Weekly Briefing from the North Texas Apocalypse Bunker, 08/30/24
Football is Life edition
It’s been a challenging week here at the bunker with the inevitable slowing down of movie-going that is contrasted with the sharp uptick in attendance at high school football games, Saturday afternoon college football games, and Sunday afternoon NFL games. Decorum prohibits me from reporting actual dollar amounts, but I see no harm in letting you know that attendance falls off about 75% every year around this time. This is not unique to the motion picture industry; most rural communities and smaller cities experience this. I only wish that, when the hopes of the fans have been dashed when whatever team they are watching isn’t destined for the playoffs, and they come strolling back through the door sometime between late October and mid-November, that they wouldn’t ask me, with all of the glib and guile they can muster, “How’s business?”
INDY! The Podcast is Going Out!
I’m back on the 42Cast, waxing intellectual about Raiders of the Lost Ark and all of the other Indiana Jones movies, under the auspices of talking about Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. It’s a long one, over two hours—because we are incapable of brevity—but it’s a fun discussion. Click on through to the other side and check it out: Dial D for Destiny!
On the Topic of Old Wounds and Scar Tissue
(names have been changed for privacy reasons)
About a month ago, when I was fresh out of oral surgery and my head was wrapped up like a dumpling, Janice got the results of some lab work that our doctor ordered a couple of weeks prior. Certain chemicals were low, and so she was referred to an endocrinologist. There was also something about low iron and high white blood cells and there was a concern that it might be anemia. Fair enough. And not surprising for a woman in her fifties to have a problem or two with all of that complicated plumbing y’all all have.
We got in the car, and Janice quietly asked me, “What’s an endocrinologist?”
I was weak, in pain, and whacked out of my skull, but I was able to reply, “Glands. You know. Lymph nodes, stuff like that. Hormones.”
Janice breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, I thought it was for cancer.”
“That’s an oncologist.”
“I’m so glad you were there! I was freaking out and I couldn’t understand why you weren’t!”
The reply that leapt to mind was a quote from Spinal Tap, wherein David says, “I’m sure I’d feel worse if I wasn’t under such heavy sedation, but still and all, you’ve got to be reasonable about these things.” But I was too whacked out from my Giant Squid Extraction, and couldn’t get the phrase into my aching mouth. Eh. It’s the shots you don’t take, am I right?
Cut to late last week. I got a text from Janice that said “I have an appt next week with Texoma Oncology.” Ha ha, I thought. She’s playing with me, doing a call back.
I texted back. “You mean Texoma Endocrinology, right?”
“No, they called from Texoma Oncology.” My stomach did a barrel roll.
“Are you sure?” I texted. “Can you please double-check?”
Flop sweat. Light-headedness. All I could think was, Oh Jesus, not again.
Janice texted “Is Dr. Kurtz an endocrinologist?”
No, he was not. In fact, Dr. Kurtz was the name of Cathy’s oncologist. Before I could reply, she texted, “I’m downstairs in the car. On the phone with them now.”
I ran downstairs and joined her. When we got through to Texoma Oncology, Janice asked what the appointment was for. It turned out, Dr. Kurtz was ALSO a hematologist. As in, the low iron in her blood hematologist. “So it’s not for cancer?” Janice asked.
“Noooo,” she said, in that tone that suggested we were being silly for even asking about such a thing at an office that treats cancer patients. “It’s for her low iron.”
I broke down into huge wracking sobs of relief. All of the stress I’d been trying to manage for our sakes hit my body at once; flop sweat, headache, the works. Janice was likewise relieved, of course, and mortified that she’d scared me like that with a text. Hell, it wasn’t her fault. The lady from the oncology center should have told her that the appointment was for hematology and blood work, not a cancer diagnosis.
Once we got ourselves calmed down and back on an even keel, Janice said to me, “I would like it if you came with me, but I understand if you can’t.” It helps to have a second person in the room to ask those questions you don’t think to ask, and we’ve been doing this already, teaming up at the appointments, I mean. I came up with a compromise. I would drive her to the appointment, retreat to a neutral location like a nearby coffee shop, and then pick her up when it was over. I was proud of this solution; it let me be as there for her as I could be, without reopening any old wounds.
Of course, the appointment was for an early morning time, which meant we had to be up and dressed and out the door an hour prior, because of the drive into Wichita Falls. Janice was quiet, trying to keep calm, and failing. She was worried, and who wouldn’t be, driving to an oncology center? I realized in an instant that I would have to go in with her. I found myself slipping back into caregiver mode. Cheerleader. Camp Counselor. I was a bit discomfited to note how easy that was for me to push down my own anxiety and focus on keeping Janice on an even keel. It didn’t work completely, but I did manage to calm her down enough to stop crying.
As I was driving, wondering how I was going to navigate both my anxiety and hers, I turned on the radio and REO Speedwagon’s “Roll with the Changes” came on. I’m not an REO Speedwagon fan, at all. Ever. But this song triggers a very specific memory for me, about one day back in 2017, pre-everything, when I was making a supply run to Wichita Falls (or, The Falls, as we like to call it) and talking to Cathy on the phone about some minor issue. The song was playing over the store’s intercom, and that part at the end where the guy is singing “Got-ta-got-ta-got-ta-GOT-TAH...” hit me just right and I started laughing, and it started Cathy laughing, and it was one of those moments that’s totally insignificant in the overall scheme of your life, but it somehow is greater than the sum of its stuttering parts when you look back on it. The song later became a cheer-us-up anthem after Cathy’s diagnosis as a kind of bulwark against the fear and uncertainty.
That second, as I turned on the radio, I was thinking to myself, “how am I going to hold it together for Jancie?” I heard it, and for just a second, I thought Cathy was telling me that I could do it. I started laughing in the car with a new bravado. It was going to be all right. I could be strong for Janice because I’d already been strong before.
It was a bit surreal walking back into the place, packed full of people in all different stages of their treatment. I expected to be hit with more memories, but in fact, aside from knowing where the bathroom was, I didn’t feel anything one way or the other. It was just a crowded waiting room. We huddled up, together, while paperwork was filled out. When it was time to go back, I took a deep breath and told myself this was nothing to worry about. I let that feeling carry me back to the waiting room with Janice, with Dr. Kurtz’s nurse (who I recognized, and I think, who recognized me, but didn’t say anything). I started doing what I always do at the doctor’s office; cracking jokes, making little asides, etc. I can’t stand sitting in silence in an already tense situation.
Finally, Dr. Kurtz came in. We made eye contact, he shook our hands, and launched right into his bedside manner—he asks questions that have already been answered. I guess to make sure no one is lying. It’s probably a good trait for an oncologist and a hematologist to have. He went over her existing blood panel results and told her it was highly unlikely that she had anything serious, but he wanted more blood, just to be sure.
At one point, I clarified on of Janice’s answers to his questions and he looked at me quizzically and asked, “Have you been here for treatment before?”
I didn’t know what I was going to say; thankfully, Janice jumped in and said “His first wife was one of your patients.”
“Oh?” he said. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“Her name was Cathy. Cathy Day,” I said. I kept my face very neutral and said, “Do you remember Cathy?”
His face didn’t change at all. “Yes, I do,” he nodded. We both let the matter drop, and he went back to asking Janice more questions.
The last thing I remember hearing from Dr. Kurtz when Cathy was in the hospital was his baffled and exasperated tone of voice as he spoke to the head MD: “I really thought she was getting better.” I didn’t see him after that. He’s an oncologist, not a hospice doctor. Honestly, what would I have said to him, anyway? He did the best he could with the cards we dealt him. I never felt that he or his nurse weren’t invested in Cathy’s well-being. I was still livid, though, so it’s probably a good thing I’d not bumped into him prior to this unrelated visit.
Sitting in the exam room with Janice, I think, gave me a little closure that I didn’t know I needed. All of that water was well under the bridge by now. I didn’t get angry, nor storm out, or anything like that. He did mention that they were going to take more blood, just to be sure. “Now you can leave,” Janice said. She gets me.
On the ride home, Janice asked me, “So what did YOU hear him say?”
I was happy to translate his doctor-speak, having had to do it many times before. Bottom line, he wasn’t concerned about the iron, but he wanted to see his own results, just in case. Helpful, even if they did pull eight vials out of Janice. Presumably to bring a homunculus to life, because why would you otherwise need that much blood?
We’re all fine, now. Janice has low iron, but nothing that would require an infusion. He put her on some iron supplements, and that’s it. We worked ourselves up over nothing. I’ve been lighter on my feet for the rest of the week. I don’t know if it was just me feeling good about the outcome of the visit, or if I really needed to stop touching that old wound and let is scar over.
Weekly Report from the N.T.A.B. Division of Media Review
Note: we realize this report is longer than usual, but we were quite taken with the TV series, below, and needed to emphasize our desire to have you all tune in. Also: we’ve been getting a number of queries asking why we have not reviewed HBO’s Chimp Crazy yet. Rest assured, it’s coming, but we wanted to wait until three full episodes had dropped first. Also, come on, really? Of course we are going to cover Chimp Crazy. We are, collectively as an office, offended you felt the need to ask.
Blink Twice (in theaters)
A pair of blue-collar best friends get whisked away from their dead-end jobs by a tech billionaire to join his entourage on a private island getaway. The vacation turns sinister as things go missing and weird flashes of dreams intrude on the Idyllic paradise.
What an interesting movie for Zoe Kravitz to pick for her directing debut. It’s not a straightforward horror story, and it’s filled to the brim with veteran actors like Christian Slater, Haley Joel Osment, Geena Davis, Kyle MacLachlan, and Channing Tatum, all of whom knock it out of the park. And Kravitz did an incredible job directing the whole cast. When the “things go bad” part turns into the “this is what’s going on” part, the suspense and the performances are deftly handled. You wouldn’t think this was her first film.
It's hard to talk about stuff like this, for fear of tipping one or more of the surprises, and this film has a lot of them. Strange things in the first sixty seconds of the movie pay off in the third act. There’s a lot of revelations that happen all at once, similar to the end of Sixth Sense, where they play back all of those little mysteries and you see now why Bruce Willis couldn’t actually do anything.
I have to say, I was impressed with Blink Twice. The horror isn’t so, um, horrific, that a scaredy-cat couldn’t get through it. I think they are calling it “dark suspense” or something. It’s more of a psychological thriller, but it works well. I initially thought it was a bit of a slow burn in the first act, but they are just setting up all of the dominos that will come crashing down in act three. Chekov’s dominos? Anyway, the ending is a lot of fun—it’s even got a bit of Twilight Zone to it. This probably won’t stick around long. Go see Blink Twice in theaters while you can. Maybe not as a first date option.
Welcome to Wrexham (FX/Hulu)
Ryan (Van Wilder) Reynolds and Rob (Mythic Quest) McElhenney partner up to buy one of the oldest football clubs in Great Britain, Wrexham AFC. This documentary series follows them and the team as they struggle to rebuild and improve the venerable franchise.
Did you love Ted Lasso and lament it being off the air? Do you like slice-of-life style documentaries where you get to meet all of the quirky characters in a small town? Do you love Ryan Reynolds and consider him to be a genuine mensch? Have you always suspected that the writer and producer of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia was secretly a good person? Do you like football and get irked when people call it “soccer?”
If you answered “yes” to any of the above questions and you’re not watching this series, you need to get your priorities straight. Go now. Watch the first three eps. Come back, thank me, and then go binge the rest.
For context, I need you to know that I am not currently a sports fan. I quit watching the NFL years ago, and major league baseball years before that. The hypocrisy got to me, along with the excesses, the terrible personalities, the billionaire owners, all of the related bullshit (looking right at you, Dallas Cowboys), and I stopped watching college sports for similar reasons, up to and including the universities profiting from the sweat and blood of unpaid talent.
First things first: I am not, and never have been, a soccer/football fan. Ted Lasso was the first time I’ve been at all interested in the goings on, even as I didn’t always know the reasons behind why everyone in the pub was singing “Jamie Tartt” to the tune of “Baby Shark.” Welcome to Wrexham, then, is a crash course in educating us Americans on the culture surrounding professional football.
Second, I have been very slow to come around on Ryan Reynolds. When he first showed up, I found him to be grating and smug. I felt about him the way other comedians felt about Dane Cook suddenly selling out arenas. Reynold’s success felt unearned. I take it all back. I was wrong, dead wrong, about him, and if I ever told you that you were wrong for liking him, I am truly sorry.
Third, I think this may be the best sports documentary that’s not really a sports documentary I’ve ever seen. Every episode is different, and every episode includes something from the fan side of life, something from the owner’s perspective, and a little education for the rest of us. It’s as far away from HBO’s Training Camp as you can get.
This series is about the town of Wrexham, in Northern Wales, where the oldest football stadium in the country is located and the third-oldest football club, with over a hundred years of tradition, story, memories, triumphs and defeats. McElhenney and Reynolds heard that the club was in danger of folding completely, and they swooped in and saved it from someone who wanted to disband the club and bulldoze the stadium. They never say out loud that it would have killed the town, but yeah, that would have killed the town.
Probably the best thing about Welcome to Wrexham is the way it’s presented. McElhenney’s thumb is probably on that scale as a writer and a producer. He and Reynolds waste no time making themselves the butt of the jokes, because from day one, they were both more interested in lifting the community up instead of lining their own pockets, but they also knew how it would look with two Hollywood actors swooping in as some kind of performative savior PR stunt. At the same time, they are keenly aware of what their presence means within this really focused community. No two episodes are alike, and you never quite know which way it’s going to bounce. It’s a lot like watching football on....hey, wait a minute, you don’t think that they intentionally...? Nah. It’s probably just a coincidence.
It’s nice to see the co-chairmen leaning into their strengths; McElhenney is from Philly and is a lifelong fan of the Eagles. His demeanor as a football club owner is one of “why the hell is this taking so long?” Rynolds, on the other hand, is calm, cool, and not quite collected, but he lowers the temperature of the room with gentle good humor and his signature deadpan delivery. He has used his considerable star power and gift for marketing to focus a ton of attention (and ancillary money) on the team and the town. They are both committed to making the place better than when they found it. McElhenney is learning Welsh, for crying out loud! Are YOU learning to speak Welsh? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Over the course of the first season, you get to know these people—not just the celebrities, but the folks of Wrexham; the super fans, the people who work for the club, the players themselves, and you know what? You get caught up in it. You start to care and identify with all of them. There’s a point in season one where you find you’re rooting for the town as much as for the club. And you can see how the town, initially wary of the Americans, starts to come around when they realize how genuine and sincere they are. It’s nice to watch those relationships grow and strengthen. I get the feeling that this is the kind of thing people thought reality TV was going to be, before the table-flipping debutantes took over.
Finally, also, and in conclusion, just as the storytelling nature of sports allows for larger conversations about our collective humanity, these little episodes, like Polaroid snapshots, bring up larger topics and show how we use sports in our lives to enrich, distract, inspire, and celebrate one another. Welcome to Wrexham very clearly delineates what having a local team means to the community. It’s a reminder of what can be good and uplifting about sports. About believing in something bigger than yourself. About giving your time, your energy to the same thing that everyone else around you is. You can’t beat that feeling when your team wins. It carries over into next week. It makes you nicer. You nod at the person passing you on the street wearing the same T-shirt as you.
They have converted me into a fan. Not just a fan of Ryan and Rob (as they are referred to in town), but the whole community, and yeah, even the club itself. Their mascot is a heraldic red dragon. A RED DRAGON. Where my D&D peeps at? Holla!
Welcome to Wrexham is exceptional, heart-warming, emotionally satisfying television. Episodes are half-an-hour-ish in length, so it’s an easy buy-in for your time. If you wondered why there was Welshpool in the Deadpool Corps, let this be enough of a teaser to get you watching this series. You won’t regret it, unless, maybe, you don’t like feel good stories, underdogs overcoming adversity and hardship, incredible acts of kindness and generosity, and seeing a community come back to life when something good happens to them. Also, everyone says “fook” a lot. A LOT. In hindsight, it’s kind of the perfect team for Rob and Ryan. They are a couple of potty-mouths. They fit right in over there.
All's well that ends well! I'm on again off again anemic, and this was all handled as routine by my GP, the Starfleet -level Dr. Jessica. Why was an endocrinologist needed?
Best to the both of you?
I am so glad to read the resolution with Janice and you, and I sympathize completely. A good portion of my last two weeks have involved taking my girlfriend in for surgery (day surgery, but still…), and we had a nearly identical scary moment when getting the results from a biopsy. Solidarity, kemo sabe.