Monday, December 25, 2017


          In this sometimes disturbing and always fascinating French film from 1960, a surgeon causes an accident which disfigures his daughter--and tries to repair the damage he caused...but requires victims to do it.
          Director John Carpenter says he was influenced by this film. The rubber mask of William Shatner which his character Michael Myers wears in Halloween (1978) has a similar placid quality which accentuates horror because we are programmed to respond to facial features. When we see a mask, we want to know what is behind it. For that matter, Eyes Without a Face seems inspired in some measure by the Lon Chaney version of The Phantom of the Opera (1925) and perhaps Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933) .
          The daughter, Christiane (Scob), ethereal and doll-like, stays hidden at the doctor's house because almost everyone else thinks she died in the accident. The only other person who knows is the lab assistant Louise (Valli), whom the doctor successfully helped with a mysterious surgery sometime earlier.
          Part of what makes Eyes Without a Face (and yes, Billy Idol liked the title enough to use it for a song) so interesting is the pleasant, matter-of-fact manner by which Louise goes about assisting Dr. Genessier (Brasseur). Sure, she seems like a nice lady who drives around with the quirky theme music from "Curb Your Enthusiasm" playing all the time. But appearances deceive.
          Like Haxan (1922) and Freaks (1932), Eyes is considered by some viewers excessively disturbing for its time--and perhaps for any time. Two scenes in particular stand out uniquely in film. Suffice to say, a well-done film does not need computer special effects.
          Eyes exemplifies sheer filmmaking, pure storytelling. Based on the filmmaking trend of the last couple decades, wherein most of Hollywood's feature films rely on CG effects and automatic sequels in franchises imitating previous successes, Eyes Without a Face is a fresh face in cinema, and a wonder to behold.
          Freely available online.

Starring Pierre Brasseur,
Edith Scob,
Alida Valli
Directed by Georges Franju
Written by Pierre Boileau, Thomas Nacejac,
Claude Sautet, Pierre Gascar
Based on the novel by Jean Redon
Runtime 90 minutes

Stewart Kirby writes for

Monday, December 18, 2017


          The eighth film in the franchise is one of the best.
          Remaining intentionally vague to preserve the experience, suffice to say that the First Order, spearheaded by Supreme Leader Snoke's Darth Vader-worshipping disciple, Kylo Ren (Driver), is on the verge--yet again--of crushing the Resistance. Meanwhile, Rey (Ridley), having finally found Luke Skywalker (Hamill) at the end of Episode 7, The Force Awakens (2015), must now try to persuade the legendary Jedi master to return, thereby giving the Resistance hope.
          This much any fan of the franchise can gather from the prevalence of posters.
          In the aforementioned Episode 7, which famously reunited original core cast members, we saw the return of Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia. Sadly, however, she died one year ago. Audiences may well then wonder whether the filmmakers will choose to use a computer-generated version of Fisher in the way that they did with Peter Cushing. Thankfully, they do not. Fisher finished scenes for the movie before her passing. The mistake of using a deceased actor's stiff and waxy CG likeness is not repeated in this film.
          The two latest Episodes do share in common three new characters simply not as interesting as the ones from the original films. Rey, Poe (Isaac), and Finn (Boyego) still fall fairly flat. But at least they aren't Ewoks, and at least there's no Jar Jar Binks.
          Writer-director Rian Johnson terrifically presents the proper atmosphere in keeping with the 1977 original. So far, this makes Johnson the fifth director to do so. Irvin Kershner did it for The Empire Strikes Back (1980), as did Richard Marquand with Return of the Jedi (1983); J.J. Abrams did it with The Force Awakens, and even so did Gareth Edwards in last year's franchise extension film Rogue One. Only George Lucas has proven himself unable to re-capture the proper atmosphere. And that happened three times.
          But this one's quite good.
          It's not science fiction. It's space opera--put forth by the Empire, so to speak, solely for the purpose of making money. Irony, therefore, can at some level be found. But in some weird way, the mighty Star Wars franchise, in all its varied forms, is also the national film. The anti-human forces, the forces of mechanization and globalization, which deny nature, and deny the individual, come spectacularly into conflict with the forces of life, and love, and what it means to be human. This is why it affects us. This is what makes it great.
          Well worth a trip to the theater.

Starring Mark Hamill,
Carrie Fisher,
Adam Driver,
Daisy Ridley,
John Boyego,
Oscar Isaac,
Kelly Marie Tran,
Laura Dern,
Andy Serkis,
Benicio Del Toro,
Frank Oz
Written and directed by Rian Johnson
Runtime 152 minutes
Rated PG-13

Stewart Kirby writes for


Thursday, December 14, 2017


          He is one of the world's most respected directors, but he made more money suing Sergio Leone for making A Fistful of Dollars (1964), an unauthorized re-make of the samurai picture Yojimbo (1961), than he did with any of his highly influential films. From Akira Kurosawa's masterpiece, Seven Samurai (1954), Hollywood derived the classic Western The Magnificent Seven (1960). Perhaps less well-known, however, is the Kurosawa film which helped inspire George Lucas making Star Wars (1977).
          The Hidden Fortress (1958) concerns two bickering peasants in Feudal Japan trying to cross enemy lines. In the mountains they find a secret cache of gold, and each man's insatiable greed instantly kicks in. But they also meet a mysterious stranger (Mifune) who knows of the gold, and wants to escort an equally mysterious young woman (Uehara) with the gold from a fortress hidden in the mountains across the same enemy lines.
          In some respects, echoes of John Huston's The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948).
          True enough, one could easily watch The Hidden Fortress and never notice any connection with Star Wars. Lucky for us, Lucas freely discusses the film's influence, chiefly in the use of the two lowest characters' point of view. But there are other aspects, as well. To compare the character of Hyo with Darth Vader in Return of the Jedi (1983) is to see influences in terms of story events and visual elements.
          Even the word "Jedi" itself comes from the Japanese word for historical dramas, "jidaigeki". In fact, Lucas tried to get Toshiro Mifune to play Obi-Wan Kenobi, but Mifune turned down the part because he didn't want to undermine samurai honor with space opera frivolity.
          Superlative cinematography, excellent acting, and an engrossing story highlight this film gem regardless of Star Wars. The performance by Minoru Chiaki, the taller of the two peasants, merits particular attention, especially considering how wildly different this character is from Heihachi, the woodchopper, in Seven Samurai.
          Freely available online.

Starring Toshiro Mifune,
Minoru Chiaki,
Kamatari Fujiwara,
Misa Uehara,
Susumu Fujita,
Takashi Shimura
Directed by Akira Kurosawa
Written by Ryuzo Kikushima, Hideo Oguni,
Shinobu Hashimoto, Akira Kurosawa
Runtime 126 minutes

Stewart Kirby writes for


Wednesday, December 6, 2017


          The benchmark in film noir.
          The Maltese Falcon (1941), directed by John Huston, stars Humphrey Bogart as San Francisco private eye Sam Spade.
          Based on Dashiell Hammett's third novel, published in 1930, the film takes material which crossed the line from pulp writing to great literature and turns what was standard movie fare twice into a film classic.
          Hammett himself was originally from Baltimore, the city where the creator of the detective story, Edgar A. Poe, is buried, so it is fitting that Hammett carried the literary torch. His experiences working as a Pinkerton's detective before joining the Army proved invaluable. Subsequent to an honorable discharge due to the very Poe-ish ailment of tuberculosis, Hammett moved to San Francisco, got married, and supplemented his small pension by writing hard-boiled detective stories for Black Mask.
          Behind Sam Spade's own wry, sardonic mask is a guy twice as jaded but who nonetheless has a moral compass and more or less follows it.
          Huston's screenplay, generally faithful to Hammett's novel, dazzles audiences with a kaleidoscope of dysfunctional criminals seeking a fabled treasure from the days of the Knights Templar.
          Yes, The Maltese Falcon! Starring Mary Astor as the femme fatale who has it all...Peter Lorre as Joel Cairo! Vaguely exotic, alternately simpering and demanding, his watery boiled-egg eyes long to behold...The Maltese Falcon!
          "When you're slapped, you'll take it and like it!"
          Sydney Greenstreet as Kasper Gutman, aka The Fat Man: "By Gad, sir, you are a character! There's never any telling what you'll say or do next, except that it's bound to be something astonishing!"
          Elisha Cook Jr. as Wilmer: "I'm warnin' you..."
          Interestingly, the great character actor Dwight Frye played the role of Wilmer in 1931, the same year he played Renfield in Dracula.
          Gritty and timeless, funny and stylish, packed with danger and intrigue, treachery and romance, The Maltese Falcon is the cinematic treasure to pursue!
          For more film noir, check out The Third Man (1949), Double Indemnity (1944), and The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946).
          "The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter, huh?"

Starring Humphrey Bogart,
Mary Astor,
Sydney Greenstreet,
Peter Lorre,
Elisha Cook Jr.
Written and directed by John Huston
Based on the novel by Dashiell Hammett
Runtime 100 minutes

Stewart Kirby writes for


Wednesday, November 29, 2017


          A quarter-century later, and still definitive.
          Michael Mann had an unlikely skill-set to direct the premiere version of the frontier romance etched on the national character. He had directed an episode of "Police Woman" and Manhunter (1986), the first film to feature that other great American literary hero, Hannibal Lecter. 
          To play Hawk-eye (a character inspired by real-life frontier hero Daniel Boone), Mann enlisted Daniel Day-Lewis, famous at that time for the artistic commitment he demonstrated in My Left Foot (1989). In that film, Day-Lewis convincingly portrayed Christy Brown, a spastic quadriplegic who became a painter, poet, and author. Mann's film required the same level of dedication with an essentially antithetical character.
          Prior to the making of Mann's vision, several other versions of James Fenimore Cooper's most famous tale dotted the cinematic landscape: A version in 1920 with Wallace Beery, one in 1936 with Randolph Scott, a BBC TV series in 1971, a 1977 incarnation with Steve Forrest. 
          For Mann's 1992 masterpiece, painstaking detail girds the film to a degree unique in movie history. The clothing, the weapons, the tools--according to a featurette which preceded the film in original videocassette release, even the canoes used in The Last of the Mohicans were constructed using traditional methods. 
          A Special Forces colonel at a survival training camp in Alabama was tasked with taking Day-Lewis, an English actor and son of a poet who had never fired weapons, and turn him into a person who could convincingly do the things required of his character. Such as load a black powder rifle on the run. 
          For those unfamiliar with the story, Chingachgook (Means), his son Uncas (Schweig), and his adopted son Hawk-eye help rescue the kidnapped daughters of a British colonel during the French and Indian War.
          As the treacherous scout, Magua, Wes Studi is perfectly cast. From the first moments that we see him wrapped quietly in the shadows, we know this guy has his own agenda.
          And he's not the only one. Steven Waddington plays a memorable suitor to the generally uninterested Cora Munro (Stowe), who also captures the attention of Hawk-eye. 
          Featuring unforgettable music and jaw-dropping cinematography, The Last of the Mohicans is a rousing action-packed adventure like no other. 

Starring Daniel Day-Lewis,
Madeleine Stowe, 
Russell Means,
Eric Schweig,
Jodhi May,
Steven Waddington,
Wes Studi
Directed by Michael Mann
Written by Michael Mann, Christopher Crowe
Based on the novel by James Fenimore Cooper
Runtime 112 minutes
Rated R

Stewart Kirby writes for

Monday, November 20, 2017


          One of the best bands ever formed now has one of the best documentaries ever made.
          Long Strange Trip, the Grateful Dead story, features never-before-seen footage from prime Dead years, new interviews with band members, family, and crew, and fascinating insights on the group's driving force, Jerry Garcia.
          The nearly four-hour experience available online consists of six episodes of varying length and a bonus feature, beginning with Act I - "It's Alive" which starts with Jerry talking about how as a kid the Frankenstein monster used to scare him. For him, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) was a transformative experience because he saw that scary things, weird things, were fun.
          Sometime in his teens Jerry heard the 5-string banjo of Earl Skruggs and it changed his life. He spent all his time practicing "conversational music" where "the instruments kind of talk to each other."
          Around this time Jerry met a fellow singer and musician Ron "Pigpen" McKernan, and then they met another, Bob Weir. Jerry decided that as much as he loved banjo, he needed to unlearn everything and pick up an electric guitar. Phil Lesh, Bill Kreutzmann, and Mickey Hart rounded out a band composed of members fusing diverse styles. And they happened to have a genius lyricist in one Robert Hunter.
          Also at this time Ken Kesey, author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, was tooling around by bus with a bunch of friends calling themselves the Merry Pranksters and experimenting on their own with a strange new drug which the government was investigating as potential for a weapon. So the band made friends with him right away.
          The film manages to present the psychedelic phenomenon wholeheartedly embraced by the Grateful Dead at the time without either glorifying or condemning. We simply see what happened.
          More than any other band, the Dead represent the freewheeling spirit of the '60s. Many people changed their lives from whatever they were doing to follow the Dead and form a psychedelic carnival wherever they go. They are called Deadheads. No Rolling Stonesheads. No Whoheads. Just Deadheads.
          Interestingly, it is a hallmark of the band that they saw no difference between themselves and their fans. Yet somehow, out of all the chaos, they made it big on their own terms. All they really wanted to do was escape mind-numbing conformity and survive by playing music. True, the band also aspired to advance the human race a step by finding joy in the present through the freedom of self-expression and getting loaded. But when the groovy Hippie scene in the Haight-Ashbury area of San Francisco turned into tour buses carting uptight straights pointing with horn-rim glasses, cameras, and brochures, the Hippies glanced aghast and politely headed north.
          Long Strange Trip is a magic carpet ride to that time. A fascinating documentary about more than only one band, it's a trip so well worth taking, it might just change your life.

Starring Jerry Garcia,
Phil Lesh,
Bob Weir,
Ron McKernan,
Bill Kreutzmann,
Mickey Hart,
Robert Hunter,
Donna Godchaux
Directed by Amir Bar-Lev
Runtime 238 minutes
Rated R

Stewart Kirby writes for

Friday, October 27, 2017



THE LOYAL READER WILL doubtless recall sometime back I found a US Marines flag someone left in my pickup. Now today I find myself the recipient of a gift nearer to my heart: A lance. An actual lance. I have no idea who left it for me, but I'm keeping it.

With my trusty tape measure I find it is eleven feet long. The width of the wood varies, but it weighs only a few pounds. The only way I could get it into my apartment was through the window. I propped it against the sill, went back inside, and pulled it right on through.

Now I have a lance. I have no idea why.

My cell phone is dead and my charger doesn't work, so I can't take pictures yet. I don't know, maybe it's an olde-time selfie-stick. Sure looks like a lance, though.

It is. Don't worry. Joust you wait and see.


Meet yNsaynZy.

He's a superhero.

His power: Insanity.

Once a prominent scientist, Dashiell Kesey helped Big Pharmaceutical--until he saw the terrible potential of a harmful new drug. He tried to stop the insidious plan to control and enslave the vast majority of humanity, but was caught in a blast at the lab that changed him...did not kill him, but made him stronger. Made him...yNsaynZy.

Behold his kingly raiment!

Some say he is the god Dionysus in human form. Others say he is a man who became a god.

Both true? Probably.

But one thing is certain:

He is the greatest military leader to walk the face of the earth.

He's yNsaynZy!

They called Galileo crazy, too.

The artist is always crazy, the visionary always crazy, the prophet always mad. In a world where people are pumped day in and day out with pills, pills, pills, pumped with deadly drugs pushed by TV, the crazy man has no TV and pops no pills at all. His is the strength of the madman, and he quotes from Hamlet and Nietzsche, Captain Ahab and James Joyce,  Vincent Van Gogh and Edgar A. Poe, before delivering justice unto wrongdoers.

I think I'm really onto something here.


By golly, somebody keeps leaving me things in my truck. I swear to god, it's bizarre. This morning's Mystery Gift:

A sword.

First a flag. Why? Then a lance. Why? Now a sword. So why not keep them? All carefully placed. Well, not the flag so much. That seems separate. The lance and the sword were placed very specifically in a particular way though, and unlike the flag they both look and feel old. Authentic.

It's a cool old sword. Leather scabbard with either an N on it or a Z, depending how you look, or maybe both. Horse head hilt. Blade even looks like it has ancient blood rusted on it. I love working on my new story while I wear my sword hanging from my belt. Which is a perfectly legal thing for me to do here in Oregon should I so choose to travel out and about with my sword.


I cast unaccountable shadows. Not all the time so noticeably. But sometimes, si, muy noticeable. I'll be sitting in a chair in a room and see my silhouette with what looks unmistakably like the lance mysteriously given to me. Many times I spin around seeking the source of the effect. Always nothing there. The actual lance is on my bedroom floor until I get around to setting up a couple of mounts on the wall.


Q: Could Stone Age Man emerge from caves and build pyramids around the world oriented with mathematical perfection and celestial bodies?

A: No.

Q: Is this planet the oldest in the universe?

A: No.

Q: Have there ever been older places than this planet where intelligent life existed?

A: Yes.

Q: Could ancient astronauts have ever visited this planet?

A: Yes.

Q: Is there any evidence of ancient astronauts visiting this planet?

A: Yes. For example, the pyramids.

Indeed, we live on the surface of a world of evidence that giants in the metaphorical sense and the literal came from a bigger, older planet and

These giants stand all around us still.

Amenhotep was the first Pharaoh to honor one god, a sun god, and his wife and son, Nefertiti and Tut, had the same long head as Amenhotep, whose name is still said in worship with the word Amen.

Q: Why does the Pope wear a long-head hat?

A: To resemble the real thing. And the real thing may have worn long-head hats to hide the alarming difference from the masses engineered with smaller skulls and weakened aspects.

According to the world's oldest-known civilization (which by definition could not have referred to any previous culture), giant people came from the stars and created human beings. We are the planet's first robots, created as the worker slaves for Those Who From the Heavens Came.

The Annunaki.

They came from a twin-sun world 3-5 times the size of our own, and they created our world when their home planet of Nibiru slammed on the course of its incredibly long elliptical orbit into a planet called Tiamat, splitting it and merging elements with the halves: One became Earth, and the other Mars. Mars became their station planet. Then they created the Moon to orbit Earth.

They did this because they wanted to rule humanity, which they managed to create after a few unsuccessful attempts, specifically in order to mine gold.

Humanity was created to mine gold for a planet with a diminishing atmosphere in an attempt to deflect the harmful rays of the suns. Bigfeet are examples of unsuccessful attempts at genetic engineering. The Annunaki blended a tiny bit of their DNA with that of Gigantopithecus Blackie, a 14 foot-tall Asian ape on the fossil record. The results were unsuccessful because the product proved too spirited to control. But eventually they got it right.


Soon I have to find a new job again. Work is running out once more, goddamit to hell. No more holes to patch with joint compound, no more walls to prime and roll, no more masks and no more fumes, no more pools to paint, no more floors to tile or to pull, no more ants to kill, no more toilets to install, nor hardware to screw back on while the co-worker's mix on blue tooth blares, no more trips around town in a truck with any appliances strapped down in back, no more paycheck, no more food, no more rent, no more gas, no more bills, no more nothing but praying to some benevolent agent way up there in the Black Knight Satellite, or maybe somewhere down in Hollow Earth.

Yes of course I understand that our minds are as electromagnetic as the atmosphere around the planet--to which our minds automatically adjust--so I do find it disturbing that even as I pen these words, drone-like agents following orders spray aluminum sulphide in horizon-spanning grids which, when heated remotely by High-Frequency Active Auroral Research Project (HAARP) radio towers remotely located in Alaska raise a column of the ionosphere, ultimately altering the Jetstream, and thereby manipulating the weather, perhaps as the by-product of an attempt to repair this planet's ozone shield, and if so then thereby falling again into a condition set by people from Planet X who created us to mine gold required to repair their own depleted global shields.

Job-wise around here, I can readily attest to the slimness of the pickings. And so, therefore, now more than ever, to return to the world of Dashiell Kesey, he who became...yNsaynZy. I must concentrate my mental efforts, visualize, visualize. Yes, I am committed.


Finally, tangible meditation results!

Supposedly Moses had eyes that glowed. I think we've all got the ability, deep down, to make our eyes glow. I know I did. I meditated in the dark in front of a mirror for almost three hours and saw them glow as though by an interior light for seven full minutes like twin suns.

And I got to thinking. I think gray aliens, traditional almond-eyed aliens with diminutive, sexless bodies, uniform appearance, and hive minds, are actually androids of the Annunaki. They seem to be alive, but are not. They are the remote operatives of their Makers.

The Makers place their operatives in countless locations. Go to any planet you like. If you can visit it, its been visited. And marked. By them. Bet on it. Bet the farm.

Most farmers farm things you probably have never imagined, and yet they all recognize the bulbous head, the lifeless black eyes, the pale little bodies. From the dawn of their own time.

Counting properly from the outer edge toward the sun, we are on the 7th planet, Ki. When Nibiru slammed into Tiamat and created Ki, it left much of itself here. Hence the otherworldly. From a region of shadows the wings of the wind carry a witching influence in the air over the entire world.

Es mi destino compartir la verdad de nuestra herencia alienigena con el mundo.

And today, by the way, I received yet another lovely gift, this time right outside my door: A shield. An ancient shield, stately and sturdy, such as a knight might use. And on the surface of the shield are arranged such figures as resemble those of Sumerian cylinder seals revealing the planets in this galaxy, and the placement of each in relation to the rest. It is a right noble shield, and I shall carry it into battle with lance and sword against all enemies of justice.


Bopping around the boondocks in quest of gainful employ I find myself inordinately conscious of the many, many, many, many, many giant windmills spinning on the rolling hills. And even as I am conscious of the great big fat amount of economic nada waiting for me all around, the graphic novel of yNsaynZy furthers in my mind. The origin story for the first issue shall be titled ALL THE RAGE and feature illustrations evocative of German Expressionism. A surreal look, lots of shadows.

(Close shot, low angle.)

yNsaynZy: The night was cold, very cold. I bopped around the boondocks looking for the shiny black limousine with the people inside who had the information. The information I needed. I poured myself a glass of Scotch while I drove and talked to myself out loud, pausing only when other cars went by. Even though the night was dark, very dark, I didn't want to chance anyone seeing my mouth move and thereby betray the disturbing truth of my talking to myself, chattering away all alone as though it were perfectly normal.

The Scotch was good, very good. I enjoyed my liquor very much while I drove. Looking, always looking. Then I saw it. The thing I was looking for. It was the shiny black limousine with the people inside with the information that I needed.

When I reach an intersection I have to double-check the directions, angry at my story being interrupted right when it's getting good. A plume of dust follows my beat-up pickup down a long dirt road flanked by tall walls of old corn stalks. "I hate it! I hate it!" I grit through my teeth with white knuckles on the bouncing wheel as the truck encounters giant rocks. I do not have the tires for this. Dollar signs stream off of the old abused truck. I have no money for this hell, but there's no going back. I have to apply at this hotel.

Finally I reach it. The hotel in the middle of nowhere.

Yet another wild goose chase from the employment department.

"Let me know if there's anything I can help you with," they like to say.

"You could help me get a job," I like to reply.

Giggle giggle, off they go. But I'm never joking.

We can't allow knives here. I've heard those words. You can't go back there. I've heard those words. But I've never heard the words, "We found a job for you."

A scrawny rooster announces the day and hustles off at my approach. It's mid-afternoon. At the squeak of a screen door I turn to see an incredibly hideous woman.

"Hi, I'm here for the interview."

"Jasper! Get over here!"

From behind me, a mangy dog growls and snaps as it slinks by.

"Get your butt over here! Jasper!"

Now I know how young Siddhartha felt on his first visit outside the palace walls when he witnessed really haggard people all over. Bright pink stretch pants poorly hold what appear to be a double-set of shapeless buttocks like to make a body wince at a disastrous glance. We go ahead and interview. Not exactly my first choice of work, minding the front desk at this barren, depressing establishment, but such is life.

"You got a resume?"

"Yes I do, right here."

"Okay then, we'll being doing calls next week."

A little imbecile boy with a banjo on the porch informs me as I leave that the position has already been promised to his cousin's Narcotics Anonymous sponsor.

Visions of yNsaynZy suddenly appearing and dashing Jasper's mangy brains out on the weed-choked concrete patio while quoting King Lear or Captain Ahab.


Returning on foot from the service station a few blocks away with my blistering cup of coffee in hand as is my morning habit of late I see loitering about my pickup truck a short round Latino personage of amiable aspect. His are the simple white pants and shirt of a laborer, as are his sandals, serape, and sombrero. I switch the coffee in one hand, too hot to hold for long, to the other. "Mornin'," I say, when I am close enough to be polite. No one else in the leaf-strewn street. No one else alive in sight. Only me, this little round guy, a couple of squirrels on the telephone wires crisscrossing overhead, and a couple of cats crouching by the tires of parked cars still cold with frost at the edges of the windshields.

"Si, senor." The little guy nods and smiles so politely, I feel rude to continue on my way.

"You, ah, you need somethin' there, buddy?"

"Si, senor."


Something, call it a voice inside my head heard artificially via chip inserted at base of skull sometime during childhood, tells me to give this guy a bong hit.

"Si, senor."

"Ain't got no fancy sofa, nor no fancy TV, amigo," says I, leading the way upstairs, "and I damn sure ain't got no fancy lamp, nor no fancy re-sealable baggies, neither! Them things is for the spoiled. Why, if I can afford the rare onion, and have to slice it, the other half gets wrapped back in the plastic shopping bag. How's that for authentic poor? Am I right?"

"Si, senor."

"I don't have money for paper towels," I say, turning the key. "Paper towels are for the weak. What I have are a few coffee filters left. Because I don't have enough money for coffee. That's how poor. Have a seat."

"Si, senor."

"Make yourself at home. Oh, and be careful, because of the four chairs that go with my excessively used table, two are broken and one has a rip in the upholstery. Also the lid of the CD player won't stay down, so I have to keep something on top of that. Marijuana?" I offer my little round friend the freshly loaded glass water pipe, packed to perfection with the perfectly legal natural healing agent regularly partaken by Albert Einstein and Jesus Christ. Sometimes together, in pyoint of fyact.

"Si, senor."

The furry manion takes his rip, and my head tilts, yes full tilts oh pun intended right on back a-laughin. He exhales, looking a little worried. Then smiles blithely. Before clearing his bowl.

"You should also know, I turn my socks around. So that the holes in the heels are up. That way I get more life out of my socks. Yeah, I guess you could say at the second-hand store I see a lot of things I used to own."

"Si, senor."

"You want to know why?"

"Si, senor."

"It's because I'm extremely poor! Got nothin' out of the divorce."

"Si...senor..." my little round friend says, coughing.

"Must Pass Drug Screen--prrffft! Yeah, unless it would make sense to take one. They don't make you take a piss test to teach Creative Writing at college, I can tell you that. But to put a sack of concrete in the back of a pickup, suddenly we have to get down to the parts per million. Okay, forklifts, fine. Show me the study that directly attributes pot use to forklift failure. So make the forklift operator automatically liable for damages on condition of hire. Until then, in this state, and many others, like it or not the goddam shit is legal. You can grow it in your back yard, discretely, and use it, discretely. You're allowed a certain number of plants, and a certain amount in possession for personal use. Hey, after all, it fights cancer.

"And yet, in spite of this, or perhaps because of it, there is a system in place to keep people from employment for simply enjoying something that is natural and legal on their own private time. Completely imbecilic. Test for meth or heroin, test for cocaine or prescription drugs shoved in people's faces all day. Those things are all deadly and awful. But don't go lumping pot in with that shit."

"Si, senor."

I put a CD in the player and sit down in the other chair. "I have to get a job," I confess, grabbing the bong. "Si, amigo, I am in quest of gainful employ." With a flick of the lighter I clear the bowl. Exhaling I wistfully muse, "Yes, indeed."

"Si, senor."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that."

"Si, senor."

"Excellent, yes, very good. Let's go. No need to reply, come on. I need to get a job."

"Si, senor."

"Okay, all right."

"Si, senor."

"Okay then, that's fine."

"Si, senor."

Around this time I launch into my spiel about the history of me writing my writing, which means I show my less than loquacious friend the writing on the wall...all of it mine.

"Absorption in my writing cost me my material life. Might say it withered my brain."

"Si, senor."

I show my friend my black broadcloth on the wall. "Doubles as a cape," I said. It being a Saturday, I offer lardy eggs.


"All right, my friend," I say inside my truck, still feeling an awesome vibe having listened to Santana upstairs, "time to venture off in quest of gainful employ. So here we go."

"Si, senor."

"Hell yeah, there's the spirit." I turn the starter, but nothing happens. No ignition at all. Nada. The battery appears to be dead. Or it could be the sensors. The alternator, the How old is my battery? How old is my truck? How much more can I take?

My little round friend has exited my rusty old pickup during the course of my rant. I look up now. In the tranquil light I see his morbidly obese squat form leading a horse before my truck. Standing in front of me with this insane-looking horse, one with wild horse eyes no matter the angle, he offers me the reigns. Whereupon I exit the truck, hop in the back, mount the horse, and ride around the block.

"Yes, my fine fellow," I pronounce probably out of reach, "good job here, excellent work indeed." I take the mount around the block, frankly never questioning or caring how my friend supplied my need. Whereupon I spy beside my truck two tall chaps wearing dark suits and antiquated hats, perhaps Fedoras. What is more, they seem to be trying to intimidate my friend.

"See here," I call from behind. "There'll be none of that."

As my friend avails himself of the opportunity for flight, I perceive the chaps are identical twins. The hair on their heads lacks authenticity, and seems rather to be part of each gent's hat rather than his head. Neither has eyebrows. Their faces look waxy.

"Amigo," I call, "mi lanza y espada."

"Si, senor!"  he energetically replies.

Whereupon I make unto these chaps such pronouncements as I deem necessary to distract them sufficiently to secure my weaponry from my retainer.

"Now now, you'll have to wait for your proper trouncing, sirs!" Apparently perceiving I hold a sword, the chaps intend toward their car, a shiny black Mercedes parked discretely around the corner, but I hasten the horse to intervene. A few quick strides and upraised hooves suffice to take the tall pasty twins aback, and indeed I find myself surprised, only for a moment, to see both lance and shield in my shadow before I even bear them.

My friend appears with my weapons in his chubby clutches, additional armor included. Score! Not perfect, but good enough.

"Como te llamas?" I ask, adjusting my helmet, such as it is.

"Cece Nayor."

"Your name's Cece? Cece Nayor?"

"Si, senor."

"Alrighty then," I say, raising my voice as I raise my lance, with my mount putting on an impressive display. "You task me! You...HEAP me! Now, COME GET SOME! YEAH! How ya like me now?"

In my battle against the Men in Black I prove utterly victorious because my cause is joust. They have no business trying to lord themselves over my vassal. One's hat falls off when I hit him with the point of my lance from behind as he tries to run back to the car. Sure enough, the fake hair stays with the hat. Knew it!

Sad to say, at this point the horse seems right on the verge of collapsing. Turns out Cece grabbed the neighbor's horse shabbily penned next door, and the unfortunate beast is simply insanely out of shape. But there is no backing off, of course. I chuck my lance back to Cece and whip out my sword again, whooping as I give chase on foot. The helmet doesn't want to stay on. Damn, I think, not now. Better go ahead and tear it off, That's what Amadis of Gaul would do.

These guys are tall, though. So they use their long legs to their advantage at getting away from me and run really fast in their dark dated suits back to their dark shiny car.

"Cece," I say, hustling back down the street toward the wobbly horse, "let's return this veritable Rozinante back where you got it before it dies, Jesus!"


Well, it turns out those guys were Jehovah's Witnesses. Or so they claim. For the record, they did seem for all the world like Men in Black. But according to the cop at the door, nope.

There's a whole thing with the neighbor and the horse I don't want to get into now. What's the point of having a horse if no one can even ride it?...


Monday, October 23, 2017


          Now, more than ever.
          Written and directed by Michael Crichton, Westworld is about a couple of buddies (Brolin, Benjamin) who take a trip to an adult-themed amusement park populated with robots. There is Medieval World, and there is Roman World, but the buddies choose the part of the vast park where everything looks and feels like the Old West of 1880.
          Initially all goes well and the pals have a jolly time availing themselves of robot prostitutes and getting to kill guys consequence-free in the saloon. A nebbish banker played by Dick Van Patten typifies the repressed clientele anxious to fork over a thousand dollars a day for the opportunity to abuse what look like people. "I shot six people!" one guy gushes to an interviewer as he exits the park.
          But then things go wrong.
          A big part of the fun is seeing Yul Brynner as the Gunslinger robot. Because the audience knows he's bald, he doesn't even have to take off his hat to assume a mechanical quality. And this verisimilitude is furthered by Brynner having starred in Westerns such as The Magnificent Seven. So when he starts chasing the guys around with real bullets, he's the perfect actor for the job.
          For Crichton the writer to also wear the director's hat, the task was made easier by getting to direct actors playing robots. If most of the cast gives a lifeless performance, no harm done. Years later, Crichton improved on his work with the more character-rich Jurassic Park. But it's the same basic Frankenstein story.
          When we hear a hidden operator complain, "I don't know what to do if the stage coach is late!" we get a sense of the fragility of the system. The paying guests place their trust in the park's reassuring authority with no idea how tenuous the illusion.
          At no point is there explained exactly why robots would be required for a resort of this sort. In another story the same thing could happen except with living people who may or may not actually die. But approaching the story with artificial life allows for the system to break down entirely--a theme which resonated particularly with audiences in 1973--and allows for insights regarding inhumanity and what it means to be alive.
          The problem is that the robots become independent. When the robots stop being worker slaves, everything falls apart. One moment you're chasing a serving wench, and the next she's rebuffing your advances with a slap in the face.

Starring Yul Brynner,
James Brolin,
Richard Benjamin,
Dick Van Patten
Written and directed by Michael Crichton
Runtime 88 minutes
Rated PG

Stewart Kirby writes for

Thursday, October 19, 2017


He has reflected his inner child on screen for decades. With his head held proudly in dark clouds, Tim Burton has enjoyed a long-standing relationship with Disneyland. His Jack Skellington character possesses the park's Haunted Mansion, and the director of Alice in Wonderland is currently working on the live-action version of Dumbo to be released in 2019.
          Among his 38 directorial credits, eight include Johnny Depp in the lead, and sixteen with music by Danny Elfman. Elfman, whom Burton had appreciated as the brains behind the pop band Oingo Boingo, has said that after he wrote the music for Pee-Wee's Big Adventure (1985) his career went "from zero to ninety."
          That film was Burton's big breakthrough, and features moments of stop-motion animation, which was associated at that time with holiday TV specials. 
          Burton's primary work melds classic characters and set designs (The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari,    Metropolis) with stories related to younger-skewing pop culture favorites from the 1960s and '70s (Batman, Planet of the Apes , Dark Shadows). Generally composed of equal parts Gothic atmosphere, romance, and laughs, Tim Burton's films have the controlled look of a German set. Indeed, just as Fritz Lang built a fake forest for Siegfried, Burton built one for Sleepy Hollow (1999).
          As Burton's version of Ichabod Crane, Johnny Depp takes on the sensitive, sallow-faced archetype which predominates the director's work. As Edward Scissorhands in 1990, Depp set the high-bar with a tousle-haired Goth look evoking Conrad Veidt's Somnambulist and somehow always reflecting Burton. 
          It is his undying obsession with all things Halloween that undoubtedly defines Burton in the public mind. Depp stars in most of the best: Sweeney Todd, Dark Shadows, and primarily Sleepy Hollow--which, while dark enough for events to revolve around a series of decapitations, still manages to refer to the Disney cartoon version of Washington Irving's tale.
          Burton's other masterpiece, 1988's Beetlejuice, boasts Michael Keaton as "the ghost with the most." (Both films feature a sudden stop-motion animation creepy moment as first seen in Pee-Wee.) Fans of the quirky cult classic will be knocked dead to hear that Burton's Beetlejuice sequel, again starring Keaton, is in the works.

Stewart Kirby writes for

Sunday, October 8, 2017


          An excellent replication.
          It's not better than the original, but it's a close second.
          Ryan Gosling stars as K, a so-called "Blade Runner" agent on a mission to assassinate which leads him to the star of the 35 year-old film, Harrison Ford.
          Since its release, the movie based on a story by sci-fi legend Philip K. Dick, "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?", has virtually defined the look of the dystopian future. Director Ridley Scott's vision of a dark, bleak, soulless corporate world run into the ground and populated by artificial life on the run magnificently reflected PKD's writing with one notable exception: PKD's heroes never look like Hollywood leading-man material. He died shortly after the film's release, so he never saw Arnold Schwarzenegger in Total Recall or Tom Cruise in Minority Report, to exemplify the repeated discrepancy.
          True enough, technology has advanced so that most of the effects in the new addition to the franchise look  even better, under a microscope. But it cannot hope to outstrip the reason for its being; the film always refers in some way to the 1982 landmark film, yet without the benefit of being written by the legendary master.
          It's a long movie, generally slow, and always interesting to watch.
          As always skirting around the edge of the story in order to preserve the experience for the reader, suffice to say 2049 concerns themes of self-discovery and the nature of what it means to be alive in an increasingly automated world.
          Film fans will find similarities with indirect source material including Metropolis and Bride of Frankenstein.
          The 1982 original boasted not only a visionary aesthetic, but also one of the greatest soundtracks ever, plus an unforgettable bad guy as played by Rutger Hauer. This movie captures the look and sound of the original almost perfectly, and features a terrific performance by Gosling in particular.
          And of course Harrison Ford.
          Well worth a trip to the theater.

Starring Ryan Gosling,
Harrison Ford,
Robin Wright,
Ana De Armas,
Jared Leto,
Sylvia Hoeks,
Dave Bautista,
Mackenzie Davis,
Edward James Olmos
Directed by Denis Villeneuve
Written by Hampton Fancher, Michael Green
Based on characters created by Philip K. Dick
Runtime 163 minutes
Rated R

Stewart Kirby writes for

Like the review?
Check out the weird fiction!


Where ancient aliens, a Hippie Grail Myth, and animatronic Bigfeet collide.

One book with 3 stories:

DRIFTING ROOM After an alien abduction accidentally lands Sam Hain in a parallel universe version of his redwood county home, his only hope of getting back is finding the pale little almond-eyed being with the bulbous head who accidentally landed with him and fled into the forest, while, unknown to Sam, it’s his own blood coming into contact with the biosphere that’s causing the bugs to grow so big. CODY AND HEIDI When aging genius Wolfgang Fischer wounds his foot, the entire redwood land suffers blight. Crops don’t grow right, people act dehumanized, and corporatization ensues as Southern Humbaba County comes under attack by the National Armed Resistance to Growers in this Hippie Grail myth. REDWOODLAND Joe Longhair’s stories give the inspiration for Redwoodland, the world’s largest amusement park and forest preserve of the future. When he finally takes two tickets, Joe finds juicy romance where visitors pass by train through real redwoods, and danger beyond his wildest dreams among the talking burls, automated Bigfeet, and animatronic Hippies.

To buy your copy of
Stewart Kirby's
click the link

Saturday, October 7, 2017


ALL THE WAY DOWN the mountain the smile on his face never once faded until he saw the Bear, one of those Big Bears they had with the eyes that blazed red and could run faster than the real thing, able even to split open and release the driver.

He hated to have to take the truck out of low gear right here, right in front of them, tired as he was after a long day of thinning trees, plus putting up metal siding on the cabin, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was slow down and pull over for a few moments to change out.

Sure enough, that Big Bear's eyes went from low-grade dim to bright blazing red as it waddled on over, just the biggest, fattest, ugliest-looking bear you could ever imagine coming right over to the window and demanding identification.

The sun, beginning to set, cast a spectacular orange glow through the ragged black tree-line.

"How's it going, officer?" he asked, trying his best to respect the badge while he retrieved his paperwork from the glove compartment.

"Sir, turn off your engine," came the voice from within the huge lifelike bear head sniffing at the window.

"Yes, sir," he replied. Oh, he knew they'd hassle him on sight, he just knew it. Finally getting free of this very sort of thing was exactly why he'd been so happy all day till now. Murphy's Law. He turned off the engine.

"Sir, are you presently carrying any firearms or other weapons?"

Holy Moly. Ever since those rotten traitors pulled up stakes and headed out for anti-gravity cities and luxury accommodations on the moon and Mars, the Indians, descendants of the natives, they just couldn't let bygones be bygones.

The mechanical Bear emitted both heat and scent. The deep dank scent of Indian casino basement. Those fearsome facilities constructed underground housed many of the local super-rich who left the whole show and copped out.

"Okay, all right, I do have a .44 on the back seat."

Big Bear's hard snarl shifted the hat on his head like the sail of a skiff in a storm. Suddenly the Bear put both of its gigantic front paws on the top of the truck and started rocking the vehicle from side-to-side, roaring horrifically the while. Inside, the man hung on to the wheel, maintaining an upright position with all his might until the Bear stopped and reared up to its full height, red eyes blazing in the dusk light.

Whereupon the Big Bear opened, and from the perfect hidden seam stepped forth the law enforcement officer, a bona fide agent of Cahokia restored, glorious in full metal feather, great big laser bow drawn...


Sunday, October 1, 2017


          A non-comprehensive list of worthy suggestions for your perusal. Mythic marriages of life and death, go-to Gothic flicks to aid the cinematic senses in this autumnal season. In random order:

          1. Bride of Frankenstein (1934) - James Whale's classic version of Mary Shelley's novel, starring Boris Karloff as the iconic Creature. Differs significantly, but always delivers classic Halloween atmosphere.
          2. Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) - Eye-candy in a big way. Francis Ford Coppola's version of Bram Stoker's novel (the ultimate Gothic novel) does differ--they almost always do, and understandably so--but still demands its annual due.
          3. Nosferatu (1979) - A version yet further in keeping with the Dubliner's novel, directed by the greatest living filmmaker, Werner Herzog, and starring the inimitable Klaus Kinski as the repulsive Lord of Vampires.
          4. Halloween (1979) - From the same notable year, John Carpenter's immortal indie classic about an extremely resilient guy who escapes an insane asylum one Halloween, wearing a messed-up William Shatner mask, silently intent on killing his sister.
          5. Creepshow (1982) - One could just as easily substitute Hitchcock's Psycho, or The Silence of the Lambs, or The Omen, or Young Frankenstein, but this list honors Stephen King and George Romero's classic pulpy homage to EC Comics of the 1950s.
          6. The Shining (1980) - Stephen King doesn't like the Stanley Kubrick masterpiece reputedly because of Jack Nicholson's performance, but what does he know? It's the fantastic film of a dad possessed by evil hotel spirits over an ancient Indian burial site trying to kill his son.
          7. The Haunting (1963) - Robert Wise's version of the Shirley Jackson novel about another haunted house, this time beautifully suggested, very tastefully done and featuring Julie Harris.
          8. Rosemary's Baby (1968) - Mia Farrow stars in Roman Polanski's remarkably faithful adaptation of the novel by Ira Levin about the birth of the Devil's child.
          9. The Ninth Gate (1999) - Speak of the Devil, this amazing slice of Gothicism, also directed by Polanski, features Johnny Depp as a book detective looking for a book written by Lucifer.
         10. Sleepy Hollow (1999) - Capping off the century, Tim Burton's own eye-candy, starring Depp as the eccentric Ichabod Crane, a constable sent to investigate murders in a backwoods community. Differs markedly from Washington Irving's classic story, yet still merit attention.
         11. The Wolf Man (2010) - Featuring Benecio Del Toro and Anthony Hopkins in this terrific update of the 1940s version starring Lon Chaney, Jr.
         12. The Fly (1986) - Another great Gothic re-make, this time of a 1950s B-movie about a fly and a guy who get together. Stars Jeff Goldblum as the underrated classic Brundlefly.
         13. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931) - Long before the Fly, there was Hyde. Ultimate split-personality story about a good doctor (excellently played by Fredric March) who scientifically extracts his own repressed dark side in Victorian England with horrific results.

Stewart Kirby writes for

Sunday, September 24, 2017


          It began as a response to isolationism.
          During WWI, Germany could import no films. This resulted in an influx of highly original material expressing thoughts and emotions through strikingly stylized cinematic elements: Dark, angular worlds reflecting a purely subjective eye.
          Stories featuring themes of madness, betrayal, and mind control flowered in an environment of artistic freedom throughout the 1920s. In particular, the work of Robert Wiene, F.W. Murnau, and Fritz Lang influenced contemporary filmmakers and continue to do so nearly a century later.
          Witness the geometrically absurd angles of the first horror film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1921). The distorted scenery and optical effects (including painted shadows) are routinely reflected in the films of Tim Burton. Three of the biggest heavyweights in film--Alfred Hitchcock, Orson Welles, and Stanley Kubrick--owe much of their aesthetic and many of their techniques to German Expressionism.
          Expressionism is a form of Gothicism, which itself arose largely as a need to process the events of the French Revolution.
          To compare James Whale's Bride of Frankenstein (1935) with its predecessor, Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927) is to see homage, to put it kindly, at its fullest extent. Indeed, horror films and film noir result directly from German Expressionism.
          Bluntly stated, these directors were simply way ahead of Hollywood.
          From The Maltese Falcon and The Third Man to Apocalypse Now and Blade Runner, the influence of Expressionism, with its emphasis on the exaggerated and the surreal, cannot be overstated. To look at Johnny Depp as Edward Scissorhands is to see Conrad Veidt as the Somnambulist in Caligari.
          Just as Franz Kafka emphatically did not write The Metamorphosis in hopes of appealing to a readership looking for stories where people turn into big bugs, the Expressionists produced unprecedented films of emotional depth, often eerily prescient of events to come, which work precisely because realism is done away with entirely.
          Eventually, Germany did import films, and this highpoint in cinema took an inevitable nosedive. But like fine wine, Expressionism only gets better with age.

Stewart Kirby writes for

You've read the movie read the books.

You haven't lived till you've died.
Purchase your copy of

Wednesday, September 20, 2017


Well howdy there.

Check this out: I've written over a thousand published articles in multiple periodicals. My work has appeared in This Week News and Review, The North Coast Journal, The Trader, The Independent, and more. I've taught Creative Writing and I've had a radio show reading one of my own books as well as the works of others. My clean, muscular prose engages readers around the world, and I have never missed a deadline. Decades of experience gird these journalistic loins. Whether my topic is self-assigned or appointed, I will write the most interesting article in the paper. It's what I do. And by the way, I also created my own literary genre, Redwoodpunk.

Scroll on down, peruse away, and see for yourself.

For the FULL HUMBABA CYCLE STORY LIST, click the link:

To read my article SURFING WITH SHARKS, click the link:

Sunday, September 17, 2017


          A hit, a very palpable hit.
          Twenty-seven years after the made-for-TV movie, It returns. And how wonderful, because in Stephen King's novel, the terrifying entity returns to the town of Derry, Maine, to feed on fear and human bodies every twenty-seven years.
          The star, Bill Skarsgard, who plays Pennywise the Dancing Clown, is also twenty-seven.
          One gets the impression that Stephen King films never live up to the novels. Not so. Many great films come from his work. The differences between print and film are such that many efforts do fall short, but just look at the list of classics: Carrie, The Shining, Stand By Me, The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, Misery.
          And now It.
          This film focuses on a group of thirteen year-olds plagued by bullies, their parents, and an evil clown in the late-1980s. The story begins with the loss of little Georgie (Scott). A year later, his big brother Bill is still obsessed with trying to find Georgie. But we know it was a clown down in a gutter that got him.
          The clown tries to get other kids, too. Like Freddy Kruger from A Nightmare on Elm Street, Pennywise has godlike powers of evil and can basically do anything. So perhaps in some sense It is not totally realistic or adequately explained, but with so many great evil clown moments, who cares?
          Since 1990 technology has finally advanced to the point where we can see this story as King intended. During the course of the film, admirers of the writer's work cannot help but turn frequently to one another with upraised thumbs. The way the clown rises from the murky waters of a flooded basement, flivvering angrily toward its prey--the way the clown appears from behind a collection of blood-red balloons, perhaps with the sound of a broken music box winding down--the way the clown's long sharp teeth sink into a child's flesh--these are the sorts of cinematic moments which can only be described as sublime, as true fans of King's work will attest.
          The filmmakers wisely do what King does in his book: Marble the great Pennywise stuff with the good other things--the real-life laughs and horrors the kids go through hanging onto each other for support. Featuring entertaining dialogue among the kids similar to Stand By Me, It posits that the true horrors are often found at home with freakishly monstrous parents. In real life, young brothers aren't so syrupy with their displays of love, thankfully enough, and it is doubtful that a sexually abused teen would be as comfortable and well-adjusted as the one depicted in this film, but we can overlook such weak points easily enough because so much of It flat out delivers.
          Well worth a trip to the big screen.

Starring Jaeden Lieberher,
Jeremy Ray Taylor,
Sophia Lillis,
Finn Wolfhard,
Chosen Jacobs,
Jack Dylan Grazer,
Wyatt Oleff,
Bill Skarsgard,
Nicholas Hamilton,
Jake Sim,
Logan Thompson,
Owen Teagre,
Jackson Robert Scott
Directed by Andy Muschietti
Written by Chase Palmer, Cary Fukunaga,
Gary Dauberman
Based on the novel by Stephen King
\Runtime 135 minutes
Rated R

Stewart Kirby writes for

Like evil clowns, do we?
Check this one out:

If there's one thing clowns hate,
it's a stinkin' coulrophobe.

To read the short story CAPTAIN HIDE, click the link:

But wait, there are still more evil clowns.

This one's getting started:

To check out AXKLOWN, the world's first serial killer superhero, click the link.

Sunday, September 10, 2017


          Based on the 1990s animated series, and the 2001-2002 live-action TV show, this excellent re-boot available on Amazon Prime.
          Imagine a sort of opposite Don Quixote, where the windmills really are giants, and Don Quixote tries to enlist a nebbish, Woody Allen-looking office worker in his quest to battle crime as a superhero.
          Similar to the 1981-1983 TV show "The Greatest American Hero", the Tick gives office worker Arthur (Newman) a mysterious super-suit which he has a hard time managing and which has seemingly ever-unfolding powers, including flight.
          Arthur's sister Dot (Curry) worries about him. The Tick, who isn't all quite there mentally, but is cheerfully benign, mistakenly calls her Spot.
          Meanwhile, trying to retrieve the suit (which allows the wearer to look like a superhero who should be called the Moth, or, Moth Boy) are the members of the nefarious Pyramid Gang, ostensibly lead by one Ramses IV (Cerveris), who in turn takes his orders from the Terror (Haley).
          The Terror runs the city.
          Further meanwhile, a masked "robo-ninja" called Overkill (Speiser) is also trying to get the suit and take down the Terror and the Pyramid Gang. But the Tick disapproves of Overkill's methods, because Overkill stabs people to death and tends to be a bit too murder-y.
          And we must not forget Ms. Lint (Martinez), an enforcer for the Terror, whose superpower over electricity also has the unintended side-effect of perpetually attracting dust and lint.
          Original Tick creator Ben Edlund contributes to the writing. However, writers and directors of episodes vary.
          "Unhand that precious balloon of hope!" Serafinowicz's stentorian delivery, arising from a heady mixture of supreme confidence and blissful ignorance, defines the character and provides the highlights for every episode. (Serafinowicz is also one of the show's producers.) Destiny, according to the Tick's unwavering certainty, handed Arthur the super-suit. The Tick was merely the messenger. Unfortunately, he "can't remember anything beyond a few days ago."
          Initially Arthur doubts his sanity and wants nothing to do with the big blue bug of justice. But again, the Tick's certainty wavers not a jot. When Arthur fears that he's hallucinating, the Tick cheerily assures his hapless new chum, "You just went sane in an insane world!"
          Featuring weaponized syphilis, the show is also co-produced by the star of the first live-action series, Patrick Warburton, who first found fame as Elaine's mechanic boyfriend on "Seinfeld".
          Well worth a watch.

Starring Peter Serafinowicz,
Griffin Newman,
Valerie Curry,
Scott Speiser,
Yara Martinez,
Michael Cerveris,
Jackie Earle Haley
Created by Ben Edlund
Runtime 29 minutes
Rated TV-14

Stewart Kirby writes for


The old man laughed as the wound gushed blood...

My short story homage to Looney Tunes features a Mel Blanc-like character who happens to be an incredibly psychotic sadist.