Kevin Bacon in

THE FOLLOWING

If any of you have followed "The Following", I hope you find it as absurd as I do.  Kevin Bacon and many of the other actors (including the wonderful Jennifer Ferrin, a third cousin of mine - Jennifer, will you marry me?) are excellent, and give wonderful performances; the gloomy cinematography also gives the show a sense of horror and realism.  Beyond that however, the show is silly.  The lead villain, Joe Carroll, played by the masterful James Purefoy, who portrays a literary scholar, has accepted a ditty from an Edgar Allen Poe story, and, as compelling as Poe's writing often is, Carroll, the literary genius, accepts this bit of fiction about death (that I'm reasonably certain even Poe didn't believe, except as a vehicle to scare his readers), as gospel truth, and has taught this gospel to his witless and infantile disciples.  

As brilliant as Carroll is supposed to be, and as excellent as Purefoy's acting is, it is impossible for me to believe he has committed his life to a scrap of Poe's writing, and also unbelievable that his followers are somehow rarely caught while performing their hideously violent deeds.  Charles Manson*, who was, it turns out, really after a record contract and begrudged that he didn't get one,  drummed up an idiotic story about needing to eviscerate people to really love them; he and his crew were immediately caught and incarcerated.  Joe Carroll's followers commit crimes of murder on subways, in large crowds of people where police would inevitably be nearby, yet somehow the police are never there and somehow the disciples never get caught. This seemingly unstoppable and random violence is the only thing that gives rise to the tension and terror of the program, but it is so unrealistic that my disbelief is never suspended.  

Kevin Bacon seems to be the only cop in the universe, and he must somehow, single highhandedly, bring down the lot of Carroll's menagerie of ruthless murderers.  As dumb as many police seem to be, there are still plenty of them around, and splattered blood and screaming victims, even to the most dimwitted of police, rarely escapes their attention.  When was the last time you were in a New York subway station and there weren't several armed service men there?

Because the crimes are so visceral and unpredictable makes their perpetrators no less infantile.  They want attention, obviously had violent or somehow very bad childhoods, and continue to act out their grudges with their parents, siblings, whoever abused or mistreated them.  This is Psych 101, dressed up in shadowy film direction, good acting, decent writing and expensive production values..  In the end, although I've tried, I just can't watch it.  Not because of the extreme violence, but because of its sheer stupidity and, at core, the infantile nature of the characters.  The Blood and guts wants us to take these people seriously, but in the end they are violent babies with nothing worthwhile to say.

*Although seeing himself primarily as a musician, Denis Wilson of the Beach Boys said, "Charlie didn't have a musical bone in his whole body."  This kind of reaction, after being rejected by every label he approached, very much pissed off the musician in Charlie. 

Illustration ©2014 Douglas Ferrin

A PARABLE

So this guy named Mark, we'll call him Mark, but it doesn't really matter.  Actually it kind of does because he's from Boston, and everyone calls him "Maaak," and often when he calls the gas company or other services, he has a hard time being understood.  "Mack?" they ask.  "No!" he says, "Maaak," he yells, "With an AH," wanting to say with an "R", but it frequently takes him hours to do what for others would be a simple transaction, because of his Bostonian accent.  This is not really the point of the story, although it is kind of funny, and ultimately it has cursed him throughout his life and it may be part of what leads him on his quest.
     One day he sets out to find the meaning of life.  He knows well it doesn't lie in a mere name, or a simple identity that no tele-operator can understand.  Mark is Catholic, and is dating a Jew - mostly because he hates Catholic women and she hates Jewish men, but be that as it may - he hears tell of a mystic, somewhere deep in the Himalayas that can answer any question, including the meaning of life.  He goes to Nepal, finds a Sherpa named Madwan (who dies in a snow storm on the way back from their trek, but that, too, is another story) and sets off to find the famed mystic.
     He searches for years.  Madwan almost leaves him at several points, but Mark bribes him with with money.  Mark is wealthy because he is from "old money", although his money begins to dwindle, thanks to his promises to Madwan and Madwan's family, which he keeps - Mark is an honorable man - and the need for renewed supplies.  Hiking around the Himalayas is not cheap.
     Finally, at the top of a wind blown peak, he finds the mystic. Incredibly, the mystic sits with only a loin cloth in the sub-zero temperature, and holds a cup of tea.
     "You are Mark," says the mystic.
      "Maaak," says Mark, and the mystic nods.
      "Mystiic" says Mark, "what is the meaning of life?"
      The Mystic says, "This tea cup.
      "A tea cup?" Mark says unbelievingly.  "Just that stupid tea cup?  I've searched for years for you and it's just a fucking tea cup?!?!"
     "OK," says the mystic.  "So maybe it's not the tea cup."