I like Christmas, but Christmas Doesn't Like Me

     I have a perverse relationship with this season. I always have had. I'm a lapsed Judeo-Christian so I understand the religious significance. I read so I know the pagan ritual roots thing. I paid attention during science so I understand about the Winter Solstice. I like the TV shows (well some of them) , the Alastair Sim "A Christmas Carol", "Scrooged" and "Miracle on 34th Street" (The Original)... I can deal with the songs...I have problems with some of the lyrics, but the music is generally pretty good

    More than anything I love the idea of  putting aside differences (which are largely the result of ignorance, vivid imaginations, and bad communication) and trying to get along. Shame it only happens around this time of year, but it seems to be all we can handle.

    So while I actually like Christmas (or whatever we're celebrating. I like to thinkit's our collective humanity) I tend to have trouble around this time of year. Personal problems, health issues, financial stuff including loss of employment etc... It all seems to happen around this time, and this year is no different.

     Coincidence?

     Probably...
  
     It's more likely in the nature of a self fulfilling prophecy. I always have very high hopes for the season, as I always have very high expectations of myself. Despite the fact that I'd probably be voted most likely be the Grinch, I am, at heart, an optimist. I live in hope that tomorrow will be better than today and that humankind isn't really suicidal. The majority of us are generous and caring. We can also be selfish, petty and afraid. Nobody is always one thing...We're complicated like that.

     So I expect a lot.

     I don't mean presents. I'm in the middle of purging a lot of detritus preparing to move.
I have too much stuff as it is. Don't get me wrong, I like  to get gifts as much as anyone. I can live without them, saves me from making the "Present Face" (as Garfunkel and Oates have put it) if I get something I'm iffy about. Anyway I prefer giving, and therein maybe the problem.

      I like to give presents, and over the last few years I haven't been able to give the way I'd like. Yes, it can be a money thing, but its also a time and materials thing too. I think that may be the root of a lot it. I can't give the way I want, so I'm disappointed with myself, and hence the season.
  
     There that was easy, wasn't it?  Problem solved.

     Except, that's not all of it...

     Faith?
    
     Maybe it's a spiritual thing, or lack of same. Kharma, maybe? I may have done something truly heinous that I'm unaware of, in this one or previous one, or am I mixing my religious metaphors.
  
     Maybe it's the time of year, or maybe it's the time of man...

     Or maybe I'm taking it all to personally...Probably.

     Whatever it is, I apologize to Christmas for any wrongs I may have committed. I'm truly sorry. Please forgive me.

     And to all my friends, family, acquaintances, my reader and to anyone I've ever met, may you have the happiest of holidays, and may all your dreams and wishes for the new year all come true and then some.

Sincerely,

Michael Hiller


  
  

    Warning: This one's probably not going to be funny. Maybe in time...

     I have to move in 2 weeks and, at the moment, I have nowhere to go. In large part this is my own fault, and I really have no excuse other than I went through an unfortunately timed depressive episode after giving notice.

       The situation sucks. It's of my own making (to an extent).  So it goes...

     I have a lot of stuff I'll be cleaning up, throwing out, donating, selling, or giving away over a short space of time including books, furniture, DVDs etc.

    If the situation changes, or I find a place, I'll update addresses and stuff.

    Maybe this is a chance to reboot and renew... Cleanse and all that stuff.

    At the moment, though, I'm just a little scared...

      

     A couple of non-related things.

     There's a difference between a re-imagination of something and a remake and a reboot. It's a fine distinction sometimes. Example: Batman Begins is a re-imagining of an established character but it's also a reboot of an established franchise. A reboot of a franchise becomes necessary when a) The last movie in the series is so bad that another movie in the series becomes a question mark and/or a really long time has passed between the old series and the new one. (Batman and Robin kills the Batman franchise in 1997. The first 3 movies made enough to make it worth reviving the series. It takes 6 plus years for the studio to agree on a director, an approach, and a cast and 2 years for the actual movie to get made. Thanks to Christopher Nolan it works. The same can't be said for Bryan Singer's "Superman Returns") "The Dark Knight" takes it even further and becomes the most honored "comic book movie" ever made.

    And why am I typing this? 'Cause I just saw the remake/imagining/possibly reboot of "The Karate Kid".
I was never crazy about the original 'cause to me it was just a variation on Rocky. Even had the same director, John G. Avildsen who did a lot Rocky variations like 2 of the Karate Kid sequels and Rocky 5 among others. I also never bought the concept of Pat Morita as a martial arts teacher.

     So how come I loved remake/imagining/reboot with Jaden Smith and Jackie Chan. Well, A couple of reasons... For one, They took the fish out of water theme to its extreme. Instead of being a Brooklyn outsider in California, Smith is the child of a transferred auto supervisor who has to re-establish herself in Beijing. The plot is essentially the same. But the change in locale changes everything. Language, customs, even food. And it is Beijing, not a backlot. I loved that it was filmed on location.

     The other thing it has going for it is the casting. Jaden Smith is good. He is also a "Kid" as opposed to an adult that looks like a teenager (Ralph Macchio), so the title makes at least partial sense (Still didn't really explain why it's still called "The Karate Kid" when they are quite obviously doing Kung Fu). The other revelation is Jackie Chan. Chan is great as "Mr. Han" (Mr. Miyagi by a Chinese name). He brings an authenticity and, dare I say it, a gravitas to the role. You know no matter what punishment he dishes out to Smith, its nothing compared to what he himself (and his contemporaries Sammo Hung and Jet Li ) went through at the Chinese Opera School when he was a kid. The other interesting shadow that looms over the movie is that of Bruce Lee.

      There's an unspoken resolution to an equally unspoken competition that's been going on since Jackie Chan was being touted as the successor to Bruce Lee. And American companies tried like hell to make him fit that mold. But Chan didn't fit it and, in fact, fought against it. Where Lee expressed rage and vengeance, Chan was a clown and an acrobat, and a stuntman who changed the rules of the game everywhere. And the finale of this Karate Kid is very much a showdown of styles. The Bad Guys use a very direct attack based style, while Jaden is very Jackie Jr, dodging and flipping out of the way, before landing a blow. Both Jaden and Jackie turn out to be the victors. I suspect it was destined to be so...One has difficulty picturing Bruce Lee as Mr. Han, but it fits Jackie Chan like a glove.

     So yeah, I liked it. And no, I don't think it should spawn sequels.

     On the same topic, sort of. Warner Bros. announced last week that it's going ahead with the controversial reboot of the Buffy, the Vampire Slayer franchise without the services of the show's creator, Joss Whedon. The driving force behind this are the producers of the lame movie that preceded wildly successful TV series, which Whedon had all but disowned because the producers and director had messed with the script.
    
     All I have to say is that the whole thing is doomed before it starts. By my reckoning the only character they have the rights to is Buffy, herself. The rest of the mainstays of the series, Willow, Xander, Angel, Spike, Anya, and Giles, were created for the show and weren't in the original movie.

     It's kinda like doing a remake of "Gilligan's Island" when the only character you have the rights  to is Gilligan. No Skipper, No Maryanne, No Howells, No Ginger, No Professor. Just Gilligan.

Or would that be a reimagining ?

In other news it was my birthday on Monday. I saw a Lon Chaney movie on TCM that I had never seen, so that was cool. I made myself a cake, which turned out great (I think everyone should have cake on their birthday). And I started catching up on Smallville, about which more on a later date...

Anywho, sorry for the delay in posting this... I'll try to keep more regular...writing, that is.

                 The Boys

      I like documentaries a lot. I have, in fact, committed the heresy of saying that I preferred "The Making of Gone with the Wind" to the actual movie. Same with "Hearts of Darkness" and "Apocalypse Now". I think that any balanced documentary beats out any biopic hands down. Since I'm a movie geek I like a lot of "making of"s and genre documentaries. I've been writing a lot about childhood stuff, lately, so the documentary I watched tonight was connected to that and a bunch of other stuff combined.

     It was called "The Boys" and it was about the Sherman Brothers who wrote many of the Disney Songs in the 60's. They also wrote all the songs for the first movie I saw multiple times as a kid, "Mary Poppins".

      In "My Best Friends have always been Monsters" I may have given the impression that I saw nothing but horror films when I was a kid. Not true. Between my parents and my own weird taste, I saw all kinds of different kinds of movies, and yes,  some of them were made by Disney. But I didn't own a lot of soundtracks. "Hard Day's Night", Help", "Mary Poppins" and "The Jungle Book". Most of the first 2 were written by Lennon and McCartney , the second 2 were written by Richard and Robert Sherman. Comparisons were made between both teams during "The Boys".

     The film was made by the sons of the Sherman Brothers, and part of it was an effort to mend fences between the siblings who, while they have worked together on various projects, have led largely separate lives since the 70's. They never attend family events together, and for show openings the are on different sides of the theatre.

      Part of what I found amazing was how persistent music and lyrics can be in the memory. I haven't heard a lot of these songs in decades, but when they were played I remembered all of them, music and lyrics. Also I never realized that the Shermans had also written the scores for "Chitty Chitty, Bang Bang" and "Snoopy, Come Home" among many others.

      There are several touching moments in the documentary, and I recommend it. Save the hankies for the end though, because even though it was released by Disney, remember, it's a documentary. not a movie.

              Happy Birthday, Boris Karloff...

             William Henry Pratt never fit you, you always looked like a Boris Karloff.

             There is a story attributed to Karloff, that he was working at Universal playing bit parts and one evening he was given a ride home by the studio's biggest star, in fact one of the biggest stars in silent pictures, Lon Chaney. According to Karloff, Chaney advised him "The trick of this business is to do something totally different from the rest so they'll take notice of you." Chaney, if anyone, would know about that. Nobody could do what Chaney could do. Karloff never even tried, and the irony was not lost on him that when he finally found his niche, he kept being compared to Chaney.
        
             Even though he didn't do his own makeup,  he was as versatile as the elder Chaney. The Frankenstein Monster was one of only 15 roles he'd played that year (1931). He and James Cagney were  founding members of the Screen Actors Guild. He never lost touch with his stage roots, going back to Broadway on numerous occasions.

           And yes he played the Frankenstein Monster. He played it brilliantly, in a performance that holds up to this day. Bearing in mind Chaney's advice he never complained about typecasting.  On the contrary, he  said that "The Monster was the best friend I ever had".
      
            Mine too, Boris...

      

                                    Solipsism is the New Black


         It's my birthday next Monday (the 29th) and I'll be 51. I was born with almost exactly a month left in the 50's, or if you will a month to go 'til the 60's. It's a moot point because I don't think I've ever belonged in any decade. my favorite movies are from the 30's and 40's, also literature. I'm also a big fan of old time radio, and think that their should still be radio stations that carry original radio drama and comedy, because people get tired of just yapping about sports and politics.

         I guess I am unstuck in time. I like reading books. My art starts out from a pencil before it gets to a computer. But I do appreciate computers and technology and stuff like that there. I like video games, and I look forward to the advancement in technology where I can actually be IN the movie...It's getting there...There are a bunch of Bogart and Noir movies that I wanna do.

         Is it a getting old thing to miss civility? 'Cause I do...I miss when  people were courteous.

         Actually it's not an old thing. You know how I know that? 'Cause I see old people doing it just as much as younger people. The 60 something who barges in front of a line of people waiting for prescriptions, and loudly monopolizes the pharmacists time is just as bad as the teenager loudly having a one sided conversation on a cell phone on a bus late at night. If these were isolated things that would be one thing, but it's not. It happens all the time. People shove past you on the street, give impromptu sermons on crowded subways, have conversations in the theatre while a performance is going on...

And it ripples, feeds on itself, and breeds. The Clerk or the waiter who gets disrespected all day will, at some point, start issuing payback. Ditto the TTC Driver, Bank Teller, or Cop.

I guess it's that I seem to notice that people are spoiling for a fight and will supply you with one at the slightest provocation. And while I agree that there are legitimate reasons to be angry, It's important to be sure that anger is direct to the right person, organization or institution.

I suppose it's a form of Civil Disobedience, but it's not what Gandhi, or Dr. King intended anymore. Going from fighting against some large injustice to one persons inconvenience is not an equal use of time and rage.

Solipsism (loosely defined: Fuck everybody else, It's all about me, baby) has become a viable life path, and I think it sucks. That's only my opinion but who's were you expecting to see on my blog? Dennis Miller's?

I dunno. Maybe I'm just getting old and grumpy.

I blame the Danes.

      Almost Crazy is Not for the Feint of Heart

      I've been dealing with  psychologists and psychiatrists from the ripe old age of 8 or so, for a variety of reasons and issues. Believe me it wasn't my idea.

    Teachers started it because of the "not living up to potential" thing. I was the poster boy for not living up to my potential and I would have made one too, but I never got around to it. That went on from grade school to middle school, to the point where I was undergoing EEGs  and IQ tests. Psychologists would give me self-esteem tests too. Nobody would ever tell me whether I passed or not. There were vague references to a high IQ and being bored in class. I didn't care. It didn't make me feel any better.

    The irony to all this was the testing ended round about the time that the really nasty symptoms started manifesting themselves. Barn door locked, horse gone. But that's another blog (See Mr. Scary below)

     So for a long time I went through some serious shit by myself. I could have asked for help but I didn't want to go through the whole testing, poking and prodding thing again, with no results. I just wanted to be ignored by everything and everybody.

     Genetically I had reasons to worry.  I had immediate precedents on both sides of the family. and through multiple generations. Unfortunately you don't get to pick and choose which genetic traits you get any more than you get to pick your relatives. You just have to play the cards you're dealt, even if they suck. Luckily for me, I happen to be a pretty good poker player.


For the record (Those who know me already know this, because I have talked about it. If this is news, please don't worry, I'm still harmless) I have been diagnosed with Type 2 Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar Disorder, which is managed by medication, so I function in relative normality. I also have an anxiety disorder, as well which used to make new situations and meeting new people loads of fun. Again, Meds help...

A word about psych meds, since you asked...It takes a while before you can get them up to a therapeutic level. Most of them cause drowsiness, at least initially. Some of them have interesting side effects. One I'm currently titrating on gives me dry mouth something fierce. But I soldier on. And most people have no idea. They think I'm just an artsy, which is also true.

The next play I'm directing is "Nuts". I think I have the necessary background.

But I'm not crazy...I'm just a little unwell.

Don't be ascared. It's just me.

  

10 Minutes on Obsession (not the fragrance)

        I'm the type of person who doesn't merely develop an interest in something. Unfortunately I'm the type that has to dissect a subject. I need to take it apart and see how it works. I delve into the history attempting to find out the why, put it into context of a when, and maybe somewhere along the line I can figure out a why.

      This is amplified by tenfold when I'm writing about something. It becomes a matter of trying to show off in a very MTV "You think you know, but you have no idea" way. It was in doing this kind of research that I discovered that Bob Kane was an asshole.

     The non geeks among you probably won't recognize the name Bob Kane. The rest of you will know that Bob Kane created Batman...At least he took credit for it, as it turns out that his friend Bill Finger added a good deal more to the mix than Kane ever did. As well as the overall look of the character (Kane's version wore a red union-suit, stiff batwings and a small domino mask, no gloves) Finger came up with the backstory, the main characters and the noir atmosphere that still remains with the book. Meanwhile Kane's participation with Batman seems to have stopped (apart from making sure his was the only name connected with the caped crusader, and ensuring he got a cut of any merchandising of same) with the 3rd appearance of the character, where Jerry Robinson pretty much takes over and you see a vast improvement in the artwork.

     I was researching the story of  Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster for a project I'm still hoping to develop, when I uncovered another story that put Kane in a less than favorable light. It seemed that when WW2 was over and Siegel & Shuster were in renewal negotiations with National Comics (aka DC) for the rights to their creation, Superman. They went to Kane for help, and laid their cards on the table. If they could get his help then they would have the top two creations in NAtionals stable and force them to the bargaining table. Kane said he'd think about it, then used the information to negotiate a better credit and merchandising deal for himself, and when Jerry and Joe returned , he apologetically told them that he regretted that he couldn't help them. National fired Siegel and Shuster and informed them that since publishing the first Superman story in 1938, which they had purchased for 132 dollars, they had owned the rights to the Man of Steel, and didn't need their permission to do anything with him. Siegel and Shuster end up in borderline poverty, and Bob Kane makes a ton of money particularly during the different resurgences of Batmania.

     Jill Sobule has a song called "Heroes" which asks the musical question "Why are all our Heroes so imperfect..." In most cases it's simply because they're human. Anyway I traded Bob Kane for Jerry Robinson ( who eventually did see that Jerry and Joe got some of what they deserved) and Bill Finger, so I figure I got the better end.

By the way this took about a half an hour to write, but I figured since I missed yesterday, I needed to make up time.

Ciao

    


    

  

10 minutes on Bullying

In the schoolyards of my youth we had bullies. They had different prejudices but it amounted to the same thing. I don't understand you, therefore I will beat the living crud out of you. Pretty simple philosophy when you think of it, but probably ends up taking up a lot of your time because you probably don't understand a lot.
        It was a simpler time too. You got bullied for being different. That's it. Just be different and sooner than later somebody will show up that doesn't like you. Lord knows I had my share. I was different in so many ways.
        I was fat. I was in choir. I had long hair (despite the fact that it was the 60's it hadn't caught on everywhere yet) and I was thought to be a wuss. The latter was a mistaken assumption. I could be called every name in the book, and there was some beauties, but I wouldn't react. Get physical and that was a different matter. I would make it a matter of finishing what had been started.  It happened maybe twice while I was in grade school, and then never again... Change anything? Nope. They just changed tactics.

And they don't go away. They follow you to Middle and High School. They adapt, and you adapt. One thing that I've observed, though, is that they really don't like creative types much, and that's straight up jealousy.
             It feels like it will never stop and, yeah, the scars run really deep. But you're smarter than they are. You have avenues of escape. There're always people and paper and blogs and most of all there's You. And you are supremely powerful. That's what I hear, anyway.

Post

Ten Minutes on Music and Childhood

I was a rock and roll kid, with pop tendencies, and a touch of blues thrown in to taste. in my house everything was played, pretty much. There was Jimmy Reed, Johnny Cash, Richie Valens, Bill Haley, Clyde McPhatter among others.

As I started to develop my own tastes I naturally drifted towards what I heard on the radio and saw on TV. And what was on radio and TV from 1963 on? The Beatles...So naturally, my first all music album was "The Beatles 2nd Album" mostly because it had a cover of the Marvelettes "Please Mr. Postman" on it. I'd had kid albums before but this was like a grown up record. Mom got the Rolling Stones, and was never much of a Beatles fan. This would be typical of our relationship for the next few decades. To be honest my mom has pretty good taste in music, and I credit a lot of my eclecticism to her. I picked up on some of her faves. Neil Diamond, Simon and Garfunkel, Gene Pitney...

Gene Pitney had the most amazing voice. He had a 3 Octave range. When I practiced singing I practiced singing to "Half Heaven, Half Heartache' or "Every Little Breath I Take".And when I was a kid I could hit those notes. Of course when I was a kid, I was also a boy soprano in St. Simon's Church Choir...Chew on that one 'til tomorrow...

This weekend I was introduced to the ten minute writing exercise as a means of uncorking the blockage that some writers go through. It was during the Fabulous Soul-O theatre workshops run by Tracy Erin Smith who is a great artist and a great teacher. The idea is to simply start writing and keep writing til the time runs out. Stream of consciousness, improvisation, call it what you will. You take a topic and just keep going until the 10 minutes runs out. The pen  keeps moving, the fingers keep writing for the duration, and when it runs out (the time) you stop. Some of what comes out will be crap (according to Sturgeons Law 90% of everything is Crap), but some of it might contain the germ of an idea, and some of it might be wonderful. I got some of each. It was enough to get me to enter the Fringe lottery. Something I haven't done in 14 years. Plus I figured that it was long enough from the last time that people would have forgotten.

     I'm at  a slight disadvantage here, because I'm a slow typist, and a slow cursive writer (my handwriting can be illegible if I'm in a hurry.

   By the way if you hadn't guess this one was about 10 minute timed righting exercises and time is now up...

Manana

Adventures in Theatre 

(1)

“What a Drag!”

            I’m not sure why it started. Nobody in family, to my limited knowledge, ever did it so genetic predisposition is out. It’s like a mutation, I guess. It just kind of happened.

            When I was in kindergarten I got tapped to play the title role in “The Little Drummer Boy”. I was much cuter then and a blonde with big soulful brown eyes. Despite the fact that I had no lines, I took the role very seriously. The ox and lamb had nothing on me in terms of keeping time (I’ve always had rhythm), and I did it with great solemnity. It was a hit. There were tears. And at the tender age of 5 I became hooked on something more addictive than crack: Applause.

            From that point I went out for anything and everything. I was lucky enough to go to Rose Avenue Public School in Cabbagetown (In the 60’s it was a good school, I have no idea what it’s like now). Rose Avenue had what they called a “choir” program, but it actually did musicals. Luckily I could sing (I also ended up in an actual Church choir around this time, for reasons I don’t remember. I blame Davy and Goliath).

            The “Choir was run by Mrs. Donaldson. She usually had a big blond beehive going on and wore a lot of makeup, but taught me one of the most valuable things I’ve ever learned.  She taught me how to project. This has been both a blessing and a curse along the way, because I’m really good at it. The upside is that it doesn’t matter if it’s a 750-seat auditorium (like I worked on in High School) or a smaller venue, you’re going to hear me. The downside was that it took me a while to learn when and where to use this power, and when it was better left in the utility belt.

            So in grade school I began acting, more or less, regularly. Unconsciously I began to pick up tools like timing and the beginnings of characterization. I wasn’t aware of this, because I was having too much fun. I learned I could make people laugh and, if applause is crack, laughter is heroin.

            I suppose that the zenith of my grade school career would have been in 5^th Grade. We were told we were doing a version of Cinderella, and I’m thinking “ Oh swell, there’s nothing in that for me”(I was already painfully aware that I wasn’t cut out for leading man parts). But I was wrong. This is not unusual. I’m wrong often, and I’ve come to terms with it.

            Mrs. Donaldson took Sean Nee and myself aside, and I figured it was to give us the bad news that we weren’t going to be in the show.

If you’re my age and grew up in Toronto, you’ve seen Sean Nee. Remember those big posters they used to with a curly-headed forlorn kid sitting on a curb, with a bag of Oatmeal cookies in front of him, and the tagline “To Some kids, Dad is just the name of a Cookie”. That was Sean. He was a professional. He had an agent,commercials and everything. He was also a nice guy. i liked him.

                        (If the Google search turned up the right one, he’s now an Oxford Educated Ecologist who specializes in studying genetic engineering, among other things. This would make sense as A) He was English and B) He was “wicked smart”. If it is you, Sean, I apologize for the following revelation)

            So when the 3 of us were alone Mrs. Donaldson began speaking in hushed and serious tones. I wasn’t sure why it was hushed since were the only ones in the room, but I went along with it.

            “I have an idea for Cinderella, but I want to ask you two first to see if it’s okay. If it’s going to work I need my 2 best actors.” She said, quite seriously.

           

            That should have tipped me off. Mrs. Donaldson was never one to ladle out the positive feedback, a trait I would unfortunately inherit as a director. She expected you to do well, and if you didn’t, you’d hear about it.

            She took a deep breath and then said “I want you two to play the Ugly Stepsisters”

            There was a pause. It was a long one.

            In the Schoolyard Survival Manual there are certain rules that are laid out. Somewhere in between “Don’t have a funny name” and “Don’t have your mother bring you a snack at recess” is “Don’t be Different”. There are subsections to that one based on race, body type, and of course sexuality, even in grade school. I was already working at a disadvantage in terms of the funny name rule (subsection: “A name that can be changed to be funny”. At the time my last name was Boyes) and the different rule (subsection “Fat Kid”).  All I needed was to be parading around in girl clothes. It was bad enough I was an actor. That was already suspect.

            For some reason we decided that stealing the show trumped school survival, so we did it. And it worked. Our first entrance brought the house down, and for the rest of the show we upstaged Cinderella unmercifully. At the end of the day we escaped the wrath of the schoolyard. They were too busy laughing.

            I’ve only done drag on stage 2 other times. Once when I was producing “Les Belles Soeurs” for Theatre Etobicoke when we couldn’t find an old lady to play the senile, wheelchair bound mother of one of the women, who basically sits in the background and does nothing…

The other was when we did Rocky Horror at the Kingsway, the Brighton or the Roxy or whatever theatre was showing it. Somewhere in the archives at City TV is me on the New Music in full Frank N Furter drag for the 5^th anniversary of RHPS at the Roxy. Damn near won the lookalike contest, but I lost to woman from Michigan.

             The punchline is that my Uncle Ted, who hadn’t seen me in 10 years and despite the wig and heavy makeup, recognized me on television.

            I think the last time he saw me was as the ugly stepsister.

                        Mr. Scary

With everyone it’s a little different. In my case it basically starts in the pit of my stomach and starts making its way up my spine. Once it hits the central nervous system, the party really starts. It can range from a coughing jag to the utter conviction that I’m going to drop dead any moment. But it’s all the same thing, anxiety, jitters, panic, call it what you will. It’s the fear.

Everybody gets it. The degree varies. For some it’s a mild irritation. For others it’s paralyzing nightmare that controls everything they do. Unfortunately mine tends towards the latter category. Sometimes the simplest things require a major effort.

I’ve been dealing with this since early adolescence. Around the time I moved from downtown to the suburbs, it started to kick in, and in really odd ways. I was dealing with a number of issues at the time. My mom was remarrying so I was demoted from my position of “man of the house”. I didn’t know anybody in the new neighborhood and I’m not the most gregarious person on Earth. I was getting my own room, which was a good thing, but also gave me a sense of isolation. Let’s face it; I was easy pickings for the right disorder.

You know those ads with Digger the Happy Yellow Foot Fungus? He struts around looking for fertile feet to move into and multiply. I picture something like that for panic and anxiety disorder (I don’t really differentiate between the two). Mr. Scary. He’s a Disneyesque skeletal figure, has fangs, and for some reason wears a top hat and tails, with spats on bare bony feet. I have no idea why. I’ve always liked Fred Astaire, so it’s not about that. It’s probably an intimidation/status thing. Mr. Scary dresses better than I do.





Anyway it was about that time I had my first encounters with Mr. Scary. I remember the first one specifically. In the days before I slept with the television on all night I slept with the radio on all night. I had a pillow phone plugged into my transistor radio. By the way if you were born in the 70’s or later and you’re reading this, this is at the dawn of cable TV so there weren’t many stations that went all night, no VCRs, or the Internet. Insomniacs had fewer options, and I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Actually, in retrospect, when we moved was when all that started.

So I was in bed listening to the radio. I preferred the sound of a human voice to music for sleeping, so at 12 I started listening to the CBC. Everything was fine until I came across this show that was on Mondays after midnight called “Gotcha!”

“Gotcha” was possibly the easiest show the CBC ever produced. It consisted of a well-voiced actor reading macabre short stories with weird music and the occasional sound effect in the background. I searched the net for a sample of the show but couldn’t find one. Apparently the show has vanished. Normally the stories were lightweight but not always.

So one night I was in bed with the radio on and the Voice started reading “The Premature Burial” by Edgar Allan Poe and it scared the living crap out of me. I’m not talking about giving me the willies or the wiggins. It struck some primal in me that I had never felt before. Bear in mind that I had been raised to this point on a steady diet of monster movies, novels and records, and they never scared me. Famous Monsters of Filmland was my favorite magazine. Nothing ever frightened me as much as that story did on that night.

“The Premature Burial” is Poe at his paranoid best. It starts out with several documentary examples of people having been pronounced dead, only to wake up in a coffin. One particularly nasty example is of somebody waking up on an autopsy table screaming, “I am alive!”

The protagonist of the story suffers from a form of catalepsy that causes him to fall into a state so closely resembling death that only a doctor can tell the difference, and even they sometime miss it. Our hero is so frightened of being buried alive that he goes through elaborate precautions in his funeral preparation, having a custom made coffin equipped with a bell that rings above ground, in case the worst happens. Of course the worst happens, but happens nowhere near his funeral and he wakes up in what he thinks is a plain wooden coffin terrified.

I don’t know why the story affected me so much; I only know that it planted some thoughts that previously hadn’t been there. My mortality was suddenly a totally viable concept. Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Scary has entered the building. He has yet to leave it.

From that point it escalated. This totally irrational all-encompassing dread would hit me at any given moment without warning, and I couldn’t tell anyone because it would sound crazy.



Mortality was just the beginning. After many years of watching Vampire movies, I suddenly became convinced, not only of their existence, but that I was about to become their victim. I would get uneasy when the sun went down. The windows in my room had to be closed and locked. This went on until I came to the realization that Vampires didn’t go for religious people, so I started wearing a cross and reading the Bible. This was all well and good until I got to The Book of Revelations, which tipped me over the edge. I became obsessed with the end of days and that it was happening right then.

If I didn’t actually have a nervous breakdown then it was damn close. On dark days I would hide in my house awaiting the inevitable. One day when the weather abruptly went from sunny to stormy very quickly, I went home at recess and didn’t come back. I cowered in my room knowing that the end was nigh.

This went on for over a year.
Then Mr. Scary abruptly left and it was suddenly over…

At least that episode was. I came to the realization that this was not a good way to live, and that when the end came there wasn’t much I could do about it so I might as well get on with whatever was left. Gradually there was clarity and I could function, but I was never quite the same after that.

When it came again, it was just as unexpected. It was also 15 years later.

At this point I should also mention that I also have depression issues. Have had since I was a kid, and they pre-date the first anxiety/panic attacks. Yeah, I know. It never rains, but it pours.

I was in the middle of directing “A Streetcar named Desire” when Mr. Scary made his a return appearance. I would not recommend directing a Tennessee Williams play about the descent into madness, when one is descending into madness of a sort. I certainly didn’t enjoy it.

There were no Vampires or End of the World scenarios this time, just an overwhelming sense of impending doom. I hid out in the apartment a lot because I knew going out was just asking for trouble.

This was about the time that depression kicked in about the same time, forming something of a mental one-two punch. At a certain point the constant bombardment of “Life Sucks” and “You’re going to die” is not the World’s Greatest Affirmation. It tends to make one question whether continuing on this plane of existence is all that it’s cracked up to be, and I did begin to wonder about that.

Then, in a rare moment of lucidity, I came to the realization that I was contemplating suicide over a “community theatre production”. This epiphany sent me to get help.

The thing about help, though, is if its wrong it hurts or, worse, it does nothing. The initial diagnosis was incomplete because it didn’t address the panic issues. Apparently anti-depressants are supposed to deal with anxiety, but sometimes it just doesn’t work, so you have to add to the cocktail. So initially Mr. Scary went away for a little while. But he was liable to come back any time without notice. The first and (so far) last time I did summer stock, I became paralyzed with an anxiety attack that just wouldn’t quit. It was like good-old-fashioned-8-year-old homesickness multiplied 10 times. I walked around like a zombie for a day or so ‘til I could get back home. The kicker was I was on meds at the time. They just weren’t enough.

I’ve lost jobs because of Mr. Scary. I couldn’t get a driver’s license because of it. It’s hurt relationships. It gets in the way of my creative work. It affects my life everyday. During the early part of rehearsals for “Chorus” I was going through a major dual-tiered episode, where it became, despite the presence of the best cast and crew in the World, a struggle just to get to rehearsals. The pills help, but he still lurks. I know the warning signs now so, I can usually head it off.

I’m not a coward. It’s something of a point of principle that I try to face my fears. This is a chemical thing that I control with a prescription. I function in the real world, but sometimes it’s still a struggle. I suppose it always will be.

So why am I writing this? I’m trolling for sympathy? True confessions time? I’m trying to over come writer’s block? I had nothing better to do?

I don’t know. I guess I’m trying to make sense of something I don’t quite understand, and seeing it in writing helps. If somebody else reads it and can identify I hope it can help them look for what they need. And sometimes I just sit here typing and go with whatever happens to come out.

But mostly I wrote it ‘cause Mr. Scary didn’t want me to.

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THE DAY KLAATU SAID WHOA! (Warning! Spoilers!)

When I saw the trailer for "The Day the Earth Stood Still" I knew it was going to be trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with D and that stands for dumb.

Just to set the record straight, I'm not one of those classic movie geeks who's against remaking any and all old movies. Some of them work. Both Ben Hur and The Ten Commandments are remakes of silent films. Victor/Victoria is a remake of an old German film. And lest we forget "The Maltese Falcon" had been made twice before Bogart stepped into Sam Spade's shoes. "Fistful of Dollars" is a remake of "Yojimbo" (Unfortunately they didn't stop there. So is "Last Man Standing")

So, no, I'm not anti-remake. But I also think it's kind of silly to set yourself up for a fall.

There are certain movies that were done right the first time, and there's no real point in attempting to try to get lightning to strike twice. "Citizen Kane" leaps to mind. "Children of Paradise" is another one. So is "The Day the Earth Stood Still"...

This isn't a case of "don't mess with my sci- fi classics.". John Carpenter's version of "The Thing from Another World" is equal to Howard Hawks' version, and maybe even a little more claustrophobic. Phil Kaufman's "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" is just as paranoid as Don Siegel's. (We'll leave "The Invasion" out of this) I haven't got a problem with a remake that recognizes what made the original work and expands on it.

"The Day Klaatu went Whoa" doesn't do any of those things.

Where to begin? Keanu is too easy, in fact his flat acting style sort of suits Klaatu to a point. Jennifer Connelly is just okay (But the waif look doesn't suit her at all). John Cleese is wasted for the 5 or so minutes he's on screen. Kathy Bates is her dependable self as a Hilary Clinton style Secretary of State (Apparently the President doesn't deal with Alen Invasions). The Smith kid is annoying, but then in this version he's supposed to be...

Hey! We may have something... This version...Yeah.

Remember how in the original the Aliens...Okay the One Alien and his badass Robot comes to Earth because of Nuclear proliferation and impending space travel threatens the peace they've struggled to maintain for centuries "As long as you went about killing each other it was none of our business,,,"etc. Remember the theme of Non Violence? Sort of the cornerstone of the original? Remember that?

Okay, now forget it...

This Klaatu hasn't come to negotiate. This Klaatu has come with the Universe's Final Solution to Earth's environmental issues...Yes, that's right. Earth's Environmental issues are a threat to the rest of the Universe,,,No , not really. What's being threatened are billions of other species on Earth and the answer and the solution is to rescue all the others and 86 the one that's causing all the trouble. You know...Us. Not the US...You and me. The Universe's final solution is not unlike Himmler's, only a tad more comprehensive.

Kinda misses the point, of the original, don't you think?

The major culprit in this disaster is the script written by David Scarpa. It is gratuitously stupid which is sad because what it's based on is so smart. I'm not a science type, and I got lousy marks in it in High School. So maybe it's just that I've seen enough movies to know that if an extraterrestrial object is on a certain trajectory, then abruptly changes course, and then accelerates, my first assumption isn't going to be that it's a big meteor about to have a devastating impact on Earth. I would assume that some intelligence is guiding it. But lets go back to the meteor scenario. Having determined that Ground Zero is going to be New York City, my next move is not going to be to round up the leading scientists of the day (all of whom seem to be the same age) and ship them to where the meteor is about to impact. Wouldn't it be a better idea to get them as far away as possible to deal with the resulting crisis in relative safety? And this is just the first 10 minutes...

And Gort apparently is now an acronym for Genetically Organized Robotic Technology... I know. I said "Huh?!" too.

I could go on, but there's just too much. I will touch on something that I found a little irksome. I mentioned Jaden Smith playing the kid. I'll admit that when I saw the trailer, I thought "Cool, Jennifer Connelly has a bi-racial kid in this version". She does not. They go to great lengths to explain that the boy is a product of a previous marriage between Connelly's deceased husband and his previously deceased wife, presumably both African American. Connelly is merely the step mother, which gives the kid an excuse to behave badly toward her. I'm probably wrong but I kept thinking cop-out. Why couldn't he have been her kid? The separation anxiety from the death of one parent should have been enough to explain the kid's behaviour. I mean c'mon guys, you just elected a bi-racial President...

There is a plus side to this Movie.

The studio released a 2 disc special edition of the Original as a tie in.

It's on sale at HMV and costs less than 2 tickets to the remake.

I heartily recommend it.

Klaatu Barada Nicto...Big Time!

What the Dickens?!

‘Tis the season, as they say. No, not baseball season. I mean the Festive Season and all that stuff. Virgin Birth, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, you know...Stressmas...

Yes, Christmas comes but once a year, thank Christ...

Don’t get your undergarments in a tizzy.

It stopped being a religious celebration a while ago. Let’s face it, if Christmas actually had anything to do with the birth of Jesus Christ, it would be happening in May or June when he was actually born, depending whether you believe the historians or the astronomers. The ironic part is that we celebrate the birth of Jesus on what was an ancient Roman pagan festival of Saturnalia. But then you already knew that. Besides, if we’re really celebrating Jesus’ birthday, how come he’s not the one getting the presents?


Christmas is about swag and bad television and movies to sell swag, and swag apps.

Celebration of Christmas actually wasn’t all that big a deal until the Victorian era. If Cromwell and the Puritans had had their way, way back when, it would have been scrapped altogether (Pagan Celebration and all that).


And I blame Dickens.

You know, Charles Dickens. What's wrong with Christmas leads right back to Ol' Boz's doorstep.

So the story goes that Charles Dickens was in financial debt and wrote what he considered to be a low grade potboiler ghost story and gave it the sarcastic title of “A Christmas Carol.” (“A Christmas Carol in Prose, Being a Ghost Story of Christmas” is the full title, which just makes it worse if you ask me, and nobody did.)


You all know the story. Ebenezer Scrooge, really cheap bastard, gets redeemed by his equally cheap bastard dead partner and friends just in time for Christmas. God bless us, every one. There have been a couple of hundred different adaptations of it. Every sitcom and cartoon has done a variation on it.


Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” was an immediate hit. It touched all kinds of nerves, and that has a lot to do with Charles Dickens’ talent as a writer. He was the master of the guilt trip. Hell, his entire body of work is pretty much based on it. Anybody read Oliver Twist?

In “A Christmas Carol” Dickens tells his, by this point in his career, worldwide audience that they don’t do Christmas right. “You’re not happy enough. You’re not singing and dancing enough, and more to the point you’re not being generous enough. You’re not GIVING enough” is essentially what he’s saying. And, apparently, the general public thought he was right.

Ever since, retailers everywhere have owed him a percentage.

I hear a chorus of you crying, “No, Michael, you’re missing the point of the story! It’s about the joy of family and helping your fellow man.”

To which I respond, quite simply, “Horse Radishes”

“The Spirit of Christmas” didn’t exist as a phrase or a concept before Charles Dickens foisted it upon an unsuspecting world, but we’ve been dogged by it ever since. This concept also served to make Christmas a competition. Think about your own family. Who among us hasn’t had that fleeting moment of resentment when somebody gets what we perceive as a better present than we did. Can I get a show of hands?

You may say I’m a cynic (and you’re probably right) but I’m not the only one. Based on the success of “A Christmas Carol”, over the next bunch of years, Dickens wrote a new “Christmas Book” or story pretty much every year. And they usually made scads of money, not as much as the original, but enough. He also toured with “Carol,” and his one-man performances became legendary and are recreated to this day. They still make a lot of money.

So, when you’re at home with the family and the annual fight breaks out, or you don’t get what you were expecting, or you are depressed because you can’t afford to get something for everyone, or you’re just not feeling in the Christmas spirit, remember to give credit where credit is due. Blame Charles Dickens!

But don’t blame Jesus. It isn’t even really his birthday

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