30 Days of Night by Steve Niles

(Art by Ben Templesmith)

I’m 36 years old. I’m not saying that because I need somebody to help me keep track until I reach AARP age, but because I want the world to know how long it’s taken me to pick up a graphic novel. Until 30 Days of Night, my only exposure to the art form was the TV versions of The Walking Dead and Preacher.

I don’t think I’ve even seen the movie for it. I recall it came out about the same time as 28 Days Later, and I could only deal with one movie about days at the time. Fortunately, my Readings in the Genre class at Seton Hill University put it not only on my radar, but in my in-box. It was no longer about entertainment, but about learning.

This graphic novel took one of the simplest premises I can think of and brought it to life. The most well-known “fact” of vampires is that they cannot come out during the day (and not just because they fucking sparkle, because they fucking die!), and 30 Days of Night sends our vampire f(r)iends to Barrow, Alaska where daylight is a memory for a full month in the early winter. I mean, it’s brilliant. Why did it take until the 21^st Century for a writer to come up with this idea?

Well, Steve Niles probably isn’t the first person to think of setting their vampire story in a land of perpetual dark, but he’s the first to put it to paper (That I know of. I’m probably wrong). Where the plot thins is its use of night to completely decimate a town. Sure, the vampires feast one season, but it continues to beat the drum that the smorgasbord is endless. It’s not. The population is just north (pun intended) of 4,000, which really only leads to one good entrée. It’s like going to a kegger and thinking, “It’s gonna last all night! Wooooo!” and then an hour later, the single keg is kicked and you only have a red Solo cup to show for it. Shit, you’re barely buzzed because you had to share with half the sophomore class…

But I digress. 30 Days of Night takes a simple premise and turns it into a three-book series. There’s little originality beyond its original setting. We see goon vampires and a boss vampire. Inevitably, the boss vampire is not happy with the goon vampire and he (Boss) kills him (Goon). That’s when our hero, Sherriff Eben Olemaun sacrifices himself to become a vampire to gain the strength of the Boss. Which he does.

There’s also a B story involving some New Orleans voodoo vampire hunter, but it ends quickly enough just as he arrives in Barrow. His only purpose was to give the vampire hoard in Barrow a way to make it look like the town was destroyed in a pipeline fire.

30 Days of Night is a good story. It’s not amazing, it won’t change your life. It gives you a solid 20 minute read. I won’t even say the artwork is amazing. Ben Templesmith’s illustrations are raw and horrific, but they are a series of washed out watercolors that often leave you trying to figure out what they’re trying to depict. Or maybe it’s just me. Like I said, it’s my first graphic novel, and I don’t think it will drive me back to that section of the bookstore anytime soon, but I’m more likely to give The Walking Dead compendium a try.

Relic, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

Relic was one of the first books I remember reading as a kid. I read plenty others, before and definitely after, but it is one that stuck with me for nearly 20 years. I'll say that 15 year old me enjoyed the book, so it does hold a nostalgic place in my dark little heart.

What does 36 year old me think?

Yeah, I still like it.

But, it's not unqualified. There are issues with plot and pacing that did make the second half drag on. And then there's the worse epilogue I've ever seen this week.

Let's start with plot: A beast from South America comes to the New York Museum of Natural History and eats brains. Totally onboard so far. We go about halfway through the book watching scared scientists and cocky police make silly mistakes. I'm onboard with that, too: I love when hubris gets characters into hot water. There are some science-y things about this I take issue with, but I'm not a scientist so I don't know how valid my arguments are. The biggest is the creature's smell. Here is a creature that is an evolutionary marvel, with everything going for it to be the top of the food chain, but it gives itself away by being stinky. Seems to be a flaw that could be taken advantage of, especially since it needs lots and lots of brains to survive.

The pacing was good... Until it wasn't. It seemed like half the book was climax, and when we got to the payoff scene, it was fairly anticlimactic. Yes, Lincoln and Child cornered several groups with no way out to build tension, but when each group finally found a way to succeed, the conflict and tension lifted unceremoniously.

And then there was the epilogue. It took a good story with believable science and a good, believable monster, and kicked it all to the curb. I wish I had stopped at the end of the story and just left the epilogue alone. But sometimes I go against my best judgement.

Relic does introduce one of my favorite modern popular fiction characters: Agent A.X.L. Pendergast. He's a brilliant, Southern, Ivy League-educated FBI agent. When I look at Lincoln-Child books, I always check to see if it's a Pendergast Novel.

Overall, I though Relic was a solid read. No book is ever going to satisfy everybody, but this is one I can honestly say I can re-read once a decade... Hopefully I'll forget about the epilogue again.

The Blob (1988), Directed by Chuck Russell

The Blob is better than it should have been. In fact, I would venture so far as to say I loved this film. As far as creature features go, The Blob is definitely a throwback to a simpler time, from when planets were named with numbers and Santa Claus defeated the Martians. Of course, that’s because the 1988 movie is a remake of the 1958 film of the same name. I haven’t seen the original, but I imagine what makes this movie so fun (a luckless chap getting sucked down a deep sink drain, anybody?), couldn’t be done with effects back then.

Like nearly every movie in the 80s, there’s plenty of big hair. That’s terrifying by itself. But there’s also Matt Kevin Dillon and a younger version of the lady that crawls around in syringes in Saw II. It’s nice to see Shawnee Smith before she was a junky.

The 80s saw a resurgence of horror, and probably produced some of the scariest films ever put on celluloid, so it might seem strange Russell would go all the way back to the 50s for some inspiration. But while the world was getting used to Freddy Krueger and Cenobites, there was still room for a gelatinous dissolver of human flesh.

What I loved most about the film was the “anybody goes” attitude Russell had. Nobody was safe, nobody was sacred, and what I thought would be a main character dies rather unceremoniously in the first act. That’s what made it scary and fun: anybody could go at any time. Some of these deaths happen on screen, and some off screen, but they’re each terrifying in their own way.

Everything about this movie screamed 80s, from the hair to the reveal that the titular character is a Cold War weapon, but it’s only slightly dated beyond the technology shown. This movie could easily be remade again, and I’ve read that’s happening, but I don’t think anything more can be gained by doing that. In fact, I’m kind of horrified by the thought of a CGI blob. The practical effects in this movie make it cheesy and fun, and that’s what a good 80s horror movie is about: Taking the cheesy and fun and killing you with it.

So, you’re thinking the monster is a little ridiculous. On the surface (pun intended), I suppose it is. But the movie does a fine job of getting you past the ridiculous factor, and, in some cases, cheering for it. You want to see get through the phone booth or drop from a ceiling.

The story-telling is generic at best, and does present a rather formulaic experience. But I can forgive it that, because it does such a great job with the formula. It isn’t meant to be anything more than it is, and I have to respect that.

Without giving anything away, the ending provides a Twilight Zone-esque experience that for today’s cinema-going audience would assure us a sequel. But, just like Nedry’s missing dinosaur egg-holding shaving cream can, that nod to something more sinister down the road was left unchecked. And I applaud that, whether it was by design or by accident.

I don’t do a star system, or two thumbs up, or some other grading scale. But, if I did, I’d give this movie a “Rad” on a scale of 80s lingo.

The Outsider, Pickman's Model, and The Call of Cthulhu, by H.P. Lovecraft

Howard Phillips Lovecraft

This is where I lose friends and acquaintances. This is where I lose the last bits of respect anybody might still have for my opinions. This is where I commit the most heinous of all literary crimes: Critique H.P. Lovecraft.

I will admit that I’ve attempted a few times to read his works, yet rarely got past the first page. This assignment forced me to soldier beyond the opening lines and into the heart of each work. And I’ll admit: I’m not impressed.

This entry will cover the three short stories in the same order as the blog title, followed by a brief overview of his writing style in general. Overall, I tried to keep in mind that these stories are nearly a century old, and were most likely the progenitors of many of the tropes that seem common place today.

The Outsider

I'm... I'm beautiful!

This story was… simple. Yet difficult to explain. We see the story through the monster’s eyes (is he a mummy, zombie, or something else?) By the end of the book the creature is described as something that is most likely a dead thing. And apparently very adept at journaling. It’s a first-person romp about a creature rising from the grave and all it wants to do is see what the party’s all about. Of course, he/it doesn’t know he/it is a horrible-looking creature because he/it has never seen a mirror… until the end. I hated the end because it insulted my intelligence. Lovecraft felt he needed to spell it out for me, even though I long ago used my context clues to figure it all out. But, hey, simpler times I suppose.

But the ending isn’t what’s important. It’s the beginning. At least to a writer, it should be the important part because Lovecraft does a good job of explaining what it might be like to be dead (or something), and raises a few good questions about the afterlife. The key question he poses through this story is: do we remember our lives after we’re dead, or are our memories completely wiped and we just exist? That’s how our character begins. He just exists, with no memory of how he exists or how he survived as long as he has without being taught or taken care of. It raises interesting philosophical questions.

But beyond that it’s just a short story, one that I imagine he wrote as a tangent from other, longer works.

"I call it, "Bowl of Fruit on a Midsummer Morning."

Pickman’s Model

This is my favorite of the trio. Again, written in first person as a story one character is telling another, this story is less about the “twist” ending, and more about the narrative journey. It’s well done as we see our protagonist quickly and consistency work himself into a fervor as he recounts why he no longer sees a certain artist (the titular Richard Upton Pickman). I was hooked from the first page (perhaps if I’d tried to read this story first instead of one of his others, I’d have read more Lovecraft before this assignment), wanting—no, needing—the answer as to what was in the artist’s cellar. Lovecraft also did a great job of putting me in Boston and provided a great guide for my trip.

Again, the twist ending wasn’t amazing, though I suspect it was considered fresh at the time.

The Call of Cthulhu

Those Seaquest: DSV brats and their stupid dolphin

just can't leave well enough alone.

Oh, but I need to tread cautiously through this one.

I wasn’t a fan.

So much for treading softly.

But hear me out, please. The narrative: great. The plot: awesome. The end: meh, but still okay.

It was the beginning that took me out of the story and never let me get back into it.

I read this one first, seeing as it’s the classic Lovecraft that all should know and love. After a couple false starts as I tried to put myself in the mood to get through early 20^th century prose, I finally come across this:

                “Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the cosmic cycle wherein our world and human race form transient incidents. They have hinted at strange survival in terms which would freeze the blood if not masked by bland optimism. But it is not from them that there came the single glimpse of forbidden aeons which chills me when I think of it and maddens me when I dream of it. That glimpse, like all dread glimpses of truth, flashed out from an accidental piecing together of separated things – in this case an old newspaper item and the notes of a dead professor. I hope that no one else will accomplish this piecing out; certainly, if I live, I shall never knowingly supply a link in so hideous a chain.”

And then—get this—he pieces it all together for us! He didn’t just supply a link, he forged the whole damn chain! I’m reading along and all I can think is that there’s got to be something that happens at the end to cause this manuscript to be lost to all of time. Perhaps it ends up in R’lyeh? Maybe he just set it on fire. I could have let him get away with that instead of how it ended up: in a tin box, which he admits an executor may see should he die! “Oh, I hope nobody figures this out like I did, so I’m going to put this in a box of other mysterious items that nobody would ever be interested in.”

It reminds me of an episode of The Simpsons where Bart goes to play at Ralph Wiggum’s house. His dad, the police chief, catches them playing in a closet and asks, “What is so fascinating about my Forbidden Closet of Mystery?”

What is so fascinating about the Forbidden Tin Box of Mystery?

Beyond that, it was a fun read when I could focus. It’s a mish-mash of found papers, word-of-mouth tales, and old-fashioned detective work. Lovecraft creates such a vivid image of Cthulhu, the Old Ones and the places they dwell that it is no wonder his works survive today and have taken on “cult” status (see what I did there?).

Overall Impressions

H.P. Lovecraft was a gifted literary writer. I believe his work transcends traditional genre fiction not just because of his vocabulary, but how he weaves his work together. Of the three stories I read, I recall scant—if any—usage of dialogue. I flipped through a collection of his works and found very little usage of dialogue throughout. So, even though his stories are told from a variety of first-person characters, It appears to always be told in the same voice, and I would believe it to be his own. That’s not necessarily bad, but I can see how Lovecraft as a person is more well-known than his works. I’ll continue to read him since I have so many of his stories in the myriad collections I’ve downloaded/bought, and I will come back and revise this paragraph if my feelings change.

Lastly, in each story there comes a point where the “horror is beyond description” (paraphrased). That just seems lazy to me. You can always try to describe something. Each time I read that, a gaping hole opened in the universe he created. It made me sad because I so wanted to see what the protagonist was seeing.

*I’ve read a few other critiques of his work following my writing of this, and found I wasn’t the only person who took issue with his “beyond description” descriptions. Maybe I won’t be keel-hauled for this after all…

Godzilla (2014)

 It's almost exactly like this

Directed by Gareth Edwards

Starring Malcolm’s Dad, the Sane Olsen Sister and Kick-Ass

I just don’t know.

I mean, the movie was a big deal, people seemed to genuinely enjoy it, and it received good reviews. It has everything I love in a movie: big, flashy special effects… and… and…

The message of Godzilla is clear: don’t mess with nuclear power. Got it. That’s been the message since the first Toho film released in 1954. I didn’t feel as hit over the head with that message in this film, and I’m okay with that. For the most part, the world safely operates its nuclear power plants on a day-to-day basis. Except for Fukushima in 2011, there have been only a handful of core melt events since the advent of nuclear power.

I found the script to be disjointed, and it felt like a slipshod product by an industry working too quickly to capitalize on the Fukushima event and the resurgence of kaiju films (for some reason, Pacific Rim also received good reviews). I can almost chock that up to bad timing, as the work began on the script in 2010, but it’s hard to ignore the similarities.

The film raised a lot of questions it only answered in passing, such as why they’ve allowed a giant nuclear-powered parasite (the Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organism, or MUTO) to feed on the ruins of the power plant it destroyed 15 years earlier. It’s like when you invite your socially awkward friend over to a party and they double-dip in the salsa:

“Oh, hey, that’s cool, you just destroyed our power plant… yeah, you can eat the rest.”

Then there’s our hero. He’s a Navy EOD tech. I’m in the Navy, so this is very nice to see. Go Navy! Beat MUTO!

Except, it doesn’t make any sense. He is not the only EOD tech in the word. He doesn’t have any bomb de-arming superpowers. Wait… why’s he going to Japan again? Oh, yeah, his dad’s in jail for trespassing in the same quarantine zone that used to be the salsa everybody could eat, but now it’s MUTO’s. He used to run that salsa. His wife died in that salsa. He wants to get some information out of his old house (and rescue some photos).

So, our hero gets home to San Francisco (there's no Navy base in San Francisco, so I'm a little lost there) from deployment and immediately leaves to go rescue his dad from Japanese prison.

Okay, fuck that. You haven’t seen your family in how long, and you’re running off to get your estranged dad out of Japanese jail? It’s Japanese jail! He’s got it better than you did on your whole deployment!

But he leaves and gets separated from his family again. Later, when the fleshy Megazords begin to work their way toward San Francisco… he tells her to WAIT FOR HIM!

Wait, what? No.

No no no no no.

No.

They evacuate the city but she refused to go--because, you know, he said he'd BRB--and of course it gets ugly.

Because he said he’d find her.

You know where else you can find her? Sacramento!

I wanted to enjoy this movie, and I was willing to look past a lot of the confusing action scenes (confusing because they were just so big of a scale… like all the Transformers movies), but I threw my hands up in the air in frustration when we got to the train scene. No reason in particular, I just hate train sequences. They’re all the same. Rushing through cars, jumping over couplings, falling from them and rolling violently through the dark. I’ve seen it.

I just… I just didn’t like it. I feel betrayed a little. Was it better than the 1998 version? Yeah, probably. Was it a good movie? No. Not even a little. At least not for me.

I’m not a kaiju fan. Not for any real reason than it just doesn’t interest me. They should be more terrifying than they are. I imagine if I heard of a giant lizard shooting radioactive fire out of his mouth attacking San Francisco, I’d feel some legitimate concern if not outright horror. But the idea in a movie isn’t scary for me. It feels too fake, too impossible.

Give me a Godzilla that’s possible. I think a smaller Godzilla is a good place to start. Make him the size of the Geico gecko. Then multiply him. Thousands of gecko-sized Godzillas melting ankles is kinda scary to me.

And give him a British accent. Every villain or gecko should have a British accent.