Thanksgiving (2023)

John Carver, the new face of American Horror

With Thanksgiving, director Eli Roth has succeeded in creating a slasher film that feels authentic to the early-80s "Slasher Cycle." Thanksgiving accomplishes this feat by refusing to fall victim to the endless subgenre metacommentary that has clogged up neo-slashers ranging from the 90s Scream films to Scream VI or even the recent trilogy of Halloween sequels. Instead, Thanksgiving recaptures the vibe of true ur-slashers—that is to say, the ones based on days of sinister significance (to borrow a phrase from Vera Dika) such as Friday the 13th (1980) and Halloween (1978). More than a few scenes in Thanksgiving legitimately feel like Halloween II, with a pinch of Graduation Day's fuzzy detachment thrown in for good measure. All told, Roth effectuates the feel of a go-nowhere town racked by murderous brutality. The whodunit elements are well-executed and compelling, as they benefit from a healthy helping of red herrings to keep audiences guessing. I screened this film in a half-full theater, and all the teeny-bopper couples in attendance spent much of the runtime incessantly whispering to their squeezes with speculations as to who the killer behind the John Carver mask would be. All that said, the film doesn't take itself too seriously. Rest assured, my associate and I laughed uproariously for both the abundant one-liners and the uncompromising kill sequences (though we were the only ones in the theater who saw comedy in the latter, apparently). In 2023, guffawing at a depiction of abject slaughter feels far more satisfying than snickering at some "meta" wisecrack—the murder-laugh is just more honest nowadays. The jokes and absurdity do not compromise the gravity of the horror, though, as the gore and body count are taken very seriously. Of course, some of the kill sequences aren't entirely new, as we got glimpses of them in the supposedly standalone trailer for Thanksgiving that Roth produced for inclusion in the middle of 2007's Grindhouse double-feature. If you've viewed that brilliant piece of schlock, then you know exactly what's coming when you see the trampoline appear in Thanksgiving's much glossier 2023 fleshing-out. And if I do have one lasting criticism of the feature-length Thanksgiving, it's how sleek the cinematography looks. It's a far cry from the stark, grainy footage in the 2007 trailer, thereby eschewing the unsettling straight-to-VHS aesthetic. Nevertheless, Thanksgiving is an otherwise bona fide New Testament for the slasher canon. Eli Roth has solidified himself as a doyen of contemporary horror, and he deserves a place alongside Jordan Peele as one of the preeminent scare-slingers of the 2020s. I just hope that, over the remainder of the decade, we'll get invited back to dinner for Thanksgiving 2 through 8. 

CODA (with mild spoiler alert):

One of my favorite parts of this movie is when the credits roll to "Where Eagles Dare" by the Misfits—that is, the genuine, Danzig-era Misfits. The leap from turkeys to eagles might be a bit of a stretch, but the throaty, bellowing strains of Glenn Danzig never hurt in the context of horror. In the end, the choice of song and band makes for a well-earned victory lap, as Thanksgiving rekindles the Slasher Cycle's legacy of brutality.

Alex Israel: Art as Lorem Ipsum

"gettyimages", by J.A. Gosham,
depicting Alex Israel.

Alex Israel’s exhibition “Fins” just recently ended on July 28 at the Gagosian gallery in Rome. “Fins” features an installation of sleek plastic surfboard fins presented as sculptures. The fin imagery evokes a rather rudimentary cross-lingual pun on the French “end” referencing the “Finish Fetish” that typified 1960s Southern California artwork in which artists (among them Judy Chicago) used industrial processes and materials such as fiberglass and resin to create glossy finishes for their abstract art. 

As an added bonus, Isreal has garnished the installation with text written by ChatGPT and other large-language model programs. ChatGPT even wrote his press release. Herein, Isreal (or rather ChatGPT) commented that “A.I. has become a medium in and of itself. By using A.I. to generate the press release, I’m commenting on the intersection between technology, art, and media.”

Seriously, this is all it takes to make it in art? All I need is some scrounged-up surfboard pieces and some text from ChatGPT? I really don’t want to sound like a philistine here, as I much prefer conceptual art to Marvel movies, but I’m not especially impressed by what Israel brings to the table. I can handle the surfboard fins, but the utilization of ChatGPT as if it’s some profound commentary isn’t very inspiring. The cheap pun on “fin” offends my sensibilities almost as much as the use of AI for generating the text. All told, Israel seems like the fine art equivalent of Lorem Ipsum. Regardless, his work graces the permanent collections of MOMA and the Guggenheim. Regardless, “Fins” caught plenty of buzz and brought in a sophisticated, well-dressed audience.

I don’t think it’s unfair to call Israel’s artistic ability into question. He’s also dipped his toe into filmmaking. His first and only film, 2017’s SPF-18, centres upon a host of surfing teenagers, one of whom is debating between art school and a life of surfing. Apparently, these effete existential debates didn’t resonate with the viewing masses, as the film boasts a 3.3 rating on IMDB. One IMDB reviewer writes “I'm pretty sure this movie was written by a 13 year old girl with rich parents who could bank roll [sic] the entire thing.” This comment is partly in error, as SPF-18's co-writers, one of whom is Israel, are both grown men. However, the reviewer tenders a tenable hypothesis about how this picture got made—namely, that its creator came from wealth. Packed with scenic locations, a gorgeous cast, and celebrity cameos from Pamela Anderson and Keanu Reeves, SPF-18 took resources, no matter how bad it is. Those same resources also powered “Fins.” The secret, then, to Israel’s success and international appeal in the art world would appear to be assets, along with a dose of beauty and expensive clothing, rather than talent of any sort.

If I'm being honest, I'm willing to bet I've got more artistry in my little finger than Alex Israel has in his entire trim, fit body. In the time it takes Alex Israel to get out of bed and prepare avocado toast, I've probably had more legitimately creative thoughts than he has in a year.  But because I'm flabby, shabbily dressed, and don't have rich parents, most or all of my works will never be seen by more than a few semi-interested friends in my hometown on the plains. If I was better dressed and moneyed, all I'd have to do is hoard surfboard fins and hit up ChatGPT, and I'd be an internationally successful artist. No wonder so many people in the backwater where I live dismiss art (not that the studio-wrought, IP-driven drivel they prefer in movies is much better). It really goes to show how much “fine art” and “aesthetic sensibilities” are intertwined with wealth and a vision of upper-classness.

But I don’t think art necessarily takes money for everyone, or at least not a ton of money. Give me $5000 dollars—hell, $1000 dollars—and I could make a film that gets at least a 4 on IMDB. Fin.

Fatburger's Triumvirate of Plant-Based Burgers: A Review

Fatburger stands out among fast-food purveyors in that it offers more than one vegetarian option. Indeed, Fatburger boasts a whopping three non-meat burgers: the Veggie Burger, the California Veggie, and the Impossible Fatburger. So, just recently, I was determined to undertake a small feat of consumption by ingesting all three of Fatburger's plant-based offerings in order to determine for myself which one was the best.

First, I need to offer some brief notes on methodology. I ordered all three burgers with the full spectrum of toppings. Also, I consumed all three burgers simultaneously, going back and forth between each one. I did this in order to avoid bias based on hunger, or eventual lack thereof. Had I eaten the burgers in sequence, being full would likely have factored into my judgement of whatever burger I had consumed last. In a similar spirit, I will now evaluate the burgers in no particular order.

The standard "Veggie Burger" offers what Fatburger describes as a "real" veggie patty and is topped with mustard, relish, onion, pickles, tomato, fresh-cut lettuce, and mayonnaise. The veggie patty struck me as serviceable but somewhat undistinguished with respect to other comparable patties. That said, the patty accentuated the actual vegetables, particularly the lettuce and tomato, very capably.

The "California Veggie" is once again based around the veggie patty as per the standard veggie, and is topped with guacamole, double Swiss, tomato, lettuce, mayo and, for an extra charge, a fried egg. Needless to say, there's a lot going on with this burger. I added to the chaos by opting for the fried egg topping, which some might argue disqualifies this burger from constituting a properly vegetarian dish. Regardless of that, we'll take the broadest definition of "vegetarian" here. I quite enjoyed the tasty disarray of this burger, with its multifarious flavor and texture sensations provided by the guacamole, the Swiss cheese, and the egg.

The "Impossible Fatburger" distinguishes itself from the other non-meat burgers by way of its "Impossible" plant-based patty, not to mention its toasted Brioche bun. This burger is topped with "crisp lettuce" and "ripe tomato", as per the menu's description, as well as cheese, red onion, pickles, relish, mustard, and mayo. The Brioche Bun added a touch of panache to the plant-based experience, and it worked well texturally with the Impossible patty.

All told, I enjoyed all three burgers, and was full beyond satisfaction upon finishing them. That said, I can make a clear discernment in quality. The bronze medal goes to the standard Veggie Burger. It compares favorably to most burger joints' veggie offerings, but it is rather milquetoast relative to Fatburger's other options. The silver medal goes to the California Veggie. It offers so much in terms of taste and texture, though it does make quite a mess. The gold must go, then, to the Impossible Fatburger. The Impossible patty has its charms, though I wouldn't say it's appreciably better than the "real" veggie. To my tastes, the toasted Brioche bun sets the Impossible Fatburger apart as the frontrunner. It makes for a classier eating experience than the California Veggie, and so it takes first place. (I guess I did, in the preceding paragraphs, present these burgers in order, after all.)

These judgments aside, there is not a weak burger in the Fatburger veggie-option bunch, and I'd order them all again. Curiously enough, the California Veggie will probably be my go-to going forward. Admittedly, I enjoy the messy eating experience, and the sheer sensory assault of the guacamole, double Swiss, and the runny egg atop it all. But don't take this as a reversal of my position: the Impossible Fatburger is the better-tasting, tidier, and classier option.