Splatter, slasher, robot cannibali, ultraviolenza, alieni iracondi, gore, tutti sottogeneri cinematografici in cui la violenza la fa da padrona, ma quali sono i film più truculenti di sempre? Ecco a voi, repressi amici di Alt(R)a Fedeltà, la classifica definitiva dei film più atroci di sempre, roba da chiudere gli occhi e implorare la pietà del vostro lettore DVD.

5) “Wolf Creek” di Greg McLean (2004)

Due ragazzi e una ragazza si ritrovano nel deserto Australiano (Parco nazionale di Wolf Creek appunto) per una gita di piacere: dopo aver scoperto che la macchina li ha abbandonati a sé stessi scopriranno (Peggio ancora) che quella sarà tutto tranne che una gita di piacere, grazie al prezioso aiuto di un maniaco sadico stupratore trovato sul posto. Il tocco finale? E’ una storia vera, e non si hanno notizie su come siano andate davvero le cose, l’unico sopravvissuto potrebbe anche (Nella vita vera…cazzo) essersi inventato tutto e aver massacrato impunemente le proprie compagne di viaggio. Attori sconosciuti, semiprofessionisti, violenza da professionisti veri. Consigliatissimo, è pure un bel film, il che non guasta.

4) “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” di Tobe Hooper (1974)

Un classicissimo dell’horror e dell’ultraviolenza. Dopo più di 30 dalla sua uscita al cinema ben pochi film possono giocarsela con questo delirante viaggio nella campagna texana, ispirato dai delitti di Ed Gein. Una gita pomeridiana che si trasforma in un viaggio nel terrore più profondo, il personaggio di Leatherface, l’idea di fondo di una vicenda non troppo lontana dalla realtà. Un grande classico che come il buon vino invecchiando migliora. Vale quanto detto per Wolf Creek: gran film, dev’essere visto. (Tra le altre cose l’immagine a sinistra è una delle più belle inquadrature della storia del cinema Horror…)

3) “I Spit on Your Grave” di Meir Zarchi (1978)

Alt(R)a Fedeltà è lieta di presentarvi il rape-revenge movie per eccellenza. Conosciuto in Italia con il delicatissimo titolo Non violentate Jennifer, oltre ad aggiudicarsi il premio speciale come opera più mutilata della storia dalla censura, si candida anche alla medaglia d’oro per la violenza gratuita. La vicenda narra di una giovane scrittrice che, dopo essersi trasferita in un delizioso paesino rurale della provincia Americana, viene violentata e torturata da quattro ragazzotti del posto: la sua vendetta non si farà attendere. Zarchi sceglie di non utilizzare alcuna colonna sonora per lasciare lo spettatore ancor più in balia della freddezza e della crudezza delle immagini; discutibile (A dir poco) la scelta di incentrare il film sulle sevizie del titolo Italiano (Quasi mezz’ora, raccapricciante) e dedicare alla vendetta della giovane una porzione piccola e distratta del film. Non l’abbiamo visto, ci teniamo a sottolinearlo, dubito lo vedremo mai.

2) “L’ultima casa a sinistra” di Wes Craven (1972)

Ben prima di Freddy e Jason, Wes Craven e Sean Cunningham si presero a braccetto per realizzare un caposaldo del moderno Horror. Violenza, omicidi, vendetta: un mix virtuoso di “I spit on your grave” e l’originale de “Le colline hanno gli occhi” (Dello stesso Craven), considerando che le storyline dei tre film si somigliano parecchio…

Forsenontuttisannoche: il film è in pratica un Remake horror (Diciamo una rilettura) di quel capolavoro indiscutibile che risponde al nome de “La Fontana della Vergine” di Bergman.

Innumerevoli versioni ed edizioni del film sono reperibili su DVD, VHS, Super8, una vera manna per i collezionisti, a causa dei diversi e numerosissimi tagli imposti dalla censura. Scegliete dunque il livello di violenza che più vi aggrada!

1) “Cannibal Holocaust” di Ruggero Deodato (1979)

Quattro giovani reporter sono incaricati di girare un documentario sulle tribù cannibali amazzoniche, incredibile a dirsi, riusciranno a superarne le gesta, e la loro dipartita sarà salutata dagli spettatori con un’ovazione da stadio. Un film assurdo, scene da delirio mentale (La ragazza indigena impalata, la tartaruga e il topo sventrati in presa diretta, il neonato nel fango…) è considerato il più famoso e controverso film del genere cannibal. Alla sua uscita generò gigantesche (E per una volta, giuste) polemiche, per le vere uccisioni di animali e per il realismo di alcune scene, tanto che lo si credette uno snuff movie: per questo motivo fu intentata una causa contro il regista. Il film rafforzò la fama di Deodato come autore estremo, dopo il precedente Ultimo mondo cannibale, e gli valse l’appellativo Monsieur Cannibal, datogli dai francesi, oltre a quello di imbecille, datogli da noi. Evitatelo, è davvero troppo.

Brent, un lycéen beau et glabre de 17 ans, est kidnappé par une camarade secrètement amoureuse qui, accompagné de son père, va lui faire vivre un bal de fin d’année redoutable entre deux coups de perceuse.

Deçu par Jennifer’s Body, mitigé sur All The Boys Love Mandy Lane, Ben voila un film qui risque de rehausser un peu le niveau. Présenté comme un croisement entre une comédie et un film d’horreur pour ado (enfin on se comprend) le premier film de Sean Byrne risque bien d’être la nouvelle sensation Australienne après le fameux Wolf Creek. Je n’ai vu aucune date de sortie en Europe pour le moment (le site officiel prévoit une sortie pour 2010), mais le film a déjà été présenté à divers festival ,comme celui de Toronto, et a remporté un franc succès (TIFF 09 Midnight Madness Audience Choice Award)

Malheureusement aucun Trailer n’est disponible pour le moment, et je ne sais pas vraiment pourquoi. Donc à la place une petite photo de la jolie actrice Jessica McNamee

It’s that time of the year when the air gets colder, the snow starts to fall, and the early season suspects open with a run or two providing us with a tease for the upcoming season. We all start to look forward to the opening day of our favorite mountain resort.  Listed below are all of Colorado’s Resorts reported opening days.

Enjoy and plan accordingly.

Arapahoe Basin:  Open

Aspen Highlands: Dec. 12th

Aspen Mtn: Nov. 26th

Beaver Creek: Nov. 25th

Breckenridge: Nov. 12th

Copper Mtn: Open

Crested Butte: Nov. 25th

Echo Mtn: Undetermined(early Dec).

Eldora: Nov. 20th

Howelsen: Undetermined(early Dec).

Keystone: Open

Loveland: Open

Monarch: Undetermined(early Dec).

Powderhorn: Dec. 17th

Purgatory: Dec. 27th

Silverton: Dec. 5th

Ski Cooper: Nov. 26th-Nov. 29th

Snomass: Nov. 26th

Sol Vista: Undetermined(early Dec).

Steamboat: Nov. 25th

Sunlight: Dec. 4th

Telluride: Nov. 26th

Vail: Nov: 20th

Winter Park: Nov. 18th

El territorio de la bestia (dir: Greg Mclean, 2007)

El pasado año llegó a nuestras pantallas con un par de años de retraso, dicho sea de paso, una película que acaparó la atención de críticos y aficionados, incluido el mismísimo Tarantino, que hasta le reservó un pequeño guiño en su “Death Proof“. Dicha película era “Wolf Creek“, el debut como director del australiano Greg McLean, otra vuelta de tuerca a la manida fórmula de “La matanza de Texas“. McLean no ha tardado en reincidir en el género y nos trae ahora “Rogue” (no confundir con la productora de cine), una monster movie con cocodrilo gigante de por medio.

La Bestia!

El director vuelve a su Australia natal, en donde un reportero, el televisivo Michael Vartan, se une a un grupo de turistas guiado por Radha Mitchell, la mamá de “Silent Hill“, que sufrirá en sus carnes las consecuencias de adentrarse en el territorio de la bestia al que alude el título en castellano. Cintas sobre reptiles asesinos hay muchas. Quizá demasiadas. No deja de ser loable el intento de ésta por rehuir de los tópicos, aunque la sensación de dèjá vu se hace patente desde los primeros minutos hasta casi el final. Es justo entonces cuando el curso de los acontecimientos toma otro rumbo con el fin de ofrecernos la clásica resolución, a través de una perspectiva menos factible, pero mucho más épica y original. Algo así como lo que sucedía en “Wolf Creek”, y es que, McLean repite como un autómata los fallos y virtudes de su ópera prima.

Obviando ya el hándicap que supone lidiar con una propuesta que se remonta a “Tiburón“, hay que reconocer que “El territorio de la bestia” consigue en cierta medida lo que se propone, o sea, entretener. Ya sea por la amena presentación de los personajes o simple curiosidad por saber cuál de ellos será el siguiente en formar parte del menú del simpático animal, la primera hora pasa en un abrir y cerrar de ojos. Buena parte del mérito radica en una envolvente fotografía de estética cercana al documental. Además, Greg McLean sabe dirigir y eso se nota, tanto en el uso del silencio como en el detalle de omitir los ataques y al propio monstruo, reservando su aparición para la confrontación final.

El gore es bastante escaso, no obstante, sus resultones efectos especiales suplen la carencia de más víctimas. Una de cocodrilos, a la que le falta más arrojo y mala leche para poder situarse por encima de la media.

22ª Participación y Última de Manu Riquelme!

This review first appeared on channel4.com/film

Rating: 3 stars

Summary: a moment’s drunken indiscretion with a strange young Irish drifter could cost Jess (Lisa Chappell) more than her intermittently troubled marriage: is her long-awaited pregnancy the work of her proud husband or her increasingly unhinged one-night lover?

Get ready to hug a hoodie

Just as Wolf Creek showed us the horrific underbelly of the backpacker trail, Coffin Rock, from the producers of Wolf Creek, gives us the darker side of Knocked Up. Set, like Wolf Creek, in Australia, Rupert Glasson’s directorial debut swaps the older film’s Outback setting for the small town of Coffin Rock. Sinister by name but not by nature, this coastal slice of hicksville isn’t the inbred hot-spot for evil that genre convention would have it be – here, it’s the young traveller from the outside world that provides the threat, and there is, praise be to the gods of filmmaking, nary a cliched sinister redneck to be seen.

A memorably creepy performance from young newcomer Sam Parsonson and a sympathetic turn from Lisa Chappell lend some weight to the slight but frequently moving premise. Jess and Rob are a couple who would be happily married, except that they’ve been trying for over a year to conceive and it ain’t happening. He’s become touchy in the extreme, unable to countenance the idea that a properly manly Aussie fella like himself might be packing dud people-paste. He’s teased by his fellows, whose overly familiar ribaldry pricks a sore spot. This precarious situation – grumpy hubby, wife at wit’s end – is observed by rootless young Irish drifter Evan, who spots an opportunity to ingratiate himself with Jess.

Jess’ first mistake is not taking Evan seriously. He’s younger than her; he seems lost but harmless. In a traditional town where men are providers, protectors, gruff and grizzled with age and experience, a kid who looks like a failed audition for an emo folk outfit seems incapable of posing a threat. Nor is Jess the stupid victim seen in many a cautionary morality tale; everything that she initially knows about Evan seems to chime with his story of slightly aimless, romantic wandering. The audience is shown his dark side long before she is, so we still get the fun of shouting “bad idea!” at the screen as a drunken, tearful Jess succumbs momentarily to his attentions, but we don’t feel the contempt that more inexcusably stupid actions might invite. Unwise she may be, but deserving of all that unfolds from this moment of madness, she is not.

Like Fatal Attraction before it, Coffin Rock shows how a temporary bout of poor decision making might lead to further lies, trauma and, in both these nightmare examples, murder. We knew this already. So what’s the point of Coffin Rock? Billed as a horror, it rarely horrifies. At one point Evan beats a fawn to death. While Bambi-bashing is hardly the stuff of rom-coms, it’s not scary, it simply serves to show us he’s disturbed, which has already been made quite clear in a number of subtler ways.

Horror can work very effectively without you giving more than a passing hoot about the characters (though in many of the best examples of the genre, you do). Coffin Rock stands or falls entirely by your reaction to these people – it’s not horror, it’s a melodramatic thriller, and seen from this perspective, it works nicely. Jess is a very credible lady in a difficult bind, her husband is sympathetic despite his destructive pride. Evan fascinates as a realistic psychopath who, rather than – to pick a few examples – frying up census takers’ livers with fava beans and a nice Chianti, orchestrating a cop-teasing series of overly elaborate Biblical themed deaths, or gleefully arranging a seemingly endless franchise perpetuating series of bloodletting japes for the sheer Saw-gasmic thrill of it all, simply wants to find a wife and have a baby. His methods are simply a little unorthodox.

Verdict:
Forget the sinister title and forget the Wolf Creek producers – think gender swap Fatal Attraction with a lot less misogyny and a bludgeoned baby deer standing in for the civet de lapin.

So what’s happened in the world of me while I’ve been regaling you with tales of the Eternal City?

Well the other day, as I walked the dogs on their morning trek down the lane past the Hall, I heard a sheep fart. Never heard a sheep fart before. It’s not entirely dissimilar to the noise that comes out of the front end, to be honest.

Also the other day, on the way to work a bug landed on the right lens of my glasses while I was doing 40mph. I’m not sure what sort of bug it was, but it was definitely green and, judging by the size, was a genetic cross between a blowfly and a water buffalo. And it was fine and healthy and just sat there. I tried shaking my head wildly, never a great idea while balancing on two wheels at high speed. Nothing doing. The cars behind me began to drop back from this loony epileptic biker. I did the ‘blowing upwards through pursed lips’ thing you do to get rid of flies when your hands are busy. And it disappeared past my eye and into the inside of my helmet somewhere. Not seen it since, or any sign of its demise. I wonder if it’s taken up residence in my ear, like Cardiogirl’s other half?

Last night I watched Wolf Creek. I wouldn’t say it was wasted time. I kind of enjoyed it. I was a little disappointed that the first 49 minutes was basically the ‘Blair Witch Road Trip Holiday’. 49 minutes of three kids getting drunk, camping, driving around and almost kissing. And then 41 minutes of actual film. 49 minutes of slow, rambling lead-in to 41 minutes of story. The film could have been over in an hour. But it was good. And unpleasant. I’ve not watched a horror/slasher/scary movie in quite a while, so it was fun.

I spent time after writing my entry about Rome and the Via Appia thinking about the valley of the Caffarella. The more I thought, the more I chuckled. And the more it sounded like a South African Blaxploitation Sci-Fi Erotica movie. Now there’s a concept to get your head round. And, of course, instead of Jane Fonda, this one would have to star Pam Grier.

Interestingly, the last two days I’ve tried to get to my diaryland account (I still have all my old entries on there), and when I type in the URL I get this:

You have been identified as a spammer by users on our site. People have been making fake blogs/diaries on our site recently to advertise things, so we have a large number of users looking out for this, and we are deleting these sites very quickly now.

If you are one of the people doing this, I would recommend giving up because we have a lot of people watching for this now (the people who find the most get a prize), and your fake diary will be shut down very fast. If you have received this message in error, contact our help department and we will see why you got this message.

Thanks,

DiaryLand admin

Strange, eh?

Ah well. Time for work.

Have fun all.

by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas

Evoking a rich generic ancestry of crazed-beasts-gone-wild films from Jaws (Steven Spielberg, 1975) and Razorback (Russell Mulcahy, 1984) to a slew of werewolf variants, Rogue is the story of a killer crocodile’s reign of terror over a group of tourists visiting a deserted Northern Territory river .The film is positioned amongst the long melo-horror tradition of innocence threatened by pointy-toothed villainy, and it utilises these generic assumptions to subvert broader notions of national identity. Through its sophisticated sound palette, it negotiates the unutterable complexity of Whiteness in contemporary Australia.

When Thomas Elsassear established melodrama as a feasible site for critical investigation in his 1972 essay ‘Tales of Sound and Fury: Observations of the Family Melodrama’, interest in the area was sparked in the context of the films of Douglas Sirk and the so-called ‘woman’s film’ of the 1950s. Later work by critics such as Steve Neale, Christine Gledhill and Linda Williams, however, resituates melodrama as a dominant narrative modality, what Gledhill defines as a ‘genre-producing machine’ rather than a genre itself. Melodrama provides the narrative foundations upon which a range of narratives may manifest, predicated upon a belief of a universe that is fundamentally moral in nature as outlined by Peter Brooks’ The Melodramatic Imagination: Balzac, Henry James, Melodrama and the Mode of Excess (1976).

The influence of this ‘genre-producing machine’ upon horror is demonstrated in a typical melodramatic scenario: a young girl (white dress, blonde ringlets) is tied to train tracks, screaming. A villain menacingly twirls his moustache as a steam train hurtles towards the girl. Urgency grows as the train draws closer, the spectator wondering, ‘Will the hero arrive in time?’. He does (it is almost always a He), saving the girl and ‘the day’. His act saves not just her life, but restores the moral universe—good has conquered evil. In horror, the key actions may not change, but the area of fascination for the spectator shifts: ‘What will she look like if the train hits? Do I dare look?’. Even if it is that very assumption that its aims to subvert, horror narratives are frequently predicated upon the moral universe constructed by the melodramatic imagination.

Like many horror films with a clearly defined monster, Rogue targets the melodramatic imagination. This is made no clearer than when a beer-fuelled Simon (Stephen Curry) refers to the villainous croc as ‘a steam train with teeth’, drawing an instant parallel with the above scenario. Rogue demonstrates the dominant narrative modality of melodrama within the generic horror text: when innocence is threatened by villainy, that villainy must be conquered (or potentially be conquered) to restore moral equilibrium. Rogue utilises this simple melodramatic structure, but defamiliarizes it and laden’s it with extreme ambivalence to create its final impact. That Rogue adopts a melodramatic framework does not mean it ‘is’ a melodrama as such, of course—rather, it questions the entire category of melodrama in terms of how it relates to the very notion of “Australian-ness”. Melodrama itself is racialised, and the carnivesque nature of the horror genre itself throws the whole category of ‘rogueness’—and Whiteness—into question.

Australian national cinema has historically sat uncomfortably with what it views as imported, ‘Hollywoodised’ aspects such as genre and melodrama. But horror finds itself in a unique situation: despite its clearly non-Indigenous status, Australian horror often caters specifically to popular notion of what Australian films ‘are’ because the open and ambiguous endings that mark the ‘arty’ Australian cinema are also a common generic feature of horror. While spawned from the ‘genre-producing machine’ of melodrama, horror uniquely does not demand happy endings: it doesn’t even necessarily require endings that make sense. Part of the pleasures afforded by the genre—in all its frenzied glory—is that it loves to keep questions open, either from a cynical desire to keep franchise options for the notoriously sequel-friendly genre open, or in ‘classier’ horror, an internal, narrative-driven goal of maintaining dread after the film watching experience is completed. It is a generic function for killers to not really be dead, for ghosts to not be completely exorcised and demons not totally put to rest: for Picnic at Hanging Rock’s Miranda never to return, for Wolf Creek’s Mick Taylor to vanish into thin air, and for the Harlequin’s legacy to live on in a small boy with DIY mud-pie eyeliner. Australian horror films are capable of bridging the gap between being ‘real’ Australian films by leaving endings open and inconclusive, but by also satisfying audiences by uniting them with distant (American) audiences under the rubric of the moral universe and the collective moral imagination.

As many have noted, the Gothic feature of ‘forbidden space’ manifests in Australian horror film (and perhaps Australian cinema more generally) as the frequent utilisation of the outback as a setting for narrative action. The outback/bush is represented in Australian cinema (as with other arts) as aged and wise, unfamiliar and alien to white settlers, a paradox of unpredictable beauty with chaotic and extreme violence (or, at least, the threat of violence). The dark and beautiful world of the Gothic is paralleled by this mythology of the Australian landscape in horror, the shadow, mystery and enigma lending themselves frequently to powerful images of danger and isolation. Wolf Creek, Razorback, Night of Fear (Terry Bourke, 1972) and Lost Things (Martin Murphy, 2003) all to varying degrees emphasise how the locally produced horror film engages through this popular image in Australian cinema with a wider mythology about the land as an overwhelming, uncontrollable physical, spiritual and moral force.

Horror has proven to be a highly appropriate forum for specifically Australian concerns, the iconic Little Aussie Battler taking the shape of the downtrodden hero or heroine battling the odds (and landscape) to survive in a display of visual, visceral excess. Horror creates a forum for specific local issues to be examined: what in horror is a standard generic element—the hero-villain, final girl or protagonist who is commonly an out-of-towner—in Australian horror is frequently used to explore aspects of national identity in crisis. Many Australian horror films adhere to the broader convention of the Outsider: all the films previously listed involve travel to a new location where the drama unfolds. Wolf Creek, Razorback and Rogue follow foreign travellers, engaging with this Outsider figure in a way that signifies an Anglo-Australian sense of ‘not belonging’, but simultaneously representing this in a figure that does not identify as Australian. Horror’s fascination with this notion of the Outsider offers a significant vehicle for exploring non-Indigenous tensions and insecurities in their relationship to the land. ‘Natural’ knowledge in Australian horror is often dangerous, not only in the sense that it opens a Pandora’s box of natural experience (such as experienced by Miranda and her cohorts in Picnic at Hanging Rock), but more literally for the Villainous Ocker, represented by Mick Taylor in Wolf Creek and Razorback’s Baker Brothers.

These murderously resourceful characters replicate familiar Bush Tucker Man mythology, but unlike other representations of this archetype, in horror these skills are rendered immediately violent and threatening. These white men are killers, potential rapists: they may be Masters of their individual domains who have conquered a natural environment their victims cannot, but their moral legibility is perfectly clear. Dominance of the land is pitched at odds against City Slicker social knowledge, driven by a fascination with the moral universe that is frequently stretched to a life-and-death degree of bodily threat. It is within the nuances of this moral spectrum that horror often finds its ability to address and even subvert dominant melodramatic norms.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the battle waged against the giant killer crocodile in Greg McLean’s Rogue. The assumption that the ‘rogue’ of the title is the croc itself is undermined by the final shot: the camera zooms in on the increasingly pixilated newspaper photo of the central protagonist, American travel writer Pete McKell (Michael Vartan). The image of ‘hero Pete’ (he saved the girl and thus the day) blurs in these final moments, drawing striking parallels to the fade-to-nothing departure of Mick Taylor in Mclean’s earlier Wolf Creek. Rogue is as complex as it is daringly simple: while dependant upon a simple melodramatic framework where good versus evil (good people, evil croc), it strives to question that definition, rendering many of its key characters frequently arrogant, often loud, selfish and completely unaware of the hubris entailed with being strangers in a strange land.

Horror’s visceral hypertheatricality allows McLean to work within a framework most suited to imparting the scope and impact of the threat of this ambiguous figure of the ‘rogue’. This need not only be visual: arguably one of the most powerful elements of both Wolf Creek and Rogue is the use of non-verbal sound. This again allows parallels with melodrama, this time in relation to Brooks’ delineation of it as a ‘text of muteness’. The retro-horror sound of the onamatapia-heavy title Wolf Creek (Woof! Creak!) denotes a key fascination with non-verbal sound that permeates Rogue. In horror, melodrama’s traditional focus on action and pathos is predominantly exhibited through physical movement, performative aspects of gender and a well-documented postmodern familiarity with the intertextual referencing—things other than verbal communication. In Slasher film in particular, dialogue is often impotent—it may fill narrative gaps, but it is spectacle that predominantly propels horror. The most remarkable Australian instance of muteness in the horror film is of course Terry Bourke’s Night of Fear, taking it to its logical extreme: a graphically violent horror film that, although filled with sound (screams, groans, music, grunts), has no dialogue as such (think of an Australian gore Rhubarb, Rhubarb. Picnic at Hanging Rock gleans its defining air of ethereal supernature through pan-flutes and an absence of chatter. Aside from some stiffly delivered but necessary basic exposition, conversation in Rogue is word-shaped ambiance: it is the texture and sound of language rather than its literal meaning that signifies its value.

Accents communicate as much as words in Rogue , and they highlight the brazen, pantomime-like simplicity that construct the 2-dimensional racial stereotypes that structure the film’s deliberately crude characterisations. This further emphasies their foreignness: the bumbling and aggressively protective Allen (Geoff Morrell), a Kenneth Williams-esque picture of British stuffiness; the slow-drawling American Everett (Robert Taylor) and his shrill, hysterical wife, Mary Ellen (Caroline Brazier); the too-easygoing Guinness-and-potato-plumped Irish backpacker, Gwen (Celia Ireland). It is the sound of words that carries greater effect than their meaning—the frequent slurred holler of ‘fyuk-in heyl’ by ockers Neil (Sam Worthington) and Collin (Damien Richardson) contrasts in tone, volume and intent with soft-spoken American journalist Pete: it is the quality of their voices as much as what they say that contains the melodramatic punch. While different nations are represented, the sound of chatter from the occupants of the boat reduced to an indistinguishable hum of Whiteness.

The significance of Brooks’ notion of muteness can be seen most effectively in the film’s final thirty minutes in the showdown between Pete and the croc. Aside from brief cries, Pete is relatively wordless. The croc-killing climax is executed with a distinct absence of verbal utterance: Pete and the croc don’t have much to discuss outside of the odd exclamation from the American journalist: their battle takes place in a realm outside of language. While dependent upon visual action, Mclean opts for a clear gestural palette during this climax: pietistic imagery is utilized on no less than three occasions, rendering an awareness of the heroine Kate’s (Radha Mitchell) Christ-like sacrifice inescapable. The oversized tree stump Pete uses to finally slaughter the croc attains a Carry On! level of outrageousness with its crotch placement reaching a virile 45-degree angle. The melodramatic aspects in both story and image are excessive to a point of comical silliness: notably, this contrasts starkly with the use of sound.

Whole subplots wordlessly open and close in Rogue. Taken on dialogue alone, the only indication of that Russell (John Jarrett) is a widow is cruise-leader Kate’s observation that he has two tickets. In a moment of pure melodramatic excess, the pathos-dripping image as he empties ashes into the river garners an even stronger heartstring tug when Cherry (Mia Wasikowska), whose pale and thin mother Elizabeth (Heather Mitchell) was previously shown mechanically downing pills, catches his eye. Instantly, she understands his loss. He knows that she knows. And we know that they both know. After Alan dies (almost immediate punishment for his fit of excessive and hysterical selfishness to save himself and his daughter at the expense of the rest of the groups safety) a brief shot shows Russell huddled with Elizabeth and Cherry. In this fleeting image, the restoration of the moral universe is suddenly, silently but vividly possible. It need not be maintained throughout the rest of the film, but that one moment consists of the melodramatic promise that order—just maybe—might be restored.

The croc himself is wordless, but not silent. The attention paid to the minutest detail of sound in Rogue takes pains to highlight similarities between its monstrous, bass-like groan. While the swag of differing English-speaking accents suggest an Anglo centre, the rest of the soundtrack emphasizes their difference but refuses to privilege that sound—White Voices become another surface atmosphere. Registered deeper down the scale are the groans of the croc itself, the bass-like roar of motors, and a diverse musical score utilizing everything from musical saws to knitting needles, laden with Indian Classical violin, sound sculptures by Rod Cooper, and most strikingly, Jida Gulpilil’s renditions of the songs of Bobby Bunanggurr. These sounds combine to effectively expel the conglomerate of internally fractured Whiteness (in terms of the cast themselves and the moral hyperactivity that dominates the melodramatic structure) from within the depths of the film itself. There are two worlds in Rogue —the surface buzz of high-pitched, ineffectual chatter of the tourists, and the non-verbal depths of the world they invade. That world is not specifically Indigenous—notably, it is simply un-white. They are outcasts in sound. Pete straddles the two spheres, Rogue -like: but rather than endowing him with the status of the melodramatic hero, he joins Mick Taylor as he fades into a mythic Never Never of mute ambivalence.

Rogue engages melodrama’s penchant for muteness to expose and undermine the very structures upon which the narrative is constructed. It racialises melodrama itself—melodrama is white, and its stories of strong heroes, virtuous heroines and evil villains are rendered as out of place in the Australian outback as much as the awkward tourists themselves. The pretence of a melodramatic framework is offered with the sole intent of collapsing it, rendering the defeat of the killer crocodile both strangely hollow and infinitely satisfying. The hero saved the day, the girl and conquered the villain, but instead of victory, we are left with a faded stare, a glimpse of a victory that should be tangible but, in this environment, is reduced to something far less substantial. It is through its melodramatic excess that Rogue at its core explores the complexities that govern Australia’s unique relationship with the moral universe that governs the melodramatic imagination. It is the place of horror within this imagination that makes it the ideal forum to explore notions surrounding the deeply subjective nature of ‘the Other’ in Australian film.

Sinopse: Baseado em fatos reais, três mochileiros de vinte e poucos anos que esperavam tomar muito sol nos descampados australianos, mas terminam vivenciando o maior terror de suas vidas. Depois de um dia de passeios pelo Parque Nacional de Wolf Creek, Liz (Cassandra Magrath), Kristy (Kestie Morassi) e Ben (Nathan Phillips) não conseguem fazer seu carro andar. Como é de praxe no gênero, um nativo tipo Crocodilo Dundee oferece ajuda – ou ao menos diz que está lá só para ajudar…

Bom filme, bom elenco… faz você torcer pelos personagens e pega raiva do cara mal

Clique na imagem abaixo e você será direcionado para o download via Torrent:

“Weird Al” Yankovic, who co-wrote the movie UHF, joked once about having one or two screenplays collecting dust in his desk, saying that nobody would believe he lived in Southern California if he didn’t have at least one unproduced script in his office.

Along that vein, I have thought that nobody would believe I work on fiction if I didn’t have at least one screenplay or teleplay, unpublished, waiting to see the light of day.

So, at the suggestion of someone, I am setting about to take an unpublished short story of mine and working on a script for it to see how that turns out.

I’m taking the shotgun appoach: read a few scripts, focusing on their style and format and trying to use those to come up with mine.

Should be lots of fun. It’s a challenge too, because if it works, who knows where it could go…these days it’s a very rare occasion that I see a suspense movie that I really like. In the past few years, I’ve liked Dead Silence, Hard Candy, the remake of When A Stranger Calls, 1408 and the Australian thriller Wolf Creek.

Ausztráliában 30 000 ember tűnik el évente. Legtöbbjük néhány napon belül előkerül. Néhányuk évek múltán sem. A Wolf Creek című horror 3 fiatal történetet meséli el. Igaz történet alapján… akkor itt áljunk meg egy pillanatra és szögezzük le, hogy ez az igaz történet alapján dolgot kb úgy kell érteni, mint a Blair witch projectnél. Van benne valós információ, de a jelentős része feltevés, vagy még az sem. Ez csak egy dolog, ettől függetlenül a Wolf Creek lehetne egy remek horror.

2 lány és egy fiú útnak indul Ausztrália alig lakott részei felé, hogy megnézze a Wolf Creek nevű krátert. Gyönyörű tájakon repesztenek egy ócska kocsival. Esténként tábortüzet raknak, ufó történeteket mesélnek. Minden kötelezően idilli. Úticéljuk elérése után különös események veszik kezetüket. Furcsa az időjárás, az óráik megállnak, a kocsi lerobban. Kezdenek pánikba esni, de szerencsére egy arra tévedő idegen felajánlja, hogy segít nekik.

A film a texasi láncfűrészes gyilkos egyik utódja a sok közül, amik között vannak sokkal ijesztőbbre sikerült porontyok. Van a Wolf Creekben némi izgalom, de jóval kevesebb meglepetés. Mi az ami emeli a film színvonalát? Jók a színészek, nem játszák túl a szerepüket, kihozzák a szerepből amit lehet, és nagyon jó az operatőri munka. Eleve olyan környezetben játszódnak az események, aminek van egy nagyon különös, baljós hangulata. Jót tesz a filmnek az is, hogy nincs a végtelenségig túlbonyolítva a történet, csak sajnos ezt a storyt már ezerszer hallottuk. Végeredményben egy egyszer nézhető, közepesnél kicsit jobb film. Tudomásom szerint tervezik a folytatást…

This summer I have played 3 rounds of golf.  Normally I only golf about once every 2 years or so, but this summer my brother Wesley was working on the maintenance crew at Wolf Creek, a world class 36 hole golf resort only a couple kilometres from my mom and dad’s house.  I also used to work there when I was in high school in Ponoka, so I know the course pretty well and even some of the people who still work there.

A few weeks ago Wesley and I played the west 9.  There was a thunder and hail storm tracking toward the golf course so we were warned that we should come straight back in at the first signs of lightning or rain.  By the time we teed off on the second hole the wind was already picking up and before we reached the green it was sprinkling rain with lightning on the horizon.  Being a little stubborn and not wanting to give up the opportunity for a free game of golf with my brother, I kept telling him (and myself) that we were still safe and the lightning wasn’t close enough to mean we should head back.  So we kept playing in the rain, Wesley parred hole #3, and then on hole #4 there were a couple forks of lightning that looked REALLY close!  So after our drives both went straight into the woods, I said to Wes “I think we should head to the clubhouse!”.  But just as our golf cart rounded the bend near the parking lot we saw the sky completely open up and the rain suddenly stop.  The back side of the storm was passing over us and it looked like we’d be safe, so we headed for the tee box of the fifth hole.

We ended up finishing the 9 holes, but by the end it was so completely pitch black that it was almost impossible to find our balls unless you stumbled right on it.  Needless to say we were the only fools left on the course.  Last night I was back at the Wolf again, this time with Wes and also our dad.  The three of us decided to walk instead of driving 2 carts, and we were playing the new north 9.  It was amazing, the perfect golfing weather.  Not too hot or too cold, no wind, hardly any bugs, and I’m convinced it was no coincidence when the beer cart girl drove up and I just happened to have some change in my pocket and an empty beer holder on my pull cart.

We all had some amazing shots, some incredible puts, and of course some incredibly horrible holes as well.  But it was just so much fun to be out there on the brand new Linx with my brother and my dad, enjoying some male bonding time and seeing first hand the fruits of all the physical Wes has put into the golf course this summer.  And just like the last game Wes and I played, by the time we were on the last hole it was so insanely dark that we were mistaking empty beer cans for golf balls and couldn’t even tell which way the green was from half way down the fairway and had to listen for where the ball landed instead of watching for it.  Needless to say, our scores on the last few holes suffered as a result.

Last night I watched Wolf Creek, the most brutal film I have ever seen.

It’s not so much that it’s a flawless horror; I’d say it all resolves itself in a bit of a rush. It’s not even particularly creepy, or eerie, or spooky. It’s just downright bloodcurdling and pant staining. At the same time it does that bastard thriller thing of being wickedly gripping; who’s the sadist who came up with that concept?

If there is anybody you want to show up, perhaps somebody who’s a little too macho for their own good or maybe just ever so slightly conceited, make them watch this movie. In fact, if they are going travelling, even better. It’ll turn them into a quivering baby.

Thankfully I managed to evade the boogieman and make it through the night… just.

KennyX

Today’s Green Tip is actually an aritcle written by one of our members.  He is discussing something we are doing right here in our community!

Build a Rain Garden, A Household Way to Clean Streams and Rivers

By Scott Fanello

This Fall, the Green Advisory Team in partnership with the Town of  Fayetteville, New River Master Gardeners, West Virginia Deptartment of Environmental Protection, and Plateau Action Network plan to build a rain garden at Fayetteville High School that will help soak up rainwater, reduce erosion, and keep polluted runoff out of Wolf Creek. Why do we love rain gardens so much? Because they contribute to cleaner streams and rivers, create wildlife habitat, add beautiful landscaping, and provide underground water to streams during dry spells. Most importantly, they protect communities from flooding and drainage problems. Each rain garden may seem small, but collectively they improve the environment for your family and community.

So how do you build one? First, measure the area of your house. For example, a 30’ X 30’ home will have a 900 square foot rooftop. Rain gardens should be 20% of that size and 6-12 inches deep for sandy, well-drained soils and 30% of that size and 3-6 inches deep for clay, poorly drained soils. For our example, a clay soil will require 30% of 900 sq. ft. or a 67.5 sq. ft. rain garden, 3-6 inches deep.

Second, choose a location for the rain garden that is at least 10 feet away from the house where you can direct your downspout or sump pump. The site should be lower than the level of the house. Pick an area with as much sun as possible.

Third, please call Miss Utility at 800.245.4848 before digging! Use a string to outline your garden. A kidney or teardrop shape works best and it looks nice. Then dig in.

Dig to the chosen depth and use the extra soil to create a berm on the lower side of the garden. You can also add a bit of compost, if you like. Compact the berm to prevent erosion. Make sure the bottom is level to ensure water will be evenly distributed to all of your plants.

Lastly, plant your rain garden; use native plants if possible. Choose plants that are both drought tolerant and can handle wet soils for up to 24 hours, such as asters, switch grasses, and mints. You can also use shrubs like mountain laurels, holly, and clematis or trees such as dogwoods, oaks, even ash and cedar. Water frequently until the plants are established. To help with Fayetteville’s rain garden or for more information on building your own contact Scott Fanello at 304.465.6544 orscott_fanello@partner.nps.gov.

This weekend is going to be the beginning of a new epic tradition.  Introducing the 1st Annual Shank & Bake Open.  This event is for the diehard golfers who want to test their limits and challenge their mental strength, stamina, tolerance, and patience.  This is the marathon of golf .

What is this insanity I speak of?

The Shank & Bake Open is a 72-hole golf event that takes place in the middle of the summer and in the middle of the desert where temperatures will be “bake”-ing in excess of 100 degrees (but it’s a dry heat ).  We play 4 rounds across 4 different incredible courses in Mesquite, NV and St. George, UT spanning 2 or 3 days.

Here are the details of the 2009 Shank & Bake Open (July 10 – July 12):

Day 1 PM:  Wolf Creek Golf Club, Mesquite, NV

Day 2 AM:  Entrada at Snow Canyon Private Club, St. George, UT

Day 2 PM:  Coral Canyon Golf Club, St. George, UT

Day 3 AM:  Falcon Ridge Golf Club, Mesquite, NV

We have a group of people ready to play their hearts/minds out to become the 2009 Shank & Bake Champion!   Cash will be exchanged and bragging rights will be earned!

I can’t wait!

more of this, please

Seeing the John Sayles scripted Alligator on TV as a little kid satisfied my craving for alligator run amok movies for about 19 years.   Then in 1999, Steve Miner (Friday the 13th movies) directed Lake Placid, a solid entry driven by David Kelley’s witty script and a strong cast featuring (restrained) Bill Pullman, (beautiful) Bridget Fonda, (hilarious) Betty White and (manic) Oliver Platt.  The four leads were perfectly  balanced against the horrors perpetrated by the giant killer gator.  And now I have seen two decent alligator movies.  Seems like plenty.

So why bother with Rogue?  Surprisingly, Rogue is not like Alligator or Lake Placid.  Greg McLean, who burst onto the horror scene with 2005’s Wolf Creek, brings Pete McKell, a travel writer, to the gorgeous Australian Outback where he quickly embarks on a boat tour captained by Visitor’s Radha Mitchell.  Capturing the mountainous terrain, carved cliffs, and flowing rivers, Rogue feels like an advertisement for the outback.  McLean’s camera is in awe of the territory, and the wide angle shots are stunning in their expanse.  With the use of effective musical effects, the first 20 minutes of Rogue are hypnotic.   

Floating slowly down the river, we meet the passengers.  Each has their secrets, and McLean goes for subtlety with each reveal.  Although much less clever than intended, the passengers each avoid the standard cliché’s.  It is clear from the start, however, that Radha Mitchel and Micheal Vartan’s characters are the focal point; and their cool, flirtatious glances at each other seem to indicate something more to come.  Unfortunately,  our  fearless tour guide is too busy rattling off deadpan facts about the territory’s alligator behavior to really care, and as a gator propels itself high above the water to grab a piece of meat dangling from the tour boat across the lake, another seed is effectively planted for a later scene. 

scene stealer Sam

After a brief interruption from Neil, played by Sam Worthington, a passenger spots a flare and the boat sets off to investigate.  The tension of Rogue is mostly in the anticipation of the “rogue” alligator’s inevitable appearance, so the fact that McLean coaxes us to really immerse ourselves in the journey down the river is deserving of praise.  

Once the alligator, visually stunning and ferocious, makes its appearance, however, the movie loses some of its momentum.  Fortunately, Sam Worthington’s character shows up, adding some energy to the happenings.  During the film’s best moment, it is Worthington who steals the spotlight.  He is larger than life next to Vartan’s American writer, and this dichotomy is effective and realistic.  Rogue would have benefitted from more of Worthington’s gritty character.

Unfortunately, the very location designed to increase the danger also serves to hinder the development of story.  The passengers are stranded helplessly on a small island, so small that there is no room for them to even walk around.  McLean seems to realize the limitations here and in rushing quickly to its conclusion, Rogue suffers. 

The slow unveiling of character, the subtle moments of beauty, and the chilling sound effects are discarded once the darkness comes.  The passengers are tired, frustrated, and losing hope.  But McLean doesn’t seem to know what to do with them.  Rogue loses steam and all sense of time and place during its final act.  The light comes way too early (wasn’t it just dark), a cave seems to appear from nowhere (is that inside a tree?), and the dog, an obvious plot device, ends up doing exactly what a dog in a horror movie always does (oh no, don’t go in there). 

run of the mill

So Rogue is a mixed bag.  On the one hand, it is a very effective, tension filled journey toward doom in the heart of the glorious Australian Outback; but on the other hand, Rogue is an old fashioned, killer gator on the loose B movie.  Populated with strong acting, all around nice characters, and some realistic, heart wrenching moments, Rogue is almost the perfect man vs. nature film.  But the final 15 minutes manages to dismantle the whole event, leaving me feeling cheated and empty.  Greg McLean is clearly a filmmaker honing his craft, and I expect his next effort to be a more complete tale.

By AUDREY M. MARKS

I haven’t been able to focus lately.
I don’t know if it is the mind-melting heat or the distant calls of summers past. But lately all I can think about is summer camp.
When I was little, my parents would send me to the local YMCA Day Camp for about a week each summer. I’m not sure how they do it in Texas but in Grove City, Penn. there is a small log cabin between the organization’s outdoor pool and the baseball fields that sits on a hill and acts as the control center for the week’s activities. Your parents drop you off and you trudge up the hill to the cabin to find out what schedule of activities you’re involved in and then go off with your group for the day.
There were horses, which I hated. There were bike rides through the woods, which was what we used to do everyday in my neighborhood so I never understood the point. There were hokey plays and I vaguely remember a large ice cream sundae made in a trough, which utterly freaked me out.
The one memory I have from summer camp that will forever stick out in my mind involves two of my older cousins setting off bottle rockets in the park and a fellow camper recognizing them. Imagine my surprise when the local police show up and question me about the mishap, basically asking me to rat out my cousins seeing how fireworks are illegal in Pennsylvania and all. I was 10.
But for all the complaining about summer camp, I did enjoy two activities everday. The swim lesson and the end of the day swim before you packed it up and went home were my best memories of day camp.
But by the time I was in third grade I realized I was not a camping kind of gal. I like the outdoors in small doses, but even as a child I didn’t necessarily love being filthy for long stretches of time. I did not fight my parents when they told me to shower.
Now enter my love for swimming. Around 5th grade, after a brief stint living in California we moved back to Pennsylvania and found a competitive swim team in the area that I joined. I wasn’t the fastest person on the swim team, but I wasn’t the worst. I got serious about training and was good enough.
So after my first year of swimming competitively, I convinced my parents to plunk down a wad of cash to send me to swim camp. While visions of Nike camps at elite swimming universities danced in my head, I was pulled down to earth when I discovered I would be going to local Division III college Coach Jim Longnecker’s swim camp.
Now came the tough call, was I going to go to the outdoors, woodsy summer camp (where you lived in cabins and trained in an outdoor pool at all hours of the day) or be a total wimp and attend the session at Grove City College, which as luck would have it would be in my hometown?
I’m not going to mince words, I do not wake up early to jump into an ice cold pool outdoors and shower off in cabins. I’m not the type that encourages her family to go camping.
Indoor camp, where we stayed at college dorms was much more my style.
So I suppose it comes down to this: I’ve never been camping. I’ve never slept on the ground in a tent for more than one night. Nor have I spent the night in a tent somewhere other than a friend’s backyard.
I’m a huge fan of running water and electricity and I am keen on sleeping in a bed.
However, once (or twice) a year I do make an exception and head back to my hometown and visit my friends for one of my favorite annual events: the cabin party. We go out, enjoy the cabin in all its majestic wonder and generally sleep in the back of a friend’s vehicle. I do admit I’ve hit a cot or two and slept on the pull out bed in the cabin once as well, quite the experience.
But this summer marks a departure for the crew. A weekend long bash has been scheduled and, with a loving nod to our collective youths, been dubbed summer camp.
While I didn’t pick up my Pennsylvania fishing license I do plan on throwing horse shoes, playing bocce ball, making macaroni necklaces and working on some sweet tie dye t-shirts. I’m going to sleep in a tent and probably cook things over a fire. (I’m also going to knock back some adult beverages)
Not to over romanticize this weekend getaway, I will be living without running water and that means navigating the David Bowie bog (think Labyrinth) and using the outhouse. It is my least favorite thing about the cabin, though since our boy Ron got engaged he has been better about remembering the ladies and packing toilet paper. Thanks buddy.
But the best part is reconnecting with my friends. This trip is extra special because I’m going to a bridal shower tea to celebrate my friends Ron and Pam’s pending nuptials. Just another milestone that makes me turn back and remember when we all took pre-school, gymnastics classes and yes attended the YMCA Day Camp together.
So until then I need to focus, not worry about the searing heat. Yes for the next week I need to be content and dream of Wolf Creek, stellar music and old friends around the fire.

Gnaw en IMDB

[Parece como si The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) se estrenó en Europa apenas hace 7 años. Francia e Inglaterra han usado ese blueprint que diseño Tobe Hooper. Le han pegado duro a esa textura gritty, inspirada en los lugares remotos, donde la evolución llegó hasta cierto punto y se negó a avanzar más. En el aislamiento, el hombre crea su propio universo; dicho universo viene provisto con su propia Constitución. Ejemplos referenciales: recientemente Frontière(s) y la aussie Wolf Creek. Las influencias se rebelan, sobreexpuestas. Yo, por eso madres que voy a ranchos, menos en un sólo auto. Requiero plan B en caso de darse el worse case scenario. He visto mucho. Cine.]

["Good try. Los actores se ven acá, como en sus early veintitantos (corridones) pero actúan y se visten como adolescentes. Es más, creo que deben ser adolescentes. Es un handicap que hace ruido. Lo cual me lleva a hablar del sonido que está bien weird. ¿Recuerdas el sonido del campo patentizado en Viernes 13—(uh-uh-uh-ha-ha-ha), como un búho sintético—, a eso + sonidos de salivación. Por eso dije weird. Y luego viene la música. Hay momentos donde debieron irse con sonido directo, en otros arruinó atmósferas. Debió ser más recatado el arreglista. Todo esto, impide que te concentres.]

[Le puedo perdonar mucho a una película de terror, pero (1) hay de clichés a clichés, y el villano detallista da risa. Esos que van más allá con tal de dar el mejor servicio y cargan con memorabilia que muestran a sus víctimas previo a la muerte: te encuentras la foto del niño que pateaste en la cara cuando estabas en el kinder y comprendes que es él quien te quiere matar ahora por que nunca lo olvidó, y (2) las cajas de música dejaron de dar miedo hace rato. Perdón, pero alguien tenía que decirlo.]

tweets totales: 26*

—————

i. [Ese montaje en la hemeroteca está detallado, pero se alarga mucho. Se hace repetitivo.]

ii. [Ella tiene una mancha de catsup en la boca, él la limpia con el dedo y luego se lo lleva a la boca, como si no nada hubiera pasado.]

iii. [Eso podría considerarse romántico o sexoso, depende de la forma en que veas la vida. A mi me parece gross. Nadie toma de mi vaso. Nadie.]

iv. [El primer baño en el minuto 14, un poco tarde para una de terror. Pero se ponen fresas y fingen ser artistas.]

v. ["It's a common belief that any place which has witness death, becomes immediately haunted."]

vi. ["Jesus, Matt, grow some fuckin' balls!", dice el bravucón antes de salir a investigar el ruido. Y ya sabemos cómo termina ese experimento.]

vii. [Y creo que me ofendería más que me dijeran "haz que te crezcan pelotas" a que me digan "pinche culo". No sé. Es cuestión de escrúpulos.]

viii. [También he notado un aumento significativo en el uso de trampas para osos. Es demasiado violento, los animales no se merecen ese trato.]

ix. [Pero el "malo" de aquí, trae un look brit que no convence. Parece primo glam de Leatherface luego de haber visto The Village. Cruel chicness.]

x. [La muerte adentro de ese Toyota estuvo de hueva absoluta. El pedo era dar miedo, risa, ¿o ternura? Pensé que no usarían la "mano en ventana"]

xi. [Por ejemplo aquí, debió usar la máscara siempre, esa que parece una mezcla de El Espantapájaros (Jonathan Crane) y El Hombre Elefante.]

xii. [No entiendo por qué se quita la máscara, no es como que se trata de Robert Downey, Jr. Este actor no tiene calibre para exponerse vis-à-vis.]

xiii. [Esta familia le tiene más amor a la cocina, es decir, no consumen carne humana por mamones, sino por el valor culinario.]

xiv. [Intentan hacer repostería. Pero sabemos que cualquier receta, si incluye carne humana—a huevo—, en sabor, va a estar limitado.]

xv. [Un easter egg—si te aguantas los créditos— te da un vistazo a cómo el negocio podría tener futuro si emigrara a la ciudad. Risky business.]

xvi. [¿Y la canción de los créditos finales es un indie folk rock? Huevos. Habrá que regresar a la pizarra y analizar la lección aprendida aquí.]

———————————————–

*[referencia: esta nueva temporada traerá cambios importantes. en el último mes, me reconcilié con twitter, y uno de los usos que me ha fascinado, es el de escribir mientras veo una película. aclaro que no es una práctica que recomiendo. pero el comentario directo, sin filtro y desnudo me ha seducido. cada semana voy a twitter y en directo, me siento a ver una cinta -porque enviar txts en el cine es incultura y vil majadería-, y a comentarla con quienes se presten a leerlo. aquí publicaré los mejores tweets; allá se quedará lo demás. suscríbete aquí.]

We got to go on the PEAK family trip this past weekend. OMGosh it was so much fun! I love spending time with my family; we always stay up way late and play all kinds of games!

As Andy and I were driving to Grandmas house we saw this guy, I could not stop laughing at his racing gloves that he had on… LOL

We got to Grandmas and got the cars packed, when everyone got there (Marie and Kenn, Steven and his family and Andy and I) we all went to Grandma and Grandpa Greats grave site. I have not been there in almost 3 years:

We also put flowers on Aunt Marjorie, and Joe’s grave sites:

I thought that these froggies were so cute:

When we got to the resort we pulled out the camping chairs and hung out in the living room and did what we all do best (LOL) talk!

We talked for hours and also played games until WAY late Friday night. We got to play Phase 10 Twist. I have never played it before and I am now hooked! Andy and I will buy that game. Then Saturday morning Andy and I went fishing. It was a lot of fun hanging out relaxing looking at the beautiful view:

Andy and I right before my cell phone took a dip in the water… I was so sad!

After fishing we went back to the resort and got in our swim suits and went to the pool with my uncle, aunt and their kids. We were only at the pool for about 20ish min when they closed the pool because of thunder. We found my other Aunt and Uncle and stat and talked to them. My Uncles and cousins played Soccer and Horse Shoes:

Andy and I got to hang out with my youngest cousin Jace, he loved playing with Andy. They made up riddles, and played all kinds of games. I love watching Andy play with kids, I know he is going to be a great dad when we have kids!

We got back to the room and played games again until about midnight! Then Andy and I went up to the bed room where Kenn and Marie were. We all stayed up and chatted and hung out even later:

Sunday we got up and went to church, then came back and took a nap then play Wii. It was fun watching Uncle Steven, Andy, Gray, Kenn and Jace playing Wii. I even played it bit… I did a boxing challenge and boxing lesson. I lost to Gray…(yep he’s 9)

Monday Andy and I got up early so that we could get home and go to a BBQ with Jose and his family. We took some pictures on the drive home:

By the time this weekend was over we were pooped!