Thoughts on Spartacus:Blood and Sand

Recently I began to watch a new show airing on Starz. Entitled Spartacus: Blood and Sand, I found my intial impression of the show less than cordial. Based upon clips and previews it had seemed to me that all this show amounted to was nothing more than a pitiful attempted remake of Frank Miller's 300 with regards to the cinematography as well as computer generated graphics. I wasn't really wrong though. However, I began to watch this show and become rapidly engrossed. After some thinking I believe I now know why and I would like to share with you some of my thoughts:

• Plot. Enough said. The plot of Spartacus is ridiculously engaging. I found  myself quite suddenly up to the ankles in sand and a large, overly muscular man brandishing a sword at me. In only an episode or two I discovered that the story line that makes up for almost every other fault the show might possess. Like a decadent macabre soup of death, the story flows almost as freely as the blood split within it, enhanced  to bedazzle the senses with plot twists of pepper and oregano. The resulting aroma and tastes are simply intoxicating and massively addicting.

•  The aroma and taste the soup produces are equally seductive and take shape in the characters of Spartacus. The ethos generated by the situations, actions and dialogue of the characters sneaks up on the watcher quietly and swiftly until they reach the episode which ends with (!!spoiler alert!!) Spartacus, finally reunited with his long last wife, cradles her dead body in his massive arms while his dominus looks on with satisfaction. The audience careens wildly back and forth on a roller coaster of emotion: one moment sympathizing with the aristocratic Roman gentry the next astonished by their reactionary courses of action. All the while, they grow increasingly more sympathetic to Spartacus and his plight. Never does the audience feel more pity towards Spartacus and more hatred toward the Romans as when (!!spoiler alert!!) Spartacus is tricked in to taking Varo's life, his best and only friend. Betrayed at every turn, and even the slightest bit of happiness and contentment ripped from him in a swirl of fury and crimson blood, Spartacus is the most dynamic of characters shifting and evolving constantly.

I encourage anyone mature enough to stomach massive amounts of blood and the more than occasional sex scene to give this program a chance and remove their initial preconceptions. 

The Dog

I saw the most astounding thing the other day.
The sky seemed rather odd. At one moment a mighty meteorological cetacean would appear. His shadow drenched the clouds in black and the uglier shades of purple and green, the behemoth's voice  boomed through the skies and the fire emerged from his nostrils, crackling through the cloud cover. Then, all at once, he was gone;  beast seemed to get bored with exerting his threatening presence. He would yawn, stretch out his might arms give one last booming  shout and then silently, he would retreat. Back to his dwelling behind the sun. This pattern continued for the entirety of the day.
A girl was walking down the street. Dressed in a pink frilly dress with a equally pink bonnet sitting contently and squarely atop her head. Her hair was done up in long curls and her face was open and bright. She gamboled down the street happily, in her hand she held a red leash. Eyes would follow the leash down to the collar to which it was attached. And to that collar, a dog. Not a puppy, nor a full grown hound, it was simply only describable as just what it was, a dog. The young canine trailed behind its frilly pink owner, hardly imitating the cheerful gambol. The youthful pup simply followed along, walking steadily and intently. Every so often the girl would give a tug at the leash. Pulling the dog along, forcing it to pick up its pace. Suddenly the pooch spotted something. Off in the distance something was drawing it. Whether it be a pack of other pups or a gleaming red fire hydrant or an attractive dog of the  opposite sex its impossible to say. Yet something clearly caught the pup's eye.Causing it to show it first signs of excitability, the pup eagerly started towards the point of interest. And now something caught the eye of the little pink girl.
The gambol stopped. The shadow was again cast over the clouds. The girl's icy stare locked in upon the young quadrupedal. All at once the might colossus that seemed to live in the sky blew a mighty gust that rattled through the air.  Immediately the bonnet atop the young girls head slid down to an angle. The hair broke the shackles of its curls and turned into chaotic frizz. Her face turned the same shade as the ominous sky and locked up with displeasure. Her hand tightened around the leash, veins visible beneath the skin. The sky crackled with the beast fire above her. She gave a vicious pull, her lips sneering. The young dog flew back with a yelp. She trotted on, dragging the thing behind. And it was over, in a matter of seconds. The beast in the sky went back to sleep and the youth skipped on.
And the smallest of rips on the polyester collar, expanded.

Untitled Pt.2

It had been a week since his rather unsavory demise and Willie now found himself wondering about, here and there, looking. Searching, almost desperately at times, for something of interest. Death seemed to desensitize Willie. Perhaps it was the lack of tangibility, or the inability to communicate with anyone else, but Willie felt bored. Incredibly and utterly bored. So bored in fact that he himself would use the popular cliche "bored to death" if it wasn't for the absurdly annoying fact that he happened to already be dead.

Unable to think of a proper cliche or phrase to truly communicate his boredom, Willie moved on. He quickly took to observing people. For someone who had spent a majority of his life appraising individuals on their possessions, the observance of something that was in fact animate sparked his interest.

He watched as people scuttled and scurried, busy in their daily lives, not noticing the other drones on either side of them. He closely inspected the bubble that surrounded them, an invisible force field that the living apparently couldn't see. A barrier between that individual and the world. The minute that the general populace stepped outside the comfort of their cucoons, they took out small electronic remote controls, powered by what seemed to be the auditory cortex, and turned flicked their force field remotes into the "on" position. It was safe in there.

He watched them crawl back and forth. Racing through their tunnels, burrowing, digging, mining, prospecting. Searching desperately, in some way or another, to find something. The queen demanded tribute and they had to give it. Never had they found out the purpose of the tribute nor the consequences of not offering it, Willie certainly hadn't anyway, but the price surely was much too high to pay. Surely it must be. Yet, his mind untethered by monetary, or any corporeal, worries and his mind adrift in an ocean of simple boredom, Willie was left to imagine the consequence.Odd, nothing came to mind. Willie secretly planned to ponder this thought for the following week, relieved to find something to hold his interest. This plan seemed a grand idea, until he was tapped upon the shoulder.

Untitled Pt.1

Willie stared down at the rubble and wreckage pensively. Contemplating the feeling he had just experienced. It had been the strangest thing. One minute he had been appraising the house that his bank had just recently repossessed and all of a sudden, one rather startling whooshing sound later, he was no more, corporeally speaking.
"I think I just might be dead" he thought to himself, feeling nothing but confusion.
He stood their watching a team of firefighters shift through the rubble, waiting, feeling quite like a small boy on Christmas eager to see whether or not his parents had actually listened to him for once and gotten him the video game he wanted or simply more socks. Willie unfortunately got socks. Upon the discovery of his body by the rescue teams he didn't feel sad or melancholic, just more disappointment. While he had no desire for a video game to be discovered beneath the rubble, he much would have preferred socks to the sight of his mangled, broken, lifeless body. Willie sighed deeply. Socks would have been less of a let down.
Feeling uncomfortably too much like Patrick Swayze, Willie slowly walked away from the scene of his death. He had not been a very large or impressive man in his mortality. And the shimmering image that seemed to now define his existence paralleled his physical features pre-mortum. Average height and the most noticeably inconspicuous looks imaginable. He stood walked down the charcol black street shiny with moisture, in what appeared to be the same sports jacket that had been on sale at Kohl's and the seem cheesy tie that he sometimes liked to pretend brought him good luck. This was just an excuse to wear such a cheesy tie though. He noted sadly that a faint drizzly happened to be falling from the sky and, try as he might, he could not feel it. Willie looked out at the suburban landscape that surrounded him, the rose beds were plastic and the cars cardboard. The houses peered back at him, made of only straw and sticks.
Overall, death was disappointing.

Consternation Children

1973 was a hallmark year for the genre of horror cinema. Any clues as to why? Yes my friends, The Exorcist debuted on the silver screen. Audiences all across not only the nation but the globe were horrified by the misdeeds of Satan, the cute 10 year old, cuddly model that is. Ever since audiences have experienced a familiar chill down their spine as the watch what once was an adorable young-un slowly approach mommy, butcher's knife in hand. Yet is the golden age history? Has the oil well that was possessed miniature people dried up? Recently I saw the film Legion starring Paul Bettany, other flaws of the film aside I'd like to focus on one particular aspect. In the film there is a scene in which the pregnant, savior of humanity (think Sarah Conner but replace the robots with angels) is advanced upon by the cutest, most adorable, devilishly possessed thing-you-ever-saw, intent upon her demise. As I watched this I awaited the familiar chill down my spine....and waited.....and waited. It never came. Has the staple of horror lost its value? Has this popular hallmark of fright and consternation lost its "zing"? I believe so. I, as a representative of the movie-viewing population, felt not the slightest bit of dread. Like a lion threatened by a pussy cat, I simply watched on with mild interest and moderate entertainment. With the gravitational force of an ACME anvil, I suddenly came to the realization that this aspect of trepidation was now and forever lost upon moviegoers. Audiences have simply become desensitized to Chucky, model number 28. Goodbye demented demon child. Goodbye freaky, little demon-possessed monster. As I wave farewell, while you pull out of the drive way and turn the corner, I can only wonder what will replace you? What will make me jump and quake and shiver now? Or at least, for the next five years or so.