The Wolf Of Snow Hollow

   (With apologies to Warren Zevon)

You hear him howling around your kitchen door

You better not let him in

Little old lady got mutilated late last night

Werewolves of [Snow Hollow, Utah] again

Deputy John's in way over his head

Having a nervous breakdown

Ex-wife and daughter hate him, he just wants a drink

Werewolves of [Snow Hollow, Utah] again

                                                                        

Remember the name Jim Cummings. The writer, director, and actor is gonna be a major force in film. 

Soon. 

Fatman

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the land

Few children were good; in fact, most were bad.

Kris and Ruth Kringle and all of the elves

Were nearing bankruptcy, close to filing Chapter 12!

There's a kid who hates Santa, and an assassin does too

They team together to take Santa down.

Guns blaze and blood spills before the night is done

Bullets whiz and bombs blow, I wonder who won?

There are no spoilers here, you'll have to watch the flick

To find out if Ruth lives, along with husband St. Nick.

The cinematography's poor and the plot is too thin

But it's sorta neat to see Mel Gibson in an action film again.

Let Him Go

Sometimes the best way to describe a movie is to suggest what it's not. 

There are no capes or magic powers in Let Him Go. There are just two good-hearted and determined people willing to do what's necessary to protect their grandson. 

There are no scenes of gratuitous violence and gore. The violence and limited gore shown seems genuine and appropriate. 

There is no Terminator-type ending where the villain will be back in endless sequels. The ending wraps it all up well, and is pretty much how an event like this would and should play out.

Let Him Go is simple but powerful. Absurd but sincere. Small with wide appeal. The sort of movie that forces you to consider if you'd make the same decisions as Kevin Costner and Diane Lane if you found yourself in their circumstance. 

Or, would you let him go?

Uncle Frank

 Written and directed by Alan Ball, Uncle Frank tells a poignant story of how one southern family is affected by homophobia in the early- to mid-20th century. 

It would be easy to presume the movie is about Frank, who escaped the bigotry of South Carolina to live somewhat happily as a college professor in New York City.  It would also be easy to think the movie is about Beth, a teen inspired by her uncle who grows into womanhood during the flick. 

It's not. 

Those characters are simply a means through which the audience gets to experience how guilt, rejection, and fear -- both real and imagined -- can influence relationships and life quality. 

Paul Bettany is wonderful as Frank, who is kind and thoughtful yet flawed. His double life -- he's one person at work in the big city, another with his family in his hometown -- is well managed until tragedy strikes and forces him to choose between the two lifestyles. Beth, played with great empathy by Sophia Lillis, serves to give the audience a front row view of the transformation. 

I was surprised to read several negative reviews of the film. It was called "stereotypical," and "cliched," by some. 

I disagree. 

Much of the behavior you'll see in Uncle Frank really exists. I know gay men who live a double life because they won't be accepted by their families if they live openly. I know people who use religion -- you know, that "hate the sin, love the sinner" nonsense -- to dehumanize and degrade those in same sex relationships. I know well intentioned yet naïve people who have narrow world views simply because their world is not very diverse. I was one of those people myself a lifetime ago. 

Most importantly, I know people who experience lifelong trauma because of, well, . . .  all that. 

Nah, I didn't see Uncle Frank as a stereotype. I found it real, tragic, and hopeful. 

(A note to my fellow West Virginians: There's a brief-but-cool mention of the "Mystery Hole" in the second act of the movie. Pay attention as Frank and Beth take a lunch break from their road trip to South Carolina. It's brief, but it made me smile.)

My Octopus Teacher (Netflix)

 My Octopus Teacher, directed by Pippa Ehrlich and James Reed, follows Craig Foster as he builds a deep, emotional relationship with a common octopus along the coast of South Africa. 

My Octopus Teacher is beautifully shot and narrated. Its strength, however, is listening to Foster describe the relationship be built as he swam with the octopus every day for a year. He's a bit obsessive and driven, and wonderfully reflective. He credits his time swimming with the octopus for healing some of his relationships. 

This may be the best documentary of 2020. 

Hillbilly Elegy

Few things anger Appalachians more than outsiders passing judgement on how we live. 

Sure, there are lots of other things outsiders do that ruffle our feathers. For example: pronounce the region "Appa-LAY-shuh" instead of "Appa-LATCH-uh" and every hillbilly within earshot will participate in a synchronized, dramatic eye roll. Try it, and watch it happen. It's in our DNA. 

That's because when we hear that we know immediately you're not one of us. And that makes us question your ability to understand and appreciate our culture. We're a bit thin-skinned about outsiders, as we've had a long history of being abused, used, exploited, and mocked by them. 

I reckon if we had our druthers y'all would stay out of our hollers and done leave us be. 

My hillbilly bona fides are legit. I grew up smack dab in the heart of Appalachia. The region in which I was born and raised had all the mountain-folk stereotypes: outhouses were not uncommon; some people drew the water they drank and bathed in from hand-dug wells; kinsfolk from multiple generations lived on the same property; and a few kids I knew took summertime baths in large tubs of water in the back yard. The region was also home to hard working men and women. People with a deep connection to their land and to their communities. Family clans within which cousins, aunts, and uncles held nearly the same status as brothers, sisters, and parents.  

I've spent a lifetime immersed in hillbilly culture, and that experience caused me to have strong feelings about J.D. Vance's Hillbilly Elegy. Those feelings are so strong, in fact, that I find it difficult to describe them. Anger is too strong a word, but frustration is not strong enough. Maybe the most appropriate descriptor is disappointment. 

Yeah. Disappointment. Deep, pervasive disappointment. Because -- once again -- an outsider took a hard look at my hillbilly culture, compared it to how he sees and experiences the world, then concluded that we live as we do because we don't make the right choices. 

[Cue eye roll]

Vance visited Appalachia lots of times, but he grew up in northern Ohio. He's an outsider. And outsiders like him ain't looking at the right things when they peer in at us from the outside. That view is superficial and lacks nuance. They see hillbillies as unambitious and unmotivated. Shiftless and lazy. Ignorant and impulsive. 

If they truly understood the culture they'd instead see resilience and resourcefulness. Steadfast loyalty and fierce determination. A people curious about life even while being geographically and socially isolated. 

A kind people eager to help others. 

Hillbilly Elegy tells the story of one family's response to trauma, mental illness, and addiction. While Appalachia has its share of those things, the region holds no ownership of them. Those mental health issues affect millions of Americans of all types; men and women; adults and children; poor and rich; city and country dwellers. 

And flatlanders and hillbillies.