What About Laughing Gravy?

* Quick, get Phil Baruth and Dan Barlow together!

Why?

Well, Dan is moving.

Up.

In the world.


Trees & Hills comic group co-founder

Dan Barlow (here's the man's blog)

just informed me and the world he's moving -- to Montpelier. "After four years of working as a reporter in southern Vermont - covering great things like a 34-year-old nuclear reactor, nude teenagers and pirate radio stations - I'm hitting the big time," Dan sez. "Well, big time for Vermont. Starting Feb. 19th I will be one of the Rutland Herald's two reporters covering the Vermont government. Yeah, the government that Howard Dean used to run before he started doing whatever he's doing now. This means I'll be in charge of writing about things like the Vermont House and Senate, our swell old Republican governor and ... nude teenagers (if they decide to follow me to Montpelier). I may even write things about our wide-eyed freshman Congressman or our socialist Senator. We'll see."

We shall indeed. Congrats, Dan!

But in the meantime -- whither Trees & Hills? What will happen to this adventurous band of New England cartoonists once Dan moves (choke) North?

Will this move mean the group is growing, spreading its roots further over the Green Mountain and Granite State landscapes?

Will the roots be deep and sound, or shallow and spread, like those damned conifers that blow over in wind storms?

Or will Dan still nurture and support the collective, or will he cast it adrift, leaving it shy of one activist co-founder?

Can Colin keep it afloat with his compatriots sans Dan?

And -- What about Laughing Gravy?

Only time -- and Dan -- will tell. Stay tuned.

[Trees & Hills group photos by Mark Martin, from his glorious Jabberous blog, circa May 2006: http://jabberous.blogspot.com/2006/05/comics-club.html -- see that link for ID of those pictured, save ---- Bjork -- who is he, anyway? And is he still drawing? Does he have a site? Did DC Comics approve of one of you wearing a Batman t-shirt? Did you have to pay royalty fees, or was that included in the price of the shirt, and First Sale Doctrine rules uber alle? Colin?]

* Speaking of which -- Damn, I let the Trees & Hills group down yesterday.

Amid all my catch-up posts, I neglected to mention that

the monthly Trees & Hills drawing party is happening, like, today, and I forgot to post the info & link about it yesterday!

Colin writes, "drawing party (always the 3rd Sat. of each month except under extenuating circumstances) will be happening this Saturday 2/17 at Tim Hulsizer's house in Keene, NH; email Tim (escapevelocity at hotmail.com) for directions and other info." BTW, here's the link to

Tim Hulsizer's site,

________________

* Don't know if you read the comments posted to this blog, but my short review of the documentary Jesus Camp prompted a strangely familiar hit-and-run swipe from an outraged Christian fundamentalist, in this case the right Rev. Don Spitz of Hampton Roads, Virginia. The link from his comment yielded this

little one-post blog,

a rant in the wilderness.

In his comment on my review, Rev. Don Spitz said:

"Sounds like you have some real serious hatred issues directed towards Christians. Suffice it to say, most, if not all problems on the planet earth are from people like you who reject Jesus Christ. Our prisons are filled with people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. Most if not all rapes, murders, robberies and thefts are committed by people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. AIDS is mainly spread by people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ and have sex outside of marriage or else like children with AIDS get it from people, like you, who reject Jesus Christ. I hope you will turn from your sins and receive Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior and escape the fires of eternal hell. Turning from your sins and giving your life to Jesus Christ is the only way you can escape the fires of hell and receive everlasting life. If you persist in your sins and continue to turn your back on Jesus Christ, you will be lost forever."

Now, I love this shit. Of course, as we all saw during the election season of 2000, we sinners embracing the Lord as our Savior doesn't necessary win the respect of fellow Christians, as then-not-yet-President Bush amply demonstrated by jeering and openly mocking a Born-Again woman on death row the very week of her execution. We're all to take his conversion on faith, but -- well, you get the idea. "By their works ye shall know them."

Rev. Spitz's post is a pip. I'm not mocking the man, whom I don't know any more than he knows me, but I am assessing his words. The wording resonates oddly with past brushes with other angry zealots.

Keeping the context of mere movie reviews and/or articles, I recall how, way back in 1989, I interviewed Alejandro Jodorowsky about his then-new movie Sante Sangre and placed that interview, in different forms, in a number of zines and papers, including our local 'activist' newspaper The Valley Advocate (out of Northampton, MA). My interview/article prompted a short published letter from two area feminists who attacked me for writing about the film -- which was Alejandro's delirious fictionalized account of a serial killer's career and eventual redemption, as only Alejandro could tell it -- who accused me of being a misogynist and of hating women, concluding, "We know who you are and we know what you are doing to women."

My first wife Marlene, to whom I was married still at the time, was absolutely outraged by the letter. She wrote a response, as did I. But the Advocate refused to allow either her and me to respond. The screed stood, and thereafter I made it a point to instantly respond to any such bile when it was directed my way.

Fact: In 99 cases out of 100, the accusers never, ever respond or reply.

Thus was established a pattern that became familiar to me over time, during the Taboo years and especially the Tyrant years. Foolish me -- I thought after the endless customs battles, censorship rows and difficulties finding printers, binders or venues for the calculated confrontational agenda of Taboo, doing a nice little all-ages dinosaur comic would be a piece of cake by comparison. Oh contraire!

No sooner had Tyrant #1 arrived in comic shops than a steady flow of angry letters from Creationists began to trickle into the ol' SpiderBaby Comix mailbox. By comparison with the Taboo era, the Tyrant letters were far more angry and contemptuous: I was judged a sinner for my dinosaur comic, and was a greater threat to humanity than I had been publishing horror comics. I find it hard to believe the publishers or creators of Turok, Son of Stone, Kona, Monarch of Monster Isle, Gorgo or Star-Spangled War Stories (with "The War That Time Forgot!") ever received this kind of hate mail, but those halycon days of the '50s and '60s many evangelicals cling to as "the good old days" of Christian America rule were perhaps more tolerant of that most malignant of all comics genres, the dinosaur comic book.

Of all those who wrote, sometimes vehemently judging me and my family in rhetoric fully of a piece with the good Rev. Spitz's comment, only one -- one! -- responded to my reply letters, striking up an exchange of letters (and comics) that was fun and lively and at the very least a conversation of sorts.

What I found, in all but that one case, was the letter-writers weren't interested in conversation, they were interested only in venting, in blasting me (and my family): an odd, vindictive form of 'witnessing,' to my world view.

I engage, they refuse. A sure path to communication and possible conversion, my friends!

In any case, I replied directly to Rev. Spitz's post on 2/14, which follows in the spirit of possible conversation:

"Wow, Rev. Spitz, you sure pretend to know a lot about me you don't know. Having not caused most of the problems on planet earth (though I think I can honestly say a few of those can now be chalked up to our President, who claims to be a true believer in Christ), having not been in prison, raped, murdered, robbed, or have/had/or spread AIDs, and as I do indeed believe in Jesus Christ (though not as you do), I reckon you just struck out on every single count in your rant against me and my modest post -- which is, after all, a movie review (in that it's the comments on Jesus Camp that seems to have brought you here), nothing more. What sins, precisely, am I persisting in? Not practicing my Christian beliefs in perfect accord with your own? Using the good brain God gave me at birth? Practicing my own faith as I see fit, rather than as you or others demand I do? Isn't this America? I thank God it isn't your fiefdom, yet. Making vile accusations and posting personalized bile and fear isn't in accord with the New Testament Christ I was raised with, or believe in -- nor, for that matter, is much else I can divine from your accusatory screed."

Any word from the Rev, I'll let you know.

I'm not feeling the love, though, as yet.

We used to have this old 45 RPM record in my family's modest collection, and I'll go out with that tune:

"Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition, Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition, Praise the Lord, and Pass the Ammunition And We'll Allllll Beeeeeee Freeeeeeeeeeee!"

Winter Walk and Flicks I've Seen of Late, Pt. 1

Whoa, first winter storm of the winter! Though I've driven through some slippery and treacherous driving this winter thus far (see 2006 posts), this is the first morning we here in mid-VT have seen real snow.

I went out for a little walk at 5:30 AM, while the day's light was just kicking in, and it's beautiful: about 3 inches on the ground already here, and the snow is picking up from the fine, sand-like snow falling early AM (I took a peek outside around 3 AM).

Managed to rescue our morning paper from the bottom of the driveway before it was rendered invisible: "Ah, that lump in the snow looks like our paper," I thought, and so it was. No plows have been through as yet, no tire tracks on Taylor Drive. Could be be a snow day for everyone? Doubtful, but Marge got the call from the Fall Mountain School District that school's out today, so Marge'll be home (and savoring sleeping in just now). Waiting to hear if CCS is calling off classes -- fellow CCS instructor Peter Money and I were scheduled to take the students on a trip up to St. Johnsbury and the Fairbanks Museum, but we rescheduled that two days ago, after hearing the firm predictions for today's storm. Later, Fairbanks. [8:45 addendum: Michelle Ollie just called: no classes at CCS today.]

Anyhoot, I'm going to take a couple of walks today outside -- we haven't had snow like this hereabouts yet this season, and it's sweet.

_________________

Here's a wedding I'm willing to bet the President or Vice-President didn't attend -- a photo you'll never forget,

via a link provided this early AM by Jean-Marc Lofficier.

_________________

Between Marge and I scooting out to catch a few theatrical movies, and the ongoing home-screenings for WRIF (White River Independent Festival, as in film festival; I'm on the board, and in the selection committee for the April 27-29th event), it's been a lively harvest thus far. Here's Part One of the catch-up on what I've been screening...

* THE AMAZING SCREW-ON HEAD (2006) - Online animation highpoint of the form and venue is at last on DVD, hopefully bringing it to a whole new audience unaware of either Mike Mignola's charms (or work, beyond being the wellspring/creator of Hellboy) or the delicious delirium of this most ephemeral of all Mignola comics creations. Mike essentially lambasted his own approach to horror and emerging formulas herein, complete with the inevitable Lovecraftian interloper from beyond (imprisoned in a turnip), sweetened with a giddy, anachronistic approach to history (it's set in 1862, complete with President Lincoln presiding, but its embrace of impossible gadgetry and supernatural-as-commonplace leaves the wildest Wild, Wild West conceits in the dust). Bryan Fuller managed the mean feat of developing and adapting Mike's one-off Dark Horse comic oddity into one of the most true-to-its-source comics adaptations ever, preserving and transposing, without conflating, the inherent qualities of Mike's one-shot. If it's all new to you, it's best I don't tell you a damned thing: just take the plunge! The most entertaining and amusing 22 minutes I've savored in a long time, with pitch-perfect vocal casting and performances (from the like of Paul Giamatti and David Hyde Pierce) that bring Mike's silliest lines ("Groin is watching out for your backside, Head!") to life without dropping a cue or blowing a joke. Much as one longs for an encore, I'd almost prefer this be the be-all and end-all of Screw-On Head adventures: it's hard to imagine how this could be expanded without ruining it's singular magic. Mike, prove me wrong.

* CINE MANIFEST (2006) - Director Judy Irola doesn't provide a context for her own documentary subject until 15 minutes into the film, at which point we are finally told about the Manifest's two feature films, Over-Under, Sideways-Down (1975) and Northern Lights (1975). This isn't necessarily a weakness, in that Irola fully invests screentime (and the viewer) in the collective's members as people first and foremost, a focus she and the film rigorously adheres to throughout. This ultimately makes Cine Manifest worthwhile in that it mounts a passionate and articulate case history for many creative collectives: the issues this group faced, 1972-75, and the double-edged blade of their simultaneous success and collapse (both features were critically lauded, and Northern Lights won Cannes's Camera D'or Award -- best 1st film by a new director -- and other awards), are typical of many creative cooperatives in all fields of endeavor. Thus, the film does have universal appeal and relevance.

For filmmakers and film buffs, it's absolutely irresistible in its fusion of hard fact, on-camera interviews, 'dirt' (the snapshots of Nicholas Ray's agonizing freeloading are intoxicating and depressing without becoming exploitative) and insider views on a group dynamic so volatile that some members (all of whom do speak on-camera, including director and Manifesto member Irola) still aren't on speaking terms. Though I at first found the distance maintained from the films themselves, the fruit of the Manifest, increasingly frustrating, Irola cannily does provide in the end expansive enough glimpses and sequences from Over-Under, Northern Lights and other films (including the documentary Western Coal and the bizarre Ray project 7 Balls) to satisfy. I'd love to see both Cine Manifest features, which have long been out of any circulation; Over-Under looks like a blueprint for Paul Schrader's Blue Collar (1977) in some aspects, while the clips from Northern Lights are among the most evocative of any 1970s American film I've ever seen -- I'm now aching to see Northern Lights in its entirety.

* JESUS CAMP (2006) - Fascinating, compulsive viewing, whatever one's orientation to the subject (which frankly is pretty scary shit to this viewer). There's no denying the hypnotic power of the film, watching 8-to-14-year-olds going through the rigors of the titular camp experience, worked and/or working themselves into traumatizing emotional states and complete meltdown (weeping, shouting, "speaking in tongues," which sounds even more like gibberish when the adults indulge this behavior) under strict adult supervision condoning and indeed arousing such behavior with calculated intent. Make no mistake, this is bootcamp for Jesus -- or rather, the righteous, militaristic brand of fundamentalist Christianity that deliberately matches zealous indoctrination of "opposing" religious cults with its own amped brand of zealous fanaticism. Directors Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady clearly nurtured trusting and surprisingly intimate relations with those involved with the evangelical camp (based in Devil's Lake, North Dakota, though no one involved expresses any hint of irony, for all their talk of ever-present Satan and temptation). They don't betray that trust, simply providing an account of these lives, these actions, this movement, sans judgment or condescension.

Ewing and Grady provide concise, lucid portraits of all the principles, from the organizers to the parents and attending children, focusing on three of the latter: Levi, Tory and Rachael. It's an intimacy shattered only with the intrusion of evangelist Ted Haggard during his Colorado Springs event (he speaks to the camera/filmmakers, chastising, ridiculing and belittling them). Still, this material is critical to the film in following young Levi's Marjoe-like potential as a 12-year-old stage presence, clearly being groomed for something more beyond the parameters of the film's chosen arenas. Levi and his younger brother's brief exchange with Haggard is indeed crucial to the film, but Haggard's presence carries, in hindsight, a chilling context for delusion and self-delusion, deception and self-deception: Haggard was recently 'outted' for covert homosexual relations, and it's telling in the wake of this film how even alternative media (e.g., the 'leftist' NPR news show Here & Now) allowed Haggard and Haggard-supporters/apologists to evoke possible possession by demons (!!!) without overt criticism of such a lunatic stance (Here & Now actually showcased one apologist proposing demonic possession as being typical of the risks front-runner evangelists like Haggard face as part of their work and calling -- astounding! Is personal responsibility for one's actions forever ignored by these factions?).

Ewing & Grady address this disturbing 21st Century trend via sequences shot in a Midwest radio station, in which an articulate Christian talk-show radio host criticises the evangelical imperative to blur the boundaries between church & state. This provides an essential counterpoint and broader social context for the film's focal point, the uncritical indoctrination of fundamentalist children into a self-proclaimed "Army of God," and makes the film palatable for those unsympathetic to the religious dogma without manipulating or inherently criticizing the actions of the passionate believers themselves, adult and child. It's a pretty astounding tightwire act, really, making this a truly exceptional and timely documentary. Cinematically, the documentary is very well made, and the trio of kids Ewing & Grady chose as their 'stars' are indeed engaging. This film needs to be seen!

[PS: Check out the comments for today's post -- the above review is already prompting discussion.]

* THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND (2006) - Barbet Schroeder's Général Idi Amin Dada: Autoportrait/Idi Amin Dada (1974) and the South African Amin: The Rise and Fall (1981, from Indian director Sharad Patel) were the definitive (and only) films of note on Ugandan dictator Idi Amin until Kevin Macdonald's adaptation of Giles Folden's novel popped up, seemingly out of nowhere. It's stateside release was uncannily timed to the public execution of Saddam Hussein and his confederates -- though no one, including the most passionate critics, seemed to note the timely coincidence (Amin, of course, died peacefully in exile in Saudi Arabia after his acts of genocide, counterpointing what happens to even the most homicidal despots as long as they don't cross the good ol' U.S. of A). Using a couple of clips from Schroeder's documentary, Macdonald mounts a pretty intoxicating crash-course on Amin's dynasty via the deceptively alluring initial path of a callow young Scottish doctor Nicholas Garrigan (James MacAvoy, the real surprise of the film). Fleeing the confines of a proposed family medical practice after graduation, the young Scot randomly chooses Uganda as his destination, immediately sampling the sexual vistas via a 'quickie' with a flirtatous local African woman on his initial bus ride -- a key bit of character exposition for Nick that serves Macdonald's narrative structure well, deftly setting up Nick's character later dallying with one of Amin's many brides that has lethal consequences. By maintaining its focus on the good doctor, we are introduced to Amin (a powerhouse Forest Whitaker performance) and initially exposed more to the dictator's renowned charm than his temper, until it's too late: once the blade turns, it turns hard, and the film spirals into its harrowing third act.

Impressive as the film is -- and it doesn't flinch -- it's hard to shake the screen presence of Amin himself in Schroeder's film, or even Joseph Olita performance as Amin in Sharad Patel's 1981 opus ("You see? You see what happens to bad mommies?"), but Whitaker will no doubt fix himself into the popular American imagination as the definitive Amin. Make no mistake, though: it's MacAvoy who is the lead, and he gives an excellent performance throughout, keeping us attuned to his at-times unsympathetic actions and convincingly remaining the lightning rod for all that we see and experience (SPOILER WARNING -- including A Man Called Horse-like comeuppance for the doctor). It's also great to see Gillian Anderson (Scully!) in a solid supporting role, speaking volumes with her eyes and actions (and, critically, inactions); it's been too long since she graced the screen.

Not for the squeamish, though it never approaches the exploitation extremes of Amin: The Rise and Fall -- there are no heads in the dictator's fridge, for instance: the only reference to cannibalism comes in Amin's second public speech, in which he ridicules such claims as inventions of the foreign press -- nor does it revel in genocidal imagery, which some argue is a shortcoming of the film. Clearly, that card is one the director and writers cannily chose to keep close to the chest, until their narrative (and protagonist) finally opens it eyes to the reality of Uganda, 1971-79, in a most personalized revelation of Amin's actrocities. It's not a case of downplaying or sidestepping the reality, but steeping the viewer in the experience of its protagonist, and the seductive thrall of the dictator himself, until the dam can no longer hold back the horrors. It's called storytelling, and this is a solid story, well told. Recommended; catch it on the big screen, while you can.