Jarret's FFF: The Jowls of Being Brad Pitt

I have to imagine it’s not easy being Brad Pitt.

Of course it’s not easy being Jarret Liotta either, but there are many more perks, one of which is not having those jowls.

But I like Brad Pitt and I like his jowls, even though I don’t really think he’s that impressive an actor. I simply like that he’s out there on the edge, making the hard-hitting zombie movies that those Hollywood Fat Cats are too scared to create …

No, seriously, this is a very poor movie—World War Z—and the whole time I watched it I kept trying to figure out what motivated Brad to bother making it. I mean, of all the stories that could be told, of all the colossal creations he could have been a part of, what compelled this silly little man to make a painfully predictable, painfully over-budgeted, painfully acted zombie flick.

Don’t get me wrong (as you’re wont to do so often). I love zombie movies. My god, didn’t I just do a Blah-ugh! about them?! Hmm? … Well, didn’t I?!

Yes, and the costly creation of a worthwhile zombie movie would be, in my humble and extremely selfish estimation, a great use of American money …

But this mess …

And to make matters worse, Brad felt compelled—and you know it was his doing—to use this ugly vehicle as a demented forum to wax philosophical about the state of the world—when really all any of us want to do is see the droves of insect-acting zombies piling up the Jerusalem wall and leaping off buildings with no consideration for the drop.

No, it must not be easy to be Brad Pitt, to feel a fire to want to speak out and be a helpful example to humanity, and yet be only able to find release in the stupidest of forums … Poor Brad!

(I’m suddenly realizing that Brad is jowly, and his wife’s last name is—if said with a southern accent—“Jow-lee” … Kinda makes you think, huh!)

And that’s what the Frank Film Forum is all about—thinking. And I think I summarily bashed Angelina in a recent posting too, but to my credit, I’m far too lazy to find the link it deserves back … Or am I? (You’ll know by the end of this chant, and you’ll know right away, if there’s a link there to link … to, I mean!)

No, I guess it’s just not easy being any of us! But despite your jowl issues, a $20-million salary plus gross points certainly makes it harder to garner sympathy …

And remind me next time to bother writing something about the movie. After all, that's what this was supposed to be about too!

Jarret's FFF - "The Defiled - We Are All Meat"

August 8, 2012: Just when you think you've seen it all, a movie like "The Defiled - We Are All Meat" comes along and reboots your reality. Actually I'm somewhat hesitant to even call it a movie. It's almost more like a bit of strange videotape that someone shot and managed to wrangle onto a DVD. You see, I found this very alluring zombie compilation at my wonderful local library called the Zombie Horror Fright Fest. Four movies! How can you beat that, and from the titles and pictures on the back -- "Woods of Terror" and "Fast Zombies with Guns" among them -- I really thought I'd found something remarkable. (We won't even START on trying to understand WHY my library stocked this weird item, but to me it's merely a credit to their awesome video section and its kind caretakers, who are among the few, rare people who treat me with any respect, despite my inability to ever get anything back on time.) Anyway, it was promising enough at first -- an appropriately moody black-and-white piece that began with your quintessential Romero-esque zombie stumbling through the woods on the wooden legs of a British punk rock guitarist, the way they do (the good zombies, I mean). He even looked like the classic first zombie in Night of the Living Dead, with the tall grey crewcut, casual jacket and face like my mailman. It wasn't long, however, before it all took a strange turn, beginning in about the first 90 seconds when apparently what was this guy's zombie family joined him at the side of a pond to lap up some water and grunt at each other. I mean, it couldn't have been dumber, despite the good make up. His son was more dog than zombie, and proudly bearing his one X'ed-over eye, he hobbled around on four legs and kind of barked. The daughter, meanwhile, made the most incessantly annoying whining sound, like Felix Unger. Things picked up at about Minute 12, however, when, after a sizable amount of zombie pantomime that reminded me of Raquel Welsh in One Million B.C., or Ringo's wife Barbara Bach in Caveman, the father and son find a pre-wrapped dead body in a tent for some reason, which we never actually get a good look at, but they bring it home to this odd structure in which they live, which is kind of some sticks tied together, and they eat it. This seems to be a key pay-off moment, and the director -- who I believe also shot, edited, wrote, produced and possibly acted in the film -- seemed to really relish the moment of some classic old-school zombie wolfing down. This includes one rather sexual moment, when the father zombie is kind of erotically having his wife suck down some stuff out of a very phalic sausage-like part -- I have to assume the intestines. Anyway, the film really gets entirely weird when the dog boy awakens in the middle of the night to see his father violently humping Zombie Mom from the back. It really brings disturbance to some new levels, and that's not even taking into account that the mom is on the verge of dropping her zombie baby. So then the next morning, when you're expecting the son to rape his sister -- and I'm still not entirely sure he DOESN'T, because these clothes are thrown down, but it's not clear whose they are -- the sister starts making that incessanty whining sound and the Dog Son begins losing his guts or something -- some parts come out of him, and the father tries to stuff them back in, but they won't go ... So then the daughter whines even more and she dies. It turns out that the dead body they ate was spoiled with some toxic waste or something that the guy had in the tent with him. And then, right after the wife dies, the mutated baby suddenly pops out. I'll be honest: this is as far as I got before my daughter came home and I got scared she'd see me watching it. In fact, I felt like I had the worst kind of demented porn or something in the player, and I fumbled it out with a wealth of fearful shame. Of course I wouldn't want to give the ending away, but at the same time, I'm not completely sure I want to know what it is myself. Still, if you're looking for a disturbing piece of crap with sick sexual zombie undertones, this might be the picture for you.

Carl Kolchak - Great American Hero

June 7, 2012:  Carl Kolchak is a true American hero, and even though he's a fictional character, he still means more to me than most of the people I know ... (excepting those who've vehemently supported SPACE CASE, and the thoughtful people who continue plugging my new Youtube video of course!)

Alternately known as The Night Stalker, Kolchak is the abrasive aging reporter who breaks stories involving vampires and other-worldly figures. Originally created by a weak writer named Jeff Rice in a hard-to-read novella, and portrayed by the ever-freckled Darren McGavin (the belligerent, beleagured "Old Man" in the classic film "Christmas Story"), he first appeared in a brilliant 1971/2 TV movie that featured not only the voluptuously vapid Carol Lindley, but Claude Akins and Simon Oakland as well. The subsequent short-lived TV series was supposedly the inspiration for Chris Carter's creation of "The X-Files, and McGavin was honored with a small recurring role on that show before his death (at some point, from something). Also, one of its main writers and story consultants was one David Chase, who went on to create "The Sopranos."

Kolchak the character is many things, but mostly -- for me -- he's the truth-teller that no one wants to believe. He's the voice of reality that everyone wants to silence and ignore. He's the gadfly that people wish would just go away. He's the conscious conscience who passionately fights for not only truth, but the vital need that it be dissemated.

One of the other things that I really like about him is that, despite his slightly crass demeanor, (which in television seems to lend itself to the caricature of an oaf), Carl's also extremely intelligent. W,hile he's intolerant of people in general -- or seems to be -- it's not without reason, because like so many of us, he's surrounded by idiots and individuals whose fear has robbed them of keeping strong convictions.

Further, despite his innate frailty, he's forever finding himself in supernatural situations that demand bravery. With morose resolve, he descends into the sewer to slay a swamp monster, crawls into an abandoned car to sew shut the mouth of a dormant zombie, slinks into the Seattle underground in search of a timeless serial killer, and, of course, (as certainly someone must remember), stands his ground against a sword-wielding headless motorcyclist ...

I love Kolchak, and give him significant credit for helping inspire me to become a writer. (Of course, some of you might use the word "blame.") And as I grew and went out into this weird, wild world stuffed with dangerous creeping people who dwell underneath all sorts of physical and spiritual rocks, the example of Carl Kolchak has often reminded me of the value of fighting for a righteous cause, arguing for an unpopular truth, even if all the odds are against you, even if the publications won't print the facts, and even if you're feeling all alone in the world ... again!

When last I checked IMDB.com -- the movie site -- I was happily astounded to see that a remake involving none other than my friend Johnny Depp was in development. It pleased me at the time, but now I'm not so sure. Despite what a grand actor like Johnny might think, there are some things that shouldn't even be touched or any attempts made to expand upon them or replicate their magic. He already made that mistake with Willy Wonka ... Beatles music is another example of that kind of thing ... I'm pretty convinced that Kolchak, The Night Stalker, is another ...

But so goes our stupid world, where the fetid winds of box office projections, egomania, questionable taste and the like all blow up my skirt.

Kudos to all who shared in the original creation of Carl Kolchak, and I pledge my ongoing allegiance to such a vigorous fine figure of truth, justice and the American Way.