August 26, 2005


True Tales

The Outbursts of Evertt True. He is a holy man filled with righteous and furious anger, that they shall know his vengeance is upon them.

posted by Gar @ 7:17 PM

August 25, 2005


Edicts on language use. Also, theology.

I have a philosophical dislike of that cliched softball question, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" You just never know. I might be staring hollow-eyed at anything but the blood and brains spattered across the cubicles while slowly slipping more shells into the shotgun, steeling myself in the moments before exercising the Cassidy-Sundance option by bursting out the lobby doors at the waiting S.W.A.T. team while screaming something meaningful like "IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY GHOST, MOTHERFUCKERS!" with whitespace in that typesetting consisting of shotgun blasts. There's eleven of them, so I'll need to have acquired one of those scary-looking military-type assault shotguns that legislative bodies periodically have intense duelling-lobby-fundraising drives over in lieu of doing anything useful. (I have enough faith in our law enforcement community that I shouldn't need more than eleven, but, again, you just never know, so I'll keep a spare slung over my other shoulder.)

But I figure there's also a chance I could end up global emperor, after the UN enacts that one world government right after the Rapture hits. I don't currently think I'm the Antichrist--I mean, I know from my hairstyle that I don't have 666 on my head--but even without that, is it the sort of thing I'd know until called to it? From one of the gospels, Christ knew he was all that at the age of 12, talking smack to rabbis and such (actually, they don't actually state this, but I bet a big part of that whole nailing-to-a-plank-of-wood thing happened because one of the sanhedrin remembered getting dressed down by some snot-nosed little shit twenty years before and suddenly made the connection during deliberations) when his mom really just wanted to get the last of the groceries loaded up. Then he got grounded, one can infer, for the next twenty years.

But the point is, he knew what was up from the start. Dude always knew where he saw himself in five years. But if the Antichrist is really going to get down with any anti- worth its definition, it only makes sense that he would barely realize it even when the world was in his hands. It stands to reason.

In any case, I figured I should start seriously working on the edicts that I would issue for the gravy years between when I assume total global dominion up till that unfortunate retirement party when Jesus shows up again and kills me by spitting a sword out of his mouth. (I mean, honestly. Why not just use a gun? Always with the showing off, that boy.) I have a couple so far:

1: The written English language will cease forevermore to use diacritics in anything other than the pronunciation guides of dictionaries. It's a cliche, not a cliché, it's a resume, not a resumé, etc. People who can't figure that out from context are none of the antielect's concern, and quite frankly, those who got really low verbal scores on their SATs are likely to have been Raptured anyway, so to Hell with them. Or not Hell, the other place. The ionosphere.

2: The written English language will also cease italicizing "foreign" terms that it's appropriated. My seed could find no purchase in her barren womb, so our child was conceived in vitro? No, take him out back and shoot him, it was conceived in vitro. After the Tribulation Period, the armies of Christ will attack en masse? Firstly, why does he need an army, and second of all, they will attack en masse. I know they used to be other language's words, but screw them, they're ours now. Do we italicize North America's very land? We damn well do not.

I'll be hammering out more details later, but I think that's a good starting platform.

posted by Gar @ 1:16 PM

August 24, 2005


It is not done by me, but through me.

I've blown an inch of dust off of the sidebar links and slapped Ruthless Reviews in an empty spot; pretty fun movie (primarily) review site, where all the reviews pretty much are, or at least tinctured by, misanthropic rants. Obviously, this appeals.

My own rant gland is becoming more active again lately; this is of course a cyclical process. For every time a season, etc. (Tangentially, is it only me that's always thought that hippie folk singers crooning joyfully from Ecclesiastes crib notes is really fucking funny? It's a close cousin to the more modern equivalent of soulless corporate advertising using hippie/folk revolution songs. I expect the obvious next link in this chain to be forged very soon now.)

Along those lines, below this paragraphy is a recent forum post (from aforementioned Ruthless) that I wanted to make sure to save. The background is really not that important; I'd made some throwaway comment that I describe Takashi Miike's entire film output as mostly sucking, with spots of brilliance. (It's weird. He does incredibly dull, amateurishly put-together stuff that bursts of sheer...not genius per se, but, well, SubGenius in the holy sense, pure Slack...just explode out of nowhere into, then disappear again.) Anyway, some fellow then asked which ones I'd seen. Now, maybe this wasn't the prelude to wanting to pick the usual kind of film-fanboy internet-forum fight. But the breath of God moved upon my deep, and His prophets do not deny the call when it comes. This resulted, in a pure beautiful burst of mystic light:

Oh no, I'm not going to get involved in that script.

What script? We all know it. It's the one where I list the subset of the Takashi Miike set that completely intersects with those I've seen, and then you look thoughtful while pacing in front of the jury, professionally disguising the sidelong glances to confirm they're paying attention, and then wheel dramatically at me and exclaim "Isn't it TRUE, sir, that you have just admitted to having seen 42.33385% of Mr. Miike's film output?!" and my own lawyer weakly objects but the judge says "I'll allow it," and I'm browbeaten about how I can't make a blanket statement about an entire body of work without having seen even half of it, indeed, only a third of it since the course of the questioning began (since he's just released eight more films in the intervening minutes).

There'll be cuts of me looking increasingly dishevelled on the stand, blinking and sweating like Nixon at the moment that televised debates forever changed the American political process so that only the tallest and best made-up candidate would win, as I'm battered with furious cross-examination point by point. There'll be expert witness testimony who, as it please the court, will show graphs and Powerpoint slides from recent studies scientifically proving that the vast chunks of, say, Dead or Alive that consist primarily of what (if my testimony can be believed) I classified as--and here there'll be a pause as they have the court stenographer pull up the exact quotes, and they'll be read to the jury in a disbelieving sneer shared by Bond villains and attorneys filled with the righteous fury of God's wrath, "uninspired, languorously paced 'drama' of characters who have, when not engaged in ultraviolence, all the personality of a head cold" were actually nothing of the sort, but crucial, meticulously-crafted scaffolding without which the hyperkinetic bursts of ultraviolence could not have been supported. And indeed, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, would not have been--and you'll modestly pause and remind the jury that these aren't your claims, but those of SCIENCE, thus building rapport by giving the impression you're just an ordinary bloke and not a high-powered courtroom dynamo who can fucking buy and sell their sorry bereft-of-even-cursory-knowledge-of-current-events asses--would not have been ruthless.

Then I and my attorneys will rally with counter-studies showing that the original cited studies are hopelessly contaminated by the intractable effects of the Asian Extreme cinephile, with convincing graphs and authors of published tomes that no one's read outside of their own classrooms that show no less than a sixty-two percent lower incidence of critical judgment. At some point, the judge will furiously hammer the gavel and scream for order in the court.

As this entire script will play out on the internet, it'll inevitably look like, to everyone not personally involved, a hilarious slapfight between Corky and the Simpsons Comic Book Guy, in which they've drunkenly staggered right through plasterboard walls without noticing, and in the course of the slapfight stumbled right into the teleportation chamber from The Fly (Cronenberg version) and stumbled out the other end as a single fused lump of angry rhetorical adipose, sort of a tumor that argues with itself.

It's not that it's a bad script, you understand, but my agent feels it's not a genre I should be pursuing at this time.

posted by Gar @ 6:32 AM

August 22, 2005


Teach it phenomenology.

I recently picked up V for Vendetta, and it was a fun little read. It was definitely clear that it predated Watchmen, as it was even more uneven and prone to staggering down sidepaths--the highlight of that kind of thing being the world-weary detective trying to get inside V's head or somesuch by going to the burnt-out remains of a concentration camp and dropping a shitload of acid, leading to a surprisingly pedestrian trip. I imagine the personal revelation it lead him to struck many a fanboy as deep, but it was pretty redundant given Evey hitting pretty much the same sort of epiphany with the less gentle hallucinogenics of repeated near-drownings and starvation.

But all in all, it was good. It does confirm that there's absolutely no way the upcoming movie's going to bear more than a passing resemblance to the comic beyond the grinning Guy Fawkes mask.

Tangent: the usage of the word "guy" apparently comes from slang-drift meandering from the effigies of the only man to go to Parliament with honest intention. Nifty.

Unrelated and tied to this post's title: I watched Dark Star the other night. That's John Carpenter's first flick, a beautifully zero-budget tale of burnt-out crew on the titular spaceship, tooling about the universe and blowing up "unstable planets" with sentient bombs who are eager and happy to explode. (It is, after all, their life's purpose, similar to the intelligent cows at Milliways who make recommendations to diners on which part of their body to eat.) The whole ship's falling apart, the captain got killed because his chair shorted out (sadly offscreen), there's some wonderfully awful folk music of the sort that's emphatically not on Best Of The Folk Music Era compilations, sideburns are out of control, and one of the dudes spends at least a third of movie chasing around the ship's mascot alien, portrayed extremely convincingly by a beachball with feethands sticking out from under it. And Bomb #20 is temporarily dissuaded from prematurely detonating while still attached to the ship by an extremely hasty crash-course in Philosophy 101.

Needless to say, it rocked.

I've always dug Carpenter's movies, up to a certain point in the chronology. In the Mouth of Madness was a great little horror flick. I never did see the two he made after that one, but did catch Vampire$, which left me stunned, and not in a good way--I couldn't believe he was responsible for it. It was pretty much just dull and lame and not very much fun, and that impression happened even before I read the novel it was laughably claimed to have been based on (by John Steakley. It kicks serious ass). Then a short while later I saw Ghosts of Mars, and have concluded that I'm pretty much completely uninterested in anything further Carpenter might do.

My guess as to what the hell happened is that he stopped doing drugs. Dark Star, being his initial student film, only shores up that theory, because everyone responsible was clearly marinating in them. It wouldn't have worked nearly as well otherwise.

posted by Gar @ 2:00 AM

August 21, 2005


Someone's at the door!

From rare time to time, I learn about an upcoming DVD release that inspires true joy, usually old favorites that just quietly pop up one day. Scanners--a truly formative B-movie experience for me--was one. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead was another (ironically, one I still don't have, aside from a region-free and generally poor-quality one of dubious provenance). At some point in the future, I hope, the animated The Tick series will be another (it is a crime against humanity and Scrod that the halfhearted live-action attempt has been out for, on rough measure, twice the actual lifetime of dvd). I can hope, at least.

But in the meantime, American Gothic is getting released. Whoever made the Go decision on that one is my shordurpersav for awhile.

I'm hoping the memory survives impact with the reality, but it's a crash I'm happy to test.

Tangential: the show is tied into a memory of a brief conversation with a friend that makes me grin to recall. It went something like this:

Me: It's definitely my favorite show right now. That dead chick got all avenging-angel Biblical Plague last week and gave the town ebola. That rocked.
Her: (uncomfortably) I don't know...I just can't get past how evil the sheriff is. It really seems unnecessary.
Me: (pause) You do know he's Satan, right? Not figuratively, but literally the devil?
Her: (lightbulb appearing) Oh! That's much better!

My memory is very clear and inerrant on this point: a cartoon lightbulb really did materialize above her head.

posted by Gar @ 2:54 AM

August 20, 2005


I am Galstaff, sorcerer of light!

I found out just recently from Greg Costikyan's blog (he's a game designer. Bears a large part of the responsibility for Paranoia, which alone cements him occasional shordurpersav status; if your eyes just glazed over, you probably don't want to follow the next link) that Violence: the Roleplaying Game of Egregious and Repulsive Bloodshed has been released under one of those Creative Commons license deals--in other words, for free.

It's not really a game per se; it's more of a short gamebook-length abusive rant, and a pretty damn good rant at that. The fact that its system--pretty much pulled out of the proverbial ass, I suspect completely on the fly--actually looks like it'd work about as well as many other, just adds to the effect. You have to admire an rpg whose "what you need to play" section includes things like this:

6. A variety of sugary and salty snacks, accompanied by fattening dips, plus high-calorie sodas and/or beer. Actually, you'd be much better off avoiding snacks between meals and spending thirty minutes a day in intensive aerobic exercise, but I mean, you're a bloody gamer, so I guess that's a lost cause.

Good stuff.

In the comments section of aforementioned entry, the fellow who originally published the "New Style" line of small art-house "games" says he's currently contacting the other authors of them to see if they're copacetic with releasing them for free, as well. That's also a good thing, since the ones that I saw all have nice points to them--Baron Munchausen has the second-greatest obligatory "this is just a game" disclaimer I've ever seen, and Power Kill would make a terrific bookending framework for most computer games, for instance.

posted by Gar @ 3:17 PM

Alternate theory roundup

The Flying Spaghetti Monster is of course becoming well known--on the sort of relative scale where such things exist--as a good alternate theory to evolution. I think it has its merits, and the area of suggested research in it that really demands further grants is the bit about there being a strong inverse correlation between number of pirates and global warming. (Now, granted, correlation isn't at all the same thing as causation (that being the sort of statement that most people will stare blankly at, quivering on the threshold of australopithecian screeching and jumping-about-the-monolith that's a sure sign they're going to vote for the other guy) but it's a strong case. But what about numbers of ninjas? Or, for that matter, robots? Like I say, it needs further research.)

Intelligent Falling should obviously gain its time, but I will say it's disingenuous of its current proponents to imply that the theory doesn't make a final claim as to the agency of the push-fall force. It's invisible elves, the equations clearly support that it's invisible elves, and it's dishonest to try to draw attention away from that. I'm aware that full honesty is frequently incompatible with politics, but it's still bothersome.

On sociological matters, the Ping Pong Ball Pelting theory of child-rearing also has evocative and compelling points. I'd like to have a president who announces his or her (I'm joking, of course, I just mean his) support for its teaching. I think it's possible that Walken might support it. I can see him announcing that at a State of the Union address.

posted by Gar @ 2:57 PM

August 16, 2005

World War II propaganda--unlike most collections, this one's from the Japanese side. All the happy shiny quasimulticultural smiling faces of peoples just ecstatic to be part of the Greater East Asian Economic Co-Prosperity Zord just reaffirms earlier observations that today's corporate buzzword-inspirational material (Teamwork! Effort! Quality!) is pretty much the same material, just directed at trying to make a lot of bucks rather than bayonetting, raping, and razing whole swaths of countryside. (Not that, as CEO, I'm opposed to that kind of behavior, you understand. It's simply that studies have shown it produces terrible returns for our stockholders as compared to simply selling them Pepsi.)

Then there's some nice demoralize-the-yanks prop at penultimate end. The very bottom piece is where things get weird and, well, Japanese in the Fark sense. It's clearly meant to be a helpful list to get nervous Joes a quick Section 8, but I suspect that even at the time it was more a source of baffled amusement.

Point 10 is particularly genius. It doesn't matter how warmly you protest: "No, no, it's good, buddy! Have some! I've made enough for everyone!"

Point 12, though, seems to be a prophetic cautionary tale about furries. Eerie!

Tangential observation: Hollywood is, as we all know, currently remake-happy. If and when they do an unnecessary remake of M*A*S*H (to be followed by an even more unnecessary remake of the TV series), they should totally make use of that list for an updated and edgier Klinger.

posted by Gar @ 12:27 PM

August 15, 2005


Zombies are fitness freaks

I watched "Land of the Dead" last night, as sort of a palette-cleanser from the much heavier fare mentioned in the previous entry. I'm still contemplating on how it best fits into the standard zombie socio-political spectrum, but that's the kind of thing that always works best with a year or so of distance anyway.

In terms of its quality, within the Romero franchise alone: better than Day, not as good as Dawn. (That's the Romero version Dawn of, not the Fast Zombie remake/reimagining.) I have hopes of a sequel in which our heroes get to drive Dead Reckoning across the continent, Damnation Alley-style, having adventures and walking the Earth like Caine in Kung Fu, if Caine had driven a jury-rigged anti-zombie APC and had to deal with zombies instead of tobacco-spitting cowboys who all inexplicably insisted on calling him "Chinaman."

Also, I wanted to save this Qt3 forum post I made, that answers the question of why, years after Zombie Apocalypse got underway, the stenches haven't rotted to pieces. The answer hit me with the blinding flash of inerrant gnosis, and the words flowed not from me, but through me. It has the sound that truth makes being said. The answer:

Well, it's just like regular exercise keeping the living body generally more fit and healthy than some other schlub who only gets off their ass to shuffle over for more Lil' Chocolate Donuts, or the toilet, or both. Or the semi-monthly findings from neurologists again confirming common sense by finding that older folks with more regular cerebral hobbies--mental exercise, yo--tend to have an easier time of things cognitive than their fellow schlubs who just sit around watching Matlock all night.

Your average corpse is really lazy. They just lay there. Of course they rot away within a matter of days, weeks tops. Zombies, though, they're constantly shuffling around, working their jaws, moaning and groaning. For dead folks, that's the equivalent of hours of calisthenics every day. They're fitness freaks, each and every one of them.

That boss zombie, he didn't just moan some, he was bellowing every few minutes; that dude was seriously feeling the burn. Even among zombies, he was the fitness freak above all fitness freaks. That's why he was at the self-actualized peak of the hierarchical zombie pyramid.

Boss Zombie, by the way, had the greatest role you could ever hope for in a zombie film. He got to shuffle around, peer at guns and other tools in dim recognition, and his only lines were, paraphrased, "GRAAAAAAGH!!!"

posted by Gar @ 4:29 PM

Scholarly papers. Also, nazis.

Get Me Off Your Fucking Mailing List is one of the better peer-reviewed articles I've read in awhile. It's not quite as thorough as Chicken Chicken Chicken: Chicken Chicken, but the latter's a more technical field, so that's to be expected.

I was watching Downfall the other night; the original German title is the truly wonderful der Untergang. Which, after poking about at a couple of dictionaries and babelfish and such seems to literally be "the under way", or "the beneath course," take your pick. Which leads me to conclude that German has some great literal translations that manage to be both literal and poetic at the same time.

It's mostly about the very last days of that extremely busy contribution to history that was the Third Reich, who were founded on the idea that calling World War One "the Great War" was just being downright pessimistic about just how big war could be if you really pulled together in common cause and gave 110% about it. (They totally would have had inspirational posters featuring punt teams with slogans about teamwork if such things had been available back then.) That kind of work ethic is always ultimately self-destructive.

It's not exactly a sad film, aside from the bits where the Goebbels kids are poisoned after being drugged so as not to cause much of a fuss during it; during aforementioned drugging, the oldest daughter is portrayed as clearly knowing something's amiss--such as that her mom's an evil piece of shit, perhaps; I'm pretty sure she'd drop subtle clues along those lines--not that that helps her any. But it's mostly just a grim film, well-made, of the sort that had me sitting quietly for some time afterwards putting my thoughts together about it.

As I put it on a message board I'd seen it mentioned:

Also very nutritious fuel for anyone's inner misanthrope. What often gets lost in the popular portrayal of Hitler as being sort of the Elvis of human evil is that while he was certainly an ugly little broken monster of a person who got used to changing the world by bellowing rants at it, the real ugliness is that he was surrounded by so many ugly little competent monsters of people who enabled all his shouting to accomplish what it did.

And that's largely what gets me. The movie's bookended by some quietly self-damning reflections by Hitler's secretary, and Goebbels has some usual choice words about how the Nazis really didn't make the German people do a damn thing, both of which point to the simple banality of evil--or not evil so much itself, but more of evil's skeleton and cartilage, and maybe evil's gastrointestinal tract. (It's an analogy that I'm not really invested heavily in getting Gray's Anatomy exact, you understand.) But the brain and the heart is still the relatively small cluster of generally competent folks who backed such a worthless stain of a person to the hilt, long past the point when it was obvious that nothing good was going to come of it--not to even such abstract granfalloons as "the people" or "the nation", but to they themselves. Moreover, there's a human tendency to make it pretty easy to paint such behavior as noble.

Like I say--good misanthrope chow.

posted by Gar @ 3:23 PM

August 12, 2005


Devil's Rejects, heavily overanalyzed.

First, some handy definitions.

Second, my first thought on seeing this clip was that the landscape of movie trailers would be changed if a rocket-propelled grenade was fired into that limo by part of the invading Cuban army prior to running into some true patriotic hero like Chuck Norris. But I digress!

Third, movies. That's actually a logical evolution from linking to a comedy clip (in which the entire comedy consists of "Hey! Those famous voices come from people! Ha ha!" And we live in a world where that's nonetheless funny, emphatically proving the first noble truth) to point three, which is purely accidental. Anyway:

Roger Ebert has a pretty damn good review of "The Devil's Rejects". I will now pause for the customary reaction people have to any mention of a professional movie critic's opinion. We all know it. "Well, I don't always agree with him, he's pretty off in a lot of his reviews I think, so I take what he says with a grain of salt, buuut..." and so on, in frantic reassurance to G'Broagfran-knows-who that the opinions they're speaking are, by bog, their own and Siskel doesn't actually have an ectoplasmic hand up their ass from beyond the grave manipulating them like a ventriloquist's dummy via rhythmic palpations of their prostrate, or that onlookers might mistake them for actually being that critic crawled into their body like that phlegm-based-caterpillar-parasite from "Hidden" (good flick. Sets a high mark in number of blood-squibs-per-stunt-body, if I recall it right) if they don't desperately assert their own independence of thought. It's one of those verbal spasms that solidifies my suspicion that a huge chunk of the verbiage flowing forth from people is unconscious, and is only retroactively confabulated to be voluntary. Like this: but I digress! (See?)

He's pretty spot-on about this one, even if he is a bit harsh on Senor Zombie's prior effort, "House of 1000 Corpses." Yes, the title is false advertising (there's a few dozen, tops, and only a handful actually transformed from non-corpses into aforementioned corpses), and yes, it's merely a Texas Chainsaw Massacre remixed and run through a video blender to become a ninety-minute long Rob Zombie video, but that's far from a bad thing.

The other bit he missed is what made Rejects work really well. Movies each have largely unstated laws in which each of their worlds work; in the kind of horror/exploitation/grindhouse flicks that Corpses and Rejects were spawned as loving homage to, one of those laws is that human mercy inherently leads to doom when matched up against inhuman cruelty. Dig it: there is inevitably a moment when one of the Meat Scenery (this is my new term for the hapless bags of blood that the audience is there to see meet unfortunate ends, and maybe for one of the chicks to stagger away nominally-alive just before the credits) characters stops caterwauling for long enough to try to get the better of whatever monster in human skin (henceforth, mihs) is troubling them. A two-by-four gets whomped into the back of Leatherface's head, or whatever. Mihs goes down. Meat Scenery hesitates, and Mihs promptly gets back up and makes their reversal of fortune reverse back again. This is purely the natural way of things, as immutable as gravity is in the real world. It's the very structure of spacetime, if you're following.

Part of actually enjoying flicks like this is that you develop an intuitive understanding that this is how this particular class of worlds works. Nominal sympathy for meat scenery comes about by recognizing, below the level of cheerful jeers at the screen, that hesitating to perform an act of cold-blooded severity (such as repeatedly bludgeoning an unpleasant sort's head until you're for damn sure he's not getting up again, say until the area of the body formerly known as the head is more of a skull-chip-and-brain pudding mix soaking into the floorboards (see "Sin City" for a wonderful example of a proper head-bashing when someone's down)) even upon someone in dire need of it, is only a human reaction. We shrink back from pure severity. The cheerful jeerings-at come from the recognition that shrinking back and expecting to live much longer is about as sensible as Wile E. expecting not to fall once he looks down and realizes his feet are windmilling nothing but air. (There's really not that much essential difference between Super Genius mugging at the virtual camera with a sign saying "Yikes" and a "I'm really a teenager, I swear!" twenty-something "actress" shrieking. The one leads to a doppler plummet and dust puff, the other to a choked gurgle. The Platonic Ideal of both is basically the same thing, and ravine-floor-dust-puffs and lung-blood-gargle are only shadows on the cave wall, yo.)

What makes Rejects really work is that there's this sheriff character in it who is transformed into the righteous arm of God's fury at the walking abominations unto His sight that is the Firefly clan. (No, not that Firefly.) You'll see this mentioned in most reviews as him becoming as bad as they are. I'm sure some have written some pseudointellectual twaddle about that Nietzsche bit about looking into abysses and monsters and things to keep in mind about them. You know the one. It's barely less in the pop-cultural consciousness than beam me up, Scotty. (Which you just know wacky ol' Friedrich would be fucking delighted to know, but nowhere near as delighted as he would be to learn that syphilis is relatively easy to treat these days.) Any review that mentions that has missed the point--the sheriff doesn't actually become evil. As he notes to Captain Spaulding, Otis, and Baby (in, I might add, one hell of a scene), they're all, he and they, operating on a level most people will never ever see. (Unstated, because it doesn't need to be, is the followup that never ever seeing it is a good thing.) He turns into someone that never hesitates, that doesn't shrink back from intense, pure savagery--and (if you consider this a spoiler, you're a moron) he does something that you just don't see often in this kind of thing, because the heroes never go that far. He breaks them.

That's the real climax of the flick. The sheriff's own end is pretty much irrelevant--there's the sense he doesn't meet it because he's made the common mistake of holding back, but because his purpose is fulfilled. The Cap & Co. meet their own ending a brief bit later, and I'd go so far as to say it's got nothing to do with a roadblock with half of Texas' cops using up two-thirds of the state's ammuntion reserves, and everything to do with the sheriff. And to that, I would add, amen, and rock on.

Anyway, good flick. Zombie's a cool dude.

posted by Gar @ 9:02 PM

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