Lauren Boebert: Nutcase in Congress

Packing Heat is Not Hot

DATELINE: Not Annie Oakley

Treason by any other name is a crime for more than a few enablers of riotous sedition koo-koo birds. Rep. Boebert claims she only gave tours to her “family,” when all tours were banned. It seems her family is an off-shoot of the Manson Family. Her tours included would-be rioters whom she still shields.

An investigation will likely lead to her expulsion from Congress.

This woman is packing heat. She refuses to give up her concealed pistol, hidden either in her bra strap or pocketbook. We haven’t heard of a search yet as she dodges the metal detectors. Broebart insists that her gun will protect her if deranged Biden supporters storm the Capitol.

Don’t confuse her with another female sharp-shooter who finds her company among Cowboys for Trump. No, this is the GOP grandstander who is accused of giving reconnaissance tours to the potential rioters. Yes, she told them where the key offices can be found.

Next day, sure as shooting, the insurgents went looking for Speaker Pelosi. Her hidden location was not kept secret for long, as Boebert tweeted out to protesting and murderous Trump thugs that she was on the move. 

She spells her name differently every time we type it. Broebart, Brobert, Broebert, Broebart, alias is a good way to get elected on write-in ballots.

You guessed it:  Broebart kept them informed on Pelosi’s whereabouts in case the necktie party turned into a moveable feast.

She doesn’t like being called an accessory to murder. Yeah, it doesn’t sound like voters will go for it as a campaign slogan.

Who is this frosh representative with all the aplomb of a Middle Eastern terrorist?  It’s Lauren Boebart who matches up on any website looking for partners for Benedict Arnold.

Is there a congressional committee on expulsion by firing squad?

 

 

 

Oh, Mummy! Daddy Shatner Tells All

Missing Booth Mummy, 1920s

DATELINE:  UnXplained Makes Dead Speak Again

 

After several dull weeks, the series UnXplained  now gives Shatner some outrageous narration—and he delivers as only he can. From his opening warning that the show will depict mummification and viewers are advised to be ready for the horror.

Mr. Shatner is never more amusing than when he must play archly ironic. Discussing bringing the dead back to life seems to energize him.

This wild episode casts a wide net. It begins with the most famous ancient mummy, King Tut, found in 1922 by Howard Carter, recapping that legend. It shifts to the self-mummification practice in Japan several hundred years ago when living Buddhist monks slowly poisoned themselves, in a drying out process, to become mummies.

Shatner’s onerous tones warn us several times about “disturbing imagery,” but it is likely the enhanced, colorized photos of the alleged mummy of John Wilkes Booth that might be rather startling.

Recounting the tale of how Booth escaped, and how he was mummified by arsenic by a local undertaker, his body was taken by Finis L. Bates, now called a carnival barker, who showed the body at the St. Louis World’s Fair. After that, it was displayed for twenty years before disappearing.

Other notable mummies are not to be outdone. Take Bernadette, born in 1844, who saw the Virgin Mary 18 times before she died. Once dug up, she was perfectly preserved to become a saint. However, they had to coat her body with wax and put her in a hermetically sealed glass coffin.

The same for Lenin is explored. He is systematically “recharged” every few years by scientists who make him look younger for public display.

Shatner takes some pleasure in explaining about cryogenics, or freezing dead remains for later reanimation. He also notes that an Egyptian mummy recently had its voice box enhanced to create his “voice” 3000 years after the fact.

All in all, this remains one of the most death-defying of all shows in the UnXplained series.

 

 

 

The Damnation of the United States?

Waving Distress Call

DATELINE:  Oh, the horror! The horror!

Yes, the apocalypse of democracy may be at hand.

Over 200 years ago, we had a Vice President named Aaron Burr who spat on the Constitution of the United States and wanted to destroy the fledgling, infant government. Today, history repeated itself. It was not infanticide of an American Dream: it was murder of the American republic.

We saw the same kind of gleeful faces running riot on the United States Capitol, self-righteous mobs that were empowered to destroy. This mentality occurs regularly in history.

We think these were the faces on people who threw Christians to the lions. We believe, had we been there, these were the faces of the people who tortured and killed others during the Inquisition.

We are fairly sure these were the kind of faces and attitudes that inspired the French Revolution where a social class of people were unceremoniously executed by guillotine.

We know these were the faces on mobs that rounded up Jews and sent them to gas ovens, marked for death with yellow stars.

We saw it again today: how easy and facile it is for those who want their way, and no other, to have it their way. It was easy to take down the American flag and replace it with the Trump banner.

We think the expulsion from government of men named Trump, Cruz, Hawley, for their self-serving violent ends and power plays is warranted, and must be demanded.

We believe that there are such people in America today who are not confederates of the Old South, are not white supremacists, but are simply Nazis.

Purely Nazis our fathers and grandfathers fought against in a war to save humanity. That generation of American heroes would be appalled that it has come home to roost in Capitol where people who cry out to burn down D.C.

Yes, Nazis took hold of America today. Not crypto-Nazis, or wannabe Nazis.

We saw the genuine article, a great swarm of insects, of Americans who have no respect for anything except their own willpower and wanton political agendas. These were the red fire ants on attack.

There was no hidden agenda today about democracy. It was a brazen attempt at a coup d’etat by people who think they live in a banana republic.

Perhaps they do. The rest of us do not.

Don Trump, Mafioso Thug

DATELINE: Mad Dog Donald Trump

If you are the Secretary of State of Georgia, you have been served a warning by the head mobster of the United States, the Don of the Trump Family.  He has promised a dangerous end for crossing Trump.

All he wants is 12,000 votes to be “recalculated” to give him an undeserved, unwarranted, and unvoted win. If you don’t do it, he threatened the elected and not rich Republican of Georgia.

Trump has money and wants to keep his power. Look out! When you have a man who calls democratic elections “illegal,” you are walking in the shadow of Adolph Hitler.

There may be something to the Trumpist threat. We recall another man who crossed Trump was named Jeffrey Epstein. He ended up in prison with a couple of bedsheets tied around his neck.

Raffensperger could end up in the Potomac River with cement overshoes. It is not beyond the reach of a billionaire who hires hitmen with aplomb.

Some of Trump’s supporters, like Louis The Gun Guhmert, have promised violence in the streets. He hasn’t threatened the life of President-Elect Biden, but he is a razor blade to the throat close.

When you run with criminals, you have the godfather part 4.  Yes, we are worried about the future of the United States and its shredded Constitution of genius. Mad bomber Anthony Quinn Warner had one point correct: a reptilian ET is now in the White House.

 

Bela Lugosi’s Death Kiss

No Deadly Kiss from Bela Lugosi

Only rarely do we have a chance to see or to review a Poverty Row movie from 1932 that stars Bela Lugosi.  Death Kiss was made on the heels of Dracula. (1931) and provided the cast to reunite and play it for laughs.

Death Kiss starts out like a house afire. Its opening scene is well-produced and puts a movie within a movie. The star is shot to death in pivotal scene while on the sound stage. It seems real enough.

The film released 90 years ago, almost to the day, features colorized, tinted scenes. That alone was intriguing enough to want to watch a bad murder mystery.

Lugosi is a studio manager working under a bad impression of L. B. Mayer in New York Yiddish accent. The studio novelist/writer thinks he is Angela Lansbury, but acts like a supercilious Hercule. He is insufferable, as played by David Manners.

On top of interfering with inept Los Angeles police (how things never change), he is having an affair with the leading lady who is prime suspect as the ex-wife of the victim who is in for an insurance wind-fall.

Adrienne Ames is stunning in the movie star role. Her B-movie career was short and she died young, but she is highly watchable here.

Lugosi telegraphs villainy at every step. Indeed, he seems to be the shadowy killer in at least one scene where he can identified. He is the tallest member of the cast, imperiously straight-backed.

The film progressively deteriorates, but does end with a surprise or two. As far as the color tints are concerned, it was a weird experiment to say the least. It is minor and pointless.

Death in Venice Part 2

Death in Venice and Washington?

DATELINE: Drips for Drips

Not since Death in Venice when Dirk Bogarde’s bad dye job melted during a pandemic have we seen such a just dessert.

Yes, that’s Rudi Giuliani playing the role of a lifetime: the man who catches the coronavirus while chasing young electoral college voters! In the famous Visconti movie, Von Aschenbach loses his youth to bad makeup under the unrelenting conditions of Venice at its worst.

Now, Rudi loses his cool to bad mascara dripping off his sideburns under the unrelenting conditions of Trump at its worst.

We did not realize that Rudi had been cast in a remake of the great classic tale of unremitting moral decay in the face of losing an election.

Trump has simply drained his hair of all color, and Rudi has not taken the cues properly. His master will not be pleased to turn his press conferences into streaming jokes with streaming bad dye dripping.

The other case of drips came when the Wicked Witch of the West stole Toto and was pressed by the Electoral College to return the mutt to a Kansas voting booth. 

All bad taste aside, when you’re paid $20,000 a day to represent the POTUS, you likely don’t have a potus to put hair dye in.

 

Lady Frankenstein

 Baron Cotten, we presume.

DATELINE: Great Actor Misused

The 1971 schlock version is one of those international efforts done on a shoestring budget, re-imagining rather poorly the better done Hollywood stuff of several decades earlier. This title was redone a few years ago, but the original starred Rosalba Neri, who never made it to Hollywood, and never made it much beyond bad movies in the title role.

The real draw of this film done on cheap film stock that has not held up is one of the foremost gentleman stars of Old Hollywood:  Joseph Cotten. Without his presence, we’d probably have shut this off well before his exit from the picture at around 40 minutes, not quite half the movie.

Cotten must have needed a paycheck, but he must have known his name would guarantee this drive-in drivel would be seen in the U.S..  No matter for him, his best roles were behind.

He never won an Oscar, despite working with Hitchcock as the Merry Widow Killer in 1942, or as a costar to Orson Welles many times, including Ciitizen Kane and The Third Man.  He even did a turn opposite Marilyn Monroe in Niagara. Here, the great star slums in his work with Mel Welles, not Orson, as director. Instead of respected classics, Mel Welles was known for low budgets like Little Shop of Horrors (again, the original).

There are no real names here, except Mickey Hargitay as the captain or constable of police. And, unlike the old Universal classics in which the aristocrats had British accents of the first order, here you have a mishmash of American and international accents that make the setting hard to fathom.

One villain, the Resurrection Man, is named Lynch, which is hardly Eastern European like the original Frankensteins. Here too, Cotten is both Baron Frankenstein and Doctor, though he seems to prefer Dr. His daughter is an early Suffragette of sorts, having done med school and is also a surgeon who will take over Dear Old Dad’s lab.

The Monster is disfigured by accident by lightning during the revival process, but his brain—as usual—was defective from the get-go. Oh, well. Better luck next time.

Die, Monster, Die!

Karloff in wheelchair, Adams in trenchcoat.
 

 DATELINE: Lovecraft’s Color of Space 

This little nugget was an H.P. Lovecraft short story from the 1920s that was set in Arkham, Massachusetts, and had a Boston hero. When American International took hold, they moved Arkham to England, made the story contemporary, and made a nicely filmed mystery horror.

It is not what you might expect from the Beach Blanket Bingo producers at A_I.  They had Boris Karloff in 1965, still a powerful presence playing another mad scientist living in seclusion on an estate only remotely protected. No need: the townsfolk won’t go near it.

The second star is Nick Adams, unusual here as a bland leading man. It was a role dozens of actors of the era could have sleep-walked for a paycheck. He is all the more puzzling as a college friend of a bland Karloff daughter (Suzan Farmer) who is so effervescent that it defies sugar-sweeteners. She is also the epitome of obtuse.

You keep thinking Nick Adams must be up to something—and that actually helps the film and gives Karloff a young hambone who wants to equal the Master. You can’t do much better than pitting Frankenstein’s Monster against Johnny Yuma.

It was meant to be a drive-in special double-bill, which is grossly unfair to its reasonable quality.

The title seems an attempt to draw on Karloff’s Frankenstein days, but the actual story is about a meteorite and was called “The Color of Space,” making it more sci-fi than horror.

Art director of many 1960s cheap horror films, Colin Southcott set designed the English manor house of Karloff was clearly an early advocate of LSD, as the house is overwrought and overdone.  And, the film really is devoid of music, making it even more creepy literally as characters clatter on the floor tiles. Hitchcock did something similar with The Birdsa year earlier.

The green phosphorous stone from outer space is kept, obviously, in the greenhouse—and it creates “a zoo from hell,” according to Nick Adams whose college science knowledge convinces him there is radiation all around the manor house—and it is dangerous and could mutate people. This is forty years before Chernobyl.

What an unusual low-budget gem.

N.E. Patriots Meet a Slump, a Speed Bump, and a Pothole

Lady Luck!

DATELINE:  Going Down!

Mother of Mercy, can this be the end of the Patriot juggernaut of two decades? The road to glory seems to have run out of pavement.

After a glorious 20-year run, spending most of the time in first place in the hearts of Patriots Nation, the home town team seems to have hit a bump in the road. At least there are no sinkholes ahead. They are sinking in one now.

Yes, the Patriots are no longer in sole possession of the top spot to the playoffs. They are in their first slump of of the 21stcentury. When your first slump comes with the dog days of a pandemic, you are about to find cause to worry that rivals the Black Death in sports.

The last time a Patriots team came into a prolonged slump, they went into the poop chute faster than you can say Shaeffer Stadium.

We are more inclined to worry this time. There is no way they can equal the sinking of the titanic teams of the 1970s, which stands as a benchmark of hubris. We saw the past, and the future looks much the same.

This time their QBs have gone soft. We have not exactly seen a team with endless TD power, but their ability to make timely scores has lost more games than expected.

Now the dinner bell, like the guns over Flanders Field, have gone silent. Scarce heard below are the dead Pats of previous seasons hoping the present underdogs have caught the torch and will hold it high.

Short days ago the Patriots won, Brady looked younger than youth, and Bill Belichick looked like a genius, but now the Pats are starting to look like the embalmed teams of the yesteryear, or like the Jets.

Cheer up, fans! This may be only an aberration on the road to the Super Bowl. . A team with character knows their fate is in the hands of Bill Belichick and Cam Newton.

Move over, Black Death. The Pats need more room.

Twice Told Tales from 1963

 Cabot & Price

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s mid-nineteenth century short stories were collected by him into a book, with more than a dozen philosophical mysteries. It was titled Twice Told Tales. He was not into the psychological terror as his fellow writer, Edgar Allen Poe.

There is an almost pre-science fiction quality to his literary themes, and yet when they were adapted for the big screen in 1963, the star and narrator of the film would be Vincent Price, already a big name in bad literary adaptations.

Price found steady work doing high-end schlock for more than a few decades. He brought dignity and style to what might normally pass for low-budget pot-boilers. Twice Told Tales zeroes in on three stories (two are famous in their own rights:  “Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment” and “Rappuccini’s Daughter”). The third story in the trilogy-anthology is House of SevenGables, which was a novel, his usualmetier.

Two center on scientists who play God, trying to control human nature and life over death. In the first, Dr. Heidegger’s tale is altered seriously. It becomes a small cast melodrama, now set in a dark and stormy night. Sebastian Cabot and Price are aging in pursuit of the Fountain of Youth.

 In “Rappaccini’s Daughter,” he is a reclusive scientist who has filled his daughter with poison from a plant to make her separate from the normal business of social life. These are changed enough to be slick color TV specials of the era: about forty minutes each.

House of Seven Gablesis another known title, but hardly within the themes of the first two. Here, a house holds a mysterious presence of evil, rather than the people which include an heir played by Price again.  Richard Denning and Beverly Garland join him in this ghostly tale of hidden treasure.

They are not horrific much, slow-moving, and quite literary, hardly up to contemporary standards of horror and special effects. That may be their charm. If you want something that is neither the original Hawthorne story, nor a modern flashy horror, this is your movie.

Monster Cats

DATELINE: Monsterquest After Tweety Pie’s Nemesis!

  Not a Puddy Tat.

What’s new, Pussycat? We hate to be catty, but the latest episode of the monster search series is purrfect.

Monsterquest  had a bad Bigfoot problem, but is back on the winning track with its study of mysterious big cats in areas where they have been eradicated for over 100 years.  These are not your average puddy tats, Tweety Bird.

Yet, 25 miles north of New York City, a variety of black cat sightings leads the Monsterquest investigation to look for evidence. It does not take long to find claw marks and footprints. With abundant deer to hunt, the experts believe that a black leopard is likely there.

Many witnesses have reported seeing black cats, leopards or jaguars, not native to the area, cavorting the woods. Attacks are growing more frequent with people keeping even 400-pounds cats in their apartments!

Armed with a DNA gun to extract a sample, they plan to use nightfall and infra-red cameras to locate the feline beasts. Good luck with that.

Other initiatives include revealing that six states in the US allow dangerous cats as pets. These monsters often can escape or are let loose when too big. They are particularly dangerous because of in-breeding.

The series reveals that DNA of caged cats indicate that these animals are more dangerous than those raised in the wild.

There is a passing reference to koo-koo bird people as seen in Tiger King, who keep these tigers and lions as pets. Roy and Siegfried learned their lesson in 2004 when one of their Las Vegas cats turned on them and paralyzed, nearly killing Roy.

With an investigation outside a major urban area, this show certainly could be called unnerving.

 

 

 

 

 Fright Night Revisited

DATELINE:  Vampire Classic from ’80s

Sarandon & Jeffreys

Has it really been 35 years since Fright Night rejuvenated modern vampires?

It was Tom Holland who wrote and directed it, looking like a B-movie for TV show of the week, apart from the nudity now and then. By today’s cable movie standards, this is rough, however still holds up as entertainment with a modern twist.

Two points of amusement remain unflappable: Roddy MacDowell and Stephen Jeffreys. They survive in name for sheer wacky performances. MacDowell plays an aging movie star who used to play vampire hunters in his heyday, and Jeffreys plays a teenage Jack Nicholson on uppers. He later reneged Hollywood to do gay adult films for a while, though that is now denied with a half-baked story that it was his evil twin brother.

The vampire is demure and stately Chris Sarandon, looking like he wandered into the wrong California suburb. Yes, the vampire has taken a house in a Leave It to Beaverpart of town where you can peer into the next-door windows. It seems like he’s asking for teenage trouble.

Stephen Jeffreys steals the big scenes: he becomes clearly the gay victim of Sarandon’s vampire. His two delicious scenes are with Roddy as they battle.

For MacDowell with his hair fake-frosted, this was a last grand role, and he makes the most of it. Director Holland was lucky to have the veteran star in his movie.

There is no scrimping on special effects at the finish, and you have a sunny California vampire tale.

The film was originally set to star Vincent Price, not McDowall, and Anthony Michael Hall, not Jeffreys. And, we still haven’t figured out what Sarandon’s boyfriend is supposed to be.

In the whatever happened mode, William Ragsdale is the star juvenile lead. He’s cookie-cutter good enough. Yet, he is thrown up against two scene-stealing actors who rob him of the movie. The film is considered a classic nowadays.

Monster Quest Returns

DATELINE: Favorite Back After Hiatus

“Serpentine Creatures,”  is the new special from the old classic series Monsterquest  that concluded its four-year run a few seasons ago. You can’t keep a good monster down, unless he is hiding under water.

Since Loch Ness has been done to death and debunk, the show moves on to other copycat sea creatures that have become landlocked in lakes since the dawn of prehistory.

We always liked the old series that took a serious attempt to uncover the stories behind some outlandish reports. And, now it has returned for a limited time on History Channel. Catch it for a mesmerizing few shows.

To investigate newer phenomena, the show does a ping-pong between the two coasts of Canada, ignorning Nessie and Champie entirely. We are given relatively new information about Ogopogo in British Columbia and Cressie in Newfoundland.

The theory espoused by more reputable scientists, not those who call themselves crypto-scientists, is that these are giant eels about twenty or thirty feet in length—and still ferocious.

Ogopogo is highly active with a half-dozen sightings every year still—and the show’s producers think their best chance to catch something is here. At least one expert wants to extract a tissue sample for DNA. Good luck, there.

Perhaps the best expert is author Arlene Gaal who has written three books on the subject and sounds down-to-earth and reputable.

The Monsterquest teams seem highly inept. They know what they are supposed to do, but helicopters do not arrive when called—and divers mysteriously go silent in the deep. Perhaps it is part of fake suspense for the audience, but the real result is sheer contempt for the half-baked efforts.

Oh, nothing is found—but they promise to return because you know there is a creature hiding there in the underwater caves and sinkholes. And, yes, we will likely return to watch again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Earthquakes on Apocalypse Earth

DATELINE: Movers & Shakers

 1994, California.

The apocalyptic hits just keep coming. This week we find ourselves horrified and terrified by the notion that if volcanoes and tornadoes don’t get us, we will sink into the Earth during a quake on the doomsday series from History called Apocalypse Earth.

In fact, this is the best episode so far of the series, featuring only earthquakes in the United States. It is a catalogue of rare photos and film, going back to the earliest recorded damages. California is the main hotspot, with documented deaths and damage from the 1850s. The more famous events in San Francisco, are actually secondary to the continuing quakes in Los Angeles.

The 1933 event and 1971 event are compared to the 1994 Northridge shaker that brought down famously overpasses, crushing occupants in their basement garages or highways.

With about 100 quakes every day, most unfelt, the dangers of living along the California coast may be a warning from this program. However, like those millions living in the shadow of Mt. Vesuvius, the Los Angelenos are impervious and likely believe it will hold off for another generation.

Scientists intersperse the scenes with basic explanations of why buildings collapse and the underground topography.

We expected to see massive destruction at the old ball game in 1989, but when the reports came to New York and Boston, we took personal notice. In 1757 even Boston had a major earthquake.

After leading viewers to believe the special was about the US, you had scenes (horrific) of Haiti in 2010 and Mexico where primitive building codes never considered plate tectonics.

The climax is the New Madrid earthquake of 1811, the longest running, largest quake ever in the United States, lasting over a month with at least three major shocks and a thousand minor ones. With no cameras, only a few handwritten accounts survived. However, Memphis and St. Louis may be the heirs to a future bleak shock.

Staggering stuff, but there was no discussion of Alaskan quakes, and that was a great omission.

Trump’s New Doctor Expert

DATELINE: Demons & Dr. Stella

Dr. Stella Immanuel.

Before you can say that it proves he isn’t misogynist, you should look more deeply at the female pediatrician that holds a  license for medicine—and is now the expert Trump most trusts.

It seems that Dr. Stella Immanuel is going along with the hare-brained ideas of Trump. That’s enough for him. You know, he likes women if they are insane or child molesters. Just ask Ghislaine Maxwell, buddy and crony of Jeffrey Epstein.

When pressed at a news conference about her claims that there is a secret cure for COVID-19 and not to wear masks, Trump said he knew nothing about her personally, but she is an important voice.

He then walked away from the media, refusing to answer any more questions. It sounded a great deal like his support for Ghislaine, a woman he met hundreds of times, but of whom he knew nothing about her crimes.

In case you missed it, Dr. Immanuel has been re-tweeted by the Tweeter Bird in Chief without much concern for her other medical ideas. That’s demon sperm you must avoid. The incubus is among us.

Quackery is not merely consigned to the White House. Dr. Immanuel believes that warts are caused by dreams of having sex with the devil or demons.

More to the point, Trump’s expert on cornonavirus thinks that space aliens are directly responsible for many of the ills that are besetting humans. All this from a man who appeared on Ancient Aliens and Unidentified to dismiss the idea of UFOs invading our world.

There appears to be a disconnect in Trump’s world. Well, there is a disconnect in Trump’s brain. So, we should not be surprised that the stable genius is having stability problems.

Next time you hear a voice crying out, “Stella! Stella!,” it will not be Marlon Brando in Streetcar Named Desire, but a president in an Election named Catastrophe.