This Blog’s The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard’s Review
My AMC A-List subscription re-activated today after a pandemic’s long pause. I am still a bit wary of people. And places. And things. And dying of a debilitating virus. But I am vaccinated and the theater in my neighborhood is amazingly still open despite always being empty. I opened up my AMC app, downloaded the update, changed my password and looked at the movies showing today. Fast 9 Saga was playing on 2 theaters and had a handful of seats sold; far more seats than I would have been comfortable sitting with for the 9th movie in a series of which I’ve seen none of the previous entries. Peter Rabbit 2, no….The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard you say? OK.
So for my first time back in an empty theater I chose to see The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard. Now, I knew next to nothing about this film. I’d vaguely seen a trailer or commercial for it. I knew Ryan Reynolds (the hitman?), Salma Hayek (the bodyguard?) and Nick Fury (the wife?) were in it. and I assumed it had something to do with a bodyguard guarding the body of the wife of a hitman. That’s about all you need to know.
This movie is loud. There’s a lot of gun shots, it’s very loud. Salma Hayek is still hot as a firecracker, though I shouldn’t say still, because here character gets very angry and the insinuation that she is old (she’s not). Ryan Reynolds spends almost the entirety of the film covered in brains and blood. And is also still as hot as a firecracker. A firecracker covers in brains and blood I suppose. Oh yeah Samuel Jackson is in this. And he plays Samuel L Jackson. You know what you’re getting here.
Look this movie seems like a bunch of folks were sitting around getting high at Reynold’s place and decided to shoot a nonsense movie. It doesn’t make a lick of sense and despite it being set in the real world, there are some comically outrageous things that happen to these characters physically. Salma Hayek is actually pretty great delivering every line with an effortless whiplash speed and confidence that ensure all her jokes land. Unfortunately every joke is just an endless stream of profanity, again its like these folks got together and said “let’s make a movie where we get to shoot a lot, cuss a lot, and have fun over the course of a weekend without putting a lot of effort in. Does anyone have Morgan Freeman’s number?”
I am not entirely sure of the plot here, something about Antonio Banderas (oh yeah he’s totally in it) wanting to destroy Europe, there’s a confusing infertility sub-plot as well. And (spoiler alert) Morgan Freeman is Reynold’s dad until Hayek and Jackson adopt him.
Anyway, my A-List subscription renewed and I’m back at the movies.
The Afghan Whigs Masterpiece Black Love Turns 30
Released on March 12, 1996, Black Love by The Afghan Whigs is my favorite album of all time. Released 30 years ago today, Black Love is a criminally underappreciated masterpiece that showcases the very best and darkest of Greg Dulli’s songwriting. The band is absolutely on fire here, creating a cinematic masterpiece of an album that sounds as sultry and exciting today as it ever has.
Yes, that’s a bold claim. There are other albums I adore that have meant a lot to me, Appetite for Destruction by Guns n Roses, The Record by boygenius, and Nirvana’s Nevermind come to mind, but Black Love spoke to me in a way that other albums, really any other art, never did or have since.
Black Love took everything that The Afghan Whigs did well, grungy club guitar rock, lush soundscapes, R&B influences, and most importantly, deep, dark introspection, and perfected it. Greg Dulli’s best work always seems cinematic in nature, his albums play out like noir films projected through smoke and dust straight onto your heart, and his songs make up the individual scenes to those “movies”. Nowhere does this analogy play out more than with Black Love. Dulli’s contract with Elektra was more than just a recording contract; there were options for movies, books, producing, and more, most of which never materialized. Black Love plays like a soundtrack for a movie that was never made.
Original sealed 1996 Sub Pop Release and 20th Anniversary Edition
Here is my deep dive into the beauty of Black Love.
The stage is set with Crime Scene Part One.
Tonight, tonight
I say goodbye
To everyone who loves me
With this line, Greg Dulli begins his dark tale. A crime has been committed. In the movie, a murder perhaps, on vinyl, a broken heart- a murder in its own right.
I hear the whispers, baby
If what they say is true
They say I killed the brother
To fall in love with you
The dark theme continues on My Enemy, Double Day, and Blame, Etc. Dulli speaks of love, alcohol, despair, crucification, revenge, and blame. These songs, like the bulk of the movie, pack in so much vivid detail. Dulli’s vocals are cloaked in rage, sadness, and cigarette smoke. The band, including Rick McCollum, John Curley, and drummer Paul Buchignani are at the peak of their powers here backing up Greg’s words. While these songs fit in on any alternative radio rotation from the 90’s, they are elevated by talent, skill, experience, and musicianship. Something special is happening here as this twisted tale unfolds.
Whenever the light shines
And the stillness is shaken
And the drug of your smile has gone
And left me alone
I need it bad, I need it now
Won't you come and give me some?
I need it sweet, baby please
Won't you answer the phone?
Step into the light, baby
Black Love hits its emotional crescendo with the intentional ballad Step Into The Light. My favorite Afghan Whigs song plays like a heartfelt ballad screaming out for lost love in desperation. This is a song to both make love to and to break up to. Greg steps back from yelling into the abyss here and gives us a raw, authentic performance that gives me chills nearly every time I hear it. It’s a sparse song whose lyrics and feelings hang in the air like cigarette smoke and the scent of whiskey and sex.
If Step Into The Light is the emotional climax of the album, Going to Town and Honkey’s Ladder are the action climax. The band is searing of both of these tracks, particularly Honkey’s Ladder, which sounds like a machine gun echoing in your head. Dulli goes ALL FUCKING OUT here, screaming into the abyss thematically and literally about burning the whole place down. This is where things go to the edge and nearly fall apart. On screen, these songs would play out as tense action, leaving you on the edge of your seat, on the turntable its the same, you want to turn it up and scream along with Greg.
We slow things down a bit with Night By Candlelight, a brooding, plodding ballad that repeats the same words over and over, a hymn to despair that asks the questions
Am I vain? have I shame?
Are my thoughts of a man
Who can call himself sane?
Do I blame, all my pain
On the wickedness
I have arranged?
Dulli is questioning everything in this song; the existential crisis of the album is laid bare. All of this is simply building to the climax, the crescendo, the resolution of this movie. Dulli attempts to cast out the demons he is feeling in Bulletproof and Summer’s Kiss, while the band provides a heart-pounding musical landscape for him to tell his tale. Bulletproof is the chase scene…
The waiting's over
So get on down
This time we go a little lower
The sun has broke
I stretch it out
And throw some gas into the fire
The song is thrilling, sensual, and raucous. A dream, a nightmare, on display as the narrator, our hero deals with his demons.
Summer’s Kiss demands to be heard live. The band displays its prowess in this short but exhilarating 4 minutes. A reflection of love, loss, despair, and redemption, Greg begs Demons be gone! He finds himself ultimately alone at the end. Live, this song whips the crowd into a frenzy with its brief build-up intro, which, once the intro ends and the guitars, bass, and drums hit, it doesn’t let up emotionally or musically. You're exhausted, physically and emotionally. The song feels like an end of sorts; Summer’s Kiss is over after all. Shout out to my birth year 1973, too. ;)
This album, this story, this dark tale, a screenplay written out in lyrics, screamed and guitars blazed upon a bedrock of an unbelievable rhythm tapped out on drums and bass can only end one way. Epically.
Faded, is an epic. In both sheer scope, size, and responsibility. On its shoulders, it carries the weight of finishing the story laid out before it. And it does so in epic fashion. A simple piano intro builds to a crescendo, a familiar melody interlaced with the melodic guitars, crashing drums, and sweeping instrumentation. Often, this song will include a connection to Bonnie Raitt’s I Can’t Make You Love Me. This song plays the same in tiny clubs as it would in giant arenas; it’s a big song upon which Greg resolves his dark story of love, hope, desperation, and regret. The song builds upon Greg’s pleas and Rick’s guitar screams, finally finding a spot for the story to end with a crash and a twinkle of piano playing out like the end credits scene of a hefty drama.
You can believe in me, baby
Can I believe in you?
That secret's gonna kill you
In the end
It's gonna kill
You
I love this album. It came to me at a dark time in my life, but a time when things were starting to turn around. Just a few years later, I’d find love, my own resolution to my tale. While the emotions on display here no longer resonate with me as they did when I was in may 20’s, the power on display still finds its way into that scar on my heart, which will all carry. If you don’t know the Whigs, this may not be the best place to drop in. It’s dark, brooding, intense, scary. But if you’re looking for a good “movie” to watch on a Friday night, if you’re mending a broken heart, or reflecting on a broken soul, pour yourself a sifter of bourbon, light a cigarette, and disappear into one of the greatest albums ever made.
So, I found my biological mom last week…
So, I found my biological mom last week. She’s dead.
Editor Note- I usually won’t use this site for a lot of personal stuff, but will occasionally. This was huge news and this is my available medium to share.
A little bit of my “origin” story. I was adopted. Obviously. When I was five. My adopted mother, JoAnne died shortly after. It was just me and my dad, Ray, for awhile and it was pretty great.
I knew I was adopted. I remember always living with Ray and JoAnne and I vividly recall my adoption. My biological mother was just this woman named Pam that was around occasionally. My biological father, Richard, was around even less if at all. They…they didn’t treat me well. I remember some. I suppressed a lot.
I also had younger siblings. Chris and Mandy. I vaguely remember them…
My dad remarried and suddenly I had a mom, Jean, and a brother, Bob. I lost my dad at 16. Honestly, it’s much tougher than you’d imagine for your only family to be a step family. I love them, but at this point I felt more like a orphan. Abused and neglected by my birth parents, abandoned by my adopted parents, and not well-connected to my step family. My friends became my family and always have been.
I never really had any desire to find my biological family. The only feelings I had for my birth parents were anger and ambivalence. For my siblings, only curiosity.
When my dad passed away, they all tracked me down. I received a call from my brother. I ignored him. My birth mother followed up. I yelled at her. My birth father was next. He left a message with a number. I ignored this as well. I boxed up my emotions and shoved them deep down inside.
I never much wanted to find them. I filled my life with my friends, and eventually my own family. I’d think about my siblings from time to time. I question why they weren’t adopted with me. I wonder if they had a good childhood. Curious if they are good people. But never motivated to seek them out and scared what I’d find if I did.
When I met Rebecca, I found my family. When we had Wesley I had a blood relative. I was happy.
I would still think about my biological family from time to time, but at nearly 50, I knew the likelihood of my birth parents being alive was getting less and less and the possibility of finding my siblings and having any type of relationship was also diminishing.
About two years ago I decided to get my adoption paperwork. The state of Ohio opened these records a while back so I figured why not. Even with this paperwork, there wasn’t much to go on. I did some cursory searching, but again I was never super motivated to find them, and honestly not sure what I wanted or would do if I did.
Recently I had to get Wesley’s social security card out of our lockbox, and came across my paperwork again. I decided to search my birth mother again (my birth father’s common name Richard Smith-yes I was a Junior- makes searching for him nearly impossible). And this time something came up. An obituary.
The first name, middle name and maiden name matched. Has did the birth year. The city and state of birth didn’t match…and there was no other info on the obit. If it had my siblings names? Case closed. Done deal. But nothing.
After a few days with this info I called the funeral home. They said there was really no other information they could provide me. A dead end. Literally. I said look, I know my biological siblings names. They said they couldn’t tell me what they had, but if I gave them the names I had they would say yes or no. I said “Chris and Mandy, Christopher and Amanda I guess.” After a pause that seemed to be an eternity, she responded. “Yes, Mr. Richmond.”
So, there it is. I found my biological mom. She died January 7, 2020 at 66.
I am having emotions about it, but still after living with it for a week, I can’t tell you what those emotions are. It’s weird having feelings you cannot articulate. I mean when you’e sad you can say “I’m sad.” Happy, angry, afraid. Easy. I can’t say I’m feeling (this). To be honest, not much has changed I suppose. It is at the same time, dramatic and anti-climactic. IF I found her when she was alive would I have contacted her? I don’t know. And now, I’ll never know. Probably not though. Maybe I should have just let this one go. There was enough curiosity for me to do what I did, but beyond that there still isn’t much motivation. I assume my birth father is also dead. And from my own dusty, repressed memories I’d probably not want to cross paths with him anyway. My siblings…I don’t know. I just don’t know.
I am little surprised they didn’t seek me out when she died. They’s found me before. They know my name. I’m all over the internet. That’s a question. There’s lots of questions. I just don’t know if I have the desire, motivation or heart to find the answers.
So tl;dr I found my biological mother last week. She’s dead. And I’m having feelings.