I’m so excited about today’s piece because it is about something I hold so dear to my heart: film restoration! 


Around this time last year, I flew to Denver to have surgery and I spent the next couple of months there to recover. I’m from that area, so I was very blessed to have my amazing family and friends step up and help me recover and take over doing so much, since I was severely limited in what I was allowed to do. 


When I was well enough though, my best friend, Yolanda, and I went to the Sie to see the first real public screening of The Jar, a film all but lost to time, and recently restored by Terror Vision. It’s also a film entirely shot in Denver! Not only that, but director Bruce Toscano discussed the making of this movie, and answered questions after the screening. I desperately wish I had had the foresight to take notes (which I usually do, by the way!) because I cannot remember a whole lot of what was said in detail. I was so deeply moved by their passion though. Not just of Toscano and his friends, but also of those at Terror Vision that saw the importance and significance of restoring this film. I was also heartbroken to hear that the post production experience cause Toscano to quit filmmaking, after completing his first film (he was emotional even talking about it). Most of this piece is going to be about the making of, or rather the “lore” and background of The Jar because it’s what makes this film so special. It’s a piece of film history!
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Some background:
The Jar was actually initially titled Charon (pronounced “car-own”) in reference to the ferryman in the River Styx in Greek Mythology. It’s obvious why the title was changed, but it wasn’t a choice by Bruce Toscano! Toscano also spent many months gathering film stock before pre-production of the movie even started, because it was so important to him for the film to have a rich color quality. Inspired by the color palette, and even the Goblin soundtrack for Suspiria, the film is rife with Argento references. 


The biggest setback, and arguably the reason for Toscano leaving the film industry after just one film, was in distribution. Not only was there no public screening of The Jar, but the home video transfer was atrocious. Instead of using industry standard pan and scan (VHS has a 4:3 aspect ratio, which means that in order to get the main subjects on screen, a transfer technician would need to pan to the action as they are scanning the transfer from widescreen film to VHS tape) they set the scan in the middle, which meant that large chunks of the movie has nothing on screen. This broke Toscano’s heart, as he felt that his work of art was destroyed and would never be seen as it should have. This poor transfer became a cult hit in its own right… in Italy! For some reason or another, the YouTube version of this went viral in Italy and maintained a huge fan base.
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All this changed when Terror Vision stepped in, and helped Toscano realize his vision. Miraculously, he has saved the original film copy, which gave us, in 2023, a rich, gorgeous color palette in 4K. 


So how is The Jar, as a film? It’s largely known as one of the worst horror movies ever made (personally for me that title belongs to Gingerdead Man but I digress). For me, The Jar  is one of those rare, truly experimental films. The dialogue, plot, and acting might be flat/non existent, but the risks and experiments that Toscano played in are genuinely visible to horror and film fans. You can see the love. You can see the playful approach to the whole project. No studio intervention. No slimy producer lurking in the shadows. I understand why studios make a lot of the decisions they do, and it’s mainly because they are playing for the masses, or the middle. There’s little room for pure experiment, pure creativity, and pure risk. The Jar does no such thing. It was a group of horror fans playing in the realm of horror film, and I loved it for what it was.
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A while ago, I wrote about how context can make or break the audience’s perception of a work of art. Today, I’d like to continue down that route but anchor it with my own personal work, and dealing with something that I know I’m not the only person struggling with: where the heck do I put my work as someone that makes art not so easily defined?

I tend to aggressively downplay my own work, and minimize it to a mere silly hobby. After all, my “day” job is pretty all consuming: I homeschool my high needs kid, which involves tons of planning, curriculum writing, OT, hands on activities, extracurriculars, etc on top of just regular mom stuff. Do not read what I’m not saying though: I love what I do. I find it very enriching, difficult, and fulfilling.

That being said, I’m not me when I’m not working on some sort of creative project. I may not be able to do anything full time now, but one day I could, so I might as well continue to build skills. For years I would just create things and sit on them. I would even just completely gaslight myself into thinking I should have more "acceptable" projects - like home improvement, domestic shit, etc. But lately, I’ve given myself permission to dream of a day where I can go back into academia; to get my Master’s degree.

So, I created this website. However, I’m no web designer, so it falls short for my standards (that I’ve made up in my head). Sometimes, I post things on Instagram. But even during the best of times, my work did not reach the right audiences. It still doesn’t. It mostly reaches my family and friends (Instagram used to be a SOCIAL network, after all!) and they are not the target audience for boudoir shoots, horror or experimental films, or even for musings about art. My resistance to turning myself into a brand for consumption means I don’t play nicely with the algorithm gods. I don’t have the time, mental bandwidth, skills, knowledge, or money to outsource cracking the code and getting myself on the map. I want to post content with songs I like, not whatever is trending. Not to mention, I get irritated knowing that in our current time, anything I post is going to make rich people richer, and teach AI how to make slightly better looking hands or something. Some may not care that companies are mining their data, but I do! 

Before I continue, I want to address the elephant in the room: yes, I am an old ass millennial. I know that that actually dictates my response towards the grander parts of life. I know that my take on social media is colored through my aging self. I know. I know I know I know. It doesn’t help that on top of all that I have a personality completely adverse to being told what to do. Just because everyone else is doing it, makes me actually a lot less likely I’ll do it. All of the artists I “grew up” with found their success off of social media, so they have this very cavalier attitude towards it. Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol said during one of his lives during the pandemic shut down that “he just couldn’t figure out” all the social media stuff. Same, Gary, same. But they got to this point with different rules. Where's the underground artist group where we gather for non studio screenings?

Most hilariously, my biggest fear is to go viral. I don’t actually crave this massive audience. I have both a desire and fear of being perceived, which I don’t think is something unique to me. I’m not shy I’m just- hey, why is everyone looking at me all at once?!

Last year was one of my hardest years on the books. Despite serious health problems (that I managed to mostly overcome!) I still managed to do a couple creative projects. I shot a short horror film and submitted it to a festival, and shot my first still photography session. Last year is also when I discovered I loved doing portrait style photography. I am still experimenting with how I want to incorporate my own distinct style into it, but I love doing it. I felt like someone gave me a new canvas to paint on. I repeated this experience again with my friend later that year, and I’m always writing up new projects (my Notes app carries a mighty load).

So what to do with it? Post it? Promote it? What does that even mean? Promote what? I’m not selling anything (maybe that’s the problem?). Is it only valuable if it can be bought and sold? Is it OnlyFans? I don’t really think that is the right context. The intention of my work isn’t merely to consume. But who knows...

Oh no. My silly little hobbies are now giving me anxiety and causing me to spiral.
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So for now, my work is mostly here, some TikTok, some YouTube, mostly not Instagram. Dreaming for that underground art scene though.  
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“I Saw it on Shudder” is a series where I write about my takes on random movies I’m watching on Shudder in informal essay form. Spoilers galore. For entertainment purposes only - not fully hashed out film criticism!

I feel like I should make a disclaimer about this review in that I’m kind of a huge fan of Rebekah McKendry, the director of Glorious. In particular, she is one of my favorite academics of horror! So naturally, I saw her movie when it debuted on Shudder. Also, since this film came out fairly recently (2022), I’m going to try and do considerably less spoilers, especially for the ending. I want you to watch and enjoy it! It’s also on Tubi, not just Shudder.
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When I first saw Glorious I was pretty neutral about it. I wasn’t blown away or underwhelmed. I thought it was pretty solid, and the characters were all engaging and fun to watch. I mean come on - J.K. Simmons as the cosmic god! A delight! It’s definitely light on terrifying horror, and heavy on the dark comedy and blood splatter. However, I recently revisited this movie because it was streaming live and I wanted to write down some of my thoughts.

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Glorious follows Wes, a man clearly heartbroken and running away from his problems. He pulls into a rest stop to burn the physical memories of a woman whom he loved but is no longer with. This includes a talking teddy bear, which comes up frequently later in the movie. In the bathroom, he communicates with a voice that is coming from a stall with an elaborately artistic glory hole. We learn fairly quickly that this voice is attached to an entity that is claiming to be a god, and he needs Wes to fulfill a major fate quest. The survival of the world is at stake. Can Wes, who’s already suffering immense heartache, step up and be the reluctant hero?

To start off: the color scheme is my favorite. Favorite what? It’s my favorite. In fact, the color scheme for this movie is my studio lighting. My husband hates it, but it makes for excellent horror movie lighting! The unnatural pinks, reds, blues, and purples are so starkly different from the natural lighting outside, which gives the feeling of safety. I loved that occasional “breath of fresh air” as one could say, because the bathroom lighting just added to feeling trapped and hopeless (wait - is this what my husband feels in my studio?!). This all gives this film a very Lovecraftian feel, and the audience is left to wonder (many times and on many levels over): what is exactly real in this movie?

We can assume that their relationship, based on the flashback memories, wasn’t a long one, so why does Wes have such a dramatic reaction to its demise? Why is Brenda the one that got away? And most of all, why is there a disembodied Brenda voice asking, why things weren’t different because she was not like all the others? Sure, we do get more details on the event that ended the relationship, but even so, his reaction is outsized. His grief is deep. His memories of her are sparse. They are really of only two moments: meeting her, and the teddy bear gift. Did Wes block it all out? Perhaps the relationship was more one-sided than what we’re lead to believe? Was it ALL fantasy? Who knows! But the way we see it all play out should have made us more cautious into automatically aligning with Wes. And yet… it’s quite the opposite!

This brings me to my final observation: the woman at the rest stop at the beginning. She kind of provides a similar role as the “old man warning the kids of their impending doom out in the country” trope, except, instead of a warning, she seems to be waiting for him. She has a habit of balling up pieces of paper and lining them up on the table, and judging by the line she was waiting for him for a while. It kind of reminds me of movies where an assassin is waiting for their mark. When he struggles getting a chocolate bar out of a vending machine, she retrieves it for him. I can’t help but make the connection that he took candy from a stranger, a warning often used by parents to keep their kids safe. Once again, planting seeds of expectations of who is the bad guy, and who is the savior.

The woman then leaves, while giving a knowing, smug smile towards a weird (favorite color palette) plant. We never see her again. However, she is referenced again with a shot of the only other non flashback character, Gary, a maintenance man, who cleans up her line of crumpled paper. He does not clean up Wes’s mess at the fire pit, even though Gary notes it. It confirms her role as integral to the inescapable fate of Wes.

So how did I feel about the accidental rewatch? I really loved it! It is hard for me to find newer horror movies that I really enjoy watching over and over, but this is one of them. Wes is a truly engaging, charismatic character that is easy to feel for, and I enjoyed picking up more as his backstory is slowly revealed for the dramatically weird ending. I loved being constantly reminded, in many visual ways, how small and insignificant we all are. Wait - okay maybe not that part! 
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Watch Glorious on Shudder or Tubi for a moody, funny film with Lovecraft vibes!

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t chronically online. It’s something I both love and hate about myself. I love it because I feel like I get to discover all this really cool stuff that I’d never otherwise even be exposed to. I hate it because I’m fully convinced that any mental distress I have would be completely cured, and I’d be the most functional person on the planet if I wasn’t so bogged down with the overwhelming nature of the internet. Instead, I am here, once again, going to write about something viral that moved me to write!

I wrote a couple months ago about viral criticisms of art that weren’t meant to be consumed out of context online. Today, I’m going to talk about an audio clip that very much found a home quite nicely in Reels and TikTok videos - completely out of context! Perhaps you’ve heard the audio clip, if your FYP is a bit on the weird side: two women are discussing perfume, and then their discussion devolves into a story about a woman microwaving her dog, and then back to a song about perfume. It’s recognizable for its sing-songy “no no no no no” sound, which is often the part most used in the viral videos.

I love weird things, so naturally I was curious about origins. One of the things that annoy me about social media is the fact you don’t have to name original sources. Not everyone’s sound is wrapped up in a copyright protected by a big company that comes after people! And no one named the source in the comments, which I fully admit I spend a lot of time combing. It’s frustrating!
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It wasn’t until one fateful day that someone posted a Reel (yes shut up I’m elderly and don’t use TT often!) with the original clip of the audio. Again, no credit to the owner of this audio and video. Again, comments were not helpful, however, there was an actual demand from commenters wanting the title of the video, names of actors, etc. I took descriptions of the video and looked on Reddit, where I finally found a link to the original video and some actual information. God bless, Reddit.

The audio source of these viral videos I had seen was from a short horror musical shot on analog video in 1983 called “Possibly in Michigan.” It was directed by award winning video artist Cecelia Condit, and stars Karen Skladany (who also scores the project), and Jill Sands. They are stalked by a cannibal in a mask named Arthur before the violent, unexpected ending. The short film explores violence against women, but it plays on our expectations in such a delightful way. It uses an experimental narrative to tell the story, and like a genuine musical, the music moves the plot along.

After I finally connected the audio and video, I was more easily able to find tons of information, including a NYT article that is honestly a great read. I watched a video interview of her on YouTube as well and just in general went into a deep dive into Condit and her work. I was amused to learn that the creator of one of the most deeply moving and creepy short horrors actually hates horror herself! This film I searched for at least fifteen minutes on the internet for actually resides at MoMA, not to mention has gone viral many times before. When it was released, the 700 Club showed the ending to highlight the dangers of contemporary and modern art encouraging gay, anti-men sentiment, and violent tendencies. So inspiring! How could I not be fan-girling? While I did take as many courses in film school dedicated to experimental works as I could, I still was never exposed to Condit, and I’m a little sad about it! Condit is also former professor of film at UW-Milwaukee (so close to where I currently live!). 

I encourage you to watch the short film, and even learning more about Condit. Her views on art, going viral in her 70s, her new connection with GenZ, and the internet in general is refreshing and interesting to boot. 
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It’s fun, it’s weird, and it has a catchy song about cannibalism. Bye bye!

“I Saw it on Shudder” is a series where I write about my takes on random movies I’m watching on Shudder in informal essay form. Spoilers galore. For entertainment purposes only - not fully hashed out film criticism!

Some people put on The Great British Bake-off as background noise when they are unwinding for the day, but for me, it’s Shudder TV, the 24/7 horror streaming channel. For months, I played Poison for the Fairies, an 80s Mexican horror movie about two little girls, while I did my nightly cleaning routine, and even while scrolling my phone.

One night, I finally noticed it.

They aren’t showing the adults’ faces, I noticed while staring at the screen absentmindedly. Why? It was then I decided to give the movie my full attention, and I’m so glad I did.

When you look up the synopsis for Poison for the Fairies, it says:

“A lonely young girl falls under the spell of a domineering classmate who has aspirations of becoming a witch.”

In the film, we follow two young girls, Verónica and Flavia. Verónica lives with her grandmother, who is an invalid, and her nurse who raises her. It’s clear she has had some traumatic experiences by the way her nurse candidly lets her discuss and ask about the death of her parents. She is read fairy tales, and raised with a respect for her religion. Flavia, on the other hand, comes from an ultra wealthy family, who’s parents dote on her with lavish gifts and vacations, while also tightly controlling the way she plays, thinks, and spends her free time. They are also staunch atheists, with her father explaining the nature of witches to Flavia as a movement where people bought into mass hysteria and burned innocent women (excellent foreshadowing for later).

It’s pretty clear to the audience that Verónica is jealous and resentful of Flavia’s wealth and parental relationships. So she does what any girl would do: using inspiration from all those fairy tales, she decides to convince Flavia that she is a witch with powerful supernatural allies in order to manipulate her into being her friend and doing what she wants. Aspiring to become a witch? No, Verónica is a witch!
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The marketing and trailer for the film would like us to believe in a reality where Verónica is an actual witch (or trying to become one). However, the movie unfolds more like an elaborate children’s game. The girls, for the most part, seem to enjoy each other’s company and are having fun playing this game where Verónica is a powerful witch that needs to eliminate the only enemies that could destroy her; the fairies. We rarely see any adult faces, which further makes the entire movie feel more like a child’s memory or personal experience. Think back on your own childhood memories: are they clear and logical, or are the only things seemingly clear the instances that evoked strong emotional responses? The only time we see adult faces is in death, or the grandmother’s, when Verónica tricks Flavia into thinking her grandmother is her true witch form and comes across terrifying. There’s a lot to unpack in that moment alone, but granny’s scary face burned into Flavia’s mind with an inappropriate context is exactly why memory is so faulty.

The lines are blurred into cruelty when Flavia thinks she is responsible for her piano teacher’s unpreventable death, and the taking of her dog Hippie. Again, we see her teacher’s face only after death; the moment Flavia finds her dead teacher, and the open casket funeral. Outside of that, Verónica encourages Flavia to play messy, be adventurous and daring, and to explore, despite her parents’ protests against girls doing such things. Flavia looks like she actually enjoys being with Verónica a lot of the time. She’s laughing, giggling, and expressing excitement every time she gathers an item for the poison potion. Ultimately, Verónica’s threat to take Flavia’s dog was what did her in, and also what made Flavia fully convinced Verónica was a witch (relatable), to the point of thinking her shadow showed her true [ugly and old] form, which bears a striking resemblance to the grandmother.

This brings me to back to Flavia’s father’s comment about witch hunts in the past. He attributed them to people not having critical thinking skills due to religious believes and fairy tales. So we get to see this narrative flipped. Flavia wasn’t raised with religion or fairy tales like Verónica, so could we make the argument that it made her an easy target to be manipulated? Does the movie make criticisms against leaving behind old world traditions? Does it criticize lack of childhood imaginative play? Or maybe it’s just as simple as Flavia’s parents didn’t foster an environment she felt comfortable telling them about scary things that they’d write off as silly, thus making her easy pickings for being exploited. Verónica might have been a creative bully, but Flavia lacked any skills to decipher what was fantasy and what was real. This highlights the importance of teaching story and storytelling. Fairy tales aren’t just silly, they’re life saving!

Unfortunately for Verónica, she was able to be so convincing that it got her killed in real life. Flavia, after lying to her parents, giving up her precious doll that her mother wouldn’t even allow her to cuddle at night, and finally, after handing over her dog, snaps. The film ends with Flavia sneaking out of the barn with her dog after starting a fire. She stands outside, while Verónica begs for help inside, holding Hippie and gazing into the flames. A smile slowly crawls across her face. Hippie is unbothered.
To Flavia, the witch has been vanquished before she could kill the fairies, who are the only ones able to keep ultimate evil from the world at bay. She has slain the monster. She is free from the clutches of an evil coven of witches! To me (and I would hope others watching!), I stared in horror as an innocent, albeit bratty, bossy child was murdered. Flavia ends up the actual villain, because she’s the one that does an actual bad thing in the film. She’s a witch burner. She becomes the thing her dad warned about in the beginning. From our [adult] point of view, Flavia could have simply said no to all of Verónica’s requests. We know there’s no one coming to steal eyeballs, curse, or otherwise maim her if she simply says no. After all, Flavia, from a socioeconomic stance, has all the power. But, does Flavia know that? (She does not)
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I was surprised at how much I found myself liking this film, especially after writing it off as background noise initially. I genuinely enjoy expressions of memory on film, and this is a great one that also comments on storytelling, fantasy, friendship, and class tensions. If you ever get a chance to see it, I highly recommend it!

Ah yes. It's butter being slapped, of course!

Post modern and contemporary art are probably some of the most divisive topics I know. Everyone has a strong opinion about it. Generally, it’s one of anger! How dare they! Don’t they know what real art is? Anyone could make this shit.
Ah. There we are.

Does the fact that “anyone” could do it make it less likely to be art? What does that say about our biases on ability? What does that say about our encouragement of the budding child artist? What does it, most importantly, say about us? 
The title of this post is referring to a viral video I saw on Instagram of someone criticizing an artist slapping a block of butter with a tiny microphone. In fact, I’ve had so many discussions about this very video with several people that it lead me to start blogging on Substack! The person criticizing the artist makes claims along the lines of “this isn’t real art” or “it’s a scam” and there’s absolutely a subtext to his comments that “this is some academic liberal bullshit” (not his words, I’m just mind reading). His response, and so many in the comments, are of extreme, vitriolic anger. Everyone, it seems, is pretty confident this isn’t art!

Earlier today, I showed my 8 year old son a music video by The Wallflowers called “Sleepwalker.” It’s pretty standard 90s stuff with various Americana symbolism and of course, performing with instruments along with the track. At the end of the video, I asked him what he thought.

“Why did he put headphones in a dead fish?”

A lot of parents might respond with something along the lines of “it’s just a silly video” and the discussion ends. Instead, I walked him through it.

Me: “That’s a good question. Let’s think about it. What do headphones do?”
Son: “Make you listen to music.”
M: “And what would you hear if you plugged it into a dead fish?”
S: “Nothing.”
M: “Why?”
*A conversation discussing how the plug gets sound lol*
M: “Okay, so now we have established he can’t hear anything. What else would he experience in the room?”
S: “The smell of a dead fish.”
M: “Which is…?”
S: “Stinky!”
M: “Okay so we’ve got no sound and a stinky fish.”
S: “So… if he knows that there will be no sound and it’ll be stinky, why would he still plug in his headphones?”

Dear reader. The excitement that burst from me from this question. He got it. He got the whole, very, fucking, point. Why would someone do that? We could revisit the video, talk about the other symbolism, maybe draw on the lyrics, and come up with the bigger picture, but my son was satisfied: he understood the absurdity, and the intention around that particular scene.
While I haven’t talked to everyone in the world, I haven’t seen many people violently telling Jakob Dylan he’s a hack because of his dead fish antics. What does he have that the butter artist does not?

Context. 

Their butter slapping performance was clipped and set free on social media with no context, reached none of the right audiences, and on a platform that wasn’t meant for it (I could argue this might very well change but I digress). 
The artist is Tallulah Haddon, a queer British Jewish actor and performer. Their butter slapping was performance art inspired by a candle maker during the Holocaust. Performance art is often jeered when taken out of context because it so heavily depends on it. 

Think of it this way: 
You walk into a planetarium and stand towards the edge of the room right by the exit. After the show, you’re disappointed and mildly pissed because it wasn’t very good. Why? You were standing, not lying in the specially made seats, so your view of the stars wasn’t great. Perhaps your legs were tired from standing, your head from craning. Maybe you were frequently disturbed by people entering and exiting by the door you were hovering.

Context matters! How we view art, the world, and others is heavily dependent on context. So, how can we go forward approaching our experiences with art?

I shouldn’t have to say this but I will: I am not telling you what art to like. We all have personal preferences. You can and absolutely should be critical of art! You should be critical of the context! Do not blindly accept what people tell you (including me!). But there is a big difference between “I like all art” and “I think this artist shouldn't be allowed to ever breathe again” (seriously, what’s wrong with those people?). You also don’t actually have the right to tell someone what’s art or who’s an artist. Does that bother you? Why? Did you know YOU (yes YOU) could make art? Are you worried it won’t be good? Are you worried people will hate it? Why? What do you think it takes to be an artist? These are great questions to start asking yourself next time you’re offended by someone creating something and calling themselves an artist. If your first thought is, well I can do that, then do it. Do it. 
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And then show me, so I can appreciate it.