A neo-noir dystopian (NND) film is a twisted and very dark point of view in a movie about a place or time in which everything is unpleasant. It can sometimes be a genre within a genre, which sets the movie apart from other forms of films.

The day after I learned two more of my friends had died, I sat myself in front of the screen and watched four movies to help draw me out of my sadness. Each flick was either an NND or contained some element of the genre.

The last movie watched is, “Arrival,” which contained elements throughout it. These included ‘memory and sequences,’ ‘news report cut-ins,’ and ‘character shifts,’ from minor, like a nervous shaking hand, vomiting into a garbage can, to major like the attempted destruction of the alien craft and the death of a child from an illness. And as a side note: Amy Adams has the most perfect turned up nose in films these days.)

In the film, “Revolt,” the opening scenes are confusing and I believe edited that way to kind of throw the viewer into a sense of confusion as we jump suddenly form combat to our protagonist awaking in a jail cell. The entire film moves from there and continues to be a great example of NND as an already broken society, further breaks down.

The second film watched is one I generally avoid because I’m personally burned out on the premise of the world coming apart because of some disease that turns otherwise healthy humans beings into man-eating killers: zombies. However, “The Girl with All the Gifts,” was slightly different as the child had the capacity to control her urges and in the end redefines the monstrosity humanity had been – especially towards her and her kind.

Lastly, and fitting that it was my first film of the day, and is now the last film of this review, is “Bushwick.” It takes the viewer from the seemingly unpleasant chaos of everyday living to the hell of a civil war, twisting secessionists against American citizens, who are unaware that the Union has divided.

This ‘twist’ is what creates a truly NND element in this film. The main protagonists are from different walks of life; a Hospital Corpsman turned janitor and a college student on her way home to visit her family, and both caught up in a sudden attack.

The janitor is ‘hiding from his emotional pain,’ and ‘avoids much of society’ because of it’s ‘ugliness.’ The student is ‘simply happy-go-luck,’ not a care in the world until the ‘shit-hits-the-fan’ and her world’s turned upside down.

“Bushwick,’ gave me a new point of view on social upheaval and the violence that a civil war will produce. Yes, it is pretty certain that if it were a foreign invading force, most armed American citizens would pick up a weapon to defend themselves and their neighbor.

But what if it were secessionist and what if they failed in letting anyone know that the ‘revolt’ was happening? Yeah, therein lays the twist of all NND twists.

Each of these films made me feel something beyond my real heartache and each gave me an opportunity to reflect on exactly how had things can get if such fictions turned real. It is one of the many ways I’ve taught myself to deal with the stresses of persistent melancholia and use it as a tool to move forward.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” is a misquote based on a passage from ‘The Mourning Bride,’ a play by William Congreve.

But Franklin wasn’t thinking about that as Satan stabbed him from behind with his pitchfork, forcing him into the pit of screaming tortured souls, while carrying the clay jar of water. Furthermore, he didn’t expect those same souls to be so self-possessed that they’d refuse to help him in his endeavor.

In his ear, Franklin could still hear Lucifer’s mocking words ring, “If you can cross the pit without spilling a drop, I’ll let you go.”

He was the quiet one. It wasn’t because he was shy, rather it was because he’d rather watch what was going on and being said than anything else.

That’s how I remember my high school classmate Tom Anderson, who was born in Crescent City, California, June 18, 1960, but passed away April 18, at his home in San Francisco of a heart attack. Unfortunately, all I could find in the way of a photo of Tom is one from our 1978 yearbook ‘Crossroads’ — which shows how private he was about himself.

It’s hard to think that he was in a lot of pain towards the end of his life because he was always an active outdoors-kind-of-guy, enjoying bicycling, scuba diving and surfing. Tom was also extremely studious, having made the dean’s list in high school every quarter which lead to his being named in the 1978 book of “Who’s Who in American Students.”

Sometime after high school he attended the University of Hawai’i, where following graduation, he took a job as a teacher. Later on, Tom entered San Francisco’s Hastings Law School, and as was his nature, passed the California State Bar on his first attempt.

Tom was the kind of person who’d give you the shirt off his back, or better yet, he’d buy you a new one if need be. He was a rare mixture of athleticism, academia and plain old humbleness and he’ll be sorely missed.

They sat in the visitor’s room of the rest folks home where the old man reminisced and the Grandson politely listened. “Yup, the world sure’s a different place today than it was in my day.”

All to soon the Grandson said, “I can’t stay any longer Gramps, I gotta date tonight.”

“Good for you, kiddo,” Grandpa smiled as the young man began pulling on his bright red fall-out suit.

Then he watched as his Grandson walked outside and to the sidewalk. “I’d have told him to make sure he wears protection, but I know it means something totally different anymore.”

It’s very hard to breathe at the moment because I’ve been crying so hard. Another friend has passed away and I knew it was happening, but for the want of a few bucks, I couldn’t make the drive to Missoula, Montana to see her one last time.

Theresa Anne House passed away at home June 5, 2018, after a heroic battle with uterine cancer. She was born November 30, 1963, in San Diego, California, living with her family in El Cajon as the eldest of 11 children.

When I first heard her name, I was en route to the recruiting station in Eureka, California to sign my Air Force enlistment papers. She was a friend of Adam, whom he met over the summer when her family stayed at Camp Marigold, in Klamath, across the fence from our home.

Adam refused to introduce Theresa to me because he worried that she might ‘like’ me more than him. Kids!

After Adam died in 2010, I posted an article about his death. Theresa found it after ‘googling’ his name and she reached out to me through Facebook.

At first I had no idea who she was, but then she used her maiden name of Layman and I knew in an instant I was talking to the little blond-headed girl from across the fence. We’ve remained in touch ever since then.

It was at some point in late 2016 or perhaps early 2017 that she told me she had cancer. She decided not to battle the disease in the traditional manner, but to take a more holistic approach.

Theresa was a very headstrong woman, bordering on the edge of pure stubbornness, so I figured she’d fight and she’d win. In April she let me know that the treatment didn’t work and that she was going to die from the disease.

The last time I corresponded with her was March 8, where she said of me: “What a wonderful, sweet friend!”

Theresa then added, “Just continue to pray for my entry into Heaven. I am trying to have a good attitude about recovery, but I have my eye on the prize, Heaven.”

She made me promise not to be sad, because as she told me, “I know where I’m headed and I’m not scared.” But I’m afraid that I’ve gone and broke that promise, Theresa, because I am beyond sad.

I swear I can hear her and Adam giggling like a couple of school kids.

“It’s nice to get out of the house,” Mom commented.

“I know,” Dad responded, “I really do miss our Sunday drives and sight-seeing.”

“So,” Junior asked from the back seat, “did you play here as a kid?”

“Yes,” his mother answered, “This is where I first met your dad.”

“Was that on the Ferris-wheel or the Roman aqueduct?” the child asked.

“Oh, the Ferris-wheel,” his dad returned, “the aqueduct was a bit before our time.”

“I don’t understand why they are together then if they’re from different times,” the boy stated.

“It’s simple,” Dad explained, “It’s how civilizations are built.”

Body shaking, cold and clammy, heart fluttering fast to slow, he began in all his humanness to feel the slipping away. His mind filling with images, words, so many left unsaid, unwritten, and unseen in all his days before.

He knew he couldn’t find the right potion, the spiritual salve to make this life remain as the ending would happen — with or without. He’d waited all of his life for this moment, now that his time was at hand, he nearly dropped his halo as a metamorphosis of this type isn’t painless when wings unfold from between one’s shoulder blades.

For the last two days I haven’t spent as much time as I generally do writing. Instead I’ve been doing a lot of reading and when not sitting about with a favorite book, I’ve been catching up on movies I’ve not seen.

And as you’ll see, should you continue reading, I’m way, way behind in this matter…

The first one I watched is “Wind River,” with Jeremy Renner, Elizabeth Olsen (she’s gorgeous, by-the-by) and one of my all-time favorites, Graham Greene. I would add Renner to my all-time favorites list if it weren’t for the fact that he keeps playing all sorts of ‘superheroes,’ when he’s a fine actor who doesn’t need ‘special effects.’

The movie opens with the shooting of a pair of coyotes, so if you are against killing predators, I’d skip the first minute or so of this film. Further, if you are radically against gun violence, you’ll also wanna skip the last ten minutes of the show, because it is fairly spot-on.

Personally, I’m against neither, as a predator must be dealt with whether animal or human and it isn’t always pretty. And I love how justice is meted out to the true predator in this film, and in a most unusual manner.

The next flicker I watched is “Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol. 2.” I found myself laughing quite a bit at the inside jokes and one-liners. It also surprised me somewhat to see so many well established actors playing more than simple cameos, though it would have also been cool to see Bruce Willis in it – but alas, he wasn’t.

And while I identify with ‘Rocket’ for the most part, I can’t help but enjoy getting my “Groot” on as well. By the way — ‘groot’ is Dutch for ‘large.’

Plus, I’m always blown away by ex-pro wrestler and MMA fighter Dave Bautista’s acting ability.  He’s as fun to watch as “The Rock” any day.

Finally, and I mean FINALLY – I got to see “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story.” This took me back to high school and the year the original Star Wars (now called the “New Hope,” came into theaters.)

The entire story line felt as if it were a part of the original film and made even more so by the CGI appearance of Peter Cushing, whose been dead since 1994. It was also very cool seeing Darth Vader wielding the Light Sabre once again.

It is enjoyable to see a hat-tip to ronin-Samurai Miyamoto Musashi, who in 1612 defeated Sasaki Kojiro, and is considered one of the greatest Samurai in Japan, using ‘a stick,’ he carved while en route to the fight. In the movie, Danny Yen portrays a blind warrior who believes in the force and kicks the crud out of several Stormtroopers using nothing but a ‘bo,’ or fighting staff.

But I must say the biggest surprise was in the ending. It literally took my breath away and I teared up when Carry Fisher, looking exactly as I remember her sigh from my days on the set of “Return of the Jedi,” turned and faced the camera.

Now, if you’ll please excuse me – I have some TV shows needing binge-watching.

“You’d think after 15-years, I’d have more people reading my stuff,” Dumas complained. “I see bloggers who’ve only been at it a year or two and some have hundred’s of people following their website and dozens of comment’s and ‘likes.’”

There was a pause before Jezebeth verbally stabbed him in the heart, “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re really not that good?”

With her long red finger nails, Jezebeth lifted his face and looked into Dumas’ eye’s, relishing the hurt in his voice, “The thought never crossed my mind.”

But now that it did — Dumas never wrote another word.

“Send Help,” is all the message read. Mentally, I prepare myself for whatever the challenge.

“Life can be so cheap outside the colonies” I think, mounting my Ostrichasaurus, racing out through the gate and onto the open grassy plains.

Sadly, I’ve learned there’s a greater danger in not knowing what the danger is, than whatever danger is ‘out there,’ and it’s hard not be concerned this may involve another T-Rex. The bird-beast’s jarring gait quickly turns into an all out sprint towards the border lands.

“Effin’ top hat! Third one this week!” I cuss, as it falls from my head.