Paper Fruit

I wrote a whole thing, but then I realized that nothing I could say would be better than just letting people speak for themselves.

Over at Fantasy Magazine!

A true and thorough transcript of some of the unfortunate events that transpired during the Inquisition of Johannes Cabal, 8/23/10, provided by Inquisitor Tanzer to her Superiors, among them the Most Honorable and Lenient Inquisitor Staggs.

Gentlemen, I have failed you, and I only hope that the following record will shed light upon the reason that Herr Johannes Cabal was found roaming the passages of the Inquisitorial Chambers when the men employed by Inquisitor Jacobs found him. I pray to God that He will forgive me for my oversights in this matter once I die; for now I pray to God that you, my superiors, will show me the degree of mercy we expect from our Creator.

I had One-Thumb Harry (as opposed to Gap-Tooth Harry, he simply can’t be trusted ever since the incident I described in my transcript of the events of 7/3/09) tie him up, but though Harry assured me that his lack of a thumb wouldn’t hinder him in the art of knot-tying. . . perhaps I’d just better move on to the transcript. I asked:

Mr. Cabal, do you believe this court possesses the authority to try you for your crimes?

No.

Do you even feel that your nefarious actions constitute crimes?

No.

Do you believe in a universal standard for ascertaining right from wrong?

No.

To be clearer, do you feel that there is a way of determining right from wrong?

No.

Do you even care?

No.

Madam, a word of advice. I would recommend you avoid closed questions in future. Didn’t they teach you this in Inquisitorial College, somewhere between “Applying Thumbscrews the Modern Way” and “Framing Innocents 101”? No matter. I shall do you the courtesy of expanding upon my answers while I tie you up and make my escape from this dank cellar it pleases you to call a dungeon. No, believe me, I’ve escaped from proper dungeons, and this doesn’t compare. Yes, escape. Well, the way I’d planned on this working is that I point this handgun at your head, and then you become all manner of helpful. It usually works. Ah, how I procured a Webley .577 in a secure cellar. . . my apologies. . . dungeon, constitutes a professional secret. I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you. No, I would have to kill you. Yes, seriously. I have a gun, and you know I have killed before; I fail to see why this is so difficult for you to believe. Ah, there we go, that’s better. Being in denial is a corrosive state, much better to be in fear of your life.

So, to your questions. I do not believe that this court, as you call it, has any authority. It is a religious court and claims its authority from God, and trust me, God does not care. I am in no sense an atheist; I have met demons and devils and seen the irrefutable handiwork of gods–yes, plural–so why would I deny that which I have scientifically proved? My evidence for your god is more circumstantial. I have met Satan, who identified himself as Lucifer, a fallen angel, and who agreed that he had been cast down from the presence of God for the sin of pride. There is a Satan, ergo, there is a God. Although it occurs to me that Satan is a terrible liar. Try this for a hypothetical; there is no God, except as a scarecrow set up by Satan for his amusement. He watches mortals make fools of themselves in the somewhat smug knowledge that all will eventually go to Hell, because there is no alternative. Think of all the evil that has been done in the name of God–we are in a chamber full of instruments of torture, after all–and then think of how my hypothesis would explain so much.

Well, why not? It would make a change from cribbage. Oh, contain your outrage, madam. I am merely playing devil’s advocate.

Hah.

My actions–most courts would regard adding the adjective “nefarious” as an affront to the judicial process, but I don’t suppose that bothers people who dress for Halloween in August–my actions were necessary. If they are crimes, it is unfortunate, but irrelevant. You have no idea the things I have done to get this far. Stopping my researches, that would be the crime. My right may be your wrong, and that may mortally offend you but, believe me, madam, the answer to your last question was entirely heartfelt.

I do not care.

Now, I can hear your guards falling over one another in their haste to meet my revolver. That is acceptable. Good day, madam.

May God have mercy on his soul. And may the court have mercy upon me. . .

I don’t even know where to begin with this, but I’ll try just saying that Jonathan L. Howard’s Johannes Cabal books are awesome and you should go read them right now.

As you might imagine from the cover image to the left, both books are about a gentleman by the name of Johannes Cabal, and he is a notorious, unscrupulous, and irritable necromancer. They are both also completely lovely examples of how it is indeed possible to make fantasy humor work without resorting to puns, or–even worse–wisecracking stock fantasy characters like dwarves or goblins.

The first in the series, Johannes Cabal the Necromancer (2009) chronicles a year in the life of Johannes Cabal as he co-runs a demonic carnival. It is written in a style that I can only really describe as “wouldn’t it be awesome if The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy novels dealt with demons and vampires instead of spaceships? Yes.” The plot is well-conceived, the writing is excellent, and the characters are amazing. Johannes Cabal himself is deliciously nasty, socially inept, and utterly unscrupulous according to our meagre standards of what it means to have scruples. He does the things lesser men fear to do–if you’ve ever imagined, for example, snatching the iPhone out of the hand of that man on the plane who keeps waving away the flight attendant as she asks him time and again to power down his device so you can take off, and then braining him with it, sitting down, and wishing that the flight attendant would stop gawping at you and just bring over your little plastic cup of orange juice because you’re a bit thirsty, then this book will likely appeal to you. My only complaint with the entire endeavor is the pacing, which I felt faltered briefly in the third act–that said, the novel recovered completely in the fourth, and the ending left me all misty-eyed and deeply grateful that I had the sequel to comfort me in my distress at having to shut the book because it was over.

Johannes Cabal the Detective is somehow even better than Johannes Cabal the Necromancer. It is a masterpiece of silliness and good times, and I enjoyed every single moment I spent reading it. I can’t say anything about it, because I would hate to rob people other than my husband and my two best friends, who have spent the last week being very understanding of me chuckling to myself and occasionally spoiling bits of the plot, of the experience of discovering just what’s up with this book. Just go read it.

So yeah. Watch this space for more Johannes Cabal craziness, as there’s something fun in the works, let me tell you–I, however, must nip off and find the two Johannes Cabal short stories available in issues 1 and 3 of H.P. Lovecraft’s Magazine of Horror. It’ll help me deal with the sense of loss that I shan’t hear anything new of Herr Cabal until I get ahold of The Way of the Wizard, which I’ve heard contains an all new Johannes Cabal adventure called “The Ereshkigal Working.” Huzzah!

Sure sure, Dr. Laura has “apologized” for articulating the word “nigger” on her radio show this week (though she has apparently excised the offending segment from her online transcript; thankfully sites like Media Matters snagged the whole thing so it can live forever on the internet). I’d like to take a little time to deconstruct her apology a bit, however, because it is filled with the same stinky privilege that informed her, um. . . I guess we could call it a “gaffe” instead of “racist outburst” for the sake of argument, right? Anyways.

For those who haven’t heard of this awesome piece of awesomeness, for some reason unbeknownst to me at least, a woman named Jade called Dr. Laura’s show for the cranky blathering that she passes off as “advice.” Jade is black, and she was concerned and frustrated because her white husband won’t just fucking tell his asshole friends and relatives not to do that thing where majority-dwellers assume that an “other” (like a real live black woman!) can speak for an entire group.

Dr. Laura then got all huffy and stuff (no, really?!) because it’s not at all racist (apparently) to ask a black person what, you know, all black people think about a given issue. Everyone knows they all think the same, amiright?

But yeah, so it unshockingly degenerates after that into a baffling exchange wherein Dr. Laura basically just shows her ass over and over again with comments like:

Well, listen, without giving much thought, a lot of blacks voted for Obama simply ’cause he was half-black. Didn’t matter what he was gonna do in office, it was a black thing. You gotta know that. That’s not a surprise.

and:

I don’t get it. If anybody without enough melanin says [nigger], it’s a horrible thing; but when black people say it, it’s affectionate. It’s very confusing.

and, I guess because Dr. Laura ostensibly doles out “advice” on her show:

If you’re that hypersensitive about color and don’t have a sense of humor, don’t marry out of your race.

GAWD ALMIGHTY. You can read the whole amazing transcript, it’s linked above. There’s just so much to mine there, mostly amounting to the poor caller being accused of “having a chip on her shoulder” for expressing the sentiment that, essentially, well maybe black people don’t have some sort of psychic connection wherein they all think the same way about stuff–you know, “black-think” as Dr. Laura so sensitively put it in her summation at the end.

It’s so outrageous. But the thing is, Dr. Laura articulating “nigger” several times isn’t what’s so problematic here, shockingly enough. Sure, throwing around the word “nigger” in casual discussions of race like it was no big deal marks you as an idiot (or someone who knows she’s losing an argument so she throws out an epithet so completely offensive that it’ll get people riled and impact their ability to argue with you effectively, not that I think that could have been her purpose at all, oh no no no of course not!), but that’s the obviously problematic part of all this.

The more insidious–and thus more damaging–aspect, is the willingness on Dr. Laura’s part to play the wide-eyed innocent white person who’s like, just so confused by all this “black stuff!” Gosh n’golly, why can black comedians on HBO say “nigger” but I can’t? It drives me insane.  It’s like, the same privileged bullshit Aaron McGruder called out constantly in early Boondocks comic strips, or that Spike Lee mined in Bamboozled where his Quentin Tarantino knockoff tells Damon Wayans that he knows more about black people and what’s offensive because knows, um, Spike Lee.

Dr. Laura pretty much exemplifies racial privilege. Her comments during the show–and in her apology–are representative of the sort of entitlement that says “as a white person, I find it offensive when black people won’t let me causally use hurtful racial epithets that have been reclaimed to some extent within the black community! That’s discrimination, you know, and we live in America!” And it’s sad.

It’s also disingenuous–because, honestly, the concept of in-group versus out-group is understood by everyone. And Dr. Laura seems to get that–after all, she apologized for using “the n-word”–but yet, of course, she doesn’t seem to realize anything else that she did wrong during that exchange:

I was attempting to make a philosophical point, and I articulated the “n” word all the way out–more than one time.  And that was wrong.  I’ll say it again–that was wrong.

I ended up, I’m sure, with many of you losing the point I was trying to make, because you were shocked by the fact that I said the word.

Right! Right! Yes, Dr. Laura! Thanks for “getting it!” Your point, which as far as I can tell was that that a woman who’s upset because she feels compromised by her husband’s unwillingness to stand up for her individuality, has, quote, “a chip on her shoulder”–that was totally lost because you said “nigger!” I suppose that, actually, we can only hope that your other points–that black people voted for Obama because he’s black and they’re black and not for any other reason–were lost, as well. . . not because you said nigger, but because that’s an ignorant attitude that allows white folks to feel better about the world because it ignores what a whole lot of what both black and white folks call “reality.”

And the most hilarious thing about all of this is how Dr. Laura also manages to then undermine herself in a last-gasp effort to redeem herself to her white conservative demographic. Let’s just take a moment to analyze the letter she put on her blog in defense of herself–the lone example of all the mail she received on the matter, that was, I’m sure only incidentally, written by a black lady:

I believe that African-Americans using the n-word is disdainful, as well as Caucasians or any other race for that matter.  I agree that the argument some African-Americans use that it is ok for them to use it and not others, is ridiculous.  But, I have to say, when I heard you saying the word repeatedly, it struck a negative chord with me.

I don’t believe you are a racist, and I don’t believe, as an African-American woman, that I am hypersensitive.

Wait–what? Could it be. . . omg! This particular black person disagrees with the notion that it’s OK for black people to use the word nigger! But. . . I thought. . . waaaait a second. . . I thought black people were guilty of “black-think!” That they all just agree on stuff? I mean, didn’t “they” just put Obama in the White House cuz he black?

Could it be, that perhaps Jade, who mistakenly sought advice from Dr. Laura in the first place, was right to feel offended when people constantly try to force her to represent all “black people” because. . . wait, maybe. . . it’s that black people. . . just like white people. . . have different opinions about stuff?

Nah. They probably just all have chips on their collective shoulders.

It seems that Running with the Pack was reviewed over at Innsmouth Free Press, and that, among others, “In Sheep’s Clothing” attracted the notice of Ms. Kinney enough that she discussed it in depth! Yay!

I continue to be touched and amazed by the favorable attention my story has received. Yet, I must admit, while I was intensely happy that my narrator was dubbed the “heroine” of the story by Ms. Kinney over at IFP, my favorite review of all actually appeared on my facebook page, courtesy my good friend David, who said on the matter, “[I] do like the black magick references and lessons against working with one’s neighbors.”

Being in the business of providing valuable advice and life-lessons has its rewards, and it’s nice to know that my message was interpreted correctly by at least one kind soul. Cheers!

I know, I always call my updates that when it’s been friggin’ forever, but I don’t care even one bit!

First of all, I must mention that there’s a new Films of High Adventure over at Fantasy Magazine, this one on The NeverEnding Story. We’re probably the nicest we’ve ever been to a movie prominently featuring an annoying moppet telling the audience what they’ve seen/are about to see, so, yay!

Moving on, I’ll be heading to Florida this Saturday to visit my folks! I’m looking forward to reading some novels, chilling out, cooking some food, doing crafty stuff with my mom, taking walks with my dad, all that sort of thing. Sadly, John will be in Orlando at a staff conference for his job while I’ll be in Tampa, but I think we’re going to organize some WoW parties with Raechel, who’ll be holding down the forts in Boulder.

I am also very proud that I just sent out the novel I finished up recently to the host of awesome beta-readers who volunteered to tell me if it sucks or not, and also correct my grammar. I am excited to get some outside eyes on this project, because I am too blinded by love for it to be objective at all. I know we need some time apart, this book and I, so I’ll be reading some non-fiction so maybe I can perk up a few details, and also reading some fiction to cleanse my palette. I’ll also be working on some various and sundry fiction and creative non-fiction things, and I’m looking forward to reacquainting myself with short form since I can’t recall the last time I wrote a short story.

Additionally, I feel the need to mention that I just read what I believe might be one of the most racist stories ever written, and no, I’m not talking about that piece in the NYT about how Indians have taken over New Jersey (though it was, obviously, in the running). No, I speak instead of Robert E. Howard’s “The Vale of Lost Women,” which wasn’t published during his lifetime but still managed to find its way to the printed page several times. I know it’s pretty un-shocking to out Howard as a racist, but seriously. I give authors from the past so much leeway when it comes to the odd racist comment or sexist trope. I feel strongly that there’s a place and time for holding people accountable for their beliefs–and that people, both living and dead, should be held accountable for their beliefs–but that such accountability need not be the only way to consume and interpret stories written during a different time. This story, however, gets a big brown F in every way. It is hideous. Not only does it have Conan straight-up telling a girl he’d rape her if he felt like it (and, OK, whatever, I’d forgive that in isolation, it’s a Conan story), but the girl in question is a little white girl with blonde hair who was captured by black savages and raped by their hideous leader. Let’s just for a moment consider Howard’s description of the leader, a fellow by the name of Bajujh (FAIL, already):

On an ivory stool, flanked by giants in plumed headpieces and leopardskin girdles, sat a fat, squat shape, abysmal, repulsive, a toad-like chunk of blackness, reeking of the dank rotting jungle and the nighted swamps. The creature’s pudgy hands rested on the sleek arch of his belly; his nape was a roll of sooty fat that seemed to thrust his bullet-head forward. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, like live coals in a dead black stump.

Woah. Also, the rest of the language regarding Bajujh and his tribe hits all the notes–the black folks are compared to animals (“panther-like”) or demeaned for possessing native African-ish features (their hair is described as “kinky” and “wooly” as compared to Conan’s and the little white girls’ flowing tresses, among other crimes of wtf). The women are described uniformly as “wenches” (often “ribald wenches”) with white eyeballs rolling wickedly in their black faces or, by Conan himself, as “black sluts” who make him sick with their very appearance. Jesus. So, yeah. I don’t know why this struck me as being blog-worthy, I just. . . I’m making my way through my anthology of all the Conan stories, and up until now there’s been some serious-business Orientalism and some problematic white-dude-conquers-brown-people-for-good nonsense, but this was my first encounter with out and out WHAAAAAA?!?!?! in that book. I’ve read novels about slavery written by white English during the 18th century that were less racist and accorded more respect and humanity to black folks than “The Vale of Lost Women.” Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Finally, and most of all, sadly, I recently had to put my beloved cat Penelope to sleep. About a year ago, the vet noticed some of her liver values were elevated. Perhaps eight months ago, she was diagnosed with fatty liver disease, which is curable with effort and attention. We gave her the effort, we gave her the attention. Things were looking up for a time, she was steadily improving. Then, right before we went down to Florida for weddings and family visiting, her shape got kinda odd. At first it looked like maybe she’d just gotten a pot belly–she was eating more–but I took her in for a checkup before the vet had recommended anyways, to be sure. It turns out that her liver had failed, though her pathology wasn’t totally consistent with that or anything else. I believe now that a number of things just gave out at once. We did everything the vet recommended, but it wasn’t enough. The vet was frankly baffled she was even alive and as perky as she was toward the end. Most cats, apparently, would’ve succumbed to disease or depression far earlier. Penelope was a fighter, though–she loved her life, it was obvious she was trying every bit as hard as we were, but she started to decline after a few mild gains. A few days before we made the decision to have the vet come to the house and help her pass on, even though she was having trouble jumping, she got into bed with me, something she hadn’t done in years. Every day she meowed and purred and snugged and took a few little laps of tuna water or hummus, even though she was having a hard time keeping herself clean.

I miss her so much. Her favorite chair looks so empty now, the little bed next to mine that she slept in toward the end of things seems even smaller. I had been getting up in the middle of the night to pet her and check on her after the diagnosis/prognosis, and a few times I’ve woken up for that purpose only to realize that she is beyond being checked on any more. I am glad she is at peace, but twelve years wasn’t enough for me.

I know I don’t usually talk about writing stuff too much here, but I’m a bit overwhelmed and maybe a little happysad that yesterday I finished the final chapter of the novel I’ve been working on. I wrote THE END, typed it like it was no big deal, and woahmigod. Now editing, which I’m generally better at/enjoy more than banging out rough drafts so I should really go do some of that.

This project was certainly whirlwindish, given that I believe I started the pre-planning for this manuscript around mid-April of this year. It’s a short novel (under 100k), but damn! It just took over my life–it wanted to be on the page. Sure, it needs work. Sure, it’s not totally internally consistent. But I love it, and that makes me pretty happy.

I am fucking sick and tired of hearing Tea Party nutjobs talking about slavery. It needs to stop, because it is clear that, like so much else, Tea Party rabble-rousers have no concept of history, politics, or reality in general. I saw this ad a while ago and it induced a bit of frothing at the mouth–Abraham Lincoln thinks the federal income tax is akin to slavery? Oh shit right, it’s not like the first federal income tax was approved during the Lincoln presidency oh fucking wait no that is completely wrong, he signed into law the first federal income tax! But hey, why not grandstand and posture? I’m really sure that since the Revenue Act was terminated and then reborn as several other ways of taxing folks before the 16th amendment was approved that just really makes the Tea Party case! Indeed, paying a federal income tax that pays for public services like roads and schools and libraries and stuff is exactly the same thing as when a person of one race is born into a “peculiar institution” that allows him or her to be bought and sold, whipped, raped, worked without compensation, and psychologically abused by a different race! OK! As a white person, that makes real good sense to me!

This kind of bullshit nonsense is why I am frankly baffled when people are all like *shock* omg *shock* when the Tea Party is called on its shit for being a bunch of xenophobic, racist white folks with no ethos other than generalized rage over not getting their way in Washington, and, I dunno, when papers dare to consider not publishing re-runs of “Peanuts.” Lord have mercy on my blood pressure.

Well! Upon further consideration, the whole shock factor is  probably because Tea Party rabble-rousers are also total cowards, given that the article I was just about to link, penned by one Mark Somebody over at MarkTalk.com (it’s not right or left, it’s right or wrong!) was taken down and covered up like a cat burying a particularly odious turd, likely because he realized that penning a fictional letter from the NAACP to Abraham Lincoln about how apparently affirmative action and welfare are measures supported by “colored people” who don’t really want to be free, but who just want the federal government to be “massa” is completely inappropriate and insane! True!

The fact that Mr. Mark took the offending post down shows two things. First, it demonstrates how little Tea Party grandstanders wish to actually induce critical thought in their audiences, but rather get people fightin’ mad and slink away into the self-satisfied darkness of their suburban homes. Also, it demonstrates that Tea Party sorts also just love to miss the point. This paragraph I’ll quote below is genuinely amazing:

I would suggest to those offended by the term “Colored People” (the phrase that made my article so controversial) please contact the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and join me in calling for an end to their use of the racial slur and that Mr. Jealous take me up on my offer to travel with me on the next Tea Party Express so that he may meet all of you in person.  His contact information is below.

First of all, hey! White folks don’t necessarily get to determine what’s a slur and what’s not, or how people of color refer to themselves! Secondly, the article in question wasn’t controversial because of the flippant, ignorant throwing-about of the term “colored people” (that part made it merely gratuitously inappropriate) but were, in reality, offended by his allegation that affirmative action is akin to black folks wanting to be under the protection of a kindly “massa” once more, since apparently in the minds of Tea Party wingnuts. . . slavery was just white folks taking care of black folks? Right, I forgot that Gone With the Wind was a perfectly accurate depiction of slavery in the American south. Gosh, it is just totally real American history that black folks really don’t know nuthin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies!

I will admit that I’m not as familiar with American slavery as slavery in the British West Indies, but damn it, I’m definitely familiar enough with American slavery and and its repercussions to say with all certainty that analogizing slavery to income tax or affirmative action or welfare is just about the most ignorant thing in the world and it needs to stop. And it needs to stop not because I’m some ivory tower liberal trying to silence free speech of salt of the earth Americans, but because it’s stupid and inaccurate.

For many years I’ve been critical of the tactic used in the animal rights movement to analogize industrial animal agriculture to rape. I hate it more than anything, and while I won’t get off topic by addressing my issues with that particular mental exercise, I find the Tea Party lust to imagine themselves enslaved and oppressed to be similarly disturbing and misguided. A terrible thing (or a perceived terrible thing) is not always exactly or even vaguely the same as some different terrible thing, and I think that making crackpot analogies merely serves to draw attention away from the real issues that could perhaps be discussed in rational ways should people wish to do so.

What the fuck am I even saying? Obviously it is better to nonsensically spout off dreck about how being a rich white dude in America these days is like so totally the same as being Big Jim out in the cotton fields. Bread and circuses worked for the Romans for a good long while, so why not?

Before we begin, a little linky-poo: Matt Staggs has an article up over at Suvudu.com about why some folks get dragon tattoos. My little demon-dude is up at the end after many interesting responses, so as Dr. Steven Brule would say, go check it out!

You know the drill: Jesse Bullington and I have (perhaps foolishly) decided to embark upon a quest: watching “classic” adventure movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. These columns will run every Wednesday on our blogs, excluding the last post of each month, which will appear over at Fantasy Magazine. After watching and loving The Terminator we decided to give the sequel its due. While I still can’t figure out why the movie was called Judgment Day–didn’t they, you know, stop it from happening?–I’m ready to do some judging of my own, so let’s get to work!

The Film: Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? James Cameron—big time. Though he directed and co-wrote, Cameron did receive screenwriting help from his old buddy William Wisher, Jr., who went on to work on Judge Dredd and the Exorcist prequels. Seemingly straight-faced soundtrack by Guns N’ Roses, Dwight Yoakam, and George “Bad to the Bone” Thorogood. Hackting by Arnold, Linda “Chin-up” Hamilton, Edward “Is this Really the Height of My Career?” Furlong, Robert “It Was for Me, Too, Kid, So Suck it Up” Patrick, and Joe “Eureka” Morton.

Quote: If you can’t come up with a quote from this on your own, well, you’re probably better off.

Alternate quote: For reals.

First viewing by Molly: Last week.

First viewing by Jesse: In the theatre—so, nine years old.

Most recent viewing by both: Last week.

Impact on Molly’s childhood development: See The Terminator.

Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: Decent. I was thrilled to be allowed to see it in the theatre, which was a first where this sort of thing was concerned, and consequently the last for some time thereafter. I remember thinking Edward Furlong was pretty awesome, and, as with a whole generation of kids who wanted a dirtbike and a pet Terminator, I got my hair cut just like him. The ‘do went well with my brightly colored hammer pants. Ah, 1991.

Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:

For some reason it won’t let me embed these clips, so link!

Molly’s thoughts prior to re-watching: I was really excited, as I remembered the hype surrounding T2 and thought The Terminator was just marvelous. Little did I know. . . never mind. I’ll say it all later.

Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: After being wary of re-watching the first Terminator, I was more optimistic about re-watching T2, not having seen it all the way through since I was a kid. Which shows how very, very mixed-up and foolish these columns make me.

Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: Who could’ve guessed that the high jinks and kid-friendly action of T2 would please me less than the dark horror/sci-fi balance struck so wonderfully in The Terminator? Wowza! Shocking revelations aside, I suppose I should be generous enough to mention that I believe, had I viewed these films as a kid, my feelings would be somewhat different, since I can’t believe Young Molly would be the only kid in America to not squee at the notion of a pet Terminator. Anywho, I started getting really philosophical watching Terminator 2: Judgment Day, and I think I’ll share those musings, as even in the sober light of day, I think my theory about T2 holds up. Here it is: with a few notable exceptions, the problematic differences between The Terminator and T2 mirror the problematic differences between Conan the Barbarian and Conan the Destroyer. Many of the stinky decisions Richard Fleischer made in order to completely ruin Conan the Destroyer have some bafflingly-accurate counterpart in T2. A short list in the order I thought about them writing this right now (and feel free to add your own):

• Music: The gravitas of the scores of both Barbarian and Terminator are legendary—though I might personally feel that Poledouris’ epic, weighty score for Conan the Barbarian outstrips the eerie synthesizer in Terminator, both effectively convey the fact that you should be paying attention because what’s going on onscreen fucking matters. Then we have the goofiness of Destroyer and T2. Destroyer, as I believe I noted in our official review, is sucky because it’s just the goddamn soundtrack to Barbarian but sped up and dumbed down. T2, for its part, adds in a bunch of annoying pop standards to try to jolt the audience out of the glassy-eyed state of  “oooooooh shiny!” James Cameron was clearly attempting to invoke, given the script.

• Presence of Wisecracking Sidekicks: How many wisecracking sidekicks appear to quip their lines adorably in Barbarian or Terminator? Fucking none, save Linda Hamilton’s friend, I guess, but calling her a sidekick would be a stretch. As we all know, Conan’s sidekick Subotai in Barbarian is the fucking jam for many reasons but his lack of wisecracking, “classic lines,” or “signature moves” elevates him exponentially. Then there’s Destroyer and T2. In Destroyer, we get the Most Annoying Sidekick of All Time, who I will not dignify by taking the time to google his name [Jesse says: say what you will, Tracy Walter was pretty ok in Repo Man]. In T2, Stock 90s Troubled Youth John Connor is kinda the main character, but so is the Terminator, so they sorta kinda become each other’s sidekicks and thus must both make wisecracks to fulfill that stereotype and omg I don’t even want to think about this any more AT ALL.

• Pacing: The presence (or absence) of wisecracking sidekicks is a decent indicator of intended audience with the Conan and Terminator franchises (who wants to hang out with Conan talking shit/have a pet Terminator? Kids, that’s who [Jesse says: that is some ageist bullshit right there, but I’ll let it slide]), but so is pacing. Barbarian/Terminator had a weight to them—careful plotting, attempts and even the occasional success with character development. They both do that thing where there’s rising action, several climaxes that keep getting more climax-y, and falling action. Destroyer/T2 bank on us knowing who these characters are (and caring due to our affection for the first films) and just go buck wild with ‘splosions and shit getting shot and fire and guns. Also they attempt to go for the yuk-yuks, but more on that in the next section.

• Self-Awareness: You know how Conan punches the camel in Conan the Destroyer for the yuk-yuk factor, because we all remember Conan getting trashed and punching that camel in Barbarian? And you know how they get Conan’s wisecracking sidekick to comment on the action? Yeah. You know how in T2 they repeat all the good lines from Terminator for the yuk-yuk factor and later reboot the Terminator so he can mug and grin for John Connor? Boo.

• Honorable Mention: Presence of A Really, Really Crazy Lady: I’m pretty much done here but I’d like to mention another odd coincidence/element of both Destroyer/T2 that kinda sucked—both feature a lady character who’s so single-minded that she ends up ruining things, big time. The fact that Queen Whatever from Conan the Destroyer is a villainess and Sarah Connor is just batshit insane from knowing the future and being abused in Stock Post-Cuckoo’s Nest Mental Institution doesn’t really matter very much, because they both are so incapable of just listening to the men in their lives that they totally ruin a bunch of stuff.

I—I just. . . I know everyone loves T2, especially one Raechel Lynn Dumas, and so I feel bad putting it in the same sequel-fail category as Conan the Destroyer. . . but still. Big dumb blockbusters that are awesome (in the “extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear” sense of awesomeness) and dark just work better for me than yuk-yuks and craziness. But since as a kid I totally thought Return of the Jedi was waaaaay better than, you know, Empire Strikes Back, I’d like to reiterate that had I seen T2 as a kid I likely would’ve loved it and had some degree of nostalgia/affection to balance out my allergy to George Thorogood and pandering camp.

Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: Cats alive, that movie. First and foremost, it most certainly does not hold up to the first film in terms of aging gracefully/tolerably. It’s a louder, flashier, longer, and far stupider film than The Terminator, and yet is revered as one of the best films of all time by many a poll. Which goes to show that the lowest common denominator is, surprise surprise, pretty goddamn low, and that most people would rather watch a nonsensical mega-budget action movie with good effects to a lean, mean thriller with perhaps more heart than ability. I know, I know, stop the fucking presses.

Mind, as far as campy shoot-em-ups go you’d be hard pressed to find another early 90s cheesefest to rival T2 for technical ability and action set pieces—but then the first movie had both of those, and managed to avoid the ankle-snapping pitfalls that T2 is pocked with. When you’re trying to make a sequel to a movie about time travel you’re already setting out with a strike or two against you, and T2’s solution is to make things even more nonsensically convoluted in the hope that nobody will notice it makes zero sense whatsoever. There’s a reason critics compare the series’ narrative paradoxes to the old Planet of the Apes movies, which is never a good thing. Granted, I haven’t seen the third or fourth movies, or the tv show, which maybe ties it up real good, but I did play the Robocop Vs. Terminator videogame and feel like I can talk about the franchise with some small authority.

That said, re-watching it was a lot of fun, because, well, for all the annoying bits and stupidity it’s a pretty goddamn fun flick if one has the childhood memories I do, or if you’re the type who enjoys non-stop explosions, car chases, and shoot-outs [Molly says: I do, but I’m nothing if not perpetually disappointed by life]. Not the sort of fun movie I’m ever going to re-watch now that I’ve been back to the well, but hey, better than Conan the Destroyer. Maybe.

High Points: The T-1000 effects, which, as far as CGI goes, have aged impressively well. S. Epatha Merkerson showing up and taking her role seriously. The nostalgia factor, that draws one back to a mindset where the acting, plot, and pretty much everything else could be overlooked in light of shit getting shot and blown up with extreme prejudice. Shit getting shot and blowing up with extreme prejudice:

Link!

Low Points: Crazy mom being crazy. Any scene where shit is not getting shot and blowing up with extreme prejudice. The kid. The clumsy stabs at acting, which miss all the major organs and leave the audience bleeding out through countless agonizing gashes. The relentlessly annoying pop-soundtrack, most especially the scene where the Terminator goes into that redneck bar to “Bad to the Bone.” The camp, which rather than being so-bad-it’s-good, is often so-bad-it’s-bad.

Final Verdict: Seriously, we just compared this movie to Conan the Destroyer.

Next Week: Probably Alien.