"Plag Meen": Mama Fish by Rio Youers

My to-be-read pile, isn't really a pile, it's more like an entire bookshelf. Unwieldy to say the least. That's why I've been taking this break to read. A lot. I can't write up every book, doesn't mean I didn't like them, it just means they aren't topical (for example, I just finished Bloodstone by Nate Kenyon, a very good book well worth your time, but also one that's been out for a while and received some great write ups by people better qualified than me).

I've been trying (and failing) to keep up with Shroud's novella series. I loved Tom Piccrilli's All You Despise, already reviewed the first Hiram Grange and I am more than halfway through R. Scott Mccoy's Feast as I write this. Which brings us to the topic of discussion: Rio Youers' Mama Fish.

The page count is slight but the plot and emotion outweighs that of any book in recent memory. In Mama Fish, Youers bounces from 1986 to present day to tell a genre bending story that is humorous, heart breaking, and funny while being both in awe and critical of the "wired" world we now inhabit. He does all this in crisp prose and a narrative voice that is sly, but never over indulgent.

The story is narrated by Patrick, a thirty six year old paraplegic who reminisces about his high school days and the strange boy, Kelvin Fish, that he tried to befriend with disastrous results. To summarize any more would ruin it. Just get the book.

The juxtaposition of Patrick's adventure as a kid, all of his internal flights of fancy kept intact, with his world-weary observations about technology and the way we grow dependent on them are both frightening and frighteningly accurate.

I haven't read his other books (something I will be sure to alleviate soon), but I can say that Mama Fish is the work of someone not afraid to mix it up. A confident voice untethered by the preconceived "demands" of a certain genre (be it horror or otherwise). A smart book that doesn't talk down to readers, and rewards them for their intelligence. This was easily one of the best books I read this year and further proof that some of the best stuff comes from the small press.

Christmas Blockbuster Face Off: Avatar vs. Sherlock Holmes

Okay, I know neither of these films is horror, but don't worry we'll get back to my bread and butter after this brief sojourn into mainstream popcorn fair. So without further ado, my take on this Christmas' box office heavyweights:

Avatar is a cult film. Wait, don't misinterpret what I'm saying. I'm not saying that James Cameron's ludicrously expensive scifi flick is in the same category as Rocky Horror or The Evil Dead.

I mean it is literally a Cult film. As in: James Cameron returned after ten years underwater wearing a blue satin robe and demanding that the American movie-going public drink his Kool-Aid. Which they did.

Not just your average Joe moviegoers either, Avatar is a critical darling and one of the best reviewed movies of the year. I'm beyond baffled. I'm not complaining about the film's much talked-about environmental message (quite the contrary, I'm in favor of it...preach away). It's not a deal breaker that the film's story is remarkably similar to a myriad of "going native" pictures, I certainly don't mind a simple story done well, and I have nothing against the digital wizardry on display.

No, Avatar's fatal flaw is how boring it is.

There is so much time spent watching cookie-cutter characters we care nothing about do things that are pretty to look at, but not much else.

The first 40 minutes and the climactic battle sequence are intensely enjoyable, a fun, if shallow, ride. The problem is that that's only a third of the movie. This third is especially spectacular in Imax 3D, but if a gigantic screen, 3D effects and bone-shaking sound are on the menu, a film has to be trying extra hard to bore me.

I didn't hate Avatar, but I didn't like it either. There are some bright spots, most notably the bad guys. Giovanni Rabisi play's the film's wormy company yes-man and Stephen Lang plays a space-marine so grizzled that he makes Rambo look like a toy poodle. When these characters are on screen we get glimpses of the film as the hammy blast that it could have been, but when they leave we are left with a bunch of blue cat people who take themselves (and the movie) way too seriously.

If Avatar was an over-hyped let-down then Guy Richie's take on Sherlock Holmes was the movie that nobody expected to be any good in the first place.

What a nice Christmas present it was to see that Sherlock Holmes is a fresh, funny and surprisingly faithful adaptation of one of literature's most iconic characters.

When the initial trailer for Richie's film came out, I was concerned. The trailer played more like a spoof of Holmes than an adaptation. The internet was abuzz with bad mouthing, Ritchie was "MTV-izing" Conan Doyle's creation. Well, as I think it was Shakespeare, who said: "Haterz b' Hatin."

This movie gets Holmes right through and through: his manic depressive binges when he doesn't have a case to "stimulate him," his homosocial relationship with Dr. Watson, his repartee with the police (especially Lestrade), his many disguises: it's all here, there's even a reference to his brother Mycroft! Of course their is a bit of light Hollywood tinkering going on, but even Holmes' boxing and karate antics (which every "serious critic" has poo-poo'd) are present in the original stories and novels.

The story is a cobbling together of a bunch of Holmes tales, most noticeably The Sign of Four, while combining them with a new twist that introduces a "Da Vinci code-esque"(trust me, it's not as tiresome as it sounds) element to the story.

It's no surprise, at all, that Robert Downey Jr. is excellent. But probably the biggest winner in Holmes is Jude Law. Just when he was all but counted out as "movie star" material he turns in this terrific performance. When you can steal even one scene from the sly Downey Jr. then you are one helluva actor.

This is what big franchise movie making should be: great characters played by great actors, plus some well-placed explosions and humor mixed in to ensure everyone can enjoy themselves. "Franchise" being the operative word here:

You can keep Pandora, James, because 221b Baker St is the place I want to visit again in a few years.

Hard-Gore: Wrath James White's The Resurrectionist

Before picking up Wrath James White's new book The Resurrectionist I had heard some very good things about his Mass Market PB debut, Succulent Prey. Well, the demands of life got in the way and I never wound up picking up Succulent Prey.

The Resurrectionist firmly belongs in the category of "hardcore" horror fiction, a sub-genre that includes Edward Lee, some of the work of Jack Ketchum and even the late-great Richard Laymon. The "hardcore" movement is often unjustly maligned as being "torture porn," but when executed by responsible writers who know what they're doing: this is never the case. White's novel is a perfect example of this type of writing done well. There is an abundance of gore and sexualized violence but it is all placed in a bigger socio/political/spiritual context that provides food for thought between grisly murders.

The premise is a quite ingenious one. It concerns Dale, a young man who finds that he has the miraculous power to heal the dead when he witnesses the murder of his mother at the hands of his father. Instead of being the second coming, Dale gets addicted to the thrill of violence and uses his power to resurrect the people he brutally murders. His victims have no recollection of the attacks, until Sarah. Sarah is Dale's beautiful new neighbor and she must piece together the puzzle of her and her husband's multiple deadly (and sexual) assaults before Dale can do it again.

White moves the story along briskly and is careful to not linger too long on the murder set pieces involving Sarah and her husband (which happen with such frequency they would become redundant if White chose to expand on them all) . The pace does slow down a little in the second half of the novel with the introduction of the police-procedural elements, but these are necessary to move the "pieces into place" for the surprising, satisfying and well-earned ending.

A section of the book that warrants specific mention is its timeliness. One of the main complaints people usually have about many different kinds of horror stories (haunted house, stalker, etc) is "why don't the protagonists just run away?" White uses the real-life economic crisis as a means to keep Sarah and Josh afraid to leave their home, to keep Josh afraid to lose his job. In fact, if it were not for the housing crisis and its foreclosures, Dale would never have been able to move in next door. This is an example of many of the thematic threads woven into the main plot.

Readers who are tired of stories set in small New England towns and their surrounding woods will be glad to know that The Resurrectionist is set in Las Vegas. The setting of the novel is also used to comment on several of theses themes (overt sexuality, sensory over-stimulation, moral and economic erosion) in a very sly way. Not only are the big Vegas landmarks used but it is the smaller details that make the city pop and the setting feel very much lived-in.

White makes the reader think about the media they are consuming and the effects it has (Sarah is writing her dissertation on the effects of pornography on the psyche, but starts to shy away from that topic after her multiple victimizations). He has his characters raise questions about spirituality and the possibility of God. Most importantly, though, Wrath James White possesses that rare talent that only the best of the hardcore authors has: he is able to emotionally kick you in the face.

If you are a reader with a strong constitution I encourage you to pick up a copy. I look forward to reading more of his work in the future and have already ordered Succulent Prey.*

*Which is only $2.99 from Dorchester's website (along with several other good buys that include Jack Ketchum's collection Peacable Kingdom which I also whole-heartedly endorse).

Hiram Has Arrived: Hiram Grange & The Village of the Damned

I approached Shroud Publishing's new book series with both excitement and trepidation. I usually don't count myself a fan of single character episodic fiction, and add to that that Hiram appeared at first glance to fit into the paranormal mystery subgenre and I was a bit leery.

I'm very glad that I gave this series a chance and picked up the just-released first book Hiram Grange & The Village of the Damned by Jake Burrows because boy were my fears unfounded.

Hiram is a fun pulp hero who is both modern-day scumbag and throw-back scoundrel. Grange has the body of Ichabod Crane, the mind and wit of Marlowe (not to mention Hiram's mind has sustained even more alcohol damage), carries an antique six shooter (which only holds five rounds, for sentimental reasons) and favors the substance abuse of a Victorian era Dandy.

With Village Burrows is charged with a difficult task: creating a first adventure that is not bogged down by too much exposition. In this respect the book is a resounding success as Burrows does not opt to go with the boring "origin story" structure. He instead introduces Hiram as already fully formed and established and proceeds to introduce some critical character development in the form of flashbacks. Glimpses at Hiram's parents and past tragedies tell the reader just enough to intrigue but not enough to bore.

All Burrow's hard work in establishing our hero would be for naught if the supporting cast wasn't up to the task, but luckily Hiram's rouges gallery is. The "big bad" for this novel is a reanimated, sledgehammer-wielding Church lady carrying out (with the aid of her husband's collection of possessed lawn gnomes) a supernatural vendetta against her neighbors. The delightfully over-the-top kills are based on the biblical plagues and are both disgusting and funny (which, like the divide between serious and comedic, is a line the book toes well throughout) .

The only real problem with the book is how quickly it's all over. The reader will flip to the last page and be tantalized with a list of further adventures but none of them are out yet. The end of the book hints at a larger mythology and (possibly?) an arch-nemesis for Hiram. One can't help but wait with baited breath, but still harbor the fear/hope that subsequent authors (each of the five planned books has a different author) will be up to the task of preserving Hiram's unique voice while not completely parroting Burrow's style.

Also worthy of mention are the fantastic illustrations provided by Malcolm McClinton and Shroud's own Danny Evarts. They add subtle extra flavor to the text and are used sparingly enough that they don't turn it into a picture book.

Both the time and financial commitment are minimal so what do you have to lose? Hiram's first case is a bizarre, grief-stricken, slime-oozing, Jodie-Foster-obsessed, gnome-smashing, absinthe-soaked, funny and thrilling ride. I highly encourage you to pick up a copy.

For Whom the Bells Toll...

Big bit of news to share with you Braniacs (like the nickname I just made up for you?). You can go to this link right here and check out the table of contents for Dead Bells an anthology put together by Jodi Lee.

Notice a familiar name on there?

The idea for the collection is genius and I'm so excited to see how my light but twisted little story fits into the larger (bleak) picture. I am honored to share the table of contents with such esteemed company (Natalie Sin, WD Prescott, a novella from Gina Ranalli, and many other contributors). If you click the news button you can also see some of the great early praise that the book is getting (from horror lit radio head-honcho and Funky Werepig host Gregory Hall and Mama Fish author Rio Youers).

I'm psyched and you should be too. I'll direct you to where you can buy your seventeen copies when the book becomes available.

Back to work, I'll be back in a week or two with some really nice pre-holiday goodies for you guys (and gals).

Naschy on the Net: Flix of Fear #1

The horror community suffered a great loss today. This morning came the sad news that Paul Naschy had passed away at 75. Naschy (real name Jacinto Molina) was known to many as the "Spainish Lon Chaney" but this doesn't begin to describe the passionate actor, writer and director. Far more adequate tributes have been written up on other sites, so I won't even begin to try. Instead I would like to point you to two diffrent places you can watch Paul Naschy instantly. This double feature is woefully inadequate but if you are one of the uninitiated it should buy you some time while you run out and pick up some of his other films.

1968's Frankenstein's Bloody Terror (a.k.a La Marca Del Hombre Lobo) is the awful American title given to Naschy's first "Hombre Lobo" film. While not the best Naschy film, it is a very good one. With lush and vibrant cinematography (the colors in this thing are outrageous) Bloody Terror plays like a Hammer film on steroids. It's a complete and utter monster mash, with Naschy's tragic Wolfman, Waldemar Daninsky, going toe-to-toe with pair of satanic vampires who have been keeping him captive in a creepy Gothic castle (there's no Frankenstein though, that was a complete lie made up by the American distributor).

The women are beautiful, the sets are dripping with atmosphere and Naschy plays the most over-the-top werewolf to ever grace the screen. I seriously feel bad for the actors that had to be attacked by Naschy's character, he really beats the crap out of them.

You can watch the film, if you have Netflix, here. The film is presented in English and does include the hokey "Frankenstein" opening but, luckily, this is not the truncated American theatrical cut but the 90 minute uncut version.

The second, and a little less deserving, Naschy film available online is Count Dracula's Great Love (1972). Here Naschy plays Dracula in similar sympathetic fashion to the way he plays the wolfman. The version on Hulu is badly dubbed(the guy dubbing Naschy is laughable), pan & scan, and graining low-quality video. It was also part of Elvira's Movie Macabre, so it includes all of her cynical commercial interludes. Despite all this the film itself is presented, surprisingly, uncut (at least to the best of my knowledge) and includes all the copious nudity and blood originally shown in the US Theatrical version.

Here's the link to Count Dracula's Great Love.

For more Naschy madness I suggest you check out:

Panic Beasts (1983) - This was my first exposure to the great one, thus it holds a special place in my heart. Other fans don't seem to hold it in as high regard, but it is still great later era Naschy (he also writes and directs) with a fair amount of sex and violence to spice up a rather familiar ghost story.

Vengeance of the Zombies (1973) - My favorite Naschy movie, this one has it all: Naschy in a double role (one of which being SATAN himself!), topless female zombies filmed in slow-motion and some of the coolest makeup senor Molina has ever donned.

Night of the Werewolf (1981) - Naschy's own remake of The Werewolf vs. The Vampire Woman (which is itself a pseudo remake of Frankenstein's Bloody Terror) is in my opinion the best version. It mixes the Gothic feel of the earlier films with the bloodier, sexier aesthetic of 80s Naschy.

Note: this is the first of what I expect to be many "Flix of Fear" installments. In this regularly appearing segment I will point you towards films that can be streamed through Netflix instant watch service and other online streaming destinations (Hulu, etc.). If you don't have Netflix and like movies: What's wrong with you? In all seriousness the inclusion of the instant watch feature has made it the best deal in entertainment, you can watch thousands of movies either online or on your TV if you have an Xbox, Playstation or any of the myriad other streaming-ready devices. I completely stole the idea for this from Chud.com's "Watch this now" column. Apologies.