The Girl’s Night With Neil

(This is a repost from http://kellyriad.blogspot.com/)

It took a while to fall asleep afterward, to stop the thoughts and cease the replaying of events in my mind.  The close of a memorable evening gave way to a following morning in which the night had not faded in any way.  Even if the Sharpie writing on my arm had, just a bit.

Friday night Sharif and I made the drive in 107 degree heat (Why the hell did we move to Northern California if it’s gonna keep acting like Texas?) across the Bay Bridge where it dropped thirty degrees in a matter of a tunnel.  We arrived one hour before the doors of the Geary Theater opened and two hours before the show started.  There was already a proper line dotting the sidewalk, but it wasn’t too bad and we weren’t too far down.  It’s difficult to be bored waiting while in San Francisco.  The city does not disappoint.  People of all varieties hurry or don’t along its up and down sidewalks.  We were entertained by a homeless man who told us cow jokes.  “What is a cow abortion called?  De-calf-inated.  What do you call a cow with no legs?  Ground Beef.  And in honor of the end of DOMA, what do you call a gay cow?  A Dairy Queen, Baby!” complete with rounded over the head snap and all.

People are pretty laid-back in California and even more so in San Francisco.  They are tolerant to a fault.  My Southern ass grew more annoyed as the hippy woman ahead of us in line allowed more and more folks to join her spot, to the point where I finally complained, “What the hell? Did she invite her whole g-damn Ashram?!”  But I was soon saved from having to kick organic ass as the line began to move.

We found seats about seven rows up.  The theater, though grand and gilded, is small and compact.  Neil Gaiman arrived on stage to raucous applause.  As he spoke, you could tell the people there were truly there for him.  They laughed a bit too much at his jokes, awed WAY too much when he spoke of his wife and wore a perma-smile for the entire night.  But as soon as Neil began to read, his voice an accented, hypnotic purr, everyone sort of disappeared and it was just you and Neil.  The reading wasn’t long, which was good because I’ve never much cared for being read to, no matter who does the reading. Then he answered questions and Sharif and I felt that was the best part–Neil sharing with us some of the behind the scenes experiences with the illustrations of SANDMAN and how he writes his stories.  He then read from a new children’s book he will be publishing in September and after a bow, the crowd’s applause, the stage was set up for the autographing.  And we waited.  And waited.

Going on ten hours of waiting and not eating, Sharif and I assessed that we weren’t really cut out for this waiting stuff.  But nothing would have made me leave.

Through hunger and migraine we pushed until the reward came when we were summoned to stand on stage in line.  People had brought armfuls of books, they brought presents, they brought homemade crafts all seeking Neil’s signature on them.  We had the book that brought us to the event, THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE and ourselves.  In my mind, I had been playing a scenario where I asked Neil to sign my tattoo of Delirium. I knew, from past experiences that if I played this out in my head, there was a good chance I wouldn’t make it happen in reality.  But as soon as I stepped up in front of Neil, said “Hello” and he looked up, smiling and saying “Hello” back, I knew I had to go for it.
“Do you think you could write ‘Tempus Frangit’ on my Delirium tattoo?”  Without looking up from signing my book, he said, “Sure.  Come around.”

It all got a little blurry after that.  I was still light-headed from the hunger and migraine.  I thought I would rest my arm on the table, but he had me squat beside him and rest it on his leg.  After saying, “I’m sorry, this is going to be awkward,” he repositioned himself and began writing.

While waiting–too nervous to say anything–I remembered Kevin texting me before the event asking to tell him what Neil smelled like.  So I leaned in just a bit and took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t look over his shoulder and ask, “Did you just smell me?”  He didn’t.  And he smelled of Sharpie.

I walked away still shaking and waited while Sharif got his autograph.  I had noticed during my wait that everyone walked away from Neil with a smile on his or her face.  To everyone, it was a personal, magical moment.  I can’t imagine it being that way with many authors–not the ones on Neil’s level–or many heroes.  Neil stayed until everyone received their moment, until the wee hours of the night.  He said it would be his last book-signing tour ever.  We’ll see.  He seemed to love being there as much as we loved having him there.  I imagine that love will nag at him, will draw him back.  And we’ll be waiting, clutching our comics and AMERICAN GODS and readying a spot on our tattoos.

Kiki-licious Thoughts on Zack Snyder’s TEAM AMERICA : MAN OF STEEL

Just left a viewing of the new Superman situation with Tito and John Stasny and a very zealous theater laugher. Here’s a few of my personal reactions:

1. I could watch Amy Adams fold laundry for two hours and thirty-three minutes.

2. Michael Shannon is the best thing this film has going. My fear is that Hollywood will wise-up to Shannon and he’ll get overplayed too soon. He’s capable of anything. But so was John Goodman, and no one ever complains about too much John Goodman.

3. There’s enough Christ imagery in Man of Steel to make Mel Gibson sweat for a Passion sequel.

4. Kevin Costner and Diane Lane have both aged very well. I’d be content to look like either of them in 20 years.

5. I love that Superman’s goal is to protect humanity, but, in doing so, he wipes Manhattan/Metropolis off the map, throwing the bad guy through the only buildings that still stand. Reminded me of the opening sequence to Team America: World Police when the puppets run the terrorists out of Paris by destroying Paris. It was a better joke when the puppets did it.

6. Also, the never ending fight scene between Superman and Zod was way better when fought between Keith David and Roddy Rowdy Piper.

7. Maybe it’s the educator in me that so despises the “you can be anything you want to be” bullsnot. All the talk of Superman choosing his own path, while still needing to choose a particular path, just made me roll my eyes. It’s sweet. And it sounds very positive and empowering. But it’s like telling the popcorn kernels in the concession stand that, if they just believe, they could be hot dogs or pickles or Sour Patch Kids, and then tossing them in the popper anyway. So let’s just stick to Superman being a swell, bulletproof guy and skip all the graduation speeches.

8. Zack Snyder – whose Sucker-Punch is a great 90 minute music video but an awful feature length film – enjoys visual-oomph. He seems to care very little for characters and story. With that said, Man of Steel is not bad. It would benefit from a little humor. The script sorely needed a fresh set of eyes. The narrative needed to slow down at times, speed up at times, and choose development over destruction. But if you realize in advance that Snyder makes his films according to the principles of the Smallville clergy, “Sometimes you gotta take a leap of faith. Then trust [your audience] later”, then you’ll know to set your expectations low enough to feel you’ve gotten your money’s worth.

9. Man of Steel gets 2.5 smashed IHOPs out of 5. Nothing chides the heart of America like a crushed breakfast nook.

Still Drinkin’ : July 2013

For the past few years, I’ve written monthly beer reviews in a column titled Still Drinkin’ for a local dirtbag rag. This month I’ve written my first Still Drinkin’ column since January. It’s still a beverage review piece, just with a non-alcoholic twist. I hope this inspires curiosity in your attempts to quench the summer heat.

*****

After deciding to lay down the bottle back in February, I needed something to replace all the beer once holding purchase in my crisper. Remembering the great discovery the wife and I made last summer while sucking down two-to-three Moscow Mules a day, I turned my attention first to ginger beer. *(Notice the Moscow Mule recipe at the end of this article.) That love of ginger beer piqued my interest in root beers. Over my past few sober months I’ve tried just about every craft made ginger beer and root beer sold in the BCS area. Places like The Brazos Natural Food Store, Village Foods, and World Market have provided a cornucopia of non-corn syrupy, pure cane sugar soda beverages. The result is a new passion for natural sodas, one I believe will surpass the end of my beer fast. Below is a brief selection of the best craft sodas I’ve discovered. Enjoy.

It might be helpful, first of all, to distinguish some sort of fundamental difference between ginger ALE and ginger BEER. From what I can tell through my palette’s research, ginger BEER features more ginger spice, less sugary soda sweetness. After discovering ginger BEER, I noticed my long loved Canada Dry Ginger Ale tasted like a 7-Up knock-off. Not true of the ginger BEER! And of all the ginger BEER we’ve tasted, Reed’s Extra Ginger Brew takes the crown. Smooth and buttery with a spiked ginger finish, Reed’s is not an overly sweet soda. And the ginger spice is a crisp thirst quencher. But for the spicier palette I highly recommend Maine’s Spicy Ginger Beer, Regatta Ginger Beer, and Cock-n-Bull Ginger Beer. I’m looking forward to trying these spicy brews in a Moscow Mule one day. And the added bonus of Ginger Beer consumption is the medicinal benefit of ginger. Good for the belly.

I’ve never been much of a root beer drinker until I discovered craft natural root beers. Like your corporate ginger ales, most big name root beers are high fructose corn syrup sticky sugar bombs. Not refreshing. Void of complex flavors. This was my impression of root beer until I tried my first bottle of Virgil’s Root Beer. Virgil’s, made by the same company that makes Reed’s Ginger Brews, hands down wins the root beer category. Virgil’s is stout stuff with a strong black licorice flavor profile, which is probably why it won me over. Blue Sky Creamy Root Beer is a bit less licorice-y and easy to palette. It also makes the best floats we’ve tried. Sprecher Root Beer (sold in bombers at World Market) is a thick beast that reminds me more of a Russian Imperial Stout than a soda pop. Be prepared to split the Sprecher with a friend. And you can’t go wrong with BJ’s craft root beer on tap. And with free refills, they make a strong case for a fine happy hour.

*Moscow Mule recipe: Traditionally served in either a Collins glass or a copper mug, squeeze ½ a lime over ice (drop in lime peel), add two ounces of preferred vodka, and four to six ounces of ginger BEER. Be careful with the Mule! The ginger is deceivingly refreshing and inviting of more Mule. You’ll be three Mules into the afternoon before the vodka shouts a howdy.

A Recommendation For The Whole Hand

Top Five Listens of 2013 Thus Far, Mono Edition

In pure bullet-point style, with commentary. NO PICTURES. We’re going minimalist, son.
**

The older I get, the less I find that I have time to pay attention to the breadth of music. My CD collection is a wasteland of genres, of various themes and phases that represent a period of time in my life when I was gobbling up everything I could get my hands on. These days, I honestly find it more difficult to care as much. Case in point: I’m going to the Austin City Limits festival in September, and I’m glad that I have over two months to get to know the bands, as there’s lots of stuff (which I’m sure will be good, and which I’m sure I should get to know). But my inclination is to just to wait around for the Wilco set and nod at the rest.

WITH THAT CAVEAT, my 5 recommended listens of 2013 thus far. It’s a hodge-podge of old and new. Okay–curmudgeon-mode disengaged.

1) Kings of Convenience–Declarations of Dependence

This one popped up on my Spotify radio one day, and I couldn’t stop listening to it. It’s beautiful, lush guitar duets by two Swedes that sound like they’re California beach bums. Best paired with early morning, coffee, and paper grading. Think of what would happen if Simon and Garfunkel had a little Xanax and sat on the beach instead of moping around the grey streets of NYC. This album’s actually from 2009, but is new to me. It’s my list.

2) Josh Ritter–The Beast at the Door

My wife turned me on to Josh Ritter a few years ago with his Animal Years album, which I can’t say enough about. His recent novel, Bright’s Passage is just okay, but don’t hold that against him, because even evil geniuses can’t hit home runs every time. His new offering was written in the wake of his recent divorce, which means for the first time, his songs are semi-autobiographical. They still carry his signature lyrical precision and imagery, but have a much more raw feel to them.

3) The National–Trouble Will Find Me

The National continues to be one of my low-fi favorites. Their sound has really hit a groove in the last two albums, mixing ethereal imagery with straightforward rhythm guitar and drum schemes. No fancy guitar solos, no break-out drum solos–just well-written moody lyrics hung over driving music. This latest one, as others have observed, has a more melancholy feel than their first albums, which had the sense of them about to take over the world. Best paired with a late-afternoon work day or an evening drive.

4) Frightened Rabbit–Pedestrian Verse

I don’t care what Kanye has done; I don’t care what the critics say: this is the album of the year. With every album, this Glasgow-based band adds depth and verve to their sound, which is somewhere between late 90s glam punk and late 90s Radiohead. Go listen to the words of “State Hospital”, and you’ll buy this in a second. Best paired with days ending in “y”.

5) Daft Punk–Random Access Memories

I picked up their soundtrack to Tron: Legacy on a whim, and couldn’t put it down. This is a much different kind of album–less pure electronica and more old-school soul, featuring cameos from Pharrell (which–where has this guy been???) and a host of other soul-bending artists. Pure fun, great early morning music when I want to overcome late morning slumps and remind myself that the day has much more awesome to be sifted out of it.

Kiki’s Most Played Records of 2013 (Thus Far)

Half way through the year, and it’s time to take inventory of what’s stood out musically. I asked Myles to join me in a Top Five SO FAR Records of 2013 list. I’ll be interested to see what, if any, of these records make my end of year list. Also, these records are listed in chronological order of acquisition, and they may not have even been released in 2013. If you have a problem with that, make your own list. Here’s what I’ve jammed the hardest this year.

Also, my friend Angela Craig will barf on her own shoes when she sees this.

1. Ke$ha – Warrior

It’s no secret that I shamelessly love pop music. And it’s also no secret that I do not believe in guilty pleasures. And I have zero intentions of apologizing or shirking my love of Ke$ha – and her entire canon – to make you feel cool. And just for the record: This. Record. Kicks. Ass. The wife surprised me with Ke$ha’s new release, Warrior, for Christmas, and it stayed in our car stereo until February. Super fun jams, party lyrics, a little bit o’ White-girl rap mixed with a whole lot of bar-romping sing-a-long, crotch-rocking attitude. Yeah, I realize there’s nothing I can say to talk you into giving Ke$ha a fair chance, and I’m sorry for you. As for me and my family, we rock the casbah out of any Ke$ha record.

2. Best Coast – The Only Place

Absolutely one of my new favorite bands! After falling in love with this record, I immediately bought everything Best Coast had released to the public. For such a short lived band, they’ve had an amazing sound evolution. I’m not even sure which of their records I recommend more highly – the new cleanly produced The Only Place or their previous raw-garage rock Crazy For You debut. Best Coast also has a couple of EPs on iTunes that are super fuzzy and killer. I especially love their cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Storms”, which showcases angles to Bethany’s vocals not found in their other work. Good stuff. Just good stuff. I actually wrote a review of Best Coast’s The Only Place on my teacher-y blog. I’m rather proud of this review. My buddy Pepe thought it was a Rolling Stone or Paste review, which inflated the mess out of my head. You can go here to relish that glory :

http://www.blackhightops.blogspot.com/2012/11/best-coasts-only-place.html

3. Duke Ellington and John Coltrane

The air wafting through my office door reeks of two things: stale coffee and big band music. I have both going nonstop all day long when I’m at work. Big band is my go to music when I want to write, when I need to work, when I do not need lyrics getting in the way of my own literary craft and intake. But this past year I decided to expand my territories and reach beyond big band into actual jazz. I did not know exactly where to start, except that I remember my friend Jesse owned Duke Ellington’s Four record when we lived together, and that record found regular rotation – right along with Tammy Wynette’s Run Woman Run – during our late night whiskey and backgammon sessions. So this past spring, when I wanted to study jazz, I started with Ellington. I’m still not sure how this duo between Ellington and Coltrane landed on my iTunes, but it’s divine. Absolutely magical. I’ve since found more from each artist that has stood the test of time and won new listeners – particularly Coltrane’s Blue Train and A Love Supreme records – but nothing so far has topped this duet recording as a flawlessly beautiful incantation of sheer artistry.

4. In This Moment – Blood

I discovered In This Moment while searching metal bands with female leads.  Their previous record, Star Crossed Wasteland, rocked a cowboy vibe with strong metalcore influences. On their newest record, Blood, to which I’m completely addicted, In This Moment dropped their sound several octaves, slowed down the metalcore strumming and drumming, and – in the process – conjured a darker, somewhat sinister industrial grit. I’m not sure I always love In This Moment’s music. It’s a bit crunchy for me, probably leaning more towards some hip new crunchcore metal than good old fashion metal. But for all their musical failings, Maria Brink’s vocals redeem each track ten fold and ten fold. Brink is one of the greatest metal vocalists I’ve ever heard, nailing every level of her metal vocals – shrill screams, gross throaty growls, and pristinely emotive cleans – telling her story as much through her vocals as her lyrics. I’d sell a pinky toe to see Maria Brink perform on a tiny stage in a tiny room. She’s a beast. Like a boss.

5. Lana Del Rey – Paradise

Alright. Here it is. The pinnacle of my 2013 auditory experience. Of everything else I’ve musically discovered or rediscovered or explored this year, nothing – absolutely nothing – has shaken me like Lana Del Rey’s Born To Die double-CD. Yes, yes, yes: I remember LDR’s botch SNL performance. It was so devastating I nearly fell into a life of narcotics and addiction-supportive prostitution just watching her bomb. And I don’t know what happened that night. Surely, such nights happen to more performers – LDR just happened to land her fall on national television. But I don’t hold it against her, especially after I listened to this double-album set twice through on a solo drive across the bottom of Arkansas into the top of Texas earlier this summer. I’ve had her spinning on loop ever since. I love her husky, bottom droned voice. I love her Kennedy-esque lyrical persona. I love her videos, all grainy and dizzily grappling at the last raw strands of youth and beauty. And I love her sense of humor, labeling her own musical style “Hollywood sadcore”. I’ve joked that if I ever finish this book, I’ll have to mention Lana Del Rey in the acknowledgements. Her voice has painted several scenes and drawn the interior of a major character. Here’s to redemption from a public fall.

PITCH PERFECT Threepeat or Where I Try To Fuse “Acca” With Too Many Words

Three times in two days.  THREE TIMES! 

I watched PITCH PERFECT three times this weekend.  I feel like Mr. Rooney (NIIIINE TIIIMES!)  Anyway, the triple-view was necessary because the first watch, I missed the beginning (seven whole minutes, but still) and the second watch, I caught only the end so the third was a requirement, a commitment, really, to watching the movie in its entirety.   Again.  And with every watch, I still laughed at the same bits just as hard as the first and second times (Acca-scuse me?)  So,…why?

Why did a movie that essentially rode the coattails of GLEE while simultaneously bagging on GLEE (see Riff-off category “Songs Glee Ruined”) entertain me so wholeheartedly, so many times?  Because it’s entertaining.  Anna Kendrick can act, even when she’s doing her best Kristen Stewart hardcore hipster chick shtick.  And she can sing!  And play with cups!  The funny parts were funny and the musical parts were fun and Elizabeth Banks with John Michael Higgins (“The Sockapellas, everyone – proving that for some, it does not get better” – Acca-awesome) made me long for a BEST OF SHOW 2 starring the both of them.

I also need background noise while I write (Stephen King would be so disappointed in me) and I was trying to knock out this book four, so something that I was now painfully, quickly familiar with offered the white noise without too much distraction.

So the conclusion after my weekend-long binge of mouth instrument entertainment?  I want more Anna Kendrick.  And Anna Camp.  And Brittany Snow.  And Rebel Wilson, though I think we’ll get more of her and Anna 1 without any further requests; both shined bright in this flick.  So yeah, a year-late review of a movie already lauded.  Acca-deal with it.

I kinda feel like I should add some “It’s great to be back!” line here.  It is, I’m excited about this, I missed this, but this is about as girly as I’ll get about it.

Sofia Coppola, Emma Watson, And A (Gratuitous) Comparison Between THE BLING RING And SPRING BREAKERS

A few scattered thoughts in response to seeing The Bling Ring:

– I like the way Sofia Coppola uses her films to follow interesting young women in extreme circumstances: a group of desperately overly -sheltered sisters in The Virgin Suicides; a lonely American bride in Japan hoping for connection in Lost In Translation; a young princess thrust into unending wealth and worship in Marie Antoinette; a daughter grappling for her famed obsessed father in Somewhere. And now, in The Bling Ring, Coppola focuses on celebrity and fashion kowtowing young women so driven by immediacy they steal artifacts of the life they desire rather than build a life of their own. As a girl raised in an extreme life herself – making her film debut as the christened baby in The Godfather – Coppola’s films debunk the notion that money and fame, even love, complete a person. Sadly, all of Coppola’s films end with deferred hopes and sick hearts. Sure, her characters progress from trusting the empty thing/person they hoped would satisfy, but they never find their satisfaction. For once, I’d like to see Coppola’s heroine succeed, simply that I might know what solace – the lost source of gaping ache – looks like to Sofia Coppola.

– Emma Watson will be one of our next great Hollywood actresses. She kills in The Bling Ring and in This Is The End. She can play it straight and comedically. Mark my words: Watson will be a legend.

– Nancy Jo Sales’ Vanity Fair article that got this whole thing started, “The Suspects Wore Louboutins”, is worth the read. Perhaps we expect films to feel more foreign than journalism, such that the article feels far more embellished than the film. You’d like to think, and it would be easy to believe, Sofia Coppola made-up some of those ridiculous lines Emma Watson’s character says – “God didn’t give me these talents and looks to just sit around being a model or being famous. I want to lead a huge organization. I want to lead a country, for all I know.” – but then you read them printed in VF with journalistic integrity. You just can’t make-up shit that golden with a straight face!

– I hate comparing films, but it’s hard not to think of Spring Breakers while watching The Bling Ring as both films feature dissatisfied young people seeking solace, even identity, in new (false) realities. And it’s hard not to notice the amazing amount of talent and heart that Sofia Coppola shines over Spring Breakers’ writer and director, Harmony Korine. Coppola’s film uses the common dialogues of news media and social media to invite audiences into the narrative, reminding viewers they share the same world and communication patterns with these characters. By creating a basic commonality, Coppola more easily leads her audience to rethink their own wayward exaltation of self and celebrity. Coppola’s film also explores the shared emotional and spiritual emptiness of its characters, even its audience, as potential paths to both identity crisis and identity theft. It’s difficult to walk out of Coppola’s film certain of your own innocence once you recognize your own lusts excited by the colors and sensations on the screen. Korine’s film, on the other hand, drops viewers into a world stripped straight from Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights. Everything is so overly sexed, overly drugged, overly hyped, overly violent, that – much like A Clockwork Orange or Trainspotting – the sins explored on the screen feel far too grotesque to resonate with the average viewer. Also, when Korine fails to demonize the very debauchery that ruins his characters, one is left unsure whether to embrace such excess as a romantic plea of anarchy or to flee it as a great evil. Such unawareness – or perhaps blatant disregard – for the viewer keeps Korine’s audience on the outside of a story spiraling out of control. Offering no footing in his story, Korine reduced Spring Breakers to pornography when it could have been so much more.

– The Bling Ring is not a perfect film. For one, it’s slow, even by Sofia Coppola standards. And I could have used less coke-snorting parties and more consequence, but that’s because I’m an old fart and I believe far more in karma than Emma Watson’s karma-preaching character. Still, The Bling Ring features a perfect soundtrack, solid performances, naughty expose under-the-covers imagery of Paris Hilton’s inner sanctums, and an overall beat-boppy affectation that sticks to the ribs long after leaving the theater.

The Bling Ring gets 4 Louboutin heel clicks from the courtroom out of 5. 

So, Why the Return?

“But Myles–you’ve got like four books you’re working on! Don’t you have enough writing to do?”

It’s true, faithful reader! It’s ALL TRUE! I have more to write that I have time to write! In fact, I’m looooooooosing my mind with all the writing!!!!!!

But here’s the other truth. You get better at writing by writing. You get better at writing by reading other people’s writing, by putting words down in coherent orders and arrangements, such that hopefully even the chaff becomes worth keeping. This is where archives and collected letters come from, I think–after putting words down long enough, even the run-off pages and scribbles becomes worthwhile.

So–you get better by writing. All of the folks here, in one way or another, are engaged in writing, words, and writing words. All of us are people who love writing, literacy, the way that words come together and break apart. But here’s the other truth: none of us get the chance–in our normal veins of writing–to talk about the things which roll around in our group text messages or that haunt our day jobs.

I recently got the opportunity to write an essay about theology and music, about how Pearl Jam’s Ten is more than a seminal grunge album; it’s a meditation on how to get out of the vicious cycle of trauma. But this is the rare essay for me; somewhere in the back of my mind, I have a short book on the theology of Bruce Springsteen and a long meditation on dystopia and Tom Waits. But these, sadly, get left in the mind’s attic for the most part. Though, make no mistake–the Springsteen book will happen.

So, this site then. This is where the attic gets emptied, and the wild horses get trotted out. We’ll root around in film, to be sure, but here’s where things get wild: we’ll delve into film, books, music, social media, all the things which wait patiently for us during the day.

This site is, in sum, what all of us need to do in order to open up the attic to the light of day. Welcome back.

Why WORLD WAR Z Doesn’t Matter. And Why That’s So Great.

Anybody that’s ever spent any time with the Four Hands knows that we have a thing for zombies. Old widows love cats, we prefer the undead. And on a good day, we love a good metaphor. That’s one of the reasons we’re such big fans of Romero’s seminal DAWN OF THE DEAD, which is chocked full of meaning. And brain eating zombies. But mostly meaning.

WORLD WAR Z, on the other hand, has no such meaning. There’s not a big metaphor about commercialism or the prevalence of technology here. There’s no moral. And that, dear readers, may be the thing I liked best about it.

I had a great talk with my 14 year old this weekend. He’s of that magical age where his taste is better than yours, and if you don’t believe me, just ask him. He understands film at a level you can only dream about. And those movies he liked a few years ago? Well, he just wasn’t as mature back then. He clearly sees that they weren’t worth it. Anyway, his old man took him to see WWZ and afterward, we had a talk about how some movies (let’s not use “films” here) are to be taken at face value. There’s nothing beyond the two hours of intense zombie action. And that’s ok. A great popcorn movie is still a great movie. Now, the 14 year old disagreed with me. Because he’s 14. I would have said the same thing, probably, twenty years ago.

All that to say that WWZ was totally, completely, rad. You know how movie reviews always say things like, “it’s an edge-of-your-seat thriller!”? Well, I caught myself literally on the edge of my seat. The movie is just like one of the zombies in it. It’s full-tilt, smash your face into the wall, nonstop action. And I liked every minute.

WWZ zombies aren’t your George Romero types. They don’t lumber. They run. Hard. And they don’t stop… just like the movie.

One other thing I loved about WWZ was that it was PG-13. Usually, I’m a fan of the blood and guts and sinews and brains and whatever. But it was actually kind of refreshing that all of that was absent. That zombies looked cool, but there was not gratuitous munching of flesh. And that worked for me.

Also, Brad Pitt is awesome. And Mirielle Enos, so great in “The Killing,” was great in this, although we don’t get enough of her. There’s not really anyone else in this for any length of time – don’t get too attached to any characters, fyi. It’s Pitt’s movie.

WORLD WAR Z gets nine airplane grenades out of ten. I want it on Blu-Ray. And I want some more popcorn. Welcome back, Hands.