New York Comic-Con is over. It was a blast. Exhausting, probably the most exhausting show that I’ve been to, but still rewarding. Seven days in New York. I did a lot of the touristy stuff. Empire State Building (picture from the top to the left). Statue of Liberty. Central Park. I also did a lot of things just for me. I went to the Comedy Cellar where famous comedians try out the new stuff. I went to FAO Schwartz and remembered what it was like to be a kid, even if only for a couple hours. And I walked around the city, by myself, with my headphones on and the music cranked. Again, it was a good trip. There were no good byes from the Oni folk, mostly because I’ll still be working there.
And now that it’s over, I can focus on a few things. School. Writing. Movies. Feels like I haven’t watched anything in a good long while. So, last night, I watched Pontypool. You know how you order a nonfat Caramel Latte, and add a ton of whip cream? That’s kinda what watching Pontypool was like. It was good, it just didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
Here’s the rundown: A big city radio DJ, Grant Mazzy, is new in town and he’s ready to put his name out there. He tries to stir the city up, piss them off, get them calling in. The cops in this town are drunks, etc, etc. His producer, Sydney Briar, tells him to reel it in. It’s a small town. People are proud and easily offended. They want to hear if the school buses will be on time or if the winter storm will last much longer. Mazzy tries to tone it down, until someone calls in with the story of a lifetime. A riot has broken out at Dr. Mendez’s office. Hundreds of people are turning cannibalistic, mumbling incoherent nonsense as they tear each other apart.
Here’s where the movie got me: Everything is being relayed to us by the smooth, chocolately voice of Grant Mazzy. It’s like listening to one of those old horror radio shows. It proves that your own imagination is much more powerful than anything you could see on TV. People are calling in with their eye witness reports. Little Jimmy was spotted running through town square, his hands nothing more than bloody stumps. The Smiths were seen being devoured inside their own car by Grandma Joe and the high school quarterback.
It was good stuff. I had to turn on the lights. Then I had to turn off the lights because I didn’t want anyone seeing them from the street corner.
I wished that the movie continued this way, but they had to explain it, wrap it up. It gets weird. Basically, people are being infected by the english language. Certain words trigger the crazy to end all crazies. Words like Sample, Death, Honey. Mazzy and Sydney start talking in French to avoid being infected, but they know that that’s a temporary solution at best. They need a cure. When Sydney is infected by the word Kill, Mazzy has to think fast. He tries to reverse the affects. Kill is Kiss. Kill is Kiss. Kill is Kiss, he repeats. It works. She no longer associates the word with it’s true meaning. She’s recovered.
With one last radio show, they try to relay their universal cure, but when they start shouting out Kill is Kiss, and Sample is Simple, and Death is Life, or whatever it is that they say, they are thought to be lost with the rest of the infected.
The loud speaker starts up: 10, 9, 8, 7…
And a countdown in a horror movie never ends in a good way.
Watch it, if only to experience that good kind of crazy.