My Online Netflix Project: Great for the Unemployed -- ("Let the Right One In," "Dark Days")

I conducted an experiment yesterday. It wasn't really a conscious decision; rather, it was only after I drowned in a movie pool's deep-end that I had the idea, posthumously. In 10 1/2 hours, I watched four movies. I had an online Netflix journey.

I awoke around 7:30am and decided I'd sit down to some online Netflix viewing, since sleeping more wasn't an option. My choice? "Let the Right One In," that Swedish vampire movie everyone (that's relative) has been talking about for, well, an embarrassingly long time, but somehow I keep missing.

After a stark film about Swedish vampires at seven in the morning, I'd have to be able to sleep! Oh, delusion.

"Let the Right One In" (2008) opens with a shot of Oskar's (Kare Hedebrant) reflection as he stares bleakly into the Swedish snow that extends forever; he looks like a character out of "Village of the Damned," with unnatural-looking white hair, and matching skin. He's 12-years old and he spends his days snipping out articles of heinous murders and unspeakable deeds, daily assembling them into a little book -- a little Death Diary, say. Since he's the target of a bully and two lackeys at school, he also spends much time plotting sweet revenge. A little boy after my heart.

He's lonely. His mother isn't much of a presence, his father lives somewhere in another town, where he entertains questionable characters, may be gay and may be an alcoholic -- the scene explaining their relationship is very vague, and a little hard to understand. But neither parent is particularly attached, and so, Oskar is lonely.

Then Eli (Lina Leandersson) moves in next door. She doesn't go to school, but she dooooesss come out at night to stand barefoot in the snowy courtyard ("Aren't you cold?" "I've forgotten how.") and look eerie. They strike up a friendship after she schools Oskar on his Rubik's Cube, and soon they are trading Morse code communiques through the walls.

Eli lives with a strange, pock-marked man who's meant to help her, lighten the load a little for old Eli. There's a great early scene where he uses this contraption (almost as cool as Chigurh's in "No Country") that he carries around in a box with him to vaporize some acid substance, before administering it to the patient to make him pass out; for the bloodletting, he has his whole system down! Turns them upside down to let it all drain out. The acid is key in another great scene later involving the old man.

There's a lot of blood, a look at the inside of a slimy face, one shot of some crazy-looking private parts, a sweet and subtle love story between our two bloodthirsty stars -- all the while being very, very thoughtful. It is pretty fantastic.

You can watch "Let the Right One In" here online on Netflix.

"Squeal like a pig!"



So. the 12-year olds came and went, and while my eyelids were fighting the good fight to close, I sought out some tooth picks to foist them apart -- I juuuuuust wanted to see what Netflix suggested for me; She always seems to suggest such sweet things.

"Dark Days." Oooohhhh, that sounds up my alley, I thought, characteristically.

"Dark Days" (2000) is a documentary by Marc Singer about homeless people who've spent years building shacks, cooking food, becoming a community, doing crack -- all the good stuff we terrestrial creatures do, but they've been doing these things waaaay underground New York City, in an abandoned railroad tunnel.

The first two-thirds of the film (which was shot with a 16 mm camera, on black and white film)follows half a dozen or so of these characters through their daily lives. They've all constructed these huts using things found upstairs, or, "on the streets," where we wasteful, slovenly nuts -- who pay rent and bills and value, oh, the moon -- have chucked out perfectly good plywood, pans, clothes, slow cookers, TVs, you name it. And, not only can they, in turn, sell these things, they can use them! Somehow, they're able to tap into some electricity, feeding off Mother Manhattan. Take that ConEd!

Every day, they surface and start their day of dumpster diving, during which a few of the characters seem really excited by their daily treasure hunt. Upon arriving to one empty can, a man tosses what little's left inside and says with a sigh, "Oh, don't you worry, things'll pick up." But it's not said with desperation, or fear that he'll go starving, it's his love of the game that's hurting.

It all didn't seem half bad (except for the rats), and there were times that I glanced around my little hovel and thought, well, if things don't pick up -- there's always this. Until the Bad Guys came: Amtrak was kicking them out. Sigh.

In the end, the documentary was certainly interesting and entertaining. Singer does a good job of mixing the sadness of the situation with the jokes, and each character's backstory was uniquely shocking and upsetting. One was a former convict whose daughter was later raped, dismembered and burned; one was a 20-something who'd been abandoned by his parents as a young child; and, of course, a few were down-on-their-luck crackheads -- a nice assortment. Singer's dedication to the documentary was also noble, driven by helping the community financially and eventually securing them all housing vouchers. Swell dude.

You can watch "Dark Days" on Netflix here.

Here is a particularly sad scene, as one of the characters talks about losing her two boys in a fire.



After "Dark Days," I'd already decided what I needed to do -- I let Her suggest another to me, so smart Ms. Netflix, and then another. Where would She lead me? To great things, that's where.

But my fingers hurt, so I'll ramble on those, later.

Interviews and The Last House on the Left: `To Avoid Fainting, Keep Repeating: It's Only a Movie ... Only a Movie...'

I had a job interview this afternoon, during which a nice L.A. executive sat with me for over an hour, talking about the film and TV industry, chuckling, bonding over both being from the South, over our shared love of USA's "Burn Notice."

I prefaced that last admission with, "Oohhh, this is a really embarrassing one, but I've recently gotten into Burn Notice ... and I love it." He replied with, "Oh. My. God," rolled his eyeballs around, clucked his tongue and said, "LOVE Burn Notice." We talked about our take on the show's target demographic, the future of cable television.

Score, Grice!

He talked of how his TV tastes were that of a 15-year old girl's.

Oh, me too! "The Hills," "The City," "Real World" -- I still read MTV blogs and watch the Aftershows ... online! There I was, over the hill, and wearing penny loafers, yet he was impressed I was still so on top of the cheapest, sh!ttiest TV out there -- and savvy with the online supplements. I was impressing myself.

Then the conversation turned back to movies.

"So, what would you say is your favorite type of movie, what genre?" he asked, his smile still lingering at the sweet young lady that sat before him.

"Revenge films. I LOVE revenge films ... not necessarily just revenge films -- but really dark, disturbing movies tend to be my favorites," I blurted out, praying that what would come out of my mouth next wouldn't be the MOST twisted movies I like; but I could feel them lodged, unbudging in the forefront of my brain.

"Oh?" a little curious chuckle, and then "Ummm, ok ... well, so like what?"

I think I lost time at that moment, like Ed Norton's character in "Primal Fear."

I rattled off some really, really vile movies (my favorite awful/awesome films and summaries of their plots since he hadn't seen most) even described which brutal scenes were appropriate and which weren't. I tried to slow myself down, to respond to the confused -- scared? -- look on his face ... I tried to throw in some more mainstream ones, but I'd been on such a roll that my momentum was too high to stop!

As I rolled into each "Oh, you know what was another great one!?" I tried to step on the brakes, to no avail.

When we got up to shake hands at the end of the interview, I noticed a slight hesitation and a glance at my paws as he searched for the traces of blood.

Sigh. If I were to get the job, I think I'd have to take it -- if only out of respect for his bravery.

It all got me to thinking about "The Last House on the Left," which comes out on Friday. It's a remake of the 1972 film written and directed by Wes Craven (he produces the 2009 version). When Brother G was here in L.A., he mentioned that he didn't know how in the world they were going to top the brutality and obscenity of the original. Having watched both trailers, it looks like the 1972 one is hands down more crazy.

Some key plot points from the 1972 version's Wiki page:

"After the concert which ends late at night, Mari and Phyllis stroll the streets, seeking someone who might sell marijuana. They run into Junior, who leads them back to an apartment, where they are immediately trapped by the criminals. Phyllis, who resists, is punched in the stomach and raped. Meanwhile, Mari's unsuspecting parents prepare a surprise party for her...

In the woods, the girls are untied and subjected to torment and sadistic mistreatment by the gang. Phyllis is told by Krug that if she doesn't do whatever they tell her to that Mari will get cut. Krug then orders Phyllis to urinate in her own pants." (!!!!!)

See ya there on Friday!!!!! (When I'll be back to New York finally ... 3 weeks away, and I'm suh-oh homesick.)

1972 "The Last House on the Left"



2009 "The Last House on the Left"

Advice on Jobs, Many Movie References ... Of the Three Suggestions, I'd be Harold Crick

Lord, have Mercy.

I'd really meant to write this post a couple days ago ... when I got the old canning, I received so much advice. Mama G first brought up the idea of me teaching for a bit while I figured out my sh!t (quality rye, that spelling is a throwback to the dreary days at The Bl'erg) - I then thought of applying to Nursing School, since I have a lot of "patience" with people and have volunteered at many medical establishments since the ripe age of 12.

Papa Grice, with whom I share very few e-mail or other New Age oral transactions, emailed saying I should consider teaching as a "Stop-Gap" job while I figgered things out ... I'd be a "hit" in public school placements due to my "patience" and commiseration with public school folks -- perhaps it's my downfall! Both self-realized, and parentally-realized.

I took both suggestions lightly at first, then obviously delved into the Interwebs and tried to find out the logistics of such fare. I studied for hours how to become a teacher, a nurse, a tutor, a struggling writer. SOOOOOOO, this meant all these considerations drudged up some good movie scenes.

I was assured by my favorite Food Critic that being fired (we both decided that "laid off" is only something that happens when you're post-50, with an ample pot-belly, and trying to hold on to your job -- wiiiiiiishful thinking) is ultimately nothing to be ashamed of (lies), and that it was good that I was "liberated" (thank you, SueW, for that forever memorable naming of it).

So, I decided to look up my favorite movie scenes of the vocational replacements for the job I hated.

We'll start with teacher ... good ol' Ben Stein and the Bueller, Bueller, Bueller scene: I memorized Simone's lines when I was, Lord, 9? 8? I would rewind my VHS burnt-out tape and write down the lines. Which are:

Economics Teacher: Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?
Simone: Um, he's sick. My best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night. I guess it's pretty serious.
Economics Teacher: Thank you, Simone
Simone: No problem whatsoever.

Now we'll move to the Nurse position: I've ref'd it before, but Good god(s), Nurse Ratched is the best bad female character ... the last time I posted about her, Jack Nicholson was strangling her, so this is a step up?

And, we can do a favorite writer movie clip ... all things that are in my Unemployed checklist of future options. Wowsa. "Have you met anyone recently that might loathe the very core of you?" Goodness, so great.

Brother and Sister Grice Go to L.A., Birthday Week, "To Live and Die in L.A."

Day 6: Depression

Nooooo, not really - but there's something a bit saddening about approaching your birthday (Feb. 14 -- gifts, well-wishes, and handouts are currently being accepted) and your mid-late Twenties without the security of a job you hate. Where do I direct all that negative energy??

So far it's been confined to the sterile streets of Cambridge. This crippled lady has taken to jogging (!!) in this upper-middle class suburbia dreamland; I've cooked more food than I thought possible; I've drawn cartoons, reaching back into my 6th-grade bag of hobbies, which I'm going to hang on my wall with a little placard that reads: "What happens when you try to pass time due to Unemployment."

There's been a couple good developments, however.

Sister and Brother Grice are using Bl'erg severance to go wander around Los Angeles! We're doing it - the tickets have been bought, the e-mails have been sent, the tentative interviews with movie-industry jobs are in the works. It should be grand.

I've also begun planning my usual Morgan's Birthday Week festivities, which begin on Wednesday with another Grice dinner party. On the menu so far are Texas Hold-Ums chipotle hamburgers, chicken rice pots with avocado/sour cream dip, some variety of cookies -- and, as usual, a lot of Grice stress.

Oh, unemployment.

Of course, my Cantabrigian host has been a dear friend and has facilitated much movie-watching to get me through my trying time of sloth and gluttony. My favorite film was the well-timed (considering my very possible Westward move) "To Live and Die in L.A." Man, oh, man -- it features a young Willem Dafoe as a rotten counterfeiter, a cuh-razily young John Turturro, and William Petersen (looks like his only other big thing he's done is CSI, meh) as a Secret Service agent who's going after Dafoe. Wang Chung does the original score for the film ... I mean, you can't get more 80s than this flick. I knew I was going to love it when a money-carrier character goes into a train station, walks up to the Amtrak counter and receives a note that just says "Hello Asshole."

The only thing that comes close was another Friend movie suggestion, "Thief," which I watched a couple months ago. Same synthesizer-loaded music soundtrack, lots of crazy car chases and bad explosions ... It turns out William Petersen was in that oldie as well. Some of these 80s dudes really suited their decade.

The "To Live and Die in L.A." trailer, below.

God, in another life, please make me a cool Secret Service Agent ... or, rather, maybe a cool counterfeiter who is described as Armed and Extremely Dangerous. Don't let me be a laid off movie critic! A second-rate movie critic at that, SIGH!

Fired! (Or, Laid Off, as Mama G Is Making Me Say -- Semantics)

For all the naysayers out there, it happened. The above man was me, yesterday. I got the axe. I was lopped off and placed into the Land of Unemployment. Just two dear days after I was offered a DVD/movie column.

The treatment was quite classic. I walked in to the building, ready to hobble over to my little perch on the third floor. My daily dungeon. Boxes and hugs abounded, but I breathed deep and put one foot in front of another (with a little crippled swagger, sure).

"There's so much carnage, sorry for the weird face I made at you when you came in," said the first message I read in my work inbox.

The next message was a stately communique that read: "Employees: Watch this video before you do anything else."

Eerie in its coldness, eerier in its candor. The video was a little man who was hired some months ago -- round, balding and crude-looking -- telling us of the Restructuring. Some would be affected, but don't worry, They will be taken care of.

I was part of the They.

I wanted to post some great movie clip of someone walking the plank or getting their head chopped off; alas, I'm on the bus to Boston and they've blocked YouTube. JERKS!

Sooooooo, anyway, I cried some thankless tears as the HR lady told us of our fate; blubbered a bit, hugged my big coworker Ken, who made the days bearable, then shoved my hand in the face of my boss when he came over and said: "Really??! I DON'T want to talk to you right now." ME! It was a shock to the ol' system.

I even cut off the Bossman's Bosslady by saying, "You know what!?? You know WHAT!? I've been f*cking [no star in the actual convo] doing TWO jobs for this company. I should've spoken up sooner. I f*cking [see above] went to Harvard -- I don't know what I've been doing here."

Whoa, who knew this little Grice had the gall to say something like that -- or the arrogance.

C'est la vie.

PS: I think it's time for LA, though Brother Grice is now pushing for Austin. Hmmm, times, they're a-changing.

New Bloomberg DVD/Movie Column!! Errrrr, Maybe Not? Maybe Unemployment?

After a relaxing, awesome four-day long weekend and a pretty impromptu trip up to old Cambridge, I dragged my depressed bones out of bed yesterday as I realized that fun time was over and work was upon me. Oh, how I didn't foresee the roller-coaster that was coming.

I arrived to an email from the executive editor of Bloomberg Muse (arts) -- an intimidating lady -- asking me to come see her; she wanted to know if I'd be interested in doing a DVD column. (!!!) I'd still get to do my regular reviews whenever Main Reviewer throws them my way, but they had to get rid of their freelancers due to budget cutbacks, so she was asking me to fill the DVD Dude's role. ME! I'd get to choose to review big movies, obscure ones, re-releases -- all up to me.

I accepted (obvz) and I'm to be replacing Peter Rainer, who is a pretty prolific movie critic. I was so excited; shortly thereafter, the Main Movie Reviewer sent a message inviting me to lunches next week with head publicists at Warner's, the Int'l House of Publicity and Universal Pictures. My little Grice heart was a-thumping and I felt so ... so ... Successful!

I drafted my email to all of Rainer's contacts, as told, telling them I was the new columnist; oh, the responses were so enthusiastic: "New Blood! This is great - can't wait to work with you!!" [Me neither, faceless PR-person!!!] "Here's the pipeline, let me know which you might be interested in reviewing - or which you just want for yourself! Welcome to DVD-land! " [I'm to be receiving the new Friday the 13th 3-D Deluxe Edition tomorrow from this dear ... Happy early birthday, Grice! ] Etc.

So, imagine my dismay to come into work today to find the whole office consumed in panic.

The cuts, they've begun.

One of our big anchors was let go, show cancelled, today, as TVNewser picked up. Several others have fallen, and tomorrow seems to be the real day of reckoning. The rumors and compulsive talking about it have me fearing that I'll be axed before I get the chance to start my first regular column. I take back my prayers to the gods to be fired. I take them back!!

I suppose the only recourse is to think of something as brilliant as Ed Norton/Tyler Durden in Fight Club, as seen below.

There are a bunch of movies (Frost/Nixon ... boo) I planned to write on yesterday/today, but it's been too crazy. Maybe tomorrow -- from my couch, after they send us packing.

"I don't even have to come into the office, I can do this job from home." -- Msr. Norton




And, just for sh!ts, the Friday the 13th trailer from 1980. ("ch-ch-ch... ah-ah-ah")