This movie was a balls off the walls laugh-fest.  Western horror film makers seem to think that the more scares they can fit in a 120minute time frame, the better the horror movie.  This is the same idea as a strawberry cake maker who makes a strawberry cake completely out of strawberries.

 

Lacking all the necessary devices that make a movie good (or believable), Eric Valette's One Missed Call gets two floppy thumbs down.

 

Why is it that Americans are so bad at remaking Japanese horror movies?  Are the producers and writers actually thinking to themselves "needs more cheap scares" when watching the original movies, or is the boogeyman-around-the-corner their own simpleminded contribution to someone else's story?

Asian horror is deeply tied in to asian folklore, which is why when you watch a Chinese horror movie, someone tapping a pair of chopsticks on an empty bowl at an intersection means a lot more to a Chinese audience than an American audience.  Same goes with haunted objects (cell phones, video tapes) which is connected to Japanese Shintoism.  Asian horror films tend to pace a bit slower as well, with the plot revolving around solving a puzzle rather than escaping the boogyman.  The terror in The Ring wasn't the white haired girl crawling through the television, it was the anticipation of coming death, and the mystery behind a seemingly normal object.  Takashi Miike's original One Missed Call, though peppered with the cheap scare, still created the feeling that evil and supernatural elements can be found anywhere at anytime, whether it's the curse of a video, or a voicemail from the future.  It's drawing from all these factors that have made the Asian Horror circuit respected around the world.

 

This isn't to say that the American Horror genre is a shallow.  The cult classics of American Horror relied heavily on it's own rich history and background.  Rosemary's Baby, The Omen, and The Exorcist used religious themes to create a supernatural environment, one that was believable and terror-inducing.  The Halloween franchise is responsible for other slasher type movies such as Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer, and draws heavily from the American serial killer motif.  The Blair Witch Project combined the believability of a documentary with the realism of a handheld recording to create a new genre of American horror.

 

Despite all this, One Missed Call lacked pacing, decent acting, or a coherent plot, while completely ignoring the Original's resolution.  It was an hour and a half of "I'm going to die tomorrow...*one day later*.. OMG I DIED."

 

 

There was a time when earning that merit badge meant hours of training. A time when frolicking through the wilderness with other boys was not laughed at, nor wearing a red kerchief around your neck a sign of faggotry. A time when completing the full Scout regimen meant that you were courteous, yet dangerous. Calm, yet bountiful with wilderness survival skills. A combination of politeness and people-pulverizing paralysis power-punching pppppppppppppppppppppppPP

Twelve-hundred scouts showed up to the CN Tower today in full Scout regalia. There was no arduous training session, no test of wits, and no life-threatening injuries. Hell, they weren't even outdoors. They came for complimentary pizza and pop, and for that, they received a motherfuckin merit badge.

How the fuck does going to the CN Tower equate with, say, a merit badge for Shotgun Shooting?

Plus the Scouts left a mess everywhere. It seems none of them earned their don't-leave-a-motherfuckin-mess-everywhere badge. For a group of nature lovers such as the scouts, many trees perished this evening in the form of discarded pizza trays and soda cups. Though, that wasn't what bothered me most.

I was weirded out by full grown men, some with greying temples, others with visible paunches, in fully assembled Scout attire. If the inclusion of men were part of the original strategy, why give the organization such an innocuous name, and not something along the lines of Males-aged-seven-to-forty-five-Scouts? I suppose there's nothing wrong with taking an interest in your son or daughter's activities--I knew a Bob who did Taekwondo with his youngest son--but when it's a trio of men well past their twenties (with no younger son or sibling scouts around them) living it up at the hottest pizza/pop party in town along with twelve-hundred little boys.. yeah, that's pretty fucked up right there. We have a name for full grown men who enjoy the company of little boys over other men: Catholic Priests.

"After fifteen years of waiting, the coveted CN Tower Pizza Party Badge is finally mine!"

- - - -

A certain friend of mine, who I consider fairly close, is avoiding me. I suppose I should worry, but I'm not, really. I figure, things will straighten themselves out.. and in the meantime I can use her as a literary device. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm not worried at all about my current standing in her eyes, but she needs her space. I'm not exactly easy to get along with.

Her: Hey, ready to go out?
Me: Yeah, I'm really excite-- wait. Wait one second! Who's your slutty friend? Wow, she looks easy! What's your number?

Her Friend:

Asshole.

I am only at liberty to write this since I'm positive she has also stopped reading this humble little space. In any case, I've been cutoff, disjointed, dare is say.. amputed? The fact that I got into a drunken stupor may have something to do with her display of standoffishness, but, come on; getting piss-drunk in front of friends is not only a priviledge, but an honor to the more sober of the two. A complete and total lack of comprehension (while knowing that you're in safe hands) is the purest form of trust between comrades. As for openly displaying signs of irritance, well, when good enough friends are comfortable with each other, I feel they are obligated to share their thoughts, be it "I am irritated with you," or "You're fucked up." Of course, being the responsible and emotionally-secure adult that I am (my Ego just sprung up in my pants.. oh baby), I'll have to contact her somehow and tune things down from a code-red to a code-yellow, or any other unalarming colour. I ignore a lot of people that I am unfamiliar with, but to good friends and good company, I will gladly give up my time and energy for them when the occasion arises. No, that wasn't a joke.

*cough*

I'll be wading knee-high in fecal matter if she does read this though. Or maybe not.. who really understands the inner-workings of the female mind?

I've been to Ernie's Barbershop a few times in the past, and I've always been satisfied with his work, but lately, he just seems to be out of touch with his craft. The guy isn't getting any younger, and maybe it's his old age, his senility; maybe my taste in hairstyle has matured, or perhaps Ernie's hair-muse has left him, but he gives really bad haircuts. I'm not one to be fickle over my hair (proudly sporting the typical asian-bowl-head since 1993), but it was so bad that even I noticed it. Of course, I hadn't the heart to break it to Ernie, so I overtipped (he'll need the extra cash if this slump of his persists) and bade him farewell. The damage was done. I was stuck with this lump of hair in the front and top, like an overgrown chia pet, while the back was limp and loose, like an overgrown chia pet. Essentially, I had some sort of garden on my head, and not the exquisite type of garden filled with petunias or whatever people fill gardens with, but a ninety-nine cent chia pet-filled garden. Naturally, I'll be looking for a new barber, cutter, or even stylist, but until then, I settled for the TopCuts up the street, who gave me a very conservative even cut. Don't get me wrong, the hair is still terrible; "not exactly your best look," was how Aaron put it, and being that my usual look is terrible to begin with, I was just glad he did not witness the holocaust that was my head. Now, rather than multiple shrubbery on my scalp, it is only one big shrub.

I was looking forward to returning to Toronto, if only to get away from the bitter chill of Montreal. It's funny how these little hopes come back and bite you on your frozen ass. It was a wonderful negative eight degrees celcius this afternoon, which felt closer to negative sixteen with wind-chill. Negative-goddam-sixteen, a full thirty-two degree difference from two weeks ago. Not only is this not shorts-compatible weather, it is not even jacket-compatible weather. I require equipment to brave the streets of Toronto, equipment in the form of coats, scarves, gloves, and proper sweater-ship. The reason behind adventuring out in this blustery (so motherfuckin' windy) montreal-like weather was to seek out the elusive movie Go!, starring the eccentric, but talented, Yosuke Kubozuka. Set in Japan, it's a coming-of-age film about a culturally mixed up youth who is torn between his race, his nationality, and the girl that he loves <3. There's a whole lot of balihoo in between the quirkiness and sappy love-story and the scene trangressions are a bit rough, but the overall story of the film is gripping enough for me to not comment snidely of it. And so, it was off to ChinaTown, the den of thieves, the ultimate pirate's lair; boasting over ten illegal dvd/vcd/cd shops (off the top of my head, ChinaTown Center holds at least four of them), I scoured them all, looking for that infernal movie. Alas, my search was fruitless, though one lady assured me that she will have ample supply the following day. Sure, lady; the Chinese are not exactly known for their honesty. The Chinese government is notorious for covering-up the media; Sars, the Chinese standard of living, and recently the google-tiananmen square squabble; it should come as no surprise that China is covering-up yet again. China admits that ninety-three people have died from cases of Avian Flu, but according to The Epoch, over four hundred-and-twenty-five cases of Bird Flu victims remain unreported. The afflicted are being held for medical research.

I'm pretty sure that the lady working the illegal dvd stall at the entrance of ChinaTown Center is also working for the MSS. Not completely sure, but pretty sure. I'd say about 87% sure.

Perhaps she has birdflu.