Lycan (2017): A Review of One Dog of a Movie

I take no joy in savaging a film because I love movies. I also dislike releasing a review with spoilers, but director Bev Land just stole an hour and a half of my life and I'm not feeling in a generous mood. So, just in case there is somebody reading this who actually wants to watch this travesty, here's my warning:

SPOILERS AHEAD

Here's the plot in a nutshell: Six college students given the assignment to write a paper on revisionist history decide to tackle the hundred year old urban legend of Emily Burt, the "Talbot County Werewolf." So on the weekend before finals when every other college student is living on coffee and Poptarts, our intrepid college students take a horseback ride into the Georgia countryside looking for Burt's grave and end up getting killed by what could probably be a werewolf.

First, let me say what I liked about the film:

• The cinematography is actually quite good, good enough that some scenes could have been used for the Georgia State Board of Tourism.
• Actors Dania Ramirez and Craig Tate do an excellent job with the script they are given.

For the rest of this review, you might want to get a drink and some popcorn. This is going to be a long one.

After the title board tells us it's the year 1986, the movie begins with a sex scene. That in itself is a clear sign that the movie can't deliver as a horror film because it has to throw in titillating filler. The amorous couple are interrupted by something attacking their chickens and dog so they go outside to investigate and are attacked by something unknown and the screen goes black. Did they survive? Will we learn anything more about the couple?

Nope. The couple are never referred to again. It was just pointless opening filler.

Cut to a young Hispanic woman (Dania Ramirez) riding a bike. She stops to write some graffiti on a brick tower and then pedals on.

Cut to a college class with all the students clearly a decade older than they should be and you discover the next week is Finals Week, but instead of an exam, the teacher divides them into groups and gives each group the weekend to write a 20-page paper on revisionist history that will make up 50% of their grade.

And this has to be the cruelest teacher in existence. Evidently, the students have no other finals to study for or they are going to be in one painful time crunch.

So the group gets together in a traditional blend of horror movie college students including Isabella, the aforementioned Hispanic. The makeup of the group is so stereotypical, I was waiting for a Great Dane with a speech impediment to appear. The group decides to investigate an old urban legend of Emily Burt, the "Talbot County Werewolf" and I'm thinking, how are they going to get 20 pages out of that? And since its the weekend before finals, instead of researching old newspaper reports and interviewing local historians, they all decide to ride horses into the countryside in an effort to find Burt's grave. Really. On the weekend before finals.

But before they leave, we see Isabella working on a horse farm somewhere and she clearly has a large tramp stamp tattooed on the small of her back. Remember the year? It's 1986. The practice of women tattooing elaborate arabesques on their backs was not in existence in 1986, but nobody making this film cares. And why does the character of Isabella even have a tattoo? She's as introverted as they come and the idea of her sitting in a tattoo parlor just doesn't mesh with the character's personality.

So they all go off into the woods on horseback and almost all of them get killed in gory ways.

In the film, the chain holding the dog is not visible.

I could rant on and on about the stupidity of the story. How logical inconsistencies fill the plot and how certain events and locales make no sense at all, but here's my biggest problem.

From what I could discover, the original title of the movie was Talbot County. If they had kept that title, I wouldn't be writing this review, because I would not have purchased it. Instead, they renamed it Lycan and since I'm the president of the South-Central Pennsylvania Canid Research Group, I have a passing interest in werewolves and dogmen.

I bought the film thinking I was going to see a Grade B film about a werewolf.

Nope, it's just a Grade Z slasher flick. 

So, the biggest crime here is false advertising. If I buy a movie that implies a werewolf in the title, I want my werewolf, not two crazy women who pretend!

And in a second viewing, knowing who the killers are and why they are killing people, the inconsistencies scream at you. You would find yourself thinking, Wait up. That can't happen, or Why are the killers talking or acting like they really don't know what's going on?

Here's a link to the trailer. WARNING: TRAILER CONTAINS SCENES OF GORE AND BLOOD.

Revisiting The Inugami (With Story Excerpt)

The kitsune, Hoso, interpreted by artist Aimi Isjern

For all the new visitors I have, here is a breakdown of my current project.

The Shrine War is a braided novel of three separate novellas that together tell a larger story. The lead story, The Shrine War clocks in at 12,100 words, substantially larger than the version that appeared in the anthology, Dogs of War. I am currently working on The Inugami describing events that run simultaneously with the events in the first section and currently I have over 10,170 words with an estimated 3,000 words yet to go. The final section (still in the planning stage) is entitled Incident at a Japanese Inn that brings the characters from the first two stories together in a finale.

I originally kept the point of view in The Inugami restricted to the human, Kelly Robbins, but have decided to include another as I did in The Shrine War using two points of view: Sen, the head of the kitsune shrine to Inari Ōkami and Christopher Andrews, the human who accidentally stumbles into the middle of the conflict.

SPOILER AHEAD

In The Inugami, I have written in another point of view, that of Haruka, a common kitsune who, unlike the white celestial foxes that serve Inari, is merely a red-pelted field fox. However, Haruka lacks the magic to destroy the Inugami and must seek out a white-furred celestial fox to deal with the creature. The quest does not go as planned:

Haruka gritted her teeth as she and her two male companions bowed low to the zenko, a white-furred celestial fox. Haruka had four tails signifying her age and seniority. Her two companions had three each, but they were all yako, field foxes with ermine fur, and since time began, the kami had decreed the red pelts to be servants to the white. To deepen the insult, the celestial, Miori-sama, was barely past her hundredth year, new to the blessings of sentience with only two tails, but by matter of birth, the white-furred kitsune enjoyed the particular favor of Inari Ōkami. Though yako were free to worship at an Inari shrine, they could never serve even if they reached the glorious number of twelve tails.

Little good that did them here. The Inari shrine where they had found the celestial lay in ruins. Around them, a thick wood hid the shrine from human eyes.

“Miori-sama,” Haruka said in her most formal Japanese, “that is our plight. Only a celestial fox wields the power and authority to kill an Inugami. Our predicament is grave.”

The celestial clutched her one paw to her chest, while nervously plucking at her kimono with the other. “But a band of Inugami destroyed my shrine,” she whimpered. “When I returned from my mission, the shrine was in ashes.” Tears came to her eyes. “The place reeked of Inugami, you can still smell them. Their tracks were everywhere and my sisters are still missing.”

“Miori-sama,” Haruka said trying to keep the impatience from her voice,” this is one Inugami, half-starved and weaponless. It is chained and I and my companions will protect you. You still have your prayer beads, do you not? Could you not summon an oni?”

“You will protect me?”

“Hai!” Haruka said. “You need not fear. We will travel to Hoshin Onsen tonight and stay at the Inn of the Yōkai.”

The celestial fox stopped trembling. “Really?” she asked. “I have heard of the aburaage they serve, deep fried twice with spices not of this world.” She licked her lips. “And could I have a little sake with the aburaage?”

Haruka sighed to herself. “Yes, but just a little. We must return by sunrise of the second day.”

(Note: Hoso, by Aimi Isjern, is a work in progress, but even in its beginning form, I find it strikingly beautiful and had to share.)

Would You Like A Free eBook for All Hallowed Eve?

Every year I like to make one of my eBooks free for All Hallows (October 31st) especially as the next day is my birthday. (Sometimes, I wonder how my life would have been different if my mother had been faster and I had been born on on All Hallows instead of All Saints Day ;-)

Anyway, here are my eBooks that are suitable for Halloween reading. Let me know in the comments what your selection is and I will allow the top two to be free for two days in October (October 15th and 16th).

 It was just a ball-jointed doll and for pawnbroker, Auden Gray, it was just another item to sell. Until Auden found his business partner dead with the doll in his arms. Investigating, Auden discovers the doll serves as a gateway to a dreamworld so seductive, men die under its spell. And Auden's time is running out as his resolve to discover the origin of the doll crumbles under the allure of Rowan, the dreamworld's sole resident. Rowan Dreaming is the second installment of my expanding Doll Wars saga. As a bonus, this edition also contains the short story, Strange Streets, a short story of urban magic and lost love.

A collection of dark fantasy featuring the short story, In The Father's Image (the first story in my expanding Doll Wars saga) and the flash works, Come Into My Cellar (a dark love song to the English language and the art of storytelling), Blood and China, and The Vicarage.

 My collected dark fantasy works from 1996 to 2013. Titles include Killer Lullabies, An Incident at a Carnival, Through The Black Andes, All Hallowed Eve in Greengate, and others. The book also includes my stories The Pig and The Pond that are considered my first forays into literary horror.





By the bye, if you take a free book, I do expect a review in return. It's considered ample reciprocation for the hours that went into creating exotic worlds for you to explore.

My Travellercon 2017 Report

Last Saturday, I attended Travellercon 2017 at the Lancaster Host Resort in Lancaster, Pennsylvania dedicated to the science fiction role-playing game, Traveller, in all of its many variations. An old hand at conventions, this was my first visit to Travellercon and I had no idea what to expect.

Getting up early to make my 8 AM gaming session, I set my GPS for the address of the hotel to discover that it had created a wonderful route for me through every toll road and congested urban area it could find.

Knowing the convention location was right on Route 30, much to the consternation of my GPS who screamed “Recalculating!” every three minutes, it grudgingly accepted my more reasonable route after half an hour of pouting.

I arrived with 15 minutes to spare and received my con badge and t-shirt. Though I only wanted to observe the games being played, my deafness wasn’t acting up that badly, so I signed up for a game entitled, Lights in the Sky, run by referee, Harry Bryan (1) using the MegaTraveller rules. Here is his description of the adventure:

After successfully cleaning up the mess in from last year’s adventure, the player-characters receive some much-needed down time to heal both mind and body.  While relaxing, one of the team members stumbles into a reference to the AASB – Argushiigi Admegulasha Sunimush Bilanidin - The Vilani Repository for All Forbidden Knowledge. Hmm…...

I joined four other men playing characters exploring the wreckage of a 4,000 year old space ship on some backwater planet. Unfortunately, the wreckage was lying on its side on the top of a high, rocky, snow and ice-covered mountain where the atmosphere was almost non-existent…

Harry Bryan knows his stuff. Currently, he is editing the entire MegaTraveller canon and I saw the work he had already completed. I’m hoping it may be released sometime in 2018, and I assure you it will give all the other Traveller variants a serious run for their money.

Harry Bryan leads us through the adventure. The gentleman seated with the gray hair and glasses is Jeff Zeitlin, editor and manager of the online magazine, Freelance Traveller.

During the game, I was delighted to see an old friend, Fred Jones, and though I make friends easily, Fred was the only person there I actually knew and his presence only made the con that much more enjoyable. A fellow aficionado of role-playing games, over the years, Fred and I have explored the variants of Dungeons and Dragons and Call of Cthulhu with a few excursions in The Morrow Project and It Came From The Late, Late, Late Show.

We may look like two middle-aged men, but Fred Jones (left) and I together have fought dragons, explored old, evil houses, survived alien invasions, and ingloriously died in many a tavern battle. Such is the fate of old, experienced role players.

After lunch, I attended a lecture by Marc Miller, the creator of Traveller and his discussion was in no way boring. Speaking of Traveller’s history and answering a lot of questions, I discovered Marc is very intelligent and one of the most friendly and generous men I have ever met. 

Marc Miller

During the discussion, I asked the question if Joss Whedon’s Firefly TV series was inspired by Traveller (low tech free traders on the rim of unexplored space). It appears that Joss did say the idea behind Firefly was inspired by a science fiction role-playing game he played while in college. As the only SF RPG actually available when Joss attended college was mostly Traveller, the coincidence is too overwhelming not to be seriously considered. If you’re interested in doing your own research, google Firefly and Traveller together and you’ll get enough information suitable to convince you that Firefly truly is based on the Traveller universe.

I spoke at length with a couple of veteran players during the course of the day and learned a lot about the nuances of the game. The benefit of a convention is that the attendees are there for one purpose. Putting aside politics, religion, and all social constructs, people come together over one mutual interest. The group created, hands down, one of the friendliest conventions I have ever attended.

Finally, I spent some time with Marc Miller himself who led a session entitled, Can You Survive Character Generation, and it was a true delight. Marc gave each us of a generic pamphlet that would work with any variant of Traveller and had us generate characters to play using a simplified version. The unique aspect of playing Traveller is that character generation is a mini-game in itself and it is possible for much to happen to your character before you even begin the actual role-play episode. Your character might actually die during his formative years and you have to create a brand new character all over again. However, the system gives you a fully fleshed out character with a rich backstory that makes role playing him or her all the more exciting.

And what's a convention without lots of free bling?

Will I go back? Certainly and if next year I can obtain hearing aids, I already plan on running a game myself. With years of role-playing experience as well as my experience as a public speaker, radio personality, and stage actor, I think I can give the more seasoned game masters a run for their money.

----

(1) Harry Bryan has written two articles for Freelance Traveller: The Imperial Secret Service and Underworld Characters.

Preparing for Travellercon 2017

Because of hearing loss, I basically put an end to all conventions for 2017 except Travellercon that will take place this weekend (September 29th through October 1st) at the Lancaster Host Resort & Conference Center in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

I will be only attending Saturday, September 30th, but the time will be well spent, but before I share my schedule, first a description of what Traveller is:

Traveller is a science fiction role playing game created in 1977 by Marc Miller and originally published by Game Designer's Workshop. One player would represent the GM (game master) who led the rest of the players through one or more adventures. Sometimes, the game would become a campaign that would scan multiple adventures and in the late 70s, I participated in one that ran for two years led by the late James "Jay" Forrest.

The Traveller universe takes place in a specific game setting in what is known as the Official Traveller Universe where the Third Imperium, made mostly of humans, is slowly expanding into unknown territory.

Since then, Traveller has gone through 11 incarnations being picked up and dropped by several gaming companies, each having its own interpretation. I own three: Traveller, Traveller 2300, and Mongoose Traveller, 2nd edition.

My coauthor, Ken Pick, and I have created several short fictional works loosely based on Traveller, but unfortunately, many of them are currently out of print: Mask of the Ferret and Dyads, published in the anthologies Infinite Space, Infinite God, and Infinite Space, Infinite God II respectively.

On Saturday, I will be attending a lecture by Marc Miller at 1 pm and at 8 pm, Marc will be running a seminar entitled, Can You Survive Character Generation, an interesting look into creating a Traveller character that becomes your persona as you explore the universe. A unique aspect of Traveller is that while creating a character, your persona can actually die forcing you to start over again from scratch.

In the morning, I will be observing a number of GMs as they run players through their pre-scripted scenarios, but I will not be playing myself. As I said, I am slightly hearing impaired and to have one player constantly asking, "Sorry...what did you say?" can only result in irritation. Best to just observe.

Nonetheless, Travellercon is not a huge convention. If you find yourself attending, just look me up. I'd be delighted to meet up and talk.

I'm packed and ready to go!

I Dream of a Cat at a Parisian Bistro

9/25/2017 Addendum: Due to requests, I added on some more to my little tale of a feline alien beauty meeting a detective in a Parisian cafe. Also, this post is pulling in a lot of new visitors. WELCOME! Please visit me at Amazon.com and make sure you peruse the rest of my blog!

Dreams are innately boring to everybody except for the dreamer. Their symbols strike an intimate chord that resonates only with the person who has dreamed the dream. Yet, there are a number of authors who have written stories and poems based on their dreams: H. P. Lovecraft, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and others.

Two nights ago, I dreamed of meeting an anthropomorphic cat in a Parisian bistro. To simply relate the dream would have you yawning in moments, but I took the seed of my nightly excursion and ran with it.

I dream of pretty humanoid cats drinking tea. What do you dream about?

Erma Felna, by artist Steve Gallacci

Felidae
by Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Just as I had instructed her over the phone, she was sitting outside Le Saint Régis on the Rue Des Barres. Her back was turned to me giving me a moment for a quick study. Regally ignoring the stares from the human diners around her, she sat, straight and elegant, drinking what I assumed would be an herbal tea. Caffeine was toxic to Felidae.

Her long golden blonde hair could not conceal the golden-furred tail and furred, pyramidal ears or else from the rear she could easily have been taken for a human. She wore a pale yellow lightweight handkerchief mini dress with a halter neckline, somewhat loose as tight clothing is uncomfortable when your body is covered with fur. It was cut low in the back, below her waist to make provision for her tail. She would be, if anything, one of the more exotic specimens of Felidae, feminine with every move one of controlled grace, but I was immune to their charms. To me, she was nothing more than just an overgrown cat in human form.

When the Felidae invaded on October 12, 1939, H. G. Wells’ novel, The War of the Worlds, prophesied how it would all turn out. A simple soil bacteria, one that had no effect on humanity, decimated the invading army and it was carried back by accident to their homeworld. A very few survived courtesy of a natural immunity, but with so few survivors, they traded in their weapons for lessons in diplomacy. However, by that time, they had decimated a good chunk of Europe ending the start of what was already shaping up into a rather nasty conflict.

But we humans are forgiving, especially since the Felidae opened up the universe to us. Now here in the Year of Our Lord, 1989, those war memories are far gone and forgiven, especially since they rebuilt the Eiffel Tower.

As we humans played with our new technology and introduced ourselves to the cosmos, we discovered that evolution was actually not as creative as originally thought. All of the intelligent species we were introduced to were bipedal with two arms, one nose, one mouth, two eyes, and two ears. None of them looked like humans, but they all mirrored, sometimes quite loosely, animal counterparts here on earth. We had growing, stable yet feisty galactic civilizations of what could be easily referred to as Terran examples of mice, cats, dogs, raccoons, lions, and tigers and bears and others. A stroll through any of Earth's cosmopolitan centers now felt like a walk through a Beatrix Potter fever dream.

It was just the bloody rabbits you had to really beware of. Unspeakably violent, they were beaten back centuries ago by a combined effort of the major galactic empires to one solitary planet in the backwaters of the galaxy. Orbiting military hardware around that planet makes sure they stay on their dirtball.

The galaxy still had some rabbits running loose and I saw one once, chemically sedated and lobotomized and kept as a pet by one of the wealthier aliens slumming on Earth. The creature still snapped at anybody who came near it.

I angled my walk as I approached my new client as one does not approach the Felidae from the rear and our eyes locked as I drew near her table. I bowed my head slightly. “Bon après-midi, mademoiselle.”

She was walking gold. Even her slitted eyes matched the color of her fur and she had the body of a ballerina.

She held out the back of her hand and I took it in my own, bowed, and kissed it. I hate the custom, but the Felidae are proud. Her fur gave off the aroma of cinnamon, but I didn’t know if that was her natural aroma or some version of Felidae perfume.

“I speak English,” she said. Of course, with non-human lips it came out as “I thee Enthlish,” but I've hung around enough Felidae to catch their drift.

“May I sit?” I asked. She nodded. I motioned for the waiter as I took my seat and pointed to my client’s cup of chamomile tea. Serveurs on the Rue Des Barres are smart and not as arrogant as other Parisian waiters. In moments, I had my own steaming cup.

“How may I be of service?” I asked.

My new client paused for a moment, her unblinking eyes taking me in. “I need an armed escort and word in Paris is that you’re the best.”

“It is one of my many skills,” I said. “I can see why you would need an escort. I’m surprised by the way you appear you don’t have humans approaching you hourly.”

“I am beautiful,” she said with typical Felidae candor. “Even among my own people I am considered...how do you say it in English? I am exquisite.”

“And far too humble,” I said with a slight smile. As Felidae have no concept of sarcasm, I knew she’d take it as a compliment that she had not flattered herself enough. “My fee is two hundred francs a day with expenses. I include 24-hour coverage which means I also stay in your accommodations at night, separate rooms of course. When would you like me to start?”

She pointed behind me. “Immediately.”

I turned to see two large humans walking toward us, their stern faces clearly focused on my client. I sighed with annoyance. I didn’t even yet know my new client’s full name.

Fortunately, I had chosen the Le Saint Régis for a reason. Owned by a local boxe française club, each of the waiters is actually well-trained in savate, using the cafe as a means of employment while they studied French kickboxing, their one true love.

I motioned for our waiter and then pointed to our two unwanted visitors.

One of the thugs made eye contact with me and pulled a Filipino Balisong out of his pocket, flipping the knife open in a casual gesture meant to make me think twice about attacking him.

I waited until he was in range and other cafe customers not in any angle of danger when I threw my cup of hot chamomile tea in his face. It stunned him enough that it required no effort to trap his hand and make him drop the knife. I then spun about--not for show, but to build up kinetic energy--to drive my left elbow into his temple. He dropped to the ground.

By that time, the other thug was down, the sole of a Bolvaint Verrocchio Tassel Loafer prominently imprinted on the front of his face. The waiter threw me a thumbs up and I turned to my new client.

“We must leave, mademoiselle. It appears we have made a scene.” And, true to my words, the other customers began to react to the sudden show.

“Please relax, Mesdames et Messieurs,” I said to the crowd in my best French. “The show is over.”

My client had not reacted at all. She overlooked the scene without emotion on her feline face as if watching one of the new reality shows that were becoming all the rage. “Mademoiselle,” I said firmly, “We must go.”

“Are you not going to interrogate them?” she asked.

I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the chair as she hissed in indignation. “You are touching me!” she said. “How dare you!”

“They are not alone,” I said, pulling her down the street. “There is a black Renault across the street with more men. They have been watching us since I sat down.”

That quieted her down for a few precious moments as I dragged her into a hat boutique and hurriedly made my way to the back door. Ignoring the protests from both my client and the shop owner, I burst through the back storage room and into an alleyway. As the Renault was headed east on Rue Des Barres, I turned west, came out onto a side street and quickly motioned for a taxi.

With a jerk, she pulled her arm free. I opened the taxi door for her and with a prominent air of injured pride, she got into the back seat. Running around to the other side, I threw myself into the seat beside her and gave directions to the driver to my office.

“No,” the Felidae said. “I want to go to my hotel room.”

“Too dangerous,” I said. “There would be men there waiting for you.” I turned to her. “By the bye, what is your full name?”

“In English, it would be Goldstar, daughter of Eellight, First Female of the First Litter.”

“And why the interest from whoever it is trying to get to you.”

She struck a theatrical pose showing off her profile. “It is because I am beautiful.”

Well, it’s certainly not for your common sense, I thought.

She looked down and suddenly hissed under her breath. “I soiled my slipper in that filthy alley!”



(Note: The above graphic is Steve Gallachi's well known comic book character, Erma Felna. His Amazon profile and marketplace are located here.)

So Kitsune Aren't Perfect Little Angels?

For new readers:

1. One of the myriad species of Japanese yōkai, Kitsune are Japanese foxes blessed with sentience and multiple tails. There are two types: yako who are regular red-furred field foxes and white-furred zenko that are charged with serving the goddess Inari in her shrines. In my story, they are anthropomorphic and walk on two legs.
2. One of the myriad species of Japanese yōkai, an Inugami is a familiar for evil Daoist sorcerers created by taking a normal dog and perverting it through torture and death. In my story, they are anthropomorphic and walk on two legs.

In writing The Inugami, I have a quartet of kitsune coming to attempt to kill the titular character and I had to find a way to delay them. Now in the first installment of The Shrine War, all my kitsune shrine maidens are perfect little angels without a flaw in the bunch. In The Inugami, not so much.

Haruka hung up the phone, her claws sliding off the plastic. In the mirror of the inn’s room she stared back at herself in her fox form, ermine-colored fur showing her to be a common yako, a kitsune of no special heritage. No matter how many tails she added to her present two, she would never amount to anything when compared to a zenko, a white-furred celestial fox dedicated to serve the goddess Inari. In the mirror, she watched her two male companions, both yako as well, attempt to calm down the three-tailed Inari shrine maiden they had hired to deal with the Inugami.

The celestial had never left the Inari shrine where she served and her first foray out into the dangerous world of humanity had her discover sake for the first time. Her insistence on downing an entire bottle of the rice wine had not settled well. Fortunately, the inn was run by yōkai for yōkai so the celestial’s drunken demands for more wine resulted only in embarrassment and not in exposing their existence to humans.

“Fumiko-sama, there is no more sake in the inn,” the one male kitsune said, bowing deeply. “Please rest. We already are delayed on our urgent journey.”

Fumiko blinked her red-rimmed eyes that stood out in sharp contrast to her glowing white fur. “I tell you...,” she said, slurring her Japanese heavily. “I tell you that I now know why Inari gets offerings of sake. That is certainly wine for the kami. I tell you, I want more!” The celestial paused as her eyes suddenly grew larger. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Haruka buried her muzzled face in her paws.