Sue Lange's Blog, page 2

Surviving FB Withdrawal

I just escaped from Facebook. Deleted the account. In 30 days I will no longer exist in the FB world.

Am I brave or nuts? My existence is in jeopardy without FB, but I’ll do my best to eke out a presence with this here blog. I’ve got oodles of ideas. Mostly I’ll talk about the culture in my neighborhood, which at the present is Allentown, PA.

I only moved here a couple of years ago and am still exploring. I’m discovering great restaurants, musuems, and the zoo. I’m in Amish/Mennonite country which means picturesque landscapes, well-priced furniture, and horse poop on the road. Lots of great topics for posts.

I’ll also be hawking one of my books still in print, WE, ROBOTS, about the technological singularity. It’s a fun, surrealistic story about a little mobile AI unit.

At any rate, I intend to survive withdrawal from FB. I prefer reality for the most part anyway, but if I get the social media DTs, I’ve still got LinkedIn and Youtube. In the words of Gloria Gaynor, “I will survive.”

Review of THE INSULT

In this moment, this film — THE INSULT, out in 2018 and directed by one — should be required viewing by every American. The culture of hate, currently brewing in this fair land, could easily turn us into Beirut, where a mere verbal insult can easily erupt into rioting in the streets. It’s not pretty. Watch the movie; you’ll see what I mean. And it’s where we’re headed if we don’t get a grip soon.

By “get a grip” I mean turn off CNN, Fox News, talk radio, and most of the Internet. If any of those sources is where you get your news, you are being victimized. Scammed the same way someone who wires money to Jamaica, hoping to win the sweepstakes, gets scammed.

To increase viewerships, those “news” sources play on fears and gullibility. On top of that, they know we’re dumb and lazy and so they have no incentive to research the truth or deliver to us two sides of a story. We’re not going to fact check them and we don’t want to hear it anyway. We’re so comfortable with what we already believe, we’ll listen to anybody telling us that “truth.” We don’t bother to question even the most ludicrous of stories. The Demorats are Satanists? Trump supporters are all low-IQ inbreds? Come on people, get a grip!

Because we all follow either the right or the left without question, we easily believe the most extreme of lies. We love them and we’re comfortable in our self-righteous hatred of the others. It feels good.

Yes, the media has the right to free speech — “freedom of the press.” They can say what they want. But since they have no moral backbone, no desire to do their due diligence, dig deep, or express truth rather than opinion, why do we pay attention to them?

Turn off your TV. Stop getting your news from the Internet.

I’m not asking you to visit the library to do your own research, just use your common sense when reports are ridiculous. Use your intelligence, not your emotional, knee-jerking, gut instinct. Don’t get mad; seek out truly unbiased reporters. You’ll be able to recognize them because they’re not screaming at you. They’re giving more than one side to a story. They are THINKING.

In the end we are all Americans. We all want to pay less taxes, avoid Herpes, buy something we don’t need and can’t afford. I know it’s hard to see all that common ground in a person whose god awful politics is so bass ackwards. The only smart thing to do with them is stone them. But try — even if it seems impossible — to see their humanity. If you can’t find one good thing to say about the opposition, you are a victim of the scammers. 

I suggest you get yourself to Netflix or Amazon, or wherever, and rent THE INSULT. That is where we’re all headed if we don’t stop the great media swindle.

Cancel your news subscription. Do it today! That is the road to salvation.

— Sue Lange, producer LE BON CHEF

Review: The French Dispatch

This is Wes Anderson at his best: artistic, silly, plotless for the most part. If you read The New Yorker or perhaps write for McSweeney’s you need to see this film. It’s a send-up of columnists, especially those of long ago who preferred paragraph-long sentences that shamelessly perambulated throughout the iconic folds of dictionary pages while secreting supercilious punctuation like a baseball player trudging through a Midwestern sleet while wearing cleats: it’s not necessary, but certainly worth a brag at a funereal after party.

The font face is divine. As are all the stars. At last count there were 513 Hollywood types doing cameos. There’s a new game coming out for those who like star spotting. Works like a word search only with actors names from the film.

It’s a delightful movie especially for Wes Anderson fans. If you don’t get Anderson, don’t go to this film. You will only get mad.

Before this film I had a mild crush on his films. After viewing The French Dispatch, I am now one of the legion of Wes Anderson fans. Can’t wait for the Criterion Collection.

— Sue Lange/producer LE BON CHEF

Why “The Room” is not Rocky Horror

Tommy Wiseau in THE ROOM. Drawing by Andrew Pochan.

It’s been twelve years since Rob Christopher over at Chicagoist first decided “The Room” would be the next Rocky Horror Picture show and I’m still not seeing it.

The rabid Rockheads heave a sigh of relief: the object of their worship has not been unseated. The rabid Roomheads, however, reply: “You just wait; Room hasn’t been around for 46 years like Rocky has.” 

Okay, I’ll wait. 

In the meantime, let’s compare and contrast. Rockheads call their movie a masterpiece. But is it? Take away the toast, the rice, and Tim Curry what are you left with? The plot at best is murky, at worst silly. The production values are poor. Except for Tim Curry, you could be describing The Room, so maybe…

Except there is one big difference: Rocky Horror has musical numbers. Musical numbers add a lot of cachet to a film. It can lead to people lip-syncing the entire film in the aisles for chrissake. In costume. 

Shadowcasting of Rocky Horror has a long history. That’s probably because the film is ultimately shadowcastable thanks to the musical numbers. Who doesn’t want to strut in fishnets to a finger-popping tune? Drag queens picked up the beat Downtown and it’s been spreading across the world ever since. And not just at midnight on Halloween anymore. The alternate Rocky Horror is performed all over, all the time. 

A quick review of the ‘net revealed one shadowcast performance of The Room somewhere in Florida. Why is that? I’ll tell you why: nobody wants to shadowcast a film with only a “You’re tearing me apart. Oh, hi Mark.” going for it. Rocky Horror has musical numbers. End of story.

Roomheads will tell you to just wait until 2050 when The Room will be just as popular. There will be just as much licensed junk out there. Just as many midnight showings with lip-synching, finger-popping drag queens. 

Maybe. If that happens, I’m sure Tim Curry will be rolling over in his grave. Probably me too.

— Sue Lange

Dust Nuggets: my latest project

[image error]Dust Nuggets is a feature film. Full-length. Yup, and I’m scared. Never did this before.

The film’s a mind-bender. Dreamscape. Surreal at times. Something you’ve never seen before for sure. Not frightening or hard to understand, just different. Aren’t you ready for something new?

We put together a test short when we were first trying to figure out what the film was about. You can see that on Youtube.

There’s more information about the film at our fundraising page.

What we need most of all right now are donations. Please consider helping.

Traffic Opera going to Sydney

[image error]Very happy to say my film, Traffic Opera, is headed for Sydney, Australia. It’ll be screened in the Sydney Indie Film Festival, Monday, October 29, 2018. Way to go down under! Info: http://sydneyindiefilmfestival.com

Call for Actors

[image error]Call for Actors

Now casting for Dust Nuggets feature film

Shooting for Dust Nuggets will commence December 2018 and continue through May 2019. This is a drama about a struggling garage band. Shooting will take place in southeastern PA, primarily in Berks County.

Roles needed

Joanie – age 9-12, curly brown hair any ethnicity

Ivan/Yvonne, — 30-50, any gender, any ethnicity

Dee — 30-40s male, any ethnicity

Q — 30-40s male, any ethnicity

Harry/Harriet – talk show host 30-60s, any gender or ethnicity

Tom Waits as Renfield in Bram Stoker’s Dracula – any age, ethnicity, or gender. If you can convince us you are Tom Waits as Renfield, you got the part.

This is a non-SAG production, but rates comparable to SAG will be paid.

We also need a lot of extras for this production. All ages, ethnicities, and genders. No pay or travel stipends for extras.

Auditions will be held in November. Please send headshot and resume to coolathfilmth@gmail.com

Reading Bluesfest: back to the roots

[image error]Going back to my roots. On November 18th I’ll be performing at Grill then Chill as part of the Reading BluesFest. Grill then Chill is at 400 Woodward Street, Reading PA 19601.

I’ll be performing with Lamont Bates (bass), Roger Harris (guitar), and David Williams (drums). Also performing with me will be Angie of the Honeybees, and the fabulous Maria Damore.

Starts at 2pm on Sunday, Nov. 18th

NO COVER!

Can’t wait to do this performance. Its’ been a long time coming!

http://www.readingbluesfest.com

Latest Project: Dust Nuggets

I’m on the murky road to film financing. My latest project — following the wild and wonderful ride with Traffic Opera — is called Dust Nuggets.

I’ll be partnering with Andrew Pochan once again. This time we’re going full bore to create a feature film. We shot a teaser for this back in March and finally have it posted: https://youtu.be/-TkVt_1noTA

It’s a mind bending psychological drama with a nod to the Iambic pentameter. It’s Dr. Seuss meets David Lynch. It was originally a web series, but Andrew and I changed things around, got our own minds blown on some big hairy Pharma product, and spit out a script for a full length feature film. With unicorns. We can’t wait to get this mutt financed. If you see us coming, you might want to run in the other direction because we will definitely be asking about money.

See you down at the permit office.

 

The best dream of my dreams of heaven

[image error]I often dream of heaven. Not of heaven so much as me going to heaven. It’s always a sunny day when I start. I can fly, of course, and so I do I fly up through a beautiful bank of cumulus clouds, piles upon piles of them. I’m very optimistic and excited. But then I enter the bank and claustrophobia sets in. I wonder if there’s no turning back even if God doesn’t like me.

There’s no one around in that bank, just more and fluffier white. I can feel the presence, though, of beings. Angels,  no doubt. They are not all benevolent as you know. Some of them are welcoming. They seem to be in my corner and shore me up. Others, though, put thoughts in my head about what do I think I’m doing here. I rarely make it past this stage, but once in a while…

One time I found myself in an abandoned two-story house. One of those places that you see from the road and wonder what tragedy happened here. What person died here in childhood, what kind of incest was perpetrated here? The house was weathered gray and rickety. A hole in the roof let the foyer fill with leaves. Cracked window panes, stained walls, sinking floor. No one was about, but I could hear voices. Again some were encouraging, but others implied rape or impalement on a spike if I didn’t leave.

I left.

Another dream was fantastic. Bright as day. It was a science fiction dream. I was in an open-air jet, flying through a narrow trough on either side of which were stone and cement apartment buildings, one on top of the other. No greenery anywhere, just architecture. Someone was in my jet egging me on. The apartments had balconies and people were out partying, waving to me, cheering me on. I just knew that if I hopped off the jet at any of these balconies, I would be welcomed inside to share lemons, salt and top-shelf tequila.

[image error]I didn’t stay there either.

In my favorite dream of heaven I was myself an angel. A guardian angel. I lived in a lovely cottage on a cliff. My charges, the humanity living down in my neighborhood, would often visit me and ask me for advice. That was my job: to help people with problems. Sometimes I had sex in my cottage. It was very warm and bright with orange wall-paper.

One day I told God I was bored and, as you may have guessed, he became very angry. He told me if  my job was too easy, he would show me what it was like to be a human. The next thing I knew I was in the screened-in porch of a messy house on the edge of desperate town. Overturned tables, stacks of pornography, machine parts were everywhere. I had been kidnapped by an unshaven red neck and his half-wit son. They’d sewn me into a burlap sack with plans to have their way with me, which is to say, cook me for dinner.

Oddly enough I was not scared, but I knew the situation was not going to end well. I fought my way out of the bag and then away from the man and his son despite the fact that they had guns (they were not very bright) and flew quickly back to my perch on the cliff hundreds of miles away, apologizing to God the entire time, and promising to never be bored again.

When I woke up, I wrote a song about my world on the cliff.

[image error]

You can hear it here: https://youtu.be/1vvYTXJis5g