It’s here. My third collection of beats, flips, and reimaginings of music we all love. Well, I love it, and I know you will too.
No comments on I. Am. Beat Boy.
Author: Jeff Love
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Back in the olden days of making mixtapes on an analog 4-track, a Pioneer CDJ-1000 rented from an audio store for the weekend, and a handful of CD-Rs, I set about making a mixtape of all love and love-related songs. I wanted something extra to add to it, so I searched around the internet for some good vocal samples of people saying sweet things to one another.
Brainstormed a bit then I thought, hey, what if I plugged the TV into the 4-track, got a blank 120-minute cassette tape, turned on daytime television and recorded episodes of soap operas. They say lovey-dovey things on them soaps, don’t they?
Don’t remember how I managed to program it to record; my TASCAM 4-track could do a lot of things, but I always had to be there to make it do stuff. But over the course of about a week, I’d amassed four 120-minute tapes full of audio from shows like The Young and the Restless, The Bold and the Beautiful, The Sweaty and the Smelly, et. al. At the time, I didn’t watch any of these shows, so I didn’t know who was saying what to whom, or why they were saying it.
But I listened to it all, and pulled a few excerpts from shows of what I thought were sweet moments, or other kinds of stuff that might flow good on a love songs mixtape. Also, an audio clip from one of my favorite cartoons of all time made it onto the mix as well (if you can find it and identify it, you rock as a human).
Looking back on that mix over a decade later, I can’t help but admire the diligence that guy had. Whether or not it was worth it, is in the ear of the beholder.
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What we have here is We Have A Ghost, the newest supernatural dramedy to come down the Netflix pike. The trailers will paint this as a rollicking comedy with a kid and his ghost buddy taking both the internet and real world by storm. And part of it is. But too much of the movie time (over two hours. Hollywood, stop doing this. Please.) is spent on developing characters that we don’t care about, plot holes and montages that raise more questions than they answer, and more of that “fake woke” nonsense that’s supposed to pass for humor, I think?
Before the title card even shows up, we see a family getting spooked by something, leaving the house and apparently never coming back. Who are they? Where did they go? We’ll never know. I think it was supposed to be some throwaway gag about how people should get the hell outta dodge at the first sign of paranormal activity. Ten years later, the house is back on the market and is bought by a family moving to town for a “fresh start.” From where? For what reason? We’ll never know.
We’re soon introduced to angsty Gen Z’er Kevin, a kid who loves listening to Classic Rock and noodling on his guitar. It’s clear from the outset that he and his father Frank don’t get along. From what few bread crumbs the movie gives us, we learn that Frank is the type of guy who never passes up an op to make some quick money, and for whatever reason, Frank’s eyeballs turn into green dollar signs when he finds out they have a ghost.
Frank makes a huge deal about this being the first real-live/dead ghost in the history of ever. Okay. In this world, are ghosts and the dozens upon dozens of ghost-hunting shows not a part of everyday life? They show us that the movie Ghost exists, but what about Ghostbusters? Casper? Dickens’ A Christmas Carol? Scooby-Doo, even? It’s also established that fake psychics and mediums are a thing in this world (Jennifer Coolidge earns her paycheck with a by-the-numbers performance that’s heavy on the Theresa Caputo with a Bert Lahr finish.), so it’s unclear why this particular “ghost” captures everybody’s attention. Okay, maybe not everybody; there’s a throng of about a hundred people outside the house at any given time. Maybe that was all the extras they could afford after paying Jennifer Coolidge.
Making a face like this don’t come cheap, boyo. Anyway, “Ernest” the ghost is a sensation with everyone. In a going viral montage, many current social media tropes are made fun of (TikTok and YouTube get called out by name) with people running into walls like Ernest runs through them. It’s difficult to tell if it’s satire or they want us to believe that people are this stupid; it could go either way. As for the ghost in question? he’s a middle-aged, average build guy whose combover fights him for attention in every scene. But women can’t stop professing their adoration for this Barney Rubble/Archie Bunker hybrid. One YouTube comment reads, “Is it me, or is Ernest super-hot?”
This guy. Being a ghost and all, the things that Ernest can and can’t do change invariably whenever the plot calls for it. For instance, Ernest can’t speak; he can only moan ghostily. Doesn’t it take vocal cords to moan? Just moan while forming your lips into words. If he can write on a foggy window with his finger, give him a iPad or something to write stuff down. Humans can’t touch him unless they’re related to him? I think that’s why his alive daughter is able to touch and embrace her dead daddy? He can float, turn invisible and walk through stuff as most ghosts do, but he still needs to sit in a car to get across town?
There’s a mystery surrounding Ernest’s demise that Ernest can’t help solve, because he can’t remember anything, until certain plot contrivances pop up to jog his memory. Kevin enlists the help of his ultra-annoying classmate and neighbor Joy, who’s something of a walking, talking Macguffin who can get Kevin all the info he wants with just a few keystrokes. Because all trombonists are computer geniuses, natch. She takes up precious time throughout the movie to spout some rhetoric about race and gender norms and let me tell ya, the Velma vibes are coming through too strong for my liking. We’re introduced to her in the boys’ bathroom painting over some racist graffiti. (Um, why not alert the faculty and have them analyze everyone’s handwriting to find the culprit? Here, there’s another movie idea for you; no charge.) She needs Kevin to guard the door while she covers up the graffiti, then later in the film she barges into the boys’ room and shames a peeing guy into leaving. She talks about wanting to be a ghost herself; fine by me. She doesn’t die, though, and the budding romance between her and Kevin is another twenty minutes or so that should have been trimmed.
Other characters include Kevin’s mom Melanie who’s just kinda there, and Kevin’s older brother Fulton, who I think is in college on some kind of scholarship (because the family’s broke. Fulton’s got a sweet-ass Dodge Charger, Frank wears $900 Gucci polo shirts; everybody’s adorned with gold in their ears and around their necks. But they’re too broke to afford a lawyer.), who simply shrugs when Kevin takes his car and smashes it up while running from the CIA (?!?).
Yep, that’s a thing that happens in this movie too. Just when you’re ready for this turkey to pull into the station, a plot erupts about the CIA raiding the haunted house and capturing Ernest. To do what? Ernest was just chillin’ in an abandoned house, not remembering anything, then started chillin’ with Kevin after they moved in. Why should anyone outside of the house give a crap? And just when we’ve had enough of the wacky ghost shenanigans and are ready for things to wrap up, the film grinds to another halt so that Frank can tell Kevin and us that Kevin is the greatest teenager who has ever, or will ever exist.
More filler includes, but is not limited to a murder mystery where we find out Ernest isn’t even Ernest’s real name; An E.T./Ghostbusters subplot that lands Ernest in some gov’t facility where he connects with the lady who put him in there, so she can help break him out; To say this movie is all over the place is an understatment. Tonal shifts are abrupt enough to inflict whiplash.
Among a network that’s replete with time-waster movies, is We Have A 👻 a worthwhile time-waster? Nah, son; everything in this movie has been done better in most of the movies this one borrows from. One and a half out of five stars.
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Spoiler alert: it’s not.
Gen Xers like myself are sick and tired of the later generations coming along and mining our classics to turn them into vulgar, edgy, (wannabe) irreverent new shows. I mean, did we need an updated version of Archie in Riverdale with murders, promiscuity and angst? The Harley Quinn from the old 90s Batman show and the recent Justice League Action was quirky and fun, but what if she swore a lot and we added copious amounts of blood, vomit and viscera? Ish. There is no shortage of TV and movies featuring people being horrible to each other; why ya gotta turn classic, mostly-wholesome Comics Code-approved characters into ruffians?
And now they are starting in on the supporting characters. Wednesday Addams was cute, but does she need her own series? And was anyone curious about the origin of Bruce Wayne’s butler, Alfred Pennyworth? And just who among us was sitting around and thinking, “y’know, Scooby Doo is great and all, but why hasn’t anyone delved deeper into what Velma’s all about?
Scoob! came out in 2020 and, while it wasn’t a cinematic masterpiece it was an okay way to spend an hour and a half with the Scooby gang with updated animation and humor. Granted, for every joke that landed there were about five that didn’t, but at least it made an honest attempt to stay true to the heritage of the Scooby-Doo brand.
I mean, we were fine with Velma’s role in the Scoobyverse. Through the umpteen different variations of Scooby (Scrappy, hanging out with Don Knotts and the Harlem Globetrotters, WWE Wrestlers, Jimmy Hoffa, et al.) we were perfectly okay with what we knew about Velma: She’s smart, possibly bisexual, can’t see a thing without her glasses, gave us the word “jinkies,” etc. This version of Velma is pretty much overblown fanfiction and a self-insert for the series creator and voice of Velma, Mindy Kaling.
We already had a Mindy voicing Velma, and we liked her.
My previous experience with Mindy Kaling was when she played the annoying chick on The Office who wasn’t Angela Kinsey or Kate Flannery, then she had some show on FOX for about five minutes. Apparently, she wrote or co-wrote a bunch of Office episodes and having that on her resumé must have been enough for WB to greenlight this series.
And if you thought the She-Hulk TV show hated men, you were right. But this show also hates them. Every male character is either a hapless loser, like Velma’s dad, a groveling simp, like Norville, or a narcissistic manchild, like Fred. And for reasons probably unknown to everyone (including the show’s creators), Norville is madly in love with Velma. Daphne (Who’s Asian-American. And adopted. And a drug dealer) blackmails Velma, who then goes to Norville for the money, and he decides the best way to get quick dough is to sell one of his kidneys. Y’know, as one does.
As for the race/gender swapping? Listen, I’ve been a Black guy basically all my life, and of course, I can’t speak for all people of color, but I, nor anybody I considered childhood friends, never gave half a crap that Fred, Velma, Daphne and Shaggy were White kids; we watched the hell out of Scooby Doo Where Are You? because it was fun and funny. Nick Fury is played by a Black actor? Okay. Does he do a good job portraying the character? Yep. Let’s move on. Barry Allen’s wife in the Flash comics was White, but on the TV show she’s Black . Okay. Is her race a main issue in the show? No, she just happens to be Black; maybe the actor had a good audition and the showrunners didn’t give a crap about her race, because the character she plays is fictional. Okay. Is the show any good? Yes. Okay, let’s move on. Velma, like her show’s creator and voice artist, is Indian-American now. Okay? Is her race a main issue in the show? Yes, but pretty much only to her. Okay. Is the show any good? No.
If you want to create a nonwhite character who’s self-righteous, fake woke and throroughly unlikeable, then do it; go off and make your mediocre cartoon with its half-hearted attempt at being edgy that people will forget about soon enough. You can even name her “Amlev” if you want. Leave our classics alone. Velma deserved better than this. Zero out of five stars.
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…for all your insurance needs.
Specifically, if you need insurance that you’ll laugh and/or cry while reading my stories. -
A is a regular person.
B doesn’t know the number 3 exists.
A: Cool! I’ll come pick you up at 3 o’clock and we’ll head to the game.
B: You’ll pick me up at what o’clock?
A: 3.
B: I don’t know what you’re saying.
A: (sighs) Fine. Forget it. I’ll pick you up at 2:30.
B: Two-whatty?
A: Two thir–hang on, are you messing with me?
B: Not at all.
A: Okay. How about tomorrow, 2:23, post meridian? Is that specific enough for you?
B: That works. I’ll see you tomorrow at 2:20. Looking forward to it.
A: Fine. You’ll be waiting an extra three minutes, but I guess that’s doable. (ponders) Hey, I got a math question for you.
B: Okay. I love math. What is it?
A: What’s 8 times 3?
B: 8 times what?
A: How about this: What’s 8 plus 8 plus 8?
B: 24. Give me something harder next time.
A: (grinning evilly) What’s 3 times 3?
B: Sorry, I only know how to do math with English numbers.
A: How ’bout this: Pretend that I’m a cop and I just pulled you over for suspected drunk driving.
B: But I don’t drink.
A: That’s why I specified suspected drunk driving. Anyway, the cop doesn’t know that you don’t drink, so they ask you to perform a field sobriety test.
B: Which I will easily pass, because I don’t–
A: Drink! We know. (wipes face with hands) Okay. Your first field sobriety test–which you will pass–is to stand on one foot, and count to ten.
B: That sounds simple for a completely sober person to pull off.
A: Couldn’t agree more. So, um…do it now.
B: Now? But–
A: I know you’re not in a car, and I know that you don’t drink. Just. Do. It.
B: Okay. (raises right foot) 1,2,4,4,5,6,7,8–
A: Hang on!
B: But I didn’t get to 10!
A: (collapses in a heap on the ground) …that’s because you passed. You’re free to go.
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So, we’re traveling west, making stops along the way. One of those stops was in North Platte, Nebraska. Cute little town. Anyway, we got up and hit the road at exactly 9:00 am, which was kind of early for us.
We got on the Interstate and drove for about 75 miles before we needed to stop for gas and bathroom. As we pulled into the lot of a gas station, I looked at the clock and it said 9:06 am.
I was like:
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Here we go. M. Night Shyamalan’s at it again. This time, it’s not the trees that are killing people (or making people kill themselves to be more specific, as trees haven’t evolved hands to hold knives or guns with), or an alien threat, or any of the other baddies in his previous films. It’s a deadly beach. A beach that makes you…Old.
I mean, I can relate. Every time I go to the beach, I feel like I’m gonna be there till I die. There’s sand, sun and/or wind, sand, rowdy kids, sand, gulls trying to steal your lunch, sand, gross seaweed, sand, jagged shells digging into your feet on your way into the salty stinky sea, and sand. I mean, that stuff gets everywhere. Two kinds of people go to the beach: those who know it sucks, and those who pretend it doesn’t suck for the sake of pleasing no one.
In addition to the regular beach reasons, the beach in Old sucks because it makes you age at a ridiculously rapid rate. Like one hour equals two years of your life. Why? Well, the characters will spend a lot of time speculating as to why this is happening but they don’t really know. No one does. What they do know, especially after a couple of them die trying, is that there’s no way off this beach.
The aging is more visible in the kids, who are ages 5,6, and 11 (as far as we know), because their bodies undergo more drastic visual changes, y’know, with puberty and adolescence and all. They try to address the fact that growing kids need tons of food (they’re supplied with a huge basket of what appears to be astronaut food? Freeze-dried pasta just add water? Whatever. They’d need more than one basket of food to survive, but then surviving was never the endgame for the folks running this “resort.”), but apparently the adults don’t need to eat at all even though they are aging at the same rate. An hour without food is equivalent to two years without food? That’s a hell of a hunger strike, but nobody withers away and drops dead. Why? Even the characters with all their clunky dialogue can’t figure that one out.
The script? Hoo boy. It comes across like the parts of the screenplay that you’re not supposed to read out loud. “We are on the beach.” “The dead dog was just alive a minute ago.” “I’m going to ask everyone in sight what their names and occupations are.” You’ve heard of “show, don’t tell?” Well, M. introduces us to “show them telling.” The characters spend so much time trying to dumb down this already dumb movie. For every “why” that the screenwriter (Shyamalan, of course) answers, five more questions take its place. After a while you simply don’t care anymore why all this sh*t is happening, you just want everyone to be more interesting. And less face-punchable.
I knew M. was a Flintstones fan. Now, the idea that there’s an area on planet Earth that ages people two years for every hour of real time, is a dope idea. It’s a great concept that a writer and director can run with and have a ghoulishly fun time. That writer and director need to be competent though, especially if they are the same person. There are scenes that, if there were better actors saying better lines, could have been downright chilling. Some of the death scenes could have been gruesome (even for a PG-13 money grab) and horrifying, if they weren’t surrounded by so much overripe cinematic cheese.
I’m a writer myself. I know all too well the whimsy a writer feels when they get that kernel of an idea: “Hey, what if there was a place that made you old?” Yeah, that’s interesting, but it’s not a story until that kernel pops. And it ain’t gonna pop unless the plot oil and script heat are sufficient and now I want popcorn. But hang on, it’s not even an original idea of Shyamalan’s; he got the story from a French graphic novel titled Sandcastle. The novel has a pretty dismal ending, while Old goes for the Hollywood ending. Several endings, actually. There are no guns with perfect aim and unlimited ammo, but there are matches that stay lit and people who can hold their breath underwater longer than David Blaine.
This movie is just a long commercial for EVERLIGHTᵀᴹ brand matches. Pretty much the only thing they nailed with this movie was the casting of the two main kids. As they age they are, of course, played by different actors, and even if it was dumb luck, it works brilliantly.
Nothing else works, though.
Is Old so bad it’s good? Both my wife and I had fun watching it and picking it apart while laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all (“Go in groups of two in case you black out.” Why, so you can black out together?). It’s on HBO Max, so if you have that, dial it up when you have nothing better to do. One and a half out of five stars.
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I’d been reading comics earlier, but before I picked up issue #23 of The New Teen Titans at a comic store in Balitmore, Maryland, I’d never paid attention to who wrote and drew them.
The cover in the display pic is issue #485 of Adventure Comics. At the time, it was where you could find stories about Dial “H” for Hero, a unique series where two teenagers use a special dial to change into superheroes. And the superheroes were all created by comics fans and readers. Chris King and Vicki Grant would change into a different (allegedly) fan-created character every time and as far as I know, they’re never the same hero twice.
I guess the reason I bring this up is because hell–look at how many characters are on this cover. It’s got a gaggle of supervillains and monsters ganging up on two superheroes. But here’s the thing: All of these completely made-up, non-canon characters only appeared in this one story and were never seen again. If there was ever a situation where an artist could’ve taken it easy drawing a cover, this’d be it. But that’s the thing of the thing: George didn’t phone in shit. He put in all this effort and detail into making a cover for the very definition of “one-shot” characters. Because the man simply loved what he did. And so the hell did we.
Titans wasn’t even the first thing he’d ever worked on. His career as a comics artist began when I was still in preschool. He did so much work for Marvel Comics on The Avengers and random covers for other random Marvel comics before he came over to DC and put his indelible mark on Justice League, the aforementioned random covers, and what was arguably the greatest comics miniseries ever–Crisis On Infinite Earths.
Everybody gives it up for Mr. George Pérez, and well they should. The man has given the art world so much, and has been entertaining and astonishing comic book geeks like myself, as well as non-geeks like yourself, for the better part of 40+ years. Though he worked in printed media almost exclusively, his influence reaches far beyond your local comics shop. The reimagining of Wonder Woman? That was George. TV shows like HBO’s Titans, CW’s The Flash, and cartoons like Teen Titans GO! and other straight-to-video DC movies? All influenced by characters and stories Mr. Pérez created or recreated.
As the 1980s began, Mr. Pérez teamed with legendary writer Marv Wolfman to bring us a comic series that was unlike anything ever experienced before in the Silver Age of comics. Characters in The New Teen Titans had all the angst, pathos and tribulations of everyday schlubs like ourselves. More, actually. George not only treated us to some of the most visually spectacular action scenes ever seen, but he also took the time to infuse the characters’ facial expressions with all the feels that writer Wolfman ran through them. You could tell when they were scared, surprised, shocked, drunk, or seconds away from death, and it made you feel some kinda way, too.
I could fill this blog with some of my favorite images of George’s work, but there simply isn’t enough room for them all. Go ahead: do a search for George Pérez on Pinterest and you’ll find thousands of drawings. Prolific doesn’t even begin to describe the volume of work this man put in.
George was diagnosed with Stage 3 pancreatic cancer about a year ago, and made the decision to stop doing the convention circuit and opted for hospice at home with his family. He left this earth on May 6, 2022. He will live on in the pages of some of the best comics, storylines of some of the coolest TV shows, and in the imaginations of millions.
Millions.
Thank you, Mr. Pérez.
1954-2022.
