This fascinating article from The Atlantic is on a study Harvard did about what makes us happy. Starting in the 1940s, researchers followed over two hundred Harvard students throughout their lives to see where —and why — they succeeded or failed. Some became old and content, others diedin a gutter of alcoholism. Definitely worth a read.

From the Wikipedia Page:

Achewood is a webcomic created by Chris Onstad in 2001. It portrays the lives of a group of anthropomorphic stuffed toys, robots, and pets. Many of the characters live together in the home of their owner, Chris, at the fictional address of 62 Achewood Court. Another address used in the strip is 11 Via Verde, the home of main character Ray. The events of the strip mostly take place in and around the house, as well as around the town of Achewood, the fictional suburb which gives its name to the comic.

“The comic’s humor is most often absurdist, generally lacking a set punch line, and sometimes branches into the surreal.^[2] The world of the strip is expansive, featuring many major and minor characters with detailed backstories, and often references previous events, making it an ongoing narrative. The most frequently used font in the strip is Blue Highway, which does not have any italic characters. As Onstad is a food and cooking enthusiast,^[3] many Achewood strips contain some reference to food or drink.

Album of the Day: Robyn Hitchcock’s I Often Dream of Trains.

In case you’ve never heard of it, this hilarious website features stock illustrations (ranging from Victorian characters to modern day cubicle workers) that are used in unexpected ways.

Videogum, John Hodgman’s Legendary Speech On Nerd Rights

Band of the Day: The Go-Betweens.

Friday the 13th was released into theaters last week, a “re-imagining” of the slasher film series starring masked killer Jason Voorhees. Michael Bay’s Platinum Dunes studio, which produced the film, specializes in remakes of horror classics like The Hills Have Eyes and the upcoming A Nightmare on Elm Street. The new Friday’s director, Marcus Nispel, directed the remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre that kick-started the trend back in 2003. Does Hollywood really have no more original horror stories to tell?

Friday the 13th, released in 1980, wasn’t that original to begin with - John Carpenter’s Halloween predates it by two years (and was, at the time, the most successful independent film ever released). Sean Cunningham, the director of Part One, is unapologetic in interviews about ripping off Halloween’s formula in a bid to replicate its box office: POV shots from the killer’s eyes abound, building up the tension for several minutes until the pay-off. Part of the film’s success lies in its score, composed by Harry Manfredini; his “Ki Ki Ki - Ma Ma Ma” sounds ratcheted up the suspense, signaling that somebody was about to die. The film’s gore, tame now, was shocking upon its release. Filmed on a budget of $500,000, the first Friday ended up grossing $60 million worldwide.

Within pop culture, a Friday the 13th film follows a set formula: Horny campers go to Camp Crystal Lake (an unspecified location on the East Coast, though the original was filmed in New Jersey). The teens engage in all manner of drinking, drugs, and premarital sex. Masked killer Jason disapproves of these acts, showing his disgust by chopping said campers up with his machete, improvised weapons, or his bare hands. A “Final Girl”, who hasn’t had sex during the film, defeats Jason and lives another day. Cunningham has stated that the “Bad Kids Die First” idea was not intentional, but it has since become a slasher film standard.

Interestingly, the Friday films don’t follow their own formula all that well. Parts One and Five don’t even have Jason in them, and his iconic hockey mask doesn’t show up until the end of Part 3 (in 3-D!). The original does feature horny camp counselors (including a young Kevin Bacon) getting killed off gruesomely - an axe through the head, a fishing pole through the neck, and a slit throat are included. But the killer is actually Jason’s mother, who is revealed at the end, then swiftly decapitated. Part Two does introduce Jason as the villian, but he has an odd “Psycho Farmer” look with overalls and a pillow sack covering his head.

I recently watched all of the films in the Friday franchise within the span of a week. The first nine are an interesting capsule of the decade. Starting in 1980, there was a Friday film every year through 1986; The series resumed in 1988, and finished out the decade with Jason Takes Manhattan in 1989. The relatively tame narcotics of the first few installments ((beer and weed) are replaced by cocaine (and, at one point, a heroin needle) in the later films. The victim’s hairstyles morph too, from modest crew cuts to big, teased out hair. When Jason dispatches a girl by whacking her with a Flying-V guitar, one begins to miss the killer’s simpler, machete-filled beginnings.

It’s easy to dismiss all the films as crappy B-movies, but there are noticeable differences in quality between the installments. Parts One & Two have almost believable characters and dialogue. The “Final Girl” of Part Two even delivers a monologue that attempts to understand Jason’s reasoning behind his murders. Part Three’s use of 3-D is hilariously corny - various objects are strutted out in front of the camera for no reason, including a broomstick, yo-yo, and one unfortunate victim’s eyeball. Part Four has early roles by both Corey Feldman and Crispin Glover (who has one of the series’ most grisly deaths with a corkscrew/machete to the face combo).

Jason Lives, the seventh installment, is the most self-referential of the series: Jason is resurrected with a lightning bolt a la Frankenstein, and his kills are extremely over-the-top. At one point, a character looks straight at the camera and knowingly states, “Some folks have a strange idea of entertainment.”

In the documentary His Name Is Jason, which chronicles the series’ history, Cunningham attempts to explain the series’ longevity. “I wanted to exploit the fear that young adults have of dying,” he says. “At the age of twenty, someone always has a friend that dies in a car accident and makes you think about your own mortality.” What if your life was cut short by a random madman?

Horror films get remade because, at their core, they’re all the same story. As humans, when we die is mostly out of our control. Taking that idea and stretching it to its extreme, that a mysterious killer would off us with no reason or prejudice, is terrifying. We’re entertained by cheap scares and creepy ambience, but in a world with serial killers there is the realization that this stuff can actually happen. As long as that fear is there, Jason will be too.

Sixteen years ago, director Henry Selick had his first full-length stop-motion animation film released. That movie -The Nightmare Before Christmas - became an instant success and a full-fledged franchise for Disney. Tim Burton’s name is synonymous with Nightmare, while Selick’s renown lies with animation and film enthusiasts. While Burton contributed a story credit and some character designs, his role paled in comparison to Selick’s, who oversaw the entire production and shaped its now-iconic imagery. Now, Selick finally gets his due with Coraline, a breathtaking fantasy tale that brings a new classic to the genre.

Based on the novella by fantasy author Neil Gaiman, the film follows Coraline Jones (Dakota Fanning), a plucky young girl who moves into an old boarding house with her constantly busy parents (Teri Hatcher and John Hodgman). Writers at the end of a deadline for their garden catalog, Caroline’s parents task her with exploring their new home to keep her busy and out of their hair.

Coraline finds that the residents of the duplex are a little odd: Miss Spink and Miss Forcible (Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French), the basement dwellers, are former burlesque dancers who now spend their time among their many Scottish Terriers (the ones that die get stuffed and dressed like angels). In the attic lives Mr. Bobinsky (Ian McShane), a thick-accented, blue-skinned Russian man who trains mice as circus performers. Coraline also meets a boy named Wybie (Robert Bailey Jr.), a hunchback who lives down the road with his grandmother. He tells her that he is banned from the boarding house; his grandmother’s twin sister went missing there decades earlier. Wybie gives Coraline a doll he found, one that eerily features her exact likeness.

Soon afterward, Coraline discovers a small door in her living room that is bricked up. At night, however, the bricks are gone, and a small hallway leads her to a world almost identical to her own. There, Coraline’s “Other Mother” and “Other Father” are always attentive, giving her gifts and desserts. Her ‘Other Father’ has a piano with robotic arms and belts out a song (sung by They Might Be Giants). She gets the clothes her mother refuses to buy her in her normal life and her toys have sprung to life.

Everything there seems to be perfect. There’s only one catch: everyone has black buttons for eyes, and Coraline needs them too if she wants to stay. When she refuses, the “Other Mother” turns nasty. Coraline isn’t allowed to leave, and the Other Mother takes her real parents hostage.  A talking cat (Keith David) knows all the Mother’s dirty tricks and tries to help the young heroine escape the now-nightmarish world. The film’s imagery may be too disturbing for young children, but the message is more haunting: What do you do when your parents disappear?

Selick treats everything like a live-action production, using elaborate cinematography (shadows dance and flicker off the walls) and lavish set design. The dreary color palette and downcast skies of reality give way to a lush and magical world on the other side of the door. Coraline’s room is now awash in deep purple and her kitchen is warmly lit in an orange glow. An entire garden blooms in the shape of Coraline’s face (with pumpkins for eyes) while her “Other Father” rides around on a mechanical grasshopper. Miss Spink and Miss Forcible put on the burlesque shows of their youth while their dogs watch rapturously. In Mr. Bobinsky’s flat, circus mice perform, in an amazing sequence involving more than thirty synchronized figures on screen at once.

When one considers that each frame was moved by hand, the level of detail is even more astounding. The animation process involves painstaking frame-by-frame camera shots using moveable puppets. When played back at film speed, they spring to life, providing a level of immersion impossible with CGI. Selick has said that the animation is intentionally imperfect - the jerky movements distinguish the characters as real objects, as opposed to computer creations.

The film was specifically shot with 3-D cameras in mind and the effect is a subtle and unobtrusive one. While most 3-D movies have various objects flying towards the audience, Coraline features no such gimmicky imagery (save for a quick indulgence in the opening credits). Instead, the effect creates a differentiation of foreground and background that allow the little details Selick creates to shine even more. Each texture on the puppets, from the rippling fur of the cat to a big top circus in the attic, is exquisitely crafted.

French composer Bruno Coulais’ score provides a welcome contrast to Danny Elfman’s music for Nightmare. Coulais’ use of string instruments like the harp and a children’s choir creates a magical and mysterious ambience that is amplified by the 3-D. Coraline takes the viewer and leads you into its bizarre reality. Like a good painting, it is a world worth exploring again and again.