The Krampus Virus

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 We didn’t have to put on a show. We could’ve done this under the radar, but we didn’t. We did this for you. We wanted you to know that you had the power. The ability, to make your own decisions. We wanted you to do more then just throw things at them. That’s childish and petty. We wanted to give you the chance to do something amazing. Just remember, this one’s for you.

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 Before us is a large decadent apartment living room, in the centre of which is a queen-sized bed with purple satin sheets. The walls are a neutral gray and dotted with various expensive looking pictures. The fourth wall, through which the audience can peek into the unfolding scene, is invisible and indicated by the wall-line on the floor. There are two light sources. A dim yellow one, emanating from the bedside lamp. The second comes from an active laptop. This white/blue light bleeds in from the right hand side of the apartment. In the very background there are two large windows that are draped with red curtains. Upon the bed sit two people. They are bound and gagged and do not speak, but they have a look of pleading panic in their eyes. Three more people occupy the apartment. One, NICHOLAS, paces the room, periodically peering out of the window at something behind the stage. CHARLIE sits by the second source of light and spends most of his time interacting with the computer. RILEY, desperately trying to hide a twitch in his left leg, holds the gun, aimed at the two bound hostages. At certain intervals a third light source appears, this time pouring in through the curtained windows, whenever NICHOLAS decides to peak at something off stage. CHARLIE, NICHOLAS and RILEY are all wearing devil costumes, reminiscent of the folkloric creature Krampus.

CHARLIE [excited]: Alright, we’re just about to hit twenty thousand people. Can you believe that? TWENTY! We’re doing some serious damage here.

NICHOLAS [turning to CHARLIE]: What about the code? It's not overriding itself is it?

CHARLIE: Nah, we're good. It’s cracked most of the bank accounts. Over twenty thousand people are getting an early Christmas present.

RILEY [in a hoarse, dead voice]: Ho Ho Ho.

NICHOLAS [looking worriedly at CHARLIE, turns and put a hand on RILEY’S shoulder]: You okay man?

RILEY [brushing NICHOLAS off]: Yeah, I’m good man. I’m chill.

VOICE FROM BEHIND THE CURTAINED WINDOWS [person is using a megaphone]: Alright! You’ve made your point. There’s no need for the hostages to get hurt. Talk to us, and we can figure something out.

NICHOLAS [to the room]: Woah! It looks like every cop in town is out there. [to CHARLIE] How long do you think before the negotiator gets here? I wanna agree upon a trial date. No jury of our peers is gonna find us guilty. Especially after what we did for them.

CHARLIE: Haven't got a clue. Hopefully soon. Sounds rowdy out there. Hope the cops don't take matters into their own hands. [more excited] Jeez, this viewer count is going up like crazy. [turning to NICHOLAS] Wanna say something?

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Even though she really needed to go to the bathroom, she just couldn’t leave her seat. She felt that if she moved, even just for a moment, she would miss something really important. Another devil addressed the audience now. It seemed as though his speech was just for her. She could hear a poor attempt at whispering behind her and quickly turned and shushed them. The devil spoke of rebelling, of taking back the power they had lost. His words made her feel as though she was part of something big. She had pressed the .exe after watching the show for about five minutes. There was something about these people that made her trust them. She hadn't had time to check her account, but she had a feeling she knew what to expect. Looking around her dingy apartment, she was happy that for once, she could have a proper Christmas. No more taking money from her Mom. No more 14 hour shifts. This show was going to change her life. And then the cops burst in and the video feed went dead.

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 Before us is the inside of a police van. The steel walls exhuberate a sense of dominance and the enclosed area gives off a feeling of claustrophobia. The doors are invisible and indicated by the wall-line on the floor. CHARLIE and NICHOLAS sit in chains with their masks off. Two guards sit opposite them, faceless, due to their visored helmets. RILEY has exited stage left.

CHARLIE [in between sobs]: Why didn’t he let go? Why? Why? Why? [at the guards] He wasn’t going to do anything!

NICHOLAS [trying to comfort CHARLIE]: Come on man. We all knew the risks. Come on lover, don’t cry.

CHARLIE [inconsolable]: That...doesn't change the f...fact. He..he would never…

NICHOLAS: Please, just...We knew what was going to happen. We were both afraid that Riley would…

CHARLIE [yelling at NICHOLAS]: Now!? You bring that up now?! You know what…

GUARD: Quiet!

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There was something about the ending, that made the whole thing sour. It felt like it wasn’t the ending that it was building up to. It all felt wrong. She did end up getting what she needed. Everyone did. All the people who executed the Krampus virus got what they were promised. But even though the virus had hit most of the major banks, once the wealth was spread around and most business’ adjusted the prices of their products, not much had changed. The show promised her a utopia, a fairytale land. Instead, once it was over, she returned to reality.  

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 Before us is the interior of a prison cell. The walls are drab and inspire dark thoughts, more than those of rehabilitation. The cell door is indicated by the wall-line, which is transparent. Any action that occurs on the foreground, in front of the cell-line is the characters inner monologue. CHARLIE sits in the cell alone. NICHOLAS has exited stage left.

[CHARLIE silently sits in his cell for a few moments before standing up and crossing the cell-line into the foreground]

CHARLIE: We wanted to help. Nicholas said that if we turned it into a show, then more people would be interested. Both Riley and I agreed. We wanted people to stand up for themselves. I just wanted to help., but then they both started to talk about taking hostages...and guns. The guns weren’t even real. I hate guns. But Nicholas...he had a way with words. Riley was gun-ho, from the start. He couldn’t wait to make a scene, show off to everybody that he had what it took. He was a wreck when we all got there. I still thank god that the guns were fakes. Those first few minutes were terrifying. I thought that we would have to subdue him. We would’ve never managed to send the virus to so many people, but he got under control. Nicholas helped him ease up, and I believed the lie. I thought everything was going to be okay, and now they say that the codes have been expunged from most of the systems. That it was all for nothing. When Nicholas got the news. I thought someone had punched him. However, in the end, he didn’t care anymore. We had dedicated years to this idea. And it was all gone. We were streaming it out live. We tricked ourselves into thinking it was a movie. People don’t die in movies. They come back at the last second for dramatic effects. All those people we streamed it out to. Most of them are here with me, waiting on a verdict. But mine is in. Oh, Nicholas...I’m so sorry. I loved you, so much. But I couldn’t help you when you needed me most. That’s what still bothers me. That’s why I can’t sleep. I can hear them coming. The curtains are closing.

[Two GUARDS come inside and bring CHARLIE up to his feet. He complies and follows them and exits stage left]

CURTAIN

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In what seems to be a modern day spin on the Robin Hood legend, a gang of three hackers; consisting of Nicholas Haines (32), Charlie Skinner (28) and Riley Beckett (37), now commonly known as the Krampus trio, attempted to unleash a virus to the masses which would hack into the the central bank accounts and transfer funds from the rich to the poor. In an attempt to bring their cause to the publics attention, the gang took billionaire Robert Wayne (55) and his wife Stacy Wayne-Kyle (54) hostage. They had even set-up webcams and were at one point streaming to more than twenty-five thousand viewers. Over thirty-five thousand activated the virus. Due to the hard work of the FBI, the virus led the authorities to over half the locations where the program was used. Most are now in police custody awaiting trial, in their respective countries. The original trio of hackers are now all dead, the last surviving one received the death penalty two days ago. With the market returning to normal and banks now, more than ever, focusing on electronic protection, economists predict that the year to follow will be business as usual and not to expect any further shake-ups like the one we have seen this past month.

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Andrew J. Buring

Watch

The old house creaked and groaned. Agony was not a new feeling; the dwelling had lived a long and hard life, full of pain and misery. But sadness was. It would never feel the patter of human feet on its worn skin again. Never feel the ecstasy of a crack or corner being repaired. The fire would see to that. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. That was their lot in existence. The occupants had gone into the city nearby. The only ones who would watch the house burn were the bodies that were hung all around the house. They watched with undying eyes as floor after floor crashed into one another with such speed that an outsider may believe that they were racing. The never-rotting cadavers stared unblinkingly as a maw opened up above them and spat out the contents of a child's room; markers denoting gender now reduced to ash. The decrepit house buckled and wheezed, down on its last knee. Some of the strings snapped, carcasses falling to the floor. Others still hung as the flames ate away at them. The oldest lasted the longest, watching with eyes that both stared at a single point and followed a man across the room, as their relations were felled by the fire. The flames crackled and spat as they raced towards the progenitors. The string snapped. The frame broke. The glass cracked. The portrait burned. And the house fell, finally burying them all.

Andrew J. Buring

A Coyote on the Streets of Los Angeles: A "Nightcrawler" Review

Do not be deceived. Under all that, Lou Bloom is an animal.

Dan Gilroy’s 2014 neo-noir film Nightcrawler is a critical look at contemporary American news through the camera lens of lead character Louis Bloom, played by Jake Gyllenhaal. Joining Gyllenhaal on the ride through the lamp-lit streets of Los Angeles on the hunt for the city’s worst moments is British actor Riz Ahmed playing the role of unpaid intern Rick Carey. On the receiving end of Bloom’s nightmare footage is news director Nina Romina portrayed by the deadly Rene Russo. Rounding out the cast is Bill “Game Over Man” Paxton as a competing nightcrawler and the first piece of real meat for Lou to sink his teeth into.

The movie immediately sets the mood, with still, yet haunting, shots of a Los Angeles evening, setting a stage we would see throughout most of the film. Gilroy’s script does an equally apt job introducing Gyllenhaal’s character and instantly informing the audience that there is something off about him. From his first interaction with another character to his later business dealings, Louis Bloom is quickly set up as a sleazy and slightly off-kilter being who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer too easily. Gyllenhaal’s performance is enhanced by a near unblinking gaze, which after a while becomes greatly unnerving. The actor adapts a stare that is both dead eyed and yet hints at a viciousness that comes out in the way he speaks and operates. The saying that a man’s soul resides in his eyes is very true in this case, since as the plot progresses, and the audience stares into Bloom’s eyes a bit longer, a sort of understanding of who this character is, and the terrifying lengths that he will go to, is born.

Complimenting Bloom is Nina Romina, the woman to whom Bloom sells most of his footage into the ratings-driven, fear mongering nature of local news. At one point, she explains to Bloom that what she is after the ‘woman, screaming and on fire with a slit throat’s variety of footage. Russo does an amazing job portraying someone who has a deeper understanding of Bloom and often either complements or hinders him in his progress.

The story is a basic rags-to-riches tale and mostly serves as a sort of Petri dish, throwing in different situations and adversities and then sitting back and seeing just how each of the characters, with a specific focus on Lou Bloom, deals with the presented situation, both physically and morally. In fact, some of the most interesting and tense moments come from the way Bloom operates at a crime scene and his reactions to the gruesome things around him.

Overall, while all the cast members do an amazing job and the satire often hits the mark, a rare feat in some cases, it is Gyllenhaal’s performance that elevates the movie and enables it to stand apart from everything else within the genre.

-          Andrew J. Buring, Esq.

A Writing of a Reading

A chance to not only read great writing, but to have it read to you by the author is a great privilege. Many say that hearing the author read his/her own work often reveals something that had previously been hidden within the bowels of the text. On the 30th of May I had the opportunity to experience one such reading. Held in the library of the Anglo-American University and hosted by Stephan Delbos, the reading was comprised of; Diane Simmons, with her ‘Starry Night‘ short story, and a plethora of Burt Kimmelman’s poems, picked out at random, though with a certain bird feeder theme slowly emerging as the night slithered on. Accompanying these fine writers were Magdalena Císlerová and Jan Zikmund who acted as their translators.

photo credits: Anna Hupcejova

The evening started off with some light conversation and mingling around a buffet table laden with snacks and wine. Once everybody had arrived, we were ushered into the next room by Mr. Delbos, who proceeded to introduce our first speaker, Diane Simmons and Magda Císlerová. Her story followed a young woman who had arrived at an unmarked bar, only those ‘in the know’ were aware of. Waiting for her friend, she seats herself in one of the booths and becomes a fly on the wall, listening to the woes of a nearby table, where a woman is slowly spilling her guts about her new fling, the never revealed high ranking politician. Once Kim, her friend, arrives the narrative switches focus to Kim’s life story and how she had finally persuaded her lover to leave his wife. Having mixed whiskey and expensive champagne together, the protagonist becomes rather intoxicated and after taking a short bathroom break returns to see her friend has left her alone once more. The story was laced with dark humour and sharp jabs at the, at times ridiculous, New York lifestyle. Simmons’ story was punctuated by her translator, and while she did not put as much emotion into her words as the writer did, she did a fine job interpreting the author’s words.

photo credits: Anna Hupcejova

We then took a short break, with several of the viewers going over to personally thank Ms. Simmons for her thoroughly enjoyable reading. During the break, everyone filled their cups with their personal choice of poison and debated to what degree they liked the story. Following that, we were treated to several of Burt Kimmelman’s poems, most of which were taken from one of his most recent collections Gradually The World. His poems ranged from things he discovered during his travels, to birds and their everyday lives, to poems of loss and finally to the paintings of Monet.  While at times short, each set of verses had an emotional punch to them and often left the audience mesmerized and contemplating their words. Assisting him was Jan Zikmund who helped translate two of his poems and offer an interesting insight and academic view of the poets work.

            As the evening slowly wound down, everybody left the library and spread out into the city with the words of the two authors now wriggling inside our brains, trying to find a place they could call home.

Andrew J. Buring

Glances

When one takes the bus going to and fro, one often has a chance to meet a couple of rather interesting people. Once, a rather cute girl sat opposite me and gave me a hey-good-looking kind of look. Surprised that she took an interest in me, I responded with a you're-pretty-good-looking-yourself-what's-up glance, before staring out the window, playing hard to get. Looking back after a while, I saw she was gazing at me with a you-know-if-you-ask-me-to-go-get-a-drink-with-you-I'd-probably-say-yes air about her.

Before I could say anything, the bus stopped and in walked a woman who left nothing to the imagination. I quickly glanced at her with a nonchalant air of I'm-gonna-check-this-girl-out-and-then-hope-that-the-other-girl-didn't-notice-me, before turning back to the girl sitting opposite me. Judging by the oh-I-saw-you-check-that-girl-out-what-you-don't-think-I'm-good-enough-for-you stink eye that she was giving me, I knew I was in the dog house. A couple stops later finally I managed to catch her eye and tried my best sad, puppy dog please-take-me-back-I-swear-that-it-was-only-that-one-time-I'll-be-completely-loyal-to-you-from-now-on eyes.

Thankfully, those did the trick. We spent the rest of the trip throwing looks at each other, madly in love. She gave me an inquisitive do-you-want-children look, to which I replied with a sure-babe-whatever-will-make-you-happy. However, when she gave me a oh-we'll-have-to-get-babysitter-since-we'll-both-be-super-busy roll of the eyes, I was forced to react with a sharp wait-I'm-not-leaving-our-kid-with-some-random-stranger-you're gonna-stay-home-and-watch-the-child glare. The moment I did this, I knew I was in trouble. She shot me a well-if-you're-going-to-be-this-way-then-I'll-start-to-resent-you-and-after-a-while-I'd-kill-you-in-your-sleep-and-feast-on-your-genitalia look and then got up and left.

The old woman who had been sitting next to me and silently watching us look at each other turned, and gave me a you-know-if-she's-not-into-you-I'm-sure-I'd-count-as-a-mature-maybe-even-a-MILF-if-your-standards-are-low-enough kind of look. I got off the bus at the next stop, deciding that it would be better for my health if I walked.

Andrew J. Buring