work with the director of Straw Dogs if he didn’t understand that there were some kinky aspects to his most famous lawman.

Then again, calling Eastwood Bruce Wayne in Peckinpah’s version of Batman is almost unfair. Gone from this mid-70′s film are the euphoric bam’s and pow’s, the psychedelica of the television version (all the drugs seem to have been kept behind the camera), gone are Alfred, Robin, the bat-signal, and virtually everything that made the kid’s version (though this version is perversely cut to a PG) so much fun. Indeed, Eastwood makes his leather mask (mixed with his rough, leathery visage) into something akin to a fetish show. And I wouldn’t put it past Peckinpah to play up the S and the M of a character who deals out vigilante justice.

One wonders if Peckinpah, who loved his alcohol and was no stranger marijuana, spent a day or two running Two Lane Blacktop and Vanishing Point in a 48 hour marathon while on a peyote high. That’s really the only explanation for his fusion of his macho aesthetics with – what amounts to – a car movie. And that’s the amazing thing about the film, and what Peckinpah brought to the mythos: so much of Batman’s masculinity, so much of his (dare I say) drive is tied into his car.

The film starts with a scene in a pool hall. Three roughnecks (two seem to be stuntmen, with Jamie Sanchez playing the lead) harass a group of women when Batman shows up and we enter slo-mo city. They have knives, but this Batman (with no real tricks up his sleeve) is a born brawler. That doesn’t stop him from breaking a bottle over one of the stuntman’s head’s in a shot that is amazing for cutting from one angle of slow motion to another slow-mo overhead shot (running the same speed) as the bottle disintegrates. The cadence of action was never more heightens when Peckinpah was let loose, but – sadly – the early sections show more care, as Bloody Sam was removed from the editing of the final two reels. When Batman finally beats the crap out of the three guys, he looks at the women with a vacuous stare. One wonders if Peckinpah cribbed from the Anna Christie/Greta Garbo school of blankness/the Kuleshov effect. I wouldn’t doubt it. The credits then play over Batman listening to a cop radio mix with Quincy Jones’s score.

I should stop for a second. Peckinpah was fairly public about his disappointment that he was denied Jerry Fielding yet again, but there’s no complaining about Jones’s work here. Not to stretch too much here, or whatever, but the film is discordant in so many ways; this would be no one’s dream Batman project – even if such an amazing team as this was assembled – and you can see why they let Burton go lighter when they decided to rejigger the whole thing 13 years later. But the funky soundtrack (that out funkifies Lalo Shiffrin) adds to the outer-space disconnect of Eastwood’s Batman prowling. Only in the last moments of the film does Eastwood ever take off the costume (and then only to lie down and go to sleep at 7 am in his nice home), so calling this picture a dream-state fugue-piece is applicable, and when applied to the sensibilities of the violence (and the lack of much blood) helps the picture along, even if it may be overcompensation on my part.

It’s only after the extended (six minute) credit sequence that we are introduced to Bo Hopkins’s Joker. A street thug with an oddness that can not be denied, his performance here is mostly done sans dialog. Hopkins’s malice is mostly implied, and when he does talk (as the IMDb states, he only has sixteen lines of dialog), I – for one – get chills. There’s something about Bo that says “yeah, I’d rape your sister if only she was a little younger” and never has his just unpleasant demeanor been put to better use. And his laugh is perfect. It rings like a death rattle around his throat, gurgling and slurping to the surface. There is an implied sense of back-story, but the film is about constant motion. In his first scene Hopkins says one line “Get Him. Get the Bat… Man,” And it defuses whatever sense of arch or camp might be expected. Hopkins in this film lays claim to being the American Klaus Kinski, if Kinski only worked for Werner Herzog ever. Muted is the word for this film as Eastwood says even less. There is no jibber-jabber in this film. Only engines revving, stopping, tires squealing, and hits connecting.

From there on out (the 20 minute mark) – as some critics have suggested – the film resembles Eastwood’s later The Gauntlet, in that it is not much more (or less) than a cat and mouse game played between the Joker’s pawns and Batman. And Peckinpah is ingenious in ramping up the stakes with each encounter (must have been an influence on Walter Hill’s The Warriors). Peckinpah – perhaps concerned after his recent efforts that his violence would be trimmed without mercy – seems to have worked here specifically without gun violence for that very purpose. It may seem a bit absurd that Batman stops and gets out of his car on four different occasions to get into fist-fights/brawls, but the energy and tempo of each sequence is dynamic enough to give each fight a different an exciting pop. After the opening three against one, you’ve got the clever stand-off fight of the heavyweight boxer type against Bat-Man (who uses his clever Karate moves to his advantage, and also picks up a strange zen-like theme to Batman’s violence), the forty-against-one stand-off in the alleyway (which starts at the beginning of a dead end, goes up a fire escape, through four apartments, then goes to four different roofs, only to go back into an apartment – eat your heart out Chan-Wook Park,), the marksmen fight (which I think Peckinpah put into to acknowledge guns) with its constant zoom-ins, and then Batman’s raid on Joker’s palace. Had Peckinpah directed these last two sequences (and not – as has been credited – Eastwood with an assist from Hal Needham), it might be one of the greatest films Peckinpah ever directed. But where the first hour (of this 87 minute film) wastes no time with back-story or any of that nonsense, the final showdown is bogged down with flashbacks (which – to be fair – are at least done silently) that explains the two’s relationship. But already the film had created a sense of duality, something Eastwood came close to exploring with films like In the Line of Fire and A Perfect World (though never as successfully), but never dipped his toe in as well as he does here… at least until it all goes a little south.

At this point Walter Hill had worked with Peckinpah, and I wonder if they didn’t compare notes as Hill was working on The Driver around this time, and they both have that zone-out feel, though Peckinpah took Detroit as his playground, and Hill took Los Angeles.

I write this now, partly because I don’t think the film ever recovered from Pauline Kael’s evisceration (“Bats in the Belfry”), though I guess she and Sam were drinking buddies at one point, and this was something of a pissing match. I know she felt for him, but perhaps she never got over her distaste of Eastwood. Which is interesting as this film undercuts his mythos more than even Unforgiven does/did. Batman – as Peckinpah said in interviews – was a fucked up individual, and he saw the film in some ways as a sequel to Straw Dogs, but he also said he never told Eastwood that. Peckinpah’s career was already headed to the shitter, and he obviously got fired off the film (as the last reels show), so it’s hard to say if he wasn’t just squeezing some sour grapes. Still, when people ask me what’s my favorite superhero film, I usually point to this one. Or Ang Lee’s Hulk.

Damon Houx's Fan Edit of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey and The Desolation of Smaug

Hey all, I've made a fan edit of the first two Hobbit films, which I think is cleaner and clearer and should appeal to all fans of THE LORD OF THE RINGS. Check it out:

Takeshi Kitano's VIOLENT CAT

Me and Philip Seymour Hoffman

Do I look like Philip Seymour Hoffman? I don't know. I never met the man. Devin Faraci once interviewed him and said it was disconcerting at first how close I seemed to resemble him. I take that as a yes.

The first I heard of Hoffman was when Scent of a Woman came out, and people told me there was an actor in that film that looked like me. When I finally saw the film, I got it, but there he was playing a bit of a shit and as we are both stocky, I wasn't happy about it. My brother... my brother, he looks like Matt Damon. Me? I get the weirdo. And so I had a vested interest as Hoffman built a career.  

When we matched up best was the late nineties, and he took a series of great roles that made me uncomfortable. Who wants to be told they look like Scotty J? The next year, I graduated from college, and started joining Portland's critical community. So how fun was it sitting next to a woman you found attractive while watching Hoffman's creepy masturbator in Todd Solonz's Happiness? Or the next year watching the performer who people say looks like you get murdered by the person who people say looks like your brother?

But as much as I might have resented the fact that Hoffman mostly played losers and assholes who creeped out girls more often than he got them, there was no denying he was one of the greatest actors of his generation, and someone who elevated every film he appeared in. The man was constantly working, someone sought after, and I was happy that if I had to have a cinematic doppleganger, he was at least a powerhouse, a towering performer who made everything that he touched better, even when he took the rare commercial project. Seriously, he even gave a great performance in Red Dragon. 

Eventually, I embraced the comparison. One year when I was feeling especially lazy about going out for Halloween I went as PSH from The 25th Hour, and by the time of the release of Capote, I practiced an impression of his Truman. Shortly after, Philip Seymour Hoffman's looks evolved and he would often sport a beard, so that passing resemblance seemed to fade, even though I have been approached at Amoeba (here in LA) and asked if I was the Oscar winning actor. Alas, I was not. Nowadays I get Jim Gaffigan more.

As someone who works in entertainment journalism, I always hoped to interview him, if only to see if I saw it, and if he saw it. But there's no tragedy in that never happening. As someone who loves movies, the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman is a devastating loss. As someone who has spent over twenty years being told we look alike, I have no idea how to feel about this.

Q-Tips

From 12/4/07 to 1/28/11, 500 Q-Tips.

Trading Cards

NEW BEVERLY

Cronenbergx2

Cronenberg

The Many hairstyles of Michael Bay

I am a nerd

BEEF!

Dating

Irony

Jay-Z

Jay-Z has 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one. Problem #1: an unhealthy attitude toward women.

Problem #2: his Tailor has been mistakenly calling him J.D. For years now. Jay tried correcting him in '02, but it didn't take.

Problem #3 (and I quote): "DJ Qualls won't return my calls."

Problem #4: Montgomery Ward's return policies have been amended since he purchased his rideable lawn mower.

Problem #5: Now that he's married, his mother keeps making not-so-subtle hints about grandchildren.

Problem #6: Won't pay B's late fees on SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELLING PANTS 2, so the Blockbuster cashier always smart-eyes him.

Problem #7: He can never find a pair of pants that fit him just the way he likes them.

Problem #8: Loves Ovaltine, but it makes him really gassy.

Problem #9: Every time he sees @iamdiddy, can't help but remember that he lent BIG a c-note before he died. Kinda wants to ask for it.

Problem #10: The cat slept on his favorite T-shirt. Now it's all hairy.

Problem #11: SLEEPAWAY CAMP: not a great movie, but every once in a while Jay wakes up screaming after dreaming about it.

Problem #12: violently alergic to legumes.

Problem #13: always been "husky."

Problem #14: The last person to use the studio before him? Yeah, they definitely farted.

Problem #15: keeps saying that he lost two million in a Fonzie scheme.

Problem #16: Fave film: STARDUST MEMORIES. But still can't get Chris Rock to introduce him to Woody.

Problem #17: Has longed to master the robot, but has never felt he got all the way there.

Problem #18: Even with Selsun Blue, has never quite gotten the dandruff under control.

Problem #19: has an irrational distaste for people who wear red socks.

Problem #20: as his shrink says, like most artists, Jay-Z's swagger is a mask for someone who longs for affirmation and acceptance.

Problem #21: He's never said anything about it, but Rick Rubin's beard creeps him out.

Problem #22: Bill Cosby calls weekly to complain about his use of the word "Jigga.

Problem #23: Psoriasis

Problem #24: Can't shake the gnawing suspicion that Brooklyn may not, in fact, go hard.

Problem #25: Spends an inordinate amount of time trying to be the freshest. Methodically showers 6 times a day.

Problem #26: has mixed feeling about that time, when he was twelve, when actually did Rockafella, y'all.

Problem #27: Parking in New York.

Problem #28: record collection got covered in water during last move. Discs fine, but the covers are ruined.

Problem #29: Can't correctly pronounce "contingent"

Problem #30: past the point of asking weed dealer's real name again. Settles for calling him "my man" and "dawg."

Problem #31: Levar Burton outted him as a Trekker to US magazine.

Problem #32: Has alter-ego: Roca-man. Roca-man likes to fight crime. Mostly Tax injustices, though.

Problem #33: Mo Money.

Problem #34: Every time he gets really drunk, he decides it's time to remove all his body hair. Often wakes up hungover & half-shaved.

Problem #35: Can't get Can't Get You Out Of My Head out of his head .

Problem #36: is a werewolf.

Problem #37: Refers to himself in the third person as Michigan Jones.

Problem #38: Framers totally spilled some shit on his original lobby card for ANNIE.

Problem #39: played phone tag with Michael right before. Regrets deleting last message.

Problem #40: His OCD forces him to flush the toilet three times after a BM.

Problem #41: Oh, yeah, he's got OCD.

Problem #42: Noisy neighbors. Don't you know Jay-Z is trying to read?

Problem #43: Sometimes finds himself agreeing with "that cracker asshole" Bill O'Reilly.

Problem #44: Got Herpes, not from sex, instead from that year in JV wrestling.

Problem #45: every time he goes to Ralph's he feels like they rearranged the store just to mess with him.

Problem #46: It's like every month he has another ingrown toenail.

Problem #47: Bought a Spider Monkey that died after two weeks. Haunted with the thought he mishandled it.

Problem #48: Wants you to want him. Begs you to beg him. Needs you to need him. Hova.

Problem #49: Fantasizes daily about living in those old Dairy Queen commercials where there were fudge rivers & strawberry avalanches.

Problem #50: Doesn't like his personal trainer, but can't dump him without offending Denzel (who recommended the guy)

Problem #51: Though he's famous, he's still black in America. Fuck a white girl paranoia in an elevator (not literally, of course).

Problem #52: Same prank phone call every night for 2 weeks: Some teen screaming, "WHAT'S MY MUTHAFUCKIN' NAME!"

Problem #53: every time he flies, he thinks his plane is going to crash.

Problem #54: Regrets that he passed on having relations with Carla Bruni.

Problem #55: He got a Peace symbol tattoo when he was 16. He could get it removed, but now it's part of him.

Problem #56: looks terrible in a thong.

Problem #57: as a kid, jerked off into relative's Snoopy Snow Cone machine. Makes reunions awkward.

Problem #58: Jadakiss. Just doesn't like that guy.

Problem #59: Forgot the password for his email again. should really write that down somewhere.

Problem #60: Triskaidekaphobia.

Problem #61: hasn't heard back from Chuck D what he thought of Jay's pancake recipe.

Problem #62: Had a samurai sword. Had.

Problem #63: doesn't know how to politely tell B that he thought OBSSESSED stank.

Problem #64: AmEx still won't give him Centurion card even tho he asks nicely. Kanye flaunting his doesn't help.

Problem #65: That math that he didn't learn because "nobody ever needs this in real life"? Turns out rap stars use a LOT of algebra.

Problem #66: has to limit himself to six hours of The History Channel a week.

Problem #67: no one appreciates his spot-on Fredo impression.

Problem #68: mom has not forgiven him for using the phrase "up in them guts" in her presence.

Problem #69: Spent the last 10 yrs trying to learn Mandarin. Still can't say anything beyond "Where's the bathroom?"

Problem #70: will drive with the radio off, absent-mindedly turn down the volume, and then feel awkward.

Problem #71: iTunes shuffle always, without fail, plays "Arthur's Theme."

Problem #72: protracted lawsuit with off-brand version of self Ray-Z

Problem #73: too much e-mail Spam. Blames buying one Girls Gone Wild online (and it wasn't that good).

Problem #74: still bugged that the dealer laughed at him when he said he wanted his ride covered in "fine Corinthian leather"

Problem #75: often fantasizes about giving it all up to run a tanning salon.

Problem #76: Been asking to have the levels turned up on his mike for years, turns out he has some serious hearing loss.

Problem #77: inexplicably prejudiced against Eskimos.

Problem #78: loves his local deli, but he always asks for no mayo and they always add mayo. Why is this so hard?

Problem #79: the trident he purchased off eBay was not "near-mint."

Problem #80: doesn't know what hurts more: the fall, or knowing that he was so heavy he broke the hammock.

Problem #81: Nutritionist put him on a low-salt diet. But salt makes virtually everything taste better.

Problem #82: low sperm count.

Problem #83: sleep apnea

Problem #84: Reception in neighborhood spotty at best. No rhyme or reason for hot or cold spots.

Problem #85: knows that if he died, they'd probably let Hype Williams make the bio-pic.

Problem #86: Always carries a roll, but hates using cash. Way harder to expense shit that way.

Problem #87: No, guy at the pharmacy, I don't want to have a rap battle, I just want my topical calcipotriene.

Problem #88: You can be the President of the united states, Brad Pitt or Jay, it don't matter, EVERYONE waits at the DMV.

Problem #89: Will never get those 84 minutes back from MEET THE SPARTANS.

Problem #90: The Internet keeps recycling the rumor that he ghost-wrote "Who let the dogs out." Has contacted snopes. No reply.

Problem #91: some days he can't get anything done until he gets a mango smoothie.

Problem #92: Snoop Dogg always says to him "you look good, have you lost some weight?" even if he hasn't. And it feels like mockery.

Problem #93: Lebron James texts like a twelve-year-old girl.

Problem #94: New shrink strict Freudian, wants to discuss every time Jay's used the word "motherfucker" in a song.

Problem #95: knows mySpace is dead, and that he should join facebook, but after it and Friendster is tired of uploading all his shit.

Problem #96: Starts sweating way too easily.

Problem #97: nail biter

Problem #98: for reasons he can't disclose, not allowed back in South Dakota

Problem #99: co-owns the New Jersey Nets.

This Isn't Goodbye, Per Se

I have not been blogging a lot lately. I have a wife, a kid, and a kid on the way. I have a full time job, albeit at home, for the time being. I stopped posting. Partly this is because of my wife.

As I have mentioned towards the start of this blog, I want people I know to read this, but I also want to be able to talk about them, and as such I don't like talking about people who might read this and say "that's not the way it happened." There was a time with the wife where she wasn't reading this, and so I could put my thoughts about our relationship on here guilt free. Now I can't. For a while it was fun to have her read me talking about how we were fucking or fighting because it might lead to both. But we've been working through my depression, and it's going well, but it's going with free and open communication. And putting those thoughts on here would make it worse. She doesn't want me to leave those issues for the world to see, and for it to sit for all time. Neither do I.

I have and had dreams of making it in this town. I have grown up to the extent that though I still write, and work on my scripts, I can't pretend to do that full time. Not that I ever have. I have friends in the industry, and things might change at some point or another, but not soon, especially with the strike going. But as I am in another industry for the time being, I have to sate myself with that. The DVD Journal is gone. I'm not really even writing about movies any more. I still watch them, and because my next door neighbor is in a guild, I have seen all the 2007 films of note. To which my list currently would be as such:

1) The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
2) No Country For Old Men
3) There Will Be Blood
4) Into the Wild
5) Zodiac
6) Grindhouse
7) Gone Baby Gone
8 ) Hot Fuzz
9) I'm Not There
10 ) Control
11) Lust, Caution
12) The Mist
13) American Gangster
14) Juno
15) Margot at the Wedding

Of these I saw only a handful in the theater. Most were screener nights at home with the wife. She loved Jesse and no Country, which was a relief. But the highlight of the year was being let out to see Grindhouse with friends the night before it opened. My wife's favorite of the year was Control. She's a Joy Division fan, though. As for DVD's, I still buy them, but the pile keeps getting bigger. There's no time.

Having a kid is excellent. There is a joy I find every day in my son. This is a very true thing, and when people try and express this by the mundanities of their child, it's fitting. You watch something being formed and you hope you damage it only slightly along the way. My son will be watching The Right Stuff before he knows how to talk. And will have him wearing Obama '08 shirts shortly. I want him to believe in hope, and the betterment of mankind.

But the bottom line is I shouldn't even commit to committing to writing stuff here. If I'm going to spend time doing personal writing, I should keep this s a maybe. so this will likely gather dust, like that copy of Last Days I bought two years ago. And there it is.

I just bought 500 Q-Tips

Note to self... 12/4/07. I want to see how long it takes me to go through these.

The lack

For those who still check in... from time to time. From time to time, allow me to say that having a child and having a second on the way means you have to prioritize you time, so talking about Leonard's birthday party, talking about Turkey day, I just have the time. The birthday party was the best part of October, especially considering.

I feel like I need to make quality time for the blog. fortunately I don't have to worry about that with the wife. As of yet.

Not Particularly insightful

But it's shocking to think we live in a world where people are questioning if waterboard is torture. On a every plane of existence, the very practice is designed to be torture. How is this even a question? Oh yeah, cause if it is torture than our president is a liar. This reign is almost over. Thank god. I hope it gets better.

My Father's Funeral

It made me weep. Partly because there were so few mourners who knew my father. Maybe five people of the group (besides the family) could call themselves friends. It was pathetic, in its way. My son behaved accordingly. The wife was fine, though she has begun to show. In my way I couldn't be happier, it deflected attention. My wife and my son and I got my mom's room for the days we were there. My family and my brother got in within a ten minute span, which is impressive. Aili went to bed early, though Len and Len got some time together. But, being the brother I am, on Wednesday we stayed up until 7 am. My mom and my wife spent most of Thursday together, and me and my wife went out Thursday night with old friends. I got drunk, she drived. The funeral was hard, but at least I've got my family with me.

It's still hard. But I've got a new infatuation with my wife, and it's scary and exciting. I didn't know you got this over and over. So exciting.

I am the #2 Houx on Google

I am also around, but kids, man. It's mellowed me.

In which I engage in Nostalgia, but feel little shame about it.

My Week is fucked

I have accomplished little this week. I have drank on many nights. My wife has been understanding. But it hurts that both she and her mom want to keep Lee away from me when I'm like that. Makes me want to stop, but I needed the anesthetic. I'm not sleeping well unless I drink heavy. Which means Aili's not sleeping well. It's hard. She holds me most nights when I get into bed. She took Thursday and Friday off. We watched Big Fish, which turns out to be terrible. Wish I knew that when I first saw it and it kicked my ass. We're going to watch The Fountain this weekend. Should be great!

I've been there for my mom. At first it took a day or two for the numbness to break. I'm feeling sort of better, but I'm still raw and jangly.

The Freedom of Grief

I have been taking it easy for the last couple. I went out with some friends after a screening of Blade Runner today. We went to a bikini bar. It would be called a tittie bar if LA allowed for nudity and booze to mix. My good friend Devin encouraged me to fuck a non-stripper. The fucked up thing about being aware is that you know you can take advantage of your grief. You both want and don't want to. My wife would probably forgive infidelity at this juncture. But maybe she wouldn't. I think I would love her more if she didn't. But I won't. On call sex is pretty awesome. Kid #2 will be interesting. I think I'm going to have to tie my tubes soon.

I lost my father

Last night the wife and I went out dancing. Her mother is still with us, and so we were out until last call. We went home, and, well it's dancing, we were rared and ready to go. I couldn't rouse myself until 11:30.

I finally talked to my mom around 12:30 to find out that my father died this morning. You expect some sort of emotional something. A physical shift. There is nothing. Strange. I guess it takes time or being around a body. Now it's just a notion, a notion I was familiar with since my father told me at the dinner table, when the strokes started. I think it was post college, in the months after where I was staying home before moving in with some musicians. My mom, father and myself were having dinner. My father lost his latest job, and we were aware of his medical condition. Things were getting worse with him. At dinner we asked my father what he wanted to do with his life. If he had said "I wanna rock!" I would have been overjoyed. Instead he told us all he wanted to do in life was die. Shortly thereafter he had a minor stroke and so we rushed him to the hospital. I would like to think that that was the impetus to get the fuck out of my parents' house. Though I think it had more to do with pussy. As most things do.

I think about watching The Royal Tennenbaums. I think it's been long enough, but I fear it will be a formality. An attempt to feel something my reviving old emotions. We shall see. My wife rushed to the store in the interim and got a home pregnancy test. We've got a second bun in the oven. I think we both knew before today, but I can't blame her for trying to counterbalance. When I'm done with this my wife promised me a blow job. We'll see if I can make it.

A short film I did is online!

Damon Houx's B&W silent short

Dan Sanderson | Myspace Video
Huzzah!

Lazy Sunday

Good Cronenberg films make you want to fuck. Well, that's not always true, but when my briefly tortured relationship with my wife began we saw A History of Violence. How we did not fuck when that movie was over is kinda beyond me. Except it isn't, I'm a deeply reticent man. It's my curse.
But EASTERN PROMISES is limp-dicked DC. I was talking about this with Beaks yesterday, and I think the film would have been better if the journal Naomi Watts gives Armin Mueller Stahl implicated his competitors, therefor making Watts morally culpable in something vs. giving the diary to the man to which the diary becomes his downfall. Viggo is great, but the main story is not the focus of the plot, which leaves the film feeling limp. Which is too bad as we had an extra hour on the babysitter and I would have loved to have nasty Cronenberg-fueled sex with the wife.

Today we're up to nothing. Been doing more yardwork. It's okay. Hitting my zen on it.

Nothing like a funeral to find out who misses you

The DVD Journal is no more. Last Thursday we had a bit of a celebration, many of the core group there for the final sort of party for it all. The editor, Alexandra du Pont, D.K. Holm, myself, Dawn Taylor, and Scott Anderson, all regulars over the nine year run of the website, all critical members of the core group. Others, those who've moved away from Portland, or were never there to begin with were there in spirit like Yoda at the end of Return of the Jedi. Funny that it should all end at the Aalto Lounge. Funny. Funny because that's where it began for me in the winter of 2000.

Sometime in 1998 my brother was working at Powell's with D.K. One afternoon I was in the bookstore, and spotted Doug at an info counter and chatted his ear off for a good hour. I was there to pick up an R. Crumb book I had recently read about, and that helped cement our now-decade long friendship, as did a piece Doug wrote about me in The Portland Mercury. Doug used to have something of a roundtable back in the old days of Portland journalism, back when he wrote for the Willamette Week. Sometime after we started hanging out, and after his kindly assistance in ushering me into the Portland critic scene, the table began anew, and continued frequently until I left Portland.

This used to happen at Berbati's, and as I made my segue into film buying, sometimes - actually most times after work on Thursdays - I would saunter on down to join Doug, and a collection of people, some critics, others friends, who would join us for a night of spirited discussion. Around this time as well, the TV show DK did - originally with Pat Holmes, then with Kerry Fall and myself - was shooting at Berbati's as well.

Doug was looking for a DVD player at some point in either late 99, or early 2000. He was to review Bringing Out the Dead for the J, and didn't have the player yet. I think I helped him get his player, and got it set up - I'm not sure any more. This helped alert me to the J, which I knew was located out of Portland, but hadn't read as much as DVD File or The Digital Bits. Mostly because I was more interested in the info of what was coming out than anything else. I was also writing for binaryflix.com, which gave me a number of free DVD's. But after reading the Journal I wanted in. Sometime after Doug moved, we started relocating the roundtable to the Aalto lounge and so the members of the table somewhat shifted. And since the table brought together a number of the writers, eventually the editor joined every once in a while. It was there I met him, and circled writing for the site. Eventually, one night, after many drinks, I finally put my cards on the table, and he suggested I write something for free. I wrote a couple like that, and was then brought on.

The editor edited. For Binary, no one touched my prose, which was - to put it nicely - early. To look at some of that stuff now, even though I have also adopted a more personal first person voice for much of my other (non-screenplay) writing, mastering the Journal's third person tone was hard, and something I struggled with for much of the run. I knew a lot about movies, still do, but even as an English major, I never knew much about the nuts and bolts of writing. And so for much of my journey through the J I learned about writing. How to construct sentences, how not to be too redundant, how to use sentences to make my point as much as the words. Things I may have intuited but did not understand. I never had that sort of technical mind. And so I learned much over the years.

At some point my role shifted. I knew more about the tech specs than many of the writers, and so I wheedled my way into a position as the managing editor, trying to catch typos and spec errors. Every Sunday I would spend a good couple of hours (after having finished my writing) pouring over the reviews that were, more often than not, some of the best reviews on the internet. And being there meant the editor had someone to bounce ideas off of, and occasionally listen to the gripes that come with dealing with so many writers, and all their bad habits (I was chewed out more than once for some poorly worded prose, lashings I took with a certain sadomasochistic pleasure as I knew I would learn something from them).

When pushed I could actually write some pretty okay stuff. One of the first ones I wrote that was something that gave me positive feedback was Mulholland Dr. I had fun tearing into bad movies, and one of the best tear jobs was beating up on Pearl Harbor. I really enjoyed writing at length about Tarantino's films, and so Pulp Fiction will always be a personal favorite as will my works on Kill Bill: Vol. 1 and Kill Bill: Vol. 2, which were later published in a book. I also loved writing about Melville and so Le Cercle Rouge and Le Samouraï are also faves. Writing about great films also got me going so The Band Wagon, La Dolce Vita, and Seven Samurai have a special place in my heart.

I think my favorite will always be Straw Dogs, though. I really worked hard on that one, felt like I got to something there.

The rhythm was developed, discs were gotten each week, I was also made courier at some points, and a weekly routine was established. I moved from a basement apartment to my own home, and was able to bring Clarence Beaks on to the team. But, as the editor put it "our own world has changed in the past decade as well, with marriages, children, new homes, career changes, and various other things that happen to sensible people when the subtle business of adulthood creeps up on them unawares." In 2004, I moved to Los Angeles and got a new job, in 2005 I met a girl and got married, and last year I had a kid and bought a home - such describes my life perfectly. With my move the round table stopped happening (as I've been told), but the site soldiered on. Thoughas long as I've been writing for the J, the editor has been threatening to quit - or at least for the last five years. It was "too much work," but he (like myself) has never been one to just sit around, and so now he does other things.

Some may ask "So did you bone Du Pont?" The answer is, sadly, no. We joked about that on my return, as I'm now married. It was always weird. She was usually in and out of relationships, and it never clicked. She's happy where she is, and vice versa. Though because she's kept to herself and is kinda "mysterious" I could probably get away with saying I did. Though, honestly, I was never her type.

The DVD Journal was a labor of love. and visiting the front page now, it's nice to know that people will miss it.

Oh, Jesus

I was in Portland for six days. Left Wednesday morning, got in Tuesday morning. Aili picked me up. I was playing with her in the car, to the point that she told me to stop. And she was playing with me. We sent her mom to walk Lee as soon as we got home. She took the day off. We've been listening to Patton Oswalt a lot, so when we finished, and she said "You came in my brain, there's no way I'm not pregnant" I thought it was pretty funny. But she's not been on the pill for a while, so we'll see what happens. We've talked about a second, and now would be the time.

But, seriously, fucking six days, staying at my mom's house, I came home with a loaded gun. Jesus. Tonight might also produce a baby, we shall see. We're both drinking wine at this point.

Also, I'm in Portland

Or have been for the last couple. My brother's leaving for London, so I'm here. There was some talk, but it was decided since Leonard's moving to London, we'll make a round trip of it in the future (that being a year or so). So I'm here, and have been working from Portland for the last week. I leave tomorrow.

We went out dancing last night and a girl gave me her number. Heh.

The DVD Journal stuff

• Clambake
• Fail Safe (2000)
• The First Films of Samuel Fuller: Criterion Eclipse Series
• Follow That Dream
• Frankie and Johnny
• Inland Empire
• Kid Galahad
• Tickle Me
• Unaccompanied Minors

More on the Journal and Samuel Fuller later this week.

Something I did for Myspace that I find funny... Guess the show.

Jerry: Every single time I log in, there's some band or woman trying to add me.
George: So have you added them?
Jerry: I like the MYspace illusion of friendship more. I'd rather it be people that I'm MySpace friends with. It's like a real friendship except without the work. If I look at their blog or profile every once in a while, it's like I know something about them without having to have participated in their life. So when I do see them I can say "Hey, so you dated that girl with one arm who who was a vegan.That must have been interesting."
George: See, Jerry, I add as many as I can so people think that I have more friends. They only look at your top eight.
Jerry: It's like the illusion of popularity.
George: People don't scroll past your top friends if they can help it. Obviously if a chick looks at all of them I'm screwed, but for most people.
Jerry: You look like the king of the party!
George: Exactly, Jerry! It's like, I've discovered a whole new venue to appear important through no effort whatsoever.
Jerry: No effort whatsoever!
George: If someone sees that I have 498 friends they'll think I'm the life of the party.
Jerry: But do you have a slut contingency plan?
George A slut contingency plan?
Jerry: if you get busted.
George: I'll tell them I worked for a short time as an editor in the adult film industry.
Jerry: Brilliant!
George: Brilliant! The Costanza mind knows how to deal with such contingencies.
Jerry: But what about the bands?
George: I worked for the Yankees, as if being a concert promoter is all that far out of reach?
Jerry: You haven't just jerry-rrigged MySpace, you've Gerrycostanza'd it.
George: For this. For this, I am a god of the myspace.
Jerry: So when's your first Myspace date?
George: Well, there's this one girl. She looks cute, but the pictures...
Jerry: Let me guess, all weird angles?
George: But she has REALLY GOOD TASTE.
Jerry: I'm sure that'll make up for it.
George: For what?
Jerry: Certain angles, you may have a secret fatty.
George: WHAT'S A SECRET FATTY?
Jerry: You don't know about the secret fatties?
George: I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE SECRET FATTIES!

It's been a long time, I shouldn't left you, without a dope rhyme to step to

Alpha Dog
Ball of Fire
A Bullet For Joey
Duck You Sucker!
Les Enfants Terribles
A Fistful of Dollars
For a Few Dollars More
La Jetée/Sans Soleil
Late Ozu
Letters from Iwo Jima
Norbit
Sansho the Bailiff
S*P*Y*S
Straight Time
Tom Goes to the Mayor: The Complete Series

Cheap laugh.... for me

I'm Simpsonized

As my wife turned to me

She said "You're the best dancer here."

Such was the scene tonight. I'd feign some modesty, if A) my wife hadn't made it plain I'm the better dancer of the two of us (though she's a wizard in the sack) and B)anyone out last night was interested in dancing.

Where was I?

After my Father-in-law's passing, my mom in law decided she needed to stay with us for a couple of months. Now my mom is also asking for the same privilege. I like our home, but being so close to a parent is weird, cause I like to fuck. Even in Burbank, there's generally only one floor in a house around here. So the near-mom is not all that far away from us (though Lee is our room, usually). But, at the same time, I now have a co-conspirator to raise my son. This is great, and with a Finnish nanny, when I say "Oh fuck, god damn it, shit" when - say - Lee accidentally gives my nuts a what for, I get no flack. I guess my mom is coming to stay with us in about two months, and I'm cool with that, but she's a little more flesh and blood. I don't want to have a convo with my mom about my fucking habits. With my wife back at work, and now with a go-to nanny, we've decided that we owe ourselves Friday and Saturday nights, so after tucking Lee in, we go out dancing. Sometimes we get an hour in, other nights we get out by 10:30, it all depends. But me and the wife have been dancing alot, and being tired is part of the game.

But tonight it was bad. Though I was always get hit on. Which is nice, the wife finds it amusing. At least. And she fucked me when we got home. So I win.

Best of last year/I AM PROM KING

1) United 93
2) Pan's Labyrinth
3) Children of Men
4) Little Children
4) The Host
5) Miami Vice
6) Brick
7) The Fountain
8) The Black Dahlia
9) The Prestige
10) Science of Sleep

Best movie (period) released in America in 2006:Army of Shadows

I have found a park to play with my kid. I have found a park to pay with my kid that has other stay at home parents. I have found a park to pay with my kid that has other stay at home parents who are almost all women. I have found a park to pay with my kid that has other stay at home parents who are almost all women who stare at me. . . ...

Simon Pegg's background dance makes me laugh like nothing else.

I'm an asshole

Everyone, everyone, deals with grief differently.

That said, I worry that we as a society are too often coddling in our attitude towards death, but the world has changed so much over the last hundred years. Man doesn't have much a of the same relationship towards death as it had to have not but a century ago.

Part of this is based on backgrounds and belief systems. As someone with rather agnostic to atheistic bent, I have come to some sort of peace with this being all there is. Plus, with my father as sick as he is, I've come to peace with my family dying. But when a friend was suggesting that he was sad his father died when he was in his fifties, and that his grief over the loss was still palpable, I had to bite my tongue.

I remember talking about it, almost a decade ago, about my father's illness to David Walker and he told me how his dad was dead by the time he was three, if my memory serves. His response was that I was lucky for the time I had. I don't know if that can make anything better, but everyone has different griefs for different reasons, but there's always someone with a hard luck story that is worse than yours. My attitude is amsot aggressively zen about it, though. PErhaps that's my way of dealing with it.

The world is bigger than you, Damon.

Then again, I read something about someone who died today at the age of 31 and it made me happy that I was married because if I die, someone will at least find me within 24 hours.

E.D.

So this weekend, we had a date night. We went out for dinner and then some dancing. The funny thing about date night as adults with a baby, we had to have sex beforehand. Cause we knew we'd be out late, so when the babysitter sets the time limit at 1:30 a.m., that could not be avoided. And so beforehand after dropping Lee off at our neighbor's house at about seven (they love taking him, but we don't ask but once every two months or so, they're older and have kids out of the house so I think they think it's fun) we headed back to "get dressed." The wife will sometimes say stuff like that laying the "we're going to go fuck" intimation on a little thick. I prefer just bald face lying.

But now I'm on new meds, and these have side effects that were heretofore unknown, cause we haven't been fucking as much cause of the depression. And the wife was horny. I could take care of some of that, but when it came to my turn, as it were, a lot of flopping around. But, to give this story a half-happy ending, with patience you can get off without getting fully erect. Who knew? Today I got the next set of meds to try. Fortunately I was at least able to make jokes about it, though some, admittedly, hit close to home. "Great, another thing to get depressed about." Depression is supposedly clinical. I don't know if I believe it.But these last meds, other than working like Salt peter, did repress some of these nasty thoughts I've been having. And... man, I was sleeping fucking great. But I like having boners, so out they go. So sorry. Ive got to detox these last ones, and start the new ones this weekend. AWESOME.

The dancing was fun though, once I got my groove back. As a couple Aili and I have this weird mixture of feelings. We still want to do things like this because we feel it is appropriate. And yet we have a kid. It's weird being out. I was able to watch a dozen interactions. I kept my wife abreast of what I was tracking, when we weren't having drinks (me water, it was her night to cut loose, as it were, though I did have one beer, and a sip of her apple martini). I had Salmon. I'm trying to eat more fish. Ive been exercising more and trying to eat better. But around ten we hit the dance floor,and stuff slowly started to happen. You've got the drunk boys, the girls with their purses who stand-dance in the middle of the floor (fuck you, by the way), the hipster kids who want to breakdance, the way too inebriated, the group of friends out celebrating something - flashing their flash cameras, and the girls getting drunk and looking to get schtupped....

Which led to this conversation on the drive home:
- You saw that she went for the black guy.
- I know! Is that racist?
- On whose part?
- Me saying "I know!" Well, I saw one guy who hit on her and missed, and another guy she was kinda making eyes at and bumping into.
- She wanted to fuck him.
- You think?
- A girl doesn't accidentally bump into a guy four or five times, no matter how drunk. She was also doing the "I'm dancing like a lesb with my other straight femme friend" thing.
- Aili, tell me you never did that.
- Once or twice. When I was younger.
- Look, I hate fashionable lesbianism. I just do. Just as I hate Girls Gone Wild. And, is it Brandon Davis? I hate him.
- You would totally have a three-way with me and a hot chick.
- That's dif... No. Actually, no. I love you too much.
- Aw.
- Why, would you?
- No.
- I mean I guess you could make it work, it might be fun, or whatever. But no interest.
- Well, I suggest we never talk about this again.
- Fair enough.
- Besides, it's not like my...
- Look, Damon, please, stop joking about it.
- I'm sorry, I'm just trying to deal with the fact that my junk isn't working properly.
- If its me...
- No, the doc said this might be a side effect, so, he was right. Fuck me in a week, I swear, I'll be raring to go.

And on and on. Some real pathos up in this bitch. Hopefully by Saturday, my junk will be back in working order, and I won't worry about all the things that I've been stressing on lately.

Reviewin'

Army of Shadows: The Criterion Collection
La Haine: The Criterion Collection
The Hitcher (2007)
The Painted Veil

How I know the meds don't work

Last night I couldn't sleep well. I had a dental appointment yesterday, my first in four years. I had a filling fall out a couple months ago, but the months since have been so insanely tight - especially with our emergency trip abroad - and even though we're insured I pushed it off. Also, I was fucking frightened of what horrors my mouth had in store for the dentist. I tried sleeping for a while, got up to write a blog entry and tried again to crash out. Aili was fucking pissed at four, cause it's not like we sleep normally anyway. I told I could sleep on the couch, but that got her even more annoyed. It was cute annoyed. If we didn't have the kid with us, we probably would have fucked. But we were both too tired. And she got to go in late to work so I could go to my appointment. So I go to the dentist, and when I get there I'm practically shaking with nerves. They take 32 X-rays - which did nothing to calm me down - and then I finally get to see the dentist. We look through the pics of my teeth, she inspects my mouth, and there's only one problem - the missing filling. She advises I get a crown, which will cost $275. I think instead I'll go with a filling, even though it won't last as long, simply because the expenditure on our end will only be $40. But hearing all this, my stress levels dropped immediately. Then I got home, the wife took off, and about an hour later, an entirely new paranoia and guilt bumped up the list in my head.

It's like my mind's not happy if I don't feel bad about something right now. Maybe I just wasn't ready to be a father, I don't know. Lee's ready to go back to sleep, so night y'all.

Take a Hike

Ive been taking long walks with Lee during the weekdays, but the wife and I returned to my old stomping grounds in Hollywood to walk around the Bronson Canyon on Saturday. This is all a part of my lame ass fitness plan, though most of the walk is uphill. After our two and a half hour jaunt, yesterday I was planning on taking another long hike, but found that I literally could not. My legs would not allow it. The more I hike, the more I'm getting into the burn factor. And it's fucking me up. You grow to like the pain, cause it makes you feel better about yourself.Hopefully I'll be able to swing over that way tomorrow.

Dealing with bad Juju

When I get too much coffee, I get depressed. Generally, when that happens I reflect on every single stupid thing I've done and been called out on. As an outgoing personality I know that I rub some people the wrong way, but as a writer I try to understand and intuit other people's emotions, rightly or wrongly. Though I don't think I have a lot of things in that closet, the ones that bug me have bugged me forever. I remember cracking wise to a teacher about some Jewish holiday when I was in sixth grade, something along the lines of "Do I look Jewish?" And then proceeded to highlight the stereotypes of Jewish people. And she was - of course - Jewish. The funny thing is, I'm not a racist, and I don't know where those stereotypes came from - perhaps from television or a comedian, or perhaps (but doubtful) my father, who wasn't so much a racist as a salesman, and enjoyed lowbrow humor that could revolve around stereotypes. And there are worse things, things that I wish I could apologize for, things that were simple misunderstandings that had less than pleasant outcomes. I hope there's only two or three people in the world who actively hate me. Hopefully less, but I've tried not to fuck anyone over. I have no problems though with people who just don't like me. I think that's fine. Cause vice versa, you know.

But I just watched two movies that made me think about those things. Deliver Us From Evil and Spider-Man 3. In the former there's a priest who has molested approximately 500 kids. And he's all like "Yeah, I'm sorry, can't we move on?" while the victims and their families are still in the grieving process 30 years on. And, of course, SM 3 is about the weight of responsibility and guilt, and it's also not a very good film.

But it strikes me that there are some things that are so bad that - after you've done them - you have to accept, because you have to live with yourself, you just have to disconnect, you have to lose part of your mind. The priest has come to peace with whatever demons he has, because he is who he is. It's all about defining your reality so you can live with yourself. So I feel like you have to hold on to those bad feelings of when you've made social faux-passes, you have to remember how much it hurt to burn your hand on the stove. I've been hurt by other people, but it's always when I'm the one doing the bad thing that sticks with me. I don't give too much of a shit out being hurt in probably the same way I obsess over, then again, I'm a straight white male. And there's nothing very evil in my past, nothing worth going to jail over, but I still have some weight on me. But I think that's part of what makes me a moral person. Or helps me be one. There is a circuitous logic to this, though. I probably feel this way because I have to. Because it's the only way I can live with myself.


This also makes me think that if these two movies can make me think about this, it's time to move on to the next anti-D. I've been told there's a trial and error process.

imokayimokayimokayimokayimokayimokayimokayimokay

Well, we talked about it, and so now I can put it on here. As the primary care giver for Lee, I've been home all the time, and for the last couple of weeks it just gotten to be really depressing. Not just stir crazy, though that was definitely a factor too. So today we went to see a therapist and I'm now on anti depressants. Just for the next couple. The main thing is that the way I was raised there was always a level of autonomy. Now, with a kid, I feel so locked into my life. It's a good and bad thing. But I have been wigging out lately, and so here I am. On drugs.

Reviews for the last couple...

Worth the Time:
The Butcher Boy
Fires on the Plain: The Criterion Collection
Infamous

Rather okay:
Billy Budd
The Burmese Harp: The Criterion Collection
The Charge of the Light Brigade
The Dawn Patrol (1938)
Dive Bomber
Madame Bovary

Eh:
The Journalist and the Jihadi: The Murder of Daniel Pearl
S*P*Y*S
Tom Goes to the Mayor: The Complete Series
Van Wilder 2: The Rise of Taj

Hate:
Alexander Revisited: The Final Cut
Bottom Feeder
Eragon: Special Edition
Turistas

OfF Duty Tonight!

Got to hang with friend tonight. We got drunk. I got home, drunk, and the wife doesn't want to fuck. What am I going to do. I didn't drive. Very nice. Will need to sleep it off tonight. Off baby duty for the next twelve hours. Will have to sober up by then. Watching The Wire. J stuff from the last shortly.

Question

Has Quentin Tarantino made a film that has felt 9/11? I don't know if that matters, though. What's more interesting is that Martin Scorsese has not.

2+1-1 Stories of awesome

My brother told me a story a long time ago about how someone, when he went to Middle School, showed up for the first day of class dressed as a Ghostbuster. My brother then saw him a couple years alter, and all he could think of to say is "What's up, Ghostbuster!" Cause that guy never was any more or less than that embarrassing incident.

Which makes me think that in my Freshman year of High School, I had an I KILLED LAURA PALMER shirt, to which a senior later made a shirt that read I KILLED DAMON HOUX. Which may have been my Ghostbusters moment.

My brother said to me the other day that I can get away with hugging someone I don't know, and it's funny because that's something I've done for comedic effect more than once (when I was in London I hugged Edgar Wright... for jokes, mostly). And I realized recently that because of who I am, if I just showed up some place with a bunch of friends dressed as a Ghostbuster, I think people would be cool with it. They'd roll, they'd think I was just being a dick. Which is good and bad.

Writing about Kurt Vonnegut

I feel like everybody's doing this, but I will be short and sweet. He was a great writer, and a great man. Even his lesser novels offered something of worth. But I can't get away from his experiences in Dresden, which informed his writing to its core, much like it did for Sam Fuller.

Few artistic ideas have hit me as hard as Kilgore Trout, in the midst of Breakfast of Champions, realizing that he was just smart enough to realize he was fictional.

The Burbank Blur

I wish I could have you there when I'm taking care of Lee. It's fucking sick. I don't update so much lately. Sorry. Being there with my child is insane.

I'm getting divorced?

Psyche!