Last night I saw Drag Me to Hell. I don't usually go for horror movies, and admittedly I spent a significant portion of screentime scrutinizing the lower right corner of the screen, where my eyes were unlikely to catch any explosions of blood, embalming fluid, or festering maggots. But I liked the actors (particularly Alison Lohman and Dileep Rao). Sam Raimi, as director and writer, took a few real risks with audience sympathy that paid off. And I laughed out loud. Twice. Overall, worth the big-screen experience.
I went through an important period when I read nothing but horror fiction--Stephen King, Christopher Pike--so it's not the conventions of plot and character that keep me away from horror movies. It's the trend of graphic violence and torture-porn (Saw, Hostel). The way I look at it, my mind has room for only so many images. I don't want the image of someone sawing their own leg off to crowd out something a little more useful. A sophisticated horror movie (I also loved The Others) doesn't need an endless parade of money shots.
Just confirmed that I will be part of a kickass (technical term) evening of poetry on Friday, June 12, as part of a reading sponsored by Barrelhouse. The reading will take place from 8ish to 10ish in the Poetry Lounge of Art-O-Matic, a massive annual multigenre arts festival staged here in DC. This year's location is 55 M Street SE, on top of the Navy Yard Metro (Green Line). The other readers will include David Keplinger, Rebekah Sankey, Elizabeth Arnold, Terence Winch, and Eric Pankey (is that an incredible line-up, or what?). Co-sponsored by Smartish Pace.
You should come! This will be my last reading before I get out of town for a month; I'm running away with the gypsies, as my dad used to say. Leaving my job, my tailored pants, and my worries behind.