Complete the Story: 15 of 198

She believed in me in a way no one else ever has and no one else ever will, and I betrayed her. The worst part is she doesn't know. She still thinks that I chose her over the other girls.  Years ago I would have. I know the 20 year old me would've chosen Claire over the other girls.  I'm not so sure if it's because I was a better person then than I am now or if it's because then I knew I had more time.  That I had more chances.  I'm not 20 anymore. With Brittany, Dana, Elise & Faith all I have to do is walk in Monday morning, sign the contract and I'm on my way.  With Claire it continues to be a gamble and at 29, I can't roll the dice unless I know it's going to be a seven.

To make things even worse, Brittany came up with the idea to call the band, "Minus the C."  I hate the idea and hate taking such a deliberate shot at Claire.  Yes, she can be abrasive, bossy and unwilling to compromise. It's either Clarie's way or the highway.  From our songs, to our tempo, to our costuming to which bars we go to and which bars we turn down it always has to be Claire's way.  There was no vote. No one made her head of the band.  She simply appointed herself as such.  It does get old.  We can all feel like Chinese and if she feels like Italian, Olive Garden it is.  We can all feel like a quiet dive bar after a performance and if she feels like a club, play that funky music white boy.   I think the final straw that broke the camel's back was when Claire started causing problems between Brittany and Steffen.  Claire has this image that we should all date preppy types, like those you'd find in Greenwich.  Steffen despite having the name, doesn't fit the image.  Anything but clean cut, he seems to always have a three day beard.  Rides motorcycles and when asked about squash, said that once tried it but had to salt the Hell out of it in order to choke it down. 

Of course that didn't go over well with Claire.  The way the other girls saw it and to be honest the way I saw it, was why in Hell did it matter to Claire anyway?  Steffen was Brittany's boyfriend, not Claire's.  I can't tell you how many times I told Claire to stay out of it and mind her own business, but she insisted it was her business.  Brittany was a part of her band and as a a part of her band, a part of her image.  She didn't want to be associated with a guy like Steffen so she made his life miserable anytime he was around. It got to the point to where Steffen stopped showing up and supporting us. To the point to where Steffen decided that it might be best to stop seeing Brittany. 

That's when Brittany at the start of a rehearsal went up and gave Claire a piece of her mind.  Claire said that Steffen breaking things off was one of the best things to ever happen to Brittany.  Brittany didn't like that.  Next thing I knew, Brittany had a broken drum stick and Claire had a nasty slash across her left eye. 

Using the vision she had left in her right eye, Claire looked for sympathy from the other members of the band but she didn't receive it.  I stood silent as one by one as well as collaboratively the other girls let her know that she had it coming.

Elise said it best when she said, "This isn't YOUR band."

Dana backed her in saying, "We're not YOUR girls." 

Faith finished it  off by saying, "We're all a team.  We're all equals."

Brittany had already stormed out, so I guess it was left on me to say, "and we'll date who ever we want" but I didn't.

Instead I stood there quietly holding my bass. I once heard that musicians often mimic their instruments and I guess that's true.  The bassist sometimes gets lost within all the rest of the noise. It's there and you know its important but sometimes you almost forget that it's there with all of the other instruments playing in the background.

Claire our vocalist, of course vocal.

"Is that how you feel?" She said, "If so, then screw you guys.  I'm done. Good luck finding another singer."

And that's when I was brought into the conversation.

"Claire can sing." Dana even pointed her finger at me as she starred in my direction.

"Ha!!" Claire laughed. "If I leave, she leaves."

I stand at the grocery store in a panic when the cashier ask me "Paper or plastic?"   Having to choose between Claire and the rest of the girls isn't a decision I wanted to make.  In a panic I turned around and sprinted out the door as fast as I could.  I got in my car and took off. 

It wasn't five minutes later when my phone rang.

"Why didn't you back me up in there?" Claire shouted at me. "Brittany tries to take my eye out with her drum stick and all of the other girls take her side!"

I didn't know what to say so I just listened.

"Never mind" she said as her tone calmed. "I wasn't expecting all of that either.  How childish can someone get.  Really.  Brittany can do so much better than Steffen. I've been trying to set her up with Toby for months now."

At that point I stopped listening to Claire.  I could hear her talking but I wasn't paying any attention to what she was saying.  Instead I found myself day dreaming about how I had wanted to be a musician ever since I was a little girl.

I remembered going out for band in the fifth grade and being discouraged by my band director because I was having difficulty reading music.  That old hag. She thought if you couldn't read notes within the same day of being taught that you weren't cut out to be a musician. It discouraged me so much that I fell out of love with music for a while.   I can remember going home and taking all of my music and deleting it off of my computer.  I vowed to never listen to another song as long as I lived.

Of course that was the irrational, illogical conclusions of an 11 year old girl.  I came around again and before long had a larger collection of music in my personal library than I had before.  I never allowed anyone to hear me sing but behind closed doors I belted out every chance I got.

On my blog that I swore no one read other than myself and my mother, I wrote about ole Mrs. Isley that old bat of a band teacher I had in the fifth grade one day.  Somehow or another a Claire Richardson stumbled across it, read it and encouraged me to give an instrument another shot.  My immediate response was that I appreciated her kind words but I felt that it was too late.

That's when I got my first sense of Claire's personality and her refusal to have anyone do anything other than what she wants them to do.  She began to message me every day.  She she insisted that I go to an instructor that she recommended.  When I told her that I couldn't afford lessons, she shot back at me that she already paid for the first six. If I didn't show up, I had just wasted her money.

So I went.  The guy was an absolute babe and of course seeing how good looking he was and how attracted I was to him, I had to learn five minutes into it that he was gay.  Nevertheless I knew it was either going to be that or that he was married to a woman far better looking than me and the father of 15 children.

He held my left hand in his hands and studied my fingers.

"Have you ever thought of playing the bass?"

I said no and he smiled at me.

"You have a bass player's hands."

I saw no point in arguing with him and by the end of the day he had me playing the riff from THE JOKER by the Steve Miller Band.

I'm not sure if its because he was such a good teacher or if its because it came naturally to me or what but I took to that old bass guitar of his like a fish to water. 

On my sixth lesson, that's when Claire showed up.  This girl whom had stumbled upon my blog, who didn't even know me, who had paid for my first six lessons.

"She's my best student." He said to Claire when she asked how I was doing.

"I knew she would be." Claire responded with absolute assurance. "You can always tell the types that will be."

She explained to me that she was a vocalist and that she knew a group of girls that had a drummer, a lead guitarist, a rhythm guitarist and a keyboardist.  They needed a bass player and a vocalist. 

On the car ride to go and meet the girls Claire turned on a song that I was very familiar with and began to sing along with it.  She got so into it and was so comfortable singing around me that I for the first time in my life felt as if I could sing around someone. 

"Holy shit girlfriend!" She said to me. "You gotta set of lungs on you too!  Looks like I got a bassist and a backup vocalist!" 

- - - -

"Amy....Amy? Hello! Earth to AMY!" 

I was now back in my car having the conversation with Claire about leaving the band. 

"yeah, sorry.  Heavy traffic."   That couldn't have been further from the truth.  I was out on an old county road, 25 miles from the city. No one was on it but me.

"Yeah, so you are quitting with me right?" Claire asked. "We gotta take a stand. I am not going to be treated like that by the other girls and you're not going to allow them to treat me like that."

I didn't mean it when I said it and I didn't want to say it but it was all that would come out.

"Yeah."

An hour later I received a call from Dana.  It was more of a conference call,  Brittany, Elise, and Faith were on the call too, but it came from Dana's phone.  We discussed what happened, how Brittany was sorry that she hit Claire but on the same hand felt Claire deserved it.  How things couldn't go on as they were.

"I'd apologize to Claire." Brittany said. "But that isn't going to change things."

"And she'd want an apology from the rest of us too for saying she deserved it."  Faith added.

"Truth is." Dana hit it on the head. "We've tried time and time again to work things out with Claire.  She isn't changing."

"I know."

After I spoke the there was an awkward silence that lasted for about thirty seconds before Dana finally spoke up again.

"Look." She said. "You know that we have an agent coming in Friday morning who wants to work with us.  He thinks he can get us signed to a label.  We want you to be a part of this Amy.....We need you."

I sat in silence unable to speak.

"But." Faith spoke. "We understand if you decide to take Claire's side in all of this.  We won't hold it against you."

I still wasn't able to say anything and I wonder if they might have thought I had already left. I guess they knew I hadn't hung up yet as the call was still going.

"We hope to see you Monday morning."

And with Dana's final words the call ended.

Claire asked me to meet her at her apartment this morning as she wanted to discuss some new plans that she had.  She said that she was foolish to ever think that we needed our own band.  We'd make it just fine as a duet group and studio musicians were so much easier to deal with than band mates.

"They actually listen and do as they're told." She laughed to me last night.

Only I know something Claire doesn't.  I know in 20 minutes, when the clock strikes 9:00 a.m. I'll be in a meeting with Brittany, Dana, Elise and Faith speaking with our agent.  I know that I'll be signing the contract.  Claire will be in her apartment looking at her phone checking the time wondering where I'm at.  She'll give me 15 minutes as it's natural for a musician to show up late and then she'll begin to worry.  I know my phone will blow up with a few texts and one or two times of it ringing all the way to voice mail.   Then she'll realize what's going on.  I'm sure she'll have some choice words for me. Some of them I'll refrain from using.  Traitor and backstabber I won't.

She's right I am.  I'm so excited and happy about this opportunity that I can't turn it down. I've waited my whole life for this.  An opportunity to be a musician.  A real musician.  A professional musician.  Being on the radio.  Seeing my face on a CD.  Playing at an actual auditorium instead of a local bar or a high school.  Traveling from city to city, maybe even to other countries.

I feel a sick juxtaposition in my stomach.  Claire's the only reason any of this is happening for me.  Without her, none of this would be possible.  Yet on the same hand the only way it continues and it gets to go on, be something other than a dream, is if I stab her in the back.

I never knew it was possible to feel like a million bucks and a pile of shit at the exact same time.

I guess it is.

COMPLETE THE STORY: 14 of 198

The music drifted out of the club like a vibrating pulse.  I could feel it in my bones. The night was alive with possibility. I could even imagine myself having the women coming up to me. Asking me to dance. Asking me for my number. Asking me, "hey you want to get out of here?"  Meeting Guido, was the best thing to happen to my love life. He made me realize that it wasn't so much that I was doing things wrong, as much as it was that I was looking at things wrong.

I was never popular with the girls throughout junior high and high school. It was even worse during college. I couldn't figure out if it was physical or mental or what the Hell it was. I knew I wasn't Brad Pitt but I didn't exactly think I looked like Sloth from the GOONIES either.  When I looked in the mirror I saw an average guy, with an average smile.  A little shorter than the "Tall" & a little lighter than the "dark" women often described in their ideal man.  I never expected to end up with the prom queen or the girl who turned heads in every room she entered.  I knew I wasn't the type of guy that would end up with that type of girl, but I did think I had it in me to get what it was that I wanted.  A nice girl, beautiful on the inside and what others would call, "pretty" on the outside.

Yet it wasn't happening for me.  Throughout my late teens and my early twenties I couldn't get a girl to like me to save my life.  Sure there were a few desperate women who looked like a cross between Jabba the Hut and Grizzly Adams whose only interest in me was purely physical, but that was it.  No one was truly interested in me.  Getting to know me.  Being with me.  That wasn't happening and I was driving myself mad trying to figure out why.

Then I met Guido....

The World Lost One of Its Best

Greg Comer is one of the best people I've ever known in my life.  If I had to make a list of my favorite people, Greg would be somewhere in the top five.  I admired him. I respected him. I loved him.  And I'll miss him till the day I die.

A man of many gifts and talents, Greg is the greatest story teller I've ever known.  I aspire within my own creative writing to share stories and I know a large portion of my love and passion for stories comes from learning from the best. 

Even more impressive was Greg's ability to make everyone he ever came in contact with feel better about themselves.  He had a magic with people.  He made you feel valued, important and loved.  Every time I was ever around the man he made me feel good about myself.  He was sincere, he was genuine and he was kind.   I can honestly say I think the greatest compliment I've ever received from another person is when they told me that I reminded them of my uncle Greg.

You know years ago, when I made the self discovery that I was not a Christian and I could no longer live as a Christian that was a very difficult time in my life.  I had a lot of friends and family turn their backs on me.  Treat me with animosity and hostility.  I can remember being scared to death to let Greg known.  In most cases in my life, I don't care what someone thinks about me.  But I always cared what Greg thought.  My admiration and respect for him was so high that while others opinions of me didn't mean much to me, his did.  When I told Greg I was an agnostic, he put his hand on my shoulder and said to me that I was a great kid before he knew that and I was a great kid after he found out.  The kindness, love and compassion he showed me during that time is something I'll forever cherish. 

A few years ago Greg and I went to the Olympic trials in Iowa City with his friend Willie. We had a very good time watching some great wrestling. Greg consistently entertained with his stories and good clean humor. In a lot of ways Greg reminded me of the late Groucho Marx.  He didn't have to use any cuss words or vulgarity. He could make you laugh just by being clever and witty. 

I have so many great memories of Greg.  So many.  So many more stories I could tell about him. 

He was a very special man.  People talk about how good of a friend he was. My aunt Brenda speaks of how loving and dedicated of a husband he was.  I think if there was an award given out for women picking out the perfect spouse for themselves, she'd be eligible for it.  I know my cousins Casey and Jake thought the world of their father too.   I hope by reading this you know what I thought of him as my Great Uncle.  Great is exactly what he was in every sense of the word. 

I love you Greg Comer.  My life is better because you were a part of it. 

Complete The Story: 13 of 198

Until that day, fear had been an idea, a concept. Now it was real: a feeling I would carry inside me for the rest of my life. The day began innocently enough, with the basic routine of waking up at 5:30 a.m. going to the school, running the halls for a half hour and then sitting in Derek Snakenberg's sauna for twenty minutes.  I'd go back home, eat a light breakfast, shower and head to school for the day.

It was late April, sophomore year of high school.  A poor wrestling season had ended for me in early February.  I had gone 14-25 that season.  Finished a disappointing fifth at sectionals.  My dad had recently broken up with his girlfriend and life for me at that time was bitter and depressing.  None the less, I still felt that I had a shot at glory.  That I stood a chance at accomplishing something.  That if, even though things seemed at times hopeless, if I stayed positive and optimistic and gave it my all, things still might work out for me.  I had two more years of wrestling left and despite how bad this past season had gone, maybe I might do well as a junior and senior.

When I got home from school, I noticed a vehicle in the driveway that I wasn't familiar with.  When I went inside, I discovered that my Dad's cousin, Gail was visiting from New Jersey.  I told her I was glad she was there to visit, and I'd be more than glad to catch up with her later, but I was busy at the time and had other things to do.   I put on a sweatshirt, my hawkeye wrestling stocking cap and headed out the door.  I had a 1.4 mile run that I did every night.  Back in those days it took me about 8 and a half minutes.   Today I'd be lucky if I could do it in under an hour.   After I got done running, I grabbed my bicycle and did the route two times.  I then went into the basement, and did a routine of pushups, curls, pullups and bench press.  Exhausted, I went back up stairs and took a shower. 

I now had time to talk to Gail. 

She couldn't believe my dedication and how fixated I was on being a successful wrestler.  She was shocked at how poorly I had done that year in spite of my efforts.  It puzzled her as to why I had such certainty, when life was showing me the polar opposite. 

She said something to me that night that has haunted me ever since.

"Are you sure this is what you're supposed to be doing?"

"What do you mean?" I asked her

"This wrestling thing.  Are you sure it's your purpose in life? That it's what you're meant to do?" 

My immediate answer was yes.  It had been the only thing for a long period of time that I had any talent and ability in.  Even though I wasn't that good at it, it was the thing in life I did better than I did anything else. 

Looking back, I guess I should've questioned it every bit as much as she did.   My junior year I went 13-12, sitting out part of the season with a torn groin and a torn left bicep.   My senior year I went 26-16, a third place finish at sectionals and a career record of 65-70.  Never qualified for state, never did anything in the sport worth mentioning or noting.  In the sport of wrestling my name means nothing and it never will.  It was not my purpose.

I don't regret anything that I did. I loved the sport and for six years of the 11 years I did it, I dedicated my life to it.  I get angry when people question my dedication. When they are leary of my work ethic, sacrifice and determination.  The sport of wrestling has a screwed up belief that the only reason you don't succeed is because you didn't try hard enough.  It's funny.  Not everyone can be Joe Montana. Not everyone can be Michael Jordan. Not everyone can be Cal Ripken Jr. But anyone can be Cael Sanderson as long as they work hard enough.  It's an insulting, degrading and cruel thing to say to those who had the heart, but nothing else, but it is the thought process of the sport.

So no, I don't regret anything.  It's what I wanted out of life and it's is what I thought at the time I was supposed to be doing.  I just wonder sometimes if I should've been more exploratory.  My only other talents in life were acting and creative writing.   I wonder sometimes if I should've divided up my time, and given more towards those endeavors. 

After high school was over, I knew then that wrestling wasn't my meaning. It's why I decided not to wrestle in college and instead dedicate my life to theatre.  Maybe acting and writing for the stage/screen was my calling in life.  Maybe that was my purpose. 

And truth to be known, I think maybe it would have been had I gone to another college.  I couldn't have picked a worse place to go than what I did.  It's a whole other story in itself, but Northwestern College theatre made me fall out of love with acting.  Matter of fact, it made me downright hate it.  A pompous group of individuals, who made up their minds that they hated me from day one.  With my build and my muscles, in their eyes I was an athlete and athletes DID NOT belong in their theatre. 

I'd discover years later as a member of Iowa City Community theatre that I was a good actor, I did have talent and it was something I was good at.  I was simply in the wrong environment, surrounded by the wrong people at NWC. 

And in being someone that searches for meaning, longs for purpose I wonder if I didn't screw myself somehow, someway by not going somewhere else.  I've talked with other friends of mine who had great experiences in college theatre at Iowa, Simpson, & Northern Iowa and I wonder sometimes if I had chosen one of those schools if my life would've turned out much differently. 

I was 16 years old when Gail asked me those questions.  16, and for the first time in my life, I made myself upon her questions, seriously question all of it. 

Today I'm 34, and for the past nearly 15 years of my life, I have felt my purpose in life has been creative writing and story telling.  That writing, fiction, non-fiction, blogs, short stories, novels, novellas, plays & screenplays is what I'm supposed to be doing in life.  Yet I've thus far gotten practically no where with any of it.  None of my novels or novellas are professionally published.  None of my plays are being produced.  None of my screenplays have turned into films or television shows.  Other than a few articles that I got paid $25 a piece for, I haven't a single thing to show for my writing. 

And that scares me to death.  It terrifies me.  It's all I have left in life. It's it.  I'm too old to have a serious shot as an actor. Even if I still have time left, you have to be in Los Angeles to even dream of getting a real shot at it, and there's no way I could afford to even try it.   Creative writing is it. There's nothing else in life that I'm good at.  If this isn't it, then there isn't anything.  I have no purpose. I have no meaning. 

And to some, that's ok.  They don't get why I have to be so obsessive and so determined.  Why can't I just get a factory job, get married, knock up Ashley a couple of times, have kids and God forbid be normal?  Well, because I can't.  That's not me.  That's not who I am.  That's not what I want.   I tried going that route once in my life and it was the darkest, most depressing, sad existence I have ever lived.  It may be right for others and I encourage them in that life, if that life makes them happy and it's what they desire.  But it's not me and it never will be.

I'm weird. I'm an anomaly.  I'm what seems to disappoint and piss my father off. I'm what my mom does her best to support but can't grasp or understand.  She doesn't get why I demand so much out of myself and work myself into fits of level 10 depression for not reaching goals she thinks were out of my reach to begin with. 

Cousin Gail I guess I have to admit today, as I should have 18 years ago that I don't know what the Hell my purpose in life is.  That because creative writing is the one thing left in this life that I have serious talent in, that I believe it is my meaning.  That obviously I have yet to give up. With novels, novellas & screenplays already written and more on the way, I'm still making a go at it. 

My greatest hope in life.  The best life has to offer me is the day I discover that I was right.  A published novel.  A screenplay turned into a film.  A position with a major magazine.  I have no idea what it'll be, I just know that I'll know it when it happens. 

And my greatest fear?  To one day discover with creative writing the same thing I discovered with amateur wrestling.  That it wasn't my purpose. It wasn't my meaning.  Only worse, it'll mean that I don't have one, and I never will. 

So far in life I've met three people in life that have gotten what I feel.  That have truly understood my thoughts and my feelings.   Dennis Doderer, Dan Kim and Jason Janes.  I'm very lucky to have Ashley Bunting in my life.  I can't say she understands or gets me completely, but she loves me and supports me.  As screwed up and difficult as I can be, especially when it comes to this sort of stuff, that in itself is a hell of a talent.  I'm not sure I could do it if I were in her shoes.

25 Remakes and My Reaction to Them 16-20

FLIPPER 1963 and 1993

CONCLUSION: Both are fun but rather forgetful.

The two films have nothing in common other than the title and having the main character a dolphin.  Considering the source material I'm ok with this.  I like both movies, feel that both are a bit underrated, especially the remake.  I think the film suffers from what it was Vs what people thought it should be.  That happens sometimes.

OF MICE AND MEN 1939 and 1992

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  The remake got right what the original got wrong

This in my opinion is exactly why a remake should be made. Not to rehash what was already done right in an attempt to bank on a sure shot success but instead to take a really good concept that failed in execution the first time around, and make it what it should have been. 

I realize the late 1930's was a different time and perhaps my criticisms are unfair considering.  Yet I have two major biffs with the film that I think were more so a result of poor choices than they were any restraints by the time period.  The first criticism I have is that I don't feel the tone is depressing enough.  The novel is hopeless and full of endlessness.  I didn't get that out of the 1939 film, but I did get it out of the 1992 film.  The 1939 version was nothing more than a film to me with Burgess Meredith in what I feel was one of his weaker performances.  The 1992 film was a life changing event for me that helped to formulate my perspective on life and my philosophies.  We're often told time and time again that life is not fair, and I feel the 1992 version illustrates that reality better than any other film I've ever seen.

My other biff with the 1939 version is that Lennie's handicap is borderline mockery.  That may be because mental retardation and other forms of mental disability wasn't well understood in the late 30's. Maybe they didn't have much to reference, but it seemed to me that Lon Cheny Jr played the role more so as the village idiot than he did someone with actual mental disabilities.  John Malkovich's version on the other hand seemed pure, raw and innocent.  Not a man playing a man with retardation but a man with actual retardation.

Again I feel that perhaps my criticism is a bit off considering 1939 to 1992, but we're not talking special effects here, we're talking performances and direction.  So maybe it isn't.

PET SEMATARY 1989 and 2019

OVERALL CONCLUSION: One of the most shocking, terrifying, heart-stopping and distressing films ever made Vs a film that's still good, but in many ways misses the mark on what made the first film so effective.

I'm not here to bash the 2019 remake.  I gave it as a stand alone film an above average review.  I liked it and I have a lot of good things to say about it.  But in comparison to the original it falls flat.  We're comparing a minor league baseball team to the MLB champs.  The minor league team is still good, but they're going to get their asses handed to them at the ball game.   That's the comparison here.

The true terror in PET SEMATARY 1989 was in the compromising position that the father had been put in.  It wasn't so much in the scary Gage coming back with a murderous vengeance as it was a father dealing with an immeasurable amount of guilt in a battle with his own sanity.  To me that was so much more fascinating as well as horrifying than was the more action based plot of the remake. 

I appreciate both films for what they were but I have to have the lights on, someone else in the house with me and we're cuddling when we go to bed after I watch the 1989 version.  The 2019 version I can watch in the dark, and sleep just fine.

PHANTOM OF THE OPERA 1943 and 2004

OVERALL CONCLUSION: Just the opposite of how I feel about of MICE AND MEN.  The 1943 version as how the film should be done. The 2004 version took everything that the 1943 version perfected and decided to do something different. It didn't work.

The 1943 film is a masterpiece.  A strong story, compelling performances and I think above all else which is weird to say for this time period, well paced.  The 2004 version had too much going on.  Too much added to it that served little to no purpose.  The original story stood fine on its own, it didn't need any fine tuning or perfecting.  The original was a tragedy through and through, one where you empathized with each character and related to both their feelings and their emotions.   The remake felt more like an episode of Maury where in the end you're so turned off and disengaged by the whole thing the credits are all you look forward to.

POINT BREAK 1991 and 2015

OVERALL CONCLUSION: How can you screw up a fun, action packed adventure like POINT BREAK?  Hold someone's beer.

The original POINT BREAK isn't going to win any academy awards but at least it was fun.  Keanu Reeves, Gary Busey and Patrick Swayze.  An action packed film full of interesting characters, fun fight scenes and a decent score.  The 2015 Remake was just awful.  It was God awful.  They took cheesy dialog and somehow made it even cheesier.  They took performances that were supposed to be overthetop and over dramatic and somehow made them even more laughable and pathetic.  Did Tommy Wiseau direct this?

25 Remakes and My Reaction to Them: 11-15

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER 1958 and TITANIC 1997

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I enjoy and appreciate both of these films a lot.  Feel both have a great deal of strengths and few weaknesses.

As well acted, directed and shot as A NIGHT TO REMEMBER was it's hard for me to believe that it was released in 1958.  Sixty one years ago they didn't have the ability to ooh and ah us with dramatic special effects, but they made up for it with an interesting story.  What A NIGHT TO REMEMBER has over TITANIC is that the cast and crew knew they had a strong enough and compelling enough story on its own that liberties need not be taken.   Don't get me wrong I love Cameron's TITANIC but feeling a need to center it around a love story gives it a sense of uncertainty and doubt.  As if Cameron didn't trust the story on its own to draw an audience.  Speaking a movie lover, I overlooked the inaccuracies in accordance to historical fact, but in contrast to A NIGHT TO REMEMBER what actually took place was just as if not more compelling.  Both great films, simply that one took what was realizing that it as it was, was interesting enough. The other, feeling a need to change what didn't need to be changed.

THE WICKER MAN 1973 and 2006

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I thought both of these films were pretty awful.

I enjoyed the 1973 version a bit more than I did the 2006 version. Both were difficult to sit through. Yet I felt the 1973 version was trying hard to get across the psychological wickedness of brainwashing and how people can be convinced of some really screwed up ideas through manipulation and religion.  I felt the 2006 version was more about the creativity in how best to torture Nicolas Cage. 

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 1991 and 2017

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 1991 is my all time favorite animate film and BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 2017 sucked the big one.


The 1991 animated feature was energetic, fun and exhilarating.  I laugh, I cry.  I even get up sometimes and to the best of my ability (which isn't worth a shit) I dance and sing along with the songs.  The film moves me, it makes me feel. The voice work of the actors and the attention to detail of the animators is so precise and oozing of tenderness and care. 

The 2017 version was lifeless and dull.  A bunch of classically trained and gifted singers who could not act.  Every scene was nothing more than a reading of lines and going through the motions.  There was no energy, no emotion, no passion.  It was painful to watch.   The 2017 version couldn't lace up the 1991's versions boot straps.

CAPE FEAR 1962 and 1991

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I must be missing something cause I thought the first film was barely mediocre and I thought the remake was even worse.

Not sure what the rest of the world sees that I don't.  These films were both a critical and commercial successes. Fans and critics alike are generally pretty positive about both the original 1962 version and its 1991 remake.  I on the other hand found the original film to be lackluster and only worth a view due to the performance of Robert Mitchum.  I thought the remake was even more nonsensical, ridiculous and melodramatic.  What an unrealistic story, told in a laughable way with performances that seem influenced by illegal drug usage.  C for the original, D- for the remake.

DEATH AT A FUNERAL 2007 and 2010

OVERALL CONCLUSION: Aren't comedies supposed to be funny?

I watched the American version first and I want to say I may have cracked a smile once throughout this cheap, junior high, fart and penis joke excuse for a comedy.  In my vast disappointment I was told to check out the British film because it was "so much better."   I guess I don't get English humor because while I did laugh once during the film, I found the jokes to somehow be even more trivial than the American version. 

25 Remakes and My Reaction to Them: 6-10

PSYCHO 1960 and 1998

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  I liked them both

Is there such thing as being "too respectful"?  Paying too much homage?  In my opinion, no.  To the rest of the world? Yes.  I do not agree with the analysis that the 1998 remake was a shot for shot carbon copy of the original.  To me it was clear that the original took place in the 1960's and the remake took place in the 1990's. A modern day version, with modern day topics, technology and ways of dealing with such matters Vs how things were in the 1960's.   I think the real problem with the 1998 version was two things.  A, some directors should be left alone and Hitchcock is one of them.  You can't out do the master, so why try?  Secondly, the casting in this one was off. Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates didn't work.

THE RING - 1998

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  The original Japanese version I found to be rather humorous and quite silly. The American version terrified me and gave me nightmares.


"All the best stuff is made in Japan" as the saying goes, but apparently that isn't always true. There are some things that the American's do better and horror is one of them.  I laughed my way through RINGU and had trouble sleeping after THE RING.  That's not to say that I feel all American films are better than Japanese ones.  The 1998 American version of GODZILLA was atrociously lame.  The 2000 Japanese version kicked major behind.  It was a night and day difference.

THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 1974 and 2003

OVERALL CONCLUSION: One of the rare times I enjoyed the remake much more than I did the original.


Let's face it, Tobe Hooper got lucky.  There's only one reason TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE became a household name and that was due to a genius marketing strategy, "based on a true story."  Without that little tagline, this film would have fallen into the hundreds of other horro films in the 70's and been gone, lost and forgotten about a long time ago.  The film is absurd, the script is mundane and the performances are rather difficult to sit through. 

In all sense of reality, what TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2003 is, is simply what the original TCM would be if it had a better story, it was better directed and it had better performances.  Ever watch a B film that in nearly all categories more or less sucks, but at least it had an interesting concept? Think to yourself, now if done right, that could be a good film?  That's essentially what happened here.   

It's a shame that this film has been sequel'd  and remade to death.  I've seen all of the sequels and remakes/reimaginings and TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2003 is the only one that I'll conclude is good.  I do enjoy TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 3: LEATHERFACE but that's more due to Tom Everett's performance than it is anything else.  The rest of the films frankly bite the big one Uncle Roman.

MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE 1986 and 1997

OVERALL CONCLUSION: A mediocre film from the 80's was remade into a mediocre film in the 90's.


I find both MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE and TRUCKS to be enjoyable enough to sit through.  Neither are going to win any awards with me, but neither bother me.  I feel MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE is more of a man vs machine film, full of action and determination Vs TRUCKS which has more of an apocalyptic overtone, full of an accepted fate and depression.  An ending of ambiguous unknown against an ending of doom and gloom.  If it's worth any consolation I feel TRUCKS is one of Timothy Busfield's best performances.

VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED 1960 and 1995

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  This is your shot for shot remake


It amazes me as many times as I've heard that PSYCHO 1998 is a shot for shot remake of PSYCHO 1960, that people don't say the same about VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED.   While I can point out the differences between the PSYCHO films,  the only difference between VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED 1960 and VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED 1995 is that one is in black and white and the other is in color.   I'm not saying that either is a bad film.  I enjoyed them both, but other than being a tad more violent, you can play these films side by side at the same time and you're watching the same film.  To some that is troublesome and I get that.  Why remake a film if you're going to put nothing original into it? I get that.  Yet I'd rather have that than for someone to be so original and creative in their direction, that they forget that this was someone else's idea to begin with.