LEVITY...?

THE ZAPATA LETTERS

The Zapata Letters are a series of short, handwritten correspondence from an unknown “benefactor” to one Richard Zapata, a relatively unknown photographer living in Greenwich Village, New York. Zapata’s photographs were never particularly famous, or even popular among the “indie” crowd, with one clear exception. A great deal of photography is, unsurprisingly, luck; one must be in the right place at the right time. Zapata had one photo that was published in a small subsection of the New York Times, and it was this photo that served as the catalyst from his unknown “benefactor.”The photograph was total happenstance. Zapata had been out late one night, walking home from a party, and he was slightly inebriated. It was around 5 am, and light, but before sunrise, and Zapata happened to catch an unremarkable street corner just as the streetlights went out and just before the sun rose, creating a play with the fog and lighting just pretty enough to earn filler space.

Within one week of its publication, Zapata received the first letter, and every letter afterward was received exactly one week in succession, without fail.

The First Letter (Dated July 31st, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

There is captured magic in your photograph. Stolen Beauty.

Benefactor.“

No return address was given, and the letter, as were all of the following letters, was signed simply as “Benefactor.”

The Second Letter (Dated August 7th, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

Perhaps you do not understand. Beauty is not a renewable resource.

Benefactor.”

The Third Letter (Dated August 14th, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

You continue to take photographs. Not that it matters; what you have stolen from me can never be returned. Benefactor.”

The Fourth Letter (Dated August 21st, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

There is no more beauty. Not for me.

Benefactor.”

The Fifth Letter (Dated August 28th, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

I must take something from you, then.

Benefactor.”

Five weeks from the initial correspondence, and therefore, five weeks later, Zapata presented the letters to the New York City Police Department for assistance, believing the Fifth Letter to be a threat. While the police did not take Mr. Zapata’s concerns too seriously, the postage stamps were traced to a Greenwich Village Post Office, which services over 10,000 people. The chances of tracing them were absurd, and after two days of police surveillance, Mr. Zapata was left on his own.

The Sixth Letter (Dated September 4th, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

I am made Death, Destroyer of Worlds.

Benefactor.”

Exactly one week later, two airplanes crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City, killing thousands and ultimately engaging the United States into series of seemingly-endless conflicts in the Middle East. Records indicate 3 people named Zapata were killed in the terrorist attacks, though it is unclear whether any of them were directly related to Richard Zapata. Though he did not receive the letter until the next day, it was dated the same as the attacks.

The Seventh Letter (Dated September 11th, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

Do not doubt that this was my handiwork, but that your hands bear blood.

Benefactor.”

It is unclear why, at this moment in time, that Mr. Zapata did not bring the Seventh Letter to the Police, as it certainly would have been taken much more seriously, and a full-scale investigation may have been launched. Perhaps the contents of the letter, and its implications, were too heavy to share.

The Eighth Letter (Dated September 18th, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

There is nothing left for you to steal.

Benefactor.”

ATM receipts and records indicate that, in the week following the Eighth Letter, Mr. Zapata purchased 4 cameras, 36 rolls of film, and an excessive amount of developing equipment, all from different locations.

The Ninth Letter (Dated September 25, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

I have no more pretty words or empty threats for you. You stole a piece of private beauty that can never be returned, and for that I have responded by stealing all of the beauty from your world. I have left you a world of war, bereft of foggy street corners and slow sunrises. The future to come is bleak at best, hell at worst, and it will have no semblance of a soul. This I have done because of your theft, and yet you continue to steal. Steal things of no value.

Benefactor.”

Investigators of the incidents surrounding the Zapata Letters have lingered heavily on the Ninth Letter, mainly because of its length. In it, we see a personal side of Mr. Zapata’s “Benefactor,” and the previous accusations lose their sense of ideological anger for an almost selfish, petty tone. While the accepted standpoint is that Zapata wrote the letters to himself, those few that disagree cite the Ninth Letter’s description of the future. When Zapata’s apartment was finally investigated, 2 weeks after the date of the Ninth Letter, thousands of developed photographs were found all over the small studio, photographs of everything from pencils to skyrises, ranging from out of focus to breathtakingly beautiful. That tireless production does not reflect the psyche of one who sees no future.

The Tenth Letter (Dated October 2nd, 2001)

“Dear Mr. Zapata,

No more.

Benefactor.”

When Richard Zapata’s apartment was investigated one week later (at the behest of a neighbor’s phone call to the police), the Tenth Letter was found just beneath the mail slot of the apartment, unopened and unread. The walls were lined with thousands of photographs, recently developed. Zapata was found later, in a makeshift darkroom at the back of the apartment.

He had, presumably, clawed out his own eyes and drank copious amounts of acetic acid (used to develop photographs,) resulting in his death. The most common conclusion is that Zapata believed he had achieved some perfection in that first photograph of a street corner, and that, unable to match it, he had vented his frustration in a series of bizarre letters and, finally, a horrendous suicide. The conclusion is all well and good, except that one detail seems to challenge it. There were no traces of blood or flesh under Zapata’s fingernails, and no scratch marks around the eye sockets; it was as if they were removed, with surgical precision, from a position above the photographer. Of course, this is just as unlikely, as all three locks on the door into the apartment were locked, from the inside.

Story source.

THE GASHLYCRUMB TINIES

FATHER'S DAY (2011)

 
Father’s Day is now my second immersing in the world of Astron-6, a small Canadian film production company responsible for some legitimately fun creations. After first watching Manborg, I knew I’d found something special. But now after watching Father’s Day, I think I found a new group of filmmakers to closely follow, as whatever these fellows create, I need.

Honestly, I think I’m in love.

Though Father’s Day was released by Troma Studios, please don’t let that be a deterrent, and please don’t think it has anything to do with Troma’s other infamous film Mother’s Day.

Father’s Day is so much more insane.  It is the blackest of absurd comedies masquerading as a grindhouse offering masquerading as a satanic 1970s thriller masquerading as an I don’t even know. It is incredibly graphic, incredibly sexualized, and incredibly hilarious.

The plot? Well, someone out there is raping fathers. That’s kind of fucked up, but there’s something about the phrase “raping fathers” that becomes inherently funny. Is it supposed to be? I honestly don’t know, but during the opening credit sequence awash in newspaper headlines that scream “MORE FATHERS RAPED,” I laughed.  Intentional or not, Father’s Day can bank it.

If you’re already familiar with Troma, you should know there’s not much they’re not willing to do to shock their audience. I wouldn’t exactly call myself a Troma fan; except for their one perennial hit, The Toxic Avenger, I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed any of their films (although a few non-originals they have licensed over the years have brought me unintentional enjoyment). This seems to be one of those non-Troma originals they are lucky to have distributed. Sure, Lloyd Kauffman man appear in the film as God, but this production reeks of something much more original and genuinely entertaining than anything that’s come down from the Troma offices in quite a while.

Father’s Day contains the aforementioned scenes of father rape, along with bodily dismemberment, incest, necrophilia, and not one, not two, but three scenes of penis mutilation.

You know, for kids!

This is not something I normally enjoy. Not because I am squeamish (though I think I can say without shame I don’t enjoy seeing penises destroyed), but because I just think humor like that is cheap. Anyone can build a fake penis out of plastic and cut it in half with a knife, but unless the film wrapped around this gag is worth a damn, then it’s just empty shock. But Father’s Day earns the right to destroy penises. Three times, in fact. This kind of over-the-top sight gag can sometimes seem out of place when juxtaposed against the film’s other far more innocent jokes (toxic berries vs. tasty berries; a man who hyperbolically compares life to the process of fermenting tree sap into maple syrup), but because the Troma brand is stamped on the case, we just kind of accept all the penis biting and move on.

Written and directed by the final onscreen credit of Astron-6, our cast consists of the usual mainstays: Adam Brooks plays Ahab, the eye-patched vigilante out for revenge; Matthew Kennedy plays Father Sullivan, the very gay priest whose job it is to find Ahab’s shack out in the middle of nowhere, and Connor Sweeney is Twink, another very gay young man whose father is murdered by the "Father’s Day Killer" and is out to clear his name.

Oh, and the killer’s name is Fuchman. Chris Fuchman. The first time you hear it, you may ask yourself, “Did I really just hear that?’

Yes, you did.

Played by the very brave Mackenzie Murdock, Fuchman bares all more than once and has no problem doing some naked grinding on top of other middle aged men.

Father’s Day takes a little bit to get going. It starts off with a nice grindhouse feel, but soon gives off the wrong impression that it’s yet another Troma production with little reason to exist. The humor doesn’t kick in right away, and the film is very quick to show off some Troma-esque scenes of shock.

I implore you to keep with it.

Odds are you’re more familiar with Troma than you are with Astron-6. Based on this production, I think it’s safe to say preexisting fans of Troma will find a lot to love about Father’s Day. And Astron-6 once again proves they can play a little bit outside their wheelhouse and come up with something fresh, shocking, and legitimately hilarious.  The best thing that can come out of their association with Troma is more exposure to a broader fan base. They absolutely more than deserve it.

(I also wish we were friends. Because they must be the most fun men alive.)

30 WAYS TO DIE BY ELECTROCUTION

From Elektroschutz in 132 Bildern (Electrical Protection in 132 Pictures) by Viennese physician Stefan Jellinek (1878-1968). The Electro-Pathological Museum was founded by Dr. Stefan Jellinek in 1936.

See the other 27. (Thanks, Laura.)

AUTUMN WALKER

© Piotr

BREAD HEADS

Imagine running up to the bakery around the corner and coming across bread shaped like body parts. Sound yummy? Artist Kittiwat Unarrom creates just that; gruesome works of art out of bread.

Kittiwat Unarrom has a master's degree in fine arts and creates bruised and battered heads, feet and other internal organs at a bread shop in Thailand.

He started using his skills and made sculptures out of bread. This came naturally to him because his family runs a bakery. The bread is made out of dough, raisins, cashews and chocolate. He just adds his own touch to the finished product.

 

 

Story and image source.