Stephanie Gayle

I love to read. Ever since I mastered the whole phonetics thing and basic reading I was good to go. Rarely since has a day passed since then that I haven't been involved in reading. Except when I'm reaching the end of my first drafts, as you know. Well, this weekend I'll confess that after editing a lot of chapters and a 72 page story for a fellow writer I didn't have it in me to read. It sounded too much like work. Instead, I plopped myself down on the sofa and engaged in that most noble of exercises: channel surfing. Last night the cable gods offered me little satisfaction, but today, praise heaven, they gave me just what I wanted.

The Wicker Man. Specifically the 2006 remake starring Nicholas Cage. Sweet manna, was the movie terrible. I loved it. I only saw the last 40 minutes, and I think it best. After all, I got to see this scene:

Nicholas Cage, in bear suit, punching a woman in the face. Oh, cruel Academy for overlooking the subtle art evinced in this scene! (The music in the video is obviously not the same as in the real film clip.)

I spent most of my viewing time muttering, "This is horrible! He just keeps yelling his lines! God, it's awesome!" Sometimes, when one has been wandering the lush gardens of prose, one needs a chaser of Hollywood schlock. Palette cleansing! By the time the movie concluded I felt as though my brain had returned from vacation. Thank you, director Neil LaBute. Some might have argued the 1973 version didn't need a remake, but you, kind sir, boldly ignored that advice and created this masterpiece that shows what can happen when ladies run a society. (Seriously, what woman turned LaBute into public misogynist #1?)

I'm reading again. I feel up to it, and honestly I'm not sure it could endure another masterpiece like The Wicker Man.