Awkward Press

Hey Black Swan! You look good! And has Darren Aronofsky ever made a bad movie? I don’t think he has. But are you aware that you’re Showgirls? Please fix. Thx!

The Awkward Press film project got underway this past Saturday with the shoot of The Vanishing Point, based on my story of the same name from the upcoming Awkward Two anthology. It’s fitting that this story was the first to be shot, as it was really the catalyst for the entire project. A few months ago, my friend Eric Kissack told me he was looking for a project to direct while he was between editing gigs. “What a coincidence!” I said, “I happen to have written a story that I believe would make an excellent film!” Because that is how I roll.

Remarkably, Eric dug the story. I went home and busted out a screenplay in a few hours. This is not as impressive as it may seem – the screenplay was only 7 pages long. It is a very short story.

We sent the script back and forth for a few weeks until we finally came up with something we thought would work. I kept waiting for the moment when Eric said, “Hey, I’ve changed my mind, this is a terrible story,” but that never happened. Before too long, he’d signed on two excellent producers (my wife, Sarah, and Eric’s friend Lisa) and the ball was rolling. (more…)

The Monstrosity Exhibition: Lost Terrors of VHS Sleeve Cover Art
written by Clay McLeod Chapman

Video World was tucked off into a topiary-barricaded alcove of the Stony Point Shopping Centre, a swift five-minute Schwinn sojourn from my front door.

No bigger than a boutique, this early-80′s video store was infinitesimal in comparison to the cancerous sprawl of the Blockbuster Video chain that had begun to malignantly metastasize its way through America’s suburban strip malls, eventually putting all the mom-and-pop operations like Video World out of business. I was fortunate enough to push through my preadolescence before the big blue-and-yellow Blockbuster awnings started cropping up all across my hometown. Walking into Video World was like immersing myself in a Betamax Shangri-La. Every last inch of wall space, from floor-to-ceiling, was lined entirely in video cassettes. At 8 years old, I had officially found my home-away-from home. Each 4 by 7-and-a-half inch VHS cassette contained a different story, just waiting to be told – and I made it my mission to watch them all. Or as many as my allowance would allow.

Hidden at the rear of the store, buried behind comedy, family, drama (but before you reached the “private room” of adult films at the very, very back) – there remained a single row of videos off-limits to children. Little boys and girls were not allowed to rent the videos from back here at the shadowy edge of the forest.

The horror section.

A kid like me couldn’t help but feel a shift in the atmosphere upon entering the aisle, suddenly surrounded by so many R-rated movies. The carpet seemed to darken, stained somehow. Even the air had a miasma of decrepit breath to it, thicker than the air in the childrens section. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here, which only made me want to explore even more – go deeper, take just another couple steps in, see if I could make my way past the A’s, past the B’s, even the C’s, until I was utterly immersed in the aisle, enveloped in images of terror from all around.

This – this was where fear resided.

Every kind of fear you could think of, or not think of, was right here – captured on magnetic tape and sealed inside its own cardboard box – little gift-wrapped packages presented in a tableau of carnage.

Deadly Spawn. Faces of Death. Def-Con 4. Xtro. The Stepfather. The Driller Killer. The Stuff. Texas Chainsaw Massacre II. I Spit On Your Grave. The Dead Pit. Black Roses. Headless Eyes. Magic. Black Christmas. He Knows You’re Alone. Class of Nuke ‘Em High. Cellar Dweller. Mother’s Day. The Prowler.

So go ahead, kid – I dare you. Slip a video off the shelf.

Pick any horror film and take the cassette into your hand. Rub your finger over the cardboard cover with its softened edges. Feel how fuzzy and worn the corners are?

Now look at the cover.

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Until last week, I had absolutely no interest in Avatar. I’m not a James Cameron hater. I still think Aliens is one of the best action-adventure movies ever made. The first two Terminator movies were cool. I even thought Titanic was just fine. It did not make a huge lifelong impression on me, but for the 12 1/2 hours I was in the theater, I remember being interested in what was happening. Spoiler alert: the boat sinks.

That being said, Avatar just did not look good to me. Three words: blue cat people. I’m all for computer animation if it involves adorable Pixar characters, but I have yet to see anyone convincingly combine CGI characters and people characters. I mean, I guess that’s why people were so pumped about this in the first place, because Cameron was assumed to be the first person who was able to do it properly. But then the previews came out, and the blue cat people looked like bad video game animation. So I wrote it off as a movie I would not be attending. Until the rave reviews started coming in, and I decided that I didn’t want to be left out of the conversation at the water cooler. Even though I am the only one in my office right now and the only person who would try to talk to me about Avatar at the water cooler was me. Also, someone else bought tickets for me. (more…)

First of all: No fair. No fair, Spike Jones. It’s not supposed to be cool to expand 10 page picture books into movies. The Grinch, anyone? The Polar Express? I never saw The Polar Express. I rest my case.

But you went ahead and made the movie that wasn’t cool to make, because you are Spike Jones, a self-generating credibility machines. And then you made the previews for that movie so good that I would pay to watch them all on their own. They are not previews, they are tear extractors.

Here’s the thing: I saw you that day in front of Square One cafe across from the Scientology center. You rode up on a Vespa and you had a long white scarf around your neck. A riding scarf. And a mustache. You had the gayest 70s porno mustache that has ever been worn outside of 70s gay porn. And you met up with two guys who were just totally normal guys. And you were waiting for someone who kept calling and saying she would be there in five minutes. You stood there the entire time that we were eating, making very normal conversation with your two normal friends, and you never lost your cool, even though your friend was making you all wait. That was pretty awesome.

I really hope you’re not a Scientologist.

Better concert film: The Last Waltz, or Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds Concert Tour? Discuss.

PS: Awkward One is now for sale! Buy it here!

Okay, guys, time to pack it in. Sorry, but the best title for anything has already been written. From the LA Times today:

The Australian genre flicks of the 1970s and ’80s receive a jam-packed documentary tribute in Mark Hartley’s “Not Quite Hollywood: The Wild, Untold Story of Ozploitation.” It’s a kicky, slightly exhausting look at a bygone era of low-rent moviemaking, whose colorful trove of film clips should delight fans of cinematic esoterica, nostalgic schlock and high octane drive-in fare.

A bit of history: In 1971, relaxed Australian censorship standards ushered in a string of locally produced sex farces with such titles as “Stork,” “The Adventures of Barry McKenzie” and “Alvin Purple.”

I don’t care how good you think you are at making up titles, Alvin Purple has got you beat. From now on, I’m going to have to call everything I write (untitled). Because one just looks foolish trying to compete on that kind of level.

Clearly, Roald Dahl is the best. We can all agree on that. There would be no Awkward Press if it weren’t for Roald Dahl, because I would have never wanted to be a writer if I hadn’t read his books. For that matter, if it weren’t for Roald Dahl, there would be no me or you, because the world we live in did not exist before Roald Dahl. It is his matrix. We just live in it.

When I heard that Wes Anderson was making an animated version of Mr. Dahl’s Fantastic Mr. Fox, my first thought was, “that is certainly a lesser choice from the Dahl canon.” Full disclosure: Roald Dahl has been my favorite writer since I was old enough to read, but I have not read Fantastic Mr. Fox. Is that okay? I just haven’t. Maybe it’s great. It’s probably great. I should read it. Don’t judge me!

Unlike you, I have not given up hope in Wes Anderson. I have given him a long leash based on my love for Rushmore and Bottle Rocket. I hated The Privileged Brothers Go to India, but I like his shtick, for the most part. It’s whimsical! Get used to it! There is room for whimsy in life. Enjoy the whimsy. Stop being so New York all the time.

Anyway, so Anderson made an animated version of Fantastic Mr. Fox, and here is the trailer:

If you ask me, they should change the name of this movie to Fantastic Mr. Fantastic. Because it looks pretty fantastic, is why I recommend that change. I am starting a movie studio next!

(Via Videogum.)

According to Netflix, Mike and Jeffrey agree with each other on movies 84% of the time. In their weekly feature, The Awkward Movie Challenge, they search valiantly for that sweet 16% that results in big arguments and big laughs.

Mike:

This past June 24th marked the twenty fifth anniversary of the greatest soundtrack ever recorded specifically for a movie. Man oh man, is Purple Rain ever an amazing soundtrack! “When Doves Cry”? That song is awesome. “Let’s Go Crazy”? Even awesomer, especially when Prince gets all Hendrixy at the end of the song. “Take Me With U”? Holy shit, that song is so awesome they don’t even have a word to describe it (you could probably describe it by calling it “Really, really, really awesome,” but that’s four words). “The Beautiful Ones”? “Baby, I’m a Star”? “I Would Die 4 U”? Awesome, awesome, awesome. Yes, there is no doubt about it; Purple Rain is one totally awesome record. Case closed.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about the movie for which the Purple Rain soundtrack was recorded (did I mention how awesome that soundtrack is?), which celebrated its own twenty fifth anniversary this past Monday. Purple Rain: the Movie stars Prince as “The Kid”, a wunderkind musician who lives in his parents’ basement and creates music deemed too weird for First Avenue, the Minneapolis club where Morris Day and the Time draw huge crowds by playing music almost exactly like that of The Kid and his band, the Revolution. Except it’s not as good. The Kid meets aspiring singer Apollonia, falls in love with her, and lets her know this by tricking her into jumping naked into a lake. In Minneapolis. In the winter. Shooting her in the back would have been an equally romantic valentine, but then I guess we wouldn’t have gotten to see her boobs. Despite The Kid’s sadism, Apollonia is unable to resist the pubic hairs glued to his chest (or his purple pirate costume… or his Batgirl Cycle…), so she buys him a guitar. When Morris Day gets wind of the budding ingénue, he swoops in to turn her into his personal protégé. The Kid reacts to this news by punching Apollonia in the face.

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Hi! First of all, thanks for Edward Scissorhands and Beetlejuice. Those were great, how that guy had scissors for hands and that dead clown was so scary. Second of all, you dirty filthy bastard, if you ruin another one of my favorite books, I will kill you. Here is a picture from your new retelling of Alice in Wonderland.

Here, by contrast, is John Tenniel’s classic interpretation of the Mad Hatter.

Now, it is useful to note that John Tenniel’s illustrations were in the first edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, meaning they were approved by Lewis Carroll himself with all respect to the original text. It is also useful to note that the Mad Hatter in John Tenniel’s drawings is not a Bozo-haired S&M drag king.

See, here’s my problem with you, Tim Burton. You are not very funny. I’m sorry, but you’re not. Pee Wee Herman, he’s funny, and so you made a funny movie with Pee Wee Herman. Somehow you pulled off Ed Wood, a movie that was mature, well-paced, funny, and touching. But did you see Mars Attacks? Did you, Tim Burton? Did you watch your own movie that you made? Because it was not funny.

The worst things you do are adaptations and remakes, and you seem to do an awful lot of those kinds of movies. I don’t know how you managed to sap the humor out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but you did. It is practically impossible to remove the humor from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. That’s like removing the cute from a koala. Watching your version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was like watching a koala with rabies and knowing that I was going to have to kill it later by myself with a safety pin. The day I saw your version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was the day the clown cried.

And now you’re doing Alice in Wonderland, because of course you are, because there is nothing more Tim Burton on earth than Alice in Wonderland. Except for that part about how even though it has a sinister edge, it’s also one of the funniest books ever written. My guess is that your interpretation of it is going to be all sinister edge with, I don’t know, a fart or two. Which, come on, Tim Burton. Just because Lewis Carroll liked to take pictures of naked little girls doesn’t mean you have to punish the rest of us. I’ll admit, this one’s a little better:

… or it would be a little better if Helena Bonham Carter wasn’t the only woman you knew. You should meet more women, Tim Burton.

And you should stop ruining my favorite books, please. If you make another adaptation, please choose something that is not very good. Like Marley and Me. A little of your gothic S&M touch could really do wonders to Marley and Me.