(Yeah, I’m in it)
(Yeah, I’m in it)
I cannot even tell you right now how long ago I got this game. I borrowed it first from a friend, then decided that I liked it too much to not own it, and that it was going to take me a fairly long time to play through it, so holding onto his copy wasn’t really nice.
I have this frequent problem. Or I did. I am trying to correct it. It’s a bad habit, and it’s how I ended up with a giant fucking stack of games that were only somewhat played through. I would be in the middle of a game and something would come out that I was more interested in. Now, instead of buying said game and waiting until I finished what I was working on, I would play the new game, leaving the other sad and alone. Crying. On my shelf.
While I did this with Silent Hill: Homecoming, I did manage to pick it up again fairly quickly after I finished whatever wondrous thing had floated my way. I was playing along quite happily, too. Enjoying myself. Yelling at the television when things wouldn’t die. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a potty mouth. It’s not just when I write.
Then the most horrible of horribles happened. The one thing that every gamer dreads and curses the sky for.
I got stuck.
I did it to myself. I can wholly admit that. It was all entirely my doing. No question. I went into an area with maybe two bullets, a quarter of my health, a crowbar, an axe, and a flashlight. No medical kits. No health drinks. Just wandered on in, didn’t even think about it. Didn’t consider that I’d just found something pretty significant and maybe, just motherfucking maybe, I should take a moment to gather myself so that I wouldn’t be walking into the massive clusterfuck of assrape that I did. No. Not me. I’ll just go right down this pretty creepy ladder here, and… oh. What’s that? Boss you say? Can’t go back, you say? Fucked myself, did I?
I literally spent weeks trying to find a way to defeat Scarlett with what I had on me. I can admit that I didn’t even come close. Not even mildly. It’s actually pretty laughable how not close I came to killing her and proceeding with the rest of the game. I would laugh, except it’s my problem. Laughing at yourself often gets you a white padded room and a special jacket. Or maybe that’s just how hard I would be laughing, and with the release of emotion might come some added screaming and…
Let’s move on, shall we?
I have previously talked about my quest to wrap up the above noted games, bringing my backlog into some realm of sanity. Coupled with the vow that once I have picked up a game, I will complete it before starting another. (This vow is hard to keep. Obviously I was not made for vows. Or with much willpower when it comes to video games.) The time for Silent Hill: Homecoming did roll around, and lo, I picked it up and with heavy heart did erase my previous game, thus confirming the restart that was fated to occur.
I’ve been enjoying it… I suppose I should say that I had been, had being a very key word here… I had been enjoying it during the replay. There had been enough time and enough other games in that time that I didn’t remember the story perfectly, I didn’t automatically know how to solve the puzzles. It was a little new despite how far I’d gotten. It was okay. It really was.
Until I started thinking about getting to that boss level with the goddamned giant fucking puppet of massive sphincter bleeding. Then I started to get upset. Not with the game, though, with myself. I kept thinking of all the things I could have done differently to prevent this replay from happening. Replaying because you want to is one thing. Doing it because you’ve shoved your own head up your ass is entirely different. It’s just aggravating.
I had to stop playing again. Now it and GTA 4 are the ones staring at me from my shelves, asking me why they aren’t yet finished. SH:H pleading with puppy dog eyes and little whimpering noises. “Just finish me, I’m a good game, I’ll show ya, you enjoyed me before, just pick me up, we’ll have a good time together, promise”. Bastard.
I’m just so annoyed with myself over things that I’m taking it out on the game. I have to get over it, that’s what it comes down to. I have to, and I will. Somehow. Because I cannot just let it linger. It will drive me crazy (obviously we’re significantly down that street, aren’t we?).
There will be another update on this when I finish the damn game.
I wonder, really wonder, why there aren’t more movies like this accessible to hands like mine. Really, really wonder. I’m a girl who really enjoys things like horror, murder, serial killers, psychological rapings. Yet, somehow, the films made my Germans which encompass said themes aren’t just… added into my Netflix queue by magic. This is actually the first one that has even been in the “You Might Like This Because…” area.
Holy shit, what an excellent mindfuck. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. They didn’t pull back on anything. Anything. If they did, I’m actually a little stunned. If there are cut scenes more graphic and brutal than the scenes that actually made it into this film? I’m sure they’ve been set on fire. And if they weren’t set on fire, I hope to god they’re on the dvd, because I’m buying it as soon as I can.
Two things I should note:
1. Hearing Mass said in German is pretty fucking hilarious. It sounds so musical in Latin, and yet so harsh and abraiding in German. It was like being scolded the entire time.
2. You cannot say something is starring Norman Reedus if Norman Reedus dies in the first 10 minutes.
I’ve been wanting to see this movie since it was first advertised on television. I just never got around to doing that. I’m sort of glad for it now, as I think I might have been a little sore at having to spend any sort of money on this movie.
It’s not that it’s bad, per se. It’s more that it feels…. unfinished. Like they had to stop filming right at a crucial point and had to just do the ending real quick.
I get the premise of the movie, and I think I see what they were trying to do with it ultimately. I feel like they wanted you to come out of the movie wondering who was right in the whole thing. Who was guilty or not. What the truth was. I feel like it was supposed to be one of those thinker flicks that get put out every now and again, and it was supposed to be really hard hitting and glorious.
The thing is, I see the potential for that. I do. I felt like it was really gearing up to be this psychological masterpiece. That at the end of it I would have to sit and think a bit to really figure out what I thought and felt.
It just didn’t happen.
And it’s just out of grasp, too. Just right there, right out there where your fingertips can almost touch, but not quite. On quick, strong willed bursts, you can feel the soft brush of the point along the tip of your nail, but are unable to snag it.
I think that if this was originally a book, it must have gotten that point across much better. Sometimes books are just far more capable of getting these things through. If it’s not a book, maybe instead of making it into a movie, it should have been made into a novel.
Disappointment is a strong word, I think. I’d rather go with left wanting.
Samuel L. Jackson is a complete badass on his worst day. If he were sick in bed with Mono and Swine Flu, he’d still be more of a badass than the entire rest of the planet combined. He could out badass anybody at any time.
To put such a colossal badass in the role of a badguy? It makes one hell of a fucking badguy. Scary as shit. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to cross him. Ever. Goddamn. I would either follow the guy’s rules, or move to the complete opposite side of the world as soon as possible.
Then. Then, my friends, you give the motherfucker a badge and power. He didn’t really need it, because his personal authority exceeds many things that a mere mortal could dream of pulling off, but some crazy sonofabitch decided to make this guy capable of legally carrying a firearm. Again, not that he needs it. He doesn’t even need the handcuffs. His very presence can paralyze a person in their tracks. See? No handcuffs required. No gun required because he’ll just give you a heart attack in one glance.
Now that I’ve thoroughly discussed His Royal Awesomeness, I can get to the actual story.
I’d thought it was going to be more than a little slow at the start. I was wrong. I thought it was going to be very difficult to make a story revolving around suburbanites dramatic or dark. I was wrong. I thought it was going to be a little dull. I was wrong. I also thought I probably wouldn’t like it, despite SLJ. Wrong again.
Boy am I happy to be wrong.
Tata tang tang tang tang tangtang tang…
Even if you’ve never actually seen the movie, you know the song. You know it even if you don’t think that you do. It’s been referenced in countless media since this movie came out in 1972. It’s called Dueling Banjos. Mentioned the banjos and it pricked something in your brain, didn’t it?
There’s another thing you might recognize that you didn’t know came from this movie. A nice little line that can send goosebumps across the flesh of many men:
“Squeal like a pig”
Burt Reynolds plays the most aggressive and bad ass tree hugging hippie that has ever existed on this planet. His friends are less than knowledgeable and capable than he is, so they don’t really fare so well when the shit flies. They’re not sure how to stop bad things from happening, and are a little too talky for their own good. Find themselves in a world of trouble, and it just keeps getting worse.
But when you’ve got a guy who can hunt fish – yes, hunt, with a bow – there’s not a whole lot you have to worry about, right?
Just when it seems like things are going to be okay, he unfortunately breaks his leg and turns into a giant whiny bitch. He really stops being useful in any way, and keeps making faces as if somebody has run over his puppy AND his grandmother.
This is one of those iconic movies that everybody should see once, just so you can say you saw it. I don’t think it’s culturally significant in any way, but it’s a hell of a thing to observe. It’s the sort of experience that won’t happen anywhere else, with any other movie. One of those movies that people try to lie about having seen, and it doesn’t work, because the lie is just too obvious.
Now that I’ve seen it twice in my life, I think I’m good. There’s no way that I can forget parts of it now, no sir. Firmly set in my brain, it is.
There’s exactly one movie on this planet that ever terrified me enough to give me lasting nightmares and long term issues with mirrors at night. This is that movie.
I started my horror movie watching early in life, so I can’t be sure why this one triggered that much fear in me when nothing else had. Perhaps it was the fact that it was watched late at night, during a storm, with all the girls from my Girl Scout troupe. They were all very screamy and terrified through the whole thing. For hours after they talked very specifically about how scary the movie was, and all refused to go to the bathroom alone. They jumped at every sound and were generally skittish about everything.
For a month after I would jump at my own reflection and I had dreams about my fellow Girl Scouts being ripped to bits. Bloody, horrible, graphic dreams.
As a person who has been independent most of her life, and never susceptible to suggestion like this, I can’t for the life of me figure out how this happened. The only part there that’s certain is that I had the fear. It was at least 6 years before I could even bring myself to watch it again. This right here is the first time since then that I’ve watched it (though this time there’s no significant reason for not seeing it).
Like all things that scare us as kids, watching this movie makes me wonder further why I was so scared. I’d seen worse prior to Candyman, and I’ve certainly seen worse since. Yet, I can still recall how it made me feel back then, even though I don’t feel the same way now.
This movie came along before this sort of story devolved into the realms of camp. Unlike I Know What You Did Last Summer and Urban Legend, this movie is done with better, more serious filmography and writing that doesn’t treat the watchers as if they’re infantile. It’s out to scare you, but it doesn’t rely on cheap tricks to do so. I’m not saying it’s the world’s best movie, but it’s certainly better than most of the Teen Screamers that arrived in the late 90’s.
One of the things this movie does that a lot of them don’t do is that it plays off the psychology of the main character. Not merely her fears, but also her sanity. She’s placed directly into the role of the killer despite her innocence. She’s not only tormented with the brutal deaths going on around her, but also with accusations that she’s the one committing them. As if that isn’t enough, they start telling her that she’s insane and even lock her away for it.
It can’t be easy to keep yourself together when everyone keeps saying you’ve lost it.
I’m unsure if owning this is a priority or not, which I suppose means that it’s not. It wouldn’t be objectionable to me, it’s not a bad film. If it made it’s way into my hands, I’d watch it, but it’s certainly not a movie I’d miss if it never did.
One note: Fucking hell, Tony Todd. Real bees? In the mouth!? Madness.