New Paramount Merger Brings the Horror of the Trump Administration to Big Screens

While horror is experiencing a resurgence in the box office, some cultural critics note that popular and meaningful horror tales often reflect the growing disillusionment and violence in society. The 70s saw films like The Exorcist, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Last House on the Left take horror, gore and violence to new levels as America was embroiled in a worsening economy and traumatized by the horrors of a war in Vietnam that American propaganda could not spin. In the 80s, films like Robocop and They Live! brought a critical eye to Reaganism and the growing conservatism that wiped out some of the progress and advancement that was made in the 60s. Similarly, films of the early 2000s frequently depicted extreme scenes of violence and gore that some critics thought reflected the growing disenchantment with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The first Trump administration in 2016 brought films like Jordan Peele's Get Out, The Purge, and Hereditary, which all reflected some of the anxieties and concerns around issues like race, class, mental health, and family. 

The current Trump administration continues to bring us more and more horrors, whether it is reflected in the gross incompetence, their thirst for blood and vengeance, or their incredible acts of venality. We are living in a horror film on a daily basis where decisions and policy are not based on science or reason, but are based on vibes and feels, especially those vibes and feels of resentment, jealousy, anger, and humiliation. 

In addition to bombarding us daily with unpleasant and disturbing news, Trump Inc. has sought to control the messaging. It makes sense that his election rose the wave of social media, where two owners of social media companies (Trump and Musk) were able to manipulate messages to make people ignore reason, to abandon critical thinking, and operate at the basest of human emotions: fear, loathing, resentment. Trump has pushed further into the media landscape with helping to strongarm the acquisition of Paramount and its subsequent mergers with other media companies and studios. As we've seen from recent moves, the new leaders of these companies are not usually brought in to help grow the company or inject fresh, new ideas that appeal or reach new audiences, but rather they are sent to strangle and choke out existing programs, content, and shows, most notably those that Trump views as a threat to his image. 

Nevertheless, I think that Paramount has a chance to capitalize on the horror trends in movie theaters and use all the horrors of the Trump administration IP to create a new production company that churns out horror films based on the stories from the Trump administration. 

Bobby's Beds

Sometimes tan is deader.

Bobby's Beds a tanning horror film based on recent FDA approvals to allow teens to use tanning beds. We know that this administration loves its tanning beds. Whether it's Trump's orange hue or RFK's charred meat, the members of this administration like to give the impression of spending a long day in the sun, and they frequently appear to be suffering from some kind of sunstroke. Is it any wonder that they want a crew of young, tanned adolescents? Careful though; while the FDA has recently pulled the restrictions for teens, there's got to be something behind it. Bobby's Beds is a movie that questions what's inside the bed, and why are all the tanned teens disappearing. In this film, a scion of a dynastic family is often left to his weird projects and beliefs. A product of privilege and parental permissiveness, Bobby develops strange obsessions with dead animals. His family line often dies young, but Bobby wants to be the sole survivor in a race against aging. Although his tanning habits have weathered his skin into a leathery flesh robe, Bobby sees another source for his pathway to rejuvenation. His new tanning beds, marketed for the young, extract the youthful essence and ferments from the young, which Bobby ingests on a daily basis to fuel his desire for regeneration and youthfulness. However, once the essence and ferments are extracted, the youth become mindless zombie health influencers, who regularly do Bobby's bidding. Will the town fight for its youth, or will it trade its future for a shot at the present? 

Karoline's Baby

What Have You Done To Its Lips?

Karoline's Baby is a new installment in the Rosemary's Baby series of films. Like in the original Rosemary's Baby, a group of men and older women command the womb of a younger woman to harvest a future child. These pro-natalists also continually question the woman's appearance, creating a sense of doubt and uncertainty about her femininity. Although Karoline has never doubted her womanhood, the administration's insistence on traditional gender norms requires women to receive gender affirming care, some of which is taken to the extreme to generate excessive facial features. Furthermore, women are expected to not only reproduce, but also to monetize and promote their pregnancies to further emphasize their femininity. For these pro-natalists, women are either vessels or unhappy, unmarried cat ladies. As a result of these binary views, Karoline seeks out gender affirming care, unaware that she has been impregnated after a strange stop the steal style ritual rally in which she drinks diet coke that's been secretly spiked with ibogaine and MDMA. This domestic and political thriller is sure to swell and plump the anxiety and emotions of audiences. 

Catching Vapes

Make America Gasp Again

Catching Vapes is a melting horror movie in the vein of Street Trash. However, it deals with a top secret scientific experiment conducted through the FDA and the CBP. This is based on the FDA's recent  approval of flavored vapes, despite these flavors appealing to teens. Many see this as a gateway to smoking and nicotine addiction. However, the FDA and CBP realize that these flavored vapes can also serve as a method of population control. With the increase in immigration enforcement, the government faces a shortage of places to store all the recently detained immigrants. While there have been some attempts to repatriate immigrants to different countries (often not their country of origin), many countries are closing their borders and refusing flights to repatriate these immigrants. That's when FDA scientists approach CBP for a new plan to reduce the immigrant population with addictive results. 

By sending these flavored vapes to minority and immigrant communities, the FDA and CBP can work to eliminate the populations they deem as un-American. While these vape flavors may be highly desirable and addictive, they also bring a terrible side effect that melts vapers shortly after their first inhales. In fact, word of the addictive properties of these vape flavors spreads so quickly, there's actually a surge in illegal immigration where people are crossing the borders to try a taste of "Liberty Mist", the latest vape creation from these mad FDA scientists. 

D.H.S. (Domestic Homicide Squad)

We Don't Negotiate. We Eliminate. 

Although not a horror movie, this is a movie that hearkens back to the 80s action hero era. In this case, Tom Homan, credited as Rex Bloodstone, takes the commanding lead as the head of a new, elite government crime fighting group: DHS- Domestic Homicide Squad. Created to counter the American carnage that has erupted across the country, DHS fights back with lethal force against the drug dealers, human traffickers, and violent gangs that have invaded the country. 

DHS head Tom Homan shown at a recent press conference. 

While the Oracle acquisition of Paramount and its merger with Warner Brothers seems like it will just dilute entertainment and move movies and television programs to their least common denominator, I think there are also opportunities for exciting new films and stories that reflect the current horrors of this administration. 

When the Horrors are Real: Racism and Medical Experiments Crownsville by Rodney Barnes

 Crownsville by Rodney Barnes; artwork by Elia Bonetti

Crownsville book cover

Author Rodney Barnes

Artist Elia Bonetti

Many thanks to Oni Press and NetGalley for allowing me to preview Rodney Barnes’ latest graphic novel Crownsville. I wasn’t sure what to expect with this graphic novel, but the fact that its setting is a notorious segregated all-Black psychiatric facility that has been abandoned seemed interesting to me. I love haunted facility stories, and I’m particularly interested in these kinds of abandoned buildings. However, I wasn’t prepared for the utter horror and fright that is in this book, but Crownsville takes readers on a wild ride that directly confronts the horrors of racism, segregation, and the kinds of unethical medical experiments conducted on minorities like the infamous Tuskegee Experiments or the experiments conducted on inmates in Philadelphia’s Holmesburg Prison between 1951 and 1974. Sometimes it’s the reality in which the horror is rooted that makes it so terrifying, and Crownsville’s emphasis on these unethical medical experiments and exploitation of vulnerable and marginalized populations helps to capture the horrors of racism and segregation.

The story starts with three main characters- journalist Paul Blair, who just lost his mother before she is able to reveal a confession about her work at Crownsville on her deathbed; detective Mike Simms, who is nearing retirement and jaded from the increase in drug violence that plagues the Annapolis and Baltimore areas; and Todd Hicks, a newly hired security officer, tasked with guarding the abandoned Crownsville facility during his first day on the job. The three men’s lives converge when Todd, after hearing some strange noises as he arrives for his first shift, discovers the body of the guard he is set to relieve in a room in Crownsville. Although it appears to be suicide, investigating officers are skeptical of Todd, who reports seeing a toy by the body. However, we can also see that the investigating officer views Todd’s race as being another factor in questioning him. Blair is assigned to investigate the story, and with his mother’s deathbed revelation about something not being right about Crownsville, Blair reaches out to Detective Simms for some background information about Crownsville. Hicks eventually goes missing as he continues to hear and see the lingering remnants of Crownsville’s fraught and hidden history of human experimentation.  Blair and Simms begin to unravel the mystery of Crownsville’s experiments after some incredibly discoveries are unearthed, leading them to a nearby military base, where they eventually learn the true depravity of these experiments and the human cost in Annapolis’s Black community.

This was a wild and exciting graphic novel that expertly blends mystery, horror, and social commentary in an engaging and exciting way. Although the first part where the characters are established is a little slow at first, the story really picks up in Part 2 and propels readers forward into a crazy and eventful ending. Although this story has supernatural elements to it, the underlying specter of human experimentation on Black populations in the 20^th century makes the story all the more horrifying. As I was reading this, I couldn’t help but think of Tananarive Due’s excellent book The Reformatory, which similarly uses supernatural elements to frame the real-life horrors of racism and segregation to show how these ghosts of the past continue to haunt us. Rodney Barnes’ writing is excellent in this story, presenting realistic and engaging characters who pursue the truth despite the potential horror and dangers that lurk within the abandoned Crownsville facility. Furthermore, Elia Bonetti’s artwork moves from an eerie tone to outright horror with terrifying images of the human experiments that continue to haunt Crownsville. This is an exciting and engaging read. Highly recommended!

Exploring Racial Identity and a Notorious Word: Something We Said by Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor

 Something We Said: Richard Pryor, a Notorious Word, and Me by Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor

Something We Said book cover

Historian, researcher, and author Dr. Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor

Many thanks to Simon & Schuster and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor’s heartfelt and thoughtful book Something We Said: Richard Pryor, a Notorious Word, and Me. While the book is categorized as a memoir, it’s much more, as Pryor, a professor of US history and race at Smith College, shares her reflections growing up as a multiracial daughter of Richard Pryor and Maxine Silverman in the 1970s and 1980s, navigating her Black and Jewish identities as she forged a deeply loving, but complex relationship with her famous father. Blended between these childhood and adolescent memories are more recent recollections of Professor Pryor’s teaching and research and how she grapples with the notorious n-word, which her father made a staple of his comedy routines during the 1970s, reclaiming a complicated and racist term, and according to her research, shifting the term into another direction, creating a bifurcated meaning and usage. It’s a fascinating look at not only growing up multiracial at a time when racial identities seemed to be either/or, but also examining how Professor Pryor’s racial identity evolved as society and racism shifted and evolved in the 70s and 80s, helped along by her father’s fearless and groundbreaking comedy addressed race head on.

First, I’ve always loved Richard Pryor. Although my introduction to him was in some of his more forgettable 80s films (I wasn’t allowed to see his concert films until I was older), I didn’t appreciate his comedic genius until more recently, especially after reading Becoming Richard Pryor by Scott Saul. This book is more of a critical biography of Pryor’s evolution from his attempts to be the next Bill Cosby to a revolutionary comedian who embraced Black power and challenged racism and inequality through his routines and movies. While the book is excellent, it also details Pryor’s messy personal life, which in the 70s and early 80s included many relationships with women, addiction, and run-ins with police. Although Pryor became tabloid fodder, he also became the highest paid Black actor at the time, and signed studio deals that were unheard of for Black actors and writers, opening the doors for more Black creatives in Hollywood. While Professor Pryor’s book examines a similar time period, it paints a much different picture of Richard Pryor as a loving, doting father, who despite growing up in Illinois with an abusive, brutal father and a stern grandmother who served as his mother, tried his best to be an attentive and engaged father to his many children. I was nervous reading about her initial visits to Pryor, meeting him and staying at his house when she was young, and one story about bringing home the class pet was a little wild, Stordeur Pryor’s experiences show that Richard Pryor was a caring father who made many efforts to take care of Elizabeth, or Dizzy as she was called, and his other children. As their relationship develops and she spends more time with him, I was moved by how Richard involved his daughter (and other children) in his life. There are some great stories about Elizabeth playing around the house with Rain, her sister from another mother, or going to Georgia to be with Richard while he filmed Greased Lightning.

Although Professor Pryor presents a touching and heartfelt view of her father, showing how he cared for his children, she also remains observant about the racial and class differences that she experienced moving between her white Jewish mother in Boston (and later LA) and her father’s extended family and friends who also were in the house. Professor Pryor also notes that at school, her complexion and hair were different from her peers, leading to questions and occasional name calling about her racial identity. One word, whose use in her father’s home among his friends and family and on the playground directed at Professor Pryor, seemed to raise many questions for her. Professor Pryor recounts how her father (and her great-grandmother, Mama) taught her lessons about being Black in America and to be proud of her racial identity.

Nevertheless, Pryor recounts the confusion in understanding the difference between the n-words usage among her father’s friends and family and when it was directed at her on the playground or in one unfortunate recollection, from her mother. While the n-word continues to remain a complicated word with a fraught history, it wasn’t until Professor Pryor was teaching and a white student deployed the n-word in class quoting a line from Blazing Saddles that her father wrote that rekindled the complicated feelings and questions about the word. As a teacher, I loved reading these challenging classroom moments when we may have to challenge students’ misconceptions, biases, or attitudes, and show solidarity and support for students’ whose voices may be misrepresented or misunderstood. Professor Pryor not only shares this incident, but also the challenges she grapples with in trying to call attention to the word, support the Black students in her class, and establish rules and procedures for the word’s usage in class. The incident seemed to not only serve as the catalyst for Professor Pryor’s research into the history of the n-word but also reconnects her to her relationship with her father (who had passed away at this point) and listen to some of his groundbreaking comedy from the 1970s that directly confronted racism with humor and satire. Furthermore, Professor Pryor includes these interludes that trace the impact of the n-word in US history, society and popular culture. These range from examples of Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington to the Harlem Renaissance, Gone With the Wind, and NWA. It’s fascinating to see how this word’s use evolved and split, largely because of Richard Pryor’s comedy. Interestingly though, Professor Pryor notes that her father eventually disavowed the word in the 1980s, refusing to use the n-word in his comedy anymore. As Professor Pryor notes, it was Richard Pryor’s visit to Kenya that brought about this epiphany realizing that the word was no longer necessary to define Black people. Her recollections and memories of her father also show the evolution of a Black man and his complexities and interests that were often hidden or shoved aside for more of the tabloid fodder that the public craved from Richard Pryor’s life. I loved learning how interested Richard Pryor was in African and African American history and culture, and how his racial pride as a Black man never wavered but gradually evolved to a different kind of appreciation and insight about his identity. Professor Pryor similarly experiences her own kind of evolution of her own racial identity, as the later chapters chart her journey through college, questioning her belonging to different friend groups and navigating relationships. While the later chapters move quickly through the 80s and 90s, it’s still fascinating to read her experiences about developing her racial identity in her late adolescence and early adulthood. While this book is not necessarily an academic treatise on the n-word and racial identity, it is written by an academic, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether Professor Pryor had encountered researchers like Drs. Kenneth and Mamie Clark, whose research was used in Brown vs. The Board of Education, or Beverly Tatum, whose book Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? addresses similar issues of society and racial identity development among Black children and adolescents. Nevertheless, Professor Pryor also recounts the challenges of young adults leaving college and searching for their professional identities, and it was exciting to read about her challenges and how she eventually ended up as an academic studying African American History.

While I wasn’t sure what to expect with this book, it’s more than just a straightforward memoir. Professor Pryor fearlessly recounts her search for love and acceptance from her famous father but also details her own questions and quests to define her racial identity, recognizing that it’s not always an either/or, but it can be an and/also. I also didn’t expect to be so emotionally moved by this book, especially the sections that present a more tender and loving side of Richard Pryor that rarely is discussed. It’s a beautiful book about parenting as well, showing how important that kind of interest and attention can be, especially as Elizabeth sought to learn more about and connect with her famous father. However, what makes this book stand out as a unique memoir is Professor Pryor’s research and insight into the history of America’s most notorious word, which her father helped to reshape and popularize, breaking the word off from its racist connotations and injecting it into mainstream Black and popular culture. Her experiences in the classroom only further add to the complexities of this word and highlight her own complicated relationship with her father. Something We Said is the best “memoir” I’ve read this year, and it is one of the best books I’ve read so far this year. I was unable to put this down not just because it’s about Richard Pryor, but because it’s about a Black and Jewish daughter’s experience connecting with her father and navigating her racial identity in an America that is still wrestling with the color line. Highly recommended! 

Muñeca by Cynthia Gomez - A Gothic Tale set in 1968

Muñeca by Cynthia Gomez

Muñeca book cover

Author Cynthia Gomez

Big thanks to G. P. Putnam’s Sons and NetGalley for sending an advanced copy of Cynthia Gomez’s spellbinding Gothic tale Muñeca. I’m so glad that I read this book, as it came after reading a deeply serious and complicated book about race and politics. While Muñeca is a short and highly engaging read, it also features some interesting commentary on race, class, gender and sexuality, as well as detailing California’s complicated history with the indigenous people, Spanish land grants and white settlement right before statehood. In fact, I was amazed at how subtly and deftly Gomez is able to include these complicated historical elements in a novel that was also fun to read. It’s a testament to her knowledge and skills as a researcher and writer. Furthermore, it’s one of the reasons that Muñeca operates on different levels and transcends typical boundaries in genres. The book was not what I was expecting, but I ended up loving the character of Natalia, or Nati, Fuentes. Although the book takes place in 1968 around the Bay Area, when young people flocked to San Francisco, leaving flowers in their hair, Nati searches for her own tribe, seeking to define herself through the women in her life. Plus, she’s got such great taste in music, especially soul and R & B, which features prominently throughout the book. Furthermore, I loved that as she’s taken on the job of caretaker for Violeta Miramontes, a young heiress who seems to be locked into a kind of paralysis that prevents her from speaking or moving, Nati secretly reads her The Autobiography of Malcolm X  covering it up with a copy of Rebecca, a book about a husband who harbors a secret from his new wife, while Malcolm X speaks to the kind of revolutionary spirit that Nati brings to the Miramontes’ estate, seeking to empower and transform those who are trapped by the oppressive forces of the house. I really loved Gomez’s subtle signaling about Nati’s character, whether it was through these book choices or her awesome musical taste in Aretha, Otis, and Carla Thomas. She just seemed like the kind of character I’d want to hang out with and listen to records.

Nati is not only really cool, but she’s also thoughtful and strategic. She takes the job as Violeta’s caretaker because her mother previously worked for the Miramontes, one of the various Mexican American housekeepers who populate and maintain the estate. However, as we learn, Nati’s mom also worked in a factory, organizing her co-workers for better conditions, but ultimately developed lung cancer, like so many of her co-workers. Through Nati’s reflections on her mother, we learn that she also considered becoming a teacher but ultimately worked for the Miramontes to help secure opportunities for Nati. We see her striving for a better life. Nati’s mom, though, differs from Nati in other ways. As we learn, Nati’s grandmom is a spiritual healer who has used her ability to make spells and potions to make money. As a young mother emigrating from Mexico who struggled to work and care for 2 daughters, she found the spells and potions a means to an end, not really caring or considering the impact they might have or how they might be used. Nati’s mother, recognizing that some of these spells are misused or end up harming others, rejects this way and ultimately distances herself from her mother. Nati, on the other hand, seeks out her grandmother as she gradually discovers her own skills and abilities with spell casting. As Nati begins to explore her newfound sense of self and seeks her grandmother’s knowledge and insight, her mother finds out and puts a stop to it. Yet Nati recovers the magic box she threw away and practices in secret. For Nati, magic and spells are not only a connection to her identity and culture, but they also serve as a means of empowerment in a society that deems Latinx women as only fit for work as maids and cooks. While Nati also pursues a college degree, she can only find work in a bank. Furthermore, Nati’s mother sought to fight this same system and worked to organize her colleagues in the factory, only to lose her job and end up working as a maid for the Miramontes, one of the more powerful landowning families in the Bay Area. And with Nati’s mother eventually contracting cancer, I couldn’t help but look at Nati’s pursuit of magic and spells as a means to power and identity outside of the system that defines and relegates women like her to pre-determined positions.

The other analogy that Nati’s life and pursuit of magic follow are the fact that Nati loves women. She never calls herself a lesbian or gay, which I’m not even sure these terms were used in the 1960s, but her language to describe her love of women and the kinship she seeks in the house parties and bars points to something more meaningful than just sexual attraction. It was really moving to see how powerful and deep her attraction to women is, and how she realized this from an early age. Similar to the magic, it’s something that she feels is deeply a part of her identity, but also something that she feels she needs to keep discrete and somewhat hidden from others who might not understand. Nevertheless, Nati moves in with Doris, and they frequently host other women whose families kick them out for their sexuality. Not only does this subtle example speak to the kind of discrimination and challenges that people identifying as LGBTQ faced in the 1960s, but it also speaks to the kind of community they established to support one another. It’s another brilliant, subtle detail of the book that I found packed in to this brief book, and I was amazed at how much it conveyed about Nati’s life and character.

The main challenge of Muñeca, though, is focused on Nati’s care of Violeta and her attempts to break Violeta out of her paralysis, which Nati believes was induced by a spell. Thus, she uses her own magic in various attempts to bring Violeta back, enabling her to walk and talk. First, though, Nati discovers a way to communicate with Violeta through blinking, something neither Violeta’s mother nor Violeta’s husband, Andrès. We later learn that Andres’ family fled Cuba during the revolution, leaving their wealth in Cuba, and ending up in California. As a result, we learn that Andrès married Violeta for her land and family’s wealth, and not for love. Furthermore, Andrès continues the bad behavior of these kind of wealthy, landowning men who seek out fortune and other women, while they know their wives must remain silent and faithful at home, seemingly powerless to divorce or alter their husband’s behavior. We see this with Mrs. Miramontes, and the cycle repeats with Violeta and Andrès, and even though Mrs. Miramontes understands the pain and suffering this causes, she continues to allow Andrès to treat her daughter harshly. Again, Gomez packs so much into brief reminiscences or memories that not only serve important plot points but also highlight the kind of gender, social, or class inequalities that existed at this time and continue to persist in some ways. Despite being a relatively short book, it’s filled with meaningful events and exchanges that operate beyond plot points.

Although Nati’s first attempts at reviving Violeta fail, she finds a way to transfer Violeta’s spirit temporarily to the body of a doll, which seems is partly where the title of the book comes from (Muñeca is Spanish for doll). I also wondered if the title was partly a reference to the roll of dolls, and how they are often silent toys who represent ideals of beauty and dress for women. They can often be shaped and altered to fit the owner’s desires and goals but have no autonomy or agency of their own. Similar to her work to free Violeta, Nati gives new power and life to the doll, bringing some sense of agency and the ability to communicate to someone who was largely ignored and relegated to a room of her own. We also learn that part of Nati’s concern for Violeta is that she is in love with Violeta. As Nati experiments with different ways to attempt to break the spell, she finds new ways for Violeta to experience the freedom of inhabiting different bodies, one of which is Nati’s. Nati develops a spell to switch bodies temporarily. I loved this kind of creativity, and how Violeta leaves Nati letters and notes before she returns to her paralyzed self. It’s an inventive element of the story and creates both tension and romance as the two women briefly become one, enabling each to inhabit the lived life of the other.

I loved this book and couldn’t put it down. The chapters are short, and this kept me reading, wanting to find out more about how Nati’s plan to rescue Violeta was going. This book was recommended to me based on my interest in Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s other books, most notably The Bewitching. I can see how Muñeca shares some similar themes with The Bewitching, including strong Latinx female protagonists willing to challenge male dominated and aristocratic, traditional families who seem to control large portions of society. Both books also feature elements of spells and magic used to gain power and access. However, I also kept thinking of Isabel Cañas’s book Vampires of El Norte, which also contains strong Mexican female protagonists who are seeking to challenge land rights that largely prevented women from being landowners at the time. Muñeca is a great book to add to growing collection of books by writers like Garcia-Moreno and Cañas, yet it’s also unique and beautiful. Although it’s a relatively short book with brief chapters, it will keep readers engaged, and there’s so much depth and meaning to the various details in the story. It’s also steeped in wonderful Gothic details and decay, and some really amazing magic spells. It’s a wonderful, fun, and exciting read, and something that should appeal to a broad range of readers, but especially those who like a good Gothic story featuring magic. Highly recommended! 

Cosmic Dread and Body Horror in Gruesome Comic Event Horizon: Dark Descent

Event Horizon: Dark Descent by Christian Ward; artwork by Tristan Jones

Event Horizon: Dark Descent book cover

Author Christian Ward

Artist Tristan Jones

Many thanks to IDW Publishing and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Event Horizon: Dark Descent by Christian Ward with artwork by Tristan Jones. This comic is based on the original film Event Horizon and serves as a prequel to understand how the abandoned ship The Event Horizon was initially left floating in space sending out distress signals. While I’ve heard of the film, I’ve never seen it. It’s not necessary to see the film to understand the basic storyline of this comic, but it might be more interesting if you are familiar with the events of the film. You’ll be able to pick up on a few key details (that I ended up googling while reading this). Nevertheless, as someone who was not really familiar with the film, I absolutely loved this comic. The story and artwork are dark and dread-inducing. It’s bloody, gory, and gross, and the pages are filled with the kind of cosmic horror that can truly tout the term Lovecraftian. I loved how the story combines elements of sci-fi, quantum physics and space travel with occult and demonology, and doing so in a creative and unique manner that synthesizes these two genres.

The story begins with Dr. Will Weir, who is in the original film. Dr. Weir is the designer of the ship, but he is grieving over the loss of his wife. His grief seems to induce strange dreams about his wife who is calling for him to find her. In some of the dreams, he envisions her bloody and eyeless, among other graphic scenes in the Event Horizon. We then learn about the crew of the ship who are preparing to fulfill the main objective of their mission: an interdimensional jump facilitated by a gravity drive, allowing the ship to fold space time and move between vast distances in a matter of minutes as opposed to millions of years. The ship has staffed a crew of expert scientists, physicians, engineers, and navigators to facilitate this monumental experiment. However, as we learn in the first act, all of the crew members are escaping their own personal traumas and pain they experienced on earth, whether it was recent or from their pasts. In a way, they all seemed to see the journey in space as a means of escaping their past pain; however, as we will soon find out, hell is inside of them, and their pain and trauma will reemerge as their worst nightmares.

As the crew gets ready to engage the gravity drive, the communications officer receives a notice from Earth about one the crew members’ whose escape involves a death he tried to cover up. When Nia Atwell, the coms officer, attempts to inform the captain about their navigator Devlin Conners’s warrant, Conners ends up killing Atwell. It was a little unclear if this prevented these two crew members from being at their posts and prepping for the jump, but in any event, when the gravity drive is engaged, something strange happens, and it seems to have opened a portal to hell, bringing in Paimon, the sightless king of hell. Paimon recognizes the desperation and violence in Conners and uses him as a kind of soldier to inflict his torments and violence on the crew, killing them in gruesome and gory ways. I won’t get into the details here, but the story takes on a kind of occult slasher feel, as the crew, unaware that a portal to hell has been opened, try to make sense of the uncertainty and dread that seem to be plaguing all of the crew. Furthermore, each of the crew members begin to hallucinate about their traumas, re-living them and experiencing the pain and tumult of these traumatic experiences that they sought to escape.

I couldn’t put this edition down, reading through the story in nearly one sitting. The story really picks up once Conners kills Atwell and the portal to hell is breached, allowing Paimon to enter the Event Horizon. Furthermore, Jones’s dark, gory artwork contributes to the feeling of dread and cosmic horror that permeates this book, like a lurking fear or creeping death. His artwork emphasizes not only the uncertainty of unexplored dimensions but also features examples of gruesome body horror and a gory ghoul that seemed to be constructed from the bodies of the dead crew members. It’s totally gross, and I loved it. This was a fun and wild comic, although it’s definitely a downer. Nevertheless, I recommend this for fans of dark sci-fi, and the kind of Lovecraftian cosmic and body horror that Stuart Gordon would be proud of. Highly recommended!

 

The Fire This Time: Eddie S. Glaude Jr's America, U.S.A.

 America, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation's Anniversaries by Eddie S. Glaude Jr. 

America, U.S.A. book cover

Author and professor Eddie S. Glaude Jr. 

Many thanks to Crown Publishing and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of the urgent and necessary new book America, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation’s Anniversaries by Princeton professor Eddie S. Glaude Jr. I read and thoroughly enjoyed Glaude’s book Begin Again about 5 years ago. I found that book, which uses James Baldwin’s works and ideas as a way to examine race and injustice in America in the 21^st century, to be both critical and hopeful in making the case that America has continuously faced issues of racial injustice, but that Baldwin’s writings and ideas can provide useful insight to examine these issues. Glaude never presents the ideas as solutions, but rather uses Baldwin’s life and experiences as like a lens for seeking understanding and contextualizing issues of race, injustice, violence, and inequality that we’ve experienced during the 21^st century. I really appreciated how hopeful the book is while maintaining a critical eye on the injustice. Furthermore, I loved how Glaude revisits Baldwin, using literature, essays, and criticism to explore how other great thinkers and writers have navigated challenging times. I wasn’t necessarily expecting the same thing, but America, U.S.A. takes on an entirely different tone and approach in examining the existential questions surrounding the coming semi-quincentennial (250^th anniversary) of the founding of the country. Nevertheless, like Begin Again, Glaude turns to other writers, thinkers, and activists, as well as the history of other celebrations of America’s founding, to examine how ideas of history and race have been co-opted, revised, or excluded in order to redefine the idea of America. Although this is a challenging and difficult book to read, it felt like the book I needed to read at this time, as I’ve been inundated with images of flags, stars, stripes, and Uncle Sams presented in a celebratory manner that don’t always seem to reflect my own complicated feelings about the country.

Glaude’s writing is clear and dynamic, not overwrought or dense. It’s not the prose of the book that is challenging, and if anything, the challenge and my own struggles with the book are necessary and contribute to a kind of growth and understanding. One of Glaude’s premises is that 250^th celebration of America has been taken over, and with executive orders demanding a fictionalized history that fails to acknowledge the role of racism in the country’s founding, Glaude questions what kind of history and celebration will take place this year. It’s his call to interrogate the past, to reckon with the injustices of slavery that continue to be pushed aside or swept under the rug that plague America, creating a kind of storybook nation that only exists for certain groups of people. To quote spoken word pioneer Gil Scott Heron, this hagiography of history “ain’t no new thing”; it’s been happening since America’s first celebration in 1826, when African Americans couldn’t vote or even petition their representatives, for those who were not enslaved. Glaude examines how America celebrated these varying anniversaries, and how often African Americans and their contributions to the country were often excluded from these celebrations.

Glaude examines the history of these celebrations in Philadelphia, which I found fascinating since I’ve lived in the Philadelphia region my whole life and did not know about some of the events and instances he discussed in the book. Furthermore, it’s important to note that much of Glaude’s analysis examines Frederick Douglass’s seminal speech in 1852 “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” to further interrogate how history and celebrations of the ideals of America ring hallow. Douglass is an important figure to me. I graduated from the school where Douglass gave his last speech, and when I returned there a few years ago, I was excited to see a statue on campus memorializing not only his speech, but his contributions to society and Pennsylvania in particular. Glaude’s chapters not only present Douglass’s most famous speech as a reminder of how exclusionary the fourth can be, but also as a way to encourage readers to further interrogate history and the symbolism and meanings of what we sometimes take for granted as a day off to spend with friends and family at a barbecue or down the shore. Both Douglass and Glaude remind readers of how the “more perfect union” has failed to live up to its lofty standards set forth in the Declaration of Independence, where its initial lines clearly state that all men are created equal, endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, including Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Glaude also presents a story about how Douglass was denied a seat at the centennial dais in Memorial Hall during the centennial celebration in Philadelphia. Apparently police did not believe that a Black man would have anything to contribute to the celebration. Although he was later allowed to enter the exposition, he was never allowed to speak at the centennial celebration. Glaude presents this story to explore how it is emblematic of how African Americans are often silenced or pushed to the side during these celebrations of America, U.S.A. He later notes instances when Dr. King petitioned Kennedy for more recognition of the contributions of Black Americans, but he and A. Philip Randolph only received an invitation to dinner.

It was also fascinating to learn more about the 1926 celebration in Philadelphia. I’ve visited Memorial Hall, and spent time in the Please Touch Museum’s exhibit about the centennial celebration, but I wasn’t really aware of the 1926 celebrations, probably because, according to Glaude, these were plagued by lower interest and attendance and more funding problems, often related to graft and corruption. Nevertheless, as Glaude documents, it provided an opportunity for A. Philip Randolph to speak, which Glaude notes is an interesting choice since Randolph was the President of the Sleeping Car Porters, who helped to organize key Civil and Labor Rights events. The chapters between these “celebrations” focus on interludes, demonstrating key events that continued to represent the conflict between inclusion and exclusion of African Americans in the portrayal of the history of America. It’s fascinating and important to think about the different ways in which American continued to promote its ideals as it grew to be a global power, yet failed domestically to live up to its standards of liberty and justice for some, but not all. There’s much to unpack here, and I learned much from reading these chapters. However, I think that the book also made me feel so many complicated emotions, and that is even more a reflection of how important and necessary this book is today, especially as we approach a “celebration” that feels so dour and funereal. The last few chapters that focus on the last 50 years are fascinating to read, and I could not put the book down. Part of it is that these are the years which I’ve lived through and learned about through experience. It’s fascinating to learn the different battles and conflicts that have emerged and shaped the ways in which history and our own understandings of the country have been shaped and evolved over time. For me, it was important to know the myths and fairytales we tell about the founding of the country are continuing to erode, and that there are many who are interested in continuing to learn more about and reshape the truth we present to students and others. Yet, it’s also disheartening to know that there are many others who wish to grasp onto the myths and fairytales that we learned as children, and that when confronted with the facts of history, continue to pervert the truth and perpetuate the lies, choosing comfort and complacency over the struggles and challenges of learning and change. Glaude’s book is an important book for many people, but I think that this book is especially important for educators and others working with young people. It’s not only important to learn about the complicated feelings about this nation’s history and why “celebrating” it comes with its own complications and contradictions, but it’s also necessary to learn the kind of propaganda war that is being waged by those with positions of authority and voice in our government and media. It’s important and necessary to recognize the kind of whitewashing they intend in bad faith and disinformation they continue to spew about the diversity in America. Glaude frames this battle as one of consensus versus conflict, where over the past century, America has moved to an idea of consensus about the role of African Americans, and this consensus often neglects the more radical or revolutionary voices, who more often than not, reflect the kind of revolutionary spirit that won freedom from England. Again, it’s part of the complex and complicated nature of our country. However, as Glaude notes, Trump has moved from an idea of consensus that presidents from Reagan to Obama exerted about African American history, to one of imposition and erasure. In the past year, the Trump administration has authored executive orders that sought to erase Black, Indigenous, and other non-white voices and contributions from museums, parks, military libraries, websites, and classrooms. Not only is it a way to shape the history that students learn, but, as Glaude notes, it’s a way to indicate who deserves freedom and citizenship in society. Although Glaude ends the book with the annoyingly whiny words of VP Vance, he also ignites a call for resistance and change, to not only reclaim history, but also to continue to push against the untruths and the unserious and unsettling presentation of the storybook version of America, U.S.A.

There’s more that I need to unpack and examine from this book as it really made me experience a lot of different emotions. There’s much to learn from the book, but I wanted to mention Glaude’s references to DuBois throughout the book as well. Glaude not only includes music to begin each chapter, like DuBois did in Souls of Black Folk, but he also shares DuBois’s acknowledgement that the problem of the 20^th century and beyond. DuBois declared that the color-line was the problem of the 20^th century, and Glaude acknowledges that this continues to be a problem in the 21^st century. It’s also important to call attention to Glaude’s references to DuBois, and that DuBois didn’t frame this as a problem of White people or Black people, but rather the division based on skin color and the oppression that results from this division. However, Glaude notes how DuBois’s color-line problem has evolved to the “desperate avoidance of self-awareness- its refusal to know itself fully, and the deadly consequences for people and the world that follow from that refusal. Ours is a time of shattered mirrors.” This line, and the shattered mirror reference from Baldwin at the end of the book, really resonated with me, and I felt like this demonstrated not only Glaude’s scholarship and references, but also his astute analysis at the ways in which the avoidance of race, injustice, and inequality continue to haunt us, leaving our homes with shattered mirrors that fail to reflect who we really are. Highly recommended and important book!  

More Morbid Mayhem with EC's Catacomb of Torment Vol. 1

 EC Catacomb of Torment Vol. 1 

EC Catacomb of Torment Vol. 1

Big thanks to Oni Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of the latest EC installment EC Catacomb of Torment Vol. 1. This volume cranks up the gore, torment, and cosmic irony to 11 by not only having excellent stories with a graphic and fun twist but also introducing a new narrator -The Tormentor- who introduces a few of these terrifying tales of torment. I loved this collection, and I really appreciated the timely and contemporary focus on issues and topics of today. The first two stories focus on privileged younger people, and present a hilarious twist on politically correct speech and cancel culture (“What’s the Deal with Voodoo?”), while “Quintana Roo” was a quick tale of some spoiled Americans experiencing the native foliage of Mexico, and if you’ve ever seen or read The Ruins, this story is somewhat similar but with some shockingly gory artwork. I also loved “Garden Variety” which tells the tale of a mycologist/chef who uses a special fertilizer to grow his fabulous fungi. It’s a wild trip of a story with some gory body horror. In fact, this was not the only story that featured a kind of blending of human remains as compost or ending up in the food supply. “Mary, Mary How Does Your Garden Grow?” and “Red Blend” both feature gory garden stories with perfect plotting. “Hostile Architecture” examines the issue of how design is used to prevent homelessness, and how violence and pain serve as reinforcers to prevent this kind of behavior when taken to this logical end point. It was an interesting premise to think about how so many policies today operate on a kind of pain, humiliation, and suffering rather than really addressing the root causes. A few of the stories also examine issues like post-partum depression, spousal abuse, and gaslighting, and provide some perspective of how women are impacted by these issues, and how they might get revenge. I was actually pleasantly surprised by how these stories took on misogyny and presented women characters who fight back (“Intrusive Thoughts”, “Mary, Mary, How Does Your Garden Grow?”, “The Dressmaker”). One other story, “Movie Night at the Marigold Inn,” was an interesting tale that left me haunted and still thinking about its implications. It’s not only a meditation on violence and evil, but also left me thinking about things like the kind of desensitization to violence that we may experience through continued screentime, and how our access to entertainment and screens can gradually lead us to accept the violence we see on these screens. I’m not even sure if that is the theme of the story, but it is an eerie story that has multiple layers.

I loved this collection, and it was great to see this EC collection getting back to the irony, dark humor and tormented twists that made other collections like Tales from the Crypt and The Vault of Horror so great. Everything about this collection from the writing and stories to the artwork and visuals is excellent. I highly recommend this, especially if you are a fan of Tales from The Crypt, The Vault of Horror, Creepshow and the like.