Kozy Krampus is a fabulous collection of relaxing horror stories perfect for any fright fan desiring a casual read. According to publisher Underland Press this anthology “contains 29 stories of the nocturnal monstrosities that slither down our chimneys while the coals cool and quiet, of the awkward terrors that lurk within pretty boxes with prettier bows, of the doom that creeps into our bowels as we cram yet another slice of sticky, gummy, oh-what-the-hell-is-this? fruitcake into our mouths… These are the horrors visited upon us by family, festivities, and futility.”

​It's an amazing assortment of unhinged horror that turns the ordinary nightmares associated with the holiday season into cosmic dread. Enjoy a pantheon of familiar and lesser seen monstrosities who prowl the yuletide calendar as well as cults you never imagined turning that time of the year into scares aplenty. Yet, all the while, there’s a charm to these tales that makes them ideal for a read beside the fireplace.

Kozy Krampus includes my own tale “The Cheshire’s Killer Cousin”. It’s a delightful bit of madness that feels like a Hallmark movie if they allowed a pint or two of blood alongside grim frights. The story centers around a bed and breakfast stalked by a creature from folklore that most people are unfamiliar with. So, if you’re searching for something fresh this Halloween season, or a fireside read to make the winter months more sinister, grab a copy of Kozy Krampus!

John Candy: I Like Me should come with a flood warning. There is a definite possibility of audiences experiencing a biblical deluge of tears. Though the name may not mean much to folks under the age of 24, witnessing the iconic comedian’s story is still likely to pull heartstrings opening flood gates in the process. Yet, just as many laughs lie along this soggy road which makes it worth however many watery eyes I Like Me produces.
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This documentary from Colin Hanks takes a look at the life of a legend. Granted, every biographer wants audiences to believe their subject is iconic, worthy of note, or at the very least an unknown pinnacle whom more people need to know about it. In a strange way, John Candy fits all of that. Having passed away at the age of forty-three roughly thirty years ago in 1994, there is hypothetically an entire generation that never got to enjoy his humor. 

That makes this exploration of his career not simply a celebration of his accomplishments, but an opportunity to highlight his contribution to the art of laughter. Even lifelong fans such as myself can easily begin to spot the way his style has permeated the landscape of contemporary comedy. Editors Shane Reid and Darrin Roberts deftly assist such illuminating moments by occasionally juxtaposing snippets of Candy alongside performers who have been inspired by him. Perhaps that’s why one of the executive producers is Ryan Reynolds; his comedic stylings clearly colored by Candy’s clowning.

​For the most part, the story sticks to a common formula. Though I Like Me starts with a heartbreaking eulogy by Dan Aykroyd, it soon follows the standard route of birth, beginnings, career rise, and his unfortunate demise. However, having begun the documentary with Candy’s funeral puts a strange spin on everything. The movie becomes a peculiar countdown to that instant echoing a sentiment that haunted the man his whole life.

Since his father died at 35 from complications due to heart disease when Candy was only five, he held a perpetual belief his own time would be short. As such, he aspired to live the most and do the most with whatever seconds he was afforded. The looming end in ’94 is a constant reminder of how he reached the stars with only a few short years before leaving this world. 

It’s that kind of peripheral melancholy which turns the documentary into a powerfully bittersweet experience. This isn’t simply a story about a beloved performer who died rather young. John Candy: I Like Me is a call to anyone watching that life is dreadfully short, with no warning regarding the end. One must make the most of that time.

In that respect, the film does an admirable job of recounting the comedian’s career in delightful detail. From his early days in Canadian improv to SCTV then finally on to Hollywood, there’s a genuine sense of watching someone find their creative footing. At the same time, it isn’t simply the story of one person. I Like Me casually highlights the people who helped Candy grow in confidence as well as occasionally shoved him into the limelight when he hesitated. It’s a great reminder that no artist takes flight alone.
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That community which helped raise him up provides many of the accounts. Famous faces mingle with family to share stories about John Candy most have never heard. During a Q&A following the screening at the Chicago Theater, his son Chris Candy reiterated something suggested in the documentary; that he was discovering new things about his father, finishing a portrait that has long remained incomplete. It’s a touching image of a person battling the stress of fame, the fear of mortality, certain insecurities, and all the while doing his best to be kind to everyone around him, bringing smiles whenever possible.

All of this is accentuated by archival footage alongside behind the scenes moments from movies and television, not to mention family films. One of the problems with someone as grand as John Candy is almost having too much material to choose from. Fortunately, this isn’t the first documentary from Colin Hanks.

​In 2015 he released All Things Must Pass: The Rise and Fall of Tower Records. Later he delivered Eagles of Death Metal: No Amis (Our Friends). The skills he’s accrued are plainly on display. I Like Me is devoid of wasted moments. It cuts to the heart of the subject without ever losing sight of Candy’s humanity. This is about the man behind the legend as well as the persona fans adored. And the presentation makes a case for the two being not too far apart—the classic double-edge sword of a performer being so honest onscreen it’s hard to get a break from expectations.

I’ve always said one shouldn’t trust any biography or memoir that is too flattering, and although this doesn’t dwell on darker elements, they are presented. That isn’t to suggest in any way some nightmarish revelation awaits. Rather, the film acknowledges Candy was prone to excessive alcohol consumption while never dwelling on it. Still, unlike Disney’s excessively sanitized doc The Beach Boys, there are acknowledgements of certain stones that paved the way to an early end. Then the film respectfully moves on once the points are marked. Sad as they may be, fortunately, there’s nothing horrific, simply the acknowledgement that things weren’t always pure golden sunshine. 

Overall, John Candy: I Like Me is a lovely celebration of a comedy legend. It highlights the hilarious points in a stellar career that spanned the improv stage, television, and film. Fans of his will delight in observing beloved gems from works like SCTV, Uncle Buck, and Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Those less familiar with the icon will likely find themselves on the verge of an enviable joy: getting to experience him for the first time. Though it may cause tears due to its overwhelming humanity, John Candy: I Like Me is full of laughter. More than anything, he sounds like a rare human being well worth getting to know, and sadly, this is the only way left. Yet, it's still a delight even when it stings the heart.

Recently, I was lucky enough to have some worked picked up by a publication called Tractor Beam. As part of their second issue, The Garden, they wanted optimistic soilpunk sci-fi. That meant stories which provide solutions for this dying world as well as emphasizing why this planet is worth saving. It seemed like an interesting challenge, if nothing else a break from my usual pessimism and dark humor. So I started doing some research, and it wasn't long before a story came together. 

Their excellent editorial staff helped me polish the piece some more. Overall, I'm happy with the final result. I especially like the art they commissioned to accentuate the story. The artist is someone named Anna Degnbol. Check out their site, maybe find some art to brighten your own dim hole, or commission something rather than contributing to the growth of AI slop. That shit is theft and killing creatives. But I digress. Anna Degnbol has some amazing art, and her work really adds something inviting to this story I wrote. 

"Growth" is a simple story about trying to pass down a passion. It takes place in a future where humanity has shifted things environmentally for the better, but the next generation is starting to feel like there's no need for them to continue the hard work anymore. In essence, we've reached the tipping point and they don't get that this is a job that never ends. At the same time, this is about how that same effort, for all the good it does, can complicate a person, turning them into someone rough around the edges. 

I don't want to say too much. The story can speak for itself. And it doesn't take terribly long to read. Of course, should you enjoy my offering, but even if you don't, take a minute to peruse the rest of The Garden. There are several splendid stories, each sharing a unique perspective on this optimistic notion. As much as I'm shamelessly self-promoting myself, there's other fabulous folks here to enjoy too. So take a minute to explore Tractor Beam No.2: The Garden.   

Superman will not please everyone. The internet is already rumbling with negative opinions of the James Gunn adaptation. The film is overstuffed, Superman is too weak, and it’s too political, mingling with a thinly veiled contempt for the movie’s lighthearted qualities. Frankly, I can’t help feeling sorry for such folks. Their point of view didn’t allow them to experience a delightful adventure.

This rendition of Superman is a solid popcorn picture through and through. While it stylistically takes a whimsical tone close to the Silver Age, the film flies around very serious themes. Some of which do echo recent modern incarnations such as Brian Azzarello’s Lex Luthor: Man of Steel as well as All-Star Superman by Grant Morrison. Overall, this allows the movie to say some important points about heroism and humanity without sacrificing any elements which make the story fun.

Writer-director James Gunn dips into nostalgia in all the best ways. Instead of baiting viewers with sentimental triggers, things like the music composed by John Williams for Richard Donner’s 1978 adaptation flavor fresh moments of fabulous superhuman splendor. Such scenes aren’t meaningless nods back, but instances where Superman does the things that make him iconic. 

The core aim is to deliver a comic book tale that seems ripped from the pages of DC. Along the way several topics touch on very real-life current events. At risk of speculating on the minds of others, people perturbed by such moments are oddly uncomfortable with Superman being kind to others, wanting to stop a war, and embracing his reality as an adopted son of Earth (or as some might say, an immigrant).

​James Gunn doesn’t deliver a brooding man of steel uncertain if he should endeavor to make the world a better place. His depiction presents a young hero struggling to live up to the ideals in his own head. And one of the fascinating ways this comes across is the storytelling in action sequences.

These segments are frequently a glorious display of CGI combat. The spectacular battles are the stuff of modern myths while remaining pleasantly inspired by comic book visual styles. Better yet, Gunn manages to give everything a coherent view. There’s no way to miss the meatier moments. Yet, the most intriguing aspects are the way characters are conveyed during these encounters. 

Nathan Fillion’s fabulous portrayal aside, Guy Gardner’s flippant attitude easily comes across in what he manifests with his Green Lantern powers. So does the image of Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult) as puppet master. Moreover, the exciting action seen throughout Superman isn’t merely a display of the man of steel’s might; it frequently shows him trying to minimize damage, save others from collateral chaos, and struggling not to take the easy route—just smash things out of existence.
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Therein lies the subtle genius of this depiction. Superman here isn’t weak so much as restrained. Instead of an invincible being hammering problems out of existence one punch at a time, he’s trying to be strategic to avoid hurting anyone. As such, his abilities never come across as a power fantasy, the example he sets is not one of physical strength, rather strength of character. What’s more interesting is that his way doesn’t always work out for the best. The optimistic outlook of the character is aspirational even for him. That dose of uncertainty lends an odd bit of humanity which makes this version more relatable.

It's helped by fabulous instances sprinkled throughout the film. From a kind of mock interview with Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) to a heart squeezing conversation with his father Pa Kent (Pruitt Taylor Vince), Superman shows people struggling to do their best in a world without the certainty of what to do. All the while, it provides a sense that some things demand a response regardless of the backlash. That’s because the world is a dark enough place already. Our escapism doesn’t need to point towards deeper darkness. It needs to indicate the light, little as it may seem to be there.

Peppered throughout are a variety of easter eggs. Some go by in a blink like a certain highway exit sign, and others are there for the those who have delved deep into the DC archives. While there are treats for serious comic book fans, Superman does a great job of never alienating the audience. Anyone unfamiliar with an entity or offhand reference won’t feel lost. The main narrative is straightforward enough with plenty of concise smooth expositions to keep audiences on track. In fact, a certain lack of familiarity may allow some segments to hit harder, such as… well, let’s not risk spoilers even by implication.

Still, allegations of an overstuffed movie aren’t without a small degree of merit. The Daily Planet news team is composed of several characters, many of whom barely get more than three lines in the whole picture. That isn’t to say they don’t come across, but their inclusion does feel closer to fan service than plot necessity. 

Although, saying that brings to light another excellent aspect of Superman. Comic book movies have largely gotten away from showing ordinary people. Citizens are, at best, simply screaming mobs fleeing whatever cataclysm ensues. There’s a touch of Sam Raimi’s Spider-man (2002) featuring glimpses of ordinary people going about their lives while the story unfolds around them.

​Narratively, though, every player is a piece of the puzzle. Very few individuals are thrown in casually. Each serves a purpose pushing the plot forward or fleshing out a main character depending on their individual interactions. As such, the entire story is surprisingly tight. Not to risk spoilers, but things as simple as Krypto thinking its time to play fetch, comical in a throw away moment, have a deeper impact later on.

Comedy has long been a staple of the James Gunn comic book adaptation. His humor keeps the grim moments from gaining too much weight, while the lighthearted approach allows Superman to soar overall. Disarming jocularity then permits the man of steel to be remarkably vulnerable. Consequently, the movie remains fun throughout.

The cast, of course, helps bring together this amazing mix of the mirthful alongside the mythical. Nicholas Hoult (Nosferatu) solidly presents a Lex Luthor orchestrating a nefarious plot fit for a supervillain. Rachel Brosnahan (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) gives Lois Lane the right bit of bite alongside her own reluctant vulnerability. Anthony Carrigan (Barry) is stupendous the short time he’s on screen, a real testament to the sharpness of the script combined with a splendid performer. David Corenswet (Twisters) delivers a remarkably relatable Superman alongside the bearing of someone pensive struggling to raise the bar for everyone. He makes the moments when Clark Kent seems to be collapsing the most effective. 

And Krypto is the best. I cannot elaborate on why without spoiling the film in various ways. Suffice it to say, if anything happens to that dog down the line—so help me Rao—me and Mr. James Gunn are gonna have some words hand-delivered by chainsaw.

People will always find things to complain about. That isn’t to say everyone should love this movie. The plot rarely reiterates itself, which I find refreshing, but some folks get lost without it. Although Hollywood is to blame for spoonfeeding plot points repeatedly, it’s nice to see a movie where the audience is trusted to follow a narrative most children probably can.

​Some have grumbled about Wendell Pierce (The Wire), an African American, being cast as Perry White. To them I say, it’s odd how I haven’t heard the same complaint about Otis, a loyal Luthor henchman played by Terence Rosemore (Outer Banks). Funny how a black man can take a traditionally white role when the part calls for subservience, but there are peeps a plenty when an African American becomes the boss. 

Normally, I wouldn’t question the quality of other reviews. Any art is subject to personal perspective, and if people can make their case, a certain respect is due. However, from what I’ve read in an effort to see if, perhaps, I missed something I should really consider, so much of the negativity about this movie seems like a mix of right-wing outrage, comic book fatigue, and general contrarian rage bait.

For years, people have complained Superman is too powerful. Now, they dislike this movie because he isn’t powerful enough. The film has too many characters, though such a complaint rarely surfaces regarding The Guardians of the Galaxy franchise. And if you can follow those movies, the plot here isn’t any more complicated or convoluted. Still, in all fairness, Superman has always been divisive. He’s such a cultural icon whom people have expectations and dislikes which are deeply rooted. As such, I’d say your best bet for enjoying this movie is to go expecting nothing except popcorn fun.

James Gunn offers a delightful human interpretation of the last son of Krypton. The Silver Age tone helps blunt some of the serious themes, though they no less stab at the heart. This is a romantic appeal to optimism, a staple characteristic of the man of steel. Visually, from the color scheme to the special effects, this is everything one could want in a bright, vibrant blockbuster; the cinematography allows scenes to be colorful yet dirty. Meanwhile, an excellent cast anchors the film despite plenty of comic book outlandishness. 

Superman is pure escapism. It offers a chance to believe in a better world. All the while, it does so wrapped up in a wild adventure fit for any comic book. I hope you have as much fun as I did watching this, but if not, sorry that fun is your kryptonite.

Bring Her Back could shock the numb with sensation. Few films have as visceral an emotional component to them. Even veteran horror hounds burnt into senselessness by gallons of nightmare fuel will easily cringe at several instances. Yet, there’s more than gore behind this unsettling story. Bring Her Back resonates on an emotional level that’s hard to lose long after the movie has ended.

​Stepsiblings Andy and his visually impaired sister Piper discover their deceased father in the shower. Reeling from this loss, the close pair are put into foster care. They’re looked after by an eccentric, though in her own way kind, Laura, who also introduces them to another child in her home, the mute Oliver. As the stepsiblings adjust to their new life it becomes increasingly clear something is disturbingly off about their foster mother. Oliver’s horrifying behavior, including self-mutilation, and Laura’s tendency to chip cracks into the children as if psychologically hammering at Andy, particularly to develop a divide between him and Piper, become more pronounced. It soon becomes clear that something very sinister is happening. 

What makes Bring Her Back so intensely affecting is the steady revelation of its main character’s intentions. Laura, played powerfully by Sally Hawkins (The Shape of Water), is clearly up to something devious from the get-go, yet the exact nature of her enterprise, though seemingly supernatural, only comes into focus bit by bit. This continuing dive down an intriguing rabbit hole leads to a grim revelation that is as horrifying as it is understandable.

The film gives enough sense of what may be coming at the beginning to peak curiosity. It then delivers tidbits that are often way worse than anything someone could imagine. Still, anyone able to guess what’s happening is still intrigued by a desire to see precisely how things unfold. That’s because those breadcrumbs lead the audience past insights into events, such as character motivations and parts of their past, which deepen a connection to the story. Laura is dealing with her own profound tragedy making her actions hauntingly relatable. She isn’t wicked so much as desperately broken.

​Meanwhile, the siblings, Andy in particular, provide their own heart squeezing instances of personal pain. Bring Her Back is able to then orbit themes of loss, loneliness, and abuse in profoundly affecting ways. Part of this is thanks in no small part to Billy Barratt (Responsible Child) delivering a sharply subtle performance. There’s something haunting about watching this child fall to pieces that only intensifies the gorier moments. 

Alongside him is Sora Wong making her big screen debut with affecting charm. She’s the kind of protagonist one wants to see protected, so when disquieting darkness descends there’s a real desire to root for her safety. Bring Her Back is never the kind of cynical fright flick where watchers are left cheering for the villains. In fact, there’s a strange case to be made there are no villains in this feature, especially considering the heart shredding truth behind Oliver. This nightmarish role played by Jonah Wren Phillips (Human Error) is as tragic as it is disturbing.

​Bring Her Back frequently maneuvers the audience into position through emotional resonance, luring them into relatable instances before delivering brutal blows. These can be painful revelations about the past, but they can also be flinches induced by flashes of gore. Blood may not flood; however, the filmmakers offer divinely disturbing instances that will nightmarishly linger. Bring Her Back is an admirable lesson in less is more. The use of gore here is precise and sharp rather than a sweeping shotgun stroke coating the room.

Directors Daniel Philippou and Michael Philippou masterfully craft a relentless atmosphere of dread. This is the kind of movie that leaves a watcher feeling beat up by the end. That said, Bring Her Back is a visually genius movie on multiple levels. 

There are moments where the camera is out of focus allowing the audience to experience the world the same as visually impaired Piper. Furthermore, whenever the view of Oliver is distorted, like when rain runs a river down a window, glimpses of something disturbingly inhuman can be seen. Finally, the filmmakers compose wonderfully poetic instances as some shots grandly elevate the events on screen.

Bring Her Back is everything modern horror needs to remain relevant. It is a cinematically extraordinary film. It is an emotionally affecting story that tackles several potent themes. The cast ably delivers powerful performances that enhance the dread filled atmosphere while simultaneously squeezing the heart. Overall, there are scenes that can only be described as cringes and flinches guaranteed to infect with lingering nightmares. Everything about this movie is sinister and unsettling, yet its potency stems from a relatability that makes it disquietingly haunting.
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Horror fans are guaranteed a gem. Casual fright flick viewers are encouraged, though forewarned this film is a shredder. People terrified by Disney Halloween specials—this will drive you out of your mind… so please record yourself if you happen to risk watching Bring Her Back. 

It has been quite a while. Explanations are obviously in order. The simplest is the best yet only half the story.

Everything begins about one year ago. One of my best friends died of liver cancer. His diagnosis was terminal from the get-go. Even though he didn’t tell me as much, I happen to be too familiar with cancer from repeated encounters to not glean some sense of things to come. A little light research only added fire to the fact things would be burning down around us in the months ahead. However, nobody realized that he would exit more quickly than anticipated.

Whatever expeditated his demise, he slipped out of this world (I’d like to think) peacefully around about June 4th, 2024. I drove him to the hospital the days before, and we were still making plans regarding what we’d do when he got out. Both of us believed he was only popping in for a quick bit of treatment. A day later his system went into steady decline.

Since he’d always been a fan of Beerfinger – we often joked over drinks about what band tours would be like, which of course, he would manage as road master – so I hurried to complete the last album Lessens. If nothing else, it’d give him something to listen to while stuck in the hospital. Working on it also provided a distraction for my own downward spiraling thoughts. Consequently, parts of that album are not as well produced as I’d like them to be. I’ve been tempted for a year to remove Lessens from platforms it appears on, remaster tracks, and put it back up again. Only after my friend died, I saw little point in doing so.

It took several months to start enjoying work on any of my various projects. That isn’t to say I didn’t throw myself into certain tasks. He died in June, and I basically burned out in July, taking on every creative endeavor I could think of. I wrote multiple articles for Film Obsessive, produced several short fiction pieces, and got back into doing live performances. Perhaps a bit of that cliché about life’s shortness was hitting hard at the time. Maybe I wanted a distraction from feelings of grief.

There’s no one answer because it’s a whole overlapping Venn diagram of correct answers. The Kübler-Ross model for five stages of grief is no longer, as I understand it, the accepted outlook on mourning. It’s more of a mess where people pinball from one emotion to another, and having experienced it firsthand, I feel there is some credibility to that notion. Anecdotal evidence may not be the best, yet that doesn’t stop it from hitting hard when it delivers experiences which drive you mildly insane for a few months. I didn’t realize manically depressed I was until the Fall.

At the same time, I’d been struggling with chronic pain. My back is essentially a crazy quilt of soft tissue damage stitched together by inflamed nerves. This makes it hard to do a variety of things. Playing guitar is not exactly a pleasant activity anymore, and writing can also be like inviting a hot poker to spear my back. This all sort of amalgamated into a dark cloud overshadowing any desire to make things creatively.

Time passed, as it will regardless of any individual’s situation, and though some wounds never heal, they stop bleeding enough for one to feel less drained. Physical therapy gave me some relief, reducing chronic agony to irritating aches, and life regained some sense of normality. Then around about December I started fiddling with the guitar just to have fun—B standard tuning and something just clicked.

I wrote four songs in one night. Originally, I intended to only put out an EP. However, the more I refined these tunes the more material I produced. I’ve learned over the years, especially this last one, to give myself breaks from big projects. So, the months slipped by as I gradually produced Along the Winter River.

It is not an exploration of recently past calendar pages. Though maybe it is in ways I have yet to recognize. What I do know is that the sound of this album is much better than the last. I may still pull Lessens and redo the songs which annoy me the most. That said, I’m rediscovering the joy of creating things. In some ways as a distraction but in other respects because it’s in my blood.

In the last few months, I’ve made more of a conscious effort to seek live performance opportunities. There are currently a few around the corner. I’ll be at O’Shaughnessy’s Public House performing as part of IS THIS A THING? on June 9th around 7p.m. Then over at Mrs. Murphy’s and Sons Bistro June 12th delivering nonfiction for THIS MUCH IS TRUE. I have two major short fiction publications on the way. Meanwhile, I still have regular reviews and analysis articles appearing over at Film Obsessive. Recently, I got to interview Anthony Michael Hall which was pretty cool.  

And while this may all seem like bragging, the point is that everyone falters when things get rough. It’s all about getting back up again. How you do that is unique to yourself, though don’t let anyone tell you there’s a wrong way. While hard drugs might be debatable, the fact remains that although life is indeed short there is no schedule. When it’s over, it’s over, but until then there are no deadlines. So, learn not to rush… let yourself breath… and find the way you can flow again. Maybe it’ll take you ALONG THE WINTER RIVER.

Sorry… that was a bit melodramatic. However, I couldn’t help myself. If you are curious, the album is what I like to think of as Chicago sludge. It’s a primarily hard rock driven record composed of elements akin to Henry Rollins, Tom Waits, Nick Cave, and various sludge metal bands such as Acid Bath, Down, and Crowbar. Of course, influences should never be mirrored perfectly. As such, though there’s a taste of things like the Deftones in one tune, it remains distinctly Beerfinger. At least I’d like to think so.
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The first single is currently available on Bandcamp. There’s also a low-budget lyric video on YouTube—link below. The album itself should arrive on other platforms soon. So stay tuned, keep safe, and stay weird!

Until Dawn tosses out some tempting terrors. Though this video game adaptation plays fast and loose with its source material, there are horrifying highlights. While its strengths may not be in capturing its inspirations, Until Dawn delivers enough gruesome delights to be fun for fright fans seeking something new.
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The story follows a group of friends on a solemn road trip. They’re attempting to put the past behind them by retracing the last known steps of a missing close comrade. At the final stop, a fresh clue leads them to Glore Valley. This mysterious isolated location soon traps them in a nightmarish loop. Death comes ripping in increasingly murderous, inhuman forms, but time keeps repeating, resurrecting them for fresh ruin. Yet, their bodies and sanity can only take so much before breaking irreparably. The only way to escape is to make it until dawn.

This is definitely the kind of movie that delights in saying its own title. Fortunately, Until Dawn rarely strays into the ironic realm of metacommentary. What could easily have been a Cabin in the Woods (2011) knockoff strives to do its own thing. That isn’t to imply the film is without generic aspects. The filmmakers do their best to deliver familiar notes in sharp stinging jump scares that’ll catch veteran horror hounds off guard as well as a delightful intensity to certain set pieces.

For instance, the slasher villain of the story throws victims around with wince inducing ferocity. There’s brutality to every encounter which makes them engagingly gruesome. In addition, the hapless band of comrades constantly being killed are proactive from the first. At risk of spoilers, these kids don’t cower when the slasher comes killing, they fail hard trying to fight back. And that homicidal juggernaut’s retaliation is gloriously gory.
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That isn’t to say Until Dawn isn’t peppered with perpetual idiot plot instances. The film does rely a little too much on moronic decisions clearly intended to put people in peril. Plus, the proactive nature of main characters somewhat diminishes as the movie inclines toward montages to fit in more slaughter than story. 

Thematically there’s an attempt to tell a tale about trauma. Given the landscape of contemporary horror, that’s a common metaphor these days. The problem here is how it feels tacked on as opposed to a real narrative core. Until Dawn spells out its intention in a flashback halfway through then again during a villain’s monologue at the finale. Robbed of any subtlety, the movie essentially becomes a vehicle for slaughter setups.

Granted, some of these are spectacular. At one point—apologies for implicative spoilers—they even get comically extreme. Not to mention humorously surprising. During the press screener I hosted, the audience more than once howled and applauded in delight when some unexpected gory end erupted on screen. Until Dawn knows when to change gears, shifting between mirthful and malevolent, to keep the audience interested.
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As such, it’s odd the filmmakers failed to better capture the video game. There are some easter egg elements. Rarely do these come across as strong plot points. Many of them, even creature and killer designs, could have been swapped out for myriad other murderous marvels. Consequently, fans of the video game might feel they didn’t get an adaptation so much as a horror movie with a misleading veneer. 

There’s an argument to be made the film took its liberties so hardcore Until Dawn devotees stay in the dark. They won’t have any foreknowledge of what’s going to happen next. How satisfying that decision is for fans who want to see the game they love on the silver screen remains to be seen. It’s likely to be divisive at best since there’s also room to argue this isn’t Until Dawn in anything except title.

Sure, certain visual elements and scenes connect the film with the game, but too often the latter does them better. Case in point, the wendigos featured in the movie have a degree of creepiness. They don’t hold a candle to the video game’s haunting abominations.
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As such, fans of the franchise might do best divorcing themselves from the notion this is a quality adaptation. It’s more of a series of easter eggs implying a thin connection. But going into the feature, treating it like a standalone horror movie that just happens to have the title Until Dawn paves the way to at least enjoying some satisfying scares and slaughter. 

Peter Stormare (Swedish Dicks) is wonderfully creepy as one would expect. His character could almost use more screen time. Odessa A’zion continues her ability to steal scenes the same as she did in Fresh Kills (2024). Despite this being a slasher romp, she manages to have some seriously potent moments. Frankly, I think she should have been the lead. That isn’t to say Ella Rubin (Anora) does a bad job. Her performance just lacks the punch necessary to be memorable, which is a recurring problem with most of the cast. They deliver believable acting, yet just enough to keep the audience engaged until the real star attraction.

Until Dawn is all about the slaughter. It is never afraid to be bloody. Kills sometimes arrive startlingly quick. This is an excellent example of how horror movies can be a funhouse ride of frights. Veteran horror aficionados may likely have seen more nightmarish depictions of demise, but that doesn’t mean a snob shouldn’t get off their high horse to simply have fun with the casual fright fans who will be wickedly watching doom descend on these unfortunate folks.
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Anyone looking for a casual Saturday night scare should assemble the tribe for beer and pizza. Until Dawn is initially only going to be in theaters, but I think you get my point. This flick could be a fabulous night out for fear fans, even if that means shredding it afterward because it wasn’t a proper close adaptation. Those willing to treat Until Dawn as its own movie, though, will have fun watching it once. 

Y2K is a B-movie beauty. Leaning into the absurdity inherent in such flicks, this disaster comedy aims for amusement over scares. Yet, that doesn’t stop laughs coming from some ridiculously over-the-top violence. However, there’s also a charm to this tale of teens rising to the occasion. Its biggest flaw may be that Y2K is overly inclined to nostalgia gags, but there’s enough timeless humor to keep audiences entertained.
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The story focuses on loveable losers, Eli and Danny, played by Jaeden Martell (It) and Julian Dennison (Deadpool 2). After crashing a major New Year’s Eve party, life seems headed in the right direction. That is until midnight strikes, and the dreaded Y2K virus infects all manner of machines. Teens are soon being torn apart by sentient appliances. Consequently, the few survivors realize they must bridge their clique divides to keep alive. After all, as the robot apocalypse intensifies, they may be humanity’s last hope. 

It’s certainly an interesting premise. Anyone who lived through the era will easily remember myriad claims circulating about the catastrophic events Y2K was supposed to cause. Then, in an epically anti-climactic moment, nothing happened. Building off the strange disappointment doomsday never occurred, Kyle Mooney and Evan Winter have composed a comical catastrophe all their own. It’s a clever amalgamation of writer-director Mooney’s interests. His tendency to draw from Saturday morning cartoons, nostalgia, and the VHS era is apparent in the film’s various elements.

The opening portion of the film feels like several teen romcoms seen too many times before. However, Y2K manages to keep things from getting stale thanks to a combination of concise plotting mixed with Julian Dennison’s natural charm. Though the film initially follows the formula of 90s teen romances like Can’t Hardly Wait (1998), it gets to their overall point much quicker. Snappy one-liners allow the misfit lead characters to leap into the heart of coming-of-age comedies, seemingly reaching the pinnacle of social success, right when apocalyptic events ensue.
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Although a small chunk of this portion feels too similar to Superbad (2007), the echoes fade away as Y2K quickly becomes its own film. Furthermore, this part of the picture does a solid job of establishing various other elements. From stoner nu-metal kids to romantic entanglements, this section is great at providing nostalgia gags as well as giving those unfamiliar with certain references a chance to get a sense of these characters. Essentially, the film provides personalities, even if they are somewhat caricatures, which are comical in various ways. In addition, there’s a real idea of the era put into play—differences between the past and present mined for jokes as well as striking similarities. 

When the actual horror story sparks it explodes in a wave of absurd slaughter. Describing any of the initial kills would be a cruel spoiler. Suffice it to say, Y2K brilliantly walks the fine line between humor and horror even when blood is spilling by buckets. In addition, the well-orchestrated opening gives audiences a reason to laugh or cry when certain killings occur. For instance, Eduardo Franco (Stranger Things) as Farkas is such an obnoxious nu-metal shitgibbon, audiences will root for his demise.

Speaking of spoilers, Y2K contains one of the greatest comedy cameos of all time. I’m not saying it’s the best ever. Few things can top Robin Williams in Shakes the Clown (1991). However, not only is it comedy gold, it ramps Y2K back up right as it loses steam. Anyone who spoils this for you deserves a flogging with a frozen hose.
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While that part is a pleasure, Julian Dennison easily steals several scenes. His expert comedic timing combined with an easy charm makes his character instantly likeable. Jaeden Martell fits the role of shy awkward guy perfectly, and Rachel Zegler (West Side Story) does a solid job as Eli’s dream girl. What really makes her role interesting is the performer’s ability to switch tones depending on who she’s talking to, more open with Eli because he knows the real her then cliché popular girl with her high school high status friends. Lachlan Watson (Chucky) absolutely nails the nu-metal persona they play. Their portrayal of Ash seems like they grew up in the 90s. 

Oddly enough, the high quality of nostalgia fueled comedy is a double-edged sword. Y2K features several laughable gags designed around past references. However, leaning so heavily into them tips the film towards a narrower audience. Although certain aspects of the flick, from its B-movie absurdity to its teen drama, are relatively universal, some of the best jokes will only land for those familiar with the references. Consequently, Y2K is likely more enjoyable for anyone who lived through the 1990s.

Still, that doesn’t detract from other aspects. There is an amusing and refreshing embrace of practical effects throughout the horror comedy. To a certain extent it seems done for humor, but it’s also pleasing for anyone inclined to the VHS era of 80s shlock horror. 

Kyle Mooney does a solid job shooting this film. He steers Y2K with a steady hand. The movie is energetic and engagingly cinematic. Furthermore, he employs his SNL experience to compose context for certain gags that occasionally make knowing the references less relevant. Plus, this film continues the earnestness seen in his previous picture Brigsby Bear (2017). With these two movies, he’s established a pattern of insightful explorations of relationships through pop culture, albeit in surprisingly different ways. And he adds to this feature by playing Garrett, a sweet stoner who dispenses some fantastic gags.  

​Y2K is an amusing horror comedy. Embracing B-movie absurdity, it delivers a humorous disaster tale enhanced by romcom plug-ins alongside coming-of-age code. Sometimes this strays into formulaic territory, but wonderful performances, particularly by Julian Dennison, always keep things amusing. The nostalgia gags may fly over a few heads, however, those familiar with the references are sure to be the most entertained. Plus, there’s enough universal comedy to leave others laughing. Y2K may not be a legendary comedy for the ages but it’s definitely a must see once. 

And in a shocking display of productivity, the November roundup arrives right around the proper end of the month. I’m as stunned as the next person. Tackling a backlog on reviews, transcribing an interview, and getting lyrics together left me desirous of something that didn’t feel like heavy lifting. Yet, it’s always the things that seem the easiest which can prove the hardest. Suffice it to say, I just wanted to do some fun writing. As such, let’s dive into the pile.
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Heretic kicked off the month with a press viewing at the Alamo Drafthouse here in Chicago. It’s always a mixed bag attending screenings there. The theater is fine, and although the concessions can be a tad pricey, press often get a few freebies. When I saw Maxxxine, for instance, they gave us complimentary cocktails, a signature concoction composed for the occasion. Heretic involved similar perks. They even pumped in the aroma of blueberry pie during one particular scene. My problem with the venue is the location. 

Smack dab in the heart of Wrigleyville, the Alamo Drafthouse is situated in the one of the worst neighborhoods in all of Chicagoland. That is, depending on what doings are ah-transpirin’ at nearby Wrigley Field. If the Cubs are playing or a concert is going down, well, Chicago police decided long ago to just shutdown roads for blocks in all directions. Wrigleyville essentially becomes an open-air mall for falling down drunks, many of whom are looking to beatdown, bang, or barf. Sometimes all three (i.e. slap, fuck, vomit). Traffic becomes a molasses slow nightmare, parking nonexistent, and the pedestrians are walking examples for any argument against human existence. But that night, with Wrigley Field quiet, so was the neighborhood.

Heretic is an excellent thriller. The primary draw is Hugh Grant as a loquacious villain. The film is great at leaning into his disarming charm despite the increasing obviousness that something is amiss. Yet, the moviemakers behind this fright flick hold the pace, never rushing as the tension builds. Amazing cinematography combines with excellent camera work to enhance the atmosphere. However, it might all fall to pieces if the two leading ladies didn’t provide astonishingly subtle performances. The exact details are in a longer, spoiler free review over at Film Obsessive.

Heretic Conjures a Special Dread | Film Obsessive

After that I saw Maria. This is a tricky film to criticize. On the one hand, this fictionalized biopic contains an award-worthy performance by Angelina Jolie. I have no doubt she’ll receive numerous nominations and possibly several prestigious wins. She provides a raw emotional portrayal of legendary opera star Maria Callas that is captivating in its tragedy as well as endearing in its vulnerability. It’s one of the greatest displays of acting all year. Unfortunately, this remarkable accomplishment is in service of a film so astonishingly mediocre it almost put me to sleep.

Maria is a film that aims to have operatic qualities alongside poetic surrealistic visuals. It never captures those qualities, and the ho-hum ways it endeavors to do so are pathetic at worst, pretentious at best. The movie never does anything deserving of Jolie’s performance, yet it benefits entirely from her, riding her acting into the appearance of heights the filmmakers never earn.

I recently received a for-your-consideration package for this film. It included Maria on disc as well as the script. The amount of awards the people behind this picture think they deserve recognition for is laughable. And I say that because I literally laughed out loud reading the list. For more on the one thing which worked and the great many bits that don’t, check out my detailed spoiler free review by clicking the link below. 

Maria Is Nothing Without Angelina Jolie | Film Obsessive

As is often the way, November didn’t have things scheduled until the end of the month. I went from doing little to being booked solid all day every day for two weeks. Live shows intermingled with personal responsibilities alongside work. However, it’s hard to complain about being busy when a lot of that work is simply watching shows, especially the good ones.

Full discloser, I wasn’t really looking forward to seeing Wicked. Granted, critics are supposed to review things objectively, but I’ve found objectivity to be a bit mythical. I can’t recount how many times, before a flick started, I’ve heard the press pool already talking about what they think of a film, positively and negatively. Yet, I try to review things with as open a mind as possible. If nothing else, I will attempt to figure out who the film is for then if that audience would enjoy it. Sometimes I am that audience which makes it easier. Another thing which makes things easy is actually having a good time.

Wicked caught me entirely off guard. To a certain extent, I think it helped that I’d already read Gregory Maguire’s Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. Though that said, it’s a marvelous movie from start to finish. That’s especially important because the flick is dreadfully long. Just as it starts to become intolerably lengthy the whole thing wraps up on a rousing rendition of “Defying Gravity”. Still, I couldn’t believe how hooked I was from the opening number.

Curiously, perhaps because of that unexpected enjoyment, I’ve become somewhat sharply aware of negative reviews. Glancing around social media, I see a lot of folks having enjoyed the movie. But a few critics caught my eye. Now, people are free to disagree with me. I mainly read the first negative review curious to see what soured their viewing. This particular critic complained that the film featured production design that was too fantasy based. In other words, the merry old land of Oz seemed set too much in a fantasy realm. They also complained how Wicked is an origin story for a villain – wailing something like, “Why, oh why, can’t evil just be evil‽” – which is odd since Elphaba isn’t ever a villain.
Essentially, I found negative reviews seemed stuck on nitpicking details or gave telltale signs the critics weren’t really paying attention to the film. At best, they appeared to have stopped watching once they made up their minds. At worst, they went in to cherry pick things to detest. Like the one who sneered at the way the colors were too balanced, insisting some of them should have stood out. Apparently, Elphaba being the only green person in all of Oz didn’t make her stand out enough. She should have been a blazing neon while Glinda’s pink should have stabbed the eyes as well.

Frankly, the reek of contrarianism came off most sentences, writers refusing to like something guaranteed to be popular. It’s a pity really. They went in expecting the worst, and they got it. I didn’t go in anticipating anything fun, but I stayed open to the possibility. Perhaps that’s why I enjoyed the movie as much as I did. 

Wicked is Over-the-Rainbow Excellence | Film Obsessive

After Wicked, I buckled down on an article about Young Frankenstein. The fifty-year-old film is a comedy classic. Its golden reputation is well-earned. However, in the decades since its release there’s little left to say. And I didn’t want to simply rehash the gags everyone loves. Too many anniversary articles seem to go that route. They recount the film everyone already knows then, if lucky, add one sidewise detail that’ve never been known. The downside with most Mel Brooks movies is that he’s been very generous with interviews, especially lately, and his commentary tracks on discs are equally full of anecdotes, details, and elaborations. The point being there isn’t much to say that hasn’t already been said. Plus, it’s more enjoyable hearing a lot of this from Mel Brooks directly.

Still, I’d made the pit I was in by pitching the article. Getting out meant going into the purpose of parody. Basically, the article is a retrospective that looks at how the film is lovingly composed by fans of the 1931 James Whale classic but also how, as is the case with most of Mel Brooks best comedies, Young Frankenstein skewers human behavior more than the genre. In recent years, that’s been the failing of so many attempts at cinematic satire. Instead of poking fun at the human condition, comedians mock the genre.

The article explains it better in more detail, so if interested please click the link below. 

Young Frankenstein and the Depth of Parody | Film Obsessive

Moana 2 was not a flick I expected to put on the chopping block. This family friendly flick from Disney seemed like it would be a homerun. At worst, an inside the park triple. So little in this sequel came together and none of it got near the high bar set by the first film.

It was a real shame. I remember telling the PR person on my way out, “It wasn’t terrible. I’ll give it a goodish review, but it wasn’t great.” And it is a movie that parents in need of something to distract their kids will be happy to have. However, it’s incredibly forgettable. Though Moana 2 never sinks, it barely treads water, and there are better ways to kill time. For more on what worked and what didn’t, check out the spoiler free review I’ve got at Film Obsessive. 

Moana 2 Treads Water Instead of Sailing | Film Obsessive

Finally, I closed the month with a look at Heavier Trip. This joins the group of heavy metal inspired cult classics like Metal Lords, This is Spinal Tap, and Deathgasm. Films that lovingly poke fun at the metalhead community.

This is a sequel to the 2018 Finnish flick Heavy Trip. Both are essentially black metal Blues Brother movies about the band Impaled Rektum on a road trip full of absurd adventures. This time the musicians must break out of a prison to perform at Wacken to earn the money they need to save their guitarist’s family farm. Simple and to the point, the plot allows the comedy wheels to keep rolling without getting sidetracked. Along the way, the various band members encounter their own hilarious trials and tribulations.

A fan of the first film, I was thrilled to not only get to see this, but I also managed to land a chance to chat with the filmmakers. That interview is coming next week so will be a part of the December roundup. Otherwise, for all the details on why Heavier Trip is an absurd metal cult classic, check out the spoiler free review linked below.

Heavier Trip Brings Back Black Metal Absurdity | Film Obsessive

I saw a few other movies over the course of November. However, press embargoes prevent any comments about them until particular dates. Suffice it to say, there are some real treasures on the way. So, stay tuned, at the very least for the December roundup. Either which way, consider following me at Blue Sky. Then you can get the reviews as they come out.
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Otherwise, I have to get back to fiction projects. Then tackling lyrics for the Beerfinger E.P. which I really hope to have out before year’s end. In the meanwhile, stay safe, keep weird, and always remember that seeing it all is a shame if you keep the details to yourself. 

Normally, I’d want to offer some excuse as to why October’s roundup got a delayed release. I always seem to conjure something. However, maybe it’s time to simply embrace the fact the roundup release happens when it does. They do have a pattern of coming out mid- to late month anyhow.

​Honestly, I thought I would get October done during the first few days of November. Then election madness boiled over, scalding the United States with its results. It seemed to be the only thing those of us living here could think about, and then the outcome knocked a lot of people into the sewers of depression. I can’t say I’m thrilled by who won, or the implications of the election autopsy. Still, as is often the case, life goes on with or without us. I’d rather be trudging along than left behind. After all, the future doesn’t have to look bright for it to end up being brilliant.

November has been a wonderfully productive time, though October wasn’t without its gems. That month’s first press screener, I got stuck in abominable traffic. Despite battling traffic to the best of my ability, hampered by complications from car trouble—almost two hours on what should have been a thirty-minute drive—I ended up missing the first half hour of the flick. No sense jumping in that late, I got in contact with the PR people, who were kind enough to inform me I wasn’t shit out of luck. Fortunately, the film distributors scheduled two screenings that day. I suspect they anticipated a blockbuster. So, I spent the day killing time around Chicagoland until I could plunk down and watch Joker: Folie à Deux. 

Calling this movie a disappointment would be an understatement. I’m mixed on the first flick. Parts of it I enjoyed, while other aspects disappointed. It was like a delicious chunky soup where some of the ingredients didn’t taste right. Still, I remained curious how the sequel would continue the story. And though I can applaud some of the risks, the film never really came together.

​The review can speak for itself. That said, more than anything, I’m opposed to this circulating idea Todd Phillips made this movie a dud specifically to piss off the incel losers who embraced Joker (2019). He has a track record of complaining about wokeness ruining comedy, and his history of films about overgrown man-children tend to lean towards edgelord adjacent themes. I think with Folie à Deux, he set out to rewrite history but wasn’t clever enough to retroactively change the meaning of the first film. In other words, even if he wanted to distance himself from the edgelord audience Joker acquired, he didn’t mean to make a bad movie. He simply failed to be as brilliant as box office success mislead him into believing he was.

Spoiler Warning: I say that because the end of the film holds a last message for the incel/edgelord audience. When Arthur Fleck is killed by another inmate of Arkham, essentially for not living up to the Joker persona, his killer then slices his face open into a smile, laughing as the screen fades to black. It leaves the distinct impression another, if not the real Joker, killed a poser. Because Arthur didn’t embrace his madness, he couldn’t be the real clown prince of crime; he denied his delusions were a road map he could follow. However, a true Joker never flinches—once you go over the line, keep going—embrace insanity all the way down.

Granted, films are art, and all art is open to interpretation. Folks may disagree with me. That’s fine. Whatever you think this movie is trying to say, I think we can all agree, it’s just boring which is the greatest sin any entertainment can commit. 

Joker: Folie à Deux Is a Bit Off Key | Film Obsessive

Although I saw the next flick a little before September ended, the review didn’t post until October. Nevertheless, that doesn’t change how much I loved Kneecap. This is a rousing comedy from Ireland that features everything from laughter to social commentary. And the latter is the best kind because it isn’t preachy so much as inspiring. Kneecap is essentially an origin story regarding a real-life hip-hop group who rap in the Irish language. This put them at the center of controversy because the British government had basically made the native tongue illegal.

What really makes this movie shine is its smooth narrative. Several themes combine to tell an energetic tale that makes a person want to start a revolution. Music hasn’t seemed this rebellious in too long. All in all, Kneecap is a movie that has something to say, selling its point with charm and comedy alongside block rocking beats, all spiced up with just the right amount of drama. For more on what makes it a wonderful watch, follow the link below.

Kneecap Is a Mirthful, Mad Irish Rebellion | Film Obsessive

I want to begin by saying I enjoy the Terrifier franchise. It’s a gruesome, gory good time which is something only horror fans will understand. And though I don’t think Terrifier 3 is a bad entry, it isn’t the best either. Portions of it actually put me to sleep. There was a pack of edgelords who got pissed off by my genuine snoring inadvertently upstaging their exaggerated laughter. Fortunately, such fools are often loudmouth cowards. In any event, it is what it is:  a gory dark comedy designed for a very specific audience. How satisfying it is in that respect… is just a click away.

Terrifier 3 Loses a Tick | Film Obsessive

Around about the middle of the month I wrote a retrospective about a little-known indie horror flick called Ice from the Sun. That title is gold, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise. However, that said, I will similarly slaughter anyone who claims Ice from the Sun is a good movie.

I admire anybody who can put together a whole motion picture, especially someone who did it in 1999. Nowadays filming is relatively easy. Smart phones and tablets used to advertise they could assist any independent moviemaker by being as good as professional digital cameras. Though that may be a bit of an exaggeration, it isn’t entirely untrue. If nothing else, digital filming has cut out a large expense when it comes to making movies, and there’s no reason someone can’t make something interesting using, for lack of a better term, common cameras. But back in the day, one needed specific equipment not to mention the cost of film (i.e. celluloid to shoot on plus the price of developing it). So, I do have a certain respect for Ice from the Sun.

That’s the point I really wanted to make writing about this movie. Completing the project is more important than the success of the film. Writer-director Eric Stanze dreamed big. It didn’t lead to a blockbuster, but Ice from the Sun opened the door on a 25-year long career. He’s still making movies. That says something. 

Ice from the Sun, Still Melting 25 Years On | Film Obsessive

Then I got back to reviewing feature films. I ended up seeing a flick called Nickel Boys. This was a haunting story about racism told in a way that was deeply effecting. The whole movie is shot so uniquely and the way certain events are presented stirs a person to thoughts they might not want to have. Call this a hot take, but I think films about racism too often tend to be made for white audiences—black people don’t need movies to remind them racism exists. Perhaps that’s why such films typically lack a certain degree of relatability, the point of those pictures is to highlight the problem rather than the people facing it. Nickel Boys has a potent display of humanity only the cold can ignore. For more on why it works so well, please read the review below. 

Nickel Boys Shows How History Is Seen | Film Obsessive

October saw one of my fiction pieces get published. Hats off to Cowboy Jamboree Magazine for posting my crime fiction story “Blame it on the Blue Line”. This was a labor of love.

They put out a call for fiction inspired by the works of one Kinky Friedman. Unfamiliar with the fellow, I hustled over to the local library. There I checked out two books, The Mile High Club and The Prisoner of Vandam Street. Quick reads, I was done with both lickety-split. Kinky Friedman is a comedian, mystery writer, and a satirical country western singer. His music could be called comedy, but it often had a serious point. Now, a word of warning, some of the humor may be behind the times, to put it kindly, yet there’s an interesting mystery in both. The main thing I took away was a wonderful way of describing things alongside a tendency to – ahem – borrow the premise from famous thrillers. These two books for instance owe a heavy debt to Rear Window (1954) and The Lady Vanishes (1938). As such, I took a page from Strangers on a Train (1951).

This was the kind of short story that got me thinking maybe I ought to expand it into a novel. Part of me is still tempted. But we’ll see. For now, enjoy this tale of outlaw ennui and criminal complications only Chicago could tell. 

​Blame It On The Blue Line - COWBOY JAMBOREE MAGAZINE & PRESS

Halloween being right around the corner, I got to take part in another Story Sessions Annual Campfire Tales. I’m always delighted to join the company of storytellers curated by Jill Howe. This year she gathered a wonderful ensemble of performers who brought to life several true stories which left the audience genuinely spooked.
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For my own part, I basically did a presentation on my paranormal investigations. Specifically, I focused on the article I put together for Horror Obsessive about the Congress Plaza Hotel. Revisiting that piece tempted me to start writing about ghost hunting and the supernatural again. However, I don’t know if I can devote the time and resources necessary to do it justice. Still, the future remains too unclear to say it’ll never happen.

I closed the month doing a quick blurb review for a fantastic collection of short stories Saturday Fright at the Movies: 13 Tales from the Multiplex. Written by Amanda Cecelia Lang, these amounted to an excellent assortment of fright fiction inspired by B-movies, VHS era horror, and all the shlock that’s fight to rock. Not only did I enjoy reading this book, but it reminded me why I like doing reviews.

This was another chance to get eyes on something that might be getting the most attention. I say that simply because, especially when it comes to genre fiction, a lot of stuff gets thrown out into the world. Publishing can be a sink or swim situation where the publishers aren’t doing much to help anybody float. If nothing else, the author appreciated it. 
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I Was a Teenage Featured Creature: Midwestern Horror Writers Share Recent Fictional Horrors | Third Coast Review

And that is the roundup for October. Thank you for taking the time. November is almost over, and I’ve got some fiction in the fire. With any luck there will be good news down the line. Meanwhile, I’m trying to wrap up the lyrics on the upcoming Beerfinger E.P. Along the Winter River. I may need to step away from that one in order to come back at the proper angle.
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For now, I wish you the best. National Christmas Kick-off Day is about to ensue. However, too many folks here abouts who celebrate don’t have much reason for joy. Personally, I’m hoping we can be each other’s silver lining this holiday season. The world is only a dark place if we keep the lights off, ya dig? Anyhow, stay safe, keep weird, and remember that too few people ask for kindness which is why you need to give it away constantly.