Most of the current college generation is aware of the large filmography of director Kevin Smith, bringing many of us such cult favorites as Mall Rats, Clerks and Dogma. However, the most recent work of Kevin Smith was the independent film Red State. Unlike all of his previous films, Smith created a horror-action film that has a bite of its own that makes what I can consider to be the strongest film of his whole career. Released in 2011, the film played in very select cities and its theatrical run was brief. This is mainly due to the fact that Smith self-distributed the film after “the film played to a good but not great reaction in its world premiere [at Sundance]…and announced to the audience (after auctioning the film to himself for $20) that he would release the film on his own” said LA Times reporter John Horn. It is quite true that the critical reaction to the film has been mixed, splitting the reaction amongst critics down the middle, however I believe Red State is a wonderfully executed film. Shot on RED-ONE Digital cameras, the film is an overblown satirical commentary on the members of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. Ironically enough, the Westboro church members are actually mentioned by name in the film as a comparison to the fictional fanatical church members in the film. The movie starts out following a trio of teenage boys searching through local online sex lines, trying to find loose local women. They trek out to the woman’s house (a mobile home in the woods) and then, while consuming the woman’s alcohol, are drugged and pass out. They awake during a fanatical church sermon by the main antagonist of the film, Abin Cooper (played by Michael Parks), which I now consider to be one of the scariest performances put on screen in recent years. The rest of the film depicts the efforts of these boys to flee the compound and the fervent beliefs of all of the church members referring to homosexuality and its subsequent effects on humanity. With superb cast members such as John Goodman (The Big Lebowski), Patrick Fischler (Mulholland Drive), Kevin Pollak (The Usual Suspects) and Melissa Leo (The Fighter), and a range of various other talent, the acting in this film is realistic, well blocked and very captivating. These performances are helped along by the brilliant cinematography by David Klein, which creates a taught and anxious setting where audiences are taken to face the horrors that the characters are living through, and we suffer along with them, whether we want to or not. All of these elements (along with superb art design by Susan Bolles (“Scrubs”) and Cabot McMullen (“Spin City”)) Kevin Smith directs his screenplay extraordinarily well, which contain very length and passionate monologues, and very testing scenes of violence and torture. However, unlike the many works of directors Eli Roth (Hostel) and Darren Lynn Bousman (Saw Franchise), these scenes are not placed to get solely a shock factor, they comment on the dangers of unchecked ideology in the face of fanaticism, similar to the tyrannical ways of Jim Jones’ hold over the People’s Temple. It is scary, realistic, and wickedly funny when it wants to be, thrilling and complex. Are there elements that could use work? Of course, as any movie would say, but what Red State does well, it does it extremely well. A film that so many have ignored for the past year, it is a movie that can soothe the wants and tastes of many a movie fan. 4/5 Stars.

It never surprises me how I can stay awake late into the early hours of the morning, searching for temporary illusions of desire, entertainment and education. Whether it is by personal or external influences, it keeps words rattling away in the depths of my brain like coins clattering down a storm drain. Through these long, still hours of personal time, it gives me an opportunity to imagine the future and recollect the past in whatever light I deem it possible. However, this is only the cusp of what I long to do. I long to sit in my solitude and crank away at my brain and fingertips for hours to create masterpieces of words and actions. So fixated on achieving what I may call critical success of the utmost longevity.

Words itch my head like a nest of wrestling spiders all trying to gouge their fangs as deep into my cranium as possible, only coming to contact with hard stubborn bone. Whether ideas are trivial or momentous, they seem to be unable to permeate my thick skull. These frustrations can sometimes turn to self-doubt and internalized criticisms, as if I am not able to accomplish what needs to be done in order to rid myself of the mental blocks and languishing boredom that precedes it. That burning itch to write profound words of any kind never seems to leave my longing, only now more noticeable when usual devices of distraction are not effective. Reading through the words many have wrote, I feel as if the genii these people possess to create such sublime art does not exist about me, or visit me as often as I require to fulfill my desires for my name’s prolonged existence.

Then I reverse my gaze from myself once again to the outside world and ponder, letting the gaze of the real pass from my mind’s eyes and allow me access to the world of imagination. I can be hunched over the keyboard or rigid as a pubescent’s first erection, regardless of the posture or the knowledge on how to quickly smatter my fingertips across the letters, the end result is usually the same. For one brief, fleeting moment, like bait at the end of a hook is dangling, playfully, in front of me; we can reach out and grab hold of this oncoming breath of inspiration. And if we take hold of line, if we bite the hook of this revelation that is visiting us so curtly at this moment, it can be made into something truly profound and a testament to skill and artistry.

Seemingly quite regular for some and for others only a small amount of flares throughout decades, it never appears to be the same for everyone. Those who have become adept at such tasks can appear masterful and proficient, but perhaps real inspiration only seldom graces. I cannot say. I wish that I was visited every day; but if I were to wish such a thing, then it would make the small blasts of genuine creativity worth so much less that I would appreciate it less and not try so hard to strive for greatness. The less censored the ideas, the trains of thought, and the better for me. Regardless of what any scene incarnated from my mind involves; a love-filled picnic between two old friends or a child being sodomized by his own father. Regardless of the idea hatched, it is the determination of excellence in craft and connectivity that I long for. Regardless of whether people enjoy the work I create or they seek to scorn it from every aspect of its existence, I would like to quote film director John Waters, “Getting beat up after you show your movie is a reaction. It’s not applause; it is the reverse of applause. What’s worse is if nobody did anything.” That is it. Until next time.