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August 11, 2002:

THE DAY OF THE LOCUSTS

Bruce Kimmel Photograph bk's notes

Well, dear readers, the other day we had killer bees, last night we had locusts. But more about that in a minute. That last sentence was known as a tease, dear readers. In other words, I have brought something up but I’m not telling you about it immediately. I’m teasing you. I’m making you wait. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too?

Last night I attended a birthday party in honor of my next door neighbor’s wife. I went because sometimes it is nice to be neighborly. It was a small birthday party as these things go – maybe twenty people, mostly relatives it appeared to me. Of course, I was the only person there who knew no one. I was introduced as the man who lived over there. I rather liked that, it sounded like I was an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I don’t think I actually told anyone my name – I kept saying, “Hello, I’m The Man Who Lives Over There.” Now, I know I’m in trouble at a party when there is no Diet Coke. I know I have absolutely nothing in common with anyone who doesn’t have Diet Coke. I had to settle for some kind of diet lemon-lime thing. Can you imagine? Now, I know I’m in double-trouble at a party when there are no cheese slices or ham chunks and triple-trouble when no one is wearing a pointy party hat and people are not wearing colored tights and pantaloons. These people were wearing dresses and shirts and slacks and shorts. And then there was the food. People were eating the food and had pleasant expressions on their faces, so I’m assuming it was tasty. I had no food whatsoever because it all looked weird to me. It was weird food, dear readers. For example, they had something that was trying to look like pizza – focaccia, and this focaccia had lemon slices on top of it. And people were eating it. I would not eat anything that had lemon slices on top of it – and I’m not talking about one lemon slice, there were scads of lemon slices. Then there was hummus. I will not eat a food called hummus. I tasted it once and it tasted like a mealy paste and I simply will not tolerate a mealy paste, especially a mealy paste called hummus. Who came up with such a name? Mr. Hummus? Mrs. Hummus? Then there were the roasted red peppers with anchovies. Need I go on? I chatted with a few people and then left. I went and got three slices of pizza (without lemon slices) and then watched a motion picture on DVD.

I must say, we know how to throw a party here at haineshisway.com, dear readers. I mean, they didn’t even dance the Hora, or even the Mashed Potato.

In any case, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button so I can stop teasing you? While clicking, try to paint a mental picture of those red peppers with anchovies.

We have had several partially correct answers to the Unseemly Trivia question, but no one has guessed all of the components correctly. The final question seems to be a real baffler, and that is good. I’ll give you one clue – as I stated, it’s a member of the creative team, and it’s not Ron Field. In other words, what on earth did Ron Field do to revitalize the world of cabaret entertainment, other than direct Chita Rivera’s old nightclub act?

So, last night I watched a motion picture entitled The Exorcist II: The Heretic. First The Swarm, and now this. But this is bad in a whole different way than The Swarm, because this was at least directed by a very good director, Mr. John Boorman. This film was a cause celebre on its release, and one of the most infamous disasters in film history. Mr. Irwin Allen made disaster films, too, but nothing quite like this thing. I was shooting something on the Warners lot when they were bicycling the prints to this film in, to add a new opening and change the ending. This they did while the film was still running in theaters its first week. However, nothing could help.

I will be the first to admit that while I find The Exorcist a tremendously accomplished film that delivers exactly what it sets out to deliver, I can’t watch it. I’ve seen it once all the way through, but it’s so disturbing on so many levels I just find it difficult to sit through. But Mr. William Friedkin delivered the goods and audiences ate it up and it became one of the most successful films of its decade (actually, until Star Wars came along, it was the most successful). And one can admire in a certain way the decision to not merely imitate the first film. But what they came up with was so not what audiences wanted that this film was literally jeered in the theaters, and greeted with catcalls and howls of laughter. Because what Warners and Mr. Boorman delivered was not the goods, but an art film, and a pretty surrealistic art film at that. It’s got some wonderful direction and some excellent photography by William Fraker, but it’s so misguided and dopey at every step, and so filled with some of the worst dialogue ever written, and so filled with scenes that make no sense on any level, that all you can do is sit there and marvel at the thing. In fact, everything that worked about the first film is ignored here. Regan has turned into a zaftig fifteen year old, who has the uncanny ability to get a deaf child (a dead ringer for Dana Plato) to speak, just like that. Louise Fletcher, who really did turn in a series of the worst performances ever given by an Academy Award-winning actress, is a psychologist, working in a clinic the likes of which you’ve never seen – a clinic which could only exist in a surrealistic art film. And the high-rise where Regan and Kitty Winn live, is so arty you just want to throttle Mr. Boorman and his production designer for trying to make every prop have deep meaning. And then there is Richard Burton, who gives ham chunks a whole new meaning. Of course, given the script, he really has no chance. One minute he’s in New York, next minute he’s in Ethiopia (literally the next minute), climbing mountains and being derided by natives. All during the film there are locusts. Locusts, locusts, everywhere, including one huge locust. I kept thinking if they’d put in some footage from The Swarm (also Warner Bros.) they could have a new movie, The Killer Bees Versus The Locusts. I don’t know what was more horrifying – Richard Burton stepping on some nails or Linda Blair tap dancing to Lullaby of Broadway. And then there is the endless use of the name Pazuzu. I’m sorry, but Pazuzu is funny. Someone says Pazuzu, and you laugh. The more they say it the funnier it becomes. However, my favorite moment, my falling off the couch moment, was when Mr. Burton and Miss Blair got on a bus to go back to Boston to the house where the original film took place. They get on the bus, and the bus driver is eating a hoagie. They sit down and we see the bus is full up, crowded with people. And yet, the bus driver continues eating his hoagie. And eating it quite nauseatingly. Finally, just as I was ready to scream at my television screen, Mr. Burton, as if possessed, says loudly, “Get going, the girl has to get home.” The bus driver begrudgingly finishes his hoagie and off they go. In any case, I could go on and on, but I don’t want to spoil it for you – you must buy this and see it immediately.

What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Well, dear readers, I really must take the day and I must try to get this rather large locust out of my house. Pazuzu anyone? Today’s topic of discussion: It’s free-for-all day, so go to it. I want some interesting discussions going on here today and I want lots of posts. I will be back later to take part in any and all discussions. Several of our regular dear readers have been errant and truant lately, and they are in dire danger of becoming irregulars, and we simply can’t have an irregular dear reader. Post away, my pretties.

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