Pontypool Changes Everything - Wikipedia
Pontypool Changes Everything has ratings and reviews. you're already in the deep end, 'Pontypool changes everything' submerges you even further. Reading Pontypool Changes Everything is like watching a s horror flick on By the end of the book, the demon baby offspring of cannibalistic siblings join. ates a haunted feeling around certain minority groups, leaving every one Burgess's horror novel Pontypool Changes Every thing turned Canadian bles Sydney to reverse the infection, but it also changes the relationship.
The characters are held inside by both a blizzard and an authoritative lock-down concerning odd reports of massive localized violence. The origin and nature of this violence remains a mystery for much of the film, though clues filter in from interviewees, a field reporter, and local law enforcement.
The result is a mounting dread, perfect for the horror genre. These advantages and inventions of the context are bolstered by the strength of the two principal characters. Grant Mazzy is a radio personality who is used to drawing an audience through bold, opinionated broadcasts a practice which reflects his loud personality and possibly accounts for the professional trajectory which has relocated a begrudging Mazzy to this Podunk station—call sign CLSY.
What we have between these characters is classic dramatic tension—two people with a common goal but incompatible methodology. The buzz, pressure, and activity of an active media source completes the scene, keeping things unsettled and loose and fast-paced.
As the reports of violent incidents start streaming in and outthere is a wild energy to it and this pair attempts to communicate it to the public in their own styles. And the viewer of Pontypool is drawn in by this energy, enough to achieve that vital credulity which attains effective art and especially a reactive product like effective horror.
But then a cloying plot device crawls in through a window and undoes a lot of great filmmaking and storytelling in a matter of scenes—a move which the other characters are then happy to capitulate. The nature of this article is such that it requires spoiling basic plot details of Pontypool, so you should only continue reading after this paragraph if you either do not mind spoilers or have already seen the film.
The Failures of Pontypool: I was ultimately disappointed by Pontypool, despite all of those merits detailed above. And the section of the film I disliked is so commensurate in duration to the section I liked, and so logically divisible from it, that the film reminded me of From Dusk Till Dawneven if the genre shift is not as dramatic.
The opening car sequence of Pontypool sets the stage for dark intrigue, with even a possibility of psychological considerations. The ensuing scenes develop the nature of the horrifying scenario, while shielding the viewer from its full extent as well as its total justification; we have just one promising hint: But then Doctor John Mendez crawls into a window of the radio station, and with him enter my two main complaints about the second half of Pontypool: The first and foremost issue with the film is the litany of things that are wrong with how it explains its apocalypse.
What we know before Mendez arrives is that otherwise ordinary people are being driven to commit horrifying acts of violence, often against loved ones, while babbling English words and phrases incoherently. The theoretical explanation Mendez provides is that an extra-dimensional virus has attached itself to the English language and is spreading via the connection between meaning and expression.
So, right off the top before digging into the tonal issues and pickier logical issues of this explanationthere are some thoroughly distracting problems with the idea itself. English has tons of words that are simply words from other languages.
Not to mention that cognates and homophones across languages are very common.
You could be illiterate and still notice this about language. Other than its successful common usage, there is nothing special whatsoever about the sounds made for English words meeting up with the meanings that English speakers want to communicate.
There is literally no reason for only one language to be infected, according to the explanation we are provided. There's much left to do. As for the small reason violence is native to my imagination, I have always had a fairly sharp sensation that everything is screaming, that if you tap the illusory condition of things, bump the frame slightly, you will be mindlessly and mercilessly preyed upon by the way things are. It's madness, I know, schizophrenic, really, but I have learned, with much practice, to not talk myself out of it and to live quite well anyway.
I'm not even remotely interested that it become meaningful, in fact, combining with meaning only weakens it, makes it the illusion instead of the other way around, usurps it as a perception. The howling face streaking at you from nowhere shouldn't be slowed and unpacked. Your reaction should be to lower your head—close your eyes and plug your ears.
How then would you describe your relationship with your editors? How do they handle the screams?
Pontypool Changes Everything by Tony Burgess | i can stay
I'm guessing they don't endeavour to ease them. Well, as I say, the screaming is small and curb-trained, so never anyone's problem directly. I tend to stand firm on certain irregularities in my books sometimes without knowing why and that leads to lively discussion ending with me cross-legged on the floor holding my breath.
It's quieter than screaming but still effective with the grown-ups. Good editors, like the one's I've worked with, have a sense of adventure and can tell the difference between an irregularity you are nurturing and one you really should drop. I remember in Fiction For Lovers the word "type" appeared twice as "type type" in a sentence. It was a mistake but it was a bit mesmerizing. My editor at the time, Jen Hale at ECW—and quite excellent—thought it was wrongness to leave an unintended typo in the book, but she let me sit with it for a while.
We discussed how the type type had created a crease in the story around which you could fold the story in half. It was an uninvited mechanism, a mystery figure, that changed everything and, as luck would have, the story supported this in time. My relationship with Michael Holmes at ECW goes way back and over a number of books and he knows how to smack me on the head pretty good.
And Corm, who Jesus sent us is my constant ingredient. These relationships have been, for me, much more fascinating than, say, script notes from far and wide on film projects. In fact, if memory serves, I recall seeing a Warning message once, as if to say readers are not used to such imagery.
You also feature in the trailer.
Pontypool Changes Everything by Tony Burgess
You are both creator and character. Well, Julie Wilson, there's a story behind that. Before I even started Cashtown I thought about the trailer, or at least the people in it. I wanted to have actual people in the book whose images I could use somehow. I put those pictures physically in the book, to sort of really press down on the fact that they are here, they are real, I can call them. And when the opportunity to shoot a trailer came up, I did and, god love 'em, they came.
They were part of the Wasaga Community Theatre. Amber Helen Lerner is standing in for my wife Rachel, who couldn't make it that day, and the great Charlie Baker Charlie Baker is a high school teacher up the road here who plays a high school teacher up the road in the book.
It's part of a on ongoing Untrue Crime puzzle in the book. I think it is a ghastly image and a bit ridiculous.
Pontypool Changes Everything by Tony Burgess
Click here to watch the trailer. Tony Burgess, if that's really your name, what's the most mundane aspect of your writing life? Well, Julie Wilson, if I can call you that, I'd have to say staring. Which is a bit obvious. It's mundane to look at me stare. I do stare a lot.
And make faces and talk and stuff, which actually sounds kind of exciting now, so. And it scares the family sometimes. So staring is the least mundane aspect of my writing life. I often stare and make faces at no one, which, actually sounds kind of exciting, so. I'd say it's useful research to inhabit a face or two. What's the last face you wore? Forgive me my presumption.
I started this interview with a tall, furrowed face and a deep dense voice go look. Now I'm, like, skippin' stones with Julie Wilson, having a good day.
So my face is kinda crinkled a bit, wonderin', but happy.
- Pontypool (film)
- In Conversation With: Tony Burgess
- Pontypool Changes Everything
Maybe it's our shared love of nachos and Luis Bunuel, but I feel like I see you better now that we've had the opportunity to meet. Do you feel that chasm?
There's definitely a camp of readers out there who are frustrated that the mainstream hasn't tapped into your work. To be honest, I find most people to be sharper than me and if I find one who isn't, then I quickly befriend them for life.
Derek McCormack is a good example. He's numb as a hake. Or is it queer as dick's hatband? Insert loud laughter here. And thank you for saying such nice things, but we can never be friends see above. I don't really write to a reader. I either write with the reader or to something non-human. I sit on the page, with the reader and we look off wondering what reads us. As far as caring, that's so hard to figure.