Captain Spaulding on Skull Island

—

Dan O’Shea is hosting one of those Flash Fiction Challenges.  All of the pieces have to involve a church.

Here’s a link to a list of all the entrants:

http://danielboshea.wordpress.com/2010/03/01/let-us-prey/

I tried to write a short story, but this thing kept wanting to be a short play.  I’m too old to fight with my work.

So here it is:

Finger Lickin’ Doom

(Lights up.  A confessional in a church.  FATHER DENNY enters, a priest in his late-thirties.  He approaches the confessional and opens one of the doors to reveal BETTY, a woman in her twenties.  She sits, eating a bucket of what looks like fried chicken.  Periodically throughout the play a tinkling bell can be heard.)

FATHER DENNY:   What are you doing?!

BETTY:   Eating.

FATHER DENNY:  Eating!  But… What?

BETTY:   Wings.

FATHER DENNY:   I… This is a House of God!

BETTY:   I didn’t know anybody lived here.

FATHER DENNY:   Get out!

BETTY:   They’re angel wings.

FATHER DENNY:   Angel wings?

BETTY:   Yes.  The wings of angels.  Want one?

FATHER DENNY:   No!  Come out of there!

BETTY:   I’m okay.

(Pause.  FATHER DENNY collects himself.)

FATHER DENNY:   You really should come out of there.

BETTY:   I don’t see why.

FATHER DENNY:   Eating in a confessional… it’s not proper.

BETTY:   I shouldn’t eat wings in here?

FATHER DENNY:   No!

BETTY:   Not even angel wings?

FATHER DENNY:   I don’t think they’re angel wings.

BETTY:   They’re very good.

FATHER DENNY:   Whatever they are, you’re making a mess!  They’re greasy and gritty and crumbly.

BETTY:   They’re extra-crispy.  And a tad Holy.  Want a taste?

FATHER DENNY:   They smell very good, but no thank you.  Will you come out?

BETTY:   I don’t think so.

(Pause.)

FATHER DENNY:   Where did you get these “angel wings?”

BETTY:   Some guy.

FATHER DENNY:   Some guy?

BETTY:   That’s right.  He was selling them on the street.  Wicked grin, pointy beard, walked with a limp.  Just some guy.

FATHER DENNY:   You didn’t get them from Kentucky Fried Chicken or Popeye’s or Cluck and Jive?

BETTY:   All those places sell chicken.

FATHER DENNY:   That’s right.

BETTY:    These aren’t chicken.

FATHER DENNY:   It’s just that they look…

BETTY:   They’re angel.

FATHER DENNY:   That doesn’t make sense!

BETTY:   Doesn’t matter.  These are wings from the messengers of God.

FATHER DENNY:   How can you be sure?

BETTY:    Some things you just take on faith.  Bite?

FATHER DENNY:   They look very good, but no thank you.

BETTY:   Suit yourself.

FATHER DENNY:   We used to have chicken every Sunday at my Grandmother’s.  Sometimes fried, sometimes roast, sometimes this wonderful recipe where she stuffed a whole lemon inside the bird.  She’d bring it to the table, take out the lemon and someone would always say, “The chicken laid a lemon.”  Chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots, chocolate cake and fresh baked bread.  No matter what else Grandma cooked, her house always smelled like fresh-baked bread.  They were good meals, filling and pleasant.  I still have a good meal every now and then, but not like those.

(BETTY coughs and chokes for a second, then pulls a long, white feather out of her mouth.)

BETTY:   These aren’t chicken, they’re angel.

(BETTY hands the feather to FATHER DENNY.)

FATHER DENNY:   Wouldn’t you feel a little more comfortable eating somewhere that you can have more room?

BETTY:   I’m really okay.

FATHER DENNY:   Isn’t it cramped in there?

BETTY:   Maybe a little.  What is this closet thing, anyway?  Is this where priests hang their coats?

FATHER DENNY:   It’s a place for people to confess their sins, for the Sacrament of Penance, for Reconciliation.  It’s a sacred place.

BETTY:   It’s kind of like a phone booth.  Is that what it is?  A phone booth for calling God?

FATHER DENNY:   In a way.  If you come out of there, I’ll tell you all about why it’s a good idea to get your sins off your chest.

BETTY:   I like my chest.  I’ll stay in here.

FATHER DENNY:   You look too young to know what a phone booth is.

BETTY:   What do you mean?

FATHER DENNY:   There aren’t any phone booths any more.  Cell phones have made phone booths go the way of the Long Jawed Mastodon.

BETTY:   I’ve had a cell phone since I was seven.

FATHER DENNY:   Phone booths are forgotten, extinct, dead and gone.

BETTY:   Like God!

FATHER DENNY:   Such a thing to say!

BETTY:   You sure you don’t want one?

FATHER DENNY:   They seem very good.

BETTY:   Their truculent.

FATHER DENNY:   I think you mean succulent.

BETTY:   I know what I mean.  Just one little, teeny-tiny nibble?

FATHER DENNY:   I’m very tempted, but… You need to come out of there.

BETTY:   It’s a shame, really.  You don’t know what you’re missing.  Every bite is a symphony of harps and haloes.  A tender crunch, meat that just falls off the bone, flavors that mix and mingle like a prayer.  A taste of these wings could be the closest to Heaven that some people ever get.  I think there’s even a little bit of a lemon zing.

FATHER DENNY:   Lemon?

BETTY:   Just like Grandma used to make.

FATHER DENNY:   I doubt they’re that good.

BETTY:   (Holding out a wing.) Only one way to find out.

(FATHER DENNY takes the wing from BETTY and hesitantly takes a bite.  He chews, swallows and smiles.)

FATHER DENNY:   Rapture!

BETTY:   I tried to warn you.

(FATHER DENNY takes a bigger bite of the wing.  He continues eating while he joins BETTY in the confessional.)

BETTY:   Shouldn’t we say Grace?

FATHER DENNY:   What’s the point?

(FATHER DENNY and BETTY eat angel wings as the lights slowly fade.

Lights down.)

—

Mystery writer Robert B. Parker died yesterday at the age of 77. He was just “sitting at his desk.” Not a bad way to go for a writer that put out 3 books a year, who wrote 5 to 10 pages a day.

He was one of the great ones, one of those writers that gave the private-eye novel several standards that we take for granted now (the dangerous, possible psycho sidekick ala Hawk comes to mind). And if he didn’t invent a new element, he certainly made it popular.

I haven’t read a lot of his stuff. I started reading the Spenser books in 2001, going in order, trying to read a novel a year. This always felt like a strange way to work through the canon. I think of these works as “popcorn books” – I can usually finish a Spenser in one or two sittings and then immediately be ready for more. I spaced them out because I knew from experience that rushing through an author and reading too much too soon can be a bad thing.

Tonight I’ll be starting A SAVAGE PLACE. And, who knows, maybe on Friday I’ll throw my one-a-year rule out the window and dive into the next one.

—
Another Flash Fiction Challenge, this one hosted by Dan O’Shea and Steve Weddle.

The theme this time around is airports, all the stories have to incorporate an airport and be in the neighborhood of 750 words.

To see a list of all the stories, you can go here:

http://danielboshea.wordpress.com/2009/12/02/the-steve-weddle-memorial-airport-flash-fiction-challenge/

Here’s what I came up with.

—

THE RESURRECTION AT HASENPFEFFER FIELD
.

“Why did you go away?”

“I did something bad.”

The two of us were in the parking lot of the Currie Valley Airport, also known as Hampstead Field – “a little airstrip for a little town.” The terminal was a small, round building with one set of doors, one ticket counter, and one restaurant – the Hippity-Hop Cafe. Outside, there was a parking lot, a hangar and a runway. If you wanted to book a flight through Currie Valley Air, you could fly to St. Louis. That was it, St. Louis. Otherwise you could charter a plane.

“Why did you do something bad?” Cheyenne asked.

We’d talked about this before, but she always had more questions. “I needed money,” I said. “For me and your Mom. And you.”

“So you did something bad? For money?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad. I thought I could get away with it.”

Confusion crossed Cheyenne’s six year old face. “But you didn’t get away with it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“If you got away with it, would it still’ve been bad?”

“Yes.”

I’d been out for almost a month and was trying to connect with her. She’d been born while I was away. Earlier that day, I’d asked her, “What would you like more than anything in the world?”

“A bunny.”

“Then we’ll go to the pet store and get you a bunny.”

She shook her head. “An airport bunny.”

Despite its modest needs, Hampstead Field took up a fair amount of terrain and most of it was grassland. Rabbits dominated the area. When flying in, you could see rabbit holes dotted all over the property. Around dusk, you could see dozens upon dozens of brown bunnies eating in the vicinity.

Because of all the rabbits, people around town called the airport Hasenpfeffer Field.

“How do you know about the bunnies at the airport?” I asked.

“Mommy takes me sometimes,” Cheyenne said. “We visit the bunnies and eat supper and watch the little planes take off. There are lots of people going away.”

I locked the car and we walked to the large meadow in front of the terminal. I’d brought a fishnet that once hung as a wall decoration and a card-board box with holes punched in the lid. We stepped off the tarmac and the grass under my feet felt unfamiliar.

“Let’s go slow,” I said.

“Okay,” Cheyenne whispered.

We inched our way toward seven rabbits relaxing in the sunset. “By the way,” I said. “Do you know how you catch a unique bunny?” I’d looked this up on the internet for the occasion.

Cheyenne looked apprehensive. “No.”

“Unique up on it.”

She didn’t laugh, or even smile. I wondered if she knew it was a joke.

“Do you know how you catch a tame bunny?” I tried.

She shook her head.

“Tame way.”

No reaction. I could hear metal clanging on metal coming from the hangar. We moved on quietly.

The rabbits looked content; some of them eating, some just sitting. I noticed one with his ears back, scratching himself with one of his hind feet. He seemed to be where he wanted to be; I didn’t like the idea of putting him in a cage, taking him away from his home. But I’d made a promise to my daughter, so I lifted the net, readying it for a throw. Cheyenne tip-toed behind me. As we took our time getting close, before I could even think about throwing the net, the rabbits scattered. One second they were there, the next just empty grass.

“What happened?” Cheyenne asked.

I lowered my arms, the net hitting the tops of my feet. “I’m sorry, Honey.”

“Where did they all go?”

“I’m sorry.” I considered trying to get one out of one of the holes and into the box, but the thought of grabbing onto wriggling fur and yanking a creature out of its life made my throat feel tight. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can…”

My daughter smiled at me. “It’s okay, Daddy. I still got to see them. I’ve never gotten this close to the bunnies before.”

“Okay,” I said.

We walked back to the parking lot. When my feet again touched the asphalt, I felt a little more comfortable. I looked around at the cars scattered in front of the terminal. “There are lots of people going away,” I said.

“Maybe there are lots of people coming back,” Cheyenne said. She put her hand in mine and we walked to our car.
.
-the end-
—

—
Patti Abbott, Gerald So and Mystery Dawg are at it again.

Every few months they host a Flash Fiction Challenge. I did the last two and thought I’d try this one as well.

The theme this time around is “Walmart, I Love You.” All of the stories have to incorporate Walmart and be in the neighborhood of 750 words.

To see a list of all the stories, you can go here:

http://pattinase.blogspot.com/

Here’s what I came up with.

—

— FRIDAY NIGHT WITH THE TIJUANA WOLFMAN —
.

“What’re we looking for?”

“’The Tijuana Wolfman’.”

Billy Weston and Waylon Preston stood in the electronics department of the Currie Valley Walmart. Billy flipped through DVDs while Waylon squinted toward the ladies undergarments a few aisles away.

“’Tijuana Wolfman’?” Waylon asked.

“That’s right.”

“Sounds like a weird drink that ends up not tasting very good.”

“It’s a monster movie.”

“Or a firecracker that turns out to be a dud.”

“It’s supposed to be pretty entertaining; funny and touching and gory.”

“Or a weird sex act that leaves you embarrassed afterwards.”

Billy stopped focusing on DVDs and looked at his friend. “It’s about a Mexican priest and the woman he loves but can never have. He’s cursed with turning into a beast every full moon. He kills his adored during one of his fits and then spends the rest of his days living alone in the church’s bell tower. It’s about rage and tenderness and heartbreak.”

“And wolfmen.”

“A wolfman. Yes.”

Billy went back to searching thru the DVDs. Flipping thru was making the tips of his finger feel grimy. Even though he could detect the slight scent of some kind of disinfectant coming from somewhere, he wondered how often the Walmart employees dusted the movies that had been on the shelf for a while.

Waylon was still staring at lingerie.

“You could help me look,” Billy said.

“Do you think Maggie Anne Carlisle would like it if I got her a bra?” Waylon asked.

Billy stopped again. “Does Maggie Anne Carlisle even know who you are?”
“I eat at the Lunch Box all the time. She’s always real nice to me. I was thinkin’ of askin’ her out.”

“Bein’ nice is just part of waitressing. She’s just doin’ her job.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like me.”

“Even if she does like you,” Billy said, “Giving her a bra before you even ask her out might be a little weird.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Waylon said. Then he added “I’ll be right back,” and headed off into the store.

Billy shook his head and went back to the DVDs. He’d read about “Tijuana Wolfman” in the “Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film”, his go-to guide for horror movies. He’d checked several rental places, but wasn’t having much luck tracking it down.

He squatted to get a look at the lower shelves. From over in the video game area, he could hear someone playing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” on Guitar Hero. He wasn’t sure how fiddle playin’ matched up with guitar playin’, but he wasn’t a video game designer.

A short time later Waylon came back and said “I’ll meet you outside.” Then he disappeared again.

Billy kept up his search for a couple more minutes then gave up. There were eight million copies of each of the “Saw” movies, but a horror movie that was actually supposed to be good they didn’t carry. Everything for the masses, nothing for the individual. It was almost enough to make a man swear off Walmart forever.

He thought about heading over to the Walmart Deli for some potato salad and RC Cola, but decided he should probably get to the parking lot before Waylon could get into any trouble.

Waylon was waiting just outside the big, welcoming super-store doors. “Any luck?” he asked.

Billy shook his head. “A waste of time.”

When they climbed into Billy’s truck, Waylon reached into his pocket, then held out his hand and asked “What do you think?”

Billy looked at what Waylon was holding: a red, lacy bra with a hole torn in the right cup. “It’s got a tear in it.”

“It had one of those tag-thingies that sets off an alarm if you try to take it out of the store. I had to rip it off.”

“You stole it?”

“I don’t really know this girl,” Waylon said. “I’m not gonna spend money on her until I find out if she’s worth it.”

Rage, tenderness and heartbreak, Billy thought to himself. Then he started his truck.
.
— the end —
—

Here’s another one of them-there movie lists, this time it’s favorite X-mas movies. Again, I won’t say they’re my “Top” 10, since I find that lists like that always change. Also, some of these might not be what I consider “The Best,” just ones that I like.

In Chronological Order:

The Shop Around The Corner (1940)
The Man Who Came To Dinner (1942)
It’s A Wonderful Life (1946)
The Lemon Drop Kid (1951)
Blast of Silence (1961)
Die Hard (1988)
The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Elf (2003)
The Ice Harvest (2005)
In Bruges (2008)

Before I get underway, let me say that any theater company that chooses to produce my work is obviously comprised of geniuses and I love them and owe them my undying gratitude. If I come off as negative in this post, I don’t mean to. I’m just bewildered.

On Friday night (11/13/9) Hunger Artists Theatre Company in Fullerton, California (http://www.hungerartists.com/) did a play I wrote and I’m not quite sure how to feel about it.

They’re doing an evening of short pieces called BEYOND CONVENTION III. The idea behind the evening is to present stuff that breaks “standard theatrical form.” Last Monday they sent out a newsletter looking for “Twitter Plays,” plays written with 140 characters or less. They’d be choosing three Twitter Plays a night to do with each performance.

I thought it was a kind-of interesting, kind-of weird idea, but didn’t necessarily plan to do anything about it.

Later that day, I came up with a simple dialogue exchange while I was in the shower (I come up with lots of bits of dialogue and sometimes even whole ten-minute plays when I’m in the shower. It’s a good, creative place for me.) This tiny play had a beginning, middle and end and even a little bit of a point, so I typed it up and sent it in.

I then came up with a second little dialogue exchange. This one was pointless, just two people talking and not making sense. While I lean towards absurdist humor, this thing didn’t work well enough to even fit that definition. Still, I didn’t exactly know what Hunger Artists was looking for, so I typed it up and sent it in.

This second very, very short and futile play was the one they chose to produce.

I was surprised and a little disturbed. Again, I would never bad-mouth any theater company that chooses to do something I’ve written, but I really don’t think this thing is stage worthy.

I guess it was just unconventional enough to fit what they were looking for.

Here it is. I call this stellar piece of theater “Elusive Pizza.”

1: Where is the pizza pie?
2: The pizza pie is in my eye.
1: Why, oh why?
2: It burned too much upon my thigh.
1: My, my.

Illuminating, yes? I’m sure that, after reading this, we all know a little bit more about what it means to be human.

Tony Awards – I await your call.

Since Halloween is right around the corner, here’s a list of 25 of my favorite horror movies.  I won’t say they’re my “Top” 25, since I find that lists like that always change.  Also, some of these aren’t what I consider “The Best,” just ones that I like.

In Chronological Order:

Freaks (1932)

The Island of Lost Souls (1932)

King Kong (1933)

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Mad Love (1935)

The Curse of the Cat People (1944)

The Alligator People (1959)

Jaws (1975)

Dawn of the Dead (1978)

Halloween (1978)

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

Creepshow (1982)

The Thing (1982)

Basket Case (1982)

The “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” segment of Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983)

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

The Hitcher (1986)

Evil Dead 2 (1987)

Tremors (1990)

Dead Alive (aka Braindead) (1992)

May (2002)

Dawn of the Dead (2004)

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

Slither (2006)

The Mist (2007)

And I should also mention that “Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein” will always be one of my favorite movies of all time.

—–

Saturday 10-10-9

House by the River (1950)

Directed by Fritz Lang.  Screenplay by Mel Dinelli from a novel by A. P. Herbert.  Starring Louis Hayward, Lee Bowman and Jane Wyatt.

A man kills his maid and his brother helps him get rid of the body.  Afterwards, things go well for the killer, but not so well for the brother.  Gothic noir in a similar vein to Night of the Hunter.  I almost never say this, but it was a little too short, it seemed to be missing… something.  I heard about this one from the Film Noir Foundation’s newsletter (Support the Film Noir Foundation!).

3 out of 5 stars.

—–

Sunday 10-11-9

Dangerous Crossing (1953)

Directed by Joseph M. Newman.  Screenplay by Leo Townsend from a radio play by John Dickson Carr.  Starring Jeanne Crain, Michael Rennie and Carl Betz.

A woman boards a luxury liner for a transatlantic honeymoon.  She’s accompanied by her new husband… or is she?  Another “Fox Film Noir” that’s not really noir, but it is an excellent Twilight Zone-ish mystery/thriller.  I really liked this one: the story, the performances, the foggy cinematography, even the sound design.

4 out of 5 stars.

—–

Monday 10-12-9

The 14th Film in this 14 Day Festival.

The Devil Thumbs a Ride (1947)

Written & Directed by Felix Feist.  From a novel by Robert C. DuSoe.  Starring Lawrence Tierney, Ted North and Nan Leslie.

A young businessman gives a ride to a bank robber on the lam, trouble ensues.  I love hitch-hiker stories, and this is a good one.  I’m also fascinated by actor Lawrence Tierney – he broke a couple guy’s jaws in bar and alley fights over the years, in 1948 he kicked a cop and punched another one 8 years later, he pulled a knife on Jerry Seinfeld and tried to start fights with all of his fellow actors on Reservoir Dogs.  Quentin Tarantino said that this movie summed up what it was like knowing Tierney: “You let him into your life and he makes your life a living Hell.”

4 out of 5 stars.

—–

So that’s it.  The festival hit a few bumps along the way, but it ended strong.  And the “To Be Watched” Shelves are a little bit lighter… until I start pulling Horror Movies for Halloween, that is.

—–

I found a few more films to throw into the mix, so this festival is going to last longer than I originally planned.  Yay!

—–

Tuesday 10-6-9

I didn’t watch anything.  I had to work an almost-full day.  Support Raven Theatre!

—–

Wednesday 10-7-9

Madame X (1966)

Directed by David Lowell Rich.  Screenplay by Jean Holloway from a play by Alexandre Bisson.  Starring Lana Turner, Ricardo Montalban, John Forsythe, Burgess Meredith, Keir Dullea and Constance Bennett.

Turner has an affair with Montalban.  Montalban dies during one of her visits.   Turner leaves to protects her husband and son.  Many years later, after she’s become a boozy tramp, she kills a man who tries to blackmail her and is caught.  At the trial, her defense attorney is… her own son!  An overblown potboiler of a movie full of plot holes and conveniences and scenery-chewing performances.  It was just campy enough to be enjoyable.

3 out of 5 stars.

—–

Thursday 10-8-9

Bob Le Flambeur (Bob the Gambler) (1956)

Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville.  Screenplay by Jean-Pierre Melville and Auguste Le Breton.  Starring Roger Duchesne, Andre Garet and Isabelle Corey.

Bob plans for one last heist, and we all know how those one last heist plans go, don’t we?  A little softer than one might expect.  IMDb Trivia says this film was a major influence on the movie The Transporter, so bonus points for that.

3 out of 5 stars.

—–

Friday 10-9-9

Two movies today:

–

The Good Thief (2002)

Written & Directed by Neil Jordan.  Starring Nick Nolte, Tcheky Karyo and Nutsa Kukhianidze.

A remake of yesterday’s film, Bob Le Flambeur, with an extra heist and heroin addiction thrown into the mix.  It was fine, not awful and not spectacular.  Maybe the irony of the ending would’ve worked better if I hadn’t just seen the original.

2.5 out of 5 stars.

–

The Postman Always Rings Twice (1981)

Directed by Bob Rafelson.  Screenplay by David Mamet from the novel by James M. Cain.  Starring Jack Nicholson, Jessica Lange and John Colicos.

A love triangle with murderous results.  The 4^th movie version of Cain’s classic novel.  This is one of those movies that I’ve seen bits and pieces of over the years, but I’ve never actually watched the whole thing.  I think the intense sex scenes bog it down a little bit, it seems a little long for an adaptation of such a tight novel.

3 out of 5 stars.

—–

Moving right along, 7 films down and 5 to go.

Here are the latest 3 (again, I’m not a scholar or reviewer, I’m just giving a few impressions.  All of these summaries are bare boned by even bare boned standards and don’t do justice to the films.  If you want more info, check IMDb)  Also, I (and the distributors) may play fast and loose with the use of the word “noir”:

—–

Saturday 10-3-9

The Phenix City Story (1955)

Directed by Phil Karlson.  Screenplay by Crane Wilbur and Daniel Mainwaring.  Starring John McIntire, Richard Kiley and Kathryn Grant.

Good people do their best to clean up a corrupt town.  The first fifteen minutes of this movie, interviews with Phenix City residents that experienced the corruption first-hand, move like molasses.  The rest of the film is heavy-handed, puritanical, crime-doesn’t-pay propaganda.

2 out of 5 stars

(and the only reason I’m raring it this high is because of some shockingly violent scenes that give the film more substance than it deserves).

—–

Sunday 10-4-9

Daisy Kenyon (1947)

Directed by Otto Preminger.  Screenplay by David Hertz from a novel by Elizabeth Janeway.  Starring Joan Crawford, Dana Andrews and Henry Fonda.

An uninteresting melodrama about a woman torn between two men.  20^th Century Fox released this on DVD as part of their noir series, but aside from shadowy lighting and one or two dark character traits the only thing noir about this movie is the fact that it says “Fox Film Noir” on the box.

2 out of 5 stars.

—–

Monday 10-5-9

Le Deuxieme Souffle (Second Breath) (1966)

Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville.  Screenplay by Jean-Pierre Melville and Jose Giovanni (from his novel).  Starring Lino Ventura, Paul Meurisse and Christine Fabrega.

French cops and robbers.  It took me a while to settle in to this one, but once I did it was worth it.  Bonus points for a good heist sequence in the middle and for the lead, Lino Ventura, being a former professional wrestler.

3.5 out of 5 stars.

—–