http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100823/ap_on_re_us/us_grim_sleeper_killings_6
Grim Sleeper suspect Lonnie Franklin plead not guilty in court last week.
Between the 14-year rest the Grim Sleeper took and the fact that Franklin was convicted with familial DNA (Franklin's son was arrested and swabbed, leading police to the father), strongly recalls Dennis Rader, aka Kansas' BTK killer. Rader was convicted, in part, due to a DNA sample obtained from his daughter, which was compared to DNA from an old murder case ascribed to the BTK killer.
Franklin's attorneys argue that the DNA evidence is "not as concrete" as it seems. Familial DNA is not as exact as DNA from the suspect himself, but, in Rader's case, the DNA compounded on top of other evidence, including records of him using the church computer on which a BTK letter was composed. I don't know what other evidence LA police have against Franklin, other than that he lived in the area where several of the murders took place, and I don't know Franklin's background, leaving me unsure whether he fits the serial killer profile. Of course, no one would have expected Dennis Rader as BTK before he confessed.
http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/citydesk/2010/09/01/gunman-reported-in-discovery-building/
In my area, a gunman has taken hostages in the Discovery Building in Silver Spring, Maryland. Most of the employees, as well as the building's day care center, have been evacuated, but, according to the last update I read, a few hostages remain. The suspect, James J. Lee, from San Diego, previously protested Discovery over objections to their environmental programming. The Washington City Paper published an unverified list of Lee's demands, and, as seen in the article, they can only be described as insane. We can only hope that Lee is captured and everyone in the Discovery Building is safe.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Night of campy fun at AFI
Joshua Grannell (also known as San Francisco drag queen Peaches Christ) brought his debut feature film All About Evil to his home state of Maryland, to AFI Silver Theatre in Silver Spring. Before the screening, the audience enjoyed a cabaret performance by Peaches, with singing, backup dancers dressed as classic movie monsters, jokes about the teabaggers coming to DC for the Glenn Beck rally, and a special appearance by John Waters regular Mink Stole, who also appears in All About Evil.
The film itself was a campy, over-the-top homage to slasher films, which delivered some genuine scares all its own. When Deborah (Natasha Lyonne) accidentally shows security footage of her killing her mother at her late father's dying movie theater, the short "film" becomes a hit, and she keeps going, filming real murders with a creepy cast of characters that includes a homeless man and a pair of evil twins just out of the insane asylum (the twins also made an appearance at the pre-screening show), and passing them off as movies. When teenage horror fan Steven (Thomas Dekker, who underplays his role in the sea of theatricality) discovers the truth, everyone is so deep under Deborah's spell that, when he issues a warning at a screening, the audience think it's part of the show. Of course, it's the "realism" of Deborah's films that keeps the audience coming back, combined with their theatricality. Deborah, a former wannabe actress, is now a local celebrity giving the performance of her life. Lyonne affects a Bette Davis-style vocal elocution, giving the sense of a continual performance. She, like her movies, is straddling a line between reality and theatre, just as Steven goes from a horror fan to the hero of his own slasher flick. The finale, without giving too much away, is something to behold, with frantic trapped theater-goers and a final showdown where Deborah makes a quite astute comment about the appeal of horror movies: "The audience is always secretly rooting for the killer." Yes, in horror, the killer is the star, the reason the audience comes back for sequels.
The film itself was a campy, over-the-top homage to slasher films, which delivered some genuine scares all its own. When Deborah (Natasha Lyonne) accidentally shows security footage of her killing her mother at her late father's dying movie theater, the short "film" becomes a hit, and she keeps going, filming real murders with a creepy cast of characters that includes a homeless man and a pair of evil twins just out of the insane asylum (the twins also made an appearance at the pre-screening show), and passing them off as movies. When teenage horror fan Steven (Thomas Dekker, who underplays his role in the sea of theatricality) discovers the truth, everyone is so deep under Deborah's spell that, when he issues a warning at a screening, the audience think it's part of the show. Of course, it's the "realism" of Deborah's films that keeps the audience coming back, combined with their theatricality. Deborah, a former wannabe actress, is now a local celebrity giving the performance of her life. Lyonne affects a Bette Davis-style vocal elocution, giving the sense of a continual performance. She, like her movies, is straddling a line between reality and theatre, just as Steven goes from a horror fan to the hero of his own slasher flick. The finale, without giving too much away, is something to behold, with frantic trapped theater-goers and a final showdown where Deborah makes a quite astute comment about the appeal of horror movies: "The audience is always secretly rooting for the killer." Yes, in horror, the killer is the star, the reason the audience comes back for sequels.
Friday, July 02, 2010
Brief movie reviews
At AFI Silver Theatre and Cultural Center's Silverdocs festival, I saw three documentaries that were very interesting and memorable. While I haven't had time to post in-depth reviews, I can now write down what I remember about them.
The Invention of Dr. Nakamats: This film follows a Japanese inventor with over 3,000 patents (compared, he says, to Thomas Edison's approximately 1,000), and his quest for immortality. This quest is both figurative (he places his name on the front of his house and places in his house, and during his 80th birthday celebration, is quite upset with the hosting hotel that will not change the name of the ballroom to be named after him) and literal (he invented a method of monitoring what he eats in order to, he says, determine what foods will add the most longevity to his life). Dr. Nakamats is portrayed as a lovable, though somewhat egotistical, eccentric, and he is an engaging character. While the overall tone of the film is lighthearted, there are some touching emotional moments where Dr. Nakamats talks about his late mother. He says he still talks to her, and this is one of the ways he gains inspiration for his inventions. He recalls that his first invention, a kitchen appliance, was designed when he was 14 to help his mother prepare dinner. One of the reasons he invents, he says, is out of "love."
Camera, Camera: While a bit slow-moving, this film is, as revealed in a post-screening discussion with the director, writer/interviewer and producer, about tourists and what the pictures they take say about them. It is, as one viewer said in a question she asked, "almost an anti-documentary," a film about the art and practice of documenting. The film is set in Laos, and the country as it is seen through the eyes of Western tourists. Some came for an adventure, some came, as one British man says, for an "escape." There are some arresting images in the film, such as a tourist couple being interviewed while a Lao woman walks right into the shot and hangs her laundry, with both parties oblivious to each other, and a line of Lao men in traditional dress (while it's not directly stated, they looked to be monks or other religious figures) walking down the street with a row of tourists taking their picture, recalling the lines of paparazzi on the streets of Los Angeles. The film was preceded by a short, Between Dreams, where passengers on a sleeper train in Siberia recall their most memorable dreams, the interviews intercut with sleeping passengers.
Marwencol: Mark, a 38-year-old man who suffered severe head trauma and, as a result, amnesia, no longer able to afford therapy, he creates a WWII-era village out of dolls and props. Still plagued by demons from the beating from four young men that caused his injury, he sinks deeper into his imaginary world, the stories of Marwencol, the name he gives to his made-up Belgian village, become more involved, and more violent. Mark names the dolls in his village after himself and people he knows, and his own alter ego is captured by Nazis and tortured, as if he is reliving his own attack. Along the tour of his imaginary world, Mark reveals more about himself and his pre-amnesia self. An alcoholic in, as he calls it, his "first life," he no longer drinks, since, he says, he can't remember alcohol, and therefore doesn't miss it. This film made me think like few I have seen. I started thinking about the nature of identity, starting over, the imaginary vs the real, and how trauma affects us all in different ways. This film was preceded by a short, They Are Giants, about a man who has designed an eight feet by four feet library with hundreds of miniature books bound in leather and mahogany shelves.
Aside from Silverdocs, AFI offers other excellent film series, such as the annual Korean film festival, showcasing the latest films from South Korea, a country that is currently producing some of the most interesting movies in the world. The film I saw in this year's series, Thirst, is a vampire story from the director of Old Boy, Chan-wook Park. While not quite as gory as Old Boy, Thirst is equally unsettling. A priest, having volunteered for a medical experiment, is injected with a vampiric germ and briefly dies, then comes back to life, making him a legend in his hometown. But the adoring town does not know his secret, that he is now a vampire with a thirst for blood. Through the family of one of his followers, he meets a woman who will become his partner in his new life after death. While this woman's murderous inclinations don't come to light until after the priest turns her, the director gives early inclinations that she is not someone to be trusted. In one scene, while her husband is dying of cancer, she looks bored and annoyed by her mother-in-law's grief. The sex scenes between her and the vampire priest are some of the most uncomfortably erotic I have seen, sexy and disturbing all at the same time. The scene where the priest turns his new lover into a vampire is also compelling, starting out with him wanting to kill her, then, overcome with remorse, hurriedly tries to save her by giving her his infected blood. The one major flaw is a climax that drags, in contrast to the rest of the well-paced film, and though it's a generally satisfying ending, the long scenes dilute the intended punch of the end.
The Invention of Dr. Nakamats: This film follows a Japanese inventor with over 3,000 patents (compared, he says, to Thomas Edison's approximately 1,000), and his quest for immortality. This quest is both figurative (he places his name on the front of his house and places in his house, and during his 80th birthday celebration, is quite upset with the hosting hotel that will not change the name of the ballroom to be named after him) and literal (he invented a method of monitoring what he eats in order to, he says, determine what foods will add the most longevity to his life). Dr. Nakamats is portrayed as a lovable, though somewhat egotistical, eccentric, and he is an engaging character. While the overall tone of the film is lighthearted, there are some touching emotional moments where Dr. Nakamats talks about his late mother. He says he still talks to her, and this is one of the ways he gains inspiration for his inventions. He recalls that his first invention, a kitchen appliance, was designed when he was 14 to help his mother prepare dinner. One of the reasons he invents, he says, is out of "love."
Camera, Camera: While a bit slow-moving, this film is, as revealed in a post-screening discussion with the director, writer/interviewer and producer, about tourists and what the pictures they take say about them. It is, as one viewer said in a question she asked, "almost an anti-documentary," a film about the art and practice of documenting. The film is set in Laos, and the country as it is seen through the eyes of Western tourists. Some came for an adventure, some came, as one British man says, for an "escape." There are some arresting images in the film, such as a tourist couple being interviewed while a Lao woman walks right into the shot and hangs her laundry, with both parties oblivious to each other, and a line of Lao men in traditional dress (while it's not directly stated, they looked to be monks or other religious figures) walking down the street with a row of tourists taking their picture, recalling the lines of paparazzi on the streets of Los Angeles. The film was preceded by a short, Between Dreams, where passengers on a sleeper train in Siberia recall their most memorable dreams, the interviews intercut with sleeping passengers.
Marwencol: Mark, a 38-year-old man who suffered severe head trauma and, as a result, amnesia, no longer able to afford therapy, he creates a WWII-era village out of dolls and props. Still plagued by demons from the beating from four young men that caused his injury, he sinks deeper into his imaginary world, the stories of Marwencol, the name he gives to his made-up Belgian village, become more involved, and more violent. Mark names the dolls in his village after himself and people he knows, and his own alter ego is captured by Nazis and tortured, as if he is reliving his own attack. Along the tour of his imaginary world, Mark reveals more about himself and his pre-amnesia self. An alcoholic in, as he calls it, his "first life," he no longer drinks, since, he says, he can't remember alcohol, and therefore doesn't miss it. This film made me think like few I have seen. I started thinking about the nature of identity, starting over, the imaginary vs the real, and how trauma affects us all in different ways. This film was preceded by a short, They Are Giants, about a man who has designed an eight feet by four feet library with hundreds of miniature books bound in leather and mahogany shelves.
Aside from Silverdocs, AFI offers other excellent film series, such as the annual Korean film festival, showcasing the latest films from South Korea, a country that is currently producing some of the most interesting movies in the world. The film I saw in this year's series, Thirst, is a vampire story from the director of Old Boy, Chan-wook Park. While not quite as gory as Old Boy, Thirst is equally unsettling. A priest, having volunteered for a medical experiment, is injected with a vampiric germ and briefly dies, then comes back to life, making him a legend in his hometown. But the adoring town does not know his secret, that he is now a vampire with a thirst for blood. Through the family of one of his followers, he meets a woman who will become his partner in his new life after death. While this woman's murderous inclinations don't come to light until after the priest turns her, the director gives early inclinations that she is not someone to be trusted. In one scene, while her husband is dying of cancer, she looks bored and annoyed by her mother-in-law's grief. The sex scenes between her and the vampire priest are some of the most uncomfortably erotic I have seen, sexy and disturbing all at the same time. The scene where the priest turns his new lover into a vampire is also compelling, starting out with him wanting to kill her, then, overcome with remorse, hurriedly tries to save her by giving her his infected blood. The one major flaw is a climax that drags, in contrast to the rest of the well-paced film, and though it's a generally satisfying ending, the long scenes dilute the intended punch of the end.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Work in Progress: The Breakup
For the last six months, I have been writing out my anger, frustration, sadness, and all of the other conflicting emotions that I felt after my boyfriend of two years abruptly dumped me. The whole work is still a mess of scribbles in my journal and stream-of-consciousness typing, but, as I think I'm finally approaching the day where I'm finally over my ex, I'm starting to develop it into something I can share. In that spirit, this is a preliminary introduction of sorts, and part of the conclusion, to my as yet untitled breakup saga:
I went through every imaginable emotion after the breakup. First I was sad. I cried constantly. I didn’t want to go to sleep because it would just be me and the dark, and the last thing I wanted was to be alone in the dark with my sadness. There were nights I stayed up until 4 am, only shutting off my computer and turning off the light when fatigue pressed my eyes closed. I was angry at my ex for abandoning me, especially since so much of my life was a mess. I was out of money, in debt, unhappy with my job and couldn’t find a path for my life. I was stressed already, and losing him just added to my emotional weight. But for him, everything seemed fine. He went back to his job, always his first and only love, and his life without me was hardly the empty hole that my life was without him. At least that’s how it felt. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to cry. I imagined him asking me to take him back, only to have me reject him. At that point, part of me wanted him back, but the part of me that wanted him to suffer and cry was far stronger. As I concentrated on getting my own life together, even the frustrating process of trying to find a decent job, I slowly stopped thinking about him. I wrote, threw myself back into my serial killer obsession (the emergence of England’s “Crossbow Cannibal” about six months after the breakup helped my recovery immensely, however troubling the presence of a serial killer is for any community), and started going out and seeing friends again. I had the requisite rebound fling (more than one), which gave me immense pleasure and confused me at the same time. I enjoyed my brief flings, but I wasn’t anxious to date again. The thought of being vulnerable to emotional intimacy frightened me. I had to get a lot stronger and more confident in myself to be ready for that. But I was slowly getting better, and, when the time came, I would be ready to open myself up to another person again. I had to fully heal myself before I could be prepared to possibly get broken again. If I was strong and solidly put together, maybe I wouldn’t break into as many pieces the next time.
While going through the breakup, my emotions flowed back and forth. Some days, my ex was far out of my mind, and I was focused on my own life and my own desires. But other days, I couldn't stop thinking how much I missed him. It was particularly frustrating because these bad days often came after good days. I'd think I was over him, but then I'd catch a glimpse of him in a store window and, for the rest of the night, I'd think about what I had lost. As the months went on, I could bounce back from these bad days far faster than I did before, but I wanted to get to a place where I wouldn't have any of those days. How long would that take?
One constant through all of the pain was my friends. After one dinner with a good friend, I felt better than I had in weeks. As we talked and laughed about our past relationships and our lives, I realized that there were people out there who liked and appreciated me for who I was, and those were the people I should be concentrating my energy on, not someone who had left me and was now nothing but a negative influence on my life and well-being. I forgot this realization many times, and sunk into post-breakup despair, but it became easier and easier to remember.
While getting over the breakup, I turned, as I always had, to music. On one of my bad nights, I was listening to Radiohead, and "Fake Plastic Trees" started playing. The line "She looks like the real thing, she tastes like the real thing, my fake plastic love," hit me hard. My ex, and our relationship, were fake. It all looked real, and felt real, but in the end, it wasn't. He was never going to give me the commitment I needed from him, because he was perfectly happy keeping our relationship superficial and incidental, only seeing each other once or twice a week to have fun. He wanted us to stay friends, because if our relationship was so shallow anyway, why shouldn't we just immediately go into an even shallower, platonic one? But I couldn't do it. I felt the love between us far deeper than he could ever be capable of feeling. I wasn't about to hide or deny my feelings of resentment and pain toward him in the interest of civility, or whatever he was trying to achieve. He was always so polite and smiling to everyone, even if he told me later that he didn't like them. That was something that annoyed me horribly. This led to another realization, another one I frequently forgot as the sadness temporarily overtook my rationality. He was fake. Our relationship was fake. I despised falsehood. Therefore, maybe I despised him, even though part of me still loved him. There weren't, and still aren't, any simple solutions for me to get over him. But out of this mess came a wealth of self-discovery, which would ultimately help me not only in attempting to get over the breakup but also in figuring out my future. Even if I forget it while suffering through another relapse, the knowledge of myself remains inside me, as a guide to steer me back out of the depths.
I went through every imaginable emotion after the breakup. First I was sad. I cried constantly. I didn’t want to go to sleep because it would just be me and the dark, and the last thing I wanted was to be alone in the dark with my sadness. There were nights I stayed up until 4 am, only shutting off my computer and turning off the light when fatigue pressed my eyes closed. I was angry at my ex for abandoning me, especially since so much of my life was a mess. I was out of money, in debt, unhappy with my job and couldn’t find a path for my life. I was stressed already, and losing him just added to my emotional weight. But for him, everything seemed fine. He went back to his job, always his first and only love, and his life without me was hardly the empty hole that my life was without him. At least that’s how it felt. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to cry. I imagined him asking me to take him back, only to have me reject him. At that point, part of me wanted him back, but the part of me that wanted him to suffer and cry was far stronger. As I concentrated on getting my own life together, even the frustrating process of trying to find a decent job, I slowly stopped thinking about him. I wrote, threw myself back into my serial killer obsession (the emergence of England’s “Crossbow Cannibal” about six months after the breakup helped my recovery immensely, however troubling the presence of a serial killer is for any community), and started going out and seeing friends again. I had the requisite rebound fling (more than one), which gave me immense pleasure and confused me at the same time. I enjoyed my brief flings, but I wasn’t anxious to date again. The thought of being vulnerable to emotional intimacy frightened me. I had to get a lot stronger and more confident in myself to be ready for that. But I was slowly getting better, and, when the time came, I would be ready to open myself up to another person again. I had to fully heal myself before I could be prepared to possibly get broken again. If I was strong and solidly put together, maybe I wouldn’t break into as many pieces the next time.
While going through the breakup, my emotions flowed back and forth. Some days, my ex was far out of my mind, and I was focused on my own life and my own desires. But other days, I couldn't stop thinking how much I missed him. It was particularly frustrating because these bad days often came after good days. I'd think I was over him, but then I'd catch a glimpse of him in a store window and, for the rest of the night, I'd think about what I had lost. As the months went on, I could bounce back from these bad days far faster than I did before, but I wanted to get to a place where I wouldn't have any of those days. How long would that take?
One constant through all of the pain was my friends. After one dinner with a good friend, I felt better than I had in weeks. As we talked and laughed about our past relationships and our lives, I realized that there were people out there who liked and appreciated me for who I was, and those were the people I should be concentrating my energy on, not someone who had left me and was now nothing but a negative influence on my life and well-being. I forgot this realization many times, and sunk into post-breakup despair, but it became easier and easier to remember.
While getting over the breakup, I turned, as I always had, to music. On one of my bad nights, I was listening to Radiohead, and "Fake Plastic Trees" started playing. The line "She looks like the real thing, she tastes like the real thing, my fake plastic love," hit me hard. My ex, and our relationship, were fake. It all looked real, and felt real, but in the end, it wasn't. He was never going to give me the commitment I needed from him, because he was perfectly happy keeping our relationship superficial and incidental, only seeing each other once or twice a week to have fun. He wanted us to stay friends, because if our relationship was so shallow anyway, why shouldn't we just immediately go into an even shallower, platonic one? But I couldn't do it. I felt the love between us far deeper than he could ever be capable of feeling. I wasn't about to hide or deny my feelings of resentment and pain toward him in the interest of civility, or whatever he was trying to achieve. He was always so polite and smiling to everyone, even if he told me later that he didn't like them. That was something that annoyed me horribly. This led to another realization, another one I frequently forgot as the sadness temporarily overtook my rationality. He was fake. Our relationship was fake. I despised falsehood. Therefore, maybe I despised him, even though part of me still loved him. There weren't, and still aren't, any simple solutions for me to get over him. But out of this mess came a wealth of self-discovery, which would ultimately help me not only in attempting to get over the breakup but also in figuring out my future. Even if I forget it while suffering through another relapse, the knowledge of myself remains inside me, as a guide to steer me back out of the depths.
Friday, June 18, 2010
A general post about my favorite topic
While I am currently following the trial of England's suspected "Crossbow Cannibal" Stephen Griffiths, I don't feel ready to post a complete opinion on the case. Like Dennis Rader and Missouri serial killer Timothy Krajcir, captured in 2007, Griffiths was a student of criminology, which is interesting since many factors of his case recall previous killers. The Crossbow Cannibal's hunting ground was the same area plagued by Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe in the 1970s. Also, the law firm that represented Sutcliffe is now representing Griffiths. Griffiths' lawyers are also petitioning for Griffiths to be moved to a mental health facility, and Sutcliffe's attorneys pursued an insanity defense, which succeeded. The only difference between Griffiths (if he is the Crossbow Cannibal) and Sutcliffe is that Sutcliffe's victims were not dismembered. Last week, Griffiths attempted suicide in the same prison where Harold Shipman, possibly the most prolific serial killer in history, killed himself. As I said, my examination of Griffiths here is extremely preliminary. Knowing little about how the victims were killed, or Griffiths' upbringing, except that he reportedly hadn't spoken to his mother in several years, I don't have much to say in the way of psychological examination.
That the Crossbow Cannibal targeted prostitutes is hardly unusual. From Jack the Ripper onward, prostitutes are frequent victims of serial killers. While some psychologists suggest that prostitutes represent the depravity and evil of women that the killers loathe, criminal profilers say that prostitutes are merely available targets. Most women will not get into a stranger's car, but a prostitute's livelihood depends on doing just that. Also, to a woman-hating serial killer, all women are whores, regardless of occupation. All the killer wants is a woman to destroy. Prostitutes are simply the most convenient.
One question I've been asking myself lately is: Why do we focus our fear on serial killers when there are so many other dangers facing us, like car crashes, domestic disputes, on the job accidents, war, and other random dangers. As crime writer Harold Schecter wrote, a person is far more likely to be killed driving home than by a serial killer. Those dangers are scattered, and a serial killer on the loose in a community gives a face and, later, a name to the general fear we feel in an often scary world. The apprehension of a serial killer, although only making us marginally safer, because all the other ills of the world are still out there, is still considered a major victory in the fight for public safety. We feel powerless against all the dangers that face us, because we never know when or how, or which one, will strike. Our own bodies could develop disease and kill us, as could family members and the morning commute. Bringing a serial killer to justice is a symbolic control over these ills, since the killer has become the personification of all that is bad in our world. Locking up, or killing, the killer is a minor victory. But in a world full of uncertainty, it's still a victory, a triumph over the evils that haunt us.
That the Crossbow Cannibal targeted prostitutes is hardly unusual. From Jack the Ripper onward, prostitutes are frequent victims of serial killers. While some psychologists suggest that prostitutes represent the depravity and evil of women that the killers loathe, criminal profilers say that prostitutes are merely available targets. Most women will not get into a stranger's car, but a prostitute's livelihood depends on doing just that. Also, to a woman-hating serial killer, all women are whores, regardless of occupation. All the killer wants is a woman to destroy. Prostitutes are simply the most convenient.
One question I've been asking myself lately is: Why do we focus our fear on serial killers when there are so many other dangers facing us, like car crashes, domestic disputes, on the job accidents, war, and other random dangers. As crime writer Harold Schecter wrote, a person is far more likely to be killed driving home than by a serial killer. Those dangers are scattered, and a serial killer on the loose in a community gives a face and, later, a name to the general fear we feel in an often scary world. The apprehension of a serial killer, although only making us marginally safer, because all the other ills of the world are still out there, is still considered a major victory in the fight for public safety. We feel powerless against all the dangers that face us, because we never know when or how, or which one, will strike. Our own bodies could develop disease and kill us, as could family members and the morning commute. Bringing a serial killer to justice is a symbolic control over these ills, since the killer has become the personification of all that is bad in our world. Locking up, or killing, the killer is a minor victory. But in a world full of uncertainty, it's still a victory, a triumph over the evils that haunt us.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
"Dating Game Killer" sentenced to death
http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/dating-game-killer-rodney-alcala-sentenced-death/story?id=10242131
Rodney Alcala, called the "Dating Game Killer" because of an appearance he made on the game show in the 1970s, after he had allegedly already taken several victims, was sentenced to death yesterday for the murder of a 12-year-old girl. Alcala was also convicted of three other murders in Los Angeles and New York. After being charged with assault of an 8-year-old girl in LA and serving only a 34-month sentence, Alcala fled to New York and allegedly took more victims. Facing police scrutiny in one of the murders, Alcala returned to LA, where the 1979 murder of a 12-year-old led to two convictions, both overturned on technicalities. But in recent years, police had DNA evidence to link Alcala to the killing, resulting in yesterday's sentence. A possible element of the trial that led to the conviction? Alcala, apparently not learning anything from fellow death row convicts Ted Bundy and John Muhammed, represented himself.
One of Alcala's California victims was first thought to be a victim of Hillside Stranglers Kenneth Bianchi and Angelo Buono, due to the location of the victim and the method of strangulation. Some of Alcala's alleged victims were both strangled, often with their pantyhose like victims of the Boston Strangler, and had their skulls cracked, most likely with rocks found near the scene. Since either method would have been sufficient to kill on its own, the overkill seen is an interesting aspect of the murders about which I have yet to hear any theories.
With the conviction, authorities in every part of the country where Alcala has lived is trying to link unsolved murders to him. While it makes sense that missing persons could be tied to Alcala, there is a danger in trying so hard to close cases with the convenient scapegoat of an already convicted killer. When Ed Gein was arrested in the 1950s, police tried to link every unsolved murder to him, a task which ultimately proved fruitless. Gein had only killed two women, and the remains of both were found in his house of horrors. All other body parts, a fact confirmed by a visit to the local cemetery, were from recently deceased corpses. Henry Lee Lucas, with police desperate to close cases, confessed to just about every unsolved murder that was placed under his nose, and several of his "confessions" were later proved false. While it makes sense that police could make logical connections between unsolved murders and Alcala's MO, I hope they don't get overzealous in their quest, as other officials have done in the past.
Rodney Alcala, called the "Dating Game Killer" because of an appearance he made on the game show in the 1970s, after he had allegedly already taken several victims, was sentenced to death yesterday for the murder of a 12-year-old girl. Alcala was also convicted of three other murders in Los Angeles and New York. After being charged with assault of an 8-year-old girl in LA and serving only a 34-month sentence, Alcala fled to New York and allegedly took more victims. Facing police scrutiny in one of the murders, Alcala returned to LA, where the 1979 murder of a 12-year-old led to two convictions, both overturned on technicalities. But in recent years, police had DNA evidence to link Alcala to the killing, resulting in yesterday's sentence. A possible element of the trial that led to the conviction? Alcala, apparently not learning anything from fellow death row convicts Ted Bundy and John Muhammed, represented himself.
One of Alcala's California victims was first thought to be a victim of Hillside Stranglers Kenneth Bianchi and Angelo Buono, due to the location of the victim and the method of strangulation. Some of Alcala's alleged victims were both strangled, often with their pantyhose like victims of the Boston Strangler, and had their skulls cracked, most likely with rocks found near the scene. Since either method would have been sufficient to kill on its own, the overkill seen is an interesting aspect of the murders about which I have yet to hear any theories.
With the conviction, authorities in every part of the country where Alcala has lived is trying to link unsolved murders to him. While it makes sense that missing persons could be tied to Alcala, there is a danger in trying so hard to close cases with the convenient scapegoat of an already convicted killer. When Ed Gein was arrested in the 1950s, police tried to link every unsolved murder to him, a task which ultimately proved fruitless. Gein had only killed two women, and the remains of both were found in his house of horrors. All other body parts, a fact confirmed by a visit to the local cemetery, were from recently deceased corpses. Henry Lee Lucas, with police desperate to close cases, confessed to just about every unsolved murder that was placed under his nose, and several of his "confessions" were later proved false. While it makes sense that police could make logical connections between unsolved murders and Alcala's MO, I hope they don't get overzealous in their quest, as other officials have done in the past.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
My not-so-surprising results in an Asperger's quiz
Courtesy of Clint's blog, an Asperger's quiz. I was officially diagnosed with this condition at 19, and as expected, I scored rather high on the Asperger's side.
[img]http://www.rdos.net/eng/poly12c.php?p1=98&p2=71&p3=97&p4=89&p5=94&p6=97&p7=87&p8=94&p9=79&p10=49&p11=99&p12=79[/img]
Some of the questions on the quiz, like "Do you notice patterns in things all the time?" "Do you sometimes lie awake at night because of too many thoughts?" "In conversations, do you need extra time to carefully think out your reply, so that there may be a pause before you answer?" "Do people think you are aloof and distant?" (the one that has provoked those oh-so-annoying comments from guys like the dreaded "You don't look happy") and "Do you tend to get so absorbed by your special interests that you forget or ignore everything else?" (three guesses on my "special interest") seemed so normal to me that it's hard to conceive that they may be seen as "unusual." But that narrow view, that self-focus and inability to sense how others feel and that someone else may see things in a different way, is also part of Asperger's. It has led to many problems in my personal and professional life, but, with time, it has improved, and I find that I can now interact with some people with few complications. Like learning a foreign language, I had to gradually learn the language of social behavior, with all the nuances and subtle shades indistinguishable to my Asperger's-tinted mind, which others innately know. It's been a long, hard road, and I'm still traveling it, but compared to the hellish years of middle school and high school, things are much better now, and I'm grateful and quite proud of the progress I've made.
[img]http://www.rdos.net/eng/poly12c.php?p1=98&p2=71&p3=97&p4=89&p5=94&p6=97&p7=87&p8=94&p9=79&p10=49&p11=99&p12=79[/img]
Some of the questions on the quiz, like "Do you notice patterns in things all the time?" "Do you sometimes lie awake at night because of too many thoughts?" "In conversations, do you need extra time to carefully think out your reply, so that there may be a pause before you answer?" "Do people think you are aloof and distant?" (the one that has provoked those oh-so-annoying comments from guys like the dreaded "You don't look happy") and "Do you tend to get so absorbed by your special interests that you forget or ignore everything else?" (three guesses on my "special interest") seemed so normal to me that it's hard to conceive that they may be seen as "unusual." But that narrow view, that self-focus and inability to sense how others feel and that someone else may see things in a different way, is also part of Asperger's. It has led to many problems in my personal and professional life, but, with time, it has improved, and I find that I can now interact with some people with few complications. Like learning a foreign language, I had to gradually learn the language of social behavior, with all the nuances and subtle shades indistinguishable to my Asperger's-tinted mind, which others innately know. It's been a long, hard road, and I'm still traveling it, but compared to the hellish years of middle school and high school, things are much better now, and I'm grateful and quite proud of the progress I've made.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Conviction in abortion doctor's murder
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100129/ap_on_re_us/us_abortion_shooting_trial
In Kansas, Scott Roeder was convicted of killing abortion provider Dr. George Tiller and sentenced to a life sentence, with the possibility of parole after 25 years. Dr. Tiller's family was grateful for the verdict, calling it "just," and asked that Dr. Tiller be remembered for the services he provided to women and as a good man. In the family's statement, they sounded remarkably level-headed and not at all bitter about the trial of the murderer who took their loved one.
The words of Roeder's defense attorney, on the other hand, were hardly level-headed. He said that Roeder should not be convicted based on his "convictions." He even had the nerve to bring up Martin Luther King in comparison to his client as someone who also bent the law to act on his "principles." The major difference, of course, is that Martin Luther King never killed anyone, and Scott Roeder shot Dr. George Tiller while he sat in church. However, Roeder's attorney didn't have much else to go on in his case. Roeder, like many other men who feel they are acting on God's will, was proud of his actions, claiming to be defending "the children," and held nothing back in his trial statements. At the end of this sad story, I prefer to recall the words of George Tiller's family, that justice was done, and the request to remember the victim fondly.
In Kansas, Scott Roeder was convicted of killing abortion provider Dr. George Tiller and sentenced to a life sentence, with the possibility of parole after 25 years. Dr. Tiller's family was grateful for the verdict, calling it "just," and asked that Dr. Tiller be remembered for the services he provided to women and as a good man. In the family's statement, they sounded remarkably level-headed and not at all bitter about the trial of the murderer who took their loved one.
The words of Roeder's defense attorney, on the other hand, were hardly level-headed. He said that Roeder should not be convicted based on his "convictions." He even had the nerve to bring up Martin Luther King in comparison to his client as someone who also bent the law to act on his "principles." The major difference, of course, is that Martin Luther King never killed anyone, and Scott Roeder shot Dr. George Tiller while he sat in church. However, Roeder's attorney didn't have much else to go on in his case. Roeder, like many other men who feel they are acting on God's will, was proud of his actions, claiming to be defending "the children," and held nothing back in his trial statements. At the end of this sad story, I prefer to recall the words of George Tiller's family, that justice was done, and the request to remember the victim fondly.
Friday, January 22, 2010
I've been away
I have been going through a lot of personal issues, so I have not had the energy to post anything new. But I'm still here, and a recent mass shooting in central Virginia could lead to my first real post in over two months. I hope so.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Final review in EU Film Showcase
The final film I saw in the European Union Film Showcase was I Am Not Your Friend from Hungary, which I was highly anticipating, because I saw director György Pálfi's Taxidermia at the 2007 festival, and was very impressed by its blend of grotesque imagery and emotional depth. Palfi's new offering is far less graphic but just as emotionally intense. It revolves around several residents of Budapest and their deceitful, manipulative relationships with each other. In a bar, a woman, Rita, tells bartender Sophie that she is planning to divorce her husband, but doesn't know that Sophie has been having an affair with the husband she is about to leave, an affair which the husband, Andras, treated as almost a joke, letting his friend Mark (who turned out to be Sophie's husband), listen in on her telephone seductions of Andras. Mark is also having an affair with his employee Sara, who has been cheating on her boyfriend, and it goes on like this. Every relationship is shrouded in lies and weighed with infidelity and distrust. There are no clear cut heroes and villains, everyone gets hurt and hurts others. The film is preceded by a short documentary set in a kindergarten classroom, where the children, with typical fickleness, switch who they call friends and leave others out of their groups. The short is meant to illustrate how early we use relationships to manipulate each other, but at least the kindergarteners are honest about who they like and dislike at the moment, where the adults in the feature take to lying and manipulating. Although they are the "grownups," they can't be honest about what they want with each other, and may not even know what they want.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Two more from the EU Film Showcase
Over the weekend I saw two documentaries in the European Union Film Showcase. The first, Citizen Havel from Czech Republic, was a look at the political life of former Czech president Vaclav Havel. Although I know very little about Havel and his policies, I very much enjoyed the film. It provided a look at political meetings and strategy rarely seen in the public media. Havel was seen meeting with his advisers about conflicts with the Czech premier (in the Czech Republic, the president is elected by the Parliament, not directly by the people), preparing for speeches with advisers telling him how to stand and his wife checking his suit for dandruff, and discussing upcoming meetings with other leaders. Two highlights include a trip to a Prague jazz club with former US president Bill Clinton, where Havel presented Clinton with a custom-made saxophone, and Havel attending a Rolling Stones concert and later inviting the band to the Presidential Palace. The film offers an unparalleled look inside the structuring of a new nation, and the triumphs and trials of its leadership. Havel even gives a glimpse into his private life, and, in an emotionally charged interlude, shows him looking out onto the Palace grounds at the state funeral for his late wife. After he remarries (which is also shown), he recounts the 30+ years of his first marriage. The portrait of Havel is multidimensional, private and public lives, achievements and setbacks. The only downside is that the film offers little history of the Czech republic or background on its government, which could leave some viewers lost among the policy discussions. Clarity issues aside, the viewer gains an unprecedented look inside the life of a world leader.
The other documentary was Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno, a look at the legendary French filmmaker's abandoned project Inferno. Film restorer Serge Bromberg collected Clouzot's footage and shows it with readings from the script (the sound had disappeared from the decades-old footage) and interviews with crew members, trying to restructure the film and determine why the project didn't make it. It's hard to tell whether Clouzot's intended film Inferno would have been any good. With odd dream sequences that took a lot of technological wrangling, and Clouzot's obsession with getting the scenes exactly right, it was a highly ambitious endeavor, and a few of the crew members interviewed suggest that it was this over-ambition that led to the project's demise. As a look in the creative process of the renowned director, however, Bromberg's film is invaluable. Through behind the scenes footage and interviews, Clouzot's film-making techniques are revealed, including his preproduction storyboards that also used color coding to indicate the moods and emotions of the characters in the particular scene. The crew also reveal that Clouzot was particularly invested in Inferno, spending hours and hours trying to create the perfect scenes. Clouzot, called the French Hitchcock, was equally demanding on his actors, up to the point where his lead actor left the project midway through. The crew interviews alternately suggest that the actor had contracted a rare illness or that he had just had enough of Clouzot and his demands. Though the film itself was never made, Bromberg used the dead project to create a masterwork of his own, a look into the film-making process and a profile of one of film's most renowned artists in one of his less renowned periods.
The other documentary was Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno, a look at the legendary French filmmaker's abandoned project Inferno. Film restorer Serge Bromberg collected Clouzot's footage and shows it with readings from the script (the sound had disappeared from the decades-old footage) and interviews with crew members, trying to restructure the film and determine why the project didn't make it. It's hard to tell whether Clouzot's intended film Inferno would have been any good. With odd dream sequences that took a lot of technological wrangling, and Clouzot's obsession with getting the scenes exactly right, it was a highly ambitious endeavor, and a few of the crew members interviewed suggest that it was this over-ambition that led to the project's demise. As a look in the creative process of the renowned director, however, Bromberg's film is invaluable. Through behind the scenes footage and interviews, Clouzot's film-making techniques are revealed, including his preproduction storyboards that also used color coding to indicate the moods and emotions of the characters in the particular scene. The crew also reveal that Clouzot was particularly invested in Inferno, spending hours and hours trying to create the perfect scenes. Clouzot, called the French Hitchcock, was equally demanding on his actors, up to the point where his lead actor left the project midway through. The crew interviews alternately suggest that the actor had contracted a rare illness or that he had just had enough of Clouzot and his demands. Though the film itself was never made, Bromberg used the dead project to create a masterwork of his own, a look into the film-making process and a profile of one of film's most renowned artists in one of his less renowned periods.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Crime hysteria
Monday night I saw another offering in the European Union Film Showcase at AFI, a Danish film called Deliver Us From Evil. While some of the techniques used were questionable, like the portentous music and images of gathering storm clouds between scenes, and the odd presence of a strangely dressed narrator at the beginning and end, it told a strong story of how people can lose their heads in the quest for vengeance. Lars, a shiftless truck driver with a far more successful brother, runs someone over while on the job, hides the body and other evidence, and plants more evidence on a Bosnian immigrant, who is later besieged by the dead woman's husband, who is also Lars' boss, and other employees who get caught up in the exciting prospect of violence against a supposedly violent offender, although all evidence, and the scene itself, indicate that the woman's death was an accident. While the film is at times a bit too ambitious in attempting to explore multiple issues of class and race (and a rape scene with ensuing battle at the end that is totally superfluous), the illustration of how crazy people can become in pursuing justice is a powerful one. In the climax, the husband, with his employees, has tracked the Bosnian, Alain, to the home of Lars' far more successful brother Johannes, a friend of Alain's who has decided to protect him from the mob. But, as Johannes' wife notices, he becomes just as zealous and violent in his struggle as the mob outside, using a nail gun to staple the arm of an intruder to the door. Johannes himself says that he wants to show up the "proletariats" outside. Ingvar (may not be the exact name), the grieving widower, has an assistant who ultimately refuses to get the bullets for Ingvar to reload his shotgun after shooting into Johannes' house, a doctor Johannes had brought in to examine Alain and police responding to a call. At this point, Lars, shocked at the extremes to which Ingvar has gone, has confessed to running over Ingvar's wife, and Ingvar is unable to harm him. The scene of the angry mob searching ostensibly for justice but in reality to serve a base desire to harm a perceived enemy, recalls Sam Peckinpah's Straw Dogs, where a retarded man wrongly accused of rape is chased and, though I don't remember exactly, is either killed or almost killed, and Fritz Lang's Fury, where an accused criminal (also innocent) is murdered by a mob that has surrounded the jail where he is being held.
This doesn't just happen in the movies. In a book I just read about Italy's still unsolved case of serial murder, the Monster of Florence killings, after a composite sketch is released of the suspected killer (seen by witnesses near the crime scenes), anyone who vaguely resembled the sketch was terrorized by angry citizens, their businesses suffered, and one man committed suicide as a result of the barrage of threats he received. This was hardly the only problem encountered in the Monster of Florence case; the litany of power struggles among officials, the refusals of investigators to admit fault in accusing ultimately innocent men of the crime, and the terror they inflicted on a journalist who dared to question the official path of the investigation, all of which led to the killer remaining free and unknown (though the terrorized journalist has a convincing theory as to the killer's identity) to this day, warrants its own post, which I will write at another time. I mention it here as an example of the kind of hysteria that can grip a community that has seen a crime wave or suffered any significant loss; they want to blame someone, and when their anxieties finally have a human face, they set upon that, whether or not an official investigation has been conducted and whether or not that person is guilty, and their fear and rage often turn violent. Common sense, logic and everything that separates humans from other animals, except a disturbing organization of brutality, disappears.
This doesn't just happen in the movies. In a book I just read about Italy's still unsolved case of serial murder, the Monster of Florence killings, after a composite sketch is released of the suspected killer (seen by witnesses near the crime scenes), anyone who vaguely resembled the sketch was terrorized by angry citizens, their businesses suffered, and one man committed suicide as a result of the barrage of threats he received. This was hardly the only problem encountered in the Monster of Florence case; the litany of power struggles among officials, the refusals of investigators to admit fault in accusing ultimately innocent men of the crime, and the terror they inflicted on a journalist who dared to question the official path of the investigation, all of which led to the killer remaining free and unknown (though the terrorized journalist has a convincing theory as to the killer's identity) to this day, warrants its own post, which I will write at another time. I mention it here as an example of the kind of hysteria that can grip a community that has seen a crime wave or suffered any significant loss; they want to blame someone, and when their anxieties finally have a human face, they set upon that, whether or not an official investigation has been conducted and whether or not that person is guilty, and their fear and rage often turn violent. Common sense, logic and everything that separates humans from other animals, except a disturbing organization of brutality, disappears.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Ft. Hood, respect and menstruation
Since I don't know all the details of the case, I'll keep the discussion of Ft. Hood brief until I read more. But I will say, for the moment, that I do not believe the shooting was an act of terrorism. Although the shooter had embraced a radical sect of Islam, it seems unlikely that the shooting was motivated by ideology, which is the definition of a terrorist attack. More likely, since the shooter was also dealing with personal issues, including possible mental problems, it's far more likely that he was another troubled man with violent, possibly psychotic tendencies that reached his breaking point. It's happened many, many times before, and will happen again, maybe on another military base.
On a related topic, I read a post on Facebook from a friend saying that he would defriend anyone who said that the military was unnecessary and never did anything for anyone. It received a flurry of comments denouncing "elitists," which I took to mean "liberals." While, as the title of my blog clearly indicates, I do not mind being called a liberal, but I do resent when liberals are called elitists. On a recent episode of 30 Rock, Jack told Liz that she needed to get in touch with the "heartland," where people are "kinder" and "simpler." A trip to a rural Georgia comedy club proved that the people in small towns can be total jerks as much as those in big cities. However, in big cities, since more people interact more often, the animosity comes to the surface more often in a more concentrated area. And while California, the bastion of liberal elites in the eyes of dogmatic conservatives, shot down the legalization of gay marriage, the very middle America state of Iowa has passed pro-gay marriage legislation. There are good and bad, liberal and conservative, people everywhere.
Where the military is concerned, I can vaguely recall a routine from the late great George Carlin where he is arguing against the automatic respect that those in certain positions, like police or military officials, have come to expect, which is encouraged by society. Carlin says that, for him to respect someone, they have to earn it through actions. I do not automatically give someone my respect just because they're wearing a uniform or served in a war. As the case of Steven Green in Iraq illustrates, there are soldiers in our military who abuse their power and enlist for entirely the wrong reasons. The recently executed Beltway Sniper John Allen Muhammed served in the first Gulf War, Charles Whitman was a former Marine, and serial killer Arthur Shawcross served in Vietnam. There are respectable people, even heroes, who have served in the military, and, on the other side, I don't automatically hate someone who has been in the military. But just because someone enlisted in the army does not make them a hero, or even a decent person.
The second installment of my reviews of the European Union Film Showcase: Slovakian documentary The Moon Inside You, which examines the myths and perceptions surrounding menstruation. In interviews with pubescent girls and boys, the stuttering comments of squeamish men, psychologists, gynecologists, and the incoherent babble of New Agey types, the director examines views of the natural, but hidden, phenomenon. The point made frequently, which got to me too, is that even modern women do not talk about their menstrual cycles, and, for many women who grew up in more traditional families, it became shameful as a result, making the mere fact of openly creating a film about it a brave act. While the film could have gone into more depth, particularly in examining the ways that governments and social scientists have tried to impede the progress of women by publishing "studies" that the hormones of the menstrual cycle deter women from fully functioning in the workplace. One of the more illuminating, and disturbing, interviews was with a (male) Brazilian doctor who has given women implants to stop them from having periods, and calls menstruation "unnatural" because it's so painful. It recalls the organic fetishists who seem to think that anything "natural" is automatically good, although this is not at all true, considering all the poisonous substances that occur naturally in plants (the cyanide in apple cores is an excellent example). Luckily, the director of the film was available for questions after the showing, and she mentioned that the implants offered by this doctor have been under investigation for causing severe health problems. The symptoms connected to menstruation can be so severe and so shameful that women are willing to have an experimental object implanted inside them to keep it from happening. On the other side, there were psychologists from Australia who advocated embracing the natural rhythms of the body, and, while a bit New Agey for my tastes, it still seemed more reasonable than implants to prevent the very natural, though annoying, process of menstruation. The director told the audience that, because of the topic, she's had trouble finding distributors, particularly in squeamish America, although an American education foundation has expressed interest. The element that put of American public television was a comment by a Spanish gynecologist that masturbation can relieve menstrual cramps (which, through research and personal experience, I've discovered is true except in extreme cases). The most illuminating part of the film was a discussion with pubescent boys, describing their impressions of a woman's period, mostly describing how awful and creepy it sounds, a view which, unfortunately, does not change as boys get older. Although I thought the images of blood that pepper the film were a bit much while watching, an audience member made the point that we see blood in action and horror movies and think nothing of it, but when images of blood are connected to a woman's reproductive process, we automatically recoil. Because menstruation is still considered a taboo, shameful subject. But hopefully a film like this one, where the subject is openly discussed, will trigger more discussion and thoughtful examination.
On a related topic, I read a post on Facebook from a friend saying that he would defriend anyone who said that the military was unnecessary and never did anything for anyone. It received a flurry of comments denouncing "elitists," which I took to mean "liberals." While, as the title of my blog clearly indicates, I do not mind being called a liberal, but I do resent when liberals are called elitists. On a recent episode of 30 Rock, Jack told Liz that she needed to get in touch with the "heartland," where people are "kinder" and "simpler." A trip to a rural Georgia comedy club proved that the people in small towns can be total jerks as much as those in big cities. However, in big cities, since more people interact more often, the animosity comes to the surface more often in a more concentrated area. And while California, the bastion of liberal elites in the eyes of dogmatic conservatives, shot down the legalization of gay marriage, the very middle America state of Iowa has passed pro-gay marriage legislation. There are good and bad, liberal and conservative, people everywhere.
Where the military is concerned, I can vaguely recall a routine from the late great George Carlin where he is arguing against the automatic respect that those in certain positions, like police or military officials, have come to expect, which is encouraged by society. Carlin says that, for him to respect someone, they have to earn it through actions. I do not automatically give someone my respect just because they're wearing a uniform or served in a war. As the case of Steven Green in Iraq illustrates, there are soldiers in our military who abuse their power and enlist for entirely the wrong reasons. The recently executed Beltway Sniper John Allen Muhammed served in the first Gulf War, Charles Whitman was a former Marine, and serial killer Arthur Shawcross served in Vietnam. There are respectable people, even heroes, who have served in the military, and, on the other side, I don't automatically hate someone who has been in the military. But just because someone enlisted in the army does not make them a hero, or even a decent person.
The second installment of my reviews of the European Union Film Showcase: Slovakian documentary The Moon Inside You, which examines the myths and perceptions surrounding menstruation. In interviews with pubescent girls and boys, the stuttering comments of squeamish men, psychologists, gynecologists, and the incoherent babble of New Agey types, the director examines views of the natural, but hidden, phenomenon. The point made frequently, which got to me too, is that even modern women do not talk about their menstrual cycles, and, for many women who grew up in more traditional families, it became shameful as a result, making the mere fact of openly creating a film about it a brave act. While the film could have gone into more depth, particularly in examining the ways that governments and social scientists have tried to impede the progress of women by publishing "studies" that the hormones of the menstrual cycle deter women from fully functioning in the workplace. One of the more illuminating, and disturbing, interviews was with a (male) Brazilian doctor who has given women implants to stop them from having periods, and calls menstruation "unnatural" because it's so painful. It recalls the organic fetishists who seem to think that anything "natural" is automatically good, although this is not at all true, considering all the poisonous substances that occur naturally in plants (the cyanide in apple cores is an excellent example). Luckily, the director of the film was available for questions after the showing, and she mentioned that the implants offered by this doctor have been under investigation for causing severe health problems. The symptoms connected to menstruation can be so severe and so shameful that women are willing to have an experimental object implanted inside them to keep it from happening. On the other side, there were psychologists from Australia who advocated embracing the natural rhythms of the body, and, while a bit New Agey for my tastes, it still seemed more reasonable than implants to prevent the very natural, though annoying, process of menstruation. The director told the audience that, because of the topic, she's had trouble finding distributors, particularly in squeamish America, although an American education foundation has expressed interest. The element that put of American public television was a comment by a Spanish gynecologist that masturbation can relieve menstrual cramps (which, through research and personal experience, I've discovered is true except in extreme cases). The most illuminating part of the film was a discussion with pubescent boys, describing their impressions of a woman's period, mostly describing how awful and creepy it sounds, a view which, unfortunately, does not change as boys get older. Although I thought the images of blood that pepper the film were a bit much while watching, an audience member made the point that we see blood in action and horror movies and think nothing of it, but when images of blood are connected to a woman's reproductive process, we automatically recoil. Because menstruation is still considered a taboo, shameful subject. But hopefully a film like this one, where the subject is openly discussed, will trigger more discussion and thoughtful examination.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Disclaimer
I realize that on my post about the Roman Polanski arrest that I may have come across as condoning his crimes. That was not my intent. I know full well that he raped an underage girl, fully conscious of what he was doing. My concern with the case being brought to trial after all these years is that it's not what the victim wants. She's a grown woman now, and wants to put it behind her. I am not defending Polanski's actions, from the rape to fleeing the country. But I hope the California courts keep the wishes of the victim in mind in their zealous quest for "justice."
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
John Allen Muhammed executed tonight
Yes, Beltway Sniper John Allen Muhammed was executed earlier tonight, and I was, as always, extremely dismayed at the sense of celebration I've seen from press releases and even among my friends. For the record, as I've stated many times before, I oppose the death penalty. I can't see that it's about anything but revenge. The most disturbing comment was a post on Facebook wishing that not only Muhammed but his accomplice Lee Malvo got the chair. The electric chair was a terribly cruel method of execution, and I've stated before how I feel about Malvo's involvement in the crimes. But, of course, I didn't support the death penalty for Muhammed either. All that happens is, as Camus wrote in his essay "Reflections on the Guillotine," is the barely cloaked sadism of the masses, relieved that the usually hidden part of their psyches finally has an outlet against a "bad" person, and the chance to revel in the thought of a now-dead criminal burning in hell, and wishing that he had a more painful death. There is something extremely troubling about otherwise decent human beings wishing pain and suffering on another human being, even if that person is a murderer. There is a very simple saying, but it's so true: two wrongs don't make a right.
A Serious Man review
A Serious Man, the latest offering from Joel and Ethan Coen, is brilliant in many respects, such as the revelatory performance by Michael Stuhlbarg in the lead, which deeply deserves recognition come award season, and the Coens’ trademark quirky humor. What makes the film stand out is how it expertly blends broad comedy with biblical tragedy, causing the viewer to think that the two inevitably go together. Small in scope where the Coens’ other recent masterpiece, No Country for Old Men, was wide, it centers on the fall of one ordinary, self-described “serious” man.
Larry Gopnik, the protagonist, is cursed with an insufferable family; a bratty teenage daughter whose shrill whining fills the house the second he comes home, a pothead son in debt to a local bully who gets high before his bar mitzvah, a wife who reveals that she’s having an affair and, with the assistance of her new lover, forces Larry out of his house into a motel, and a brother who compulsively gambles and ends up getting arrested. Larry’s job as a physics professor doesn’t offer much comfort; there, he’s being bullied and bribed into changing a student’s failing grade by both the student and the student’s father, and has to jump through legislative hoops to get tenure. On top of all of this, he’s low on money (meaning he can’t afford a lawyer for his divorce), his neighbor is building over the property line, and his quest for spiritual enlightenment is more frustrating than enlightening. He is also plagued by nightmares, which form some of the more entertaining and disturbing dream sequences in recent film history.
Larry’s trips to three ineffectual rabbis form a frame in the middle of the story. The first is a young, inexperienced one who can only offer empty platitudes. The second, while more experienced, only offers an odd story (it must be seen to be believed) that has no relevance to Larry’s problems. On the trip to the third, most revered, rabbi, Larry has reached his breaking point. He is clearly exasperated as he begs the rabbi’s secretary for an appointment. She then walks into a book-filled office where the rabbi is sitting quietly. She shortly comes back, and tells the frustrated Larry, “The rabbi is busy.” When Larry shouts that he doesn’t look busy, the secretary, in the same deadpan voice, says, “He’s thinking.” The spiritual quest, which his soon-to-be ex-wife was convinced would help, comes up empty.
Larry’s story does not have a neat ending. A tornado approaches a school as a group of students, including Larry’s son, hides in the basement. At the same time, Larry receives a call from the doctor he saw for tests at the beginning of the film, and the doctor is clearly bearing bad news, but the screen fades to black before the news is revealed. There is no redemption in Larry’s suffering, as there was, of sorts, in the Biblical story of Job, whose story Larry’s symbolically resembles. Unlike Job, Larry finds no solace in faith, and, the viewer can infer from the grim voice of the doctor and the black tornado clouds overhead, will not gain back what he has lost.
In the first installment of a series during the European Union Film Showcase at the AFI Silver Theatre, a brief review of the Bulgarian film Zift. This film could best be described as an Eastern European homage to American film noir. The story centers around a thief who goes by the name Moth, just released from prison in Communist Bulgaria, and is told both forward and backward, in what happens after his release, and how he ended up in prison. While occasionally Moth's voice-overs lend too much exposition, and explain things that don't need to be explained, the film is a classic noir, full of twists, including the subtle but jarring ultimate twist at the end, and moody cinematography. The lead actor, whose name escapes me at the moment, is coolly charismatic and gives a stunning and nuanced performance, particularly while Moth, in the second half, is walking the streets after being poisoned by a former partner in crime. The bleakness of Communist-bloc Eastern Europe proves an excellent setting for a film noir.
While there is no way I will get to see every film in the showcase, or even every one I want to see (I unfortunately missed a very interesting-sounding Polish movie called Piggies this past weekend), I will mention the ones I do get to see here.
Larry Gopnik, the protagonist, is cursed with an insufferable family; a bratty teenage daughter whose shrill whining fills the house the second he comes home, a pothead son in debt to a local bully who gets high before his bar mitzvah, a wife who reveals that she’s having an affair and, with the assistance of her new lover, forces Larry out of his house into a motel, and a brother who compulsively gambles and ends up getting arrested. Larry’s job as a physics professor doesn’t offer much comfort; there, he’s being bullied and bribed into changing a student’s failing grade by both the student and the student’s father, and has to jump through legislative hoops to get tenure. On top of all of this, he’s low on money (meaning he can’t afford a lawyer for his divorce), his neighbor is building over the property line, and his quest for spiritual enlightenment is more frustrating than enlightening. He is also plagued by nightmares, which form some of the more entertaining and disturbing dream sequences in recent film history.
Larry’s trips to three ineffectual rabbis form a frame in the middle of the story. The first is a young, inexperienced one who can only offer empty platitudes. The second, while more experienced, only offers an odd story (it must be seen to be believed) that has no relevance to Larry’s problems. On the trip to the third, most revered, rabbi, Larry has reached his breaking point. He is clearly exasperated as he begs the rabbi’s secretary for an appointment. She then walks into a book-filled office where the rabbi is sitting quietly. She shortly comes back, and tells the frustrated Larry, “The rabbi is busy.” When Larry shouts that he doesn’t look busy, the secretary, in the same deadpan voice, says, “He’s thinking.” The spiritual quest, which his soon-to-be ex-wife was convinced would help, comes up empty.
Larry’s story does not have a neat ending. A tornado approaches a school as a group of students, including Larry’s son, hides in the basement. At the same time, Larry receives a call from the doctor he saw for tests at the beginning of the film, and the doctor is clearly bearing bad news, but the screen fades to black before the news is revealed. There is no redemption in Larry’s suffering, as there was, of sorts, in the Biblical story of Job, whose story Larry’s symbolically resembles. Unlike Job, Larry finds no solace in faith, and, the viewer can infer from the grim voice of the doctor and the black tornado clouds overhead, will not gain back what he has lost.
In the first installment of a series during the European Union Film Showcase at the AFI Silver Theatre, a brief review of the Bulgarian film Zift. This film could best be described as an Eastern European homage to American film noir. The story centers around a thief who goes by the name Moth, just released from prison in Communist Bulgaria, and is told both forward and backward, in what happens after his release, and how he ended up in prison. While occasionally Moth's voice-overs lend too much exposition, and explain things that don't need to be explained, the film is a classic noir, full of twists, including the subtle but jarring ultimate twist at the end, and moody cinematography. The lead actor, whose name escapes me at the moment, is coolly charismatic and gives a stunning and nuanced performance, particularly while Moth, in the second half, is walking the streets after being poisoned by a former partner in crime. The bleakness of Communist-bloc Eastern Europe proves an excellent setting for a film noir.
While there is no way I will get to see every film in the showcase, or even every one I want to see (I unfortunately missed a very interesting-sounding Polish movie called Piggies this past weekend), I will mention the ones I do get to see here.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Edmund Kemper: fact and fiction
I just saw a movie about Edmund Kemper I found on Hulu. Considering that I found it online, I wasn't expecting much, but even so, I was severely disappointed by its inaccuracies. First of all, although Kemper committed his crimes in the 1970s, the movie featured contemporary accouterments like laptops and cell phones. Edmund Kemper was 6'9" and weighed 300 pounds, but the actor who played him was shorter than the actors playing the detectives. He looked more like Green River Killer Gary Ridgeway than Kemper. Even worse than the anachronism, it took dramatic license with the story to the point that it was barely recognizable. While Kemper spent time at a bar frequented by police officers and befriended a few of them, he did not have a detective as a close friend, much less help the detective solve other murders, as portrayed in the movie. When the detective learns, through a phone call from Kemper, that he is the killer the police have been tracking, the movie turns into a cat and mouse chase that never happened. In the process, it loses the already fascinating true story, and one of the most interesting aspects of the Kemper case is lost. Edmund Kemper is the only serial killer that I know of who turned himself in, and waited for the police to come get him.
While Kemper is not as well known as the likes of Bundy, Gacy and Dahmer, I've always considered him one of the most interesting serial killers. Like many other killers, he grew up in an abusive home. His mother, embittered by having been left by his father, and because her son looked so much like his father, hated Edmund and didn't try to hide it. Because of his size, and because she hated him, she assumed he would molest his sister, and made him sleep in the basement. She also, an aspect only hinted at in the movie, constantly belittled him, telling him, among other hateful things, that no woman would ever love him. At fourteen (not ten, as depicted in Kemper: The Coed Killer), Edmund's mother sent him to live with his father's parents, and, one day, he shot them, saying "I wanted to know how it felt to shoot Grandma." At a juvenile facility, he learned how to manipulate psychological tests. In his adult killing career (after, in an exceptionally stupid move, being released to his mother's custody), he once passed a psych test administered during a parole meeting, while the head of his latest victim was sitting in his car. A true cinematic moment, but it was left out of the film version of Kemper's life. As the psychologists who later interviewed Kemper realized, the young women he killed were a substitute for his mother, who he was metaphorically killing each time. But one night, he decided to actually kill the woman he hated most. In the film's one saving grace, it included what Kemper did to his mother's dismembered corpse, such as using her head as a dartboard. Also, in what I've heard described as one of the more symbolic gestures in criminal history, he shoved her larynx down the garbage disposal, which he considered appropriate, "seeing how she bitched at me over the years." Kemper then invited his mother's friend over, and, after she saw what he had done, killed her too. Then, either to gain attention for his crimes, or because, having killed his mother, his demons therefore fully exorcised, he drove to a pay phone, called the police and told them to come get him. He stayed until they came to arrest him. That would have been an excellent ending for a film.
While the close friendship Edmund Kemper had with a local detective never happened, FBI agents who later interviewed him admitted, uncomfortably, that they liked the killer. He was intelligent, articulate, and fully aware of the impact of his crimes but stopped short of true remorse. Former FBI profiler Robert Ressler recalled an interview with Kemper where the hulking serial killer told Ressler that he could "screw off his head." When Ressler pointed out that Kemper would get in trouble, the prisoner serving consecutive life sentences replied, "What will they do, cut off my TV privileges?" Thoroughly shaken, Ressler signaled for the guard. When he was about to leave, Kemper told him, "You know I was just kidding, right?"
While Kemper is not as well known as the likes of Bundy, Gacy and Dahmer, I've always considered him one of the most interesting serial killers. Like many other killers, he grew up in an abusive home. His mother, embittered by having been left by his father, and because her son looked so much like his father, hated Edmund and didn't try to hide it. Because of his size, and because she hated him, she assumed he would molest his sister, and made him sleep in the basement. She also, an aspect only hinted at in the movie, constantly belittled him, telling him, among other hateful things, that no woman would ever love him. At fourteen (not ten, as depicted in Kemper: The Coed Killer), Edmund's mother sent him to live with his father's parents, and, one day, he shot them, saying "I wanted to know how it felt to shoot Grandma." At a juvenile facility, he learned how to manipulate psychological tests. In his adult killing career (after, in an exceptionally stupid move, being released to his mother's custody), he once passed a psych test administered during a parole meeting, while the head of his latest victim was sitting in his car. A true cinematic moment, but it was left out of the film version of Kemper's life. As the psychologists who later interviewed Kemper realized, the young women he killed were a substitute for his mother, who he was metaphorically killing each time. But one night, he decided to actually kill the woman he hated most. In the film's one saving grace, it included what Kemper did to his mother's dismembered corpse, such as using her head as a dartboard. Also, in what I've heard described as one of the more symbolic gestures in criminal history, he shoved her larynx down the garbage disposal, which he considered appropriate, "seeing how she bitched at me over the years." Kemper then invited his mother's friend over, and, after she saw what he had done, killed her too. Then, either to gain attention for his crimes, or because, having killed his mother, his demons therefore fully exorcised, he drove to a pay phone, called the police and told them to come get him. He stayed until they came to arrest him. That would have been an excellent ending for a film.
While the close friendship Edmund Kemper had with a local detective never happened, FBI agents who later interviewed him admitted, uncomfortably, that they liked the killer. He was intelligent, articulate, and fully aware of the impact of his crimes but stopped short of true remorse. Former FBI profiler Robert Ressler recalled an interview with Kemper where the hulking serial killer told Ressler that he could "screw off his head." When Ressler pointed out that Kemper would get in trouble, the prisoner serving consecutive life sentences replied, "What will they do, cut off my TV privileges?" Thoroughly shaken, Ressler signaled for the guard. When he was about to leave, Kemper told him, "You know I was just kidding, right?"
Monday, September 28, 2009
Roman Polanski arrested in Switzerland
http://news.yahoo.com/s/time/20090928/wl_time/08599192650800
As a fan of both crime stories and film, this case is intriguing, even though it's a fairly standard case of statutory rape. France doesn't want to extradite Polanski, and while I don't feel that his artistry holds him above the law, as some of the French seem to, the charges are over 30 years old. Also, his victim, now a grown woman, has said for years that she wants to drop the charges and get on with her life. Now, against her wishes, the grim details of her ordeal are once again being dragged into public scrutiny. If, as many in the American justice system claim, the search for "justice" in these cases is for the benefit of the victim, then why are they going directly against what the victim has said many times that she wants to happen? It leads me to believe that it is not about justice for the victim, but a personal vendetta against any type of sex offender.
Recently, The Economist had a story titled "America's Unjust Sex Laws." One of the related stories was of a man who had been convicted of statutory rape, served his sentence, and later married his "victim." Despite all of this, he is still listed as a registered sex offender and considered a potential threat to his community.
An adult having sex with a 13-year-old girl is wrong, no one is disputing that. But when the victim herself has moved past the troubling incident, she deserves to have her wishes in regard to the case honored. But the American justice system, in an urge to appear "tough on crime" for "the sake of the children," and an American public that is alternately appalled and morbidly fascinated by any sex crime news, it's unlikely that United States officials will let this quietly go away, which, I must say this again, is what the victim wants.
As a fan of both crime stories and film, this case is intriguing, even though it's a fairly standard case of statutory rape. France doesn't want to extradite Polanski, and while I don't feel that his artistry holds him above the law, as some of the French seem to, the charges are over 30 years old. Also, his victim, now a grown woman, has said for years that she wants to drop the charges and get on with her life. Now, against her wishes, the grim details of her ordeal are once again being dragged into public scrutiny. If, as many in the American justice system claim, the search for "justice" in these cases is for the benefit of the victim, then why are they going directly against what the victim has said many times that she wants to happen? It leads me to believe that it is not about justice for the victim, but a personal vendetta against any type of sex offender.
Recently, The Economist had a story titled "America's Unjust Sex Laws." One of the related stories was of a man who had been convicted of statutory rape, served his sentence, and later married his "victim." Despite all of this, he is still listed as a registered sex offender and considered a potential threat to his community.
An adult having sex with a 13-year-old girl is wrong, no one is disputing that. But when the victim herself has moved past the troubling incident, she deserves to have her wishes in regard to the case honored. But the American justice system, in an urge to appear "tough on crime" for "the sake of the children," and an American public that is alternately appalled and morbidly fascinated by any sex crime news, it's unlikely that United States officials will let this quietly go away, which, I must say this again, is what the victim wants.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Edward Kennedy: RIP
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090830/ap_on_re_us/us_kennedy_fortune
Read the last quote of this article. It's a moving, eloquent assessment of the need for health care reform. As many of us know, Edward Kennedy recently died after a long battle with brain cancer. He lasted far longer than any experts predicted, who thought he'd be dead within six months of diagnosis. While that's usually the case, Ted lived for over a year.
Despite the unfortunate Chappaquiddick incident, which left an innocent woman dead, and Kennedy a reviled figure and symbol of how the rich and powerful protect their families from actions that would land the rest of us in jail, Kennedy was a tireless fighter for the left. And, among conservatives, he was as hated for this even more than Chappaquiddick. Right to the end of his life, he fought for health care reform. I heard someone say, after Kennedy's passing, that, although President Obama will likely honor the late senator with a moving eulogy, the best way to honor Kennedy's memory would be to finally get health care reform passed. And I agree. There would be nothing that would have made Ted Kennedy happier than to see every citizen of the United States have access to affordable health care. In his memoir, soon to be published, Kennedy expresses his regret and remorse for the woman who died as a result of the car he drove off the Chappaquiddick Bridge, and his later drinking problem. Even in his tormented personal life, he held nothing back at the end.
It's odd to think of a world without Ted Kennedy. While his brothers John and Robert died far too soon to fulfill their promise, Ted spent his long life crusading and getting laws passed for working wages, affordable health care and social programs for the poor. I never thought Ted would die. After Chappaquiddick, campaigning for Obama despite the cancer eating away at his brain, and living with the cancer longer than anyone expected, he seemed indestructible. But, in the end, he was just as human as the rest of us, and fought to make the human struggle a little easier. Rest in peace, Ted.
Read the last quote of this article. It's a moving, eloquent assessment of the need for health care reform. As many of us know, Edward Kennedy recently died after a long battle with brain cancer. He lasted far longer than any experts predicted, who thought he'd be dead within six months of diagnosis. While that's usually the case, Ted lived for over a year.
Despite the unfortunate Chappaquiddick incident, which left an innocent woman dead, and Kennedy a reviled figure and symbol of how the rich and powerful protect their families from actions that would land the rest of us in jail, Kennedy was a tireless fighter for the left. And, among conservatives, he was as hated for this even more than Chappaquiddick. Right to the end of his life, he fought for health care reform. I heard someone say, after Kennedy's passing, that, although President Obama will likely honor the late senator with a moving eulogy, the best way to honor Kennedy's memory would be to finally get health care reform passed. And I agree. There would be nothing that would have made Ted Kennedy happier than to see every citizen of the United States have access to affordable health care. In his memoir, soon to be published, Kennedy expresses his regret and remorse for the woman who died as a result of the car he drove off the Chappaquiddick Bridge, and his later drinking problem. Even in his tormented personal life, he held nothing back at the end.
It's odd to think of a world without Ted Kennedy. While his brothers John and Robert died far too soon to fulfill their promise, Ted spent his long life crusading and getting laws passed for working wages, affordable health care and social programs for the poor. I never thought Ted would die. After Chappaquiddick, campaigning for Obama despite the cancer eating away at his brain, and living with the cancer longer than anyone expected, he seemed indestructible. But, in the end, he was just as human as the rest of us, and fought to make the human struggle a little easier. Rest in peace, Ted.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Evil children
http://movies.yahoo.com/news/movies.ap.org/evil-children-subgenre-can-chill-moviegoers-ap
One quote in this article, about how children were "easier to control" before television "exposed" them to the "world of adults," is pure bullshit. Ask any parent or teacher, from any era, and they will tell you that any child is a challenge. In my experience working with children, I know that they can be demanding, unruly and even vicious (particularly toddlers and toddlers with hormones, aka adolescents). Anyone who's read The Lord of the Flies is familiar with the fear that, if left to their own devices, meaning outside the influence of television, children will devolve into pre-civilization savages.
This is probably one of the reasons the "evil child" is such a compelling narrative device. Children, with still developing senses of empathy and morality, feel they can act without consequence and, as a result, are very self-centered. The evil child is a regular child's selfishness and occasional cruelty taken to its logical extreme.
The portrayal of the young Lord Voldemort in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" is mentioned, and, connoisseur of evil and deviance that I am, while watching, I noticed the signs of a psychopath in training in the portrayal of young Tom Riddle. As a child, he is cold, unfeeling, with an inflated sense of his own self-worth and a tendency to bully other children and torture animals. Animal torture is, of course, one sign of a future serial killer. As an adolescent, he uses careful flattery and superficial charm to get what he wants, the psychopath's mask of sanity.
My obsession with crime began with Columbine, a mass murder perpetrated by two teenagers. In a new book on the subject, the author interviews a forensic psychiatrist who concludes that Eric Harris, one of the killers, was a fledgling psychopath, a cold, manipulative egomaniac who considered everyone else inferior and, therefore, deserving of their fate. His partner, Dylan Klebold, was suicidally depressed and angry at the world, but with the inertia that comes with depression, was unable to act on his feelings by himself. When the psychopath with something to prove collided with the depressed boy with a death wish, they exploded.
The scariest "evil kid" I've read about is Jesse Pomeroy, the "Boy Fiend" of Boston in the late 19th century who, at 14, was sentenced to life in prison for two torture murders. At an age where most serial killers are still dismembering dead dogs or tormenting family pets, Pomeroy, the product of a poverty-stricken family and a viciously abusive father, had already graduated to human victims. He tortured several children before killing a four-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl. Most teenage killers fall under the categories of school shooters, going into their school with guns to let out aggression, or thrill killers, bored kids who kill for profit or out of twisted curiosity. But Pomeroy was disturbingly focused on his own sadism as his motive, his murders matching the savagery of adult murderers like Jeffrey Dahmer or Andrei Chikatilo. Even before television, the moral watchdogs of the time found a sinister pop culture object to blame for Pomeroy's crimes, in this case the lurid dime novels popular among the nation's youth. When he was captured, Pomeroy was originally sentenced to death, but, because of his age, this caused a public outcry, and his sentence was changed to life in prison.
One quote in this article, about how children were "easier to control" before television "exposed" them to the "world of adults," is pure bullshit. Ask any parent or teacher, from any era, and they will tell you that any child is a challenge. In my experience working with children, I know that they can be demanding, unruly and even vicious (particularly toddlers and toddlers with hormones, aka adolescents). Anyone who's read The Lord of the Flies is familiar with the fear that, if left to their own devices, meaning outside the influence of television, children will devolve into pre-civilization savages.
This is probably one of the reasons the "evil child" is such a compelling narrative device. Children, with still developing senses of empathy and morality, feel they can act without consequence and, as a result, are very self-centered. The evil child is a regular child's selfishness and occasional cruelty taken to its logical extreme.
The portrayal of the young Lord Voldemort in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" is mentioned, and, connoisseur of evil and deviance that I am, while watching, I noticed the signs of a psychopath in training in the portrayal of young Tom Riddle. As a child, he is cold, unfeeling, with an inflated sense of his own self-worth and a tendency to bully other children and torture animals. Animal torture is, of course, one sign of a future serial killer. As an adolescent, he uses careful flattery and superficial charm to get what he wants, the psychopath's mask of sanity.
My obsession with crime began with Columbine, a mass murder perpetrated by two teenagers. In a new book on the subject, the author interviews a forensic psychiatrist who concludes that Eric Harris, one of the killers, was a fledgling psychopath, a cold, manipulative egomaniac who considered everyone else inferior and, therefore, deserving of their fate. His partner, Dylan Klebold, was suicidally depressed and angry at the world, but with the inertia that comes with depression, was unable to act on his feelings by himself. When the psychopath with something to prove collided with the depressed boy with a death wish, they exploded.
The scariest "evil kid" I've read about is Jesse Pomeroy, the "Boy Fiend" of Boston in the late 19th century who, at 14, was sentenced to life in prison for two torture murders. At an age where most serial killers are still dismembering dead dogs or tormenting family pets, Pomeroy, the product of a poverty-stricken family and a viciously abusive father, had already graduated to human victims. He tortured several children before killing a four-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl. Most teenage killers fall under the categories of school shooters, going into their school with guns to let out aggression, or thrill killers, bored kids who kill for profit or out of twisted curiosity. But Pomeroy was disturbingly focused on his own sadism as his motive, his murders matching the savagery of adult murderers like Jeffrey Dahmer or Andrei Chikatilo. Even before television, the moral watchdogs of the time found a sinister pop culture object to blame for Pomeroy's crimes, in this case the lurid dime novels popular among the nation's youth. When he was captured, Pomeroy was originally sentenced to death, but, because of his age, this caused a public outcry, and his sentence was changed to life in prison.
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