Showing posts with label Dolls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dolls. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Special People






 
Not special enough
Not for long
Promises made
Easy
Promises kept
Hard
Smiling in limbo land
Gazing forever
Reported lost
Wanted not
Why?
Why?
Why?
No answers
Just the silence of the grave
That you can trust
Slow death
Accelerated life







I found these tragic people in a small curio store close to the border of Texas and Mexico.

A modest rescue was enacted.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Just Because They're Beautiful

Posting for the sheer love of the material.

Hammer's These Are The Damned is a favorite of mine, and this art is superb.

Love the illustrated montage when it's textured like this.

The slime dripping off the young girl's arms is beyond beautiful.

And that doll is one I'm desperate to add to my collection.
  
 
This Japanese poster for The Shuttered Room evokes the film's air of mystery and brooding violence.

I wish film marketing would return to this style.

Today, the ultra-glossy treatment of poster imagery robs it of mystery.

And isn't mystery a major component of good cinema?

Friday, September 30, 2011

fertISLE



Excuse my lack of posts, but I've been working on the last chapter of a three-years-in-the-makin doco (Diary of a Mongrel Dog) and feature (fertISLE) in New Zealand these past few weeks.

Although I brought movies with me, writing and filmmaking stuff have gotten in the way of viewing -- and reading.

fertISLE is right up my alley and is the type of movie that fills me with passion. The sea. Dolls. Isolation. A man against the elements. An incredible island for location shooting. Minimal dialog. Maximum contrast. Even a little perversion. It's been a tough shoot, but, hopefully, the results will entertain a few people.

Below are a selection of frame grabs.

Enjoy!








Friday, April 22, 2011

Skulls in Short Dresses

Is anybody over twelve actually scared of skulls? Do you wake up screaming when a skull appears in your dreams?

Do disembodied skulls prevent you from getting on with your life?

If they do, you should pull your head in and seek professional guidance.

I can see the appeal of heads half stripped of flesh so that the skull peaks through. I can even get behind the concept of maggots meeting in the eye socket of a skull. Or an eel slithering out of a socket after it's feasted on some month old brains.

But a skull atop the body of a girl with smooth, slender thighs? Clutching a doll?

It's not scary.

It's just silly.

Rick Hautala's Nightstone (Zebra Books, '86) is a haunted house tale in which a wooden doll is featured and an old stone holds a mystery. There is a little girl (Beth) and there is death (somebody's head is going to become a skull at some point), but nothing about this cover feels enticing as horror. As erotica, perhaps. The girl is none too subtly lifting her dress to suggest what it is covering. But as she does this, you look up and see a skull. It's the polar opposite of planets lined up. One element cancels out the other.

I bought every Rick Hautala book for many years. I stopped, eventually, but I lined his publisher's pockets for a decent spell. I purchased Nightstone because it was Mr. Hautala's latest. It's a very good good. Mr. H tells a mean story and doesn't skimp on characterization or atmosphere.

As you can see, writer Rick Hautala is more than an empty skull.

 I wonder what he thought of this crazy cover? If he ever reads this, I'd love to know. I do suspect that the book might have sold well because of the cover. Might have attracted some new readers.

My scan doesn't reveal it, but the skull becomes a girl's face if you tilt it and a half girl/half skull if you tilt it further. Obviously, Zebra was enthusiastic about some new printing technology, so Nightstone was chosen to showcase it. The skull-loving editors at Zebra must have been beating their meat over this cover. It's everything they loved, but with an "exciting" new dimension. How much spunk was spilled in the art department when this came back from the printers?

I've been singing Zebra's praises for a couple of years on this blog. I love their old covers. They're silly and not terribly scary, but scary's not everything. Scary can be trumped by bizarre, "weird", and surreal. But the Nightstone cover fails for me because it's too gimmicky. The silvery skull just doesn't sit well on the little girl's shoulders.


 If you've never read anything by Mr. H., give Moondeath (Zebra, '80) a shot. It's a ripper.

A recent novella I enjoyed immensely is 'Reunion' from PS Publications.

Anyway, gotta go. Slowly. A skull's chasing me.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Less Plastic Than Most Humans

 

Humans can be a disappointing lot. Most are interesting and individual when they're kids, but they tend to hit boring by the time they're thirty. By forty, they'll lost all trace of their former selves, and seem destined to be as narrow as their arteries are becoming.

There are exceptions, of course, and, if you're reading this, you're probably one of those.


 I collect dolls. Yes, I'm a male in his late forties and I collect dolls. The boring humans I'm talking about ask me idiotic questions about my collecting. Even though they ask these questions, they don't really want to know why I do it. They want to, in fact, get me to admit that my collecting is some symptom of a troubled childhood or manifestation of deprived infancy.

No adult male would love dolls for anything other than a twisted, suspicious reason, would he?

Finally, a book lands that communicates exactly why I love dolls.



'Mandingo', a personal best friend and frequent visitor to this blog, recently found and gifted to me this incredible little book. Ironically, he found it in a second hand store, possibly alongside rows of creatures akin to those showcased in the book. I am eternally grateful to him for this discovery and his perceptive, intelligent choice to hand it my way.

The photographs within its modest jackets are by a supremely talented young lady named Linsday Brice. Like no other, she has captured the brittle, sad, complex, tragic, and emotionally ethereal nature of dolls. Her sensibility fills me with awe for her eye, and strings an umbilical cord of shared understanding between us.  


If anybody cares to know why an adult male collects dolls, get this book. It's all in the photos.

If you're already of the faith, I'm sure you'll get it, anyway.


I feel great sympathy and empathy for old dolls and new. Their abandonment touches my heart and dislodges my tears.

These truly magical beings are less plastic than most humans.

It is for this reason alone that they should be saved and celebrated -- as Ms. Brice does in her outrageously beautiful photo-poetry.


Musician/Producer/Actress Kim Gordon contributes a heartfelt essay to this book, and describes Brice's dolls as "knowing, self-possessed beings". Her reference to Dare Wright's wonderful A Lonely Doll brought a smile to my face. Ms. Gordon gets it!

Also accompanying the photographs is Flannery O'Connors's 'Temple of the Holy Ghost', a shrewd choice.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

They Are Us

They're us.


They're what we are.

They're what we want to be.

They're what we think we're not.

They're what we know we fear.

They're what we can't deny.



They're what we see when we look away from the reflecting glass.

They're part of us.

They're embedded deep inside.

They shit, shave and shower.

They ponder.


They wander.

They share the same air.

The past clings to them like concrete, snuffing the buds of progress.

They come in many colors.


And go in shades of gray.

They fret, fear, and laugh...

... and take refuge in the head.

They're me.
They're you.

They're us.

And one day we'll all be dead.