Examining Myths and Truths in Sasquatch Country

 Sasquatch Country: Death, Myth, and Truth in the New American Wilderness by Chuck Thompson

Sasquatch Country book cover

Author Chuck Thompson

There’s a point about midway through Chuck Thompson’s stunning and surprising new book Sasquatch Country: Death, Myth, and Truth in the New American Wilderness where he references Rashomon, the classic Akira Kurosawa film that changed the way we considered objectivity in events. Thompson, who was interviewing the county prosecutor who also served as the coroner in Skamania County in Washington state, used the film to help understand the various perspectives that were presenting their truths of a tragic situation. I initially requested to read this book because it had Sasquatch in the title, and death and myth in the subtitle. While the book deals with Sasquatch lore, I wasn’t expecting how deep this book explored the complications and implications of changes in society. Thompson initially explores the tragic death of two met who set off for a Christmas Eve hike in Washington states Gifford Pinchot Forrest. Although both men were experienced hikers, when they didn’t return at their expected time, one of the men’s wife decided to make a call to 911 to report them missing. In subsequent calls, she provided additional information that she felt might be helpful in locating the men, including where they likely hiked. In her anxious state, she also shared that her husband liked Sasquatch, and somehow this ended up as defining the purpose of the men’s hike. When their bodies were found several days later, the reports indicated that the men were searching for Sasquatch. Because of various cuts to newsrooms and reporters, wire services picked up the police report, and sensing clicks, reported the story with the lead about Sasquatch.

The grieving families of the men were further traumatized by the jokes and speculation that followed as the story went viral. From social media posts, to comments on the articles, and even late night talk show writers’ rooms, the tragic death of these men were misconstrued and used as entertainment and laughs without consideration for the feelings of the families nor the lives of these guys. Chuck Thompson, a writer and editor for various publications including CNN and the environmental news website Columbia Insight, presents a deep dive into the tragedy of Dean Pommerville and Eric Straughter, the two men who lost their lives after being caught in a surprise Christmas Eve storm in the Pacific Northwest, in order to not only understand what exactly happened to Dean and Eric, somewhat experienced hikers and outdoorsmen, but also to explore how the various factors that allowed their story to be taken so out of context and misconstrued. I was surprised at how compelling Thompson’s reporting and analysis are at questioning the various changes in how we receive and consume news and information online and how his reporting and analysis challenged my own thoughts and understanding of news. Even if Thompson doesn’t provide explicit answers for readers, he at least restores the humanity and dignity of Dean and Eric, providing a more truthful and realistic explanation for their Christmas Eve hike, and using the scant evidence from the men’s final day to make clear claims that they really went out for a quick hike, likely to escape recent workplace stress, and not Sasquatch hunting. Thompson methodically presents compelling evidence to indicate that Dean and Eric planned to return at their stated time, in the early evening, and had only planned to be out in the woods for a brief time, as shown by their light clothing and lack of supplies. Furthermore, in the final section, he recreates what likely happened to the men as they probably encountered a sudden storm, using evidence from meteorologists and medical experts to demonstrate what happens when someone experiences hypothermia. In an interesting turn in the second part of the book, Thompson explores some of the earliest legends of Sasquatch, the Ape Canyon event of 1924 (which I recently read about in MrBallen’s graphic novel The Terror Within). He does this to first explore how inescapable Sasquatch is to the area, but also to indicate how fleeting the objective truth is in understanding these situations, and how they are rooted in myths and legends from the area. While there hasn’t been any definitive evidence of Sasquatch, there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence, with many reporting sightings and encounters. Thompson’s interrogation of the facts of the case left me wondering why we question or believe these accounts, but don’t always question or believe the accounts posted on news services or online publications. In another fascinating deep dive, he explores how changes to digital media and police departments have changed the way we get information, and subsequently what we believe and hold to be the truth. Through his own experience working in newsrooms and the media, Thompson details how news reporting has cut back, leaving editing to one individual, if at all. Interestingly, he also reports on the emergence of a Public Information Officer or Communications Specialist within police departments, who have become like spokespeople for police departments, sending out brief reports that often serve as the basis for crime and other community event reporting from the media. It was an interesting contrast to see how as traditional media gradually decreases while reporters are paid less for more and more work, these communications specialists have taken on increasingly significant roles within police departments. Thompson uses this contrast to indicate one of the sources of the Sasquatch report- from the initial police report that was issued. However, Thompson also filed a freedom of information request to listen to the initial 911 call that Dean’s wife, Chris, made. Thompson’s reporting shows that there was no reference to Sasquatch in this call, and it was only in a later call, once the men had been missing for a long time, that Chris mentioned in passing, possibly in an attempt to provide any information that might help locate her husband and his friend, that he had shown some interest in Sasquatch. She never mentioned that this was the purpose of the men’s hike. Yet, the office on duty reported the men as Sasquatch hunters.

I don’t want to get too into the woods with this, but I found Thompson’s reporting to be so thorough and important in unraveling the mystery not just of what happened to these guys, but how their story became so entangled. Thompson also explores another unexpected angle in examining the role (or the non-role) that Flock cameras played in locating the men’s car. Chris Pommerville, in her 911 call, noted the likely location of the car, which was found near the trail, as she described it. Yet, the police reports and subsequent reporting indicated that Flock cameras played an important role in locating the men’s car. While the cameras were used to note when the men travelled on a certain toll road, their role in locating the car was completely fictional. As Thompson notes, it’s possible that the Public Information Officer may have been pushing the importance of Flock cameras, a highly controversial surveillance tool, on the community. Again, I didn’t expect a book with the title of Sasquatch Country to raise such philosophical and important questions about where our information comes from, what we should believe when we read information online, the implications of easy access to information online, and even how police may use communications officers to justify surveillance tools. It was fascinating to read, and I found myself incredibly absorbed with the tragedy of these men’s deaths, as well as the implications of the factors that led to these false reports and the virality of the untrue story. However, what Thompson does most powerfully is provide a sense of closure for Dean and Eric, while also restoring their dignity and humanity. Reading the last section of the book, where Thompson details the Christmas Eve plans and why exactly Dean and Eric decided to go out to escape into nature for the day is both honest and understandable. It’s something that most of us do when we want a break or some fresh air. Thompson invites readers to be more empathetic and considerate, especially when we may encounter sensational stories that might merely be meant for clickbait.

While Sasquatch County isn’t directly about Sasquatch, it does challenge our thinking about the nature of truth and objectivity, encouraging us to be more skeptical and critical about what information we encounter, its purpose, and its sources. It’s also an engaging read that kept me turning pages to learn more about the mystery of these men’s deaths, and how the details surrounding their deaths became so twisted and taken out of context. Highly recommended! Many thanks to Catapult, Counterpoint Press, Soft Skull Press, and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this marvelous book!

Nordic Nightmares: The Best of Nordic Horror

 Nordic Nightmares: The Best of Nordic Horror edited by Margret Helgadottir

Nordic Nightmares cover

Editor Margrét Helgadóttir

I was really excited to find this anthology, Nordic Nightmares: The Best of Nordic Horror, for a couple of reasons. I’m not really familiar with Nordic literature, especially Nordic horror, so learning more about a region’s culture, beliefs and fears through their popular literature is appealing to me. Plus, I recently visited Norway, Sweeden, and Denmark, three of the seven countries featured in this anthology. While visiting Sweeden, we took a “ghost” tour in Stockholm, which was fascinating and ended up in a crypt. We didn’t really learn too much about ghosts, but we did learn more about their beliefs about death, disease, and murder and how there was a darker side to Stockholm. When we were in Norway, we also visited a troll museum, where we learned a lot about the kinds of folk beliefs and legends that are an integral part of Norwegian culture and history. It was fascinating to see how these mythological creatures were all impacted by the geography, culture and history of these countries. While there weren’t any stories about many of the mythological creatures or legends, there seemed to be some themes and anxieties running through many of the stories in this collection. Overall, I enjoyed the collection, and there were several entertaining stories. I especially liked the stories from Denmark, Greenland, Iceland, The Faroe Islands, Norway, and Sweeden. The Finnish stories to start the collection were ok, but I felt like they were much shorter and somewhat more experimental than the others, which had more of a horror feel. That is, these Finish stories did not seem scary or terrifying like many horror stories. Nevertheless, many of these stories had more of a feeling of dread, like there was something horrible awaiting, whether it was an impending disaster, guilt, or some other kind of lurking evil or problem that was gradually making its way to the characters. Some of the other stories deal with pandemics, deadly diseases, and large-scale disasters that help to hasten the collapse of society (“Angela’s Artworks”, “The Storm”, “You See Me, Don’t You”, and “A Pretty Parcel for a Pretty Price”). I couldn’t help but think about how the COVID lockdowns and the threat of future pandemics may have impacted these countries and their orderly societies. After visiting some of these countries, I was so impressed with how orderly and well-maintained they are. Countries like Sweeden, Denmark, and Norway all thrive on a social safety net that provides education, insurance, and other benefits for its citizens. I’m not sure whether people who are willing to give more for a well-functioning society help to create these feeling of orderliness and care, or whether those benefits that people pay for help to create this kind of feeling of safety and community within a country; whatever the cause, it’s apparent that these countries are clean and its citizens are friendly and welcoming. While everything was much more expensive, I can see how this contributes to a more supportive and well-functioning society. Yet it also seems like from some of these stories, there’s some underlying cultural anxiety about the collapse of society or their safety nets, and how problems or sudden emergencies can suddenly disrupt society and sow confusion and chaos. While these stories might not represent the kinds of personal horror found in more popular American horror novels, it captures the kind of dread and impending doom that are found in large scale disaster and apocalyptic stories.

Other stories had a bit of folk horror to them, especially those from Greenland, “The Qivitttoq” and “The Tupilak”. Both stories featured Innuit legends or folklore. “The Qivittoq” is a tale about a family friend that disappeared, but it is based on the qivittoq, a person who abandons society only to become something else. Similarly, “The Tupilak” deals with witchcraft and terrifying creature lurking nearby. There’s a great, slow-burn story from Sweeden, “Echo”, that was one of my favorites in the collection. It’s more of a folk horror story about the mysterious disappearance of a friend from years before, and the kinds of resentments that carry over from high school to young adulthood. I really enjoyed this story, especially the mountainous setting, as it added to the eerie, mysterious mood of the story. “The Shape of Stones”, a story from Iceland, uses diary entries to document an archeology student who is trying to find a mysterious ruin stone and is plagued with nightmares and other frightening experiences while trying to locate and excavate the stone. I also really enjoyed “Neither Heaven Nor Hell”, one of the Danish stories involving the narrator’s father’s mysterious disappearance into the neighboring bog and its decaying landscape. This story really captured the kind of decadence and decay of the bog and its relationship to the home. It reminded me of other stories about decay and degradation like “Fall of the House of Usher.” This story also featured some unique twists that ultimately surprised me. It was one of the standout stories from this collection. Other standout stories included “Smoke and Shadows” from Norway, which was seemed to be a story about the nature of evil and how it can be difficult to escape its lingering effects. “Hit and Run” from Sweeden was also a thrilling story about a single mother who is going through a divorce. This story was great not only for the pace and sense of dread and guilt, but also because the main character is both sympathetic and problematic, and I loved how the author, Markus Sköld, created this complex, frustrating character. There are some other really good stories throughout this collection, and it's worth reading some of them. I also loved that it seemed to present a different side of horror, revealing what other cultures and countries experience and value. Recommended! Many thanks to Solaris Books and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy.

Whitney Houston's I'm Your Baby Tonight (33 1/3) by Brandon Tensley

 Whitney Houston's I'm Your Baby Tonight  

(33 1/3) by Brandon Tensley

I'm Your Baby Tonight cover

Author Brandon Tensley

I was a little hesitant to read this book since I’m not a huge Whitney Houston fan, and I really was not that familiar with her 1990 album I’m Your Baby Tonight. Weirdly enough, I felt like I grew up with Whitney’s earlier music in some ways, as one of the few cassettes my mom had in her car was Houston’s 1985 debut album Whitney Houston, featuring “The Greatest Love of All,” one of the few secular songs we sang in Catholic school. Although my mom didn’t have Whitney, I distinctly remember seeing the videos for songs like “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” and hearing “So Emotional” on the radio when my emerging musical tastes were diverging from my parents’ influence. I can’t also forget her rousing rendition of the National Anthem for Super Bowl XXV as the nation tuned in to watch the Bills lose on a last second missed field goal as it was grappling with its involvement in Desert Storm. I’ve never been overtly patriotic, but Whitney Houston definitely brought people together, conservatives and liberals, white and Black, young and old, and used her voice to evoke positive feelings about our country, and as author Brandon Tensley notes, she also was able to radically reclaim this ode to freedom, making “ ‘free’ the emotional centerpiece of the song.” Reading Tensley’s entry into the 33 1/3 collection made me appreciate Houston’s overlooked and sometimes maligned career and life, as he not only serves as a champion for Whitney’s career and often overlooked album, but he also ends up championing the harsh realities that female artists, especially Black female artists, face in maintaining pop supremacy while also being artistically authentic. I didn’t expect to be so challenged and have to interrogate so many assumptions about pop music, but Tensley’s research and analysis provides a clear entryway to further analyze one of the most successful and misunderstood female artists of the 1980s and 90s.

Rather than taking a traditional approach to examining Houston’s 1990 album I’m Your Baby Tonight by discussing its creation and production, Tensley frames this album in the greater context of Houston’s other albums and pop domination. However, as Tensley explores Houston’s success with mainstream (and white) America, he notes that she faced backlash and frequent accusations of selling out or not being Black enough as an artist. Tensley sees I’m Your Baby Tonight as both a statement to Houston’s Black critics, bringing in more of a new jack swing style, which was popular in the late 80s and early 90s, from producers LA Reid and Babyface, and also asserting more of her sexuality with songs that thematically discussed sex and one night stands more than the love songs on her previous two albums explored. It’s interesting to consider, especially when I think about many of the female R n B artists that followed Houston’s lead from TLC and SWV to later acts like Monica and Brandy in the later 90s. Houston, along with Janet Jackson, challenged the ideas of Black female sexuality and love in popular music, and while Houston didn’t necessarily have the dance moves of Janet Jackson, Tensley argues that Houston’s background in Gospel music and her relationship with Robyn Crawford enabled Houston to craft a more complex and nuanced idea of love and sexuality in R n B and pop music than was previously presented. Tensley analyzes each of the songs, and while he does present information about the song’s production and recording, he also takes the time to analyze the sound, its evolution from Houston’s other work, and the lyrical content, exploring how the song’s offered more nuanced meanings and interpretations than her previous love songs that often followed a forlorn more abstract approach to love as a feeling. It’s interesting to consider, especially as Tensley reminds readers that many of these songs came out at the height of the AIDS crisis, which Houston was impacted by.

Beyond the musical content of Houston’s third album, Tensley also explores her later work, as well as Houston’s championing and support for other female artists, including Brandy and Miss Lauryn Hill, another New Jersey artist whose own struggles with the music industry and its expectations for control of her artistry and image, have led to labels and perceptions about her personality, similar to Whitney Houston’s. Tensley also takes some of the last chapter to reference Britney Spears, who serves as another cautionary tale for how the control of these female artists’ image and the public’s desire for spectacle and their suffering can have tragic consequences, as it did with Houston’s own death at age 48. Again, I was not expecting to think this much about how the music and entertainment industries will put these female artists through the wringer to extract what will be most entertaining and profitable, but Tensley provided many different examples and reminded readers of the ways in which Whitney Houston sought to reclaim her own identity rather than be controlled by record labels. For Tensley, this started with the album I’m Your Baby Tonight and proceeded to future decisions from marrying Bobby Brown to her later work on recording breaking Waiting to Exhale and The Bodyguard soundtracks and starring in The Bodyguard and The Preacher’s Wife. This is a fascinating look at one of the most important and beautiful voices in music from the 80s and 90s. A few years ago, I heard an acapella version of “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” and I was amazed at how beautiful and joyous Houston’s voice was. It gave me chills, but it also brought about a sense of sadness since I realized she was no longer going to sing new songs. Although I’m not as much of a Whitney fan as Tensley, like a lot of 80s and 90s kids, I can say that her music was definitely a part of my early musical awareness. Even in high school, songs like “I Will Always Love You” were always on at dances. Even now, if I hear her voice, I get so emotional (pun intended). She possessed an extraordinary voice, and while artists like Brandy, Miss Lauryn Hill, and even Beyonce have forged their own place in popular music, they might not have made it this far without Houston’s trailblazing work.

I love the 33 1/3 books because they highlight the importance of an album, even if that album might not always be the most well-known or best achievement by an artist. While some writers highlight the creation of the album, others provide historical, background, or contextual information about the album’s significance. Some of my favorite 33 1/3 entries provide personal connections, with authors exploring how the album connected with or serves as an important marker in their own lives. I was so glad that author Brandon Tensley adds in his own personal experiences and connections with this album, not only making the argument for why it’s Whitney Houston’s best and most personal album but also making the case for why I’m Your Baby Tonight is his favorite album. His own personal connections, memories, and discussions with friends highlight how important Whitney Houston’s artistry is and why she remains a complicated but important artist who needs to be celebrated. Many thanks to Bloomsbury Academic and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this wonderful addition to the 33 1/3 series. Highly recommended! 

The Story of Rocky and Philadelphia- Going the Distance by Mike Sielski

 Going the Distance: Stallone, Philly, and the Story of Rocky by Mike Sielski 

Going the Distance book cover

Author and columnist Mike Sielski

Much like he did with the excellent Magic in the Air, Mike Sielski delves into the history and significance of a cultural phenomenon while examining its Philly roots. Magic in the Air explored the evolution of the dunk and its contributions to basketball, while exploring the Philly/PA connection through some of the city’s best showmen. It’s a great read for any basketball fan or Philly denizen to learn more not just about the game, but about the cultural significance of one of basketball’s most exciting plays. He takes a similar approach to a more Philly-centric phenomenon right as it approaches its 50^th anniversary: the development and release of the Academy Award winning film Rocky, which has nine films in its story and has evolved from the story of an unlikely fighter going the distance to encompass something much more. Whether you’re a fan of all of the Rocky films or not, it’s hard not to root for The Italian Stallion, and Sielski, who is also a sports columnist for The Philadelphia Inquirer and hosts a radio show in WIP on Saturdays, unpacks the unlikely journey of Sylvester Stallone and his own Philly roots to explore how this unlikely underdog went the distance and has sustained success in Hollywood in the book Going the Distance: Stallone, Philly, and the Story of Rocky. Sielski, in his thorough reporting and research, leaves no stone (or rocky-y) unturned, exploring Stallone’s adolescent years in Philly that helped him hone his grit and determination, as well as his challenges with breaking into show business, and how his ultimate gamble on himself provided a big payoff in capturing the Academy Award for best picture, although the best actor and screenplay awards eluded him. In this book, Sielski explores the complexity of Stallone, whose on screen persona as a tough action hero doesn’t always capture the sensitive, creative and stubborn artist that brought Rocky to screens and won audiences’ hearts 50 years ago. I really appreciated how despite his limited participation in the book through emails, Stallone emerges as both the creative force driving this film, but also someone who feels slighted and bitter over the lack of recognition he seemed to receive for the film. It’s a fascinating study of not only the significance of the film Rocky, but also the challenges of creating characters and films in a system that banks on trends and reliability more than artistic risks.

Sielski organizes the book into different parts of Stallone’s journey from a troubled teen to a bankable movie star, with chapters exploring Stallone’s experience growing up in Philadelphia and the challenges he had fitting in and finding his place at Lincoln high in the Northeast; his attempts to break into acting and films after taking parts in plays during college; his feverish attempts to create screenplays, often writing for himself, which eventually leads to Rocky; the production and filming of Rocky and all of the challenges it faced while filming on a limited budget in a city where movies just weren’t made; and the surprising success of Rocky and its endearing legacy, both for Philly and Stallone. I knew that Stallone lived in Philly for some time, but I didn’t realize how long and troubled his experience was growing up in Philly. It was also interesting to learn more about how Stallone got into acting, playing Biff in a Death of a Salesman production in Switzerland. Sielski’s reporting about Stallone’s time in the American College of Switzerland was really interesting because it not only explored how he got into acting, but it also showed his hustle to survive and make money through his inventiveness, creating a burger stand where he repurposed objects (and some meat) around him to cook and store this American staple for his European classmates (and one of Haile Selassie’s grandkids). This kind of hustle and craftiness is a theme throughout Stallone’s early days when he tries to make his way in the entertainment industry.

I really enjoyed learning more about Stallone’s time after college, where he attended University of Miami, and ended up in NYC trying to break into theater and film. Sielski shares some interesting productions that Stallone took part in, including experimental theater that seems a far cry from John Rambo, Barney Ross, or Marion Cobretti. Sielski details the kind of struggles, both financial and professional, that Stallone experienced as he hustled to find roles that moved beyond his appearance. He even struggled to find roles of gangsters and thugs, where some directors didn’t feel that he was intimidating enough. These kinds of casting challenges lead to Stallone creating roles of his own from his many later attempts at crafting screenplays, which eventually led to Rocky. While I knew a little about how Stallone bet on himself for Rocky, I didn’t realize how much he struggled to find parts and roles to support his dream of becoming an actor. Furthermore, to see how much Stallone struggled as an adolescent to fit in and not act out, it’s amazing that he was able to find some purpose and meaning in acting.

The second part of Stallone’s quest for acting parts sees him and his wife move out to LA to chase other parts after he won a starring role in Lords of Flatbush and became friends with Henry Winkler and enemies with Richard Gere. Again, I loved learning more about these little tidbits of Stallone’s professional career, and how people seem to have polarized reactions to him. In LA, Stallone seemed to grow increasingly desperate to find work, which led to him cranking out screenplays at a machinelike pace. Sielski provides some of the more interesting stories, and how he eventually crafted and revised the story of Rocky, which was most likely based on Chuck Wepner, a heavy weight journeyman from NJ who went 15 rounds with Ali and knocked him down in the 9^th. Sielski has an entire chapter devoted to Wepner’s story, which most likely served as one of the inspirations for Rocky. It’s among the great subject focused chapters found throughout the book. While the book is primarily focused on Rocky, Sielski also has chapters that provide more details about the director John Avildsen, who won the best director Academy Award for Rocky and also directed The Karate Kid, Burt Young,  who played Paulie, Rocky’s friend and Adrienne’s brother (his chapter was among the most entertaining), and Burgess Meredith, who played Mickey, Rocky’s trainer. There are other chapters on Talia Shire, who played Adrienne and how she developed that role, Bill Conti, the composer of the music for Rocky, including the iconic “Gonna Fly Now”, and a chapter on Carl Weathers, who played Apollo Creed. It was fascinating to learn more about Carl Weathers too, and how he also did not get along with Stallone. There was so much to learn about the production of the film, and how the crew ended up using Philadelphia as not just the setting for the story, but also as another character, the kind of city that always seems to be in the shadow of New York and Chicago, and in the 1970s, was experiencing the kind of urban flight and deindustrialization that was plaguing much of America at the time. Sielski’s writing about the Philadelphia backdrop, not just the economic, but the political cultural surrounding Mayor Frank Rizzo, provides cultural and social context that emphasized the “evolving and eroding Philadelphia” “already in the midst of its demise.” As someone familiar with not only sports but the vicissitudes of the city of Brotherly Love, Sielski provides an unvarnished, objective portrait of the city in all its 70’s grit and grime. While some may see this as slight to the city, I think most Philadelphians will recognize the emphasis not only on the toughness of the city, but also on its revitalization and evolution from that time.

Sielski further emphasizes this evolution at the end of the book, when Stallone is invited back to the city to help open The Linc in 2003 (even though the Eagles were shut out in the opener). Prior to his appearance, Stallone might have seemed ambivalent towards the city, which Sielski documents their struggles to find a place for the infamous Rocky statue. Most Philadelphians have questioned this statue to a fictional character, and why it has become so prominent when other homegrown boxing heroes like Joe Frazier or Bernard Hopkins have never had the same kind of cultural recognition. Sielski also interrogates this point, reminding readers about Joe Frazier’s possible influence on Rocky as well. Nevertheless, Sielski’s writing, reporting, and analysis presents the multitudes of Sylvester Stallone, who before Cop Land, I always thought of as kind of a one-dimensional action hero. This book presents a much different side of Stallone, not only as an actor, but also as a writer, artist, and hustler looking to make his mark and go the distance. It’s amazing to think how he has sustained such a successful career, especially in a field and genre where youth is often preferred over experience and age. If anything, Stallone has helped to expand some of the ideas of what action heroes and these kinds of underdog movies can be. Although he hasn’t been in the later Creed movies, it’s interesting to see how his role has shifted to a kind of mentor/trainer.

There’s so much more I could praise about this book, but I don’t want to give too much away. I loved learning more about Stallone’s contentious post-Rocky relationships, where he challenged the contributions of others. It’s a little confusing, but as Sielski reports, this was his personal project, and he risked everything to maintain control over the film. I’m not sure that a major studio would give that much creative control to a first-time screenwriter, who was also the star of the film. I also loved learning more about Garret Brown’s innovative use of the Steadicam, which was invented in Philly and used in Rocky for many of the iconic training scenes, including the famous Art Museum stairs scene. Sielski shares some of the challenges that Brown faced in developing his camera, as well as trying to run up the stairs with Stallone during this iconic scene. Going the Distance is one of those books, like Rocky, that will appeal to a broad audience. It’s an essential Philly story, but one that movie lovers will also appreciate. It’s an underdog story of a man who bet on himself, overcoming the odds to achieve great and sustained success in a harsh business. Furthermore, it’s a book that presents the complexities of Stallone, celebrating him, while also acknowledging the dismissiveness of his collaborators in making Rocky. Going the Distance isn’t a sports story, like some of Sielski’s other books, but it is a love story, to borrow Stallone’s characterization, about how an audience learned to fall in love with the underdog, and how Philadelphians have learned to love the legacy of this iconic film. Highly recommended! Many thanks to St. Martin’s Press and NetGalley for the advanced copy of this amazing book! 

Lady Mechanika Volume 0: La Dama de la Muerte

Lady Mechanika Volume 0: La Dama de la Muerte by Joe Benitez with artwork by Joe Benitez and Peter Steigerwald

Lady Mechanika cover

Author and illustrator Joe Benitez

Artist Peter Steigerwald

I was not familiar with the comic Lady Mechanika, but the cover artwork depicting a woman in Dia de la Muertos make-up immediately attracted me to this story. This comic includes issues from a mini-series titled La Dama de la Muerte. The story revolves around Mechanika who visits a remote Mexican village where she tries to escape from a painful loss of her beloved Dallas. We don’t learn much about Dallas, but Mechanika gradually reveals his presence in her life when she is persuaded to partake in the local Dia de la Muertos celebration. The artwork throughout this story is amazing, truly capturing the colors and styles of this iconic holiday. Furthermore, this is a great action/revenge story where Lady Mechanika gradually feels like she belongs to a new community, only to experience tragedy once again. I don’t want to give too much away, but the story is compelling, violent, and thrilling. However, it’s the artwork from Joe Benitez (who also wrote the story) and Peter Steigerwald that stands out the most in this collection of issues from this miniseries. Not only does it represent the colorful and bold styles of Dia de la Muerte, but there are also some really cool images from the jungles of Mexico, which seemingly capture some of the indigenous artwork and styles of Aztec people. There are mentions of Mictecacihuatl, the Aztec queen of the underworld, along with other symbols and themes relating to Aztec culture. I really appreciated the artwork and hope to find some of the other Lady Mechanika stories. Highly recommended! Many thanks to Image Comics and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this great graphic novel/collection.

 

Body and Blood: Catholic Horror in America

 Body and Blood: Catholic Horror in America by Matthew J. Cressler, Jack Lee Downey, Kathleen Holscher, and Michael Paquier

Body and Blood book cover

Is there any other kind of horror more terrifying than Catholic horror? Maybe not for those who were raised in other Christian denominations or other faiths, but as someone who attended Catholic school throughout elementary and high school and who served as an altar boy, I find Catholic horror, especially supernatural Catholic horror to be some of the most frightening and soul-searching kinds of horror around. I’ve always loved The Exorcist, and Body and Blood: Catholic Horror in America provides me with more reasons and ideas as to why this powerful film (and novel), which is allegedly based on a true story, remains one of the most frightening films of all time. Yet, the authors of this book, all academics, also explore how the film remains ultimately a Catholic recruiting tool, as it presents a message about good triumphing over evil and how good Catholics, even those who remain skeptical in an increasingly secular world, can return to the faith and possibly even make the ultimate sacrifice to help out someone else in need. Like Eleanor Johnson’s Scream With Me, a reevaluation of classic American horror films through a post-Dobbs feminist lens, Body and Blood invites readers and horror aficionados to reexamine some of these classic films and consider the implications of the events in our current times.

I really enjoyed Body and Blood especially since it allowed me to reconsider and reevaluate the meaning, symbolism, and themes in some of my all-time favorite horror movies. Furthermore, the authors also highlighted some other movies (and books) that I’ve been able to include on my to watch (and to read) list. However, what I enjoyed most about this book was their approach to contextualizing the horrors from these films socially, historically, and stylistically. Each chapter focuses on different elements of Catholic horror which include themes like demons and possession, haunted spaces, death, bodies, tradition, rites, and burial, and pain, martyrdom, and suffering. Each chapter also includes an interlude that focuses on the history, events, and figures who all have influenced these themes, symbols, and approaches to portraying Catholicism in films and novels. One of the elements I found most interesting about each chapter was the reminders about how Catholics were frequently suspected of evil or backwards, traditional practices, sometimes facing severe social ostracism, violence, and even death for their practices. While Catholics notably also participated in later persecutions during the European witch hunts of later medieval times, the book serves as a reminder of how frequently these elements of Catholicism were often portrayed as the other, a complex and arcane religion that bordered on superstitious and was often the subject of derision and fear mongering. Nevertheless, the authors remind readers how Catholic horror aligns well with many gothic elements to create some of the most well-regarded horror in literature and film, whether it’s the Monk, Dracula, or more recent entries like The Exorcist, The Nun, or The Conjuring films that feature demonologists Ed and Lorraine Warren. The authors explore the varieties of these stories, and how their settings, characters, and events all incorporate elements of Catholic horror, and how these themes have evolved from one of critiquing a religious group to one that seeks to potentially represent social and cultural fears and anxieties playing out in current society. In the early chapter that focuses on how the Catholic practice and interest in corpses and dead bodies are often displayed after death, the authors examine how this is often portrayed in films, where they spend some time examining Psycho, with Norman’s interest in taxidermy and how his mother’s corpse might reflect a Catholic belief. It was an interesting chapter to read about the practices in Catholicism that I grew up with without questioning too much, especially with practices like veneration of the body parts of saints or seeing the preserved bodies of other religious figures. The authors also discuss how zombie films that show the living dead walking among us might also represent some of the Catholic fears and anxieties, especially around the apocalypse and the end of the world. It was also fascinating to read the last chapter which details the Catholic idea of physical suffering, punishment, and pain, and how The Passion of the Christ is actually more of a horror film than anything else. Again, having grown up with the image of suffering and gruesome deaths of martyrs, it’s not something I really questioned until I began to meet others who were not raised Catholic. On a recent trip to Europe, I had to explain to my family about some of the more gruesome artwork representing the lives of saints in museums and cathedrals. I also recently rewatched Ken Russell’s The Devils, which is also featured throughout the book, and seeing some of the body horror and torture that is apparent in this film made me rethink the ideas of suffering and brutality that appear to be so much of certain brands of Catholicism.

Body and Blood is a fascinating book, especially for fans of horror who may have attended Catholic school. The authors, all scholars of literature or religion, present novel interpretations of horror, both older and modern, to allow readers and viewers to reconsider the influence of religion, especially Catholic religion, on horror. I found their interpretations and ideas fascinating and intriguing, allowing me to consider some of my favorite films and stories in a new light. Many thanks to NYU Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy. Highly recommended! 

Portrait of an Artist as a Scientologist: The Last Temptation of Beck

 The Last Temptation of Beck: The Untold Story of a Pop Messiah by Josephine Riesman

The Last Temptation of Beck cover

Author Josephine Riesman

Like the author, Josephine Riesman, and many of the other fans featured in the intriguing book The Last Temptation of Beck: The Untold Story of a Pop Messiah, I was an early adherent of Beck. I fell in love with his strange visions, loving the sound of “Loser” and “Beercan”. However, once I began to listen to his b-sides for these songs, I absolutely loved his work. Songs like “Soul Sucking Jerk”, “Got No Mind”, “Corvette Bummer”, and especially “Fume” really spoke to my adolescence as well as my interest in expanding the confines of alternative music. Beck’s music was strange, funny, and unique, standing out among a crowded music store filled with crunchy grunge power chords and riffs. Although I loved his experimentation, I especially loved his acoustic work on One Foot in the Grave, Stereopathic Soulmanure, and A Western Harvest Field by Moonlight. I loved how raw and experimental they were, allowing listeners into the odd process that Beck used to construct (or maybe de-construct) these idiosyncratic songs. The first section of Riesman’s book takes us through these thrilling times to see how Beck not only developed his musicianship, but also how he evolved from a strange hip-hop loving folk and blues musician into the party boy who had two turntables and a microphone. Riesman’s reporting, though, doesn’t just focus on Beck’s life and career. Rather, she takes the fans’ perspectives, reminding readers how exciting and different Beck’s music was, and how it spoke to those who were different, those who didn’t fit in with the typical crowds in schools or who were searching for new and different sounds. She introduces us Truck and Donna, two fans who ended up creating Beck fanzines and websites in the early days of the internet. It was amazing to learn how both of these fans eventually gained access to Beck, although in different ways. Riesman’s reporting allows us to see not only how indifferent Beck initially was to success, but also how uncomfortable he was to fame and attention. I actually liked how Riesman includes multiple narratives that detail Beck’s biography and career development with his fan’s perspectives and interests. Also included in these chapters are a focus on Beck’s family, including his mother, his Scientologist and musical father, and his Fluxus-performance artist grandfather, Al Hansen, whose own life seemed to be shaped more by myth and memory than reality and history. Riesman skillfully constructs chapters with these competing narratives to allow readers to learn more about the enigmatic Beck, and how guarded his background is. While Riesman indicates part of this was due to Beck’s discomfort with the limelight initially, she also suggests that his eventual engagement with the Church of Scientology also has something to do with his changing public persona that remained cautiously guarded.

Although I don’t know much about Scientology except from Lawrence Wright’s incredible book Going Clear (which was cited throughout some of the chapters), it’s clear that Scientology has had a disruptive impact on many people’s lives. Riesman provides some background about the origins of Scientology, as well as their growth from a strange sci-fi group to an IRS recognized religion, without getting into the strange and sordid details. I was actually impressed with how concise her reporting is. Although there have been rumors about Beck’s involvement with Scientology and some evidence provided from Riesman, no of it seems to indicate a definitive explanation for Beck’s later music nor his personal life. I too agree that Beck’s music, especially after Sea Change seemed to become somewhat vapid, with occasional good songs here and there. Nothing ever reached the consistent whole album of records like Odelay or Mutations. It can be difficult to continuously reinvent oneself or find ways to keep music fresh and appealing. We’ve seen this with many other artists who struggle with remaining relevant while still trying to maintain creative control from record labels. Could it be that Beck was under pressure to craft more hit singles rather than pursue his passion and interest in exploring new sounds? Was the record label looking for more of the same, banking on safe, formulaic music rather than exciting experimentation? Riesman seems to suggest that Beck’s father, David Campbell, and other Scientologists were more to blame, as Beck began to be viewed as a pop music messiah who might also be able to recruit new members with his infectious and popular music. She cites the role of actors like Tom Cruise who attribute their popularity and success to Scientology’s principles. It’s an interesting premise, but one that Riesman is never able to completely nail. Much of the evidence she relies on is based on events, interviews with friends of friends, and other kinds of speculation that I found somewhat questionable. At the center of the Riesman’s claims are the tragic deaths of Jeremy Blake and Theresa Duncan, two artists who had connections to Beck. Jeremy Blake, a digital artist, worked with Beck on the cover for Sea Change, while his partner Theresa Duncan proposed that Beck star in a movie she was planning to direct that was a 1970s set in NYC take on Alice in Wonderland. Duncan and Blake both died at their own hands in July 2007, and there’s been speculation that their deaths were the result of harassment by Scientology, with Riesman implicitly blaming Beck for their deaths. It was pretty shocking to read since there was no clear evidence of harassment. Riesman documents that Blake and Duncan grew increasingly conspiratorial and paranoid, eventually withdrawing into a strange apartment in NYC. While Duncan blamed Beck’s eventually exit from the planned film for the project’s failure, it looked to me like the possibility of the changing tastes in films. Films like these are especially hard to find funding for, and I would imagine that a first time female director might face additional challenges to making a 1970s remake of Alice in Wonderland set in NYC. I wondered if possibly Duncan and Riesman were attributing the obstacles that this project faced to other outside forces. This also made the implications of Beck’s involvement in their deaths even more frustrating since there was no clear evidence to show this. While Scientology does have a history of harassing its perceived enemies, and Riesman provides examples and the kinds of labeling that the organization uses for those who pose a threat, it’s not clear why Beck or Scientology would mark Blake and Duncan as suppressive persons or why they were considered fair game especially when they didn’t really seem to attack Beck. Riesman does suggest that Beck possibly wanted out, but was pulled back in to Scientology, but again, there’s not real definitive evidence.

This kind of hearsay was also used to document Beck’s breakup with his longtime partner Leigh Limon, who helped style Beck during his transformation from urban slacker to a retro-styled entertainer. As Riesman documents, Limon eventually grew distant from Beck as he continued to tour the world and she remained at home. She made attempts to spend more time with him, but he remained aloof and distant. Riesman notes how Beck’s father and mother became more of a presence in his life as he became more famous, and suggests that this was the reason for Beck’s distance from Limon. However, as Riesman also noted with pre-fame Beck, he was always aloof and distant, struggling to interact with others and often seeming spacy or disengaged. I wondered too how much fame and the pressure to maintain hit records and tour constantly may have challenged him and affected his relationships with those he was close with. He seemed like he was unconcerned about fame, and listening to some of his earlier independent releases, he didn’t seem like he wanted to make pop music, but rather pursued his own idiosyncratic passions and interests. We also have to remember that this was around the time of Kurt Kobain’s death, where alternative music was experiencing a kind of identity crisis, with calls to keep things real and not sell out. Could Beck’s success also have created his own identity crisis? Riesman’s reporting says that Beck accused Limon of cheating and substance abuse, apparently fed to him by other Scientologists while he was touring Japan. While this is also a possibility, I wondered why Beck would believe accusations like this, especially about a loved one, without verifying. I ended up empathizing with Limon, whose job, home, car, and other possessions were all owned by Beck. She was swiftly evicted and struggled to get back on her feet. Riesman didn’t interview her, but provides details about what she is currently up to and how she saw Beck at a concert, but didn’t talk to him. Limon’s experience, as well as those of some of Beck’s other early supporters, were troubling and sad, yet it’s not completely clear whether Scientology factored into these breaks or not. Even if they did, I don’t necessarily think they caused the deaths of Blake and Duncan. I would need to review more of the facts to make any clear indication, and while Riesman creates a compelling narrative, it seemed like the facts operate more around correlation than causation.

Despite these fallacies, Riesman has crafted an exciting book about an enigmatic figure in the music world who has undergone many transformations (or Mutations) not only musically but also stylistically. I loved learning more about Beck’s early beginnings in LA and New York, and how his strange blend of folk music and hip-hop gradually evolved to become such a fascinating mix of styles. I also loved learning about his family, especially his grandfather and mother, who each participated in the art world that possibly shaped Beck’s own vision and styles. Nevertheless, Riesman also reports on some of the questionable behavior from Beck that led to fallouts, estrangements, and other breaks that seemed to come from nowhere without warning. Whether it was scientology or some other variable, Riesman seems to have her mind made up. I appreciated her reporting, but I had my own questions about these claims. Nevertheless, this was a fascinating read, and it spurred my renewed interest in Beck’s music and life. Highly recommended! Many thanks to Atria Books and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy.