This has been one of the weeks where
wanderlust has been striking me big time. (Note about myself, this
happens every other week!) With the heat starting to creep up as the
air grows denser, hitting the open road and going out West has never
felt more appealing. Driving on the oil-stained highway, throwing on
Department of Crooks' criminally underrated “Plan Nine from Las
Vegas” and feeling the scorch of burned gas station coffee....it
just sounds so perfect. The reality of such an excursion is not
possible right now, but at least I have “Plan 9” and endless cups
of strong Joe.
Dreams of pavement and open skies
aside, I finished and posted a little article on Dangerous Minds about the
formerly-lost, Canuxploitation film that combined flesh, fangs and
very little filigree, entitled “Sexcula.” As a born and bred
preservationist at heart, seeing anything that was originally written
off as lost get found is a wonderful feeling. Plus, who doesn't love
free loving vampires flashing the peace sign during coitus? It gives
me some hope that a print of “Convention City” could still turn
up. Dreaming is free.
The great thing, for me at least, about
delving into titles like “Sexcula” is it gives me the chance to
write and explore the types of cinema that a lot of film writers
avoid like the plague. Which is really absurd. A lot of “serious”
dramas that garner all sorts of awards are no less exploitative, in
fact usually moreso, than most “skin flicks.” Manipulating
audiences dramatically is too easy. Most people do not want to see
sick children or their sad families, so both are easy elements to
throw in. But to actually confront them with anything that truly
takes them out of their comfort zone is both brilliant and extremely
needed. The only kind of elitism I'll put up with usually involves
one of two questions: a) Is the work good? b) Is it interesting?
Anything else usually borders on flat
out snobbery and in some instances, cultural classism. Forget it. Who
has time for that?
Speaking of Department of Crooks, let
me sing the joys of Marc Moreland. One of THE best guitarists you
will ever hear and who will never get some cheesy cover or centerfold
in any type of Guitar Monthly magazine. (Yet, if you're a metal guy
that goes wheedly-wheedly-wee with your arpeggios, they will soil
themselves to kingdom come.) For me the real sign of a genuinely
great artist is their thumbprint and with everything that Moreland
played on, you can instantly tell it is him. Blending such stellar
influences like Ennio Morricone and Dick Dale into his own creative
blender, there will never be another like the man. Best known for
being in Wall of Voodoo, his side projects are also worth checking
out, especially the aforementioned Department of Crooks and his final
band, the Marc Moreland Mess.
And if all you know about Wall of
Voodoo is “Mexican Radio,” then I beg you to please get your
sweaty little mitts on a copy of “Seven Days in Sammystown.” The
Andy Prieboy era of that band is brilliant and merits ample
listening.
Upcoming project wise, I'm about to
work on a contribution for a special upcoming tribute to one of the
greatest showmen in the history of film, as well as the usual one-two
step review work. Stay tuned kittens.
