Cooking and Cinema

Short Stories, Film Reviews, and Recipes

Category: Recipe Help-Films (Page 1 of 4)

The Music Is the Problem

July 2, 2023 /

Downtown North Side Avenue 1989

“I’m having premonitions about this one. Maybe we should wait till tomorrow,” Franklin said as he scratched the stubble on his face. He stared at Bill’s tape deck in his BMW and thanked God it wasn’t playing. Although he didn’t mind some of his music, Franklin preferred silence, especially after last night.

Bill looked down at his watch and said, “It has to be tonight. This isn’t the kind of appointment you bump to the next day. Besides, I’ve got a badminton class tomorrow.”

Franklin smiled and pictured a group of uncoordinated forty-something men and women decked out in sweatpants and legwarmers, watching a badminton instructor demonstrate the finer points of the game.

Above them, the sky lit up with lightning, and the rain poured down. Although it was early evening, the tornado-like glow in the sky and coal-colored clouds made it look much later.

“How much did you pay to become a badminton wizard?” asked Franklin.

“It’s only $150 a month, but Susan’s a world champ. She can hit anything with a shuttlecock. It’s funny, but she got into trouble a few years back when she blinded a dude in the stands when he wouldn’t shut up. Instead of the shuttlecock, she served up a small rubber ball she always carried in her match uniform.”

“It was a good luck charm her grandpa bought in a gumball machine, but I bet he never would’ve believed his gift would someday pulverize a guy’s eyeball. . . but, wait a minute, why don’t you think we should visit these guys, again?”

Franklin looked over at Bill and tried to crack a smile before he started but couldn’t. “It started a few weeks ago but really fried me last night. Tanya has been out of town with her mom, but I don’t think this has had anything to do with her absence.”

“You know, until recently, I hadn’t remembered a dream in years. But in the last two weeks, I’ve probably had ten dreams that all have the same theme.”

“And not like the ones I had as a kid. They terrified me but were made up mostly of monsters, carnies, Joseph McCarthy, and dead people, and they were nothing like the ones I’d been having lately. These don’t seem like dreams, and the sounds and lighting all look real.”

“In your dreams, have you ever been attacked by a guy wearing 3-D glasses and swinging a cleaver in one hand and a broken whiskey bottle in the other while Creature From the Black Lagoon plays in the background on a giant projection television?” asked Franklin.

“Please don’t tell me about your dreams, man,” said Bill. “I’d rather hear about a boil you got lanced or a venereal disease that’s taking over your body than one of your dreams. . . and maybe even that story, and it’s a true one, of your cousin and that poor, defenseless sloth.”

“How did his wife sneak that sucker into the country anyhow, and what was his name again? Not the sloth, the peterbeast. I’ll never forget the sloth’s name: Roger Waters.

“I guess old Roger couldn’t block the tour in ’87, and he couldn’t stop David Gilmour from carrying on, but still, the guy’s a regular horse-faced genius.”

“The only problem is that he’s kind of a prick. The other guys in the band are cool, but sometimes I regret listening to the ones Rog wrote because he’s the heavyweight champ of shitheads.”

“Just a regular scrotum-lipped, sour-brained weirdo. A real toilet clogger, I think, is a good way to describe him.”

“He hates the fans, and he hates the world, but at least that baboon-faced crooner inspired a young woman to name a friendly sloth before your cousin raped him.”

“And back to your cousin, no, it’s coming to me. It was Rueben! Reuben, the violator! He stole pour Roger the sloth’s innocence, and the thing is so slow, what could he do about it?”

“This is different, and I want you to hear about the dreams ‘cause they’re gonna affect you if the dirtbag up there is playing a sad song,” said Franklin.

“What?” asked Bill with a blank look on his face.

“See, you’re a little interested. I know it sounds nutty, but lately, I’ve dreamed of us walking into apartment buildings like when we make collections, but it doesn’t go very well. And. . . from the outside, the apartment looks a little depraved or evil.”

“You mean I’m in it too? You sick bastard!”

“No, man, it’s nothing creepy. I mean, except for what happens to us every time. You see, we’re walking through the halls, and that’s usually about the same in every dream, but the interior rooms and the song are always different.”

“Last week, the first one I remember was playing Sing by the Carpenters, and while it may look inspirational on the surface, it’s sad and devilish as Hell. We walked in, and the guy wouldn’t pay up or turn off the music.”

“He finally said he’d be back with the money and walked back to his bedroom, and the whole time, that stupid song was blaring through his system at full blast.”

“At least his setup was top-notch. His primary speakers were five feet tall. Well, the little troll strolled back from his bedroom, wearing a Spiderman mask and holding a flamethrower.”

“We both bolted for the door, but he blasted us before we got there. We dropped to the floor and tried to roll out the flames, but he ran over and roasted us again. Then, as we burned, he poured some kind of blueberry sauce over us from a gold saucière. I could smell it sizzling on my back.”

“Smelled like blueberry cobbler coming out of the oven. That’s when I woke up. The crazy thing is that it’s always overkill with these guys in my dreams.”

“Anyway, the second night was Perfect Day by Lou Reed. And on the third, it was Now You’re All Alone by David Hess. On that trip, the killer . . . and this time he was six-foot-five and had long black hair; he charged us and sliced us up with a scythe.”

“At least, that took less time than on Wednesday when a sumo wrestler used a giant hammer. He kept smashing me in the face with the thing, and it seemed like forever before I woke .  . . wait, what are you smiling at?”

Bill chuckled and said, “It’s time to go up there head case. Do you want some earmuffs?”

“No, thanks, but one more thing. There’s always a rabbit in the dreams; sometimes, it’s a chocolate bunny or a calendar with a bunny. It’s never a live rabbit. The sumo wrestler was wearing a white bunny ring with ruby eyes, and besides the hammer fracturing my skull, those shiny red eyes really freaked me out,” said Franklin.

“Who the hell wears a bunny ring anyway?” asked Bill. “Anyhow, I appreciate the warnings, but I’m not afraid of rabbits, sad songs, sumo wrestlers, or psychos with flamethrowers.

“But I have to admit that our target’s apartment over there looks a little off in this rainstorm. You’ve got your number two stashed on your ankle, right?”

“Always,” Franklin said.

Bill looked over at Franklin and snickered at the seriousness of his voice. “Well, good. You wanna share an umbrella, comrade . . . just kidding, let’s go.”

The Requiem

In the elevator, Bill and Franklin didn’t say a word. When the door opened on the fifth floor, Bill poked his head out of the door and looked in both directions. “We’re okay so far, angel britches. And I don’t hear any gloomy tunes.”

They turned left and walked down a dimly lit hall decked out in dark-green carpeting and wallpaper. The crown molding was gold but looked dented and dusty.

“Wow, you have to be an odd duck to live in a place like this,” said Franklin. Deep inside his worried mind, he was happy about the silence.

As they turned the corner, the sound of a solo violinist backed by an orchestra and completing only three notes filled the hallway and made the fake crystal under the light posts on the wall jingle.

The gray and brown hair on Franklin’s neck stood at attention, and his gut sank. “I know this. It’s in the movie, damn it! We’ve got to go, Bill. We’ve got to get the hell out of here!”

The sound of the choir from Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D Minor (VIII. Sequentia: Lacrimos Dies Illa) thundered through the hall and shook the brass light fixtures above them.

“We’ll be fine, man. We don’t even know if it’s coming from his apartment, but I have to admit, it’s not a happy song. Pretty loud, though,” shouted Bill.

He put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder and yelled, “Calm down. It’ll be over soon. It’s right up here. Number 57.”

They were getting close to the source of the noise, and when they reached 57, Bill said, “Uh, sorry, man. It’s loudest right here. Let’s pray for no bunnies.” He pounded on the door and pulled out his revolver.

“Come in, sweethearts! Bout time you turds scraped your way out of the porcelain bowl,” screamed a voice behind the door.

Franklin moved closer so his face was almost touching the door. “Turn that music off right now! We’re not coming in till it’s off!”

“I’m having a moment, so I don’t think I’ll do that. Wolfy helps ease the pain, so you either come in and deal with it or take off! Anus for brains!” screamed the voice with a laugh.

With his face burning bright red, Franklin started pounding on the door. “Turn it off! Turn it off! Are you insane, man? It’s got to be 120 decibels!”

He screamed like a child having a tantrum and pummeled the door harder with his fists. Bill grabbed him by the arm but fell back when Franklin’s head exploded from buckshot and sprayed him with blood and pieces of brain.

The door opened halfway, but Bill didn’t notice as he leaned against the wall and slowly wiped his face with his left hand. A grenade wobbled out into the hall and bounced against the gold floorboard.

“Sorry, Franklin. Should’ve listened,” said Bill, with a tear dripping down through the blood and gray matter on his cheek. He looked at the doorway and saw a Cottontail rabbit, wearing a red collar with the words Belezebunny emblazoned in black, twitching its nose at him. The rabbit took off and dashed down the hallway.

As he sped toward the stairwell at the end of the hall, the force of the explosion knocked him against the door of an apartment. He was stunned but hopped away slowly as the hall behind him filled with smoke and dust.


 The End

Harassing the Diamond King, Act Two

March 25, 2023 /

*** Recipe Included: Cast-Iron Pizza***

“If you don’t think life is absurd or unfair, go see my therpist. When I asked her what she was writing as I relaxed on her crimson leather couch and spilled my soul to her, she said, ‘Just making a few notes, nothing to worry yourself about, but since I’m a progressive therapist, I’ll give you a sample’…this guy is a psychopath; he’ s selfish, ignorant, godless, funny-looking, pretenious, unsanitary, vertically, mentally, and phyically challenged, pungently fragranced, lacking cells on both sides of the brain, profane, overly passive aggressive, overly active agressive, and just an all-around dull turd!”

Anynomous Foosball Champion

*** Death and Love on the Run***

“Now, we’ll take a look at what has the Diamond King sweating carbon… this one didn’t irritate him and his online pals as much as the cat video. We’ll view that later, “ said Prollen. He dimmed the lights with the remote and hit play.

The video began with a black screen and a caption in bright white letters reading, “How Love (and Diamonds) Can Conquer Anything.” The screen faded into a black-and-white scene showing a young couple grinning at each other as they sat together in the darkness.

Their toneless skin suddenly had a spotlight shining on it, and it made the sad pair glow like they were on a stage. You could vaguely see the bench they were sitting on, but the rest of the frame lacked definition. They were a glimmering, slightly depressed couple floating in a pitch-black universe.

Jarvos couldn’t wait until the end of the clip and blurted out, “Did he borrow Stephenson to shoot this?; It looks just like the Jaylene video. He’s not cheap, and this looks like his style.

“He even found a similar actor; she looks like the crybaby from the original commercial. That’s crazy. How would the Butttruth afford someone like Stephenson?”

Prollen glared at Jarvos and calmly said, “Yes, as I said, the similarities are obvious. It’s not the work of a single amateur with a few dollars to spare. This one is well-produced; a team had to make it. Not just an average wannabe, and no, Stephenson didn’t shoot it.”

“I talked to him this morning, and he seemed offended that I accused him of working for someone else. After telling him we were looking into other production companies for Jaylene’s commercials, he became much friendlier. But I believe him. I don’t think it was him.” Prollen unpaused the video.

The woman in the clip stopped smiling and looked sadly at the camera. “This ring has been in my family for generations,” she said. “It’s not just a diamond sitting on precious metal. It’s a gift from God. I can’t tell you how many times it’s comforted someone in my family when times got tough.”

With her eyes welling up with tears, her husband reached over and put his arm around her to comfort her. She said, “This ring shows that love and a little luck can overcome just about anything.

“Well, they can’t conquer death, but they sure helped my family survive. The story of how this diamond wound up in my family began many years ago when my grandfather was clipping his toenails on the front porch.

“He always said dirty nails were good for the soil and made sure he swept the clippings into the lawn.” She smiled for a second, possibly thinking fondly of her grandpa’s grooming routine.

“He heard a car racing down the road to his house, and he walked down the driveway to see what was going on.” The screen flashed white and then showed a black muscle car barreling down a dirt road with a dust cloud in its wake.

“The driver was going too fast and lost control around the curve by the driveway and crashed into the woods. My gramps said the concussion shook his birdhouse off the oak.

“He ran to the wreck and found a dying man and his bride lying by the smoking car. They were covered in blood and pieces of glass from the windshield, and my grandpa said the bride looked much worse than the groom.”

“I guess they weren’t wearing their seatbelts when they plowed into the tree, but it was more than just that. They had lost a lot of blood before they even got in that wreck. “

“Gramps found out later all about the couple’s story, but he sure didn’t mention to the cops that he had grabbed the wedding ring off the bride’s bloody finger. I don’t think she was completely dead at that point, but I don’t hold that against him.”

“Well, the story was that Martha and Johnny had been married that morning and decided to rob a bank for their honeymoon. They got plenty of money, but the getaway didn’t go well since they didn’t plan on an off-duty security guard coming to retrieve the jacket he’d left on his last shift. This is how it went down…”

The screen faded away and showed a security guard walking into the bank parking lot. He paused to scratch his butt, and he turned his head and saw a well-dressed, masked couple, both with bleached blonde hair, with large white bags running toward a black car.

He later told the cops he had reacted quickly with his gun (and bragged he had used an extended clip: fifteen rounds in his 9-millimeter), but actually, Hank Besper had froze and waited until they started out of the lot before he unloaded on them.

He knew it was his moment to shine; hopefully, he’d get on the force after doing this. No more security work and no more disrespect. Remember your training, he thought, and everything will work out. The scumbags will be dead, the money will go back to the bank, and you’ll be a hero. It’s almost Miller time, buddy; just hang in there and shoot straight.

The car screeched out of the parking space and roared towards the exit (and Hank) at high speed. He pulled the trigger quickly and managed to shatter the drive-thru window of the fast food restaurant across the street with one of the 13 bullets that missed their targets. Two more “known” bullets grazed the car’s roof and damaged the brick of a nearby church.

One whizzed over the passenger side mirror and shattered the plastic tire of a toddler’s Big Wheel while the three-year-old rolled beside his father on the sidewalk. Martha was shot in the neck through the windshield, and Johnny was hit in the shoulder.

His last “identified” round cruised to the left of its target and blew off the Dodge’s side mirror. Two out of fifteen isn’t bad, I guess, Hank thought. The scene faded back to the melodramatic wife.

“It’s very romantic when you think about it, but Gramps said the inside of that crumbled car was a sight. That was back before everyone was snapping pictures from their phones. “

She paused for a second, caught in her memory, and smiled. “He painted a picture of the accident scene and titled it Plush Interior Crime Scene. It made my grandma gag whenever he pulled it out to show it to people.”

“It’s probably good that they’re dead because, for God’s sake, before the robbery, Martha was wanted for killing a door-to-door salesman with a wiffleball bat. She knocked him off the 5th-story balcony of her apartment into the windshield of a Buick. “

“The poor guy was only hawking pop-up bibles and trying to make a living. And Johnny, well, he was wanted for assault and torturing his kidnapped victims with an enema kit. He supposedly got the idea from some pervert in Illinois.”

“After the guts and brain matter were removed from my grandfather’s property, the soil still looked stained. You’ll see it if you return to the same spot today. We used to call it the ‘Lovers’ Last Stand.'”

She teared up while smiling, but her husband gave her a confused look. “Weird, huh? But it’s also kind of beautiful.” She wiped away another tear.

“Anyway, the ring’s been in my family ever since, and anytime life takes a massive dump on one of us, the ring is shared. I gave it to my sister last year when she was going through a rough patch.”

She looked at her husband with puppy-dog eyes and blew her nose into a Kleenex; a small piece of it, aided by mucous, flew between his incredulous eyebrows.

“She’s struggled with a glue-sniffing addiction for years, and it’s taken a toll on her. Besides her lungs being all gummed up, she kept gluing the tube to her face when she nodded out.”

“My sis fought through it, though, and with the Lord’s grace and this blessed ring, she went from huffing rubber cement to Elmer’s. She even stopped snorting the keyboard cleaner. Now she’s doing great. Everything she huffs, smokes, snorts, or injects is organic.”

Her husband smiled and pulled her closer into a hug. After a kiss on her head, he asked, “where does the ring stay when no one’s in trouble?”

“What do you mean, Elliot?” she asked.

“Well, you pass this ring around to everyone in the family who’s had a loss or is a screwup like glue-baby Jill, and it makes them feel better, right? But how does the family decide where the ring is stashed when everybody is happy?”

“Do you rotate it around, or maybe you have a time when, let’s say, your sister is pulling from the ring’s immense power to make her drop that epoxy tube, and she’s had it too long, do you have to confiscate it?”

“Have you had to say, sis, you’ve had your time with the ring, but now it’s time to give it to your uncle Davis cause his hemorrhoids are acting up, and he needs some diamond voodoo?”

With her face turning red and her fists clenching, she tried to keep her cool; she took a deep breath and resisted the urge to slap him.

“Those are all valid questions, Sherlock, but should I have passed it to you when you were fired from your last job—when you were caught on film sneaking into the boss’s office and licking her keyboard?”

*** Dirty Digits ***

Jarvos covered his mouth to stifle his giggles, but his boss still noticed his eyes filling with water.

“All right, I’m glad you think this is all so comical, but we’re not finished. I think Jaylene’s commercials are overly dramatic and maybe cheesy, but they’re not as pretentious or …elitest as the ones in the ‘80s and early ‘90s.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Jarvos trying to wipe away his happy tears and struggling to catch his breath. “It’s just, the Butttruth’s models are right on. She’s the spitting image of the sad mama from the diamond ring ad, and her husband . . . looks just like the guy Jaylene hired, the one with the eyebrow deformities.”

“And the background music. It’s public domain stuff but sounds like he had an orchestra.”

Prollen doubted that his star joker really masterminded the videos, but he had to ask since so much was on the line, and it wasn’t about their reputation; their lives were at stake.

“Jarvos, did you have anything to do with this?”

“What? No, sir, I’m not that creative.” His colleagues all grinned in unison, everyone but Prollen. “I just think it’s funny. I don’t have the time or money to pull off something that looks that good. The film quality is much fancier than anything on my website.”

“Your website?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I don’t have my name or any connection to Nelters on the site. I only designed it to win a bet.”

“What was the bet?”

“Well, first, I have to say that I won the bet. Please, no applause, everyone. Anyway, Mel, my neighbor, told me one night that he couldn’t believe his cousin was getting rich from selling online courses on how to make hemp clothing for injured cats.”

“Just injured cats?” asked Prollen.

“Yeah, you know, sweater patterns for three-legged cats and ones with bulbous heads. The guy is making a killing off it. Well, I said, Mel, anyone can make money selling useless products or information online, and I bet him I could come up with something ridiculous to back up my claims.”

“The bet was for $500; if I lost, I had to buy $500 worth of merchandise from CrippledKittyHempFantastique or whatever it’s called. I created Switchingoffthemlights.com, won the bet, and continue to profit from my site.”

Prollen stared at him for a second and considered moving on, but he had to know what the fool had created in his downtime. “Ok, before we move on, enlighten us. What is the switching the light thing about?”

“Exactly what you said. It’s mostly just photos and short films of my finger switching the lights on and off. But I keep it interesting, and I always change the setting and sometimes disguise or modify my finger.”

“Last week was Thumb Week, and all the switches were manipulated by my left thumb.” Jarvos held up his thumb and slowly turned it for his audience like he was doing an ad for a hand model agency.

“The nail looks better on this one than the one on the right, and I like to keep things up-to-date and polished on my site. During the Dirty Digits week, I purposely jam coffee grounds in my nails before hitting the switch, and the one where I wear a dirty bandage is especially popular.”

“I got thousands of views and now have a skincare startup paying me for their ads. I also sell a course on light switch remodeling.  I didn’t think anyone would ever download it, and no one did at first.”

“But after about three weeks, it started picking up. You know, when that storm hit the coast a few months ago, well, somehow, that helped boost my course purchases.”

“You wouldn’t think people whose homes were nearly destroyed would care about their light switches or the covers or the best lighting to photograph light switches, but they apparently put it high on their list of remodeling projects.”

“It’s nuts, but I’m glad. I was able to go to Paris because of it, but man, it’s an insane world, isn’t it?”

His colleagues stared at him in disbelief, but in the back of each of their minds, they weren’t surprised. Although he was talented and well-liked by most, his sense of humor sometimes rattled the traditionalists in the organization.

“During Halloween, I’ll have monster fingers, bloody fingers, sexy fingers, fingers smeared with chocolate, greasy fingers, fingers with the bone poking out, and, you know, stuff related to the holiday.”

“I play scary music in the background, something creepy like ambient music from the 80s, and in one film, I have a fake hand getting stabbed when it reaches for the switch. Oddly enough, my most popular film is one of a hand getting slapped with a slice of pizza before it turns the light off.”

“Last month, while I was waiting for my car to get fixed, I wandered into the garage and took a few shots and videos with more industrial-looking switches. Most of them look like gigantic versions of the ones you’d see in a circuit breaker panel.”

“But man, that place was dirty. I understand a garage isn’t gonna look like an operating room before they start slicing patients up, but I expect a little more from a European auto shop. I mean, some dude’s whitey tighties, soiled, I might add, were hanging out of the garbage can.”

“But it’s not surprising, considering how things turned out. The mechanics were pissed when I started messing with the lights. I have to click them back and forth quickly when I make short films, and I heard one of the guys yell, ‘ You can’t pop them on and off like that idiot. You’ll blow the breaker!’ I think that’s why my Porsche smelled like sauerkraut.”

Marshall smiled and wondered why a garage would have sauerkraut on hand. Maybe they keep a jar in the back in case they encounter someone obnoxious like Jarvos, or they could have dismantled a Reuben and smeared the fermented cabbage under his leather seats.

“I want to get some in a manufacturing plant or something like it, but I’m trying to avoid getting arrested. Oh, one more thing, during Safe Sex Week, I wrap a condom around my finger…”

“That’s enough! Thank you so much for considering our reputation, Mr. Snoyner. Please avoid flicking the lights around here. You can do that in your downtime when you’re creeping around a paper mill or slaughterhouse.”

“We’ll look at this next masterpiece if there aren’t any more interruptions. It’s not a parody of a specific Jaylene ad, but, as you’ll see, it mocks Darden directly and pokes fun at the company’s failed pet jewelry line.”

“I’m not sure why my predecessor would allow one of our subsidiaries to embark on such a ridiculous concept, but luckily, Jaylene recovered from that disaster. And I have to say, when Darden took over Jaylene after Serinno left, he did an incredible job rebuilding the company’s image after so many deaths. “

“At the end of the video, the Darden impersonator exaggerates the number of pet fatalities even though the actual figure is pretty shocking. It wasn’t 1,700, but at least 50 animals died from the toxic jewelry, and, incredibly, Jaylene survived it, and we, in turn, survived it without dumping them.”

“Maybe it was unfair of the filmmaker to target Darden since he came in after the scandal, but these videos are for entertainment, not for toppling the king of diamonds and his ego.

“And everyone who’s familiar with him knows he’s a good ‘ol boy from his online videos, so they parodied him instead of Serrino. I think that bothered Darden, and his fury has animated several of his online fans, but we’ll get to that later . . . let’s watch the next film.”

End of Act Two

Up Next: Harassing the Diamond King Act Three: Mary Poppins Kills a Butterfly and Bobcats Hunt Darden P. Johnson.

Why Friday the 13th Is Better Than Its Reputation

October 31, 2021 /

Halloween is a great time to stuff your face with candy and watch scary movies. For horror film producers, cheap costume designers, and candy manufacturers, it’s a time of year to make a lot of money. I like Halloween but don’t always enjoy what comes with it.

Many of the films promoted around Halloween are more goofy than scary, and when cable networks show you marathons of movies for 31 days, most days are filled with movies I’m not thrilled to watch.

Horror critics and superfans enjoy breaking scary movies down into subcategories, such as slasher films, monster films, horror science fiction, goat horror (it exists), rodent horror, real-crime serial killer horror, and so on.

I don’t have a favorite horror movie subcategory, but I like a film when it’s entertaining—even if it’s stupid, unrealistic, and cheap.

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One of my favorite brain-dead villains, Jason Vorhees, only makes a brief appearance in the first Friday the 13th film but is responsible for most of the murders, excluding Friday the 13th Part V, in the sequels.

Friday the 13th Part IV was supposed to be the Final Chapter, but since it made too much money, Paramount produced Part V and called it A New Beginning. It’s a laughably bad movie and the only film in the series that features a different mad killer with a hockey mask.

The puny antagonist isn’t Jason Vorhees; he’s a paramedic named Roy. Roy, the killer, doesn’t sound scary for some reason, and why did they choose a paramedic? If you want to watch the best Friday movies, check out the original, Part III, Part VI (Jason Lives), and Jason Goes to Hell, the ninth film.

In Part III, Jason gets his hockey mask from a misunderstood makeup effects nerd, and you can still watch it in 3D if you can find the DVD. The 3D effects are remarkable for a cheap horror movie, and I think they spent more time making the 3D look cool than they did on the story.

Hey boy, do you wanna come with me to summer camp? They hired me as the head cook, and they didn’t care that I’m not a snappy dresser and sometimes wear long-sleeved shirts designed by the criminally insane. Before we go, I better fill up my canteen with leaded gasoline. It works great in the kitchen. I know you’re a dog, but do you know if this gas station sells unfiltered cigarettes?

Friday the 13th (1980)

Although its writer and director admitted they stole the idea from Halloween (1978), Friday the 13th is a better rip-off than the original. The original Halloween is a slasher that changed the genre and was a low-budget hit. The creators are proud of their original slasher idea, but I’m sure they watched Black Christmas in 1974.

For Halloween, John Carpenter replaced the Christmas killer in Black Christmas with another escaped mental patient who murdered high school kids instead of sorority sisters.

He changed the holiday to Halloween because who wants to watch vicious, bloody murder on Christmas? No one in 1974 wanted to watch it, but moviegoers loved Halloween, and in 1980, they fell in love (and hate) with Friday the 13th.

When Sean Cunningham released Friday the 13th in 1980, the critics hated it. They treated it like the contaminated food tossed out of a cruise ship porthole, and newspaper writers across the country made sure to include “gory,” “too much sex,” and “garbage” in their headlines.

Some went to great lengths to convince their readers it was evil trash and bad for America’s youth. Several years ago, I read an article about Gene Siskel’s militant reaction to Friday.

He called Paramount to protest the movie, published Betsy Palmer’s home address in his review, and urged his readers to send her critical letters.

I can’t disagree with everything the critics said. Still, I’m surprised that a low-budget horror film would cause a pretentious, well-paid writer to obliterate a movie far tamer and less exploitative than grindhouse films from the 1970s.

Gory, low-budget movies were nothing new in 1980, but Friday the 13th was one of the first horror films to use realistic-looking fake blood. The makeup effects in the movie are high caliber and help elevate the weak plotting and acting.

Friday the 13th and many of its sequels represent the true, bloody spirit of Halloween even better than the Halloween films. Although Jason Vorhees doesn’t begin murdering college students until Part 2, he borrows his psychotic mother’s camera angle from the first movie.

The first-person killer view is used throughout the original Friday, and though it’s well done, it was done with more style in Dario Argento’s Susperia three years earlier.

Friday’s setting appeals to me more than other films like Halloween. The location was an authentic camp in New Jersey, and Sean Cunningham and his low-budget team were lucky to land a spot that didn’t look like a cheap Hollywood set. Halloween wasn’t shot on a stage, but the locations in California are dull and unremarkable.

The wooded landscape and sparkling lake in Friday are gorgeous in the daytime, but the atmosphere becomes frightening when the sun drops. When an intense thunderstorm rumbles into the camp, the violence ramps up, and you see more of Tom Savini’s gory effects.

The movie’s script was written while the film was being made, and you shouldn’t search for any hidden meaning in the dialogue or plot. Some of the film’s opponents believed the filmmakers were evil peddlers of sex and murder, and somehow, the movie could convince the country’s youth to embrace violence and wreck society. However, Friday the 13th isn’t that manipulative or nefarious.

Kevin’s Bacon gets tenderized. The false neck and shoulders are not as obvious when you watch the film on VHS.

It’s only the result of Sean Cunningham trying to make a higher-quality, more successful horror film than Halloween. Although it’s dipped in sleaze in some scenes, it’s not as lurid or controversial as some critics claimed. It doesn’t contain subliminal images or satanic sound effects.

Some parts of the soundtrack sound oddly similar to the music in Psycho, and like the film itself, it’s a world-class rip-off. Without the screeching violins and the weirdo that keeps whispering “Kill, Ma” when Mrs. Vorhees is stalking counselors, the movie wouldn’t be the same.

The cinematography and music are impressive for an amateur team. Cunningham created a scary film without good acting, a cohesive plot, support from the media, or a big budget. It’s ridiculous and amusing, and I’m still confused as to why some critics complained about the sex.

There’s only one brief sex scene, and it teaches teenagers a valuable lesson. If you make love or smoke pot at summer camp, you’ll be killed. The filmmakers weren’t destroying America’s youth; they were encouraging the kids of 1980 to live like Puritans and avoid vices and matters of the flesh.

The film provides valuable lessons, such as the importance of well-lit bathrooms, how hitchhiking can kill you, and why playing strip Monopoly doesn’t sound sexy.

Aliens and the Fifth Sequel

When I went with my father to see Aliens in 1986, there was a group of drunken college students in the front row. When the previews began, they kept hollering and carrying on, but suddenly, they got quiet.

A teaser trailer from Friday the 13th Part VI had them mystified. A lightning bolt struck Jason’s tombstone at the end of the trailer, and the subtitle Jason Lives roared onto the screen. The front-row fools erupted in applause and started cheering Jason! Jason! Jason!

I remember being surprised that the movies were still popular, especially after the disaster of Part V. There are 12 Friday the 13th films you can view, but someday, another filmmaker will resurrect Jason and kill him again.

Jolt Review

October 19, 2021 /

Online streaming services like Amazon Prime have been criticized for producing a massive amount of unwatchable material. They make award-winning films and clever, original series, but they also closely follow popular trends and try to guess what the public wants. Sometimes, they succeed, but recently, they’ve scored more than a few misses.

From the trailer, Tanya Wexler’s Jolt looks like a mindless popcorn movie you can enjoy without thinking too hard. In the past, you may have had days when you were stuck on the couch and too lazy to look for the remote.

A bad (sometimes awful) film draws you in with explosions, hilarious dialogue, and pretty faces. Watching the film makes you regret wasting the afternoon, but eventually, you enjoy the movie and laugh at all the unintentional humor.

Popcorn films are entertaining when they’re either well-made or hilarious. Action films don’t need a big budget. The 1977 classic from Elliot Silverstein, The Car, is a good example. It’s full of bad acting and plotting, but it made me laugh in all the wrong places, and I had a blast watching it.

Jolt is not one of those films, and the talented cast cannot save or handle the awful (worse than the rough drafts for Reefer Madness) mess. Kate Beckinsale usually excels in science fiction/action movies, and she has a talent for sarcasm.

She is great as a half-vampire killer in the Underworld movies and creepy as the antagonist in the remake of Total Recall. She can act, but only a complete rewrite of the script and soundtrack would’ve saved her electrified heroine.

In Jolt, she’s plagued with anger management issues so severe that she has to shock herself continuously to keep from murdering the world.

Bad Dialogue and Music, but Nice McLaren

Susan Sarandon narrates the film’s opening and introduces the adolescent version of Lindy (Kate Beckinsale). The painful monologue is a harbinger of a rough road ahead.

As a young girl, Lindy pushes a friend’s face into a birthday cake and beats a young boy repeatedly with a baseball bat.  Although violent sequences with children can be framed with a lighter touch (as in Christmas movies) and portrayed as funny, Wexler’s scenes are darker and more exploitative.

Since the early 20th century, films and television shows have displayed violent children with more grace, humor, and class.

For instance, the kids in the Umbrella Academy kill henchmen with their superpowers; sometimes they do it in twisted and graphic ways, but they never seem like cheap thugs, and most of the time, they’re humorous.

Young Lindy acts like she could bite the head off the Antichrist, but she’s so unlikeable and one-dimensional you don’t care about her struggles.

As for the soundtrack, it only adds to the misery. I can tolerate music I don’t like when it seems to fit the scene as long as it’s brief. Jolt’s soundtrack, put together by Dominic Lewis (a British composer for television and film), is one of the worst I’ve ever heard, and I lived through the ‘80s.

Whether it’s death metal from Latvia, hip-hop from a sociologist, or a Kenny G song recorded in a Geritol factory, the songs have to complement the action in the movie.

Lindy struts down in the street and tries not to stab pedestrians while the soundtrack tears into your eardrums and rips them to shreds.

Repeat the Same Joke Several Times, and It Just Gets Funnier

Lindy goes on a rampage when she discovers the guy she went on one date with is dead. Her loose connection to her one-night stand is frequently brought up throughout the film, and after the seventh or eighth time a new character asks Lindy about her almost-boyfriend, you might laugh out of boredom.

It’s a shame that Stanley Tucci and Kate Beckinsale couldn’t save the mess, but they’re not merely handicapped by the script. They act like Charles Bronson in Death Wish V. They don’t care enough or seem interested in making the film better. However, maybe the most entertaining Death Wish film is a bad example.

Bronson cruises through Death Wish V without much emotion, but at least the story involves a psychopath named Flakes with a dandruff problem.

Throughout the film, the cold-blood killer brushes dandruff off his shoulders in disgust. At one point, the dialogue focuses on Flakes complaining about his new medicated shampoo.

Ah, the Red Light District looks heavenly this evening!

He is a repulsive character. He runs people over with cars, slams Bronson’s girlfriend headfirst into a bathroom mirror, and complains about his itchy noggin. However, he’s more appealing than the heroes and villains in Jolt.

He dies when Bronson calls out, “Hey Flakes, I gotta cure for your dandruff problem,” and triggers an explosive remote-control soccer ball that sets Flakes’ head ablaze. Now, that’s quality bad cinema.

Here are some other bad movies you can watch instead of Electric Beckinsale:

  • Death Wish IV
  • Return of the Killer Tomatoes (starring George Clooney)
  • Hudson Hawk
  • Return of the Living Dead
  • Gotcha!
  • License To Drive
  • Our Man Flint
  • In Like Flint
  • The Presidio
  • Loaded Weapon
  • The Last Temptation of Christ
  • Night Patrol
  • The Big Chill
  • The Ice Pirates
  • Witchboard
  • The Night of the Comet
  • Throw Mama From the Train
  • Moonraker
  • Surf Nazis Must Die
  • Flash Gordon

Baked Blackened Chicken and Potatoes

August 30, 2021 /
One-Pot Meal Without an Instant Pot

The idea for this blackened chicken one-pot meal came from the 1997 edition of the Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer, Marion Rombauer Becker, and Ethan Becker.

You can still find it on eBay, but I don’t think the 1997 version is online. The original recipe includes a small section describing how French villagers used to prepare this dish.

Before going to church, the townspeople would bring their potato and chicken casseroles to the baker to cook. The baker reserved space in the bread ovens for the town’s meals every Sunday.

After church, they picked up the casseroles, grabbed a few baguettes, walked next door for 2 cases of Châteauneuf du Pape, and headed home to enjoy lunch, laughter, and intoxication with their loving family.

The original vinaigrette was bland, and it made the potatoes a little greasy. The basil vinaigrette in my recipe does not include salt and pepper, but the teaspoon of blackening seasoning makes up for it. You can experiment with different oil and seasoning mixtures or rely only on olive oil with salt and pepper.

Ingredients

4lbs chicken breasts pounded flat

1 Yellow Bell Pepper

2 Sweet Banana Peppers

½ cup sliced sweet white onion

6-8 Oregon Gold Potatoes

½ cup fresh basil

4 Tbsp+ 1 tsp blackening seasoning

1 Lime Juiced

1 tsp Dijon mustard

⅔ cup + 1Tbsp Olive oil

Blackening Seasoning (Medium Heat)

1Tbsp ground black pepper

1 Tbsp oregano

½ Tbsp onion Powder

½ Tbsp garlic powder

1 Tbsp paprika

2 tsp salt

2 tsp ground mustard

1 tsp crushed red pepper flakes

¼ tsp Cayenne

  • This makes ½ cup of blackening seasoning, but you’ll only need around I Tbsp for each chicken breast.

Instructions

  • Coat a large (10.5×14) casserole dish with baking spray. Slice the potatoes, bell peppers, and white onions as thin as possible. Arrange the potato slices evenly and cover with bell peppers and onions.
  • Blend the basil, lime juice, Dijon mustard, and 1 tsp blackening seasoning in a food processor for 30 seconds. Add the olive oil slowly until the mixture emulsifies.
  • Coat the chicken with the blackening seasoning and heat 1 Tbsp olive oil in a cast-iron skillet. Sear the breasts for two minutes on each side. Drizzle half of the basil mixture over the spuds and peppers.
  • Place the breasts on top of the vegetables and distribute the banana peppers around evenly. Pour the basil vinaigrette over the chicken.
  • Bake in a preheated oven at 375°F for 70-80 minutes.
  • Set aside on a cooling rack and wait five minutes before eating

The potatoes can overlap each other but try to cut them the same size to cook evenly. You can use Russets, red potatoes, or gold potatoes, but gold potatoes and red potatoes hold their shape, and Russets tend to break apart.

I like the flavor of potatoes with the skin on, but you’re welcome to rip their skin off. This is a meal I try to make quickly, and sometimes laziness gets in the way of my tater prepping duties.

You can use practically any vegetable: tomatoes, zucchini, cauliflower, carrots, or rutabaga (maybe not). The last time I made it I used the red potatoes I grew, but this time, only the banana peppers and basil are homegrown.

Pouring the vinaigrette over the vegetables before adding the chicken ensures even baking and tastier peppers, onions, and potatoes.

Cover the chicken thoroughly with the vinaigrette. A glass pourer helps you estimate how much you use for each breast. I put some banana peppers on top of the chicken and added more dressing, but the peppers get a little crispy on the edges. I like slightly charred peppers (I still cut off the burned spots), but you can spread the pepper rings around and leave them off the chicken.

Several years ago, I interviewed with my left hand for the part of “thing” for the Addams Family movie, but the casting director said I was the worst hand model she had ever seen.

“Too much hair near the wrist, and the hand veins are too prominent and puffy,” she said. “Come back and see me when you‘ve shaved those wrists and flattened those veins. Ok, sweetie?”

That was a disappointment, but my hand had starring roles in a Liquid Plumber commercial, an online Glock handgun ad, a magazine ad for an air freshener that causes impotence, and an online video for a health and wellness supplement that has disturbing and uncomfortable side effects.

Cooking and Gardening for American Slackers Part II: Roasting Garlic and Browning Butter

June 1, 2021 /
I inherited this skillet from my Grandma. It’s older than me and doesn’t require too much oil, since it has over fifty years of seasoning.

If you love garlic in your food but aren’t fond of fresh garlic’s aftertaste, try roasting the garlic. Roasting garlic reduces the power of the pungent bulb, but most recipes require lengthy cooking times.

If you have time to cook it for one or two hours, oven-roasted garlic produces the best texture and flavor to spread on toasted bread or add to an uncooked dip.

Garlic’s flavor and potency can be traced back to its family history; it’s in the same family as onions and lilies. However, elephant garlic varieties are unrelated to garlic and grouped with the leek family.

Quick Garlic Roasting

You can avoid cooking garlic in the oven by toasting it in a cast-iron skillet. Slow-roasted garlic is best if you’re eating it as a spread, but the quicker method is ideal when you’re adding it to sauces, stews, or baked meals. All you need is olive oil, a cast-iron skillet, and one head of garlic.

One head of garlic separated into bulbs (leave the skin on)

1tsp Olive oil

Instructions: Coat the cast-iron pan with olive oil and heat on medium. When the pan is hot, add garlic bulbs and spread out. Cook for 4 to 5 minutes a side until skin is blackened and garlic is soft.

Even vampires can consume roasted garlic.

When the garlic has cooled, peel off the skins and add to your favorite soup, stew, or Italian sauce. I’ve also used the quick roasting method for chicken cacciatore, tomato sauce, beef stew, baked manicotti, and gumbo.

In the summertime, I make basil pesto more frequently with a large crop of sweet basil growing next to my backdoor. I use fresh garlic in pesto when I going to heat the sauce, but for pesto going over fresh mozzarella and tomatoes, or another cold salad, I add roasted garlic.

With roasted garlic in pesto, the parmesan and basil flavors are more apparent.

Oven Roasted Garlic

Preheat the oven to 325°F.

Slice off the top of the Garlic head and place in an oiled casserole dish. Drizzle 1Tbsp of olive oil (you can also use chicken stock or water) over the garlic, cover with foil, and bake for one hour.

Browning Butter

Do you prefer homemade cookies over grocery store cookies? If you have working taste buds, brain activity, and a pulse, you probably said yes. It’s easier to spend three to six dollars for pre-packaged cookies loaded with preservatives and remnants of old peanuts (from making another snack product), but brand-name cookies have as much flavor as distilled water.

They’re expensive for flavorless matter, but they often have an advantage over homemade recipes. They stay soft longer. Homemade cookies taste delicious straight from the oven, but they begin to dry out the next day. To solve the problem, you can brown the butter before adding it to the batter.

Don’t let a small band of elves (Keebler’s indentured servants), working out of a tree, produce a better cookie than you. Why do people feel comforted having elves making their cookies and Christmas presents? Have you seen how easily they can kill an orc with a bow and arrow? They’re too violent to be good bakers.

Heat one stick of butter (sliced butter melts faster- it covers more surface area) over a skillet on medium. When the butter is completely melted, increase the heat to medium-high and stir with a wooden spoon or whisk to avoid sticking.

After 6 to 8 minutes, the butter should start browning and foaming. Remove from the heat and allow to cool before adding to the cookie batter.

Espresso Chip cookies are tasty and fattening. I’m glad I polished my tea kettle for the cookie photo shoot. Man, that thing is shiny!

Espresso Chip Cookies

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp baking soda

1 cup baking cocoa

1 ½ cups brown sugar

¾ cup granulated sugar

½ tsp salt

½ cup vegetable oil

1 stick salted butter browned and cooled

3 large eggs

1 cup Espresso chips

½ cup ground walnuts

1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 325°F

Mix the dry ingredients in a metal bowl: flour, cocoa, salt, and baking soda.

Mix the butter, brown sugar, granulated sugar, and vegetable oil in a mixer on medium until the mixture resembles clumpy sand. Slow the mixer down to low speed. Add the eggs, one at a time (spaced thirty seconds apart), and the vanilla extract.

Add the flour mixture one cup at a time until the batter is blended. Add the expresso chips and walnut last. Place 2Tbsp blobs of cookie dough on a greased cookie sheet and cook for 10-12 minutes. Cool cookies on a cooling rack.

Makes about 3 dozen cookies.

The Midnight Sky Review ⁕⁕½

January 20, 2021 /

2049 Doesn’t Have Beard Defrosters

George Clooney’s 2020 film, The Midnight Sky, is an ambitious end-of-the-world tale. The story alternates between Clooney’s struggle with Arctic isolation and a group of astronauts trying to make it back to a worthless Earth.

I wasn’t a fan of Clooney’s previous directorial efforts, like Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, but after he starred in Oh Brother Where Art Thou, I began to respect his acting ability.

Of course, his magnificent portrayal of an older guy that helped the young women of the Facts of Life (right before it went off the air in the late 80s) is worth mentioning. Also, his genius in Return of the Killer Tomatoes is something to behold and regrettably forget.

With the exception of the Mad Max films, The Midnight sky has more humor than most dystopian films, but it suffers from an overload of melodrama. Yes, the world ending would be a depressing experience, but the movie sometimes becomes fixated on grief.

The Sadness…It’s Growing, but Hey, Turn Up That Neil Diamond

Augustine Lofthouse is a lonely dude. He lives by himself in an arctic outpost and spends his days drinking scotch, checking the status of radiation building up around the globe, hooking himself up to a blood transfusion machine, and trying to contact the last group of astronauts on the planet.

When he rushes into the kitchen to put out a fire, he discovers a young girl. After unsuccessfully trying to contact someone to come back for the girl, he reluctantly takes care of the child and eventually warms up to her.

In a series of flashbacks, we learn more about Augustine’s past and how he winds up in a frozen landscape. The flashbacks are positioned well in the film, but every time Clooney examines his memories, he gets sad and remorseful.

His acting and his co-stars’ performances are impressive, but the overabundance of gloom in the story can become numbing until someone, like his young co-star Caoilinn Springall, lightens the mood. However, one mood-lightening moment that I didn’t enjoy (I was actually cringing and searching for ear protection) was when the astronauts go on a spacewalk to make repairs.

One of the jokers inside the ship, played by Demián Bichir, decides to play Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” while his colleagues make life-saving repairs to the ship’s exterior. They all sing along, except for the youngest crew member who mentions that she doesn’t know the tune, and everyone does their complex repairs while they’re grinning and bobbing along to Neil’s groaning.

I don’t hate Neil Diamond. I think he’s a cornball, but I liked him in The Last Waltz. As far as his acting is concerned, I’d rather watch a series of instructional films produced in the 1950s. By using “Sweet Caroline,” Clooney escapes to another movie.

His film is no longer a serious end of the world story; it’s a short, goofy musical in space. This may have been his intention all along. He puts something stupid in the middle of the movie so that it’s not such a downer. I get it, but I didn’t enjoy it.

While the scene was playing out, I thought about a plot device that’s been overused by great directors and dime-store operators for several years. Out-of-place musical numbers (in a non-musical movie) usually preempt a horrific event.

Clooney doesn’t disappoint, and a tragedy occurs. I won’t mention what happens, but I was pleased with the special effects used to create zero gravity blood. It’s one of the most horrifying and visually creative scenes in the picture.

Frozen Eyebrows Vs. Space Brooders

Great. Now that the entire world is dead, I can finally grow out my beard. This is America’s beard. No, it’s the world’s beard now. Only damn beard left on the planet. And no more trimming my ear hair either. Gonna let it grow out till it reaches my feet. Maybe I’ll get in Guinness. Shucks, they’re all dead too.

The film shifts back and forth between Augustine’s plight and the desperate astronauts. I liked the interactions between Augustine and his silent companion much more than the brooding space people.

The special effects are high-dollar, and most of the time, I thought they looked fairly good. Clooney’s role in Gravity must have had a profound impact on him. Some of the action scenes in space look incredibly similar to those in his previous film, but I think Gravity’s effects are more polished and realistic.

Some of the space scenes, especially when they have a wide shot of the space station rotating, appear computer-generated. Using digital effects is OK when you forget that you’re looking at something artificial. For the most part, The Midnight Sky’s effects are commendable, but every once in a while, you can see weakness in the visuals.

Although I picked on it, The Midnight Sky is an entertaining film, albeit a gloomy one. It has some predictable moments, but it excels in creating an atmosphere that feels desolate and without hope. That’s fitting when radiation has killed everyone on the planet except a sick bearded guy, a silent little girl, and a group of singing space rangers.

Grandmother's house needs some pruning.

After the Thanksgiving Feast, Try Enchiladas

November 29, 2020 /

Instead of settling for turkey sandwiches or one of those gut-busting casseroles you’ve seen on a lousy cooking show where they cram turkey, gravy, cranberry relish, green bean casserole, yams, stuffing, and mashed potatoes into a large baking dish, top with bacon, country ham, gouda cheese, balsamic reduction, and Metamucil, you can make enchiladas.

I’m against wasting leftovers and feel guilty when I have to throw away food, but if I’d rather feed my trashcan than consume something repulsive created by Chef Cletus.

One enjoyable alternative to throwing away leftovers is to toss the food (or place it in bowls) into your backyard. You’ll attract the local wildlife that will appreciate a late Thanksgiving feast.

Make sure that the food is in a direct line of sight from your windows. Wait for the bunny, fox, deer, or wharf rat to munch on your bait and take a shot with a high-powered rifle or crossbow.

After a little gutting, skinning, and slicing, you’ll have another delicious meal that you can use to fatten your in-laws before they head back to Key West. The circle of life or maybe the food chain is incredible when you take an active role. Now, back to reality and enchiladas.

This recipe is based on one that my Dad uses to make enchiladas the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t remember the name of the fifty-year-old book it comes from, but I call it the brown 1970s Mexican Cookbook with gold lettering and multiple stains.

I’ve tried several homemade and restaurant enchiladas, but this one is my favorite.

Before trying the recipe, here are a few suggestions:

  • After cooking the sauce, don’t add the sour cream until you’ve taken the pot off the heat. The sour cream will curdle if the sauce is too hot.
  • When you fry the corn tortillas, set the burner between medium and medium-high. You don’t want to fry them too long, or they’ll get rigid and difficult to fold.
  • If you have extra corn tortillas, you can cut them into sixths and fry them for 2 minutes for homemade corn chips. Add salt when they’re still hot.
  • You can use chicken, turkey, or scrambled eggs (the original recipe calls for 7 large eggs scrambled), but I’ve only made them with chicken and turkey.
  • Avoid wearing lederhosen or parachute pants when you’re making enchiladas. An unexpected grease fire can be painful if your britches aren’t fireproof.
  • Seize the day, save the whales, smell the roses (they may be dead after last night’s freeze), maximize your potential, take out the garbage, clean the gutters, spot weld that hole in Grandpa Manson’s operating table, and give fleece a chance.

Turkey Enchiladas

12 Corn tortillas

2 cups shredded turkey

1 cup finely diced white onion

2 ½ cups shredded Oaxaca cheese

1 ¾ cups vegetable or peanut oil

Tomato Sauce

2 large cans whole tomatoes (or 10 to 12 fresh tomatoes)

4 cloves fresh garlic

4-8 Jalapeno rings (or 2 fresh jalapenos)

After cooking sauce, stir in ½ tsp salt and ½ cup sour cream.

Instructions

  • Set your oven to broil and cook the tomatoes, peppers, and garlic on a greased cookie sheet for 12-15 minutes. You can also put them on a lined pan on an outdoor grill set to medium-high.
  • Allow the vegetables to cool for five minutes and blend (in a blender- not a food processor) for 2 minutes. Add the diced onions to an oiled skillet and sauté for five minutes. Set aside to cool.
  • Heat oil in a cast-iron skillet and cook tortillas, one at a time, for 10 seconds on each side. Place the tortillas on a plate lined with paper towels to absorb the excess grease.
  • Heat a tbsp of vegetable in a deep skillet, on medium-high, and heat the tomato puree, frequently stirring, until it begins to thicken. Remove from the heat and stir in salt and sour cream.
  • Set up a cutting board on the counter near the stove. Spray a deep casserole dish with cooking spray and set it aside. With a pair of tongs, dip the cooked tortillas into the tomato sauce and place them on the cutting board.
  • Add 2 tbsp turkey, 2 tbsp cheese, and a tsp of cooked onions to the tortilla and roll into a tube. Place the rolls seam-side down in the cooking dish. You should have 2 rows of tortillas with six in each row.
  • Pour the tomato sauce on the rolls. Top with the remaining 1 cup of cheese.
  • Bake the enchiladas for 30 minutes at 350°F.
  • Serve them while they’re piping hot!

The Lodge Is Not Worth Your Time

September 18, 2020 /

A Film Fit For a Landfill (Not a Fancy One)

Don’t fall for the movie’s effective trailer or positive reviews. Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala’s 2019 film, The Lodge, is a disappointing 108 minutes. It’s not one of the “scariest movies of all time” or a “reinvention of the genre.” If you have any unpleasant chores to complete in under two hours, you’re better off finishing them than attempting to watch one of the dumbest horror/psychological movies ever created.

I like horror films set in frigid environments, and I’m a big fan of The Thing (all three versions), The Shining, and 30 Days of Night. Like stormy nights, frozen landscapes seem to work well in horror movies.

The weather isolates the protagonists and makes it more challenging to fight off the villain or monster. Also, most horror directors undoubtedly appreciate the way that movie blood appears on snow.

During a warmer season, a trail of blood leading to a decapitated noggin would not be as noticeable as it would during a snowy winter. The Lodge fails to take advantage of the snow/blood combination and relies on indoor settings to stage its violent acts.

However, because of the film’s writing (worthy of an adolescent), it fails to deliver chilling moments. Even in the middle of a blizzard, the characters’ dire situation becomes boring rather than suspenseful.

The film’s plot involves a father, son, and daughter who spend their Christmas vacation at a snowy lodge in the woods with the father’s psychotic girlfriend. They’re still grieving the loss of their mother.

In the opening of the film, their Mom shoots herself in the head after she finds out her husband is divorcing her and planning on marrying one of the Manson women.

It sounds just like a classic Christmas movie. Doesn’t it? Suicide, cult members, strange children, and moronic filmmaking bring out the holiday spirit.

The Lodge is streaming on Hulu, but you’re better off watching the two-part Brady Bunch episode when the family goes to Hawaii. Greg’s struggle with a tiny wave that nearly kills him is riveting television.

Death Row Prisoners: Your Next Film Will Be The Lodge. Enjoy!

The kids’ father, played by Richard Armitage, is in the race for the worst parent of the year award. He casually decides to tell his wife (Alicia Silverstone) that he needs a divorce when he picks up the kids at her house.

Richard (doing a sloppy Michael Fassbender impersonation) wants to marry Grace (Riley Keough). Grace was one of the subjects of his last books and was the only survivor of a fundamentalist suicide cult.

When Richard’s children search the web for details about their future stepmom, they find a disturbing film depicting several dead bodies with their mouths taped shut and the word “SIN” written on the tape.

They type her name in a search engine, and an instant snuff film appears. Children live in a great age of technology, and I’m jealous that I didn’t have such a graphic resource at my disposal when I was a kid.

The camera pans around to all of the dead cult members in sleeping bags and focuses on a mirror that shows Grace operating the camera.

Why would an author begin dating a mass murderer while he’s researching a book? And how did Grace escape a life prison sentence or a room at an asylum?

These questions are never answered, but thankfully, you won’t notice because The Lodge only becomes more ridiculous and amateurish as the film progresses.

Six months after his wife’s suicide, Richard has a great idea.

He decides to take Grace and his two children to a secluded cabin in the woods. Like several other haunted house or secluded cabin movies, Richard gets called away for a vital work issue and must leave Grace alone with his children.

Before he leaves, he decides to create some foreshadowing for the film.  

In one of the most idiotic scenes of the movie, Richard gives Grace a shooting lesson with his old revolver. Of course, she doesn’t need his lessons. She shoots a tree repeatedly like a western sharpshooter and empties the pistol.

Providing gun lessons to a former cult member who looks like she hasn’t slept in a year is an excellent plan. Does Richard secretly hate his children?

Riley, Will You Speak Up, Please?

Compared to the performances in horror films from the ’80s, the acting in The Lodge isn’t awful. At least the kids aren’t bad. Riley Keough’s performance as Grace isn’t too convincing. She looks ragged, has rings under her eyes, and barely speaks above a whisper throughout the film.

Indeed, she appears to be a cultist who shouldn’t be babysitting your kids, but her muted speech and painkiller demeanor are more stylish than scary.

She attempts to act like a disturbed person but only comes off as someone who failed at loving up to the goth kids in high school. When Grace begins to hallucinate after losing her medication, the movie starts to show some signs of life.

All of her food, clothes, meds, and loving dog disappear overnight, and the children act stunned when they’re accused of the crime. To make things more unpleasant, the generator stops working, and the power goes out.

The kids have to endure a frigid cabin during a blizzard with an increasingly unhinged mass murderer, but it’s hard to feel sorry for them.

When Grace finds a picture of the kids with the words “In Loving Memory of” buried in the snow, the teenager (Aidan, played by Jaeden Martell) suggests to Grace that all of them are dead.

Aidan pretends to hang himself to scare Grace, but she’s unconvinced that they’re in limbo between heaven and hell until she finds her frozen dog. The dog’s death is the breaking point for Grace, and I guess it was for me, too.

The dog was the only likable part of the movie. I can handle poorly written scripts and bad acting, but I struggled to make it through a cinematic disaster that included a dead dog scene. The kids supposedly didn’t intend to release the dog into the frozen landscape.

However, it’s challenging to believe the kids after they’ve spent their time tormenting a psychopath.

Sympathy can be a compelling emotion in a horror movie. When you identify with a victim, their death affects you, but when every character (except the dog) is worthless, their demise isn’t unpleasant. It’s welcome.

Tips for Growing Fresh Basil: Frequent Decapitations

August 24, 2020 /
Enjoy the sun while you can. Soon, you’ll be pulverized into pesto or simmering in marinara sauce.

Chop Off Their Heads, and the Herbs Will Grow! from Morris Peplo (amateur gardener, jai alai enthusiast, hang glider pilot, and landscape artist focusing on exotic fungi)

Basil Chopping

Basil is an excellent herb to grow in the summertime, but if your plants are growing straight up without forming a broad base, you should consider decapitating them. Pruning is a kinder term, but this is a cooking and cinema site that reviews horror films, and I thought head-chopping was more characteristic of the site’s contents.

It’s best to lop off the heads when the plant is only a few months old, but you can prune basil at any time. If you live in the south, your basil may continue to produce leaves until October. In North Carolina, we usually get the first freeze around Halloween, and the herb won’t survive too many nights that dip below 43°F.

Some gardeners are hesitant to prune plants like herbs or vegetables and would rather have nature run its course. There’s nothing wrong with that method if you like small harvests, but several edible plants like peppers and herbs will produce more if you crop off the lanky stems.

A 6 foot Fuji Apple Tree reduced to a sad-looking nub.

Tree Stunting

On the subject of plant mutilation, I recommend decapitating fruit trees that may be too large for your yard. Some apple varieties can grow 17-20 ft. high and around 6 ft. wide. That’s fine if you have plenty of space in your yard and enjoy picking fruit with a ladder.

For backyards and community gardens, you don’t need to simulate an orchard layout to grow healthy fruit trees. I have Fuji and honey crisp apple trees in my backyard that were cropped before being planted.

My backyard is pretty small, but I have stunted apple trees, a fig tree and paw-paw tree on espalier lines, and seven blueberry bushes. The apple trees look more like shrubs or miniature trees that a Hobbit would be proud to own.

Both of the trees were over six feet tall and 18 months old. I could barely cram them in my Honda Civic for the ride home, and I remember the tip of the Fuji poking into my AC vent on my dashboard.

Yes, I realize that a wise man would chop the trees before shoving them in a compact car, but I like driving with branches scraping the back of my head. I really feel closer to nature.

It was like the trees and I had become one being. No, that’s rubbish. I’m lazy, and I appreciate challenges and suffering. I hope no one left the site when I started sounding like a weirdo, but the longhair music playing in the background was affecting my judgment…

I replaced the love tunes with Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. It fits for this post since some of Zappa’s work focuses on food. His early masterpiece, “Call Any Vegetable,” is an excellent selection when you’re shucking corn with your loved ones, peeling spuds, extracting pine nuts, or thrashing wheat.

If you’re making homemade snow cones with the family, “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” is a good choice (and a valuable lesson for young children), and when you’re butchering a pig, cow, chicken, or squirrel, I think “Uncle Meat” is an ideal background song.

Fig espalier with cordon style

Back to Dismembering Fruit Trees

If you buy a fruit tree that’s under two years old, you’ll need to remove ¾ of the trunk. It seems extreme, but the pathetic, nubby, stick in the ground will eventually develop into a miniature tree. Your cropped tree should be about eighteen inches tall.

When you plant the runt, you should also trim the roots. If the root ball is bound in burlap, cut it off. The burlap can hinder the root’s growth. You want the roots to grow freely, but by trimming the roots, you can limit the space that the roots will occupy when the tree is more mature.

You might have to wait for two weeks or more before you see any growth on your Charlie Brown Christmas stick. My trees began to form branches after sixteen days, and it is agonizing to wonder before the tree grows if you made a bad decision.

If you’re patient, the sticks will turn into healthy trees. Fruit trees are not instant gratification plants. My apple trees have another year before they’ll produce fruit, and my paw-paw (a fruit tree native to North Carolina) will not produce for eight or nine more years.

However, my blueberry bushes produced edible berries after two years, and if you want a shrub that grows and flowers quickly, blueberry bushes may be for you. I had a massive harvest from my blueberries this summer.

My family and friends were happy to get baked goods, and I managed to feed a family of comical mockingbirds also.

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