If only it were Unseen by me.

What should’ve been a simple work assignment was wrecked by the scanners not working like they should be. In case you think this is another post of me whining, read on.

As ever when I’m in the office, I while away the time listening to podcasts. Pods Against Tomorrow sounds promising, especially as one of their most recent episodes covered The Unseen, which I just laid into in my previous post.

While they felt that the little girl was annoying, the hosts’ opinions of the film, for the most part, matched my own, compounded by one of them citing my Letterboxd review.

It’s nice to get some acknowledgment that what I do matters in the world. No matter what else happens today, I’m on cloud nine.

Worst movies I saw in 2024.

Ain’t a one of us getting any younger, so let’s do this thing. (Spoilers, obviously.)

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AFRAID

In the year of our Lord 2024, the threat of AI replacing talented craftspeople and manipulating what we see and hear to turn people against what are erroneously considered threats is timelier and more real than ever before, so a movie raising consciousness about this is sorely needed. And, in fairness, for a while, this was that movie. A family led by John Cho (he of the far superior Sony-produced, “Technology, amirite?” thriller, Searching) and Katherine Waterston receives an AI in the hopes of smoothing out the bumps in daily life. For a while, this proves helpful just as the first half (despite an unusual prologue with a wholly unearned jump scare) was actually pretty solid, highlighted by a delightful Keith Carradine as Cho’s boss. However, after Carradine departed the narrative, it started to feel like AI took over the production, leaving a metric ton of questions for the viewer: why would the AI bother to get the daughter’s revenge porn ex-boyfriend in trouble with the law if it was just gonna kill him anyway? And why don’t we hear anything about the guy from that point on; no police report or nothing? Why introduce a spousal infidelity subplot, only to just forget about it almost as quickly as it was brought up? Why even have David Dastmalchian in this movie if you’re just gonna kill him off horribly? What was even the point of the other couple’s daughter being kidnapped? And most of all, did this movie really try to sell us on the idea that swatting was a good thing? Given a lot of his filmography, writer/director Chris Weitz is not an untalented individual, but all the same, I sincerely hope he’s been saving his money.

THE BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW

The relaxation of the standards code in motion pictures in the late 1960s may have been one of the best and worst things to happen in the movies. Things that were considered taboo on movie screens like profanity, graphic violence and sex soon became permanent fixtures of your best entertainment and once-prominent filmmaking aspects like subtlety, implication and decorum gradually fell by the wayside. I am far from one of those smooth brains who recoils at the thought of sex scenes in motion pictures, but what it really comes down to is just because you could doesn’t mean that you should… just like I could reduce my reasoning to why I hated this 1971 movie is because of its lengthy rape scene, but that doesn’t mean that I should. The scene isn’t great, but from that point on, the viewing experience is poisoned because, this being the 1970s and a horror film, who’s to say there aren’t more scenes like it on the way? There weren’t any, but the jumbled narrative and grim tone didn’t much help. This film has been noted as one of the touchstones of the folk horror genre alongside Witchfinder General and The Wicker Man. Needless to say, it is the least of the three.

FOUNDERS DAY

Now, as someone who has a) a degree in Media Studies - Film Concentration and b) been chasing a career in filmmaking for half of my life, I am perfectly aware that there are no truly original ideas out there and that making a movie can take a long time; from script to financing to pre-production, shooting, re-shooting and post-work. By the time your movie is in the can ready for release, some other movie comes along and does a lot of what your movie did...only better. Founders Day was released (or, more accurately, it escaped) into theaters in January of 2024. The problem with that was that Eli Roth’s Thanksgiving was still playing in theaters then, firmly establishing it as the Gallant to this film’s Goofus. There was another serial killer in an elaborate costume tied to the local history of the town in which the film was set and another group of young people being gruesomely picked off (two of whom were so unfathomably obnoxious, it was impossible not to cheer their deaths on in a crowded theater). But even independent of the plot's resemblances to Thanksgiving, this film was trash; overlong at 107 minutes and hamstrung by a confused political outlook, which wouldn’t have mattered all that much if it wasn’t supposed to be the spine of the fucking film. It’s set against the backdrop of an impending mayoral election, though the political parties of the candidates are so blurred (likely to avoid offending any actual politicos who might recognize themselves and assume something), you’re forced to wonder what the point even was. In fairness, at least no one in the cast was acting bad on purpose, though it’s hardly a coincidence that the one memorable performance came from the one recognizable name in the cast: William Russ, familiar from such credits as American History X, Disorganized Crime and, of course, “Boy Meets World”. Sadly, by the end, you even find yourself turned against his affable character. My exposure to this was the result of Regal’s Mystery Movie and, again, as an aspiring filmmaker, one can’t help but be irritated that Redbox(RIP)-level nonsense like this was able to squirm its way into theaters. No wonder people assume they like streaming better.

KING ARTHUR

You've heard it, no doubt. On every message board and on every social media platform, you've heard it. "Why does Disney keep making live-action remakes of their animated movies? When will they stop? Why can't they make original movies? I don't know how Hollywood works! I have a Poor Things brain! Waaah-waaah-waaah." And so on. Given that this little experiment has resulted in movies ranging from 'Not bad' to 'Huh. Who knew?' (with only the occasional embarrassment to speak of - Alice in Wonderland, Pinocchio), to say nothing of the financial benefits, it's hard to see the studio stopping any time soon (and it's not like the originals are going anywhere; people need to Google '1944 Gaslight remake controversy' to see how much worse things could've been). I'm curious to see where this train is going to end up and if The Sword in the Stone is one of the remaining stops. Whatever ends up happening, I have absolutely no doubt that it will be a better telling of the story of Arthurian legend than this turgid, needlessly violent and overlong 2004 effort that pretty much stripped away from the story Merlin's magic, destiny and any of that pesky crap that made past film versions of the story interesting (for its impeccable production values, First Knight was kind of a slog, but it shined all the brighter next to this one). The cast was terrific, but it's one of those unfortunate cases where it might have been a better movie if it wasn't called (blank). I'm not sure how someone thought that 'the director of Training Day and the producer of Black Hawk Down could make a fun and entertaining King Arthur movie!' but, yeah, they did not.

MIDNIGHT RIDE

Unlike a lot of the movies on this list, my expectations were sky high for this one, so much so that I tweaked the premise for a script I'm writing. Over the years, this 1990 thriller has slipped through the cracks...for reasons that soon become apparent. A woman (Savina Gersak), at her wit’s end with her cop husband’s (Michael Dudikoff!) dedication more to his job than to her, decides to hit the road, spurring his pursuit. In her travels, she picks up a hitchhiker (Mark Hamill) and, faster than you can say ‘John Ryder’, she learns what a mistake she’s made. Reviewing what a movie should’ve been instead of the movie itself is the lowest form of film criticism, but one can’t help but lament what could’ve been: a woman escapes her abusive husband, only to be ensnared by a psychopath and her only hope is the man she tried so hard to get away from. Sleeping With the Enemy meets The Hitcher! An elevator pitch that you figure would be impossible to screw up. In this film’s favor are some vehicular stunts arranged by director (and former stuntman) Bob Bralver that briefly perk things up. However, Bralver is not what you’d call an actor’s director, as evidenced by the embarrassing, over-the-top performance from Hamill that throws the film askew. His incessantly deranged turn as Justin McKay (which might've worked with better writing and more years on Hamill's boyish face) is a long way from the Joker or even the Trickster on “The Flash”; one of those pantomime villain turns that actively damages the film it’s in (cf. The Frighteners, Urban Legend, The Hard Way). The cheapness of the production extends to Carlo Maria Cordio’s synth score, at one point appropriating Alan Silvestri’s Back to the Future. And that’s not even getting into a glum, two-days-for-a-paycheck turn from Robert Mitchum in the final reel. Just a misbegotten piece of work all around, but would you expect anything less from a movie produced by a man named Ovidio Assonitis? (P.S. The rest of his filmography ain't so hot, either.)

MY SISTER EILEEN

This past year, I decided to watch 100 movies from the Columbia Pictures library (with some Tri-Star flicks sprinkled in for good measure) to celebrate the studio's centenary. Looking back, I can't imagine - much less remember - what I saw in this movie that it should've made the list, but here we are. Based on a play that (as per the ad-line) ‘convulsed Broadway and the nation!’ ('convulsed'...I do not think it means what you think it means), this 1942 comedy - he said, sarcastically - centered around two sisters: Rosalind Russell's struggling writer Ruth and Janet Blair's aspiring actress Eileen. They move from their small Ohio town (mainly because of an embarrassing setback that saw a review printed for Eileen's incredible performance in a local play even though it was actually her understudy who was on stage, an admittedly novel beat that would've landed perfectly in a better movie) to New York City, hoping that luck will be on their side. Given the open-air basement apartment that awaits them, it will not. With how the various characters, from their goofy Greek landlord to the couple next door, breeze in and out of the place, the film plays like a not-very-good sitcom. It's all very inert, only enlivened - I'm sorry to say - by the unwanted interactions with men, from Ruth's supposed love-hate courtship with editor Brian Aherne to a parade of lustful Italian sailors who follow Ruth back to her place after a false tip to not one, but two consecutive scenes of Eileen threatened with sexual assault by wolf Allyn Jostyn and *checks notes* George Tobias?! The goofy landlord?! Seriously?! Ugh. As evidenced by His Girl Friday (not a masterpiece, but it's practically the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup compared to this), Russell has a way with a one-liner and her preternatural gift for sending even the lamest of zingers special delivery is tested to its breaking point. Interestingly enough, the additions of Jack Lemmon and Bob Fosse dance numbers only barely improved matters in the same-named 1955 musical remake and not even Elaine Stritch is compelling enough to make me seek out the short-lived TV series. Maybe, this material is just plain cursed...oh, and getting back to the subject of legendary comedy teams, screw you, My Sister Eileen, for that cameo at the end. You did absolutely nothing to earn that.

NATURAL BORN KILLERS

Apparently, this began life as a Quentin Tarantino script. Given his penchant for sharp dialogue exchanges and time-jumping storylines, one can imagine how amazing the film might have turned out and given that the film was released in 1994, when the sensationalization of serial killers was arguably at its zenith with the O.J. Simpson trial, this project should've been a slam dunk. But this potential satirical cruise liner ended up being felled by an iceberg named Oliver Stone. I’m sure that, at some point in the film's development, Stone saw the erratic editing, constant color switching, and overall noise as a way of putting the audience in the headspace of the titular killers and getting the people to see through their fractured view of a world that refuses to accept them or some such first-year-of-film-school horseshit. But, in practice, it makes for one of the most annoying things ever put out by an otherwise “revered" filmmaker. (Fun fact, fun being purely subjective here: co-editor Hank Corwin would end up doing, more or less, the same thing for Adam McKay’s Don’t Look Up, but I’m sure he’s a nice guy, otherwise.) All of the sound and fury signifying nothing in a tale told by an idiot wouldn’t have mattered all that much if there was even one character for me to grab onto in terms of likability. One could argue that, given their murderous intentions and general dementia, Mickey and Mallory weren't meant to be liked, but Christ's sake, the film's quote-unquote 'heroes' were even worse! You have Tom Sizemore's detective who tries to get himself a piece of Mallory, only to wind up surprised that she kills him (who saw that coming?) and then you have Robert Downey Jr. workshopping his Kirk Lazarus accent from Tropic Thunder, garnished with a generous helping of Robin Leach, as tabloid journalist Wayne Gale, who will do anything - even braving a fucking prison riot - just to get his story on the Bonnie and Clyde of the 1990s. Steven Wright’s cameo as a psychoanalyst was a(n all-too-brief) respite from the avalanche of shit, but not enough to make this seem like anything other than a giant waste of time. One of Stone's best-known credits is the screenplay for Scarface. It may be too obvious to suggest that this is what happens when a giant pile of cocaine gains sentience and makes a movie but...the ball is right there on the one-yard line.

SWEET SWEETBACK’S BAADASSSSS SONG

At the time of this film's release, my father (God rest his soul) was a young man on the cusp of his twenties and not exactly on good standing with Johnny Law, so I can completely imagine this movie speaking to him...but as a 40-something blerd with discerning cinematic tastes and who (for the most part) has obeyed the law his entire life, this film slid right off of me. The 1971 yarn chronicled male prostitute Sweet Sweetback (played by the film’s writer/director Melvin Van Peebles) and the trouble that ensues when his defense of a victimized Black Panther results in the deaths of two racist cops. The messaging the movie delivers was effective, but, this being one of those movies made at odds and ends, it got lost in a repetitive storyline (it felt like half the movie consisted of Sweetback running across the countryside), seemingly artsy filmmaking tricks (thankfully, nothing quite as suffocating as Natural Born Killers, but still) and stilted acting. Also, it came off as one of those movies where the director wasn’t ever told ‘no’, which would explain a scene where a character had just finished doing a number two and a prologue which showed a young Sweetback (a then-thirteen-year-old Mario Van Peebles!) getting his start in the trade. Granted, the film helped pave the way for the Blaxploitation movement in film, launching a number of careers, and it is - for better or worse - the movie the senior Van Peebles wanted to make (a professional decision he pursued over a three-picture deal at Columbia following the success of Watermelon Man, which would not have been my choice), so the movie has worth as a historical document. As a coherent film, however...much less so.

TRADING MOM

It all started with 1999's Blast from the Past. As Brendan Fraser's slowly-going-stir-crazy mom, Sissy Spacek was the highlight of the film for me. I lamented that, fine dramatic actress though she was, there were so few opportunities for her to express what looked to be sound comic chops. By this point, you can just imagine the monkey's paw curling in such a way that left up only the middle finger. In this 1994 movie, a trio of siblings (played by a pair of 90s child actor trivia questions and the Girl from My Girl) were chafing under the (perfectly reasonable) rules of their mother, so they invoked a spell to make her disappear, then went shopping for a new matriarch at the Mommy Market. Not a bad premise for a storybook (which this actually started out as), and a good filmmaker could've found ways to open the tale up. However, the rudimentary treatment given by writer-director Tia Brelis (daughter of the original book’s author) more or less guaranteed the film’s path from production to home video to cable to obscurity to Tubi. It didn’t help that the ostensible heroes were quite unlikable in the establishing scenes and the repetitive nature of the script didn’t allow the fantasy to take hold like it should’ve. The primary reason to watch this movie was Spacek, who committed fully to her three cartoonish mother characters (even maintaining her dignity when her Cruella-esque mom was assaulted with a cowpie). It’s enough to make one wish that more people had seen this film (or that its execution were remotely equal to its premise), allowing Spacek to open her career up to different avenues.

THE UNSEEN

No, friends, this is not 1981's Michael J. Lewis-scored sleaze fest where incest baby Stephen Furst menaces Barbara Bach. If anything, this 1945 noir was far more disturbing*. Co-adapted by Raymond Chandler, of all people, from an Ethel Lina White novel (itself owing more than a nominal debt to Henry James' oft-filmed story "The Turn of the Screw"), the story takes place in the midst of a killing spree where several women have been murdered. Gail Russell stars as a young woman who becomes the new governess for a sweet young girl (Nona Griffith’s Ellen). The two of them seemed to have a natural rapport together, and their scenes were quite engaging. Unfortunately, this young girl had an older brother (Richard Lyon’s Barney), and they had a widowed father who seemed to be using his wife’s death as an excuse to be as cruel and standoffish as humanly possible. But how could that have been when the father was played by that paragon of warmth, Joel McCrea? In other hands, the empathy for this character and his difficult situation could’ve been easily engendered, but with McCrea in the role, the father was so cold and distant that you’d have to be the dumbest kid in class not to suspect that he’s either behind the killing spree or, at the very least, a person of interest. Not that the older brother is any better; whether casting sour-faced looks at his sister who, if given a chance, could probably have ended this movie earlier with a simple explanation or his just plain horrible treatment of Russell’s Elizabeth, this kid added new dimensions to the word ‘brat’. (Also, maybe it’s just me, but not once was he given any sort of physical incentive to not act like this. Hell, the girl from The Curse of the Cat People got spanked in one scene and she did nothing wrong! On top of everything, he took phone calls from a stranger that seemed to influence his bad behavior. Was ‘don’t talk to strangers’ not a thing in the 40s?!) Oh, and the ending asked me to swallow that, instead of taking the girl and running like hell, Russell would actually stay and be the new wife and mother to these horrible wastes of life. It almost made one long for schizophrenic Robert Ryan walking off into the sunset…almost.

* - Just playing, but wild dogs couldn't have kept me away from that gag.

Other bad movies I saw this year: The Avengers ('98), Dear Santa, Dragonball: Evolution, The Lady in Question, Madame Web, The Monster That Challenged the World, Playing With Fire (‘85) and Saturday the 14th

Things that annoyed me about movies that weren’t quite the worst I saw in 2024:

After Hours - My mother loves this movie and I love my mother, but I just couldn’t bring myself to love this movie. The film's one joke - Griffin Dunne's Paul just wants to get out of some strange situation only, bullshit bullshit bullshit, now he’s in a deeper hole - is pretty much beat to death after the first 30 minutes. One of the letterboxd reviews for this movie pretty much summed it up: "Everyone wants to feel unique for picking a movie that isn't even Top 10 of an auteur and call it 'underrated'. Sometimes, it's properly rated!"

Avalon - Clearly, an autobiographical labor of love for writer-director Barry Levinson detailing the roots of his family settling in Baltimore, but there are a few details here that absolutely don’t pass the smell test (so, the trolley just flew right off the tracks and completely totaled the family car? Also, the boys were warned not to play with fire several times by their families and yet they still mess around with fireworks in the basement of their fathers' department store, never mind that it ended up burning down due to an electrical thing rather than their ignorance?). I'm reminded of Spike Lee and Crooklyn insomuch that Levinson also laid these details bare instead of fudging them as most people would've done. 

Bottoms - In the fall of 2023, this film was swimming in critical appraisal, but having seen it for myself, I'm forced to wonder - as with Drive and Nimona before it - what in the hell am I missing? About the time that the main characters' car lightly tapped the leg of football star Nicholas Galitzine...and he fell to the ground reacting like his legs had been cut off is when I started turning against the film. In the worst possible ways, this was a live-action cartoon untethered to anything resembling reality, culminating in a truly ludicrous ending of the school's football team - alongside the girl fighters - straight up murdering the opposing team at a football game, and there isn’t even the slightest whiff of consequence for any of the offenders. In fact, I’d say it sits comfortably next to Sorry to Bother You and the rightly forgotten Christina Ricci vehicle Pumpkin in the category of 'bad live-action "South Park" episodes'. It also must be said that Rachel Sennott was completely abrasive as PJ (though, thankfully, the actress redeemed herself as Rosie Shuster in Saturday Night). As far as recent stories where lesbian gal pals end up in a situation way over their heads, make mine Drive-Away Dolls.

Dead of Night - Dan Curtis and Richard Matheson scored made-for-TV gold with "Trilogy of Terror" in 1975, so who could blame them for wanting to see if lightning could strike twice two years later? The first story with a young Ed Begley, Jr. fascinated by a gas-powered car (gasp!) was entertaining, but then, the film started moving into horror territory and became significantly less effective. The second story would’ve been tolerable but for an ending that actually possessed the sack bag testes to combine the twists from Night Watch and the Donald Sutherland story of Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, two bad twists that twist bad together. The third story - basically, a naked recycling of the Zuni fetish doll showstopper from "Trilogy" - was somewhat familiar to me thanks to a viewing of 1996's "Trilogy of Terror II", but what may have worked in print does not work on film, assuming it ever did. Even the great Richard Matheson is allowed an off day, but, simply put, giving the menace dialogue proved to be the segment's downfall. Every one of Bobby’s lines could be summed up in the following manner: "Vaguely threatening statement, mommy!".

Donnie Brasco - With superb performances from Johnny Depp and Al Pacino, this promised to sit alongside the decade's other great, Mafia-inspired movies…but early on, there’s a scene where a character is recording something on a VCR. Even if the machines were somehow widespread in the 1978 setting of this film, there’s no way they could’ve been widespread enough for there to have been roughly 40 videotapes as seen in a brief moment, to say nothing of the heavy-handed use of nature footage, as if the filmmakers were nudging us, “Do you get it? Wink!”. However, these would be perfectly forgivable next to my greatest problem with the movie: Donnie’s wife. Given the one-dimensional nature of the character, Anne Heche did her level best, but her FBI agent husband is going deep undercover - a precarious situation under the best of circumstances - and she’s worried more about her family than his safety which could've potentially been in jeopardy if she started making a stink like this? If this is what actually happened in real life, again, lying is always an option when adapting a true story for the cinematic medium.

Fresh - The first half was, perhaps, the greatest Spike Lee movie that Lee never made, painting a vivid picture of the New York City streets and the life of the title character (a marvelous Sean Nelson)…then comes the second half where things just got ridiculous (it was well-established that his friend was a loudmouthed idiot, so why would he let him in on his action?) and mean (why did that dog have to die?).

Greystoke: the Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes - Ostensibly, the serious version of the ape man's story; very austere and properly historical. This film, somehow, earned an Academy Award nomination for legendary screenwriter Robert Towne...'s dog. (Long story. Google it.) But the nearest comparison I can make is Hulk, where there is too much goofiness to wade through at odds with the serious tone, such as the lactating chimpanzee and the failure to cut around young Tarzan's...swing set, shall we say? John Scott’s beautiful music can only spackle over so much.

It Could Happen to You - Based (somewhat) on a remarkable true incident, this was a fairy tale-like story with delightful performances from Nicolas Cage (as good-hearted cop Charlie) and Bridget Fonda (as down-on-her-luck waitress Yvonne, with whom he splits his winning lottery ticket in lieu of a tip), but, really, what would a fairy tale be without a wicked witch to fuck everything up for the characters, as embodied by a supremely strident performance from Rosie Perez as Charlie's cartoonishly unpleasant wife, Muriel. One of the first things we see her doing in the movie is take money out of a blind man's cup that Charlie just put in there...and remarkably, she only gets worse from that point on. There’s absolutely no nuance to her in this story, not even a token "She wasn't always this bad. I guess I'm still in love with the Muriel I first met." line from Charlie. Hell, even Fonda's scumbag husband, Stanley Tucci’s Eddie, was treated with more humanity!

A Journal for Jordan - This romance was supposedly based on a true story. If that is accurate, then it was unquestionably the most Nicholas Sparks-seeming true story I’ve ever witnessed, this aesthetic perfectly embodied by the scene where Chante Adams' Dana gets into an argument with Michael B. Jordan's Staff Sergeant Charles - currently on active duty - about how he needs to drop everything overseas to get back home for her giving birth. Bitch, you knew the guy was a soldier when he knocked you up! (And given that she worked for a little organization known as the New York Times, she knew that the situation in the Middle East was precarious, to say the least.) A little late for buyers' remorse now, wouldn't you say? 

The Karate Kid - Let's see: yelling at Ali who tried to console him after getting his ass kicked? Having a chance to walk away from Johnny, but instead, spraying him with water, thereby engaging him in a further fight? Holy shit, Barney Stinson was right. Daniel-san was the true villain of this movie!

The Last Seduction - We may never truly know if Linda Fiorentino’s career imploded because of getting blackballed by Weinstein or because she actually was difficult to work with, but this much is certain: I can only laugh hysterically in the face of anyone who calls this one of the greatest film noirs ever made. (You are on fucking notice, Paste Magazine!) It walked like a great noir and talked like a great noir, but after a while, you couldn’t help but notice that it wasn't that Fiorentino’s character Bridget/Wendy was smarter than everyone else so much as that everyone around her was dumber than shit, a very important distinction. "I probably shouldn’t turn my back on my wife and leave the thousands of dollars I just got out in the open instead of keeping it safe. After all, there is a lone shark after me." "This lady I'm supposed to be keeping tabs on offered me a plate full of cookies. Perhaps, I should check around my car to make sure she didn't do anything to it when I try to trail her." "I'm in a car with this woman, so I should definitely not indulge her curiosity about that stereotype concerning my people. It’s been well-established that this broad is trouble." And then, you have Peter Berg's Mike, who may as well have had 'duh!' tattooed on his forehead. Even if there wasn’t somehow a phone right in front of Brindy to call the cops as you’re indulging her sexual assault fantasy, maybe, don’t scream what you're doing at the top of your voice in case the apartment building might have other tenants listening in. Director John Dahl scored a home run with Red Rock West, so of course I was looking forward to this one. Maybe if - like Red - he had also written the film instead of leaving the driving to some no-name who (surprise, surprise!) hasn’t been heard from in the 30 years since, it would’ve turned out so much better.

The Last Shot - This comedy, based on a true incident, had a fantastic cast, but that only went so far when dealing with an off-putting streak of quote-unquote ‘quirky’ humor. About the time Toni Collette’s actress relieved herself in a champagne glass in the middle of a crowded restaurant was the time I mentally checked out. Screenwriter Jeff Nathanson (Catch Me If You Can, the Rush Hour sequels) made his directorial debut with this project, but even on something like this, it never hurts to have a fresh pair of eyes on the script.

A Low Down Dirty Shame - The action scenes of this Blaxploitation action-comedy were quite well-done. Unfortunately, writer/director Keenen Ivory Wayans couldn’t seem to leave "In Living Color" behind, as evidenced by gay stereotypes so hideously offensive, they make "Men on...'s" Blaine and Antoine look butch, and then you have Jada Pinkett‘s full volume performance as Shame's Girl Friday, Peaches. About the time she knocked out an actor because the character he played on one of her favorite soap operas was fooling around was when I started deeply disliking her.

Marnie - The leads were attractive, Bernard Herrmann’s music was terrific and the film was much sturdier than its reputation. I mean, I’m only 10 minutes away from the end, but this is definitely one of Hitchcock's hidden gems. Sure, the title character has five year's subscriptions worth of issues but I’m sure that’ll be explained effective...oh....ooh...woof. One of my favorite letterboxd reviewers, Marty McKee, said that this ending played like “Simon Oakland in Psycho on crack”. He was not incorrect.

Serial Mom - Without question, the superior of 1994’s 'sensationalization of a serial killer' satires. The first hour was absolute dynamite with Beverly’s killing spree, but then we get to her trial and her manipulation of events and witnesses, and the fact that she gets off scot free at the end - especially in the wake of November 5th - just did not sit right with me at all.

Starsky and Hutch - Once upon a time, Todd Phillips complained that "making comedies is hard now because of wokeness". (Of course, it could certainly be argued that - given a lot of his résumé - making comedies was hard for him before wokeness, but I digress.) Watching this movie, I couldn’t help but take that to mean, "All I want is for Will Ferrell to play a predatory gay prisoner! What the fuck is wrong with you snowflakes?!".

Star Trek VI: the Undiscovered Country - Following the much-maligned (I would personally say unfairly maligned) Star Trek V: the Final Frontier, bringing Nicholas Meyer back into the fold would seem to have been a smart move. After all, as memorably intoned in a USA Network ad in the 90s, "Even-numbered Trek movies don’t suck." Classy. This does have its good points, such as a stirring score from Cliff Eidelman, who I still lament didn’t have as big a career as an effort like this would’ve merited, and a wonderfully theatrical performance from Christopher Plummer as Gen. Chang. (Side note: excepting Ricardo Montalban and possibly Laurence Luckinbill, has an actor ever had more fun as the villain of one of these movies?) But it really seemed like fans and critics were so focused on what this film wasn’t, they didn’t stop to think about what it actually was. As far as I’m concerned, the positives were undercut by the heavy-handed racial aspects of the plot. In particular, I found Chekov's line, "Guess who’s coming to dinner.”, far more cringe than anything in Star Trek V. (The goofy-looking anti-gravity CGI blood in the murder scenes was pretty bad, too. They'd have been better off using traditional cel animation.)

Wicked, Wicked - As with a number of movies I know about in life, my primary knowledge of this one came from "Leonard Maltin's Movie and Video Guide". Sometimes, I completely disagree with what he had to say about a movie and then, there are times when he and his team really hit the nail on the head. (This received a 'BOMB' rating, by the way, for reasons that should become clear.) A California hotel was besieged by a string of murders committed by a doofy-looking incel of a serial killer who seemed to constantly be able to avoid the authorities, all of it scored with heavy-handed organ music smeared over every scene. Writer-director Richard L. Bare, who directed almost every episode of "Green Acres", utilized an impressive split-screen technology designed to show the audience more than usual. Damn shame he wasted it on something like this. He'd have been better off making this a short subject a la his "Joe McDoakes" comedies...or not at all.

Wisdom - If nothing else, Emilio Estevez deserved credit for taking on the triple threat of writer, director and actor at an age before most people are even buying their first home, but his character John Wisdom walked into banks holding a gun (never mind the fact that he had no intention of shooting anyone) and he didn’t even think to wear a fucking mask? The police may have done him a kindness blowing him away at the end.

Blue Christmas.

Just thought I needed a little something to bump the podcasting post off the top. (Though, briefly, I had to cut loose the Chasing Chevy Chase pod. The guys there have already covered Oh, Heavenly Dog, Under the Rainbow and Modern Problems and, yet, they decide to save the full amount of vitriol for Deal of the Century? Fuck that and fuck them.)

As I do my best to power through a soundtrack composed by three of the least interesting - yet double Academy Award-winning! - composers out there, I cannot help but reflect on what a crappy Christmas I had. (There are a lot of moving parts to the story, so it would behoove you to keep up.)

Earlier this month, I received a letter telling me that coverage of my car was going to expire unless I called a particular number; apparently, it's because the mileage on my car is of a certain height. I called the number a few days before the expiration date. I tell him about the car and how my check engine light is on and he pretty much instructs me that nothing can be done unless I find a way to get rid of it. I go to AutoZone on the 16th and find out that there’s a leak in my gas tank or at least that’s what the readout said when the guy checked it out.

Buysoundtrax - I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned them at this blog a number of times before - was offering their annual gift box full of items from their back catalog. Hoping to plug a few holes in my collection, I decided to take the plunge and drop the 40 bucks plus shipping on it.

My supervisor decided to take the whole week off of work, but before she left, she made sure that me and my fellow worker got to get off super early on Christmas Eve. 12 noon, in fact.

I managed to get an appointment to have my check engine light taken care of just a couple days before Christmas. As it turns out, it’s not a leak in my gas tank that’s the problem as much as a faulty sensor. Given that it's the week of Christmas, it may take some time for the part to get in, so for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and at press time Thursday, I have absolutely no car to work with, so if things get to be overwhelming here at home, well, that’s just too damn bad, isn’t it?

The box finally arrives at 4:30 on the night before Christmas and I can rush right out to get it from the porch. I gave it a little shake when I get to my room. Sounds like a lot of CDs in there. This is gonna be so much fun.

The big morning arrives and of course give my screwed up sleep schedule. I wake up at around 5:30 but I swear to myself to wait until six to even think of popping that box open.The time comes I open it and…surprise is not strong enough to express how I’m truly feeling. Now I was under the impression that the people behind this did a cursory glance at my buying history (and I’ve bought a lot from this company over the years), so I figure that the majority would be truly fascinating stuff. What do I end up getting? A DVD of some thriller I’ve never even heard of; a handful of CDs that I already own (did I mention that I’ve bought from these people before?); a number of label-produced composer compilations with covers performed by their in-house team; a few CDs of songs and classical music, including an incredibly sus compilation that reminded me of the ones that I would routinely bypass at FYE years ago; and about a dozen or so CDs that I’d actually be fascinated by or interested in*. Next time I’m just gonna take part of the sales. Less chance of fuckery, then.

I was hoping to forget about this disappointment by watching some TV, but what do you know? The TV wasn’t working. I’d been just sitting idle in my room for six hours and all it took was the flip of a switch to make things normal. (In the meantime, I watched the 2009 version of A Christmas Carol; the Robert Zemeckis one with Jim Carrey. Not a perfect movie - nothing against the motion capture execution, but it was very clearly shot for 3-D and a lot of those swooping camera movements were distracting - but unquestionably, the highlight of the day.)

As with the day before, cabin fever is setting in in a big way and sneaking away in mom’s car while she’s still awake will open myself to a shit ton of questions I really don’t feel like answering.

All I have to eat in the midst of Mom putting the finishing touches on dinner is a peanut butter cookie and a mug of egg nog, which is fine, but not that satisfying.

The afternoon rolls around and my younger sisters get here. It’s nice to see them as we enjoy reruns of “Martin” together, but…some years ago, the elder of the two adopted a little boy…one with an undiagnosed disorder. He’s very hyper. He has little if any concept of impulse control. He very seldom listens to people who tell him to behave or settle down. His mother picked this time to scroll her phone instead of being a parent (and what is the fucking logic here? “I’ll do something about it when I hear something break because after all, I don’t live here anymore?”).

It’s not long before I take my presents and retreat to my room. After that is the occasional thump, a whole lot of coughing, a whole lot of noise…and nobody does a thing. Back in the day, my father wouldn’t have put up with this from any of us without violence ensuing, so I can’t imagine why she thinks a hands-off approach would work.

After the girls leave and the hurricane has subsided, I point out this lack of action to Mom, telling her, “If I had the money, I would move out tomorrow.”

I get upstairs and the living room is a mess; packaging and wrapping paper everywhere. Bits of food embedded into the carpet. This is really acceptable? Begrudgingly, I get to work gathering up all the crap and stuff in the garbage bag and, as ever, nobody even bothered to put in a new garbage bag after the old one had been removed. It’s like I don’t even fucking exist around here. Does no one else in the world understand how offensive that is?!

I get back downstairs, hoping to improve my mood with a new movie, Dear Santa. Holy first fucking draft, this film is a disappointment. If not for a few stray great lines from Jack Black and the surprise cameo about 2/3 of the way in, this would ended up making my bottom 10 for the year.

By this point, I'm starving for seconds, which I couldn't get. I sit out the time it takes to warm the items up in the oven and then, I chow down. The meal is good, if a little underwhelming (it's been too long since I've had mashed potatoes, but I think that mac and cheese would've worked better).

And then it hits me about the next day: not only do I have to get back to work, but I have to get my car back and God only knows how much it’s gonna cost to get that situation taken care of. I barely have $1000 left in the bank and I have a shit ton of bills coming up. Possible bright side: I’ll be able to sell some of the crappier discs to Lukas Kendall for his ongoing sale and maybe make some coin.

All in all, I’m just reminded of Philip’s (Steve Martin) climactic speech from 1994’s messy yet entertaining Mixed Nuts: “You’re upset because this is Christmas and Christmas is a time of year when you look at your life through a magnifying glass and what you don’t have seems overwhelming.”

As I’m getting back to a dead zone of work and fighting a cold (that I just know came from the brat’s offer of popcorn from his special tin; note to self: never accept anything from his hands for as long as I draw breath), I may find happiness in stray things, but yeah, this is just a very, very depressing existence I’m in now and nothing short of a miracle or a giant flood will ever be able to reverse that.

* - Among the haul was an Oscar promo of Philip Glass’s Jane and an agency promo of John Powell’s The Bourne Ultimatum. How much other cool shit do those jerks keep on lockdown from the plebs unless Christmas is a factor? Unbe-fucking-lievable!

Adventures in podcasting.

No, not mine…yet. I braved snowy roads to get into the office for reasons that satisfy me and me alone. May as well listen to some podcasts. After this morning’s The Villain Was Right (covering Hot Frosty*…OMG), I decide on less familiar territory.

- Filmshake intrigued me with their 1990s catalog. Looking for something in the 90-minute range, I settle on their The Frighteners/Mosquito episode. There’s a special guest from the Good Times, Great Movies podcast (the same template, only with 80s movies) and looking up those episodes, that seemed like a potential winner. The conversation turned to the film’s star, Michael J. Fox and how he took on a number of movies in the mid-90s to have something for his family when he looked to be laid low by his Parkinson’s diagnosis. The films they listed (as being not very good) were For Love and Money, Life with Mikey and…Greedy. Needless to say, I’m incensed enough to cut this one loose. (And it is entirely likely that, in talking about The Frighteners, they’d end up sucking off Jeffrey Combs’s nauseatingly over-the-top performance just like every other review of this movie. At that point, I’d want to put a jihad on those assholes.)

- Out of the Podcast - A Film Noir Conversation - talking about the terrific Phantom Lady - was more promising, if somewhat burdened by its host’s geeky voice. (Maybe, it’s years of Noir Alley talking, but a deeper, Eddie Muller-like voice gives these movies more import. A higher, not-as-confident voice doesn’t quite accomplish that. It’s pretty much the same reason I jumped ship from the YouTube channel Full Moon Matinee despite its promising hook.) Still, he’s got the information down, so maybe, I’ll stick with it.

- The Screwball Story looked at screwball comedies, which, okay, but this leaned too much on the host’s too-whispery voice (either she was truly committed to her lifelong Julie Hagerty impression or it’s time for new earbuds) and clips from the movies (which reminded me of my hatred of Bringing Up Baby and its unofficial remake, the movie under review, What’s Up, Doc?).

* - And next week, Romancing the Pod is covering it. I enjoy Lacey Chabert's Christmas movies, but, much like Jerry Seinfeld's reaction to his castmates/co-stars of North, "Not even for you."

No light at the end of this tunnel.

So, that just happened. In case you were wondering, no, I don’t have it in me to give up on my life, not with so many responsibilities I have to deal with. A permanent, self-inflicted solution like that would come at a great personal cost. However, giving up on the concept of a merciful God? 100% free.

I don’t know if I can ever be as optimistic as I was in the before time, but I could always hope for a meteor or a flood or some sort of super Covid. Anything like that to take care of D.C.’s pest control problem would put my mind at ease.

And to all those who voted for him, all those who supported him, all those who installed him, all those who enabled him and overlooked his obvious mental deterioration for your own gain (and, for shits and giggles, the people - he said, sarcastically - who didn’t even bother to vote), here’s a news flash: he will not have your back forever and, deep down, I know you are all keenly aware of that fact. When he decides the time is right to rid this country of any quote-unquote ‘undesirables’, I sincerely hope that you fuckers are the first ones lined up against the wall.

"From Grauman's Chinese to 42nd Street..."

“…the movies are everywhere!”

Best Picture
Dawn of the Dead 
Halloween 
Invasion of the Body Snatchers 
Theatre of Blood 
The Wicker Man

Best Actor
Chuck Connors, Tourist Trap
Anthony Hopkins, Magic
William Marshall, Blacula
Vincent Price, Theatre of Blood
Donald Sutherland, Don't Look Now

Best Actress
Julie Christie, Don't Look Now
Jamie Lee Curtis, Halloween
Samantha Eggar, The Brood
Jodie Foster, The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane
Katharine Ross, The Stepford Wives

Best Supporting Actor
Michael Ansara, The Manitou
Tim Curry, The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Christopher Lee, The Wicker Man
Robert Shaw, Jaws 
Martin Sheen, The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane 

Best Supporting Actress
Veronica Cartwright, Invasion of the Body Snatchers
Amy Irving, The Fury
Margot Kidder, Black Christmas
Elsa Lanchester, Willard
Diana Rigg, Theatre of Blood

Best Director
John Carpenter, Halloween
Tobe Hooper, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 
Philip Kaufman, Invasion of the Body Snatchers 
George A. Romero, Dawn of the Dead 
Steven Spielberg, Jaws

Best Screenplay, Written Directly for the Screen
Alien, screenplay by Dan O’Bannon, story by Dan O’Bannon & Ronald Shusett
The Brood, written by David Cronenberg
Halloween, written by John Carpenter & Debra Hill
Piranha, screenplay by John Sayles, story by John Sayles and Richard Robinson 
Theatre of Blood, screenplay by Anthony Grenville-Bell, based on an idea by Stanley Mann and John Kohn

Best Screenplay, Adapted from Material from Another Medium
Frenzy, screenplay by Anthony Shaffer, based on the novel by Arthur La Bern
Invasion of the Body Snatchers, screenplay by W.D. Richter, based on the short story by Jack Finney and the 1956 screenplay by Daniel Mainwaring
Jaws, screenplay by Peter Benchley and Carl Gottlieb with additional dialogue by John Milius and Robert Shaw, based on the novel by Peter Benchley
The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane, screenplay by Laird Koenig based on his novel
Magic, screenplay by William Goldman based on his novel 

Best Cinematography
Bill Butler, Jaws
Michael Chapman, Invasion of the Body Snatchers
Dean Cundey, Halloween 
Victor J. Kemper, Magic
Vilmos Zsigmond, Obsession 

Best Editing
Charles Bornstein and Tommy Lee Wallace, Halloween
Paul Hirsch, The Fury
John Jympson, Frenzy
James Needs, Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde
Ted Nicolaou, Tourist Trap

Best Production Design
The Abominable Dr. Phibes 
Phantom of the Paradise 
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 
Theatre of Blood 
Tourist Trap 

Best Costume Design
Michael Baldwin, Theatre of Blood
Terry de Havilland, The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Julie Harris, Dracula 
Anna Hill Johnstone, The Stepford Wives
Rosanna Norton, Phantom of the Paradise 

Best Original Score
John Carpenter, Halloween
Pino Donaggio, Tourist Trap
Bernard Herrmann, Sisters
Michael J. Lewis, Theatre of Blood
John Williams, Dracula

Best Original Song
"Arnold", Arnold, music by George Duning, lyrics by Andrew J. Fenady 
"The Hell of It", Phantom of the Paradise, music and lyrics by Paul Williams
"The Maypole Song, The Wicker Man, music and lyrics by Paul Giovanni 
"What Makes a Man a Man?", Grizzly, music by Robert O. Ragland, lyrics by Arthur Hamilton
"The Winner Takes All", Killer Fish, music and lyrics by Guido and Maurizio de Angelis

Best Sound
Alien
The Car
The Fury
Piranha
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 

Best Visual Effects
The Fury
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
The Manitou
Piranha
Tourist Trap 

Best Make-Up
The Abominable Dr. Phibes
Dawn of the Dead
The Manitou
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Theatre of Blood

Best International Feature
The Brood (Canada)
Deep Red (Italy)
Hausu (Japan) 
Nosferatu the Vampire (West Germany/France)
Patrick (Australia)

I'm getting too old for this shit.

Another August, another trip to Toronto. Another bout of planning, hoping, money exchange.

Fan Expo was making its own plans to acquire a number of guests, some of whom would - for whatever reason or another - ultimately drop out of this year‘s festivities: Grey DeLisle, Keith David, Wayne Knight, John Cleese (yes, you read that correctly), Sofia Boutella, Eli Roth and Alan Tudyk. However, the Q*Anon broad from Haywire and Deadpool was making a return appearance so, truly, we are blessed.

Also, there was a matter of finding a temporary living arrangement. No hotels since my money isn’t quite 'hotels!' strong, but an Airbnb. As there is a certain Airbnb experience to which I have become accustomed, I was very finicky this year, looking to find something somewhere a) in the neighborhood of Little Italy and b) that had a television. It wasn’t an easy search, but ultimately, it was fruitful. 

Thursday

Wishing to leave nothing to chance to avoid the woes of previous years…and months…I’m up at 6 in the morning. It would’ve been later, but my alarm…it suffers no slackers. Reruns of “Regular Show” flit about in the background to keep my head together while I make sure everything is packed. (In rewatching the show, you can’t help but notice how Mordecai and Rigby are the true villains in spite of all the weirdos they’ve faced, but that’s a topic to be expounded upon for another time, friends.)

Hoping to get a jump on the day - and a quick breakfast in from Paula's Donuts - I decided to leave the house at 6:45. The plan was simple: scarf down the chocolate honey dip donut and wash it down some chocolate milk as I make my way to the Peace Bridge. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any of my donuts already made. They did have a Bavarian, which is still good if messier and not exactly what I was hoping for. Really hoping this wasn’t a bad omen for the rest of the trip.

Much to my surprise, there are no lines when I get to the Peace Bridge. I endure the whole 'why are you going to Canada?' spiel, responding with 'Fan Expo' and $11 later, I am off.

Even more surprising, the trip down the QEW goes without incident. I get my breakfast eaten, the internet works on my phone and the weather is good. I feel like it’s just a matter of time before shit goes sideways.

Remarkably, I make it to the bus station with plenty of time to spare. I haul my luggage across the street, saying goodbye to my vehicle. It’s not too long before the bus arrives and takes me on my way. The bus ride is a smooth one; so much so that I have no problem watching a movie on my phone: 1946's Shock. A woman is witness to a murder, which sends her into shock and when she comes out of it, she is horrified to find that her attending physician is the killer. Very effective variation on Gaslight that gets a lot done in 70 minutes.

The bus stops at Burlington, leading to me and many of the people on the bus to take the train to Union Station, if not various points in-between. I feel like taking a nap, but it never quite happens. However, given the late night I plan on having, I make an effort.

The train arrives at Union Station. It may be a little early for lunch, but I don’t care. I’m starving and I’m really craving some Jamaican patties. I try to look online for the map of the place to get to Patties Express, but thankfully there’s a stationary map around that gets me there faster.

The meal turns out to be worth it, but it’s not without its bumps. Whether it’s due to the money I'm anxious not to spend too much of so soon or food I’m hoping to eat later tonight, I dither between whether I want one or two patties. I ultimately decided on one, much to the annoyance of the guy at the register. So much for that first impression.

However, the patty is too damn hot to immediately eat so I pack it away and load $50 onto my Presto card or at least that’s the plan. For some reason, the card doesn’t register at the machine, so I use my other credit card that I brought along and load $40. That seems to do the job.

Figuring I'd get a head start on going to Sonic Boom, I take the subway from Union Station to Spadina Station, not realizing that would take me to Spadina Rd. far from my planned destination. This would not be the last time this weekend that I severely misjudged where exactly the subway would go. Still, now’s as good a time as any to eat my patty. Just delicious.

The initial plan was to hit up the city's museums like I wanted to last year. They all happened to be - at least, according to Google - closed, so I would instead start my trip with the bookstore tour, punctuated by stops at various bakeries and ice cream shops. Of course, this was based on my assumptions that the city would be easy to navigate, something about which a half-dozen trips to this city over the last decade have proven me humiliatingly wrong.

Bloor Street West did not seem to have any public transportation going down it, so I guess I'm walking. I make my way to BMV Music and Books. Just as with the previous year, the first part of the store’s title is something of a letdown, more than mitigated by the latter. Leonard Maltin's "Of Mice and Magic" is history, but what I did manage to pick up was nothing to sneeze at: Bruce Campbell's "If Chins Could Kill" (in hardcover to go with "Make Love! The Bruce Campbell Way"), Eddie Muller‘s "Dark City: the Lost World of Film Noir" (only available in paperback, but hey, that’s life) and Robert Evans's "The Kid Stays in the Picture". Another book that caught my fancy: 

Not much to it; just a listing of movies and the composers that scored them, so, of course, it’s catnip to someone like me. I’m not too worried that it won't still be there when I go back.

Not feeling entirely confident that the money was there, I leave behind a copy of Barry Sonnenfeld’s "Barry Sonnenfeld, Call Your Mother". (Fun fact, when dictating this post on my phone, autocorrect registered 'Sonnenfeld' as 'Seinfeld' and there's a blurb from the man on the front. Go figure.) I’ll probably never see the book again.

Sweating like a pig and feeling no desire to travel more than I need to, I message the host, telling her since I'm in town early, I would be dropping in at 1:30pm. (Thankfully, that was allowed.)

There was, much to my relief, a route to my Airbnb from Bloor down Manning Avenue. On the way, I stop at Neurotica Records. Not-Gordon Ramsay is still there and, thankfully, so is the soundtrack section. Check out what I managed to get my hands on this year: Eragon, Forrest Gump, King Kong, The Legend of Bagger Vance, The Legend of Zorro and Scent of a Woman.

The house I'm calling home for the next few days is a lovely little place easily accessible by the coded locks on the entrance and into my room. Getting a look around, I am so glad I decided to bring my own soap, shampoo and toilet paper, since none of what's provided can live up to my quote-unquote 'standards'. (In particular, the roll of toilet paper proved to be invaluable. If I had $100 for every time I was in desperate need of having to go to the bathroom to ‘clean the basement’ on this trip, I could’ve easily bankrolled it twice over. AngelSoft, you - literally - saved my ass.)

The room is roughly half the size of my regular bedroom, but it's still quite homey. The television set-up is pretty fascinating. Netflix, Amazon Prime, YouTube, Tubi. You name it, it's here. Unfortunately, it seems to be a BYOP situation: bring your own password. While I have (most of) them, it's kind of disappointing that there's no personal touch to the TV situation, not helped by there not being a cable hookup. In other words, you want to watch Canadian shows on this television, you're SOL.

My suitcase parked and my shirt changed, I settle in on the bed for some net surfing. The laptop comes in handy for the next few days. Of course, I can't stay long. There's stuff to do and money to spend.

My bookstore tour continued on College Street. At Balfour Books, I once again ran into “Call Your Mother”,  so I figured I may as well buy it. I get further up the street and make my way to Sellers and Newel. It is here that I find a copy of "The Film Director" by Richard L. Bare. The man's directed a number of short films, virtually every episode of a major TV series and a couple of motion pictures. I figure this guy’s got to know something, right? The entertainment section was not easy to locate. The store design is something else: the back office also seemed to double as the checkout location and the entertainment section where I managed to find the book was against the wall next to the employee entrance. And if all that wasn’t weird enough, get a load of the name of the proprietor:

Probably not the same one. I didn’t dare press the issue.

The girl at the counter notices the name of the book I’m buying and so, she starts chatting me up about what kind of movies I wanna make. “All kinds”, I blurt out to her (though, given how often my expression of a desire to make movies leads to this question, you’d think I’d have a concrete answer filed away) and then she tells me, “I’ll be looking for your movies”. No pressure there, right?

I get back to my place around the official check-in time and cool my heels for a spell. But not too much of one. I did come here for Fan Expo and for the first time, there were panels on Thursday night that I really wanted to get to.

For example, Narf! Inside the World of Pinky and the Brain. The chemistry between Rob Paulsen and (Toronto’s own!) Maurice LaMarche is as strong as ever and there was even a brief nod to the online debate of which character is which in the theme song lyric “One is a genius/the other’s insane”. My opinion? I abstain.

Just before I leave, I spot a lovely couples cosplay of Joy and Fear from Inside Out (though it takes a few moments to recognize the latter; the sweater ended up being a dead giveaway). I just have to get a picture.

I'd hoped to continue the tradition of Mean Bao the night of a Revue Cinema screening, but they'd moved from their College Street location to Union Station. More on that later. Looking up the city's bao locations, I happened upon a place called Bank Bao. Easy access on Spadina Ave. and there's just enough time between the night's panels to make it there and back on TTC. Life is good.

And this bao is even better. Vina Chicken. Very exotic. Very tasty. I think I’ve made a new friend.

I take the same route back to Fan Expo and head down to make it back in time for From Sallah to Gimli: A Journey with John Rhys-Davies. At the top of the panel, he stated that "I don't believe in soundbites!". Boy, did he live up to that statement. Quite a few people - likely, Lord of the Rings fans - got up to ask him questions and he took it upon himself to answer every single one. At length. This continued well past the point of the panel was set to end: 8:30. I had someplace I needed to be at 9:30 and, even with Google Maps on my side, this was a tight squeeze. At around 20 to 9:00, I just skipped out, mid-answer. For all I know, the panel is still going on.

Given last year‘s trip, I knew I wanted to make Revue Cinema a permanent part of my Toronto experience…and to think, we almost lost it to governmental horseshit. I was a little worried, but I did make it to the theater, thanks to TTC’s subway. (I should also point out that, in the year between my screenings, boutique DVD label Vinegar Syndrome has established a brick-and-mortar location right across from Revue. Pretty sweet deal. See a movie in the theater, then buy it with improved picture and sound so you can see it whenever you like. Sadly, despite my best efforts, I don't make it there in this trip.)

There’s, of course, the pre-show intro and the trailers and the fact that I totally had to have snacks to go with the movie. The line for concessions started in the aisle of the screening room and I was about 20 people behind. Worrying about fire hazards is for dorks. Ultimately, I got my popcorn and soda and made it to one of the last available seats cramped against the wall. You think I would’ve been turned off of coming to the theater, much less watching the movie…and you’d be wrong. 

In the 30 years since its release, Street Fighter has become something of a bad movie classic thanks to the fun characters, ridiculous dialogue and Raul Julia giving it his all as Gen. Bison. I usually like my movie experiences to be a little more sedate, but I tell you, it was almost like being at a concert or a screening of Rocky Horror the way the crowd was reacting. It was an absolute blast and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

From the theater, I head back the way I came for a street car. My TTC app keeps changing the arrival time on me. 'Could there really be this many delays for a Midnight car?', I think to myself. Eventually, the car gets here and spirits me to my Airbnb. Not quite the city that never sleeps, but there’s something of a mysterious (in a good way) feeling to this place, even with the lights being off.

I strip down to a shirt and underwear and get in my bed. The way it’s made, though, it felt like I was short sheeted. I had to adjust the sheet and once I did, I was able to get to sleep no problem. Good night.

Friday

It’s around 6:30. I wake up. Time for my usual routine of…whoop. Yeah, I don’t think I could - much less should - do that here.

The door of one of the other rooms at my Airbnb is open and that’s when I noticed I’m rooming with a girl? Oh, boy. You sure I can’t do that here? Eh, whatever. May as well plan out my day.

After messing around on the Internet, it’s time for a shower. A towel and a hand towel are provided for me. The shower is a little small, but it’s fine enough for what I need to do. I noticed that my roll of toilet paper was on the side of the sink from last night. I must’ve really been tired last night to have forgotten that.

One of the places I planned on eating last year was at Starving Artist, a breakfast/brunch/lunch place that specializes mainly in waffle dishes and that’s just what I need. Thankfully, it’s close by. Packing a few of my books as a counterweight, I get ready to go out.

It’s a pretty nice place; just what you’d expect from a local restaurant. I sat at a table with a barcode taped to the edge. Apparently, that’s where you find the menu, but given that I am an old, I much prefer the folding kind.

Never really heard of this dish called the Monte Cristo, but I figure it could be good. That’s before I saw what kind of portions I would have to deal with.

So, basically, what my breakfast amounts to is ham, turkey and runny cheese on French Toast waffles served with a side of mixed greens and potato salad. To paraphrase a line from “Futurama”, “No combination of those things should be served to people", much less as the most important meal of the day! I would not be joining the Clean Plate Club this morning.

Following that…meal, I’m feeling pretty logy, but I still need to get something to drink for the long day ahead. Shoppers Drug Mart has a nice big bottle of Coke Zero for sale, so that sounds like a plan. I make it to the streetcar, which takes me downtown. I transferred to the car going down Spadina, which leads me to Front St. West and that’s how I end up getting into Fan Expo.

With every passing year, Fan Expo just seems to get more and more crowded, but somehow, I make my way through. Across the bridge to go to the South Building, but it’s moving a lot slower than I expected. Some poor intern has to lug the giant red panda suit from Turning Red, causing a giant log jam. You can’t help but feel for the guy.

My first panel today? Animation Nation: A Conversation with Michael Hirsh. The co-founder of Nelvana, Canada’s premiere animation studio for many decades, talked about how he got started and even showed the animated clip from “The Star Wars Holiday Special”; the sequence that put the company on the map and the one part that everyone can pretty much agree is entertaining. Studio director Clive Smith was also at the panel offering remembrances. Unlike at a lot of these panels, I was compelled to ask a question. I mentioned one of Nelvana‘s few forays into live action: the 1993 thriller Malice. Hirsh also brought up the 1987 movie Burglar, which I completely forgot about Nelvana’s involvement with. My question was if there was a project that he really wanted the studio to do but, for some reason or another, it didn’t work out. Hirsh explained to me that for every project that gets released, around five of them don’t get produced. One of them names he let trip off the tongue was “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”. I couldn’t even imagine how that would work as a cartoon, but it’d be interesting to see somebody try. Also, just imagine if they lured Tim Curry back to the role of Dr. Frank-N-Furter. Bananas beyond all reason.

Afterwards, I had to drag myself across the property to make it for Too Many to Count! All the Voices of Tara Strong. It must be said that the fans love her and the panel ended in a giant selfie that I was still too tired to get in on. Hell, maybe next time.

The cosplay was, as ever, something to see. King from “The Owl House”, Mabel and Dipper Pines (one of several cross-gender cosplays, on both sides, I witnessed) and Deadpool in a homemade outfit not unlike Peter’s from the first Spider-Man. (There was also a girl who was dressed like Joan of Arc from “Clone High”. I asked for a picture, but she turned me down. She didn’t even seem to notice that she was dressed as a fictional character. Why were you even wearing this outfit and why were you even here? At least the Wednesday Addams from a few years back knew she was dressed as a fictional character. Some people, man.)

Once more across the bridge, dear friends, and on the way, I saw paramedics tending to a cosplayer who had collapsed, likely from exhaustion. I felt like Loomis in Quick Change; It’s bad luck just seeing something like that. (A reaction I would also have to seeing guests receiving tattoos in the North building.) From Boondocks to Star Wars: Spotlight on Rodney Barnes found the writer talking about how he got his start helping out Damon Wayans on Bulletproof and “My Wife and Kids” and how that developed into a medium-spanning career. If only, you know.

Once again, there was a gap in the Fan Expo schedule wide enough to wriggle through to snag a Korean corn dog from Chungchun. I head for Union Station and take the train up to what I think will be right next to my location of choice, College Station, but with all the walking and walking I had to do, I was surprised to find that it was right next to Wellesley Station. Live and learn, right?

Your eyes do not deceive you. That is teriyaki sauce, not chipotle sauce like I’ve had before. A brain fart prevented me from recalling that. It tasted…different. Good different, but not quite a match for what I was used to.

I had planned on picking up from last year and checking out the performance of Emily Strikes Back, but then, they switched the schedule around on me and I found myself with a giant hole in the night's schedule that I was, at various points, willing to fill with any number of things (CNE, a bookstore tour, a trip to one of the city's many nerd-themed bars, a Revue screening of Longlegs).

It was then that the head honchos of FanExpo pulled the ace from their sleeve: Marvel Television Presents: Agatha All Along. It looks to luxuriate in the darkness that sat at the edges of "WandaVision" and I’m curious to see how it plays out.

When I got out of FanExpo, I was craving a brownie in the worst way. I looked up 'toronto brownie', then, wanting to spare myself excess hassle, I looked up the website for Second Cup, which the Metro Toronto Convention Centre just so happened to have inside. The brownie was rather cold, but I couldn’t wait for it to warm up. I took a bite. Okay, better to wait a little bit. I refresh my drink selection by getting an iced tea from Shoppers.

Wanting not to repeat last year’s fuck up, I go to Exotic Snax hoping for some Nacho Cheese Bugles action. Much to my disappointment, they’re gone; almost like they never bloody existed! However, the redhead working the register is so cute, I figure I better buy something, so I get a couple of cookie dough Twix. Not as good as the original, but not bad.

I take a street car of Queen St. West and hit a few more bookstores that I missed out on first time. Sadly, Type and Silver Snail didn’t have anything that interest me book-wise (and the latter turned out to be a comic book shop), But still, walking down Queen St. West is a magical experience. I stopped at Bloomer's, a bakery. Given that it was close to the end of the workday, I probably should not have been surprised that most of the day’s stock was depleted, but they did have some cookies left and sometimes that’s all you need.

No matter if it’s just up the street or to another country, I have this unfortunate habit of forgetting something in my travels. In this case, it was cough drops, but fortunately I was able to stop at 7-Eleven and grab a pack along with a drink and some Reese‘s pieces.

Because a long-term trip to Toronto just wouldn’t be complete without it, I managed to get to Sonic Boom. The trip was primarily to just look around, but in the soundtrack section, I stumble upon Rambling Rose by Elmer Bernstein. I’ve never seen the movie, but if Elmer Bernstein is selling…

My original dinner plans for the night were to try a duck confit pizza from Renaissance Pizza, which was only a stone’s throw away from my Airbnb. As is customary when I plan something, I get way inside my own head (What if I hate the first slice? Then I’m stuck with a nasty ass pizza!). But then, it hits me: “I’m already on Spadina. I enjoyed the food and the service last night. Bank Bao, it is!”

A full meal of Richie Duck and Crispy Fish (it is Friday, after all) baos with a side of fries. We eat like kings.

I settle in for an evening of television…on my laptop. (I had wanted to watch Hit Man on Netflix, but, you know, you need a password.) I watch "What We Do in the Shadows" on Disney+. Hey, Canada. I seek out the episode, "The Cloak of Duplication". Recently, Matt Berry received a well-deserved but ultimately unsuccessful Emmy nomination for Best Actor in a Comedy Series, but Kayvan Novak was on fire in this episode which saw various characters using the titular cloak to take on Nandor’s form and help him hook up with a cute gym worker. It was amazing watching Novak channeling his co-stars' voices and mannerisms. I also caught an episode of the charming but sadly short-lived 80s series "Blacke's Magic".

In the midst of my TV watching, I hear a bump from the other room. I get up from my bed and I ask, “Are you all right?". “Yes”, comes the reply. It’s not exactly sweet nothings but, hey, it's progress.

Saturday

It never hits right that I’m far from home and my ritual of cartoons, which I easily could’ve accessed on my laptop, but never mind.

Much like myself, the girls seemed to be preparing for a long day of whatever. In such a situation, one’s mind can tend to wander, which is to say that their door to their room was open. Fear not. I didn’t see anything that I wasn’t entitled to witness. Just one of the girls looking at herself in a mirror. I said nothing to give away my position while savoring my momentary glance at paradise. 

Unfortunately, they took too long getting ready, forcing me to rush to get myself in order.

I really wanted to spend my pre-Expo breakfast time at Eggspectation, but they required reservations. I have never made a reservation for a restaurant in my entire life and I don’t see that situation changing anytime soon. Need an alternative and quick. There’s this place downtown that might hit the spot: Sunset Grill. I order the Sunset Super with bacon and sausage. Oh…my…God.

All in all, this breakfast was as immaculate as the one from yesterday was inexplicable.

The third day of Fan Expo is often the most busy, so, of course, I have much to do, which doesn’t mean I can’t stop and take in the cosplay: Yzma, Mabel (a different one) and Pacifica, Arkham Asylum Harley Quinn, Cosmo and Wanda, a Rockford Peach (deep cut), Blade, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Girl, Alex DeLarge and his Droogs, an age-appropriate Doric from Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, Belle from Beauty and the Beast in her ballroom dress and the Dread Pirate Roberts (with a lightsaber!!). Friday, as I made my way inside, I saw a girl dressed as Trixie Tang. I missed my chance at her. Today, I got a pic of her with Timmy Turner. Even as a devoted Timmy/Tootie shipper, I couldn’t not get a picture.

Also, there was a girl dressed as Anastasia from the 1997 movie. I can only assume this was a remnant from the brief window of time when it looked like Don Bluth was coming here. As much as I asked her for a picture, she didn’t seem to want to acknowledge me, so I just snapped a picture of her while her back was turned at one of the vendors. No harm, no foul.

Well, I had to get to my first panel of the day: From Superbad to Superstars: Christopher Mintz-Plasse. He walked us through his career, touching on a lot of the highlights, like getting starstruck by Nicolas Cage and giving as good as he got from Jonah Hill, though I was somewhat disappointed that the remake of Fright Night didn’t get any sort of mention. Oh, well.

For lunch, I decided to stay on the property and avail myself of the pre-food truck food truck that shows up every year outside the convention center. It may not be gussied up like I like, but hey, at least I got to have poutine while in Canada.

Given the many voice actors coming to Fan Expo, I wondered if the show would be doing another script read panel. Lo and behold, the Scripted Remix Presented by Twisted Toonz was real. This year’s movie: The Breakfast Club. On the dais this year: Dee Bradley Baker, Jennifer Hale, Maurice LaMarche and Rob Paulsen, but no Tara Strong. You can’t have everything. (I can't help but imagine that the fifth slot was meant for Grey DeLisle. Just imagine Vicky as Claire.) I wasn’t crazy about Baker’s Daffy Duck in Space Jam, but he proved an inspired choice for Principal Vernon, while Paulsen was a hoot in his brief moments reprising Dr. Scratchnsniff for Bender.

My initial plan was to head for the South Building to take in the 25th Anniversary of Batman Beyond - A Celebration in Music panel. Yes, the industrial synth scoring paled in comparison to the cinema-worthy orchestral scores of "Batman: the Animated Series", but goddamnit, it's a panel at FanExpo Cinema dedicated to film and/or television scoring. A reasonable Republican is the only thing anywhere near as rare.

But then, I figured, shit, the line for Power & Glory: Inside the Action with Dolph Lundgren is going to be stupidly long. (Before the panel, I met this couple that admired my shirt of Marvel characters with different expressions and the girl told me about her dress which was similarly designed. I’m not sure I might’ve - or should’ve pushed it into friendship, but still, fun little situation.) The panel itself is pretty good. He talked about how his relationship with his father led him into martial arts.

As long as I have some time to myself (sorry, Helen Hunt), I decided to check out the vendors on the 700 level. There’s some fascinating cosplay here and some interesting vendors selling all manner of artwork. Oh yeah, and some people are selling comic books as well. Go figure. However, all of this is undercut by the ever-growing frustration I have at trying to maneuver my way through this log jam of people. If there was someway to keep a cap on the number of people that are in this part of the building at all times, I would have no problem making my way through, but somehow I just don’t see that happening.

In the midst of my safari, I happen upon Messrs. Hirsh and Smith once more. Their stands are right next to each other, and I’m fascinated by the subject matter of Hirsh's "Animation Nation", that I decided to buy a copy. That would've sent me on my way, but - sensing blood in the water - Smith pitches his graphic novel to me, "The Rather Unusual Adventures of Ice Cream Girl and Mr. Licorice", which I admit does have an interesting premise, but I wasn’t keen on spending money on his book. He essentially guilted me into buying a copy, so that was the end of that.

Also, among many artists on the side of the hall is Roger Christian, who's worked in a number of capacities on the first few Star Wars movies, but who, when the inevitable obituary comes around, will more than likely be listed as the director of Battlefield Earth, a movie I know solely by its reputation of being legendarily bad. I didn’t think I’d want a 70-something Brit mad at me for dredging up his greatest professional embarrassment. 

On my way out of the building, I noticed character placards for each of the characters from Beetlejuice Beetlejuice along the glass surrounding the escalators on the 500 level. On the far wall opposite them was a character of long hair and a steely gaze from "Lord of the Rings: the Rings of Power" (no, I didn't get his name). Getting a look at the fantasy character, and a look at Justin Theroux's character, I was irretrievably reminded of Your Highness where he played the similar-looking villain. 

After I got out, I made a stop at BeaverTails. Once again, I availed myself of their Bananarama. It's still pretty good. I also noticed that they were selling poutine on a beaver tail, which struck me as a heart attack in a wrapper.

Since I couldn’t get to any museums this weekend, I figured Yorkville Murals would be the next best thing. However, I greatly misjudged where I need to stop on the subway. I started at Union Station and was supposed to stop at Bloor-Yonge. For whatever reason, I ended up at Rosedale. Clearly, paying attention to your surroundings is key on the subway. It took some time to get back in the right direction.

I ultimately got to Bloor-Yonge, but much to my surprise, there turned out to be another few minutes of walking, which I just didn’t feel up to. Hell with this. I’m going home. 

Taking the subway back, I notice a number of unusual accoutrements in the stations on the way.

Good luck finding this level of commitment in most other subway stations.

By now, I’m craving something - anything - for dinner. There’s a place I’d been hoping to dine from for the last couple years. Stuff’d Grilled Cheese and Tots. It’s a few blocks from my Airbnb. It’d be ignorant not to go.

Supreme Tots. For when you want poutine, but not officially. The wait between ordering and the meal being ready was murder, with the pain in my legs and the buzzing bees in a neck-and-neck race for biggest annoyance. Still, one cannot argue the results.

Afterwards, I hop onto a streetcar and head home. No way could I tackle this monster without support from a table.

As part of my own personal Letterboxd challenge of rewatching movies I saw in 2009 (one of several I have going this year!), I pulled up 12 Rounds on Disney+. Definitely a movie whose editing and cinematography are of their time (I look forward to Chris and Rob dissecting it in a hypothetical future podcast episode of “Get Me Another” The Bourne Identity.), but it got the job done for a lazy Saturday night. John Cena was fine, though I much prefer his ‘sense of humor’ period.

Oh, and I did hit up YouTube for the between-movie content of that night’s Svengoolie, Black Friday. One must be consistent.

Sunday

Another peaceful morning. It makes me sick!

Displaying an ultra rare burst of (I guess) courage - and taking to heart that saying that the best time to do something is 20 years ago and the second best time to do it is now - I try to pick my moment and open the door, maybe catching the girls as they head out of the room. Remarkably, the strategy works. The brunette and I exchange a quick "Hi". Really, that’s as far as it goes. The "Hi", like the moment, is gone forever. and I will always be left to wonder if anything could’ve happened between me and the two of them or not. On top of all of that, I once again forget that Shoppers Drug Mart is closed on Sundays. No sody for me.

For breakfast, I had wanted to do Hothouse. Unlike last year, I actually have a fair amount of time before I had to get to my first panel. Unfortunately, I dawdled too much and got going too late. I was forced to scramble around. Saving Gigi hadn’t occurred to me and somehow, I forgot the way to Sunset Grill. I was pretty much just a chicken with my head cut off trying to get to Union Station, where I ultimately end up grabbing a cookie from Craig’s Cookies. It was nowhere near as substantive as yesterday's meal, but given the choice between this and Starving Artist, that’s no choice at all.

Remarkable how Sunday is Fan Expo’s most star-studded day this year. It’s part of the reason I’ll be buying a four-day pass for as long as I choose to attend. Spotlight on Bryce Dallas Howard was an entertaining panel, but the thing that’ll stick with me most is this one gentleman asking her a question about her upbringing and how stable it seemed to be. Can’t argue with the results.

I’m quite gratified to find that many vendors at Fan Expo are still selling Funko Pops. I pick up President Barbie and Tommy Pickles for my sisters. I just know they’ll enjoy them.

The cosplay was pretty sparse, but still impressive for what I could capture: Nada from They Live and a shot of Miss Frizzle and Bill Nye the Science Guy. While riding the up escalator, I tried to get a picture of Bill Cipher going in the other direction, but some freaking moron with a mini-boombox on his head got in the way. I ever see him again, that thing becomes his butt plug.

The next panel was Masters of Their Domain: the Seinfeld Guests Who Stole the Show, which featured Phil Morris (Jackie Chiles), John O'Hurley (J. Peterman), Larry Thomas (The Soup Nazi) and Patrick Warburton (David Puddy) talking about how they got into the business and their careers up and downs. The story about Morris working on a project with his father (Greg Morris of "Mission: Impossible") was particularly interesting.

I was disheartened last year when he cancelled his appearance at the last minute, but The Man, The Myth, The Legend: Spotlight on Danny Trejo came to pass this year. Among other things, an audience member impressed him with his use of Trejo's taco recipe. 

I can only assume that the part of my brain that regulates food choices is shut down, because I don’t even feel like grabbing lunch and dig out one of the cookie Twix and assume that that will satisfying me. Not quite.

I manage to make it in time for one of the more obscure panels: The Owl House Trivia! As one of the people left standing, I am absorbed into the last team. My basic knowledge of the show is helpful in answering at least a couple of questions. Also, the energy in the fandom gathered here is infectious.

Then came a moment I'd been waiting for for five years: A little face time with my own personal ‘The Man, The Myth, The Legend’, Patrick Warburton. But, almost exactly like a real-life version of that one bit on the "Simpsons" episode, "Deep Space Homer", he was leaving; not enough time to talk to him, much less get an autograph for the DVD of Big Trouble I had brought with me. Yes, I was willing to shell out the 80 bucks Canadian, it was that deep. I figured, “You know what? Fuck this. Even if it’s one of him with a stupid mustache, I’m getting a picture of the man!” and so I did. Nyeaaah!

The last panel of the day and of my day was Summertime Spotlight with Josh Gad. The highlight is the crowd doing a sing-along to "In Summer" from Frozen. Pretty good tune. There is an exhaustive energy to this panel as 5 o’clock rolls around; very ‘you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here’.

In the initial conception of this trip, I'd wanted to see There Will Be Blood at TIFF Bell Lightbox as part of a tribute to production designer Jack Fisk, but, in getting this taken care of, I'd forgotten about the screening and by the time I went to purchase a ticket, it was sold out but for one seat. Sometimes, you gotta know when you're beaten and - as often as not - I knew. Even so, I wanted to enjoy a meal at Fancy Franks: a burger, onion rings and a frosty chocolate milkshake (!) for me to drink up.

The grid hadn't gone down for me, but given how turned around I was trying to get going, it felt like it had. Long story short, I ended up at A&W where I was able to get a burger and onion rings and...Coke Zero. Yawn. 

Feeling I would need to replenish myself at some point over the next 24 hours, I stop at an INS convenience store and grab a couple of cans of Arizona fruit punch.

Noticing that my Presto card was nearly depleted (and unwilling to take a chance), I got to the Queen's Park Station and placed another ten dollars on it. This’ll really help with the next sixteen hours…and maybe, beyond that.

I get back to enjoy my dinner, so I still feel a little down about not having the exact dinner that I wanted. That’s just the way I am. That my rings were falling apart didn’t exactly help.

I’m in the mood for another night of laptop television. Same shows, though. Tonight's "What We Do in the Shadows": "Go Flip Yourself". Laszlo is beside himself as he ends up on his favorite home improvement show...the name of the episode. It's reality show-ception and a hoot, especially near the end. I also watched another episode of "Blacke's Magic". You've probably noticed I haven't gone into much detail about the episodes. It's a mystery show (from the creators of "Murder, She Wrote"!), though, as far as I'm concerned, the mysteries are but a mere backdrop for the by-play between Hal Linden (as famed magician Alexander Blacke) and Harry Morgan (as his con-artist father, Leonard).

That’s about it for the day.

Monday

One last yawn and stretch in a strange place. Despite the unfortunate television situation, I would enjoy another few days in this place. As convenient to my travel needs as last year’s Airbnb and quite secure.

Dirty clothes, new books, other things…I need to make sure everything is packed away. Forgetting to bring something on a trip is one thing, but forgetting to bring something home? I would lose my mind.

The Monday of last year’s trip led me to Saving Gigi’s for a breakfast sandwich and this year? The same place.

Too warm to eat at or near the restaurant, I have to bring it back. Besides, that’s where the beverages are. This sandwich is, as ever, a gift from the Gods.

Everything is ready to go in my suitcase and backpack, the bed is made fairly neatly and, expectedly, my virginity is still vacuum-sealed. I get a few pictures of the place and I am off. My next stop is 7-Eleven for a drink and some kind of local snackage.

Thanks to a Twitter thread, I was inspired to snag a bag before I went home.

A streetcar ride later, I am down at Eaton Centre. Damn good thing I gave myself a lot of time, because it’s three floors. This place is freaking massive. Well, the top floor is being reconstructed, but the two that were available to the public...wow. Way more expansive than any of the malls we have back here at home. I had to make my yearly trip to Craig’s Cookies, but I never quite got around to my preferred location on Queen St. West, but thankfully, there was one here in the mall. I grab a half-dozen mix of chocolate chip and Reese's Cup. Still good. I guess someone on city planning realized that a place this massive should have something to do with the subway and so, from here, I take the train to Union Station but not before I drop a dollar in a homeless man’s cup.

It’s about 11:30 when I finally get to Union Station. Mean Bao, which I fell in love with last year on College Street, had migrated to a place here. I bought a bao, but it was wrapped in foil, not presented in a little container, and on top of that, the staff here was rather rude and inattentive. The honeymoon is over and given that I have a new lover in Bank Bao, this one just seemed all the more sour. 

It occurs to me that I didn't get a souvenir for my mother. Enter Peace Collective, where they sell very much the same stuff as the gift shop outside of the convention center. Nice guy working there, too. I pick up a mug. One of these days, I need to get something different.

I’m done at about ten after noon and I spend the rest of the time waiting for my train to show up charging my phone, which - let’s face it - is the smart play here. 12:40 comes along and I make my way to the platform for the train. I try to get a nap in, but Ontario is just too damn scenic. Oh, well.

I get to Burlington Station and wait for my bus. After getting past a rather annoying busybody of an old woman, I get to the bus. The good news is that it’s not making any stops. It’s going right to the Niagara Falls Station. The bad news is that there are any seats left and it’s gonna be a long time before any open up, so I’m pretty much on my feet the entire time. Thankfully, my phone is pretty well-charged, so I can listen to my 'Songs from movies' playlist on YouTube to distract from the pain in my legs.

Finally, we returned to the bus terminal and I can sit down in my car. I head towards Quiznos for my beloved Turkey Bacon Guacamole meal. I do my best to hide the bounty so I don’t get singled out at the border.

A half an hour of driving on the QEW takes me back to America and thank the Gods that the border crossing is as incident free as it was to get into Canada. I’m a little tired, a little poor, somewhat wiser, but I am home again.

If I'm being perfectly honest, this trip - while it had many fine moments that left me feeling euphoric - made me just so frustrated. Pushing through crowds to get to where I want to go. There are some things I just don't have the patience for anymore, if not for the next year or so. Also, with the many expenses I owe each month, it is a right pain in the ass to save for a frivolity of this scale; I financed a huge chunk of this trip with credit cards and they need to be paid off, at some point.

And it is for these reasons that I've decided, even if I come into a crazy windfall of cash, that I'm gonna do the 'Tom Hanks in The 'burbs' thing next year and go on a staycation: laze around at home, maybe get some work done, watch a shitton of movies (TCM's Summer Under the Stars FTW) and eat a bunch of junk. Ah, the good life.