Give me one good reason why futons aren’t legitimate furniture

Boy am I feeling lucky. I found “Atom Age Vampire.”

I could only watch the first several Italian minutes of it right now, but that was enough to get me giddy, stomach fluttering with happy butterflies over the awesome seedy badness of equilibrium-blowing, tin can dialogue and bleached blondes in flight (literally). I’d feel guilty for neglecting to mention the serious postings I just finished reading over there–and I do, feel terribly guilty–but you don’t know…you don’t know what a spotless wonderful wreck the opening minutes of “Atom Age Vampire” are. And how much I’m looking forward to watching the rest. Not to mention it was a serendipitous conjunction of finds as the other night I was watching 50s atomic bomb preparedness films for the kindergarden set, and one which was developed especially for Hanfordites in order to reassure them that radiation really wasn’t too bad after a day or so, streetsweepers followed by a splash from a firehose cleans a radiated city quite nicely, plus radiation is easy to wash off your vegetables and down the drain, and one of the films opened with a beautiful atomic eye that I saved down to my computer. Then this AM I go straight from a link to “Soul Sight” to “Atom Age Vampire”. Yes! I had no clue how badly I needed “Atom Age Vampire” until after the first uhm twelve seconds.

A good night’s sleep wouldn’t hurt either. But you were probably aware of that half-way through the above.

Here follows the IMDB plot summary for “Atom Age Vampire”:

A stripper is horribly disfigured in a car accident. A brilliant scientist develops a treatment that restores her beauty and falls in love with her. To preserve her appearance the doctor must give her additional treatments using glands taken from murdered women. His unexplained ability to turn into a hideous monster helps with this problem but does nothing to win her love. The doctor’s woes multiply as the police and the girl’s boyfriend begin to close in on him.

Someone named Glenn has given it a bad review, failing to appreciate the bad dubbing. He thinks the film ought to be remade, preserving its haunting and disturbing qualities. But those flaws which he holds in contempt are indispensable building blocks for a quality disjointing of mind.

Now I’m all eager to watch “Zabriskie’s Point” again. Wonder if the used-to-be-great-now-stocks-Hollywood video place still has it. I imagine not.

I was going to post something on how the New York Times picks on those of us who consider futons to be legitimate furniture for which one need not apologize, but joy hath dissolved my desultory nitpickiness.

Ciao!


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