Since the dawn of the cinema, an incalculable number of feature films have been produced. Some are good, others are atrocious, and most are some shade of cookie-cutter meh. The members of this homogenous body are usually enjoyed at the time and then forgotten for the rest of eternity. And I’m fine with that — more than fine with it, really.

I have a problem when it seems as though people forget about quality pictures.

There are a lot of movies that deal with ghouls, ghosts, and all the other staples of the supernatural world around which we base Halloween. But I have a terrible feeling (about this!) that today’s heaping of OCTOBERFEAST has been largely forgotten by pop culture. I can’t remember the last time I saw this movie on television or referenced in a bullshit Top 10 Best Something or Others list. And it’s a damn shame because the movie is a wonderful intersection of comedy, horror, zany special effects, and Michael Keaton.

I’m talking about Beetlejuice.

Let’s  hop in the Delorean and go back to a time  before  Tim Burton only made movies  so that studios would  cut fat checks to Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter. Back in the day, Burton made some genuinely unique movies that weren’t afraid to take chances. I dare you to watch Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure and suggest that it is anything other than an extraordinary journey, told with a self-awareness and darkness that only reinforces the humor. In fact, I probably don’t have to tell you to watch Pee-Wee because you most likely remember it.

And so I return to Beetlejuice, a strangely overlooked classic. This movie sees the young couple of Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis just trying to enjoy their time in a relaxing rural home. But since this is a movie and therefore requires a conflict, they die. Shortly after they bite the dust, Baldwin and Davis realize that they’re actually ghosts! Unfortunately, their house has been sold to a couple of new-age yuppie scumbags and their goth teenage daughter named Winona Ryder.

Befriending Winona, Alex and Geena try to figure out a way to scare the yuppies into leaving. With no luck on their own, they look to the assistance of Betelgeuse — a perverted ghost whose business lay in conducting reverse-exorcisms. Even with his relatively limited screen time, Michael Keaton shines as the self-proclaimed ghost with the most.

Betelgeuse is a crass, vulgar misogynist with whom you cannot help but laugh. He’s fucking hysterical. When questioned about his qualifications in convincing living beings to vacate the premises, Betelgeuse retorts:

Ah. Well… I attended Juilliard… I’m a graduate of the Harvard business school. I travel quite extensively. I lived through the Black Plague and had a pretty good time during that. I’ve seen the EXORCIST ABOUT A HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVEN TIMES, AND IT KEEPS GETTING FUNNIER EVERY SINGLE TIME I SEE IT… NOT TO MENTION THE FACT THAT YOU’RE TALKING TO A DEAD GUY… NOW WHAT DO YOU THINK? You think I’m qualified?

Also, it was because of Beetlejuice that I learned there is a time and place for swear-words. No more than four years old, I emulated the title character by kicking the air and proclaiming, “Nice fucking model!” My mom told me that I shouldn’t have used the sentence’s middle word…but she did so with a smile.

"I gotta show up at shopping centers for openings and sign autographs and shit like that and it makes my life a hell. Okay? A living hell."

I’m not doing this movie justice. Just trust me on this one — Beetlejuice rules. If you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor and buy/rent/download a copy and enjoy. If you have seen it, give it the respect it deserves. The fact that Beetlejuice is forgotten while Rob Zombie’s Halloween remakes are the objects of salivation brings tears to my eyes.

Believe it or not, The Simpsons was once a great television show. In fact, I would argue that in its prime (somewhere in the mid-to-late 1990’s) The Simpsons was fucking untouchable. Marge vs. the Monorail? Twenty-Two Short Films About Springfield? The Itchy & Scratchy and Poochy Show? Episodes like these embody the spirit of the sitcom at its absolute finest.

So while its epic nose-dive has been enough to keep me away for the last decade, I still feel warm, fuzzy things for The Simpsons. Some of the warmest and fuzziest of these funny feelings are connected to Treehouse of Horror — the show’s annual Halloween special.

Every year, Treehouse of Horror would take everyone’s favorite family from Evergreen Terrace through parodies of horror & science fiction movies, strangely murderous tales and other similarly bizarre romps. It was insanity — the residents of Springfield killing one another before my very eyes! I guess part of the charm was that for one episode every season, the best show on television took it upon itself to make kooky stories about the zany shit I love.

Also, Treehouse of Horror always featured Kang & Kodos, two of the best alien characters of all-time. I think it was in the `96 episode that they inhabited the bodies of Bill Clinton & Bob Dole, then ran against each other for president. Genius.

Kang & Kodos hoping to hitch a ride.

Maybe I’ve constructed a false memory, but I really think that I remember coming home from trick-or-treating and watching Treehouse of Horror. As an eight-year-old, there was no better feeling than stuffing my face full of candy, paying my dad off with Almond Joys to look the other way, and watching Homer Simpson do silly shit. That was the life.

I’m not so sure that The Simpsons will ever reclaim the glory it once possessed. But at least once a year, when the pumpkins are screaming in terror as their captors approach them with kitchen-knives in hand, I’ll think of Treehouse of Horror and smile.

Over the course of the last week or so I’ve been rereading Arthur Miller’s quasi-historical The Crucible in preparation to teach it. I had forgotten the density and poignancy of the play — Miller’s work is pretty much a head-on condemnation of our current power structure, criticizing the fact that it is based on racism, sexism, paranoia, religiously justified oppression and the process of othering.

Of course, I’m going to have to water down all of these ideas as I attempt to present them to a body of fifteen-year-olds who couldn’t care less. And while I abhor the concept of compromising sick ideas, I am willing to do so as long as I keep a promise to myself. No matter how little interest these teenagers show, I am going to ensure that they walk away from The Crucible knowing one thing for sure:

Giles Corey is the motherfucking man.

In true, historically-verified terms, Giles was an old-ass man accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. When you think of him, think of that bad-ass geezer who isn’t afraid to speak his mind or take a stand. In Arthur Miller’s words, “Giles Corey, eighty-three…He is knotted with muscle, canny, inquisitive, and still powerful.”

According to Puritan Law, any man who would not plead either guilty or innocent to an accusation could not be tried in court. Giles refused to plead innocent because he didn’t want to subject himself to an unjust trial and he wouldn’t plead guilty because he wasn’t a goddamn witch. In such instance, the Puritan authorities would lay a suspect on his back and then place as much weight on him as required to elicit a plea (thereby justifying a trial).

But Giles never succumbed to the (literal) pressure. Subjected to this torture for days, Corey never issued a statement regarding the accusation of witchcraft. Elizabeth Proctor from The Crucible clarifies:

He were not hanged. He would not answer aye or nay to his indictment; for if he denied the charge they’d hang him surely, and auction out his property. So he stand mute, and died Christian under the law. And so his sons will have his farm. It is the law, for he could not be condemned a wizard without he answer the indictment, aye or nay.

In fact, the only words slipping out his mouth during the entire endeavor were “More weight.” Giles Corey is the definitive old-man bad-ass.

Found  below are a campy recreation of Giles’ fatal pressing and the music video for Unearth’s Giles.

The OCTOBERFEAST has proven to be a true labor of love. When I created the general outline I had no clue that I would find myself so bitterly conflicted about some of the specific details. Looking towards today’s post, I was at a loss. Perhaps I had originally left my schedule partially incomplete with the faith of later discovering a naturally fitting entry. I couldn’t help but feel my stomach bottom out when I looked at the calendar and saw:

October 8^th — Iron Maiden — (Figure out song later).

Fuck.

I find it foolish to argue against the notion that Iron Maiden is the most legendary of active metal bands. With a career spanning over thirty years, one would expect them to be mere shadows of their former selves. Not the case. Unlike Metallica, Iron Maiden can still put on a live performance without butchering the songs or relying on theatrics. And while Maiden’s recent studio albums aren’t their best efforts, they’re hardly the self-parodies of which Megadeth seems so fond. These are old dudes that can still actually lay it down.

With  an enormous repertoire — fifteen studio albums — how can I choose one song for Omega-Level’s seasonal celebration? Thematically, the occult is embedded into almost every single piece of Iron Maiden’s catalogue. Therefore, the inclusion of any one track necessarily results in the exclusion of all sorts of songs about demons and pharaohs and warlords (Oh My!). Simply put, the task at hand is daunting.

But I’m no sissy — I’m the Grand Admiral of OCTOBERFEAST! And this means that I’m the guy who has to make the tough decisions. So here we go. Even though almost any track could fit, I think that one of Iron Maiden’s songs works especially well:

The Number of the Beast

Sharing its name with the album on which Bruce Dickinson made his debut. The Number of the Beast is one of Iron Maiden’s most recognizable hymns. Iron Maiden create more of an epic journey in Beast’s five minutes than many bands could manage in twenty. The band delivers a haunting introduction, soaring melodies, Harris’ signature bass lines and the breathtaking vocals for which all of Brazil would scream. Musically, The Number of the Beast is the ideal towards which all rockers strive.

More importantly, The Number of the Beast is a perfect anthem for Hallow’s Eve. Before any music starts, the listener is treated to a ghoulish voice announcing —

Woe to you, Oh Earth and Sea

For the Devil sends the
Beast with wrath, because he knows the time is short…
Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the Beast for it is a human number —

Its number is six hundred and sixty six.

Every time that I hear that, I begin to think that I should forfeit agnosticism and begin worshipping Satan.

Once the song kicks in, Dickinson sings us through hellish landscapes and evil intentions. The chorus (which plays great live as a sing-a-long) screams “666 — The number of the Beast // 666 — the one for you and me!”

You should check out the music video. It is a seriously awesome combination of performance, clips from cheesy horror movies and an appearance by Eddie!

Iron Maiden – The Number of the Beast

Halloween is all about candy — candy corn, candied apples, free candy, and sometimes even candy girls. It’s wonderful! Provided the shady neighbors aren’t slipping crack cocaine into the trick-or-treat bags or luring children into their drug dens, the prospect of free candy is truly a beautiful thing.

But I feel the need to pause for a moment. I mean, I can’t go on eating candy forever! That’s kid stuff. I’m almost twenty-three goddamn years old. It might be time to grow up and start thinking about being an adult. That, of course, means doing adult things like wearing a tie during the work week and eating a well-balanced diet.

And in case you’ve been out of the loop for the last bajillion years or so, a well-balanced diet starts with a nutritious, complete breakfast. Typing this phrase into the patented PEPSIBONES-INTERNET SEARCH ENGINE, I found the perfect foodstuff to get my day going:

Boo Berry.

The flavor is roughly equivalent to what you would be left with if you dumped a pound of blueberries into a bowl of sugar and then took them right out. The mascot is a (mentally challenged?) ghost with a hat. And, as stated in the 1973 advertisement posted below, Boo Berry is both nutritious and part of a complete breakfast.

I mean, seriously, what’s not to love?

Effective immediately, Boo Berry is to be recognized as the official breakfast of OCTOBERFEAST!

Looking ahead to some of my tentative choices, I realized the concoction known as OCTOBERFEAST was beginning to seem a bit unbalanced. Yes, by its very nature Halloween lends itself more to heavy metal and horror movies than anything else. However, I feel like part of my duty is to create a seasonal dish that satisfies the demands of a more well-rounded palate.

Therefore, today’s part of the 31-course meal takes us  to the world of hip-hop. I spent some time searching for a good lyrical anthem geared towards Halloween but didn’t manage to find anything too amazing. (Note: If you know of a solid rap song explicitly about the holiday, please let me know). Fortunately, I wracked my brain (almost to the point of mental instability) and managed to conjure up a candidate: Jay-Z’s Lucifer.

While groovier than any of the double-bass riddled songs I’m going to submit later this month, this Jay-Z track is definitely evil enough for OCTOBERFEAST. I mean, it’s titled Lucifer…as in Satan or the Devil. C’mon, you know what I’m talking about – the motherfucking Prince of Darkness! The antithesis of all that is holy and righteous! God’s arch-nemesis! If for nothing else, the title of this song warrants its inclusion.

With that being said, it is also worth mentioning that a bit of controversy erupted over the song. Being gullible and unwilling to do any critical thinking, there were some individuals who argued that if played backwards (as in, “Paul is Dead”) Lucifer contains satanic messages. This pastor tried to demonstrate that reversing the track reveals the subliminal messages “Murder Jesus” and “666.”

In reality, I wish that Jay-Z really took it upon himself to hide satanic messages in his music. That shit would be sick. Unfortunately, even the most cursory internet research unveils the fact that the audible “Murder Jesus” and “666″ is the product of DJ Dangermouse’s Jay-Z/Beatles remix known as the Grey Album.

Sorry to disappoint, Reverend Bunghole — Jay-Z isn’t in cahoots with the Devil.

Last but not least, the tune is damn catchy. The Black Album is one of my favorite rap albums and this is one of the standout tracks. I was unable to find a live video of the song, but found yet another ridiculous slideshow; this time, the song is set to an array of renderings of Lucifer himself.

So even if you don’t usually dabble in hip-hop, give this video a peek. And rest assured – there is plenty of heavy metal on the way.

I consider myself a fan of movies. Granted, I’m no expert and I never went to film school, but I consider myself to be a step above the slack-jawed assholes who eat up any mindless drivel the studios produce. I think that I’m somewhere in between — not quite a cinematic snob, but certainly not a mere casual viewer.

With that being said, it is with a hint of embarrassment that I make my confession. Up until last fall, when it was required for a class, I had never seen Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. I suppose part of my disinterest was rooted in the fact that I had (through top-ten lists and pop-cultural ubiquity) already viewed the shower scene and knew of the twist-ending. My justification for not watching Psycho was the assumption that although it was probably a decent movie, its reputation had probably been inflated over time.

I was wrong — way wrong. As I learned last autumn, Psycho is a truly terrifying film. Watching it in the darkened basement viewing room of my college, I frequently found myself looking over my shoulder, making sure no one was coming for me.

Unlike most modern horror flicks, Psycho is deftly built on suspense and an embracing of the unknown. The creepiness of the movie is not in masturbatory gore, but in waiting for an act of violence you just know is coming. And when it  comes it is fast, brutal, unrelenting, and unfocused — just as I imagine being stabbed to death would be.

Additionally, I also find Bernard Hermann’s score to be an integral part of Psycho. Lifting a paragraph from a presentation I gave, I like to make the argument that Psycho’s music represents the dueling components of Norman Bateman’s unstable conscious:

Another choice of the director that facilitates Psycho’s examination of conflicting mental subdivisions is the use of Bernard Herrman’s score. As evidenced in opening credits, Herrman’s score simultaneously makes use of beautiful, sweeping melodies and hauntingly harsh, accented, staccato notes. The two distinct musical accompaniments form Psycho’s theme as a whole, just as the conscious and unconscious are two parts of the same mind. With this in mind, it seems reasonable to suggest that a lack of melody from the film’s score signifies the absence of the conscious, and therefore an ascendancy of the unconscious. In essence, it is no coincidence that short, dissonant quarter notes with no melody complement the instances in which the conscious is most obviously overwhelmed by the unconscious.

Psycho is a rad movie. And even if you know the truth about Mrs. Bates or have seen the shower scene, you should check it out.

Now for your viewing pleasure — a decent fan-made trailer:

For this helping of OCTOBERFEAST, let’s play a round of Six Degrees of Separation:

1) Halloween is a night when kids and teens reign supreme.

2) Making the most of this single-night supremacy, many youths enjoy vandalism.

3) Perhaps the most popular act of Hallow’s Eve vandalism is that of smashing pumpkins.

4) The Smashing Pumpkins are an alt-rock group whose popularity peaked in the 1990’s.

5) The lead guitarist and singer for The Smashing Pumpkins is Billy Corgan.

6) In the mid 1980’s, Billy Corgan filmed himself trying to shred.

There we have it. I now present (mullet and all) a Billy Corgan guitar solo from nearly twenty five years ago.

Monsters are awesome.

Whether reading about them being chopped down in classics like Beowulf or watching them wreak havoc in new forays such as Cloverfield, there seems to be a timeless love affair with monsters. And my (admittedly limited) knowledge of world culture tells me this isn’t just an American lust — Puerto Rico houses the chupacabra, Egypt touts the mummy, and Japan…well, everyone knows about Japan’s contribution.

While I love watching monsters do their whole loathe/kill/destroy humanity thing, I find it a bit more enjoyable to watch them on their downtime. It’s like being a fan of a band — at a certain point, your respect for their work drives you  to become curious about their personal lives. This is nothing to be ashamed about.

Fortunately, with the 1960’s came The Munsters — a sitcom devoted to showing how monsters really behave.

In case you’ve never seen the show, the basic premise is as follows: a Frankenstein named Herman is in an interspecies marriage with a vampire named Lily. Somehow, these two have managed to procreate — resulting in their son Eddie, a werewolf. To appease his father-in-law’s racist skepticism of Frankensteins, Herman supports Grandpa by allowing him to shack up with them at the 1313 Mockingbird Lane residence. To top it all off, Lily’s superhot (somehow human) niece Marilyn lives with them too.

The Munsters helps us learn that monsters just regular people, uh, well, regular things like  you  and me.  Also, the show utilizes laugh-tracks and fast-motion, both of which are plus-signs in my rank book.

Oh, and don’t even bother waltzing in here with any arguments about The Addams Family even being a contender against The Munsters. One is a show about mythical beings living together and the other is about a bunch of damn freaks and perverts.

If I wanted to see that, I’d just eat dinner with my family.

Ghostbusters II is an absolute cinematic masterpiece. No other film provides quite a perfect blend of humor, science fiction, horror and (of course) Ernie Hudson. Thinking about it now, I realize that I have probably watched this movie from start to finish more than any other. The sequel to Ghostbusters is an important part of my life and I hope that it is for you as well.

But just in case it isn’t, I’ve decided to use OCTOBERFEAST to persuade you. A little known fact is Ghostbusters II features Bobby Brown’s On Our Own, known to critics and thespians everywhere as the all-time greatest song in a soundtrack. Yes, even before marrying & ruining Whitney Houston, Bobby Brown was doing fantastic things.

For your viewing pleasure…And to help you prepare for the impending invasion of ghouls and ghosts…

Bobby Brown’s On Our Own — set to a terrible slide show of still shots from Ghostbusters II: