Horror in Non Traditional Horror Movies

I like scary movies. Let me qualify that, I like GOOD scary movies. When comparing the list of scary movies to good scary movies, one is vastly larger than the other. As such, I have learned to find and appreciate scary moments in movies that don't necessarily fall within the traditional realm of scary. A few examples of what, to me, are truly scary moments in movies: the Raptors in the kitchen in Jurassic Park; the silent, perfectly calm sea immediately following the first attack in the opening of Jaws; the spirits that come out of the Ark of the Covenant at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark; the various clown nightmares from Pee Wee's Big Adventure; the neighbors digging in the rain at night from The Burbs; the list goes on and on. I recently found a new scene to add to the list.

I love the Toho Godzilla movies. They are often times campy, have bad special effects, and weird plots, but I love them. They are good movie fun. I was recently re-watching Godzilla 2000 for the first time since it's release in 1999, and amidst all the fun monster action there was a truly chilling scene. Early on in the movie Godzilla attacks a small (compared to Tokyo) city. During the attack a man, his daughter, (both of whom head up the Godzilla Prediction Network) and a reporter are looking for Godzilla. Naturally, they find him and frantically drive away screaming. What follows is a typical Toho Godzilla smash up buildings scene. It's fun. Cut to our protagonists driving away. It is a backward tracking shot in front of the car, the night is mostly peaceful as they drive. The scenery behind them is mostly calm, obviously destruction is happening as you can see the glow of distant fire. The road takes a gradually turn, which brings Godzilla into the frame; a long way off, but still heading in their general direction, smashing up shop along the way. He's not chasing them, he doesn't even know they exist, he's just heading in the same direction. The unexpected feeling of dread that came over me is what has cemented this scene's position on my list of scary movie moments. Godzilla is a force of nature, or an act of God that the protagonists are completely helpless against. You can't hide from a tsunami, you can't punch a hurricane, the only thing you can do is try to get to safety and let the force complete its path. It reminded me of the feeling of evacuating during Harvey.

Modern Depictions of Feminism

SPOILER WARNING FOR AVENGERS ENDGAME.

I will not be so bold as to say that there have never been strong female role models in movies historically. Two examples are Ripley and Sara Conner. The fact that I can only immediately pull two from the top of my mind goes to show that there is a vastly unrepresented portion of the audience.

Over the weekend, (like everyone else in the world, if box office numbers are accurate) I went and saw Endgame. I enjoy the Marvel movies, but I'm a pretty casual fan. I've always leaned more towards the darker and more serious comic book content. I love DC, Vertigo (I know it's a redundant distinction), Dark Horse, and the various works of Alan Moore. I'm glad I live in a world in which the Marvel movies are popular and attract a greater fan base. A raising tide lifts all ships, as it were.

As I was saying, although I've seen most of the Marvel movies (I think the only one I have missed at this point is Captain Marvel), I have no investment in them. They're fun and entertaining, but that's about it for me. Going in to Endgame I was aware that Robert Downy Jr gets a paycheck every movie somewhere in the neighborhood of 80 million, and given that expense, he probably wasn't going to make it out alive. The same sensibility went for Christ Evans and Chris Hemsworth. All of the original avengers are too expensive to keep around. So I wasn't surprised when Tony made the ultimate sacrifice, or when Cap was proactively aged out of the picture. Surprise surprise, Thor might be sticking around. With all these big character changes and deaths, I've been seeing a lot of social media posts about fanboys crying in the theater. Was I moved to tears by the dramatic conclusions on the screen? No. Was I moved to tears by other things? Yes. (Teared up would be a better description).

The theater I was in had a capacity of about 256, and by my observation I would say one third of the audience was female. Towards the end of the movie there is a moment where Peter Parker's Spiderman is trying to run the Infinity Gauntlet as far away from Thanos as he can. Ultimately he is unable to do it, this is when Captain Marvel steps up and says to give it to her. As she and Peter look out over the giant army of faceless cgi monsters coming at them Peter asks her how she's going to get through all those guys alone. Off camera you here a voice say "she's not alone." Enter, in what initially struck me as a pandering hamfisted glory shot, of every female hero. The lady from Black Panther, Valkery, Nebula, Gamora, Mantis, Captain Marvel, for some reason Pepper Potts in an Iron Man suit, and maybe some others I honestly can't remember who else there could have been there. What followed was one third of the audience, 86 girls, women, and ladies, who up until now have been grossly underserved in these super hero movies where so often the day is consistently saved by a man, screaming their heads off as every surviving female marvel character fought back and turned the tide of the battle with out the help of a man. Hearing the joy and appreciation and pride in their screams made me realize in that moment, how special that scene was, and I glassed up.

I'm glad I saw the movie with an audience, allowing me to experience that very special moment.

Reflections of a Blessing

          There comes a moment in everyone’s life in which they have the opportunity to compare side by side what they want to happen, and what God wants to happen. Unfortunately, those two items seldom fall under the same solution. The Savior, in a moment of weakness and desperation, once said in regards to his imminent crucifixion, “Oh my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me…” (Matthew 26:39).

            I spent two years as a full-time mission in the Washington Kennewick Mission, Spanish speaking. One cold November night Elder Anderson (one of my favorite companions with whom I served) and I received a phone call from a member of the small Spanish Branch we had helped open the previous month. This kind sister told us of her friend’s daughter who was in dire circumstances with an advanced brain tumor. We were asked to go minister to a dying little girl.

            When we arrived at the humble home we were greeted by the sister, the mother, and the sick girl in question, all of whom had clearly been crying. We were terrified. What do you say in a situation like this? I will forever be grateful for the question that Elder Anderson asked this sweet girl: “Do you know who Jesus Christ is?” An immediate feeling of warmth entered the room as this little girl, who had had almost no religious upbringing, responded in a tiny, soft voice, “El es quien nos protege.” He is the one that protects us. Recognizing the wisdom that accompanied her humble nature, we paused a moment to testify to everyone in the room that this was indeed correct. We laid our hands on her small head and offered up a blessing.

            I don’t remember what words were said, but I do remember that we did not give her a blessing of healing. I have been witness to many miraculous occurrences: the immediate healing of visibly terrible injuries, the casting out of unclean spirits, the literal answers to prayers, the gift of tongues, prophecy, discernment, and many others which, because of their sacred nature, I will not address in this essay. I have seen these things first hand with my own eyes. However, that night, we were not moved to heal this girl.

It’s been eight years since that cold night. Although the years have taken her name from my recollection, I’ll always remember her big brown eyes. Eyes that held innocence as well as fear and uncertainty. I don’t know how her story ended. She would be about seventeen now. Such is the life of a missionary, we come into people’s lives and then we go, and sometimes we never get to see the end of a story. The conclusion I’ve been able to draw, and only after many years of pondering and reflection, is that even though we did not heal that girl, a miracle was performed that night. For that family who had been through so much, and would yet be asked to go through even more, a brief moment of peace was given. More importantly, for a little girl that didn’t fully grasp the gravity of what was happening to her, the world was just a little less scary. For one night, her life was a little less dark. The Spirit of God entered into that home and comforted hearts in a way that no twenty-year old’s broken Spanish ever could.

“…nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” (Matthew 26: 39). These are the words of our Savior upon reflection of the sacrifice about to be undertaken. He knew what was to come, and He knew how awful it would be, but He surrendered His wishes to those of His Father. I don’t know why God chose to not have that girl physically healed that night, but I do know that beyond our own mortal understanding, there is a greater plan. Each of us will one day want, even need, something so desperately that we will give anything to receive it. But sometimes that is not God’s will. Sometimes He has a greater plan in mind for us and our situation. I know that He had a plan that night, and I pray to one day understand fully what it was.

The Dangers of Culture

If we ever hope to positively change the retention rate of new converts, we, the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, must change our culture. Over the course of this essay I will primarily focus my remarks on personal examples and anecdotal evidence that have led me to this conclusion. The history I draw from will be my own, namely: my time as a missionary, the varying degrees of activity held by my wife’s family, and my wife’s experience as a convert to the church of Latter-Day Saints.

            It would not paint a full and accurate picture of the dilemma upon which I am focusing my thoughts, if I were to ignore the fact that “anti-Mormon” pros are often to blame for the falling away of converts and life-long members alike. I have known many people who have lost their way after learning about more taboo topics, or upon reading half truths on the internet. However, there is a more powerful force which drives away new converts in the church: a culture that has been developed behind closed chapel doors. A culture, that when first experienced by an outsider, can be alienating, strange, and utterly unfamiliar.

            Take a moment and put yourself in the shoes of someone who is unfamiliar with the church. For the sake of establishing a somewhat strong foundation let’s pretend that you come from a Christian background. One day there’s a knock on your door and you answer it to find two friendly young men wearing white shirts, ties, and black name tags that prominently feature the name of Jesus Christ. After pleasantries you invite them in, and they begin to share their message. It is a message of a loving Heavenly Father that blesses us with prophets and families. A Heavenly Father that wants to answer our prayers. The young missionaries teach you about faith, the plan of salvation, and the Doctrine of Christ. As they continue to visit you in the coming weeks, you feel a heretofore unknown, yet somehow completely familiar feeling of peace. They invite you to read scriptures in addition to the bible, to pray, and to test your faith by following different commandments. A seed of faith begins to grow inside of you. They invite you to attend church with them.

            On your first Sunday you feel nervous, it has been years sense you attended a formal church. The pastor gives a few opening remarks and then informs the congregation that the time is theirs and takes his seat. What follows is an increasingly uncomfortable montage of different members sharing overly personal stories, detailing past sins, family drama, and ongoing disputes that would be better resolved in private. Some people are friendly and talk briefly with you, but the majority don’t seem to acknowledge this new person. At least you have your missionary friends to keep you company. Everyone is talking about Joseph Smith, Nephi, Alma, and a bunch of other people you’re not familiar with.

            Now take that same example but fast forward a few months, your missionaries have gone to a new area and you are now alone in this place. Maybe you have one or two people who will smile and shake your hand, but you feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. Now take both of those situations and let’s say you’re located in a small town in Utah. The turnover rate is so high with so many families moving in and out every single week that no one notices that you are there at all, they don’t notice when you stop coming.

            This story is an amalgam of my experiences with people I taught on my mission, and even my own wife, who joined the church when she was eighteen. Allow me to speak in the parlance of a talk at church: Brothers, sisters, we may contain the true gospel of Jesus Christ, but that does us no good if we do not live it. It is time to put the cliques and unhealthy culture habits behind us if we ever hope to lead truly Christlike lives and shine for those with whom we come in contact. The old adage, while clichéd, is still relevant: the church is true, the members aren’t. I encourage anyone who reads this to examine their own behavior and take inventory of how they conduct themselves. Is this the way that will allow new converts to come unto Christ?

I Believe-

I believe in Harvey Dent. In these uncertain times in which we find ourselves, when going to the grocery store could mean becoming collateral damage in an illegal vigilante’s one-man war on crime, we must ask ourselves: who do we want in our corner?

 Who is the charismatic new young district attorney? Through hard work he was able to overcome his broken childhood home and mental trauma to become the youngest DA in the history of the Gotham legal system. In between cases he can be found teeing off with Mayor Anthony Garcia, but more often than not is behind a mountain of legal documents in his small, crowded office. This office bears more resemblance to a college dorm room, this cramped space is filled with nearly ceiling-high stacks of papers, a small cot, and a weight bench. Clearly this is a man that spends most of his time at work, fighting for the little guy; for you and me. I believe in Harvey Dent.

A vote for Harvey Dent is a vote for a safer Gotham. In this upcoming election season we must ask ourselves, who do we want cleaning our streets: A dark, brooding stranger who has declared himself both judge and jury, or Gotham’s second favorite son who, with a smile and flip of his father’s lucky coin, makes his own luck? Rest assured, the crime syndicates of this city will need a lot more than luck on their side when Harvey is on the case. In addition to a heck of a left hook, Harvey possesses a keen mind for the law. The way Harvey argues his case, it’s almost as if there’s two of him cross examining the witness. I’m sure you’re familiar with the old adage, two is better than one. I believe in Harvey Dent.

If re-elected Harvey will work side by side with Lieutenant James Gordon’s major crimes unit to push the Dent Act into motion, effectively freeing the streets from all organized crime. That’s a feat that not even Batman can claim. Harvey is pro-family too, and will soon tie the knot with junior district attorney Rachel Dawes. Harvey is poised to explode to the next level. I believe in Harvey Dent: the hero that Gotham needs, not the one it deserves.

Love of Adventure

Dear T.A.Z. (The Adventure Zone)

I was already good friends with your cousin My Brother, My Brother, and Me when we were introduced, and you seemed like a fun detour from my usual podcast listening. I like nerdy things and consider myself fairly open minded. Heck, I even played D&D once a long time ago, but never really had the means nor drive to pursue what could have otherwise been an interesting pastime. But that didn’t matter to you. No, you took me by the hand and brought me into your world of magic, Gergblins, twenty-sided dice, and Bug Bears.

            From episode one I was hooked. You never made me feel stupid for not knowing every intricacy or strategy relating to dungeons and dragons, mostly because it was fairly evident that none of the show hosts had any idea what they were doing either. You lured me in with the same humor and wit for which MBMBaM had already become one of my favorite listening materials when at work. Not only did you provide a sort of beginner’s guide to D&D, you also grew as a story with each passing episode. Then there’s the laughs.

Your character designs are incredible. Take for example, Magic Brian, that’s not a name one would ever see in a thick Tolkien tome, or some lighter Lewis literature. Seriously, you not only had the nerve to name a character Magic Brian, but also gave him a ridiculously unplaceable Eurotrash accent. An accent that, spoiler alert, would be his final undoing because no matter how great his disguise is, he still sounds like a rejected villain from the Die-Hard franchise. Yippi-ki-yay indeed, Adventure Zone. Come to think of it, I wonder if it was more than coincidence that Magic Brian fell to his death, much like another well-known German terrorist…

            The family element is your strongest feature. Three brothers and their father, joined via skype from different parts of the country, make each other laugh over this ridiculous journey you’ve created for your listening audience. They trade on a lifetime of give and take that they’ve built up and your story benefits from it. I know I don’t say this nearly enough T.A.Z, but I love you. You bring laughter and imagination to both the earliest and latest hours spent keeping the lights on at Chick Fil A. Thank you for all the mind-blowing moments of a ridiculous fantasy story that seems to have been custom written just for my sensibilities and personal enjoyment.

Indebtedly yours,

Stephen

P.S.

Not only did you have a three-episode long death race derby more extreme than all of the Mad Max movies combined, you had the sheer nerve to also introduce a rainbow-mulleted, quasi-real ethereal binicorn (unicorn with two horns) named Garyl and had him be the coolest part of the entire story arc! Your show is bananas and I love you for it.

Braaaaaaiiiiins

Lately I've been on something of a "zombie kick" when it comes to my entertainment choices. And as I've looked at those around me, it occurs to me that I am not the only one. So I'm curious why zombies have suddenly become such a huge cash cow in our society...

(although a movie trailer, the following clip might not be for all audiences.)

Thanks to George Romero we have what is widely held as the cannonized zombie rules, or "true doctrine". Yup it all started with "Night...........................of the Living Dead!" Since then the dead have been given a dawn, a day, a land, an island, and many other environments in which to eat sweet sweet brains. (On a side note George Romero was once asked how he felt about the new and fast angry zombies, he responded by saying that the reason his zombies couldn't run was because their rigamortis inflicted bones would break at the effort. So yeah, pretty scientific.)

The handguide also supports this idea. Also on a side note, it says that the best weapon combo is a semi-automatic rifle and a machete. Food for thought (get it?) when everyone trys to get the chainsaw to defend themselves with. Many are probably thinking "I am not obsessed with zombies, and how dare you insinuate so?!" Come on, be honost, you've though about what you would do in case of a zombie related emergency. What areas would be the most strategically fortafiable, what on hand object would be best to defend yourself with (for me at the moment my best bet would be to use my roommate's wood carving currently under the couch as a blunt object.)

I assume this has a lot to do with the obsession our country seems to be under:

But why is it that zombies have remained a culturally relevant fear since the 60's? My personal theory is that while Freddy Krougar is killing us in our dreams, and Bloody Mary is creepin' in our mirrors, and Bigfoot is stomping in our woods; zombies are taking our humanity. Like vampires and werewolves, zombies take away everything that is good about being human (music appreciation, complex decision making, and dental hygiene) and turn us into mindless angry people biters. Also like vampires and werewolves, zombies have recently become the love interest in movies geared towards teenagers:

Any itrovert would agree zombies are the ultimate worst case scenario:

Romero gave us a much more realistic thing to be afraid of, the neighbors. When it boils down to its most pure form, zombies are an introvert's perception of other people. Scary, aggressive monsters that want nothing more than to cause you discomfort.


It can also be argued with some validity that zombies are: communists, republicans, or apple fanboys.