freakboy classics: THE DETOUR

Before someone gets his or her knickers in a twist, I referred to my apartment in Omaha, Nebraska as ground zero well before 9/11.  After that day, I referred to my apartment as my tomb.  If I had been present during the break-in over Memorial Day weekend of 2004, it would have probably been an appropriately grim name.

The following was written after spending a few days in my old stomping grounds.  I was doing my best to avoid that particular building, but fate had other plans.

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THE DETOUR

 

    I am driving through the streetlamp lit city.  The road is closed.  It was open two days ago.  I don't know what has changed this.  Road construction or perhaps a major accident?  The detour leads me to another road that I am no stranger to.  I know the cracks and bumps intimately.  I have been drawn to it once again.  Searching for the sight, I am unsure of what I'll find.  

 

    I travel further and it comes into view.  A looming mass of brick and wood.  I am shocked it still exists.  My shock is quickly replaced with a slam of memories and with them a variety of emotional emotions.  Names shoot through my mind...home away from home...ground zero...my tomb...my place.  Now a new name makes my acquaintance...the mausoleum of my former self.

 

    I drive by and recall the outstanding ups.  Spending time with family and friends there.  Once falling to the floor from laughing so hard.  The ups reintroduce me to the serious downs.  The hopeless nights of mourning and the mornings of helpless thoughts.

 

    I shudder as I leave the mausoleum in reflection, just a distant spot in the mirror.  I catch my eye as I look back and wonder.  Have I changed from the person I used to be when I lived there?  If so, is it subtle?  Is it grand?  Was it a conscious decision or a natural change due to circumstance? 

 

    I shake my head and laugh quietly, resisting the urge to get into yet another stimulating conversation with myself.  I then realize the road of my former self is closed.  I am who I am now and I wouldn't want to be exactly the same person I was before.  As I continue to drive through the hazy city streets, I grin with the knowledge that I just answered my own pondering.

    

 

John L. Harmon

    9/28/05

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(polished: 7/29/2016)

For the record, the mausoleum of my former self has long since been torn down, but I carry him and the memories of that place with me, along with all the other former Johns, because they are a part of me, no matter who I am now, until the end.

Freak Out, 

JLH

P.S.  During the early days of this blog, I posted one of the original tales from the freakboy zone e-mails titled THE PROCESS.  Please click and enjoy...

http://freakboyzone.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-process.html

freakboy classics: THE BEGINNING

The words were finished in 2008 and it was time for...

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THE BEGINNING

 

The place was my hometown of Broken Bow, Nebraska.  The date was Wednesday, December 10, 2008.  I had originally planned to wait until after Christmas, with the excuse of excess mail, but I was ready.  And when one is ready, why wait?

 

It started as such a common task—stuffing an envelope—which I have been able to do since I was old enough to write a letter.  So I set forth with a perfunctory attitude, not fully realizing what was occurring.  Neatly filled and addressed, the manila envelope was sealed.  I then placed it aside for a couple of hours.  There were other things to do before a trip to the post office could be made.  During those two hours, I occasionally glanced over at the envelope.  Just checking to see if it was okay…possibly to make sure I did not imagine its preparation.  The amazing and stunning nature of this manila-in-waiting was sinking in.

 

Finally the time arrived.  I slipped on my shoes and a pullover jacket; then shoved my billfold and keys into pockets.  I gently took hold of my cargo and walked towards the post office.  A last minute decision caused a minor detour.  I needed to stop at the library and share the moment.  After all, they had put up with me for the last two years while I wore out their computer keyboards.

 

I showed them my envelope and immediately they knew.  The looks on their faces were of shock, which did not upset me.  That was also one of my sensations.  After a brief discussion, I was given a “Good luck.”  I promptly replied, “You’re welcome!”— exposing my nervous excitement.  I corrected with a proper “Thank you!” before leaving the possible future home of my name.

 

The post office suddenly loomed and I was ripe with anticipation.  I entered and was pleased to find my usual clerk.  She weighed my cargo and slapped the postage label on the top right corner.  I paid her, thanked her, and then glanced at the manila envelope, safe in her postal hands, one final time.  It was on its way and I was in a daze!

 

My head was light and my heart was full.  Colors were vivid, hemorrhaging, while physical objects became figments of my wide-eyed gawking.  I seriously wondered if this feeling was an equivalent to being in love.  Somehow, through my lurid landscape, I arrived home without incident, but I was not content to idle.  My sister and I hastily decided to go for a celebratory orange sherbet at a nearby soda fountain.

 

We sat by the picturesque store window, watching foot and motor traffic around the town square, and conversed of my personal accomplishment.  That innocuous manila envelope contained what was once personally deemed impossible…a query to a literary agent.  To some this could be a shoulder-shrugging moment, but for me it was an enormous step forward.  An initial step on my road to becoming a published author.

 

 

12/18/2008

 

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(polished: 7/21/2016)

For the record, and in hindsight, I understand why this and other literary agents sent rejection letters my way.  They saw that my writing would not hold mass appeal and therefore I would make an unprofitable client.  These last few years have proven this assessment accurate, but, on a positive note, my name does reside in the library, in a self-published way. 

Freak Out,

JLH

P.S.  The Beginning was also the title of my very first post on this blog...

http://freakboyzone.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-beginning.html

freakboy classics: THE LIBRARIAN

The following is the very first tales from the freakboy zone e-mail I ever sent to my unsuspecting friends and family.  They should have stopped me when they saw what was coming, but here I am 11 years later, now with a blog that can reach worldwide.

I am leaving this classic tale "unpolished" because I think it's amusingly fine the way it is.  As an added bonus, I'm including my e-mail sign-off from back then.  To be honest, I had nearly forgotten how completely awesome and vaguely obscene my sign-off was until I read the original e-mail again. 

Enjoy...

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THE LIBRARIAN   

    She watches me.  I can barely set foot outside my door without feeling her cold, judgmental eyes on my back.  Questions!  Always with the questions.  She is a near stranger to me.  She has not earned a pass into my life.  She does not deserve a minute-by-minute itinerary of my day, my week, my month, my year, my decade!

 

    She is just a librarian, taking inventory of other lives.  Most likely waiting for the perfect moment to pounce upon an unsuspecting victim.  She will discuss and dissect the mental snapshots she has collected.  Pouring salt over old wounds and smiling coyly as she renders her personal verdict of the victim's person.

 

    One day I will turn the tables on her.  I will note of her activities.  Activities that I stumbled upon, not by feverishly seeking them out, but by the hands of fate kick-dropping me into the right place at the perfectly and poetically right time.  I will emulate her smug, self-righteous tone.  I may hate myself in the end but the beast of a thousand noses will be vanquished and I shall live freely, minding my own business once more.  

 

John L. Harmon

   9/25/2005

             J<L>H

Freaked for your pleasure

 

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For the record, I was eventually kick-dropped into the right place and managed to startle this librarian by casually mentioning how she had been to a particular business.  She asked how I knew and I grinned inscrutably.  The look of utter shock on her face made the scene all worth while, with absolutely no regrets on my part.

Freak Out,

JLH

P.S.  Click CAD for another library-related tale. 

freakboy classics: THE DISC

This classic tale needs a brief prologue...

In the fateful year of 2006, I discovered my serious, without a hint of irony, appreciation for crooner Perry Como.  It's a complicated tale spanning decades that perhaps I'll write about one day.

A year later my sister forced me to watch an episode of Biography about Barry Manilow.  I must admit that I felt something akin to respect for the singer, especially after hearing how his career started in bathhouses.  During this hour long program, Barry Manilow discussed 2:00 AM PARADISE CAFÉ with great enthusiasm, and I knew I had to listen to that album.

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THE DISC

 

I push play and close my eyes.  In that silent moment before the speakers spring to life, I am transported there.  Outside a light rain is coating the pavement with a damp sheen.  The neon sign hums the promise of shelter from wetness and the agitating world.

 

Entering the drowsy, hazy atmosphere, I am immediately drawn to the respectable piano in the corner.  As I sit at a small table within close proximity, the player announces in a soothing voice that it is 2:00 AM and he only has one hour left.  A reminder to put any requests in now.

 

But that's not how this late-hour crowd burns.  The spattering of patrons on any given night totals four to six, including myself.  We absorb what music is offered to us and nurse our drinks within that hour.  The waitress knows what I like: a cola with a shot of vanilla.

 

She brings it to my table as the man behind the ivories caresses them like a former lover returned.  Before the piano man’s voice begins its sweet aching, a sax man beside him sprinkles his baritone notes, completing the sway this music holds.

 

I gaze about the smoky surroundings.  Nameless faces flicker in the candlelight, all with a story of loss...regret.  That's why we are in the Paradise Café at this obscene hour.  Finding comfort within the mellow music.  Fighting the blues with blues.

 

Time passes and before I know it last-call is called.  As the piano man plays me back to reality, I wonder what it is that drew me here and where I will go after.

 

Perry may have been my gateway drug to a softer, easy-listening side...but this?  Is this disc the beginning of Barry or a crossover to slow jazzy blues?  I can't begin to guess, but I know for certain I will continue to visit 2:00 AM PARADISE CAFÉ and its refreshing melancholy.

 

 

10/16/2007

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(polished: 7/5/2016)

For the record, this disc did not start me down the road of Manilow.  I appreciate a few of his other songs, especially "Daybreak" because of its brilliant use in SERIAL MOM, but another entire Manilow album has never set my soul on fire like Paradise Café.  No, not even that apartment themed one.  (Sorry, G B-D.)  However, I have since found myself, depending on my mood, drawn to blues and jazz when I stream music.

Freak Out,

JLH

P.S. To read another post about another disc, please click...Garbage. 

freakboy classics: THE DAY

June is over, taking freakboy on film with it.  Now the film blog has mutated back into its former nondescript self.  Three things I learned from last month are...

1.)  It was a great pleasure to have been a part of the Nature's Fury Blogathon!  As if I needed an excuse to watch The Little Shop of Horrors for the Nth time.

2.)  I have a new appreciation for bloggers who review a film (or more) a week.  It's not always easy to decide what film to review, and sometimes the plan changes.  Party Girl was a last minute review after another film just didn't feel right with my overall theme of quirky, weird films I love.

3.)  It was kind of nice having a theme for the month, which leads me to the following...

For the month of July, tales from the freakboy zone will step back in time.  It will dig up a few of the original e-mail essay-things that inspired the name of this blog, and got my juices flowing after a long creative drought.  To kick off this month's theme, here is a tale from 10 years ago that is very much connected to last month's theme...

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THE DAY

 

June 12, 2006: I called a multitude of stores to figure out where I could find the two.  After much button pushing, I found one store that would only have one of each.  I was happy with that sole store but I was worried about their stocking, especially since I would have to drive out-of-town for them.

 

June 13, 2006: The day I had known about for months arrived.  The day I had been waiting a few years for became a reality.  They would be there but I feared I would miss the chance.

 

I walked into the store 30-minutes after it opened.  I looked at the new items.  Nothing.  I kept my anxiety in check as I looked under "B".  I started to sweat when I didn't see it.  So, I looked under "V" and still found nothing!  Panic set in as I rushed through the aisles!  I barely resisted the urge to cry out, "I need a doll!"

 

An employee asked if I needed help (it's far too late for that!) and I told her what I was looking for.  She looked in a box and my eyes zoomed in on them.  I wondered if they were waiting for me.  "I think I see them!"  My voice sounded singsong to my ears.

 

She pulled out the only copy of each item.  I watched with impatient fascination as she fingered through a list of pricing labels.  She found the stickers and placed them on the corresponding items.  I smiled wildly because it was as if she was doing her job just for me!  I quickly cut short the desire to be a full-time egocentric.

 

I was handed the two items and my mind imploded!  I caressed the plastic wrap and absorbed the words and colors.  My eyes dared to roll back in ecstasy with the promise of a Panavision-istic, psychedelic, musically varied, merry-go-round land of ups and downs!

 

This is my happening and I will sparkle like Neely as I graze through the VALLEY OF THE DOLLS and travel far BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS!

 

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Wednesday, June 14, 2006

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(polished: Tuesday, June 28th, 2016)

For the record, I had seen both films prior to purchasing them, which is why I was so amped up about their DVD release! 

Freak Out,

JLH

P.S.  If you would like to read my thoughts/review of one of those films, please click...DOLLS. 

P.P.S.  Maybe, if the mood should strike, freakboy on film will sporadically resurface so I can go on and on about some of my other favorite films.

freakboy on film: BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS

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I recently participated in a blogathon concerning a very specific genre of film.  In honor of this event, tales from the freakboy zone will be mutated into a film blog for the month of June.

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1970

Screenplay by: Roger Ebert

Directed by: Russ Meyer

 

 

 

 

"This is my happening, and it freaks me out!"

- Ronnie "Z-Man" Barzell

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What can I say about a film that is cinema reflected, refracted, blended and magnified into a vividly colorful merry-go-round of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll?  For one thing, it is not a sequel to Valley of the Dolls, though it shares similar themes.  Mainly the core plot about three young women getting caught up in "the oft nightmare world of show business" as the beginning of the film states.  However, if you watch the screen tests on the DVD of BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, you will see that it was originally intended to be a sequel of sorts through the character of Anne Welles in VALLEY, who became Susan Lake in BEYOND.  Presumably, because of Anne's/Susan's storyline, Lyon Burke became Baxter Wolfe.

The plot, if one can honestly call it such, is essentially Josie and the Pussycats on acid.  An all girl rock band The Kelly Affair is tired of playing high school prom gigs, so lead singer Kelly MacNamera suggests they head to L.A. where her rich Aunt Susan just happens to reside.  Petronella Danforth (drums) and Casey Anderson (guitar) seem game, but Harris Allsworth (band manager/Kelly's "boyfriend") is skeptical.  A slam-bang montage of images fuels Harris and Kelly's L.A. pro/con list, one of my favorite scenes, and Harris is soon won over.  In what must be the quickest and most hippie road trip ever, the group arrives, and after meeting Susan Lake and her skeevy lawyer Porter Hall, they soon hit the L.A. music scene by snagging an invite to a far out party thrown by the teen tycoon of rock Ronnie "Z-Man" Barzell.

 

Pretty much. 

Z-Man's party makes me think of a drug-fueled version of those "At the Dance" skits from The Muppets Show, though the overheard conversation is a bit more eye-popping.  ("I was so anxious to get out of bed, I stepped on her face.")  It is at this wild party where we meet, not only the incense and peppermint of Strawberry Alarm Clock, but also most of the other key characters.  Lance Rocke is a young stud looking for his next sugar mommy, and soon sets his eyes and firm body on Kelly.  Emerson Thorne is a sincerely nice waiter by night and law student by day, who easily falls for Petronella.  Roxanne is a fashion designer who sensuously appreciates the feminine figure, especially Casey's.  Ashley St. Ives is a man-hungry adult film star who prefers a Rolls Royce to a bed, and she desires to catch Harris in her web, car, chandelier, beach, etc.  At a later party we meet Randy Black, the heavyweight champion of the world, who can philosophize as quickly as he can fight, and he sees Petronella as the ultimate championship prize.  Last, but not least, is Baxter Wolfe who once proposed marriage to Susan Lake, but the time wasn't right for either of them.

 

THE CARRIE NATIONS

Marcia McBroom (Petronella), Dolly Reed (Kelly), Cynthia Myers (Casey)

Z-Man quickly changes the band's name to The Carrie Nations and usurps the role of manager from Harris, sending the band into the stratosphere of fame and fortune, and Harris on a downward spiral of booze and dope.  Through this kaleidoscope maze the characters deal with their relationship problems and personal demons.  All of the ungainly plot threads more or less lead to a private party at Z-Man's that goes from psychedelic wildness to a very bad trip.  I could tell you about all of the absolutely crazy things that happen in this film, but I hate the idea of spoiling the mind-boggling and jaw-dropping surprises that are waiting for you!

 

"And there are juice freaks, and there are pill freaks, and everybody's a freak."

- Casey

The acting has some surprisingly subtle moments, but, much like the film itself, there are a lot of magnified performances.  I suppose "over the top" could be a way to describe the acting, but to me that implies camp, and as bizarre as BEYOND is, it is played with a straight face.  No irony.  No overt winking-nods.  Even a melodramatic hospital scene, as unbelievably hilarious as it is, is acted in deadly earnest.  All the actors throw themselves into their unique parts in this unique film.

Roger Ebert, yes, that Roger Ebert, is the screenwriter of BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, which leads me to think that he shouldn't have been so judgy about other films for all those years.  Don't get me wrong.  I love this film and that includes the script, but I'll admit that the story is kind of a mess, much like this review.  Especially when a major character revelation occurs near the end.  The surprise is certainly a surprise since it comes out of nowhere and makes little sense with what we see earlier in the film.  Plus, it's a shame there wasn't room to explore the characters of Z-Man and Casey on a deeper, more emotional level.  Now I'm being judgy because once on Siskel & Ebert's show, Roger Ebert went on a mini-diatribe against John Waters, which ticked me off.  I'm shocked that vile moment didn't end my love of BEYOND, but thankfully I ultimately see the film as all Russ Meyer, who is co-credited under story by.

I admit I've only seen two other films directed by Russ Meyer: Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and Mudhoney.  I barely recall the latter, but Pussycat is rather awesome and would make a perfect companion to BEYOND for a Russ Meyer double feature.  Meyer definitely had his hands in all aspects of production to keep these films aligned to his very ample vision.  While Pussycat and BEYOND have different plots, they are both cut from the same template in magnified acting, visuals and music. 

 

Sincere apologies to my other favorite artists and soundtracks, but this is my desert island disc.

Speaking of music...Stu Phillips rocks!  His score cascades from melodious to dramatic to melodramatic to suspenseful to exciting to humorous and beyond, perfectly matching the eclectic moods of the film. The songs performed by The Carrie Nations are a groovy blend of rock and pop, with lead vocals provided by the incomparable Lynn Carey, who sadly does not appear on the vinyl soundtrack, but did cowrite a couple of the songs.  Her powerful voice can be heard on the CD, along with more of Stu Phillips' versatile score.  Rounding it all up is Strawberry Alarm Clock rockin' out a couple of tracks and The Sandpipers keeping the title song nice and easy for you.

 

The soundtrack so nice I bought it twice.

So hang cool, teddy bear, and experience the psychedelic trip of one of my favorite films, but remember...

"What I see is beyond your dreaming." - Cat Woman (no, not the Batman villain) 

Freak Out, 

JLH

P.S.  I've read about the use of the 20th Century Fanfare in a particularly violent scene within the film and how some see it as Russ Meyer making a statement about the mainstream studio industry or something.  Personally, I think it was used in that specific moment to let the audience know that we are back to the flash forward shown during the opening credits.  

P.P.S.  In case you missed my post where I elucidate the reasons why you shouldn't feed the plants...

 

http://freakboyzone.blogspot.com/2016/06/freakboy-on-film-little-shop-of-horrors.html

 

freakboy on film: THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS (Nature's Fury Blogathon Edition)

Day 1: http://cinematiccatharsis.blogspot.com/2016/06/the-natures-fury-blogathon-is-here-day.html

Day 2: http://cinematiccatharsis.blogspot.com/2016/06/the-natures-fury-blogathon-day-2-recap.html

Day 3: http://cinematiccatharsis.blogspot.com/2016/06/the-natures-fury-blogathon-day-3-recap.html

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I would like to take a moment and thank Barry P. (https://twitter.com/barry_cinematic) of Cinematic Catharsis for inviting me to participate in his Nature's Fury blogathon.  My initial concern was the film I chose wouldn't fit within Barry's guidelines, but it thankfully squeaked by, mainly thanks to the fact outer space is never suggested in the plot. 

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1960

Screenplay by: Charles B. Griffith

Directed by: Roger Corman

"I didn't mean it."

- Seymour

It all starts in a rundown little florist shop on Skid Row.  Within its bleak walls, Seymour, a young nebbish man introduces a new species of plant to an unsuspecting population.  A cross between a butterworth and a Venus flytrap, from seeds that originated on a plantation near a cranberry farm, Audrey Junior, named after Seymour's sweetly offbeat coworker, is quite a remarkable plant. Delighted to have the plant named after her, Audrey Fulquard's feelings for Seymour seem to grow along with her namesake.  As Audrey Junior grows, it brings in customers, which makes Gravis Mushnick, the gruff proprietor, happy and mostly willing to overlook some strange goings-on in his little shop.

It's an acquired taste.

Meanwhile, Detective Sergeant Joe Fink and Detective Frank Stoolie, emulating Dragnet with their curt, rapid fire speech, are not overlooking the strange goings-on on Skid Row.  People are disappearing, from a drunken railroad cop to a sadistic dentist, and this eventually leads them to Mushnick's Florist.  On the evening Seymour's botanical genius is to be recognized by Mrs. Hortence Fishtwanger, from the Society of Silent Flower Observers of Southern California, the horrible truth literally blossoms in front of everyone as Audrey Junior's buds open, revealing the faces of the missing Skid Row residents. 

Maybe it's the plant's cross species, or the cranberry farm, but Audrey Junior can talk and enjoys humans as its primary food source.  Seymour, now being revealed as a murderer, goes on the run.  Detectives Fink and Stoolie, along with Mushnick, chase him all around Skid Row but lose him among the toilets.  Seymour then hurries back to the shop for a final confrontation with Audrey Junior by feeding the plant like it has never been fed before.  The end leaves a few questions behind.  Is Audrey Junior dead or is this just the beginning?  Are there other seeds from the plantation near that cranberry farm just waiting to be planted, needing to be cared for, and eager to consume humanity?  The world may never know...until nature's fury is upon us!

A boy and his plant

THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS is a nutty film filled with nutty scenarios and nutty characters.  Jonathan Haze as Seymour is somehow likable in a dorky way, even as he finds "food" for his plant.  Jackie Joseph as Audrey is delightfully quirky and funny, especially when interacting with Seymour.  Mel Welles as Mushnick is blustery, but not without his charms.  Dick Miller as Burson Fouch, a flower-devouring customer, is dryly funny.  Myrtle Vail as Seymour's hypochondriac mother is endearingly bizarre.  Then top the whole nuttiness off with an elderly florist customer (Leola Wendorff) who seems to have a family member die every day, a sadistic dentist (John Herman Shaner), Detectives Fink & Stoolie (Wally Campo & Jack Warford), and the uncomfortably tense Mrs. Fishtwanger (Lynn Storey).  Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the little known actor, Jack Nicholson, as Wilbur Force, a masochistic dental patient.

The darkly comic screenplay is by Charles B. Griffith, who also provides the voice of Audrey Junior and appears as a couple of side characters.  Adding to the eccentric mix is legendary B-movie director Roger Corman, who achieves low-budget excellence with THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS, especially since it is said that the film was shot in two days.  The perfect compliment to this eccentric film is the funky, jazzy score by Fred Katz.  He implanted each selection with a memorable flair and the entire soundtrack can be enjoyed on its own merit.

Music to grow plants by.

I first saw THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS many years ago, before experiencing a local production of the stage musical and its cinematic counterpart.  Given my mood, or perhaps the day of the week, I may say that I prefer the non-musical 1960 version more than the later adaptations.  If you should catch me in that mood, or on that day, I would probably tell you the reason is because the original is a strange little film that shouldn't be any good, but is, in my opinion, deliciously twisted and fun.  Though, I would then whisper discreetly how Rick Moranis as a musically-inclined Seymour will forever hold a special place in my heart, but that is another post for another day...or mood.

So pour yourself a glass of Dr. Phlegm's Cough Syrup and chow down on one of my favorite films, but please remember...

"No novocaine  It dulls the senses." - Wilbur Force

Freak Out, 

JLH

P.S.  I searched the Internet and the notes on the soundtrack, but couldn't find a specific way to spell Seymour's last name.  It varies from Krelboyne to Krelboin to even Krelboined.  Well, I guess there's just no accounting for people's tastes, as Seymour once said to Audrey Junior.

P.P.S.  I am going to take a moment and shamelessly plug my little, and inexpensive, e-book about a small town experiencing some strange disappearances...

          http://freakboyzone.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-oldnew-project-or-darkening.html