As I write, I’m sitting in a plastic chair that faces the leaf-painted lawn my parents spend all spring & summer trying to protect. “Sorry `rents,” I laugh inside my head, “but even Home Depot’s finest lawn-care products can’t ward off Mother Nature. That bitch is nasty!”

The wind just picked up, tossing over a few of the aforementioned leaves and inspiring my obese pooch to tilt his head upward. I see his snout quiver ever so slightly and he squints as the breeze fills his lungs. Maybe I really am starting to turn into a hippie, but I think Stryder’s got it right. He’s not worried about the recession, or the perpetuation of the military-industrial complex, or even whether or not his DVR is going to save tonight’s Californication. No, this motherfucker is just glad to be.

Since I’m particularly struck by the  dog today, I’ve decided to let him choose the OCTOBERFEAST entry. I mean, he’s just a dog so I let him make a choice from my tentative list. I was going to write about any topic of his choosing, but he wasn’t willing to budge:

Pepsibones: Hey, what should I post about today?

Stryder: Isn’t there some Halloween movie where every scene includes a cat being brutally murdered?

Pepsibones: Nah, I don’t think so man.

Stryder: Hrm…I’m pretty sure there is.

Pepsibones: Well, I’ve never heard of it.

Stryder: Really? C’mon, you know what I’m talking about. It’s that movie by the director, and in every scene a stupid cat gets just  what he fucking deserves.

Pepsibones: I don’t know.

Stryder: …Well, what if I give you a script that I wrote and you enter that into the OCTOBERFEAST?

It went on for about a half an hour. Seriously.

Anyways, Stryder finally made a decision and thus the OCTOBERFEAST will continue upon its magnificent voyage.

Stryder the Dog contemplates OCTOBERFEAST

Today, we hit the rest stop known as Scream.

I’m not sure why, but I’m under the impression that the 1996 film is the object of much hatred. I understand why one may dislike the series as a whole, as Scream is a satire of the horror/slasher genre and its penchant for producing subpar sequels. But Scream itself? A great movie.

Penned by the master of 1990’s horror, Kevin Williamson, Scream is a slasher flick with a brain. While trying to avoid being stabbed to death, Neve Campbell (remember her?) and her friends realize just how similar their situation is to a horror movie. As a result, they come up with all sorts of strangely self-aware theories about how they should behave. Jamie Kennedy, in an awesome performance as a hardcore video-store clerk/nerd, lays out the rules:

Perhaps I’m just a sucker for the 1990’s and its finer moments. More accurately, I am a sucker for metafiction, and Scream certainly dabbles in that area. So if you want to chalk up the appreciation for Scream to that, feel free.

But even stripping away the self-referential aspect, the plot is noteworthy: you have a killer who calls you on the phone (in the days before Caller-ID), quizzes you about movies, and then stabs you to death. It’s fucking fantastic. The death scenes are exciting and full of gore, executed lethally (cheesy pun intended).

What really makes me root for the movie is that it takes some chances. There’re some recognizable names in Scream and not all of them make it out alive. In fact, Barrymore doesn’t even make it out of the first scene. While I was only ten when I saw it for the first time, I remember that Scream kept me guessing throughout.

Oh, and I completely forgot to mention — Wes Craven directed this movie. Sure, he isn’t Spielberg, Coppola, Scorsese, Tarantino, PT Anderson or Ridley Scott — but as far as horror movies go, he’s a force.

Forget the fact that it spawned the reprehensible Scary Movie series and the terribly played-out “ghost-face” costume. Scream is a good movie and you should include it in your personal OCTOBERFEAST celebration.

Although I’ve been saying this a lot lately, I must now formally announce that we are in the final lap of OCTOBERFEAST. In one week’s time, the demons and ghouls who spend most of the year pretending to be children will be running on the streets and holding us up for candy. It’s going to be great.

I really believe that trick-or-treating is one of the most surreal, almost magical parts of childhood. For one evening, adults step back and allow the inmates to run the asylum. Children shed their skin and assume the roles of beings that are to be not only considered, but actually feared and revered. I will never forget the feeling of importance when some fat-assed housewife would open her front door, fork over a goodie, and ask “Oh my! And what are you dressed as?”

It is with this awe of and respect for Halloween’s most celebrated  activity that OCTOBERFEAST inducts its newest member — E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.

But first, let’s step back for a moment. Completely independent of its connections to the American Harvest Festival, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial is a fantastic film.  The 1982 Spielberg-concoction  is about a cute little alien with a pot-belly who gets stuck on Earth. Shortly thereafter, he is discovered and protected by three children and their single mom. Elliot, the middle of the three children, becomes best friends with the alien and they share a mind-link. In the process, Elliot helps the otherworldly visitor make an interstellar phone with which he can call home for a ride. By the end of the movie everyone learns the true meaning of love, friendship, and just how funny it is to call someone “Penis-breath.”

Really though, the only way you can not enjoy E.T. is if you don’t have a heart. Between Drew Barrymore’s debut (as Gertie), a John Williams score, the hilarious scene in which E.T. drinks beers, and flying bicycles there is something for everyone. So even on its own, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial is an amazing slice of cinema.

Now, you may  find yourself asking why this movie is part of the OCTOBERFEAST. Well, first of all, the titular character is an alien. While certainly different than Earth-based monsters, I think it’d be foolish to argue that aliens don’t deserve a spot in the category of horrifying. While E.T. turns out to be a good guy, there is still an element of fear and uneasiness about the concept of outer-space men. So at the very least, just remember that E.T. is about an alien and that is enough of a qualifier in and of itself.

But more poignantly, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial takes place in a suburb preparing for Halloween festivities. With Spielberg at the helm, the viewer is treated to scenes that perfectly embody the spirit of the holiday, featuring kids getting amped to hit the streets and the costumes of which they are so proud. While one may want to write off the inclusion of Halloween in E.T. as incidental setting, I believe that Spielberg wanted to capture a season that contained a magic such as that found in the relationships of the movie’s characters.

Halloween may be a backdrop for the movie, but it is a significant and memorable backdrop.

For your consideration — E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial’s (sometimes first-person) perspective on trick or treating:

Twenty-three days into the OCTOBERFEAST and things are getting kooky. Damn kooky. We’ve worshipped Lucifer, munched on cereal, and even hung out with apes. These are strange, horrifying days and they’re only becoming more wonderfully shocking. Sometimes it seems as though OCTOBERFEAST is an alternate dimension of its own.

Anyone who reads comic books or science fiction realizes that our reality is but one of many, a single chapter in book known as the multiverse. There have been countless depictions of realities other than the one to which we are accustomed, and they usually illustrate the idea that some essential quality has been altered. Of course, this makes for great narratives as it encourages the reader/viewer/listener to consider the grand What If?’s in life.

In the late 1950’s, this concept of disregarding standards and questioning society-at-large was the basis behind one of American television’s greatest products — The Twilight Zone. This televised anthology blew minds away every week with unusual stories and narrative twists that defied cookie-cutter formulas. In creator Rod Serling’s words, The Twilight Zone is “A series for the storyteller.”

Serling and his creative team (which sometimes included Ray fuckin’ Bradbury, if you’re still a doubter) seamlessly blended science fiction, horror, westerns, literary classics and comedy into compelling tales of the human condition.   Despite their drastic variances, each episode effectively acts as a parable or revelation.

As these ideas are defiant of those found in most television, The Twilight Zone did itself the favor of including an introductory warning. As seen in the first season,

There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.

Admittedly, I haven’t seen every episode of The Twilight Zone nor can I claim to have an intense knowledge of the show’s history. But any time that I catch an episode on the Sci-Fi Channel (oh shit, I guess I mean SyFy) I find myself positively captivated. It is a terrific program and I find that even some of the shows I truly love (*cough*LOST*cough*) are doing their best to hit the high-water mark set fifty years ago.

Granted, this may be one of the most popular and referenced episodes of the series — so I can’t necessarily defend myself against arguments of That shit is played out. But with Richard Donner behind the camera and the all-mighty Shatner in front, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet deserves the status of goddamn classic.

[Werewolf Trilogy — Part III]

Holy shit, we’re nine days away from Hallow’s Eve, summit of the mountainous OCTOBERFEAST. This is the season of decaying matter and yet life never feels more invigorating. Wait until the sun goes down and step outside — bathe in the cool autumn air, breathe in the fragrance of crumpling leaves, and try to feel anything less than excited to be alive.

I dare you.

To round out the Werewolf Trilogy, we’re going to explore the notion that werewolves are fun-loving party-goers. While manhunters and bitch-mothers are small subsets of the community, most are just looking for a good time. Seriously. For example, this werewolf just wants to snort lines of blow. And this werewolf loves to shred.

Perhaps the best expression of this animalistic debauchery is found in Every Time I Die’s We’rewolf. Keith Buckley (genius that he is) masterfully outlines what it means to go through an evening as a wolfman.

An excerpt:

It’s a full moon, denim is tight, and flannel shirt is freaking out.

Run for your life, cover your eyes, I don’t want you to see me party this hard.

I’ve got a bone to pick with the morning sun and the first last call.

But I didn’t put my hair in a pony tail for nothing,

So if I’m going home alone I ain’t going at all.

Yea. In the wild kingdom you don’t live until your ready to die.

Which one of you sons of bitches is gonna make me feel alive?

Which one of you motherfuckers is gonna get inside my heart?

Is gonna give me a heart attack?

Look away it’s too much to bear. I’ve been bitten by the party animal.

Save yourself. Save yourself. Tell my baby that I love her so.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I gave the world one hell of a time,

And I don’t regret a thing except for the times that I got caught giving it.

I never thought it would take. I had thick blood and cynical skin.

To where are you supposed to escape when the creature is lurking inside of you?

We all want to be werewolves, drinking beers and doing fucking headspins well past the witching hour. We want to resist the idea that our lives are run by suits and squares who only give us 2/7^ths of the week to enjoy ourselves — and only so we don’t freak the fuck out.

Unfortunately, most of us are never fortunate enough to transform into mythical human/canine hybrids. In fact, most of us feel the need to blast ourselves in the heart with the `ole figurative silver bullet before we even consider living the werewolf life.

We should all take a note from Every Time I Die — periodically taking the opportunity to throw caution to the wind in order to live a life that defies rigid structure and routine. I’m not saying to be a fucking weirdo for the sake of it, but to give yourself the chance to occasionally allow your inner animal to surface.

It’s OCTOBERFEAST – use this time to be whatever the fuck you want.

Watch Every Time I Die – We’rewolf in Music    |    View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

[Werewolf Trilogy – Part II]

OCTOBERFEAST is in the midst of an unrelenting assault, driving home the idea that vampires need to take the backseat to werewolves. As detailed previously, werewolves are the ultimate monsters, the worst monthly visitor one could allow into the home (ok, maybe the second worst). In any case, the werewolf is the manifestation of humanity at its most primal –  the fulfillment of base desires through rockin’ violence and sex.

However, there is a caveat to be issued. While the werewolf dominates other monstrosities with ease, he can be defeated. In fact, his very undoing  may be traced to a member of his own species, a culprit whose cunning is only matched by its nefarious nature.

Of course, the creature I’m writing about is the infamous She-Wolf.

To the best of my knowledge, the She-Wolf is essentially the female equivalent of the werewolf (with a much cooler sounding name than Werewoman, Wolfwoman or even SheWereWolfMadam). However, the She-Wolf is actually more powerful than any werewolf because she possesses better attributes, such as breasts and a vagina.

See, wolfmen are just like real men in the regards that they’re fucking morons. As a result, even wolfmen are more apt to think with their penises than their brains when in the company of a procreative mate. I’ve seen it a million times — a werewolf will be on his way home from terrorizing the village and he’ll run into a She-Wolf who “just happens” to be wearing a weird outfit that shows off her buttcheeks.

“Oh, hey there Mr. Muscles!”

“Argh!?”

“Yeah you. I’m supposed to run into that house and eat the grandma. But I’m afraid that I’ll break a were-nail. Do you think you could do it for me? I mean, I hate to ask but you look so strong…”

“Woof-woof-OF COURSE!!!”

It’s disgusting, using sex appeal to get one’s way. On the other hand, I do admire the craftiness of the She-Wolf. And so does Dave Mustaine, singer/songwriter and former junkie. Mustaine dedicated a track on Megadeth’s Cryptic Writings album to lady-lycanthrope.

The 1997 She-Wolf serves as a warning:

The mother of all that is evil.
Her lips are poisonous venom.
Wicked temptress knows how to please.
The priestess roars, “Get down on your knees.”

The rite of the praying mantis.
Kiss the bones of the enchantress.
Spellbound searching through the night.
A howling man surrenders the fight.

One look in her lusting eyes,
Savage fear in you will rise.
Teeth of terror sinking in –
The bite of the she-wolf!

My desires of flesh obey me.
The lioness will enslave me.
Another heart beat than my own,
The sound of claws on cobblestone, I’m stoned.

Beware what stalks you in the night!
Beware the she-wolf and her bite!
Her mystic lips tell only lies!
Her hidden will to kill in disguise!

So there you have it — undeniable evidence that even werewolves, the most severe of OCTOBERFEAST threats, are toppled by the She-Wolf.

From Woodstock 1999 (you know, the terrible one in which shit caught on fire):

I’m sick of vampires. Absolutely fucking sick and tired of vampires. Don’t misunderstand me, I think the concept of vampires is sick and Bram Stoker’s Dracula is fucking rad. But the last year and a half has produced an absolute frenzy over Transylvania’s emigrants — Twilight and TruBlood have officially piqued public interest and a slew of imitators have followed suit. Unfortunately, most seem to be poorly executed.

As it was alluded to on Saturday, OCTOBERFEAST has chosen a different monster for this year’s festivities. THE FEAST is first going to deliver an extra-garlic pizza to Pop Culture’s house and drive a stake through his blackened heart when he opens the front door. Then the true October-beast will look to sky and scream victoriously.

Today marks the first day of OCTOBERFEAST’s Werewolf Trilogy — a musical homage to the underappreciated world of wolfmen. [Note: I am purposefully ignoring the upcoming Wolfman flick with Benicio Del Toro, the Underworld series, and many other misrepresentations. Just roll with me on this one.]

The first installment of the Werewolf Trilogy is Metallica’s Of Wolf and Man. While I may resemble one when I go shirtless, I don’t have the benefit of knowing what it is that goes through the head of a werewolf. However, James Hetfield did us all the favor of penning lyrics to address such a curiosity. An excerpt:

Off through the new day’s mist I run.
Off from the new day’s mist I have come.
I hunt –
Therefore I am.
Harvest the land,
Taking of the fallen lamb.

Off through the new day’s mist I run.
Off from the new day’s mist I have come.
We shift –
Pulsing with the earth.
Company we keep,
Roaming the land while you sleep.

Shape shift – nose to the wind.
Shape shift – feeling I’ve been.
Move swift, all senses clean.
Earth’s gift – back to the meaning of life.

Bright is the moon high in starlight.
Chill is the air cold as steel tonight.
We shift –
Call of the wild.
Fear in your eyes,
It’s later than you realized.

Don’t try to tell me that Of Wolf and Man is about some return to the primal essence of humanity, the shedding away of all the worthless constructs with which we deal on a daily basis. It isn’t. The song is about a goddamn werewolf. Told from the werewolf’s perspective.

Again, I’ve never turned into a werewolf. But listen to the beginning of this track and try to tell me this isn’t a perfect transformation theme. First the guitar comes in, then the snare drum and floor tom start pounding away, and before you know it a fucking wolfman starts talking. Seriously, close your eyes and listen — do you seriously imagine anyone other than this guy talking?

Don’t take my word for it, watch the video below — Of Wolf and Man, performed (sloppily) in 1993. Be on the lookout for  Lars’ beard and a terribly cheesy  Newsted-howl.

As you know by now, OCTOBERFEAST is a celebration of the depraved, socially-subversive and utterly vile aspects of society. It is the allotted time in which we can openly revel in horrors otherwise reserved for the solace of an empty house. Casting aside the societal-pressures by which they are bound, every individual is encouraged to use OCTOBERFEAST to rejoice in the most delightfully despicable of activities.

So it only stands to reason that OCTOBERFEAST takes a detour into the terrifying world of professional wrestling.

In and of itself, pro-wrestling is fucking horrifying. The premise behind this hillbilly-phenomenon is that a bunch of oiled up steroid-junkies pretend to engage in an athletic event. In the process, there are entrances with theme music and pyrotechnics, fights with ladders, and a total disregard for referee safety. It’s madness, total madness. What type of person would actually watch this?

Of this already strange, bizarre world, the persona that best fits into the OCTOBERFEAST menu is inarguably the Undertaker. The Undertaker, as a serious athlete, is a supernatural being who defies that with which he is most fascinated: death. When Undertaker debuted he was accompanied by the also cleverly-named Paul Bearer, a pale slob who carried around an urn which contained the wrestler’s power! Rounding out the Undertaker’s macabre personality are his signature finishing moves, the choke slam and tombstone piledriver.

Even if the Undertaker wasn’t a kinky ghoul, his trademark matches more than qualify him for an unpaid internship position at the OCTOBERFEAST. The Casket Match sees two combatants squaring off until one manages to seal the other within a coffin. There’s the  Buried Alive Match, in which the Undertaker beats ass and then  uses the  training from his first career as he buries you alive (how morbid!). And last but not least is the Hell in a Cell Match — the wrestlers fight within a modified steel cage and act in such a manner as to give the impressionable youth plenty of bad ideas.

The idea of an actual servant of the Devil receiving state sanction to compete in athletic league is ludicrous — that’s why it fits into OCTOBERFEAST. I haven’t watched pro-wrestling in years, but I hope the Undertaker is still busy burying opponents and conjuring evil spectres.

For your amusement — an Undertaker match from 1990:

Born in the in the middle of Reagan’s second term, I can’t honestly say I knew what the hell was going on until the early 1990’s. And even then, a lot of cool shit (like the Spice Channel and Through the Never) went right over my head. It’s an unfortunate fact but I might as well have not even lived my first six years.

However, there were two figures so ingrained within pop culture that I couldn’t help but recognize them. Although their respective franchises had already started to descend, their ability to affect my six-year-old sensibilities did not dwindle at all. In my childhood, there were two indisputable manifestations of terror:

Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees.

Take a giant, undead monster with an unquenchable bloodlust and put him behind a hockey mask. Then give him a machete and a penchant for hacking up doofuses. Occasionally, include a back-story that touches upon his being a semi-retarded child who drowned in Crystal Lake. The result? Jason Voorhees of the Friday the 13^th series.

Even more frightening is Freddy Krueger from A Nightmare on Elm Street. Krueger is a former child molester/murderer who was burned alive by a mob of pissed off parents. Of course, Freddy is then somehow able to infiltrate the dreams of the townsfolk and kill them in the process. If this weren’t horrifying enough, one must remember that Freddy rocks a glove with four knives on it, wears a creepy striped sweater and adorns a fedora. A fedora!

So, if my childhood was haunted by these icons of horror, why include Freddy vs. Jason in the OCTOBERFEAST? Well for starters, that fact that Krueger and Voorhees scared the piss right into my bedsheets is a testament to their effectiveness. If you walk out of a horror flick completely unafraid of its antagonist, chalk that movie  up as a failure. While there are certainly some duds in the  Friday the 13^th & A Nightmare on Elm Street collections, the best of those franchises are some of the best.

Secondly, 2003’s Freddy vs. Jason finally gave fans what they had been begging to see for years. The burn-victim-nightmare-killer and Lennie-from-Of Mice and Men-with-a-goalie-mask dominated the American horror scene throughout all of the 1980’s & 1990’s; it was natural for people to want to see them go toe-to-toe. Same idea as Superman vs. Batman or Godzilla vs. King Kong — you take the two greatest and have them duke it out! Even the producers of the series knew it was only a matter of time — just consider the teaser placed at the end of Jason Goes to Hell (posted below).

Really though, Freddy vs. Jason is a fun movie. There’s no bullshit philosophical musing, nor did the producers puss out and settle for a PG-13. Instead, the viewer is treated to ridiculous murders and plenty of excuses to pit the two villains against one another. It does exactly what it was expected to and does it well.

Lastly, Freddy vs. Jason makes it into OCTOBERFEAST because it is the collaborative swansong for both franchises. After this 2003 effort, both Friday the 13^th and A Nightmare on Elm Street would be subjected to bullshit Hollywood reboots. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no “purist” and I definitely think restarting a franchise can be an excellent decision (*ahem*Batman Begins*ahem*Casino Royale*). But in the case of both of these series, I’m calling shenanigans on reinvention.

Grab a bag of candy corn, pound some apple cider and watch Freddy vs. Jason. If for nothing else, you get to hear Kelly Rowland say, “What kind of faggot runs around in a Christmas sweater?”

I rest my case.

OCTOBERFEAST has shown a more merciful side today, granting access to an entry that had been already been cut twice. During the drawing of the initial list, this film came up but was then excised in favor of its predecessor. The second draft of the OCTOBERFEAST lineup saw the formation of the WEREWOLF TRILOGY (we’ll get there in a few days) and so the movie was scrapped in the hopes of avoiding redundancy.

But here we are — in the midst of an OCTOBERFEAST miracle! Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for Jason Bateman or maybe it’s because it is the best film of 1987, but there’s no way I could not present Teen Wolf Too!

Written by Jeph Loeb (yes, the same guy from yesterday), Teen Wolf Too is about a teenager who is struggling academically, socially and athletically. His life is in the toilet and he just wishes there were a way to take a stand. Then, he finds out he’s a werewolf and everything gets better — just like it would in real life.

Teen Wolf Too is pretty much the exact same movie as Teen Wolf — except instead of Michael J. Fox doing his best to be the alpha-dog of the high school basketball team, we have Jason Bateman (playing his cousin) doing his best to succeed on the college boxing team. Purely speculating, I’m sure that Michael J. Fox was asked back for Too but preferred to spend two years preparing to finish the McFly role in Back to the Future II & III. It’s called method acting, duh.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about this at all — in my book, two 1980’s flicks about teenage wolfmen is definitely better than one. This movie has all sorts of great shit to keep you watching: boxing on par with any scene from Rocky, dance sequences, and the always wonderful Mark Holton. I imagine that if I were to pound a few brews, put on a Gary Numan record and try to shirtlessly write a movie, the result would be similar to Teen Wolf Too.

If you’re not too proud to embrace the cheese that got America through the Cold War, watch Teen Wolf Too.

In case I haven’t told you, comic books are one of my favorite things in the world. Without exaggeration, I would argue that comics are just as artful as any other medium and provide a generally unrivaled integration of image and word. There is no experience quite like flipping through the pages of a good comic, becoming drawn in by paneled wonder and storytelling mastery.

With such a zealous appreciation, it only stands to reason that OCTOBERFEAST would include a serving of sequential art. I contemplated this decision for some time, trying to figure which funny-book would make the cut. At first, I though about including the Halloween-beatdown of Hollis Mason from Watchmen, but then realized that would be opening a can of worms with which I’m not quite ready to deal. Then, I considered submitting a review of the best/worst comic book Halloween costumes but that wasn’t really what I wanted to go for either.

And then it hit me. Hard. I felt like a fucking buffoon for not thinking of it right from the get-go:

The Long Halloween

One of the many collaborations between Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale, The Long Halloween is a thirteen-issue miniseries that follows Gotham City’s Dark Knight for a full calendar year. Starting and finishing on Halloween, the series sees a mysterious killer known only as Holiday claiming his victims on…well, holidays. The defenders of Gotham do their best to prevent the monthly massacres, with mixed results. At conclusion of The Long Halloween, Batman (and the reader) comes to the realization that justice may not always manifest in easily recognizable forms.

It is Loeb’s storytelling that truly sets up The Long Halloween for success. This is Jeph Loeb in his prime — crafting a murder mystery that keeps the reader guessing until the very end (and even after). Taking place in the formative years of his crime fighting career, Loeb takes Bruce Wayne through the rigors of doling out cans of whoop-ass to Gotham’s underworld. With the help of Captain Gordon and District Attorney Dent, Batman combats a mob empire comprised of the Falcone, Viti, Maroni, Gazzo, Sullivan, and Skeevers families. It is a dense tale full of interconnection, but Loeb pulls it off.

Loeb’s written story is only surpassed by Tim Sale’s illustrative execution. With the main players of the Rogues Gallery at his disposal, Sale gets the opportunity to put his signature stamp on much of the Bat-Universe. While I typically equate Sale’s art with the aesthetics of cartoons/animation, I think his performance in The Long Halloween  steps into  more realistic territory. Looking back on it, I remember being particularly struck by the use of shadows and negative space. Before being the best part of the lackluster Heroes, Tim Sale routinely rocked comics — The Long Halloween is undeniable evidence.

Even if you’re too much of a dingbat to check out The Long Halloween, you have probably still enjoyed its main themes and plot. Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins and The Dark Knight both liberally borrow from The Long Halloween:

A young Bruce Wayne trying to get his footing as Batman? – Yup.

A mob war threatening to take over Gotham City? – Yup.

James Gordon, a rare example of excellence in the GCPD, rising through the ranks?  -Yup.

“I believe in Harvey Dent”? — Yup.

Batman, Gordon and Harvey Dent working together…until a horrible accident disfigures Dent and changes the nature of the relationship? – You bet your ass.

The Long Halloween is a meaty text. But it’s a worthwhile one. As a limited series featuring only the most recognizable figures of the Batman mythos, The Long Halloween is accessible to even the most casual of fans.

For the sake of OCTOBERFEAST, and to make yourself a better human being, give it a read.

Just one of the many scenes from which "The Dark Knight" & "Batman Begins" took a cue.