Celebrating Halloween: My top 10 scariest films

In honor of Halloween, my favorite holiday of the year, I'm offering my top 10 scariest movies of all time. These aren't necessarily my favorite horror films, but are the ones that either chilled, disturbed, or downright scared the hell out of me.

1. Jaws. Still the scariest film I've ever seen, Jaws forever ruined my ability to swim in the ocean. Heck, if I make the mistake of thinking of the opening scene when swimming over my head in fresh water, I feel uneasy.

2. Alien. Despite its sci-fi trappings, Alien succeeds as a horror film because, frankly, the Nostromo is basically a big floating haunted house in space, and the alien is the ultimate stalker. Between the chest-bursting dinner scene and the guy with the spider-thing attached to his face, Alien has me convinced that I want no part of any beings from space, no matter what E.T. taught me. It's sequel, Aliens, was awesome too, though it succeeds more as an action film.

3. The Ring. I thought I was done getting scared at films as a grown man until I watched The Ring (the American version, not the Japanese original). Samara's awful disjoined movement, long, face-concealing black hair, and hate-filled eyes are terrifying, and the awful looks of her victim's faces still haunt me at night.

4. The Shining. The twin girls. The woman in room 213. Jack Nicholson's madness and axe-work. The isolation of the Overlook. Director Stanley Kubrick's studied, unflinching camera work showing it all. These elements combine to make The Shining the best haunted-house movie ever.

5. Jacob's Ladder. While it's not a pure horror film, Jacob's Ladder succeeded in disturbing me like few movies ever have. Tim Robbins' portrayal of a traumatized Vietnam veteran leaves you wondering what horrors are real, and which are imagined, the result of his damaged psyche. Demons and other horrors crop up unexpectedly and forcefully and the effect of Robbins' slow descent into madness is suffocating.

6. Dawn of the Dead (original). Before the credits were rolling, I was already making preparations for the zombie holocaust I knew was coming. Dawn of the Dead has some shocking scenes of gore and nasty, rotting zombies, but more terrifying still is the quick collapse of society and the monsters that men become when order breaks down. The 2004 (?) remake works too--while it loses some of the feeling of dread of the original, the running zombies are quite a shock.

7. Psycho. I finally got around to watching Psycho a few years ago after reading about it on so many "scariest film ever" lists, and despite its age and now-cliched elements, Psycho remains a scary movie. The shower scene still works, and Norman Bates' transformation at the end literally sent shivers down my spine.

8. The Exorcist. I don't know whether a studio could get away with making a film like The Exorcist today. The horrors inflicted on child actor Linda Blair are shocking, particularly what she does with the crucifix (that's all I'm going to say about that). In addition to the pea-soup gross out stuff, there's a whole lot of disturbing images and themes in The Exorcist that continue to haunt my dreams. That flashing pale-white demon face? Brrr.

9. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. This film is just flat-out vile from start to finish, so naturally I like it. From the decomposing corpses in the opening credits, to the psychotic hitchhiker who cuts himself with a razor blade, to the chainsaw killings and hammer bludgeonings, to the corpse and bone-strewn house inspired by the real-life home of mass-murderer Ed Gein, this film is unrelenting grue, horror, and terror.

10. Silence of the Lambs. Another film like Jacob's Ladder that's more suspense than horror, Silence of the Lambs nevertheless is downright disturbing. As great as Anthony Hopkins' portrayal of Hannibal Lector was and is, the dude who played Buffalo Bill ("It puts the lotion on its skin") gets major props for playing one of the sickest, most realistic murderers in movie history. Silence of the Lambs conveys horror without even showing it--just listening to Lector's horrors (biting out a nurse's tongue and noshing on her face without a change in his pulse?) is enough.

Book review: All hail The Once and Future King

There's only a handful of books that I've deemed worthy of a five-star rating, and this is one of them. Maybe it just means that I have poor taste, but below you will find the reasons why I believe The Once and Future King is the pinnacle of the novel as an art form.

A modern retelling of the King Arthur myth, The Once and Future King is built with the nuts of bolts of Malory's "Le Morte D'Arthur," but it's told in plain, modern english with a heavy emphasis on the philosophical and moral implications of the tale.

Whyte's story focuses on a pair of converging storylines--the education of the young Arthur by the scatterbrained yet infinitely wise Merlin, who transforms the young king into various animals to teach him the many facets of human nature (Part I, "The Sword in the Stone"). Arthur's education manifests itself in the creation of a set of ideals, founded on the belief that Might does not equal Right, which run at odds with the brutal, unfair regimes set up by the despotic rulers of the Dark Ages in which he lives.

Weaving into Arthur's story is the tragic tale of Launcelot. Portrayed as an ugly boy haunted by the demons of his childhood, Launcelot pours himself into his training to become the best warrior/knight in the world. Of course, his great passion for Guinevere and subsequent betrayal of Arthur undoes him and opens up the first fault lines that lead to the collapse of Camelot. And yet, Launcelot is just a man, so we can sympathize with this betrayal.

Whyte's story is told simple and direct, in contrast to the ornate prose of Malory and Tennyson. As a result the characters are more human and modern, replete with foibles and quirks. Whyte also strips away the romance in his accurate depiction of the squalid conditions of the period. As much as I daydream about it, the Dark Ages and Medieval Europe is nowhere you'd really want to live.

More than all this, The Once and Future King is brilliant for its portrayal of universal truths, philosophic meditations on subjects that range from aging, to the nature of conflict, earthly passions, and religion, and man's inability to ever enter a state of grace. It spoke to me on levels few books ever have.

Whyte offers several explanations for why the human race is fated to remain in eternal conflict: Suspicion and fear; possessiveness and greed; resentment for ancestral wrongs. These problems are either so deep-seated in human nature, or so old, engrained, and persistent (witness the religious and tribal conflicts in the Middle East, thousands of years old and seemingly without any hope of resolution, for a modern parallel), that they are beyond the scope of mankind to solve. Even great thinkers and peacemakers like Arthur can't eliminate them--the life of one man, even a great man like Arthur, is too short, and he (and we) literally age and die before we can offer solutions.

But even though Whyte's view of mankind is bleak, he offers the hope that we can redeem ourselves through education; if we pass on knowledge, stories of great men like Arthur, we can learn from their greatness and mistakes and elevate ourselves from our baser nature. This is Arthur's promised return, not as a man but as a concept of something great that once was, and can be again. This literal passing of the torch is told in "The Candle in the Wind (part IV)," the brilliant conclusion to the novel.

In a poignant and memorable final scene the aging Arthur sends a young page, Tom of Rewbold Revell, off from the final battle at Camlann with all Arthur's letters. Arthur is to die in combat against Mordred's forces, and Tom represents the bearer of the king's flickering flame of hope and wisdom. We as readers understand that Tom will be the only survivor, and is charged with passing on the king's knowledge and preserving the story of the greatness of Camelot.

This Tom is, of course, Thomas Malory, who will go on to write Le Morte d'Arthur. All has not been in vain, and Malory (and Whyte) have left us with a shining example of the greatness we as humans--with all our faults, foibles, and failings--may yet achieve.

This pulp is high art: Why Pulp Fiction rules

Part 3 of a 10-part series in which I examine my favorite films, and the reasons why I love them so.

Pulp Fiction is a near-perfect film. Its script is brilliantly written and its casting is flawless. Under the skillful, stylistic hand of director Quentin Tarantino, the result of these elements coming together seamlessly is a joy to behold, and create a film that I can return to again and again. This is the mark of a great movie for me: One which continues to hold up under repeated viewings. Pulp Fiction does that.

Let’s start with the cast: Samuel L. Jackson comes off the screen in this film like few actors I have ever seen. Nominated for Best Supporting Actor, he was robbed when he didn’t receive the award. To this day, whenever I see Jackson on screen (and he’s done a lot of films), he remains Jules Winnfield, and his “Ezekiel 25:17” speech is one of my all-time favorites. John Travolta made his big comeback in Pulp Fiction, and it’s easy to see why his star rocketed back to the top of the Hollywood A-list after this film. He was amazing, particularly in his exchanges with Jackson. The entire cast is superb, including Ving Rhames, Bruce Willis, Uma Thurman, Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth, and Christopher Walken (the latter in a small but brilliant cameo). I’m hard-pressed to think of another film with a better ensemble.

Pulp Fiction oozes style. Witness director Quentin Tarantino’s work in a multitude of scenes: Travolta shooting heroin and experiencing its bliss in a midnight drive, shot in a series of slow, hallucinogenic images; and Travolta and Thurman’s dance on the floor of Jack Rabbit Slims, charged with electricity, sex, and danger. These are only a few examples of the film's exceptional direction and craft. And what else can I say about Tarantino’s signature use of sharp, witty dialogue ? Pulp Fiction is loaded with a number of memorable exchanges between its characters, too many to note here.

Despite its obscene language, graphic sequences, and crude subject matter, Pulp Fiction is, at its heart, a film that embraces old-fashioned virtues. Don’t be fooled into labeling it as a mere gangster film; it’s a spaghetti western in modern, post-Godfather/Goodfellas trappings. Both of its “heroes,” Bruce Willis and Jackson, ride off into the sunset at film’s end: Willis in literal fashion on an (iron) horse, Jackson implied as he decides to “walk the earth” like Kaine in Kung-Fu.

The film also dabbles in religion: It’s noteworthy that the characters that embrace redemption and “the path of the righteous” survive, while those who reject God/religion do not. For example, Jackson sheds his hit-man profession following the miracle of the missed gunshots in the apartment, and lives, while his partner, Travolta, rejects the notion that God might have intervened to save his life. He continues as a hit-man and pays the price for his choice with his life.

Likewise, Bruce Willis, while far from squeaky clean, follows the path of the “righteous man” and in so doing finds redemption: Rejecting a bribe, he double-crosses Rhames and the mafia to fight a legitimate fight. Later he returns to his apartment to get his father’s watch, a precious heirloom and a symbol of “purity” (despite the fact that it was hid in Willis’ father’s rectum during the Vietnam War). And finally, against his strong urge to flee, he rescues the man (Rhames) who wants to kill him most, and rids the world of a trio of sickos who run an S&M/murder ring in the basement of a gun shop. All his decisions, though difficult, steer him down the right path.

Pulp Fiction contains an enigma, the briefcase, which director Quentin Tarantino deliberately leaves open to viewer interpretation. I love that. For me, I think it contains the holy grail—witness the gold reflection when it’s opened, the religious feelings it invokes (the awed expressions on the faces of those who open the case). But it could be anything.

One bit I haven’t heard much talk about is the film’s clever title. It’s an obvious nod to the movie’s roots—Tarantino was certainly inspired by the pulps, e.g., the hard-boiled storylines of crime, sex, murder, double-crossing, drugs, fixed fights, etc. But it also carries a double meaning—the fiction of the film is literally “pulped”—the various storylines are all out of order, a mish-mash of narratives. Yet in the end they weave together perfectly.

Throw in a terrific soundtrack, and it’s easy to see why Pulp Fiction resides firmly in my top 10.

Why Tolkien is the man

"Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison walls? The world outside has not become less real because the prisoner cannot see it."

--J.R.R. Tolkien

Everyone to some degree or another is in "prison." It may be a lousy job, poverty, a bad relationship, an unhappy social life, or the prison that encloses all mankind--frail bodies of flesh, our own mortal coil. Tolkien, a World War I veteran who saw several of his best friends die in the muddy trenches of France, and lived through World War II and the Nazi blitz, knew that as well as anyone.

But why should we put our heads down and accept banal realities? If you don' t like the look of your prison walls, choose another path. There are other worlds to explore. Tolkien didn't like the look of our own world, so he went ahead and created Middle-Earth. Although we cannot "see" this world and the worlds of our imagination with traditional senses, they are no less real than gray prison walls. They live within our minds and hearts, and as long as we pass down great works of art like The Lord of the Rings, are eternal.

I found the holy grail--and it is Excalibur

Part 2 of a 10-part series in which I examine my favorite films, and the reasons why I love them so.

Excalibur is, by most standards, an odd film. It has knights running around in full plate who inexplicably overlook helmets; shouted lines of over-the-top, Shakespearian dialogue; a guy who has sex wearing armor; odd bits of graphic violence; and a script that refuses to extend a helping hand to the viewer, making it tough to figure out what's going on. To get this film, you need at least some familiarity with the Arthurian myths.

Despite these flaws, Excalibur is easily one of my favorite movies of all time. I find it genuinely moving; I love the casting choices almost to a man (and woman); the costumes and sets capture the romance and violence of Malory perfectly; and it isn't afraid to explore the complex themes of many of the Arthurian tales. Plus, it has a great score and some kick-ass battle sequences!

I like films that don't feel the need to stoop to the lowest common denominator, and Excalibur certainly fits this category. For instance, director John Boorman is obviously well-versed in the Fisher King myth (the health of the land is tied directly to the health of the king), yet apart from a few shouted "One Land One King," and "The Land and the King are one" references, we're left to figure this out on our own.

In another example, when the quest for the holy grail begins, the viewer assumes they're looking for an actual, physical cup. Or are they? Boorman hints that the quest is really a search within the individual--that the quest for the grail is actually the voyage of a soul seeking spiritual perfection. You have to look hard for this, as its revealed only by a single cryptic line from Arthur, "[Look for] signs, portents... the edge of within.".

Nicol Williamson plays an amazing Merlin and perhaps renders the best performance of any wizard put to film (Ian McKellen as Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings is a marvel, too). Williamson is simultaneously funny and mysterious, and he injects the role with an eccentric flair that imbues the character with a life of its own. He utters such great lines, fraught with meaning:

When a man lies he murders some part of the world.

The days of our kind are numberèd. The one God comes to drive out the many gods. The spirits of wood and stream grow silent. It's the way of things. Yes... it's a time for men, and their ways.

And look upon this moment. Savor it! Rejoice with great gladness! Great gladness! Remember it always, for you are joined by it. You are One, under the stars. Remember it well, then... this night, this great victory. So that in the years ahead, you can say, 'I was there that night, with Arthur, the King!' For it is the doom of men that they forget.

There are other worlds...this one is done with me.

Several scenes in this film make my eyes well up and place my heart firmly in my mouth: The young Arthur kneeling in a moat, handing Excalibur to his enemy, Uryenes, to knight him, is one; a wild-haired Lancelot returning from his self-imposed exile and madness to fight and die for his king is another. Arthur's impassioned speech to Guievere before he goes to fight Mordred in the last battle is a third:

I have often thought that in the hereafter of our lives, when I owe no more to the future and can be just a man, that we may meet, and you will come to me and claim me as yours, and know that I am your husband. It is a dream I have...

And who can fail to be moved by the scene of Arthur and his knight's galloping through the falling petals, set to the beautiful Carmina Burana? Watching this scene makes me realize I was born in the wrong time and the wrong world: I should have been a knight of the round table, fighting for Arthur and for civilization against the encroaching dark.

In short, Excalibur rocks hard.

Behind the DM screen again, part 2

Part 2 of a 2-part series about my experience dungeon mastering a game of Dungeons & Dragons after a long, long absence.

As I stated in a previous post, I recently stepped behind the screen again and dungeon mastered my first game of Dungeons & Dragons in more than 17 years. The module was "Legends are Made, not Born," from the excellent Dungeon Crawl Classics line, published by Goodman Games.

The adventure background is as follows:

For the past few years, an ogre has demanded monthly tribute from the town of Dundraville. Since the demands were ale, sheep, and occasional mundane supplies, the town complied with these demands. The ogre was content to collect his extorted goods, and leave the town alone. However, last month, the tribute changed. In addition to ale and sheep, the ogre demanded gold and building materials!

But the situation has grown even more grim. The ogre returned yesterday with yet more demands of ale and worse: townsfolk! The town was in an uproar and denied the ogre’s request. The brute flew into a rage and grabbed two townsfolk and hauled them back to his lair. They’re destined for his gullet, no doubt!

But amidst all the turmoil, six brave townsfolk have vowed to confront the ogre, and bring him to justice. The brave ones include a noble’s son, a gnomish alchemist, a member of the town militia, a wizard’s apprentice, a local trapper, and a mysterious elven witch that lairs in a nearby forest. With the aid of the local druids and brewer in town, the last batch of ale the ogre took was laced with a mild poison to help incapacitate the brute. Now it’s time for brave heroes to finish the deed.

Overall, the experience was very rewarding and a lot of fun. In several hours of play we managed to cram in a good mix of role-playing, which involved interacting with a half-dozen NPCs in Dundraville, gathering rumors, and buying equipment. The PCs entered the cave from a little used rear entrance and, once inside, did some exploring and fought a few cave denizens, including a ghoul (the animated corpse of a long-dead warrior). The evening culminated with a great brawl with the ogre Blogg, and a cliffhanger (we weren't able to finish, unfortunately), and I think we all left happy.

Of course, looking back, I made some mistakes and wish I had a couple "do-overs." First, the bad:

• About 15 minutes into the session I was was feeling lost and nervous and felt like quitting. Fortunately, this feeling passed.
  
  
• I did a poor job portraying two NPCs, in hindsight due to lack of preparation: Sherynella, a female druid, and Kerwin Krell, a local shopkeeper.
  
  
• I had meant to have the townspeople give the PCs a rousing send-off as they left town, but forgot. In this module the PCs are townspeople who decide to become heroes, and I had planned a dramatic exit as they marched off to fight the ogre.
  
  
• I didn't know enough about the pregenerated PC's backgrounds to weave them fully into the fabric of Dundraville. As a result, occasionally the PC's interaction with the town's NPCs seemed stilted and artificial, as though the PCs were outsiders instead of locals. Again, this was due to a lack of preparation on my part.

Now on to the good, which I (think) outweighed the bad:

• I liked my characterization of Tarik One-Arm, a grizzled old fighter living on the edge of town, as well as the way I handled the bartender Clay and his staff at the Merry Riot Inn. Tarik came off as suspicious and gruff, only warming up when the PCs offered to help him chop wood. Clay was a jovial halfling coping with the loss of his three barmaids (one of whom was taken by the ogre), and two replacement serving wenches struggling at their job. Not surprisingly, I had thought about these NPCs' motivations in advance and how they would react to the PCs.
  
• There was good description and game play during the PCs' exploration of the ogre's cave. It seemed tense and fraught with danger.
  
• We had a great concluding fight with the ogre Blogg. The encounter started with the party's gnome setting off a log deadfall trap, which roused Blogg from his sleep and started a running fight that eventually involved a wolf and his hobgoblin keeper. Three members of the party threw up a wall of crates, which wound up on fire in the midst of the melee. I had to make several ad-hoc rulings when Blogg burst through the wall of crates and bowled over two PCs, but it went very smoothly.
  
• I was able to weave some of the PCs backgrounds into the story. For example, I made Bowen, a PC farmer who is destined to become a ranger, familiar to several local farmers, and took care to have the townsfolk react to Lord Castimir--a well-known noble--with a mixture of awe and scorn.

I'll leave you with three lessons learned:

1. Preparation is critical. Some DMs are excellent at flying by the seat of their pants, but I'm not one of them. The best encounters and most memorable NPC interactions during my adventure were all those for which I had made the most preparation. The lesson? Know your material.

2. When you start, start with a bang. I wish I had began with an encounter that required immediate reaction by the PCs. This would have removed the early feelings of awkwardness and nervousness. It also gets everyone engaged in the adventure immediately. The tendency of most players at the start of an unfamiliar campaign is to wait to be led into the adventure (guilty as charged).

3. Weave the PC's backgrounds and personality into the adventure/campaign at every turn. This makes for greater player involvement and keeps them engaged. The PCs are supposed to be on the center stage, after all, and everyone likes their chance to shine. Having been a player for the last seven years, some of my favorite gaming experiences were those times when the DM drew on my character's background or motivations and wove them into the tale. Involving your PC makes you feel like you're a part of the scenario or campaign world, and not just an observer.

Behind the DM screen again

Part 1 of a 2-part series about my experience dungeon mastering a game of Dungeons & Dragons after a long, long absence.

About a month ago I had an experience I can only describe as simultaneously terrifying, draining, exhilarating, and rewarding. After more than 17 years, I stepped back "behind the screen" and found myself dungeon mastering a Dungeons and Dragons game.

It was, frankly, a surreal experience. Staring over the top of a cardboard screen at four expectant players, an adventure module (pictured above) spread out before me, the time had come to finally run a game again. Not unlike a disc jockey at a wedding, it was my job to help deliver the night's entertainment, and either send everyone home happy or fail miserably in the attempt.

So how did I get there? Let me explain.

As I've stated in a previous post, D&D is my primary hobby and has been a big part of my life. As a 10-year-old kid, my parents bought me the basic D&D rules, and I was off and running. Being the official keeper of the game books, and one of (or perhaps the only) person in my group--which included some neighborhood friends and my older brother--to have read the rules, I became the de-facto DM. I didn't know what I was doing half the time, and I'm sure there's many rules we either misinterpreted or broke, but it didn't matter. We were all having a blast.

When I entered high school, however, my gaming slowed, and by the time I hit college, it had stopped. I was playing sports, starting to date, and D&D was no longer "cool" (aside--D&D never was cool, but until my teenage years, I never felt the need for it to be so). I kept all my old box sets and hardcovers, of course, and from time to time (under cover of darkness) I'd break them out and read them. But my playing days were effectively over.

Fast forward to 2001. D&D had received a shot in the arm with the release of third edition. I was married, working full-time, and thinking about having children, and the days of being "cool" were long gone. Naturally, the time was right to start up D&D again. Through the EN World Web site, an online community of D&D players, I located a gaming group in Southern New Hampshire, and for the last six years or so have been happily playing.

Let me rephrase that. While I've been playing for the last six years, it's been as a player only. With two committed DMs in our group, I was not required to DM. This had its perks, I soon discovered. All I had to do was show up with my character sheet, slip into and out of my role when I felt like it, and roll a D20 when it was my turn in combat. I was even free to get up to eat or use the bathroom whenever I wanted to.

But fun as playing was (and is), after a while I felt that something was missing. You see, when you're the DM, you own the game. The world is yours, so to speak, and you are its creator. You create the NPCs, their motivations and personalities, you map out the dungeons, pick the monsters, place the treasures and traps. It's a whole new ballgame from simply running a single player-character.

We were wrapping up one DM's campaign arc and about to switch gears and resume our second campaign with the other DM. There was a natural break in the action, and I opened my big mouth and offered to run a game. I pitched it as a one-shot adventure with pregenerated characters, and, much to my surprise, the group accepted.


Of course, with great power comes great responsbility, and I was about to find that out first hand.