Watching Movies Alone with crumbsroom

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Or you could be like me and have minimal overlap across your Letterboxd, forum posting and blog out of sheer laziness.*
Absolutely this. Y’all get my random bits I feel like talking about. Letterboxd gets all my info of what I logged.

Me on here: “This was a good indie horror flick I found on Shudder.”

Me on Letterboxd: “here’s the dozens of bad/mediocre indie horror that I watched before I found that one and don’t feel compelled to say anything about.”



Absolutely this. Y’all get my random bits I feel like talking about. Letterboxd gets all my info of what I logged.

Me on here: “This was a good indie horror flick I found on Shudder.”

Me on Letterboxd: “here’s the dozens of bad/mediocre indie horror that I watched before I found that one and don’t feel compelled to say anything about.”
No, that's called curating and is actually useful.* I mean I'm literally being too lazy to copy and paste.


In my defense, most of what I write on my Letterboxd is hammered out on my phone right after a viewing (so already of questionable value at best), and I find copying and pasting on my phone's interface annoying.


Maybe I should stop being a weirdo and make a review thread already.



No, that's called curating and is actually useful.* I mean I'm literally being too lazy to copy and paste.


In my defense, most of what I write on my Letterboxd is hammered out on my phone right after a viewing (so already of questionable value at best), and I find copying and pasting on my phone's interface annoying.


Maybe I should stop being a weirdo and make a review thread already.
I’ll have you know everything I write is hammered out on my phone and of questionable value!





Martin doesn’t think much of being a vampire. He knows what he gets up to once the sun goes down. The way those women look at him when he suddenly appears. Their eyes reminding him he wasn’t invited in here with them. Never invited anywhere. How they struggle to get away from him. Always fight back better than he expected. Call him a freak. An *sshole. He seems to know without his little kit of syringes, they would almost surely overpower him. Keep him forever hungry. So, an injection is always necessary. Stops the screaming. Stops the insults. Quickly puts them to sleep. And once he is finally sure they are no longer watching, he can begin to undress. It seems that even after all these years of feasting on the blood of young women, he’d still rather they didn’t see him naked.


Somehow, even after we have seen the violence he is capable of, we don’t quite fear Martin as you’d suspect we’re supposed to. Even once his struggle with that evening’s victim is over and he’s covered in their blood, he remains a pitiful specimen. Shrivelled. Sticky. In need of a wash before the morning light comes up. At no point will there ever be anything majestic or even menacing about Martin’s claim to the night. He only pulls it over himself, like a blanket he doesn’t want to get out from under. A place to keep the shameful things he does as a vampire out of sight. Unlike the grand entrances of Bela Lugosi or Christopher Lee, Martin will never fling open the shadows like a stage curtain on his way to the spotlight. For Martin, the spotlight would only make him worry he has been seen. That we’ve learned how being a vampire isn't at all like the movies. Especially when they are living with their cousin in Pittsburgh.

Over the course of George Romero's film, it’s clear Martin would never see himself as being worthy of the kind of cinematic attention he is getting here. That would be for all of the other better vampires. The ones who demand to have their likeness stretched three stories tall on the big screen. The ones who know how to make it with a lady. Who aren’t too shy to speak. Whose eternally damned youth will not be one forever clad in sneakers and boyishly stripped T-Shirts. Who at the very least have got some proper fangs you can really do something with. Not just some gawky overbite unworthy of the softest of necks.

You know, real vampires. The one’s who have lied to us since the dawn of cinema. The one’s who Martin can never compete with.

“Things only seem to be magic”, is all he has left to say when forced to confront matters relating to his supposed cahoots with the Devil. His unfulfilled mythical status. He will sound exhausted, as if eighty-four years of saying the same thing and no one listening has worn him down. “There is no real magic, ever”. These are the words he’ll use whenever needing to shrug off the nuisance of his cousin’s latest crucifix attack. Or when he sees him once again wasting his time getting out the garlic accoutrements. But they also seem as if they are being said to us in the audience. A plea to keep our expectations in check. To brace ourselves for what vampirism really looks like, once it has been sucked dry of all of its menace and romance and sense of the otherworldly. Leaving behind nothing more than what appears to be the shame of a teenage wank spread across all of eternity.

For those in the audience looking for a spell of Gothic doom, Martin can’t help but disappoint. It lives almost painfully in the real world. A place of rust and automotive decay and miles and miles of empty streets for Martin to aimlessly wander through, contemplating his next victim, but not always doing much about it. We’d probably not even notice him if we came across him in our own neighbourhood. He hardly even needs the sun to go down not to be seen. His life is one that is mostly just a disappointment. A disappointment to himself, to his family, to general decency, to the standards of vampirism and, if he ever became aware of us out there watching him, a disappointment to the cost of a movie ticket. He is a subject who might bore us as much as he bores himself.

“What kind of ****ing lame-o vampire was that”, those leaving the theatre might sneer to each other. “What a creep”

So, no, there will likely never be wax likeness of John Amplas erected in Madame Tussaud’s torture dungeon next to Max Schreck, curled on his bed with a phone, talking away his loneliness with a radio DJ. Complaining that he’s frightened of doing the sexy stuff with a lady. That no one will ever love him and how everyone eventually leaves him. But, if we can hold in our hands for a moment the thought of such an eternity as this, then think of his shame. His profound loneliness, rejection and inferiority. This pubescent angst of his that will never be grown out of, then we may find Martin might breach our defences after all, and illicit some sympathy from those in the audience who have a heart. And this will be where the horror of the film truly lies. Convincing us to forget all the things he has done. And what he will continue to do, unless someone stops him. And just contemplate the sadness of it all.







Hey Crumb, you ever seen the anti-Communist Christian propaganda film If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do? It's not...good, but I suspect its mix of crude filmmaking and outrageous violence might appeal to you. It's under an hour and is available in a lovingly restored copy on Nicolas Winding Refn's website.


https://www.bynwr.com/articles/if-fo...will-horses-do



Also, I need to rewatch Martin one of these days. I was initially pretty cold on it, but watched it at a time when I wasn't used to its specific kind of roughness (Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead are rough in ways too, but their premises and violence give them a punchy quality this one doesn't have). I imagine these days I'd gel more to its textural qualities.



Hey Crumb, you ever seen the anti-Communist Christian propaganda film If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do? It's not...good, but I suspect its mix of crude filmmaking and outrageous violence might appeal to you. It's under an hour and is available in a lovingly restored copy on Nicolas Winding Refn's website.


https://www.bynwr.com/articles/if-fo...will-horses-do

Never heard of it, but I just may check it out. Crude fillmaking, outrageous violence. Yes, my calling cards



Also, I need to rewatch Martin one of these days. I was initially pretty cold on it, but watched it at a time when I wasn't used to its specific kind of roughness (Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead are rough in ways too, but their premises and violence give them a punchy quality this one doesn't have). I imagine these days I'd gel more to its textural qualities.

It's actually so much more polished than any of his Dead films. I didn't notice thhis on my first couple of viewings either, but it drips with style and mood. Yet also never betrays its realism.


I'm pretty sure you'd appreciate it on rewatch. It is on YouTube. It's not widescreen (not sure if it ever was) but even my hardcopy of it is also standard. Don't know if it's ever actually had a decent release. Which is a crime. It's so easily one of the best vampire films ever made.



I wonder if they offered the role of Martin to Bud Cort at some stage in the pre-production process...it seems perfectly tailored to him.

I think the movie benefits from having a kind of nobody fill the role. A none commodity. Someone you wouldn't recognize on the street. Bud Cort has a strange eccentricity about him that seems a little to tailor made for him to be a creep. Martin requires a profound averageness. Also, I don't ever want to see a Bud Cort rape scene. That just might be unbearable.



minds his own damn business
So have you seen Season of the Witch?


I see this and Martin in tandem. Both are rather low-budget horror films that don't really try to be very scary, but rather say something deeper about why these archetypes appeal to and attract otherwise bored suburban nobodies from middle-American conservative television tropes.


At least Witch has an acceptable reissue that elevates the grimy VHS feel that we had to initially view it through.
__________________



minds his own damn business
And Bud Cort was obviously too rich at this point to entertain the offer. He was too busy holding out for more money to do Die Laughing!!!



So have you seen Season of the Witch?


I see this and Martin in tandem. Both are rather low-budget horror films that don't really try to be very scary, but rather say something deeper about why these archetypes appeal to and attract otherwise bored suburban nobodies from middle-American conservative television tropes.


At least Witch has an acceptable reissue that elevates the grimy VHS feel that we had to initially view it through.

No, but it's on my list. As is The Amusement Park, which I believe is getting a release soon







“Things only seem to be magic”

Great line. I think I have found the first line of my next poem. Thanks!



minds his own damn business
"Tom Savina"

What country club was he trying to get into?



Yay Boredoms


I own a grand total of one cd because I can never find any of their stuff

I generally don't listen to anything until I can find a copy of something on vinyl (I have obsessive tendencies). So, because of their status of being completely impossible to find, they've been a painful blindspot for me for thirty years. So much so, that even the two times I should have seen them live in concert, I didn't. Once, because we were late, the other time, because the doofus I was with refused to go our seats to see them since he only went to see Nirvana, and I had to wait with him in the lobby until the main act started.



But, because it's the pandemic, and I'm not doing anything, and I scrounged together enough money to buy a copy of Soul Discharge for 100 bucks online, the pieces are finally coming together. The Boredoms are my soul.



I generally don't listen to anything until I can find a copy of something on vinyl (I have obsessive tendencies). So, because of their status of being completely impossible to find, they've been a painful blindspot for me for thirty years. So much so, that even the two times I should have seen them live in concert, I didn't. Once, because we were late, the other time, because the doofus I was with refused to go our seats to see them since he only went to see Nirvana, and I had to wait with him in the lobby until the main act started.



But, because it's the pandemic, and I'm not doing anything, and I scrounged together enough money to buy a copy of Soul Discharge for 100 bucks online, the pieces are finally coming together. The Boredoms are my soul.
Wait, you got to see Nirvana live back in the day...? Holy ****, crumbs!