Minutes later I was climbing into those amazing hills, up where the world is all wind-worn greenery and ivory towers against the blue. There were, I soon learned, no “sights” to be seen so much as a single sight: the City itself – a gilt-edged landscape out of Maxfield Parrish, engulfing as a dream. – “My First Glimpse of the City”

He goes on to advise that the best way to see San Francisco is “to put on your sneakers and start walking.” Maupin’s favorite pedestrian route guides you through a plethora of cinematic landmarks, from All About Eve to Vertigo. This most recent President’s Day Weekend jaunt, however, was inspired by a different kind of landmark: alleys and sidestreets bearing the names of writers who, like Maupin, have literary connections to my hometown.

In typical Top 5 fashion, I present my favorite streets, ranked correspondent to my affinity for the writer (but perhaps influenced slightly by the location of the urban byway in question).

5. Jack London Alley, just south of Rincon Hill, between Bryant and Brannan

The adventurer and author of novels like Call of the Wild and White Fang is more commonly associated with a city across the bay. Jack London Square is a popular destination in Oakland, even featuring the transplanted and reassembled wooden cabin London lived in while prospecting in the Yukon during the Gold Rush of 1897. He may have grown up in Oakland, but London was born in San Francisco, at a house that once stood near Third and Brannan, not far from this little alley bearing his name.

After the 1906 earthquake, Collier’s Magazine telegraphed the writer and asked him to enter the City to provide an eyewitness account of the disaster.

Remarkable as it may seem, Wednesday night while the whole city crashed and roared into ruin, was a quiet night. There were no crowds. There was no shouting and yelling. There was no hysteria, no disorder. I passed Wednesday night in the path of the advancing flames, and in all those terrible hours I saw not one woman who wept, not one man who was excited, not one person who was in the slightest degree panic stricken. – “Story of an Eyewitness”

4. Ambrose Bierce Alley, in the Financial District between Market and Mission just off New Montgomery

The native Ohioan and famous short story writer began his writing career in 1866 as a journalist in San Francisco. Although still listed as Aldrich Alley on most maps, this little block-long sidestreet is situated just southeast of the old Hearst Building, home to the newspaper offices that gave Bierce his first bylines. His cynical, pointed commentaries on a town not yet completely removed from the seedy Barbary Coast days of a few decades earlier earned Bierce the nickname, “the wickedest man in San Francisco.”

The Italians continue their cheerful national recreation of stabbing one another. On Monday evening one was found badly gashed in the stomach, going about his business with his entrails thrown over his arm.

The delightful Bierce became progressively more bizarre, later churning out some of the best ghost stories of the late nineteenth century. At the age of 71, he set off for Mexico to accompany Pancho Villa during that country’s revolution and famously disappeared without a trace. Bierce’s final adventure was fictionalized by Mexican novelist Carlos Fuentes in The Old Gringo.

3. Mark Twain Alley, northern edge of the Financial District near the intersection of Chinatown and North Beach

It seems odd that Mark Twain, possibly San Francisco’s most celebrated local author, has the most insignificant and inconsequential of alleys. In fact, it’s not a renamed street or thoroughfare at all, but more of a patch of extended sidewalk off Sansome connecting to the east side of the Transamerica pyramid. Between the “alley” and the building is a patch of urban foliage, or park if you believe the signage, with a fountain that immortalizes the story that put Samuel Clemens on the literary map, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.”

Although he never set a story in the City, Twain’s career as a journalist began here, and some of his most witty and charming observations are imbued with a singular San Francisco spirit. [Except, unfortunately, that one quote, which apparently has been erroneously attributed to Twain for years.]

Harry took a cocktail at the Cliff House, but I scorned such ineffectual stimulus; I yearned for fire, and there was none there; they were about to make one, but the bar-keeper looked altogether too cheerful for me – I could not bear his unnatural happiness in the midst of such a ghastly picture of fog, and damp, and frosty surf, and dreary solitude. I could not bear the sacrilegious presence of a pleasant face at such a time; it was too much like sprightliness at a funeral, and we fled from it down the smooth and vacant beach. – “Early Rising, As Regards Excursions to the Cliff House”

2. Jack Kerouac Alley, North Beach right off Columbus between Broadway and Pacific

One of the most photographed and referenced poet alleys in the City is ascribed to the writer who may have actually spent the least amount of time here. It’s situated right between Cafe Vesuvio, famous for a legendary Kerouac drinking binge and the Henry Miller rendezvous that wasn’t, and City Lights Bookstore, founded by fellow Beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti (and the impetus behind many of the literary street re-christenings, including Ambrose Bierce Alley).

I may never have loved San Francisco more than when I was away from it, spending college nights and days reading, re-reading, dog-earing and annotating On the Road, Dharma Bums, and The Subterraneans. I grew up spreading the “don’t call it Frisco” mantra; I acknowledge today: Kerouac called it Frisco. But, you know… nobody else should.

All those lovely California cottonwoods and eucalypti brooded on all sides. Near the peak there were no more trees, just rocks and grass. Cattle were grazing on the top of the coast. There was the Pacific, a few more foothills away, blue and vast and with a great wall of white advancing from the legendary potato patch where Frisco fogs are born. Another hour and it would come streaming through the Golden Gate to shroud the romantic city in white, and a young man would hold his girl by the hand and climb slowly up a long white sidewalk with a bottle of Tokay in his pocket. That was Frisco; and beautiful women standing in doorways, waiting for their men; and Coit Tower, and the Embarcadero, and Market Street, and the eleven teeming hills. – On the Road

1. Dashiell Hammett Street, in Nob Hill linking Pine to Bush, between Stockton and Powell

The godfather of hardboiled detective fiction lived at an apartment on Post not far from this street (the only proper thoroughfare on the list) where he wrote his first three novels, The Dain Curse, Red Harvest, and The Maltese Falcon. Sam Spade’s office, in fact, is said to have been inspired by Hammett’s living quarters. The San Francisco Film Noir Festival turned the apartment into a photo set for the cover of this year’s tenth anniversary poster.

As with Kerouac, Dashiell Hammett is not just one of my favorite local authors… but one of my favorite writers, period. All over the City there are stepped pavements that echo with Continental Op footfall and corniced entryways that glow orange from cigarettes dangling from red painted lips.

The deck was deserted. A heavy fog, wet as rain — the fog of San Francisco Bay’s winter nights — lay over boat and water and had driven everyone else inside. It hung about us, thick and impenetrable; I couldn’t see so far as the end of the boat, in spite of the lights glowing overhead. – “The Tenth Clew”

There’s a genuine walking tour in here somewhere. Probably starting near the water with Jack London and working your way counter-clockwise from Bierce, to Twain, to Kerouac, then Hammett. Both the Cartoon Art Museum and Beat Museum, two of the City’s finest tiny galleries, are conveniently en route. So are a fair number of other more acknowledged sights… all collectively representative of Maupin’s single “sight,” gilt-edged and fog-wrapped, a beaten path paradise crammed into a seven by seven treasure map.

Next time: why Fillmore might be my favorite Street in town.

Directed By  – Robert Florey

Starring – Robert Alda, Andrea King, Peter Lorre

***** 5 out 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: A tiny Italian village is being terrorized! The locals believe an unspeakable evil of massive proportions has taken over the estate of a recently deceased pianist. Something so huge and horrible has been occurring at the estate and there have even been some murders! What could this diabolical monster be? The pianist’s severed hand!!!!!!!!……!

Fun Fact: The film was remade in 1981 by director Oliver Stone as The Hand.

Fake Classic Quote: “I got your Chopsticks right here bitch!” – The Severed Hand

Real Classic Quote: Police Inspector Naish: (turning to the camera and addressing the viewer) “Can you imagine anyone believing in a hand that would walk around?“

The Body Snatcher (1945)

Directed By  – Robert Wise

Starring – Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi

****** 6 out 10 ghosty orbs

Plot: What do you do when you are an anatomy teacher in Edinburgh and your classroom needs some cadavers for demonstration purposes? You fucking rob graves of course! But the key is to have someone else do the grave robbing, and that is just what the teacher, Dr. MacFarlane, does by paying John Gray, a cabman, to clandestinely bring him exhumed bodies of the recently deceased. The local cemeteries, tried of being robbed of all their bodies, have started posting guards on the grounds, you know, to keep out crazy grave-robbing cabbies. But do you think that stops Cabbie Gray? Oh no my friends, homeboy really wants to get those classroom cadavers for Dr. MacFarlane, so he starts to murder people to provide him, and his students, with fresh bodies. Realizing that he will never be rid of Gray, who constantly taunts him with his knowledge of MacFarlane’s past indiscretions (“remember when you skull-fucked that dog Dr MacFarlane?”), MacFarlane engages the malevolent Gray in a hand-to-hand fight to the death, the ultimate results of which provide the victor with an episode of unprecedented psychological horror.

Fun Fact: This film featured the 8th and last on-screen teaming of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. Filming took place October 25-November 17 1944, delaying the completion of Karloff’s “Isle of the Dead” (which didn’t make the 1940′s cut).

Classic Quote: “Gray, I must be rid of you. You’ve become a cancer, a malignant evil cancer rotting my mind.” - Dr. Wolfe ‘Toddy’ MacFarlane

Filming Locations: RKO Ranch, San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles, California, USA

Cat People (1942)

Directed By – Jacques Tourneur

Starring – Simone Simon, Kent Smith

****** 6 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: Most people when they hear “zoo” think fun times with the family looking at cute animals and getting ice-cream and shit like that. But what naval construction designer Oliver Reed hears is,” I’m gonna find me some ass and get laid!” Reed spots Serbian born beauty Irena Dubrovna, near the howler monkey cage, and starts to spit some game, “Sup girl. You like monkeys? I like monkeys too. Let’s go make some monkey love together.” And with that they soon they fall in love and marry. But Reed ain’t getting any of that Serbian pussy (get it? “pussy,” as in pussy cat. as in the cat people. as in yeah Erik, we fucking got it bro) because once married Irena drops this bomb on him,”Oh shit Ollie, I forgot to tell you I’m a victim of an ancient Serbian curse that causes me to turn into a panther if a man tries to make love to me.”  Bummer. Oliver, suffering from the worst case of blue balls ever recorded, sends Irena for treatment with psychiatrist Dr. Louis Judd (“You crazy bitch!”), and then goes and seeks “consolation” with his colleague Alice Moore (“Ahhhh, finally, relief!”). Irena becomes jealous when she learns that she may be losing Oliver to Alice.

Fun Fact: The horror movie technique of slowly building tension to a jarring shock which turns out to be something completely harmless and benign became known as a “Lewton bus” after a famous scene in this movie created by producer Val Lewton.

Classic Quote: Irena Dubrovna: “I like the dark. It’s friendly.”

Filming Locations: Stage 7, RKO Studios – 780 Gower Street, Hollywood, Los Angeles, California, USA

Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943)

Directed By –  Roy William Neill

Starring – Lon Chaney Jr., Ilona Massey, Bela Lugosi,
Maria Ouspenskaya

******** 8 out 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: This is the sequel to The Wolf Man (1941) and opens with a couple of grave robbers accidentally resurrecting Larry Talbot, aka The Mother Fucking Wolf Man! Now that Larry is back amongst the living and turns into a werewolf at every full moon, he decides he’d rather be dead. So with the help of an old ass gypsy woman named Maleva, they travel together to find the one the one man that can end Larry’s suffering, Doctor Kevorkian. No wait, I mean, Doctor Frankenstein. Once they get to Castle Frankenstein they find out that the good doctor is dead, but his daughter is alive and Larry begs her for the papers of her father’s that contain the secrets to life and death. She doesn’t have them so Larry goes to the ruins of the Frankenstein castle to find them himself. There he finds the Monster, whom he chips out of a block of ice, right as the full moon peaks from behind the clouds. Mistake. The two iconic monsters then have an epic brawl that leaves the Castle in ruins.

Fun Fact: The film was shot during WWII, amid a notorious anti-German public campaign by the United States government. Screen writer Curt Siodmak, a German Jew himself who had fled his country after hearing anti-Semitic speeches there in 1937, deliberately changed the location of Frankenstein’s castle from Germany to the fictional “Vasaria.” “Vasaria” translates loosely to “water place” in German, obviously correlating the dam, waterfall and hydroelectric turbine that are integral to the film.

Classic Quote: “You think I’m insane. You think I don’t know what I’m talking about. Well you just look in that grave where Lawrence Talbot is supposed to be buried and see if you find a body in it” -  Lawrence Talbot

Filming Locations: Universal Studios – 100 Universal City Plaza, Universal City, California, USA

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE OPENING SCENES OF ANY HORROR MOVIE.

I Walked With a Zombie (1943)

Directed By – Jacques Tourneur

Starring – James Ellison, Frances Dee, Tom Conway

**** 4 out 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: Betsy, a young Canadian nurse (or should I say a young Canadian HOME WRECKER!) comes to the West Indies to care for Jessica, the wife of a plantation manager whom she tries to steal away from Jessica. Jessica seems to be suffering from a kind of mental paralysis as a result of fever, which makes it all the more easy to steal her husband away from her. Betsy then decides the best way to steal a husband away from his wife is to subject said wife to a voodoo ceremony and turn her into a zombie! Damn.

Fun Fact: Edith Barrett, who played the mother, was only 3 years older than James Ellison, who played her younger son, Wesley. She actually was 2 years younger than Tom Conway, who played her older son, Paul.

Classic Quote:  “She makes a beautiful zombie doesn’t she?” – Dr. Maxwell

Phantom of the Opera (1943)

Directed By – Arthur Lubin

Starring – Nelson Eddy, Susanna Foster, Claude Rains

***** 5 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: Enrique Claudin (yes, that’s a dude’s name) plays violin for the opera and has fallen in love with the rising operatic soprano Christine Dubois. Turns out Claudin isn’t the only one to fall under Christine’s spell. The  baritone Anatole and police inspector Raoul also have a thing for her. But Enrique takes his desire to be with Christine a little too far and starts to secretly aid her career by pulling strings and asking for favors, oh and also MURDERING a music publisher because he wouldn’t take Christine as one of his new acts! (Enrique Claudin was sorta like the 19th century Suge Knight. Holding fools by their ankles as they dangle them over a balcony when they won’t sign the contract!). But living the Thug Life doesn’t work out for E-Claud and he gets acid thrown at him that ends up scarring his face. Soon after, mysterious crimes plague the Paris Opera House, blamed on a legendary “phantom” whom none can find in the mazes and catacombs. But both of Christine’s lovers have plans to ferret him out.

Fun Fact: The auditorium and stage of the Paris Opera House seen here was the same set built for the 1925 version. It still stands at Universal Studios today, and has been used for countless other productions, including Thoroughly Modern Millie and The Sting. It is the oldest remaining film set in the world.

Classic Quote: ” They’ve poisoned your mind against me. That’s why you’re afraid. Look at your lake, Christine. You’ll love it here when you get used to the dark. And you’ll love the dark, too. It’s friendly and peaceful. It brings rest and relief from pain. It’s right under the Opera. The music comes down and the darkness distills it, cleanses it of the suffering that made it. Then it’s all beauty. And life here is like a resurrection.” – Enrique Claudin

Filming Locations: Stage 28, Universal Studios – 100 Universal City Plaza, Universal City, California, USA

THE UNMASKING SCENE. NOT QUITE AS GOOD AS THE LON CHANEY ONE

The Uninvited (1944)

Directed By - Lewis Allen

Starring – Ray Milland, Gail Russell, Ruth Hussey

****** 6 out of 10 ghosty orbs

Plot: Rule Number 1 when buying a house: When the dude selling the house says “strange things” have happened here and that the previous owner committed suicide by jumping off the nearby cliff, DON”T BUY THE FUCKING HOUSE! Well, the brother and sister team of Roderick and Pamela Fitzgerald ignore rule number 1 and buy the house anyway. And of course strange shit starts to happen. They also ignore Rule Number 2: Brothers and Sisters don’t buy houses together.

Fun Fact: In an article in USA Today (August 22, 2011), Guillermo del Toro chooses this as one of his six favorite “fright flicks.”

Classic Quote: “They call them the haunted shores, these stretches of Devonshire and Cornwall and Ireland which rear up against the westward ocean. Mists gather here… and sea fog… and eerie stories…” – Roderick Fitzgerald

Filming Locations: Paramount Studios – 5555 Melrose Avenue, Hollywood, Los Angeles, California, USA

The Wolf Man (1941)

Directed By – George Waggner

Starring – Lon Chaney, Jr., Claude Rains, Ralph Bellamy

********* 9 out of 10 ghosty orbs

Plot: Upon the death of his brother, Larry Talbot returns from America to his ancestral home in Wales. After spying on a local woman Gwen through a telescope (fucking pervert) Larry bullies her to hang out with him later that night. Gwen brings her friend Jenny along as security and Larry is all, “Whatever. Let’s go hang out with the gypsy’s at their camp in the scary woods at the edge of town”. It’s there at the scary gypsy camp that Jenny is attacked by a wolf. Larry kills wolf but is bitten during the fight. The old ass gypsy woman tells Larry he’s pretty much fucked and that at the next full moon he’s gonna become a werewolf. Should have just went to the movies instead bro.

Fun Fact: Many of the modern myths of werewolves originated from this film, such as a person becoming a werewolf through a bite, the only way to kill a werewolf is with a silver bullet, and changing into one during a full moon. These are original concepts created by writer Curt Siodmak.

Classic Quote: “Gypsy woman? Now we’re getting down to it. She’s been filling your mind with this gibberish. This talk of werewolves and pentagrams. You’re not a child Larry, you’re a grown man and you believe in the superstitions of a Gypsy woman! ” – Sir John Talbot

Filming Locations: Universal Studios – 100 Universal City Plaza, Universal City, California, USA

Get ready for this face.

On December 22, 2011, I came home from my company’s holiday celebration dinner ready for a winter break devoid of traveling. I was excited to fill a week-and-change with movies and video games, both of which are presented to me through a Microsoft Xbox 360; the movies stream through my Netflix service, and video games are what the unit was designed for. I turned on the TV, fired up the stereo receiver, and pressed the ever-comforting power button on the Xbox console. Nothing happened.

Pre-orders for the Star Wars edition Xbox (to be released in February) had just gone on sale. I was obviously in the market for a new Xbox, and I’m… pretty into Star Wars. It was as if the gods were speaking to me in clear-as-fuck English: “Pre-order this thing, and use your Wii for a few months.” What the gods didn’t tell me was that this Star Wars Xbox would be delayed until April.

It was time to go back to the Wii section of the store, where I hadn’t wandered in almost a year, and see what I could find. The sad fact is that Nintendo hasn’t released shit worth playing in far too long. There’s even documented evidence that the Wii’s street value is less than the labor cost of stealing it. But Nintendo had one more beacon of hope for the end of 2011.

He may or may not have sired Tingle.

As with any new game, I excitedly got home and jammed the Skyward Sword disc into the Wii console and started playing. Was it good? Yes. Was it “perfect” good? No. Upon release, it garnered perfect scores from IGN, Game Informer, Wired, Edge, Eurogamer, and many others, but I have to disagree. I enjoyed playing it, and I definitely set aside hours of my weekends to explore the seemingly expanding maps, but after finishing it, I didn’t start a new save file to play it again, and I sure-as-fuck wasn’t going to play ‘Hero Mode.’ I never once found myself saying “Hey man, instead of visiting your mom/dad in the hospital, you should stay home and play Skyward Sword, because it is such a perfect game that s/he would be more proud of you finishing it than spending time with them.”

The story that unfolds during Link’s adventure on this go-around (spoiler alert) is particularly intriguing because of how well it wraps the mythology of the other Zelda games into the actual game play. This essentially defines this entry as a prequel for the entire series. Those who played the other games will recognize all manner of stuff, but it doesn’t assume you would know, so newcomers can absorb the story as if it were new material.

The motion-based controls were designed very well. The initial realization that Link points his sword wherever you point your Wii remote, even while running around, is pretty neat, and setting up for backslash strikes across is always cool once executed. The controls don’t take too long to get accustomed to, and never get repetitive to the point where they feel stale. However, sometimes they are a little too sensitive. The game does a great job of simulating your sword movements, so if an enemy leaves an opening on his left, a horizontal slice from my right to left will connect. But if this enemy changes his stance so the opening is over his head, I have to change my own stance and strike direction. This is where I got a little too into it, because if I had a real sword and needed to change my strike direction, I would change my stance pretty quickly (or at least I think I would; I’ve never actually been in a sword fight), and this quick change of Wii remote position would register as a swing in the game, which would get blocked and countered. My real-life fencing skills were not translating well to my digital counterpart, which became incredibly frustrating during a few boss battles.

Eff this guy in the A.

The game is not unbeatable, but the above difficulties with the controls had me yearning for a classic-style handheld controller. At least once I found myself so pissed at the game, the enemy that could adapt faster than I could (without registering a strike), and the controls, that I had to stop playing for a few hours. For some this is the sign of a great game, so hard that you have to sit out a while and try again when you feel ready, but incredibly fulfilling to finish after some practice and focus. I don’t mind failing, practicing, then dominating, but it sometimes felt like the enemy AI was designed better than what the motion controls allowed for. I can’t say those victories weren’t satisfying though; there were definitely times when I stood up and yelled in my TV’s face, “What now, motherfucker?”

In addition to being an obvious boner joke, this article’s title refers to the fact that the in-game sword grows in length as you progress, and more so to the fact that the game is longer than any Legend of Zelda game in recent memory. I may not play as hard or long as other hardcore gamers, but it’s rare for me to need more than a month of dedicated play to finish a game. Earlier I mentioned that I started this in late December. It’s mid February at the time of this writing, and I just pulled the disc from the console for what I think is the last time. There is an in-game timer to inform you on just how long you’ve been playing, and I clocked in at just over 50 hours. Considering it was fifty bucks new, that works out to about a dollar an hour, which is cheaper than a movie and potentially more entertaining.

Should you play this game? If you’ve got a Wii, and you like action-adventure titles, and you like using the Wii’s motion controls, then yes, this game is for you. Even if you just have a Wii, I would recommend you check it out. There’s no doubt that the game is good, but I can see that it’s not for everyone.

This isn’t a terrible problem to have, really. There always have been and there always will be lousy movies. Sturgeon’s Law undergoes constant verification at every cineplex: ninety per cent of everything is crap. So it’s actually somewhat satisfying to know that comic book movies have become so popular over the last decade-plus, that the requisite 90% of bad cinema rolling out of Hollywood on an annual basis contains an ever-increasing amount of capes-n-tights crud. The law of averages simply guarantees more Scott Pilgrims and Dark Knights.

This list focuses exclusively on superhero films. Comic books get unfairly equated with the one genre most prevalent on spinner racks and in specialty stores, but let’s not forget all the other crap flicks that have been inspired by other types of funnybooks. The Spirit was more crime than costume, Dylan Dog more spooky than spandex. Jonah Hex is filed under weird western, Judge Dredd with the silly sci-fi. Cowboys and Aliens is… well, whatever the hell it is, it started out shitty, so any film based on it was bound to be shitty. [Reminds me of a Nick Swardson veterinarian joke: "My cat has diarrhea. What have you been feeding him? Diarrhea."]

While this list excludes direct-to-video movies, I did opt to be all-inclusive, resisting the temptation to focus solely on comic book flicks released during the recent renaissance. Green Lantern and Fantastic Four… you have been spared.

5. Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987)

Even as a kid I knew this movie was stupid. Superman throwing bombs into the sun was silly, but Lex Luthor’s creation of Nuclear Man was downright ridiculous. And this was a film franchise that already upped the goofy ante with Richard Pryor in Part III. Apparently the movie was never truly finished, and aficionados will steer you towards the DVD’s bonus features for insight into the forty-five or so minutes that would have made this the movie it was meant to be. But even if it was meant to be a cheesy eye-roller of a superhero flick with a slightly more intelligible plot, it would have found its way onto this list. The one bright spot here is that it made a young impressionable me feel far less fearful of mutual self-destruction in the Cold War era. I mean, if Hollywood isn’t even taking this seriously, it’s all a big joke, right..?

4. Elektra (2005)

The one thing that you’d expect to save a movie featuring Marvel’s sexy Greek ninja assassin is a sexy Greek ninja actress. Instead, you get Elektra Natchios played by that Alias dude who looks like Linda Hamilton’s brother. A spin-off of an already lousy movie (Daredevil) created exclusively to capitalize on Garner’s momentary (and unwarranted) popularity, this was the movie that made me abandon attempts at owning every Marvel cinematic effort on DVD. And I buy anything on DVD. I even bought Green Lantern fer crissakes (for the Arkham City dlc, I swear!) The funniest part about my Elektra experience? Already anticipating a disappointing movie (and clearly having no interest in the lead performer), I honestly went to see this on opening weekend because of the announced trailer for… Fantastic Four. I remember leaving the theater thinking, “Well, at least I got to see the Fantastic Four trailer.” Oof.

3. Ghost Rider (2007)

A few months before this movie came out, Screenlife released its deluxe edition of Marvel Scene-it, the DVD game that incorporates movie clips into its trivia questions. Obviously we bought it and played it, but were confounded by the sheer number of Ghost Rider questions. How were we supposed to answer questions about a movie that no one had seen yet? Turned out, the movie was supposed to have been released in 2006, but it needed some fine-tuning. Obvious red flag. Another red flag? That should have been Nicolas Cage himself. On last weekend’s Weekend Update segment of Saturday Night Live, Andy Samberg (as Nic Cage) “Gets in the Cage” with the real Nicolas Cage. We are reminded that all of his best action films have two key attributes: all the dialogue is either whispered or screamed; and everything in the movie is on fire. It would have been nice if those charming characteristics alone were enough to save this big-screen adaptation of one of Marvel’s B-list superheroes. On paper, it almost sounds like it could work: crazy-ass Cage playing a crazy possessed demon biker. And everything’s aflame. Eva Mendes is an attractive leading lady. What went wrong? Crazy-ass Cage playing a dumb-ass character. And everything’s atrocious: script, acting, and special effects. But Mendes still looks good.

2. Batman & Robin (1997)

Much has been made of the rubber nipples, enormous crotches, “Batman On Ice” references, and moronic one-liners that helped catapult this turd of a movie to an impressive eleven Razzie nominations in ’97. It also made me hate Joel Schumacher. Interestingly, it took a really godawful film to make a still-impressionable college student consider how much impact a director can have on a film. I didn’t blame Clooney, O’Donnell, Uma (I actually thought she was kinda hot), or even Arnold. Admittedly, Alicia Silverstone took some of the blame. But it was really all about Schumacher. His garish designs, comical action sequences, and dismissal of any kind of storyline killed off the original Batman movie sequence in a Mighty Morphin sulfur cloud. Beginning with Batman Forever, but even more clearly in Batman & Robin, Schumacher seemed to have every intent of reducing the superhero genre to a color-sprayed, meaningless farce.

1. Catwoman (2004)

I didn’t make it to opening weekend for Catwoman. And I’d heard such terrible things about the movie that it was years before I bothered watching it on DVD. This movie isn’t bad in spite of a hot leading lady; this movie is bad because of a hot leading lady. You pour Halle Berry into skintight black leather and prep her for sexy jumping around bits and bendy poses… and it’s a stupid fucking movie? Shame on you. What a sheer waste. I don’t even care that this movie’s connection to the DC character is in name only. Clearly, Gotham City pulled its name from the production sometime during the arbitration war waged by twenty-eight different writers fighting for screenplay rights. Three of the combatants “won” the honor of accepting the Razzie for Worst Screenplay. The best thing to come out of this movie was Berry’s acceptance speech for Worst Actress: “First of all, I want to thank Warner Brothers. Thank you for putting me in this piece of shit, God-awful movie…”

You know… whispering, screaming, and lots of fire doesn’t sound all that bad anymore. There may be some Spirit of Vengeance happening this weekend after all.

I had a definite feeling of closing shop, putting up the shutters, and taking in my shingle. I received my letter of acceptance to CSU Chico (the only university to which I bothered to apply), but decided – in the Great Holy Bee Tradition – to follow the path of least resistance and put some time in at the local community college for awhile.

I was spending most of my free time with Stephanie (my senior prom was out of the question, as she had already graduated and would not countenance a return to a high school function), but I was also gravitating toward more eccentric, off-beat characters like McKinney, whose every word was intended to entertain, confuse, or shock. My kind of guy. I was also having more and more conversations with a quiet, long-haired bass player named Allen Maxwell, whom I’d met in English class junior year. Consequently, I was spending less time with some of the old friends like Jeff O. and Eric. We were like foxhole buddies, fighting down in the high school trenches, but as the shooting stopped and the smoke cleared, we realized we didn’t really have all that much in common. They wanted to watch baseball and Faces of Death, I wanted to watch the Marx Brothers and Fawlty Towers. To their credit, they laughed their asses off at Duck Soup, but I don’t think I made them lifelong fans. They were on the tennis and cross-country teams, I was in drama. We didn’t split up and go our separate ways right then (community college, remember?), but there was a definite elegiac feeling in the air. Friendships would never be the same, and we were all very conscious of it. Joy at our impending graduation was tempered with a good deal of melancholy. (Not “Everybody Hurts”-level melancholy, but you fit things where you can.)

#86. “Creep” – Stone Temple Pilots
At some point in early May, I sat in an almost-empty classroom, facing the entire Student Council. I felt like a Supreme Court nominee being raked over the coals by fat-cat Senators. But no, I was merely interviewing for the position of Director of the Senior Showcase, the big Class of ‘93 talent show. It was the most ambitious thing I ever did in high school, and it came in the last four weeks.

The Student Council decided to choose the top two applicants as “co-directors.” I would be sharing the task with Tricia H., my co-star from Dracula who played my wife (as unenviable a position in fiction as it was in fact – she can be seen sitting next to me in the picture in the previous entry.) Far from being disappointed, I was ecstatic. Less work, and someone to share the blame if things went terribly, terribly awry. Tricia was a tough, sharp girl who used stay in character backstage at Dracula – but that character was “Long Island Lolita” Amy Fisher, who was dominating the headlines at the time. She would rant and curse at us all in a broad Noo Yawk accent (“I’m stayin’ wit’ Joey forevah, muthafuckah! Donchoo try’n stawp meeeeeee…!”) right up until she made her entrance onstage, when she would switch to the plummy British tones of Mina Harker without batting an eye.

McKinney also found himself involved. I don’t know if he tried out for director, but he ended up attaching himself to the show as “producer,” meaning he ran the soundboard, ran errands, and ran his mouth.

There was a time when the Senior Showcase was the “Senior Follies,” a much more freewheeling and bawdy night of “adult” entertainment. I’ve seen the videotapes from some of my friends’ older siblings with my own eyes, or I never would have believed what they got away with. Then as now, high schoolers never met a gay joke they didn’t like, and hammer into the ground ad nauseum. That sort of thing was considered good clean fun in the 1980s in the same way minstrel shows were considered harmless in the 1880s. While I wouldn’t have gone down that road, I did wish that our show could have had a little more comedic bite. By the early 90’s, things were safe and sanitized. Our edgiest sketch was the a re-hash of Robert Townsend’s “Farters Anonymous” – bowlderized into “Flatulators Anonymous.” Since the comedy element had been de-fanged, the Showcase was more of a musical recital, and didn’t require much in the way of “direction.” Just some minor blocking, some editing for time, and arranging the sound and light cues.

We decided to set the dangerous precedent of running the show without an M.C. With the judicious and well-timed use of stage curtains, an act could be performing downstage while another prepared upstage, and the show would flow like a stream of consciousness. After two weeks of meticulous rehearsals…it wasn’t close to working. Oh, well. We figured the Show Business gods would smile upon us, and the adrenaline of opening night would cause the whole thing to miraculously pull together.

It didn’t. And I wasn’t there to see it.

I was busy failing my Algebra 2 final out at my Yuba College night class on opening night. Tricia and McKinney did their best, but it was a clusterfuck. Again, oh well. Opening night was just a glorified dress rehearsal, anyway. Night two, Friday night, was when we’d have a packed house. During a tense huddle fifteen minutes before showtime on night two, we decided it just wouldn’t work without an M.C. The task fell to me. I felt very show-bizzy as I stood backstage in the last five minutes before curtain, sweating profusely and furiously scribbling what I hoped were funny lines on index cards that I stuffed in my pocket. The curtain went up, I did my best David Letterman saunter into the spotlight, and the glitches began. Luckily, I had McKinney to abuse. I hollered at him down in the tech pit from the stage, even when it wasn’t his fault (which wasn’t often), and he hollered back at me, and we turned it into a desperate little time-filling routine that just barely kept things on the rails.

The comedy sketches were a shambles, filled with inside jokes that only the performers got (I tried to cut as many of those as possible during rehearsals, but they sneaked them back in). Musically, we fared a little better. Allen’s band, Pink Viking, had played in the quad at lunchtime several times that year, and they were the Showcase highlight, offering an instrumental “Dazed and Confused” and Allen on vocals for ZZ Top’s “Sharp Dressed Man.”

The show closed with a so-called “Class of ’93” slideshow, which featured the same ten or twelve people in each picture. I loudly pointed that fact out to the audience as the show came to a welcome end. I can’t remember much of my own performance from the haze of that night, except that it was deemed adequate, and the second (and mercifully last) night of Senior Showcase 1993 was put in the books as a success. I would never put myself forward or volunteer to do anything again. Ever.

Allen mentioned Pink Viking in the same breath as the Rolling Stones, and joined the chorus of Stone Temple Pilot-haters when he signed my yearbook a week later. He directed his ire regarding to STP to mutual acquaintance Ryan S. for reasons lost to the mists of time.
#87. “My Name Is Mud” – Primus
The buses rolled out of the parking lot as dawn broke on one of my last days as a high school student. The destination? Great America. The event? Senior Class Trip. We convinced the bus driver to switch the radio station to KWOD, and we were soon treated to this bizarre (even for them) single from Primus. One of the few songs with no melody to speak of that I like. Les Claypool’s bass, always a prominent instrument in Primus, here takes over the whole show – not with the fluid virtuosity he’s certainly capable of, but with a super-amplified pounding reminiscent of someone playing a pneumatic drill.

It’s not exactly “Sweet Caroline” in terms of sing-alongability, and soon the bus driver switched back to a generic programmer station (“the best of yesterday’s hits, and today’s!”), and a singalong did break out. In one of those moments that was possible when “classic rock” still had deep cultural penetration – I don’t think the same thing could happen today – an entire busload of high school seniors sang along with The Rolling Stones’ “Let’s Spend The Night Together.”

As we closed in on our destination, there were more and more billboards for Great America. Soon there were road signs – “Great America, Next 2 Exits” – and the like. Every time we passed one of those harbingers of good times to come, Allen Maxwell would pipe up in his best Clark Griswold voice: “Waaaaahlley Wuh-hurrrrrld!!”

Unlike Walley World, Great America was open for business. There were many other high schools there that day, and all wearing official school t-shirts showing off their awesome mascots. The park was overrun with Cougars, Falcons, Wildcats, etc. The YCHS t-shirts aroused a lot of curiosity, emblazoned as they were with the legend “Home of the Honkers.” I heard “What the fuck is a Honker?” at least twenty times before noon. (For the record, a honker is a Canada goose, and the home of a honker is, I would imagine, an enormous, feces-encrusted nest. Gotta be proud.) It was chilly, overcast and spitting rain, so naturally we gravitated to the water rides like Rip Roaring Rapids. It turned out to be the first of two Really Bad Ideas that day. Really Bad Idea #2 was eating an ungodly amount of Dippin’ Dots on a dare. As we rode the bus home, and I sat shivering in the early stages of hypothermia with my stomach roiling and fighting against ejecting a pound and a half of partially digested Dippin’ Dots against the back of the seat in front of me, I decided to take a break from Really Bad Ideas for awhile. (Don’t worry, the break wasn’t permanent, as you’ll see in future entries.)

#88. “Numb” – U2
My big drama of graduation week was whether or not I would graduate as a member of the California Scholastic Federation, and get to wear the tiny gold pin on my graduation gown, and the gold braid around my shoulders, all of which indicated I was a member of the elite super-smarties. Most students got theirs at the big Awards Night back in May, but it was all hanging on one grade for me. If my spring AP English grade was a B-, I was in CSF. A C+ would put me out of the running. Old Man Wemple was a notoriously slow grader. I imagined him sitting in his cramped office in a wing-backed chair poring over my final exam with quill in hand, as stacks of paper threatened to topple over and kill him. He turned in his final grades at the last possible moment…and I was in! I received my pin and braid not onstage with my peers at Awards Night, but standing awkwardly alone in the principal’s office on graduation morning.

So let that be a lesson, kiddies. You never know when a slight amount of slacking off will bite you in the ass down the road. If I had done slightly better in any class, I would have had CSF locked up on schedule. (I did not leave the empty-handed on Awards Night, though. I got my certificate for scoring high on the California History Exam. It read “To Ma Isenhower, for Outstanding Achievement in History.” It’s a good thing it was the end of school, or I’d be “Ma Isenhower” to everybody from then on.)

Graduation itself was a blur. Rehearsals, standing around in the hot sun (the unseasonable overcast that had dominated the week had burned off that morning.) Practicing walking into the football stadium and sitting down, walking in and sitting down, walking in and sitting down. Then the real deal in the evening. Entering the stadium two by two. Boys in brown gowns, girls in gold. (A goddam goose for a mascot, and excrement for school colors. Fantastic.) I’m in the first row. Sitting. Speeches. More sitting. A litany of names, then my name. Go up, get my empty diploma case (to be filled upon return of the gown). More sitting. More names.

Then the best moment – the cap toss. Remember that one, gang? Take a minute to recollect how you felt.

This Used To Be Me: Front Row Joe, with CSF braid.

Grad Night was held at the fairgrounds. I ignored the velcro wall and sumo wrestling suits and went straight for the casino. I had heard the prizes included Wherehouse gift certificates, and I was going to get as many of them as I could. I was truly a Man Possessed, focusing intently on card-playing in a way that I would never would in my adult years in Reno and Tahoe. I won hand after hand of blackjack, and as soon as I accumulated the necessary chips, I headed straight for the cash-in window, then back to the tables to start the process again. The gift certificates ran out just in time for the 4:00 a.m pancake breakfast, and after eating my fill, I headed groggily out into the still pitch-black morning, about sixty dollars in Wherehouse money in my pocket.

“Numb” was the big single that week, an advance taste of the Zooropa album that would come out in July. Featuring monotone vocals from The Edge over a looped, industrial-style backing, it was an interesting change of pace for U2. It was certainly a pleasant numbness I felt when I drifted off to sleep as the sun came up. The end of a lot of good times, but the start of even more (I hoped.) Endless possibilities.

10.  Animal Collective, “My Girls”

January 2009 / From the album Merriweather Post Pavilion

9. Bon Iver, “Blood Bank”

January 2009 / From the EP Blood Bank

8. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, “Stay Alive”

February 2009 / From the album The Pains of Being Pure at Heart

7. Japandroids, “Young Hearts Spark Fire”

April 2009 / From the album Post-Nothing

6. Passion Pit, “Little Secrets”

May 2009 / From the album Manners

5. Phoenix, “1901″

May 2009 / From the album Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

4. Wilco, “You and I”

June 2009 / From the album Wilco (The Album)

3. Yatch, “Summer Song”

July 2009 / From the album See Mystery Lights

2. The XX, “Islands”

August 2009 / From the album XX

1. The Big Pink, “Dominos”

September 2009 / From the album A Brief History of Love

It was Will’s What I Heard compilation that gave real direction to this operation. Following his lead, we shared our favorite albums with one another just prior to winter break in 2002. Initially, these discs included songs from 2000 and 2001. That was before the project took on radioactive parameters and, screeching with mathematical fury, threatened to destroy Tokyo to the hundredth decimal point.

We went from friends, happy to find common ground in something like 02′s Yoshimi, to bitter rivals, arguing vehemently over whether or not 03′s Hail to the Thief belonged on a year-end celebration of the best music. We were doing one list, one compilation, and affixing one name to the glossy inkjet-printed booklet: the institute of idle time’s top 20 records of the year. I even had the audacity (or foresight) to stick a little ® on there, even though I shamelessly stole the Jack White artwork from someone on the internet.

Inspired by Pitchfork’s scoring system (another possible reason the project engendered so much initial animosity), we consolidated, ranked, and busted out the now legendary first official Idle Time “Best Of” comp in December of 2003. I made Will write the intro for the CD booklet.

Rock and Roll has retarded our lives! This whole project started with the idea of coming up with a definitive “top 20″ of the year. Well, that is, the definitive top 20 as it relates to the three ding dongs in the back corner of MPS. Yes, we do teach occasionally, but we really just sit around and talk about/ridicule music all day. I really think this is the only thing that keeps us coming back every year.

Here’s how it works: Mike, Matt, and I all submitted our personal top 20 CDs of 2003. We then scored all of the CDs on a scale of 1-10. Each score was entered into a database, and the CD with the most points was the “winner.” And, yes, a special database was created just for this project.

Mike made me write this because supposedly this was all my idea. Maybe, but he still wishes he’d thought of it. – WH

The cute pseudonyms were born in that booklet too. I think subconsciously all this rampant piracy made us a little nervous. How were we to know that not even a decade later intellectual property rights would hardly mean a damn and the world wide web would turn into a playground of digital socialism? So we hid cleverly behind the impervious anonymity of our own actual initials, confident that this would foil any FBI plot to root out felonious file-sharers and make an example of them. We had our own paper-and-staple usernames way before any online avatars came into being.

And for those of you still scratching your head at the sheer amount of verbiage that’s been vented all over this website to celebrate our favorite records of the last few years, you may find it funny that the blurbs, in that first compilation, averaged about fifty words. (“I didn’t know Phil Spector worked with the Cramps. The [Deadly] Snakes are a refreshing addition to the garage rock scene. – WH”)

You can now check out the original ’03 list in the Accolades section of the site.

Directed by – Edger G. Ulmer

Starring – Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi

****** 6 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: Who wants to go on their Honeymoon in Hungary? Well Joan and Peter Allison do and as luck has it they end up sharing their train compartment with Dr. Vitus Verdegast, a bit of a weirdo who is returning to the town he defended before becoming a prisoner of war for fifteen years (life has sorta sucked for old Vitus). Anyway, when the bus they were taking to their hotel crashes in a mountain storm and Joan is hurt, they find a fortress-like home to hole up in. The home, turns out, was built on the site of a bloody battlefield! There at the fucked up house, cat-phobic Verdegast learns his wife’s fate, grieves for his lost daughter, and must play a game of chess for Allison’s life. What a fucking Honeymoon!

Fun Fact: Edgar G. Ulmer admitted in an interview that Edgar Allan Poe’s story was credited to draw public attention, despite the fact it had nothing to do with the story in the movie. No shit there Edgar.

Classic Quote: “I don’t know. It all sounds like a lot of supernatural baloney to me.” – Dr. Vitus Verdegast. “Supernatural, perhaps. Baloney, perhaps not. There are many things under the sun.” – Peter Allison

Filming Locations: Universal Studios – 100 Universal City Plaza, Universal City, California, USA

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Directed by – James Whale

Starring – Boris Karloff, Colin Clive, Ernest Thesiger

********* 9 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: The movie starts out in the “real world” when Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus, reveals to her husband Percy Shelley and most likely fuck-buddy, Lord Byron, that Dr. Henry Frankenstein and his Monster did not die in her story (the first movie!). Both lived, and had even more good times than ever before. She begins to tell them part 2 of her story which starts out as Dr. Frankenstein just wants to marry his girlfriend and have a nice quiet life. But things don’t pan out for the Doctor when a knock comes on his door. It is his old professor, the sinister Dr. Pretorius! Pretorius wants to hire Henry to help him create more monsters. Henry tells him to fuck off but Pretorius ends up befriending Frankenstein’s Monster and together the both of them blackmail Henry into continuing his work. The Monster wants his creator to build him a friend (“You say she’s just a friend, and you say she’s just a friend… ohhh baby you….) and Pretorius wants to see dead tissue become a living woman. Henry is forced to give his creature a bride.

Fun Fact: Boris Karloff protested against the decision to make The Monster speak, but was overruled. Since he was required to speak in this film, Karloff was not able to remove his partial bridgework as he had done to help give the Monster his sunken cheek appearance in the first film. That’s why The Monster appears fuller of face in the sequel.

Classic Quote: “We belong dead!” – The Monster

Filming Locations: Court of Miracles, Backlot, Universal Studios – 100 Universal City Plaza, Universal City, California, USA

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931)

Directed by - Rouben Mamoulian

Starring – Fredric March, Miriam Hopkins

***** 5 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: Based on the story by Robert Louis Stevenson (wait, aren’t serial killers the only people that go by 3 names?), Dr. Henry Jekyll is obsessed with proving that there are two distinct sides to men – a good and an evil side. He thinks that if he can somehow separate the two sides that man can become liberated. And like a 19th century Walter White, he busts out some science yo and concocts some blue chemical drug that he decides to test on himself. The result is Mr. Hyde! One crazy ass mother fucker with a serious overbite that loves to rock and roll all night and party everyday. After a few too many killer hangovers, Dr. Jekyll stops using his drug but the damage has been done and Mr. Hyde ain’t going away that easy.

Fun Fact: The first horror movie ever to win an Academy Award.

Classic Quote: “I have no soul. I’m beyond the pale. I’m one of the living dead!” – Dr. Jekyll

Filming Locations: Busch Gardens – S. Grove Avenue, Pasadena, California, USA (scene where Dr. Jekyll sees the bird and the cat up in tree)

Watch one of the best transformation scenes ever filmed. Impressive for 1931

Dracula (1931)

Directed by – Tod Browning

Starring – Bela Lugosi, Helen Chandler, Dwight Frye,

Edward Van Sloan

******* 7 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: So a Real Estate Agent named Renfield takes a ride through the Carpathian mountains in eastern Europe on his way to meet with some dude named Count Dracula. Dracula lives in a castle named, uh, Castle Dracula. I guess Dracula just wants a change of scenery or something, ’cause he ends up buying an Abbey in London called Carfax. Castles, Abbeys, fuck Drac whats wrong with a nice cottage? Well, after all the paperwork is singed and dated, Dracula thanks Renfield for his help by drugging him, and turning him into one of his evil minions, that will protect him during his sea voyage to London (“My bad, forgot to mention I’m a vampire bro”). Gee thanks for nothing Count. Dracula gets to London and even before he unpacks his boxes at the Abbey he starts to suck the blood of young Lucy Weston, turning her into a vampire. After Lucy is all used up, Ol’ Drac turns his attention to her friend Mina Steward. Pretty soon Mina’s health goes to shit and her father calls in the family doctor who just happens to be, Van Helsing! Van Helsing figures out Dracula is a vampire and starts up a vampire hunters club and they take care of business.

Fun Fact: Bela Lugosi never blinks even once throughout the film.

Classic Quote: “My, what a big bat!” – John Harker

Filming Locations: Vasquez Rocks Natural Area Park – 10700 W. Escondido Canyon Rd., Agua Dulce, California, USA (opening sequence – Renfield’s coach)

Frankenstein (1931)

Directed by – James Whale

Starring – Colin Clive, Boris Karloff

********** 10 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: You know you’re a mad scientist when you conduct experiments on bringing dead people back to life, or re-animation. The problem is when you are a fucking crazy mad scientist you most likely are so fucking crazy you don’t realize it and figure that bringing the dead back to life is a normal day job. Yeah, Dr. Henry Frankenstein falls right into this description. Dudes been diggin’ up graves and even performing experiments on small animals (does the name JEFFREY DAHMER mean anything to you Henry?) trying to figure out the mystery of life and death. Anyway, after a lot trial and error he is now ready to create life in a man he has assembled from body parts. His fiancé Elizabeth (hold up. This guy as a girlfriend?!) and friend Victor Moritz are worried about his health as he spends far too many hours in his laboratory on his experiments – not to mention that he’s crazy as fuck. But Henry has the last laugh, because turns out he wasn’t that crazy and he was able to bring the dead back to life – with the help of some lightening. The result is The Monster! But the Monster isn’t too keen on being a goddamn “monster” so he breaks out and goes on a journey to “find” himself.

Fun Fact: According to the TLC network program “Hunt for Amazing Treasures”, a unique six-sheet poster for the original 1931 release, showing Karloff as The Monster menacing Mae Clarke, is worth at least $600,000 US and is possibly the most valuable movie poster in the world. The only known (original) copy is owned by a private collector.

Classic Quote: “Oh, in the name of God! Now I know what it feels like to be God!” – Henry Frankenstein

Filming Locations: Busch Gardens – S. Grove Avenue, Pasadena, California, USA (convalescent scene) / Lake Sherwood, California, USA (creature and young girl by the lake scene)

The Invisible Man (1933)

Directed By – James Whale

Starring – Claude Rains, Gloria Stuart

****** 6 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: A mysterious man, whose head is completely covered in bandages, walks into a bar and wants a room….. I know, I know, sounds like the start of a bad joke. The owners of the pub aren’t used to making their house an inn during the winter months, but the man insists, and really, how can you say no to someone wrapped in bandages? That’s just rude. The owners soon come to regret their decision though as the bandaged man runs out of money, and turns out to be a fucking asshole d-bag. Worse still, he has turned his room into a meth-lab as it filled with messy chemicals, test tubes, beakers and the like. Meanwhile, Flora Cranley is all upset about the disappearance of her boyfriend, Dr. Griffin. She begs her father, who Dr. Griffin was an assistant for, to help look for him. But what they don’t know is that the Dr. Griffin has discovered the secret of invisibility and is the dude wrapped in bandages that is fucking up the pub down the street.

Fun Fact: Although he has the lead in the film and his character is onscreen for 95% of the film, Claude Rains never actually “appears” onscreen until the very last moment.

Classic Quote: “An invisible man can rule the world. Nobody will see him come, nobody will see him go. He can hear every secret. He can rob, and rape, and kill!” – The Invisible Man

Filming Locations: Universal Studios – 100 Universal City Plaza, Universal City, California, USA

Mark of the Vampire (1935)

Directed By – Tod Browning

Starring – Lionel Barrymore, Bela Lugosi, Lionel Atwill

***** 5 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: There’s been a murder! On the victim’s neck there are tiny pinpoint wounds that, of course, suggest that a vampire did it! Baron Otto and Dr. Doskil are convinced a vampire is roaming the streets sucking blood in the alleyways. But town Police Inspector refuses to believe (why do police inspectors always gotta be so rational and shit?). This dude named Professor Zelin, who specializes in the occult, must convince Inspector that a dead count and his wife walk among the living (ok dear readers, just so you know, anytime you run across someone that claims to be a “Count“? Dude’s a vampire!)

Fun Fact: The film is a semi-remake of Browning’s London After Midnight in which Lon Chaney played a vampire who turned out to be a detective in disguise. London After Midnight is the most famous of all “lost films.” The last known copy was destroyed in a fire in an MGM film vault in 1967. It is hoped that eventually a print of this film may be discovered in a foreign archive or a private collection.

Classic Quote: “We must all die. There’s nothing terrible about death, but to live on after death, a soul earth-bound, a vampire. You don’t wish any such fate for your beloved.” – Prof. Zelin

Filming Locations: Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios – 10202 W. Washington Blvd., Culver City, California, USA

The Mummy (1932)

Directed By – Karl Freund

Starring – Boris Karloff, Zita Johann, David Manners,

Edward van Sloan

***** 5 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: In 1921 a team of archaeologists led by Sir Joseph Whemple, beats Indiana Jones to the punch and uncovers the 3700 year old mummy of Imhotep! One of the archaeologists, the stupid one, opens the scroll of Thoth and reads the out loud the inscription that will bring Imhotep back to life. Way to go buddy. Cut to 10 years later and Sir Joseph returns to the dig site with his son Frank. What they don’t know is that the Mummy has entered the Witness Protection Program and is now going by the name Ardath Bay, a mysterious Egyptian who helps the expedition uncover the tomb of his sexy girlfriend. He then uses his mystic powers to mesmerize the reincarnation of his sexy girlfriend in the form of Helen Grosvenor (seems like a lot of trouble just to get laid). When Sir Joseph gets in the way of Bay’s mysterious ways he mysteriously dies…. mysteriously. Frank Whemple, with the help of Dr. Muller, attempts to discover the key to Ardath Bay’s powers and get Helen back.

Fun Fact: So many layers of cotton were glued to Boris Karloff’s face to create the wrinkled visage of Imhotep as a mummy that Karloff was unable to move his facial muscles enough even to speak.

Classic Quote: [translating inscription on box] “Death… eternal punishment… for… anyone… who… opens… this… casket. In the name… of Amon-Ra… the king of the gods.” Good heavens, what a terrible curse!” – Sir Joseph Whemple. [eagerly] “Well, let’s see what’s inside!” – Ralph Norton

Filming Locations: Mojave Desert, California, USA / Red Rock Canyon State Park – Highway 14, Cantil, California, USA

Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932)

Directed By – Robert Florey

Starring – Bela Lugosi, Sidney Fox, Leon Ames

***** 5 out of 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: Hey, you just watched Woody Allen’s Midnight In Paris and you are probably thinking, “Oh man, I would love to live in Paris in the 19th Century.” But I’m here to tell you that it wasn’t all wine and roses in Paris back in the day. There were also maniacal doctors running around the streets, abducting young woman and injecting them with ape blood! One such doctor is Dr. Mirakle. You see he was trying to prove his theory about ape-human kinship, but he constantly met failure as the abducted women kept dying on him. Go figure. Medical student Pierre Dupin discovers what Mirakle is doing too late to prevent the abduction of his girlfriend Camille. Now he desperately tries to enlist the help of the police to get her back. See, Paris was kinda fucked up

Fun Fact: Among the caricatures drawn on the walls of Dupin’s apartment is the likeness of Edgar Allan Poe, who wrote the story the film is based on.

Classic Quote: “Think of what these walls are hiding. Broken hopes, bodies and hearts…crimes of the street and tragedies of the river. Paris — my city” – Pierre Dupin

Filming Locations: Universal Studios – 100 Universal City Plaza, Universal City, California, USA

Werewolf Of London (1935)

Directed By – Stuart Walker

Starring – Henry Hull, Warner Oland, Valerie Hobson

****** 6 out 10 ghosty orbs!

Plot: Dr. Wilfred Glendon (you know, I just realized that almost every horror movie in the 1930′s has a crazy ass Doctor in it) returns to London with a rare flower he discovered in Tibet. As a bonus, he was also attacked and bitten by a werewolf! Ahhh, Tibet. Well you don’t need me to tell you what happens when you get bit by a werewolf. Yeah, that’s right, Wilfred ends up changing into one himself at the first full moon. But in a sweet stroke of luck, you know that rare flower Wilfred found in Tibet, right before he was attacked and bitten by a werewolf? Well it turns out that flower is the antidote to werewolfism! Sweet! But the mysterious Dr. Yogami from Tibet (another goddamn crazy doctor) finds out about the flower and wants it for himself. Hmmmm, I wonder why?

Fun Fact: The werewolf howl used in this film is a combination of Henry Hull’s own voice and a recording of an actual timber-wolf. The result is generally thought to have a far more realistic result than in any subsequent werewolf films, including 1941′s “The Wolf-Man.”

Classic Quote: “Thanks for the bullet.” – Dr. Wilfred Glendon

Filming Location: Vasquez Rocks Natural Area Park - 10700 W. Escondido Canyon Rd., Agua Dulce, California, USA

1. Action Comics – Grant Morrison, Rags Morales, and Rick Bryant

Grant Morrison is the Radiohead of comics creators. He reinvents without losing sight of the power of the medium, shaking lose from the expected while celebrating the sanctity of the established. Every time he dons his fiction suit and dives into the mythstream, he creates something worth experiencing. Sometimes challenging, oftentimes multilayered, but always engaging, these are constructs that grant repeat readers/listeners/devotees new rewards with every visit. He loves comics; and the passion for the story, character, and fabric of four-color futures comes through with every project and plotline. I’ll read everything he writes, and I’ll expect everything to be worth my time. The track record speaks for itself: beyond the pre-Vertigo fantasy that first brought Morrison to our attention, he has gone on to craft some of the greatest X-Men, Justice League, and Batman stories ever conceived. Handing over the reins for DC’s most important book, the comic that started it all, makes perfect sense. And the funny thing is, Grant Morrison has already written the great Superman story.

All-Star Superman, created with fellow Scotsman Frank Quitely, debuted in 2005. Over the course of its twelve issues, Superman transcends popular culture iconography and is situated properly in the pantheon of literary deities. The story opens with news that Superman, now more powerful than ever, has one year to live. The very source of his abilities, our solar system’s yellow sun, has over-saturated his cells. His final acts, delineated as twelve Herculean labors, give epic context to everything from his relationship with Lois, to the existence of Bizarro World, to the villainy of Lex Luthor. Free of the constraints of continuity and irrespective of whatever Crisis reset button had been recently pushed, All-Star Superman is the Superman story for all time, complete with loving tribute to the real, prophetic power of Joe Shuster. As Morrison himself explains in 2011′s Supergods, “Stories can break hearts or foment revolutions. Words can put electricity into our hearts or make our blood run cold. And the idea of Superman is every bit as real as the idea of God” (p. 415).

If All-Star was Morrison’s chance to write Superman at his most powerful, a near-omnipotent being tasked with near-insurmountable challenges, then the new Action Comics series is a chance to reinvent Kal-El’s beginnings. This series is partially removed from DC’s New 52 continuity, initially set five years before the events of other books like Perez’s Superman or Johns and Lee’s Justice League. This young Superman is significantly less powerful than the Superman we’d been accustomed to, reminiscent of the character’s earliest adventures (Siegel and Shuster’s original Superman, back in 1938, couldn’t even fly), and is possessed of a brash, youthful exuberance that borders on arrogance.

Like a guitarist in a band of 17-year-olds, experience doesn’t even come into it — he just does it. He’s a superhero — he doesn’t have to think. He’s a kid who’s been set free from Ma and Pa Kent. Both of them are dead, and suddenly he thinks, “I’m the most powerful thing on the planet. It’s time to start cleaning up!” It seemed like you could get a really good story out of a young man who’s not considering what he’s doing — he’s just doing it because it feels right. – Grant Morrison

What feels right, for Superman and his alter ego Clark Kent, also brilliantly re-explored by Morrison, is to blow the lid on a political scandal simmering under the shiny exterior of the City of Tomorrow. Meanwhile, a young Lex Luthor is employed by the military to capture, interrogate and analyze this alien intruder who is running around Metropolis at terrific speeds with a striking “S” on his chest. Morrison wanted to put the “action” back in Action Comics, and this fast-paced introduction to the series, culminating in an incredible (and ironic) final splash page in the first issue (I won’t spoil it), accomplishes just that.

Then it gets even better. An alien invasion spearheaded by that city-shrinking maniacal cosmic collector, Braniac, woven into a series of flashbacks of Superman’s Kryptonian origin and the bottling of Kandor. Throw in a time-traveling Legion of Super-Heroes twist, along with the origins of Steel, and we already have the makings of the next great Superman story. And because it’s Morrison, the script is perfectly tooled and the plots are intricately orchestrated. Newcomers to the Superman mythos are not left Wiki-scrambling for references or explanations. Anything obtuse or mysterious is intentionally so, all part of an overarching storyline that promises to be the best capes-n-tights event of the last two years. Yes, it’s that good.

Rags Morales, who broke in with DC’s Black Condor miniseries back in 1992, really came into his own on 2004′s Identity Crisis. With Action, he again marries a penchant for cartoonish expression to fluid, dynamic action sequencing. The swagger of a young Superhero is undeniable.

I thought, “What are the two iconic things that Superman would be to me?” He’d be part Steve Reeves and part Elvis. When he’s catching the bullet, he’s got that Elvis light in the corner of his eye. – Rags Morales

And if Morales’s accomplished linework isn’t enough, we’re treated to Krypton sequences courtesy of Gene Ha. His stylized character design and futuristic architecture are the stuff of sci-fi wet dreams.

For veteran comics readers, DC diehards included, the story is a love letter to decades of continuity. Fans nervous about the New 52 initiative should rejoice in this reworking of Super-history. The characterization is flawless; from Clark Kent to Lex Luthor, Lois Lane to Jimmy Olsen, we immediately get the sense that these characters we’ve known forever have come to life, breathing in Siegel and Maggin, exhaling Byrne and Moore. Past history is treated reverentially; concepts and situations never recycled, but reinvigorated.

Except, there’s this whole Brainiac thing…

So, personally, I haven’t really enjoyed a Superman yarn since Geoff Johns and Gary Frank brought the Silver Age Brainiac back to the DCU in a 2008 Action Comics arc. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that it’s Johns’s finest work. So what’s Morrison doing, not even three years later, writing what will, in all probability, be an even better Brainiac story? The answer might lie in Johns’s current Justice League storyline. Readers of this blog are no doubt aware that we’ve been underwhelmed, to say the least, with this opening punch to the DCnU (I was disappointed from the start; my pal ghostmann was a bit more vociferous by the time issue five rolled around). In this awful new JLA series, the team forms to combat the evil that is Darkseid, the god-level villain created by the inimitable Jack Kirby back in 1970.  Hold on again… I feel like we just read the ultimate Darkseid story… We did. Also in 2008. Final Crisis, my personal pick for the best DC event in their lengthy history (arguments from ghostmann, I know, but we can debate that later). Oh, and it was written by Grant Morrison. So, hey Grant, I’m going to snag Jim Lee and we’re going to kickstart this great big DC reboot with a Darkseid story. Cool? Hey Geoff, fuck you. I’m going to out-Brainiac the last good thing you ever did.

At least, that’s what I’d like to think happened…

There’s also something to be said about number 9. Justice League Dark. It just happens to be one of the best books in the DCnU with one of the stupidest titles. Get past the hokey and superfluous connection to DC’s main team book, and read this for the kind of twisted sorcery-infused adventure that you hope for every time you mentally narrate a Magic: The Gathering match (I can’t be the only who does this). This is also (surprise!) a re-introduction of Vertigo characters back into the DC universe. Peter Milligan gets to resurrect Shade, The Changing Man and here come Madame Xanadu and John Constantine for good measure. It’s what we’ve secretly been wishing for since Constantine and Dream last hung out together way back in ’89.

#2 Batman – Scott Snyder, Greg Capullo, and Jonathan Glapion

For a long time,  Saturday morning cartoons were my only inlet into the world of capes, cowls, and spandex.  Growing up, my comic-related knowledge relied on two volumes of colorized Eastman/Laird Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stories, and the entire set of ’95 Fleer Ultra Spider-Man trading cards.* Instead of reading the books, I watched every single super-hero cartoon that made its way to the Saturday morning block. Actual comic books were neglected, their covers providing a simple sense of the kinds of dramas that were supposed to unfold between my action figures. I was a superficial comic fan, liking the content for what it looked like, never really thinking about it as literature.

When I inevitably made the cross-over from television to graphic novels, I was eighteen, a legal adult, and I made mine Marvel. After all, it was Marvel’s cartoon cast of costume-clad characters that first piqued my pubescent fan-boy interest. Every opinion I’ve developed about comics, every urge to spend $3.99 on 24-pages of glossy, illustrated wonder is rooted in those Saturday mornings inside Marvel’s animated universe. And to this day, I see Marvel heroes as old friends–drinking buddies from the juice-box era, here to help me escape from boredom into a world of imagination.

There is, of course, one exception–the one exception I think every Marvel fan concedes to: The Batman. When I think about DC comics, only three (maybe four) characters jump to mind, all of whom grace the top three spots on this list, and Batman is hands down the coolest. Before Marvel got their shit together to produce accurate cartoon versions of their popular book titles, Warner Bros. had Batman: The Animated Series, an extension of the successful launch of Tim Burton’s cinematic Bat-franchise. Batman: TAS was DC’s sole cartoon offering for a long while, but it’s dark tone and excellent animation put it levels above anything Marvel had at the time, including the awesome Jim Lee/Chris Claremont inspired X-Men cartoon. Even after a well-received Justice League show and several (pretty good) Batman incarnations, The Animated Series is still the best super hero cartoon show ever.** So, shortly after pledging to devote myself strictly to the goings-on of the Marvel U, I allowed myself one concession - Batman books – and I opened my world to Gotham City legends by Alan Moore, Frank Miller, and Jeph Loeb. As one of DC’s signature characters, and arguably the most visible super hero in the game thanks to those fine Chris Nolan flicks, Batman carries the burden of many fans’ expectations. Die-hard readers critique lame Batman arcs with the same animosity as those against Julie Taymor Beatles musicals and inconsistencies in Star Wars prequels. So when DC relaunched all of their titles, believe when I say that Batman was one of the few that really mattered.

After legendary author Grant Morrison penned some of the most epic Batman stories of recent years,  DC tapped newcomer Scott Snyder, a Columbia educated author, whose American Vampire title on DC’s adult-oriented label, ”Vertigo,” has garnered praise from critics and fans alike. Morrison took Batman to outer space, back in time, and finally around the world with his global crime-fighting franchise, “Batman, INC.” Scott Snyder brings Bruce Wayne back home to Gotham City in “Batman #1,” Batman’s first foray into the “New DCU.”

Everything that happened in Morrison’s books are still law under Snyder, and when we first see Batman, he is not a child who just watched his parents murdered on a cold night in Crime Alley. This book does not reboot the legend of Batman, but takes it to its next evolution. First-time readers can easily explore and assess Snyder’s vision of Batman without doing any extensive Wikipedia research, and fans will be pleased to have Batman back to “business-as-usual” in a mystery that is genuinely suspenseful in the classic “Batman” milieu. On another ruthless night in the big city of Gotham, a corpse surfaces with a warning: “Bruce Wayne will die tomorrow.” The only clue is a throwing knife emblazoned with the image of an Athenian owl. Bruce Wayne remains unstirred. Why should he care? He is the Dark Knight and Gotham is his town. The symbol seems innocuous, its meaningfulness dismissed because of its reference to an old Gotham folk song, “The Court of Owls.” According to the song, the Court rules Gotham from behind the scenes, employing an assassin-enforcer, known as “The Talon,” to deal with any inconvenience. No one in Gotham believes in the Court of Owls, especially Batman. After all, the Wayne family is a Gotham City institution and has been for hundreds of years; there’s nothing about Gotham that Bruce Wayne/Batman doesn’t know about. Right?

This is where Snyder gets to work. Slapping “#1″ on the cover of a comic is a good way to lube sales, but if DC expected to keep new readers, they were going to have to bring entertaining stories that mattered. Snyder takes the Batman universe, and instead of disassembling anything, he makes us question whether we really know what to expect from Gotham City. More importantly, he makes Batman ask that same question. As much as he’d like to dismiss it as coincidence or superstition, the possibility that the Court is real becomes dangerously clear to Wayne after a visit from the Talon, who ninja-kicks Bruce out of the top of Wayne Tower. The threat of a secret organization is nothing new for the Dark Knight, but “The Court of Owls” is more than a corny villain. These guys remind us that we don’t know everything. By throwing ol’ pointy-ears a curve ball on his home turf, subverting the long standing, symbiotic relationship between Batman and his city, Snyder promises readers there’s still fun to be had, legends to be made, and if we just turn the page, they’ll be ours to enjoy. Some of the sequences may seem conventionally familiar but they’re polished under the care of its new creative team, and five issues deep, this story keeps its exciting momentum.

However, the credit doesn’t fall squarely on Scott Snyder, because Greg Capullo’s art renders life into the pages of Batman #1. Capullo maintains the “classical” tone of this urban folk tale with  illustrations that look like early 20th century concept art . “The Court of Owls” is a relic from Gotham’s past at the turn of the twentieth century. Capullo’s drawings of Gotham show it as a bustling urban sprawl, shooting upward into dusk, growing over its history. Victorian buildings latticed with stone gargoyles stand like scars amongst the dark steel of Gotham’s modern skyline. Every room has its darkness, every character seems to stand in shadow.  As MI points out, some of the scenes evoke the “Grand Guignol,” a macabre French stage show popular in the 1920′s. That’s not to imply there’s horrifically realistic gore, but the nature of the violence, as seen in issue #2 where the tight paneling of Bruce’s fist-fight with the Talon, or the overhead images of Batman performing a holographic autopsy, are meant to send a cold chill down your spine. Snyder and Capullo’s visceral reading experience culminates in issue #5, where we readers must constantly turn and shift the actual book as Batman is devoured by an inflicted delirium while trapped in a labyrinthine dungeon. So far, Batman is one of those titles that demonstrate comic books are still fun and engaging in spite of all the slick replicate formats like video games, movies, and yes, even cartoon shows. Right now the identities and motives of the Court of Owls remain a mystery to me. I really want to know what happens next, so when issue #6 hits the shelves, I’ll be hiding inside MDG’s messenger bag, waiting to take his copy. If you give these first issues a chance, I’m confident you too will want to know the whole story.

You may even find your new favorite pasttime.