Mladen and Del review ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’
“Pan’s Labyrinth” Starring Ivana Baquero, Ariadna Gil, and Sergi Lopez. Directed by Guillermo del Torro. 119 minutes. Rated R.
Mladen’s take
Beautifully shot, captivatingly acted, the film “Pan’s Labyrinth” has to be more complex than what appears on the surface, as gripping as the surface can be.
At face value the movie is about a smart, upstanding 12-year-old girl descending into a fantasy world below and about the abandoned mill where she’s staying with her desperate mother and vile step-father, a captain in the Spanish army of fascist Generalissimo Francisco Franco.
It’s 1944 and the captain and his unit are mopping up communists hiding in the mountains. As he flattens a less-than-subservient suspect’s nose with a beer bottle, shoots others with his pistol and tortures a captured partisan, the captain’s pregnant wife ignores the bloodshed and prepares for child birth.
Her daughter tries to escape the horror through imagination. In her thoughts, she encounters Pan, the tattooed, goat-like guardian of a utopian kingdom long dead. He promises the girl eternal life and happiness, as long as she executes three deeds.
On the surface, “Pan’s Labyrinth” is about a girl turning inward to forget the brutal world engulfing her. Trouble is, her adventures in fantasy land aren’t all that wonderful. During her quest, the girl encounters all sorts of creatures – one beast, with drooping skin and eyes in the palms of its hands, eats two of the girl’s dainty fairies.
“Pan’s Labyrinth” strongly suggests, if not outright screams, that even the imaginary places we contrive for peace of mind are tainted by exposure to civilization. We’re viciously human even when we don’t have to be, though in this case the girl eventually journeys to a happier land.
Del’s take
What’s to understand, Mladen? This girl’s life really, really sucks.
Her name is Ofelia and she’s the quintessential stepchild – her real father was murdered by fascists, her mother has taken up with those very same fascists and Ofelia’s only escape is the brutal and scary fantasy world of Pan’s Labyrinth, which is about as much fun as a two-for-one root canal.
While performing the three tasks to prove her worthiness to Pan, Ofelia makes mistakes, disobeys orders, and brings pain and even death into her life … wow, sounds like a shopping adventure at Wal-Mart.
But what matters is where she’s at when the movie ends, and I guess it’s safe to say she’s in a better place.
What I took from this movie is that life – even a fantasy life – extracts its pound of flesh. Sometimes you have to go through hell to get to heaven. Sometimes it’s worth it.
“Pan’s Labyrinth” is dark by American standards but it reminded me that even a can of Spam can taste like a banquet when you haven’t had anything to eat in a long time.
Mladen Rudman is a former journalist and technical editor. Del Stone Jr. is a journalist and author.
Video
“The Host” Starring Kang-ho Song, Hie-bong Byeon and Hae-il Park. Directed by Joon-ho Bong. 119 minutes. Rated R.
Del’s take
I was told to expect a monster movie, a “Godzilla” sans cheesy rubber suit and toy airplanes. I was not told to expect humor, a dysfunctional family and biting political commentary.
Yet that’s what director Bong has delivered with “The Host,” a modern fable that calls upon classic storytelling and genre tropes to deliver its subtextual punch. “The Host” gives us a monster, yes, and it is a monster that gallops through its CGI-energized paces with the crazed recklessness of a 20-ton tweeker.
But worse monstrosities await victims of “The Host,” from the disaffections of life in the 21st century to conspiratorial governments that treat the helpless as cannon fodder for shrouded strategic aims.
In “The Host,” a family broken apart by selfishness is united in a quest to free a young girl who has been taken away by a monster that sprang from the Han River, which flows through Seoul, South Korea.
The family members must confront not only the monster but also resolve their personal differences and deal with a bureaucratic apparatus that has been set up to conceal the truth about the creature.
“The Host” is sure to befuddle the ADD-addled brains of many Americans but it is a fine piece of moviemaking that does what all good stories should do – entertain and provoke.
Mladen’s take
Sure, the people in “The Host” are important.
There’s the fractured family with its only functional constituent a middle-school girl. There’s the meek, bureaucracy-poisoned government of South Korea and there’s the omnipotent U.S. Army illegally polluting the Han River.
But it’s the creature spawned by the toxic Han that steals the show.
A cross between the quad-jaw worms in “Tremors” and the tadpole phase of the smog monster in a classic pro-environment Godzilla epic, the Han beast is ferocity and guile in all its computer-animated glory.
Smart monsters are appealing because they’re alarming. It’s not that they kill you because you’re unluckily at the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s that they’re going to figure out where you live, case the joint, organize an attack plan and then follow it to kill you.
“The Host” is appealing because it makes the absurd premise of a mutated beast rising from shallow river depths near a metropolis believable.
And, it’s believable because of the way Bong portrays humanity’s reaction to the creature.
Mladen Rudman is a former journalist and technical editor. Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and author.
Video
Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
Monday night, I bought a coffin for Maggie.
I chose a white satin-finish hatbox, the right size for a 4-pound cat.
I wanted to bury her in Mom’s back yard so she could be outside. We lived near a busy road and she never got to be outside when she was alive.
Maggie came into my life in 1991. She was a companion for my other cat, Pavlov. Little did I know she would steal my heart.
I found her at PAWS. She was snuggled with a littermate and I took her home with me. Over the years I wondered what happened to that littermate. I hope somebody took him home, too.
Maggie was the cat Pavlov never became. While Pavlov grew fat and earthbound, Maggie lolled in the window, drinking the sun. She preferred high places and once disappeared on the roof, reappearing on a neighbor’s patio. That prompted a midnight visit from Mom, Dad and Dad’s extension ladder.
But her favorite place was my lap. Summer or winter – it didn’t matter. She would climb aboard, make biscuits with her claws and abruptly plop down, sleeping for as long as I cared to sit still. I can’t count the times I remained on the couch long after I needed to use the bathroom because I didn’t want to disturb the cat.
I knew she would live forever.
In July, Maggie began to act strangely. She refused the litter box, using the mat in front. I thought she was upset over the hurricane. I laid out plastic sheeting and newspapers.
She began to lose weight. Her hip bones showed and her fur, which had always shone a lustrous tabby orange, became dull and scruffy. Something was wrong. I took her to our longtime vet, Kelly Haeusler at Airport Vet in Destin.
The diagnosis shocked me. Her kidneys were shutting down, a common malady among older cats. Her life could be prolonged by IVs but the end was inevitable.
I opted for the IVs. It became our daily ritual – a session in the bathroom with a needled hooked under skin. The fluids would form a comical pocket around her shoulders, giving her the look of a lion with a mane.
At first she gained weight and I was hopeful. But then she began to slide downhill. I watched her go from 7 pounds to 6, then 5. Her throat was so dry she could not meow. Toward the end, it hurt too much to lie down.
On her last day, I took her outside and let her stand in the grass. She made little squeaking sounds and bobbed her head, as if trying to take in the entire world in a single moment. I had to hold her up. She was light as a soul.
Then we made the long drive to Destin. I held her as the needle went in and her life floated away from me like a dandelion seed on the wind, something beautiful and irreplaceable lost to me forever.
I know that someday I will be happy again, but never in precisely the same way and that makes me cry.
But at least she can lie down now. And she will always be outside.
I hope I gave Maggie a good life.
I hope she knows how much I love her.
This column was published in the December 28, 2005 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Mom always said: “Never tangle with anybody who’s got access to 100,000 watts of FM power.”
I thought that was barrels of ink, but whatever.
Some mornings I listen to 99Rock’s “The Morning Movement” with Murph and Galvin.
They describe themselves as “Murph and Galvin.” But it’s really Murph, Galvin AND Jessa.
And before I go any further – NO, this isn’t a cheap attempt to get myself on the radio. Truth is I’m scared to death of radio. They don’t call me “Dead Air Del” for nothing. Ask Scratch and Lauri at Z96. Ask Woofy. Ask the guys at MIX 103. Ask that Marconi guy.
Anyway, Murph and Galvin are pretty darned clever, funny, blah blah blah – OK, tribute paid and now I can get to raggin’. Actually I won’t rag on those two. They’re too fast and too jugular-oriented. I wouldn’t stand a chance.
But there is this one thing they do almost every morning that bugs me so much I can’t keep my big mouth shut any longer.
They rag on Jessa.
I mean, they REALLY rag on Jessa.
Sweet, innocent little Jessa, trapped in a tiny room with two … um … extremely talented and witty fellows who nonetheless ran on her without mercy.
And before I go any further – NO, this is not a cheap attempt to get myself a date with Jessa. The only place I’d feel right taking her is a Cradle Robbers Anonymous meeting.
Anyway, I sneaked a peek at 99Rock’s Web site and the photos of Murph, Galvin and Jessa. Now guys, I’m not trying to insult you. Believe me, I’ve got no room to talk when it comes to issues of appearance. For instance, I don’t have to wear a costume on Halloween. Depending on how much conditioner I put in my hair I can go as either Gandolf or Gollum.
But guys, after looking at your pix I gotta say: You need Jessa. Believe me, you NEED her. It’s like those moments of peaceful relief in a horror movie … you need that. Otherwise, the audience dies of fright.
Yeah, I know. The audience CAN’T SEE Jessa unless they browse the 99Rock Web site. But they can HEAR her, and I gotta say, Jessa’s got a great voice. She sounds like she looks.
Jessa’s job is to read the news, the stupid news and other stuff, and that’s where she runs into trouble with Murph and Galvin … she occasionally stumbles over a word and they give her hell for it.
Well, who wouldn’t stumble over a word when you’re stuck in a room with two psychos – did I mention they’re extremely talented and witty psychos – that have to be watched at all times lest they do something weird (maybe carnal) to you?
All that aside, Jessa is a pleasant force of moderation who makes the whole thing work, so guys, lay off! You need her.
And believe me, so do the rest of us.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
I don’t get it.
How can a Jack Kevorkian be thrown in jail for helping perfectly lucid people with terminal illnesses commit suicide, when a comatose Terri Schiavo is inhumanely starved to death with the active consent of the courts?
Could it be the judicial system in this country believes nobody – but it – is allowed to play God?
This isn’t about Terri Schiavo. This is about how a person who hears death knocking should be allowed to open the door.
Let it be known: If I ever end up like Terri Schiavo, for God’s sake, pull the plug. I can’t imagine how awful my life would be under those circumstances, but I do know how awful it would be for the people left to take care of me. I wouldn’t want to inflict such a burden on them.
Nor do I wish to suffer a horrible lingering death with my wits and dignity intact.
Why can’t I do that now? Because euthanasia for the most part is illegal in the United States, due to outmoded and irrelevant moral and legal “standards” that uphold primitive notions about propriety regarding end-of-life issues.
Euthanasia isn’t wrong and it isn’t right. It simply is – or should be – an issue to be decided by the person to whom it applies.
But the terminally ill person isn’t allowed to decide when he’s ready to pack it in for the day. He must continue on, suffering miserably until “natural” death overtakes him.
I don’t get it.
Typically opponents of euthanasia fear “abuses” where people are put to death against their wishes or allowed the suicide option when they aren’t in command of their mind.
Also, the notion of “life at all costs” pervades our thinking – even it doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense.
Any right-thinking person has no wish to die. It’s wired into our being that life is precious and must be preserved at extraordinary cost. Anything less becomes something monstrous.
But what happens when the issue of imminent death is a certainty, and the intervening weeks between the present and that dark future are know to be fraught with debilitating pain and suffering? Might some people choose the alternative to sticking it out until the awful, inevitable conclusion?
How, in a world where a person who has no voice in her fate is handed the death option, can another person who is able to make his wishes known be forced to suffer?
Could it be the lens of justice has become fogged by high clouds enshrouding that ivory tower?
I just don’t get it.
This column was originally published in the Saturday, May 7, 2005 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
East Bay Bicycle Path, Rhode Island. Photo by Ken Zirkel by way of a Creative Commons search. https://www.flickr.com/photos/kzirkel/
As the car hurtled toward me, I did not see my life flash before my eyes.
Instead, I saw myself diving off the sidewalk and into the adjoining swamp, where among the sticker vines, sucking mud and empty bottles I would save myself from being stuck like a bug in a grille.
Tires scraped and screeched against the curb and the dithering driver, who wasn’t paying one bit of attention, finally jerked his car back onto the road as my heart threatened to jump out of my chest.
On another day a woman turning into a hair salon nearly flattened me as I jogged along the sidewalk, the dragon’s breath of her SUV blowing hotly across my body as she bolted for the parking lot, completely oblivious to my existence.
And now I read about five bicyclists struck last Saturday on Martin Luther King Boulevard by what appears to be a drunken driver.
How sad … but no sadder than the multitude of other local bicyclists, joggers and pedestrians run down because (a) drivers here seem unable to grasp the concept of sharing the road, and (b) municipal leaders seem unable to grasp the concept of a bicycle path.
Oh, they’ve got a nice path along 30A and in Gulf Breeze you can ride a good ways along U.S. Highway 98. But most everywhere else it’s a crapshoot because bike paths don’t exist, and that’s worse than a shame. It’s a tragedy.
When I visited Germany I was impressed by the number of bicycle paths that paralleled all the major surface roads. In larger cities and parks in this country, bicycle paths are a given.
But here in Northwest Florida it’s every bicyclist, jogger and pedestrian for himself.
Why?
I can’t answer that. But I do know a “bicycle path” is not a white line painted along the shoulder of the road. I’ve seen bicyclists pedaling along those perilous thoroughfares and I’ve cut them a wide berth. But at the same time I’ve seen drivers wander into those “paths” and I wonder what they would do if a bicyclist or jogger happened to occupy that spot during their lapse of attention?
Speaking of attention, when studies suggest a person who operates a motor vehicle while talking on a cell phone has the same driving abilities as a person who’s knocked back a six-pack, why are there no laws forbidding the use of cell phones by drivers? And why are TELEVISIONS allowed in cars?
With gasoline approaching $3 per gallon it would seem logical that some people might turn to walking or bicycling to relieve the pressure on their wallets. But that’s not an option in Northwest Florida. And God forbid a parent allow his or her child to ride a bicycle in the street. On the dragways around town, like Hollywood Boulevard and Hughes Street, a bicycle is a moving target.
Tragedies like what happened last Saturday night might be prevented by a network of decent bicycle paths. That would be the intelligent solution, anyway.
Are we smart enough to do that here?
This column was originally published in the Saturday, April 16, 2005 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Had I known my 12th-grade Algebra 2 teacher, Mr. Earl, was carrying a gun, I would have been a lot nicer to him.
That’s not to say he was carrying a gun. But if he had been, I would never have played that trick of whispering into his hearing aid until he turned up the volume, then shouting at him.
Wasn’t I a little brat? I probably deserved to be shot.
I bring this up because the incoming president of the National Rifle Association told The Associated Press recently she believes teachers should be allowed to carry guns into the classroom.
The plan is to give teachers the drop on teenage nutcases who march into school and cap 10 of their classmates for making fun of their hair.
It’s sad the world has come to this. In my day we kids were much more civilized. We settled our differences by beating the hell out of each other – until an adult intervened and beat the hell out of both of us. And teachers didn’t need guns – they could just beat the hell out of us. Then they’d call our parents, and when we got home, our parents would beat the hell out of us, too.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea to let the person who’s being driven insane by 30 delinquents have access to firearms.
For starters, I question the gun-handling abilities of some of my teachers. For instance, I could never, ever see my 12th-grade composition teacher, Mrs. Davis, a wisp of a woman who was Hobbit tiny and supermodel thin, whipping out a .44-Magnum and growling, “Go ahead, punk. Make my day!”
Besides, Mrs. Davis didn’t need a gun. She was a nice lady, but if you made her mad she’d skewer you with this python stare and as you sat squirming in your desk like a hamster appetizer she’d just stare at you. Silently. Her eyes burrowing through your flesh. Until you died.
I also question the, er, “emotional stability” of some of my teachers. I remember one rattled instructor simply getting up and walking out of the classroom. Had this teacher returned with an AR-15 I’m reasonably confident I wouldn’t be typing these words.
I can see how an exchange with such a teacher might go:
“Excuse me, Mrs. Murgatroid, but can I have a pass to the bathroom?”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve been driving me crazy all day. You can wait until the bell rings!”
“But I have to go now!”
“Well … let’s ask Mr. Nine Millimeter.”
(She fishes out her Browning 9mm semi-auto.)
“Hello, Mr. Nine Millimeter. Del’s been a very BAD boy and now he wants to go to the bathroom. Should we let him?”
“Hello, Mrs. Murgatroid. I think Del can wait until the bell rings. And if he has a problem with that, he can talk to the hand … holding the gun!”
No, arming teachers isn’t the solution. Besides, the kids would likely have better guns.
Give ’em a good beating.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
I have thrown away my Miami Dolphins watch cap, my Miami Dolphins keychain, my Miami Dolphins Viagra prescription and my Miami Dolphins helmeted killer dolphin action figure.
I have committed these unthinkable acts because this year, the Miami Dolphins smell like three-day-old chum. If Ruckel Middle School belonged to the NFL, the JV team would have a better win-loss record than the Miami Dolphins.
The Fish are losers.
Why is this? My theory is the Miami Dolphins have “drafted” poorly. For those of you who do not study the Miami Dolphins the way some people study the Dead Sea Scrolls, the term “draft” refers to a process whereby teams choose players, similar to the way the United States chose players for the “Vietnam Bowl” except in the NFL players like former Miami Dolphin running back Ricky Williams wait until thy are two years into their contracts before running away to a foreign country.
But don’t let me dwell on Ricky Williams, who is studying holistic medicine but may I gently suggest he change his major to abnormal psychology because he appears to be, if I may borrow a medical term, “crazy.”
I am all about “solutions.” And my solution to the belly-up Dolphins is: Draft non-football players.
“But that’s what they’ve been doing the past four years!” you gasp, choking on your Mrs. Paul’s fried dolphin fingers. Tut tut, I am talking about looking outside the NFL player pool for new talent, such as:
At defensive line: that ninja guy from “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” Have seen the way that guy flew through the air? He’d jump off a roof and land in Cleveland where somebody from the Browns would attempt to draft him.
At quarterback the Greek mythical figure Medusa. You know who I’m talking about – the chick with snakes for hair. If you look at her you turn to stone, jut like Joan Rivers! The NFL would have to invent a new penalty – illegal contact with a python.
At wide receiver: a fully grown Bengal tiger with rabies. Forget about it, Cincinnati; we thought of it first.
Offensive coach: Martha Stewart. The Miami Dolphins need an infusion of creativity in their play-0calling, and who better to accomplish this task than a person who can take a box that once contained a Black & Decker weed whacker and transform it into a Swiss chalet, complete with yodeling mountain men wearing funny hats.
Safety: the viewpoint character from “Halo 2,” but with a bigger gun.
Recruiting: Lara Croft of “Tomb Raider” fame. May she unearth some of the wizened, desiccated old guys who at least can punt, pass and kick without demanding $40 million per game and put themselves on the injured reserve list every time they experience a bunion.
Front office: Bill Gates. Money can’t buy love, but it CAN buy a decent quarterback.
This column was originally published in the Saturday, Jan. 8, 2005 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
This was our non-commercialized Christmas haul in 1960, just before we left Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Miss., for Torrejon Air Base outside Madrid, Spain. Image by Del Stone Sr.
Some cynics believe that in these crassly commercialized times, it is impossible to remain faithful to the real meaning of Christmas.
Phooey! Have these Negative Nellies never seen an episode of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Part IV: Rudolph Takes Fallujah,” which I believe is traditionally sponsored by Smith & Wesson?
At Christmas, that joyous time of year stretching from mid-January to 12:01 Christmas morning when the stores begin stocking their shelves with Easter Peeps, our hearts are filled with hope and our driveways are filled with new Mustang GTs.
Crass commercialization? If you say so. But don’t ask me for a ride to Walmart to buy candy bunnies, you slackers.
Look, it’s simple: At Christmas:
A bright light in the sky signals the beginning of the season. No, it is not the light of a Verizon “Can you hear me now” tower. It is Rudolph, of course, and he is reconnoitering the world for his Christmas Eve mission (and doing a little job on the side for the Department of Homeland Security).
As the story goes, Rudolph spots a lonely green man with strange hair whose name is not Don King. It is the Grinch, with his dog, Snoopy. They are riding a giant Norelco electric shaver down the mountain where Busch beer is brewed – and the Grinch is NOT bringing a keg to the Whoville town square sing-along.
No, the spirit of Christmas has not taken possession of the Grinch’s heart in the sweet angina of the season. It has been replaced by the spirit of junk bonds and wardrobe malfunctions and getting fired by Donald Trump.
The Grinch’s heart has been tainted, like the heart of the one-armed zombie in “Dawn of the Dead.”
And he’s carrying a Red Ranger BB gun.
Anyway, Rudolph alerts Frosty the Snowman, who bears a suspicious resemblance to a scrubbed-down Michael Moore although much more angry and confrontational, and the hot-tempered snowman assembles a fire team of ninja elves and sleigh drivers from “Grand Theft Auto: NASCAR vs. Desperate Housewives,” and they move to take out the Grinch and win themselves fat action-figure contracts from Mattel.
But it is here we learn an important holiday lesson: In the spirit of the season, violence is not the solution.
Lawsuits are the solution.
So the fire team defers to Charlie Brown, who warms the Grinch’s heart, like a Thermoskin Arthritic Knew Wrap, with his scraggly, pathetic tree, which just happens to be decorated with a Faberge egg. Whoville is saved and the inhabitants gather for the annual Running of the Visa Cards, while Donder gets Blitzened on a keg of Busch Ice.
So this business of Christmas getting swallowed up by commercialization is all a matter of your perspective, which can be dramatically improved by the sight of a brand new GT parked in the driveway.
This column was originally published in the Saturday, Dec. 18, 2004 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
“Casshern” Directed by Kazuaki Kiriya. Starring Yusuke Iseya, Akira Terao, Kanako Higuchi. 142 minutes. Unrated.
Mladen’s take
A confession.
Without Del explaining between sets of kicking my butt in tennis what “Casshern” was about, I’d still be scratching my head.
The plot, as it turns out, is semi-unoriginal.
Corrupt politicians of a militaristic superstate collude with malignant corporation bosses to create a dystopian wonderland of carnage where healthy humans are involuntarily used as tissue donors.
Meanwhile, the leader of a small cell of mutants created by a bolt from the Universe that pierced the occluded sky of Earth and hit a vat of artificially growing human limbs promises to avenge the mistreatment he suffered at the hands of government security forces.
Then, from same vat that birthed the mutants, arises a hero.
And, he shall be called Casshern.
Casshern, with his body armor-integrated George Jetson-like rocket pack and morphing helmet tries his dangedest to keep the superstate and mutants from destroying everything, but fails.
Or something like that.
The convoluted plot of “Casshern” is tough to follow but the Japanese movie held me captive for no other reason than background details. They were gloriously presented with cinematography resembling a blend of “Brazil,” “Sin City,” and the “Kill Bills.”
In the movie, the society spoke Japanese but wrote in Russian, I think.
Tanks and flying machines are clunky, mechanical beasts as pragmatic and ugly as the imploded society that created them.
The army of robots organized by the mutant leader from leftovers of an earlier conflict march lockstep, their heads adorned with helmets that look like Kraut head gear of World War I.
The landscape, baked by industrial waste, is brown-red-gray. Only the rich enjoy green grass and gardens filled with blooming flowers.
Most striking is the intermodal concentration camp.
Spanning several sets of rails, the prison train pulls cars loaded with shipping containers. The containers are placed aboard by multiple rotor helicopters. Inside the containers are healthy humans.
The train set is used by the cabal that runs the superstate to store and process the healthies. They’re used as DNA feedstock for a covert genetic engineering program designed to keep the aging rulers alive.
“Casshern” is no fairy tale. It’s bleak from beginning to end. People are nothing more than a commodity to be exploited. The compelling film brims with treachery. And, maybe someday, after I’ve watched it again and again, I’ll understand the plot and its half-dozen subplots.
Del’s take
I came across “Casshern” in the $3 bin at Big Lots and decided to take a chance. I don’t have a problem with anime-inspired stories and I love Japanese horror movies including Hideo Nakata’s “Ring” and Takashi Shimizu’s “Ju-on.”
I won’t reproduce Mladen’s summary of the plot because I think it’s pretty well spot-on. Like Mladen, I had a tough time following the plot – especially with the rapid-fire pacing that meant subtitles appeared and disappeared so quickly I found myself reading more than wallowing in the lush visuals.
And they are lush. Americans aren’t quite acclimated to the look of anime. I can think of only one American director – Ridley Scott – who imbues at least some of his films with a similar attention to visual detail (“Blade Runner” and “Legend”). The intermixing of high-power CGI with live action to produce a poetic vision is something Japanese directors expect the audience to accept. In America it’s CGI made to resemble live action. In Japan it’s CGI that makes no apologies for itself.
Like many anime-inspired stories “Casshern” is a bit heavy-handed with the subtext. Running throughout is a not-so-subtle criticism of science, the stifling hand of cultural authority, the loss of environmental sanctity, and the violence to which humanity seems perpetually addicted.
But there were surprises. The role of parents as enforcers of cultural authority, the impotence of love vs. that authority – these are strange notions to a Westernized society that has been taught the individual trumps the collective.
More than likely “Casshern” is a standard and perhaps cliched statement movie about the triumph of the will … and the hubris of the willful. But if you can get past the convoluted plot, the sometimes unintentionally humorous dialogue (perhaps resulting from a less-than-perfect translation) and the cultural differences that divide East and West, you might enjoy the movie.
What you will enjoy is the “look” of the movie. Almost every frame produced a sense of awe, masterfully crafted by music video director Kiriya. While some may argue “Casshern” delivers empty calories, think of all the empty calories in your life, from french fries to text messages.
I recently watched “Predators” at the movie theater. I spent $9 on a ticket and $6 on a small bag of popcorn. For the journalists among us that’s $15, or five movies from the $3 bin at Big Lots.
I would much rather have spent that $15 on five movies like “Casshern.”
Mladen Rudman is a former journalist and technical editor. Del Stone Jr. is a former journalist and author.
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