Summer, Cult Movies, X-Files, and Black Oak Security
by James Reyome
Jim's (un)usual disclaimer: I am actually writing
this while my heart is all a-quiver. Really, it's fibrillating pretty severely
right now, so I beg your patience if my writing is even more stilted than
usual. Heaven knows my
typing could use some work anyway, and maybe the shakes will help...anyway,
as Kate Bush would say, be kind to my mistakes...
So. Spring was awesome. Let's make it plain now: Summer fairly sucks here
in Tennessee. I am not often prone to overuse of that word, but allow me
this indulgence, please: summer sucks. It just does. Let me count the ways
using the letter H only: heat, humidity, and hornets, all of which have troubled
me this season thus far.
And yellowjackets too. No wonder Robert McCammon once wrote an absolute
stomach turner of a short story called "Yellowjacket Summer" in his collection
Blue World (Pocket, 1989) which you absolutely must read again, especially
if you're a fan of McCammon's work, as he's finally about to end his long
literary silence with the impending release of Speaks The Nightbird
. But to get back on topic, summer is just one of those burdens we must
bear, and of course eventually it becomes autumn, which takes a second place
on my seasonal podium only to spring, so I guess it's worth enduring. Still,
it does put a strain on us cardiac patients, so it's a good thing we have
some very entertaining books to report on as July becomes August.
I am, as Frequent Visitors To This Space will no doubt be aware, a movie
lover of the first magnitude. But not the ordinary dreck; I like the unusual,
and probably you do too, or else you probably wouldn't be here. Some films
are just so excruciatingly bad that you can't help but watch: Sly Stallone's
Driven (Renny Harlin, 2001) is a prime example, and neatly swipes
aside the Tom Cruise limper Days Of Thunder (Tony Scott, 1990) as
the worst movie ever made on one of my favorite subjects, auto racing. If
Harry and Michael Medved were ever to do an update of their classic Golden
Turkey Awards (Perigee, 1980, out of print, but generally available
used), Driven will most certainly have to take its place. I only
hope the Medveds will see fit; this is a book that belongs in every movie
lover's library, for all the right (wrong) reasons.
Turkey is fine so far as it goes, but one can only watch so many bad films
before suffering terminal constipation. So how about movies that are just
unusual, or outright weird? Surely horror genre films fall into that category
fairly often. For that, I turn to Danny Peary's wonderful Cult Movies
books (volume 1: Delacorte, 1981; volume 2 reprint, Doubleday 1989; volume
3, Fireside, 1988). These too are sadly out of print, but they're also readily
available used online. And they're well worth the hunt too: loads of rare
photos, cast and crew credits, and synopses abound, along with Peary's own
insightful (and often incisive) commentary. Everything you would expect
is here; Romero gets two entries, for Night of the Living Dead of
course, but also for the eerie little chiller Martin. Ed Wood also
gets two, but for different (read: campy) reasons: Plan 9 From Outer
Space and Glen Or Glenda? John Carpenter weighs in with the
original Halloween, as he should, and two of George Miller's Mad
Max films also make the grade, along with Hitchcock's Vertigo,
Marnie (rather obscure but very good!) and, of course, Psycho
.
But the real joys in these tomes aren't necessarily just to be had from
those films you know; instead, read these for those you don't know, horror
or otherwise. Alan Rudolph's wonderful Choose Me, for example. Or
Peter
Bogdanovich's splendid and almost prophetic Targets. Ever seen Samuel
Fuller's Shock Corridor? You should. Goulding's Nightmare Alley
? No? Really?
Gosh, what you're missing. Daughters Of Darkness? Two-Lane
Blacktop (featuring James Taylor, for crying out loud, in a starring
role)? I Walked With A Zombie? But I'm belaboring the point: these
are essential volumes. Hang your head in abject shame till you obtain copies.
And Danny Peary, should you happen to read this, please give us a volume
4!
But what if the summer heat has your TV on the fritz and it's reading material
you're seeking? Genre fans, look no further, particularly if, like me, you
really, really liked The X-Files. No, it's not coming back, and I
have no news of any further incarnations thereof, but I do have a review
of a nifty new series from the mind of Charles Grant. You know Charles Grant,
man of a gazillion titles and awards, creator of the Shadows and Greystone
Bay anthology series (the latter of which I dearly loved) and yes, author
of the two best--in my not-so-humble opinion--X-Files novels, Goblins
(HarperPrism, 1994) and Whirlwind (HarperPrism, 1995.) I have always
respected Grant for his ability to not only create genuinely creepy stories
and truly unusual protagonists (see Whirlwind for an excellent example
of the latter) but also for his characterizations. You actually give a darn
about the people in his books. How rare is that? I was thus thrilled that
he would take up pen for Mulder and Scully and equally disappointed in the
series' evocations by other, lesser hands.
And then I was turned onto Black Oak.
Mind you, Black Oak was, to me, a rather seedy locale in northwest Indiana
best known for its proximity to Gary. No longer. Instead, it's a detective
agency seemingly specializing in the unusual. It seems to be teetering on
the brink of financial ruin but for one wealthy client, who is convinced
that his daughter, missing for 13 years, is still alive. He contracts Black
Oak to find her, very much against the wishes of his family, and thus it
all begins. Now, this story line would, to "X-Philes," be the rough equivalent
of the "mythology," the background glue holding things together, and were
that all there was to it, Black Oak would be just another genre series.
But this is more. The cases Black Oak Security is called upon to investigate
are not all necessarily paranormal, and in some most unexpected ways they
all seem to be tying into the mythology of the lost Celeste Blaine.
A neat concept, to be sure, but it would all be just another X-Files
(or perhaps even Twin Peaks) clone but for the characters. These
are real people, with real abilities and flaws, real emotions. And that
is what makes
Black Oak work. I care how Doc Falcon lost his eye, I care about what happened
to Shake Waldman, I want to know if RJ's going to finish school. And I want
to know what happens to the mother of Ethan Proctor, the leader of Black
Oak Security. Is it all kind of soap-opera-ish? Perhaps, but not overtly
so, and that's what's making me so look forward to the arrival of the sixth
Black Oak outing. For now, let's have a look at the most recent episode...
Black Oak 5: When The Cold Wind Blows (ROC, 2001, 5.99 pb):
This is the fifth episode in the series, and it begins with an amateur
archeologist encountering something terrifying in the woods. Black Oak becomes
involved when a friend of the archeologist contacts Proctor, concerned about
the events taking place in an otherwise normal small town in northwest Georgia.
Recently people have the odd habit of turning up dead, but not just dead
dead; they are shredded dead. Speculation immediately abounds amongst the
paranormally-minded within Black Oak: is it a werewolf? Coincidentally--or
perhaps not so--one of the presumed victims bears more than a passing resemblance
to someone who also turned up missing at the same time as Celeste Blaine.
Thus Black Oak mobilizes and faces more than the usual southern resistance
to Yankees trespassing on their turf from the local constabulary. There's
even an old swamp witch to complete the ensemble, and yes, I know it sounds
like every werewolf book you've ever read, but dammit, this thing works
more often than not, and Grant ties it all up just neatly enough by page
241 to resolve the episode. But not the Blaine disappearance. That's presumably
being saved for a future Black Oak novel.
Or so I hope. I have been waiting--hoping against hope, let's say--for
the Fourth Chronicles of Greystone Bay (yes, I know, In The Fog was
released back in '93, but not in a mass market version so far as I know)
for quite
some time now, but then I've been patiently waiting for a new Kate Bush
album about that long too. Hey, some things are just worth the wait. The resurrection
of Greystone Bay would be cool, but till then I would be more
than content to see Black Oak continue. A teaser for the next episode is,
of course, previewed in the last few pages of When The Cold Wind Blows
, just as the first four volumes are summarized in the opening few pages,
and that's neat, very retro, like an old Saturday morning movie theater
serial. Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. Black Oak would make a great
movie series too. For now, break out the popcorn, turn down the lights (except
the reading lamp), turn the pages, and enjoy.