PrinceLet it be known that while this year has been an good one on a personal level, 2016 will forever be the year marked as  when fate had a hard on for smiting good and classic artistry. It would seem so many of the artists from both music and film that we have cherished so dearly, that would appear  so eternal through their work would be plucked from us unceremoniously. Ranging from David Bowie all the way back in January to the extremely recent passing of His Royal Badness Prince, this is the year the arts have suffered hit after hit as we scramble to process the loss of so many unique luminaries in the fields of music and movies. I mean look at this list….

David Bowie

Angus Scrimm (from 80s horror series Phantasm)

Alan Rickman

Glen Frey (guitarist for The Eagles)

Abe Vigoda

Maurice White (Earth, Wind and Fire)

Dave Mirra (Bmx enthusiast)

Harper Lee (author of To Kill A Mockingbird)

Tony Burton (Apollo Creeds trainer from the Rocky series)

Tony Dyson (designer of R2-D2)

Garry Shandling

Lemmy Kilmister (Front man of Motorhead)

Erik Bakersfield(Admiral Ackbar himself)

Merle Haggard

Joanie “Chyna” Laurer

Doris Roberts


I dare you to read over that list and not feel a twinge of sadness permeating throughout your emotional core. So many of these talented men and women have left indelible marks on what we view as quality entertainment. These are people we just as quickly assumed would be around forever and ever because they are the Titans of their chosen fields. Crafting characters and composing songs that loom large over everything that has come before and will come after.

I get there will be a certain collective of people that don’t understand why we  mourn the passing of celebrities that we’ve never actually met, but I wager to guess there’s a very good reason why we do. It is through their craft that we often find our own identities. Whether you listen to Space Oddity or Little Red Corvette and find that those words speak to you in the moment with which you find yourself in life. Or watching people breath life to a fictional character that in many ways exemplified your own personality quirks and flaws. When celebrities and artists pass away, we mourn and are riddled with sadness because even though we didn’t create the art, we are the vessels with which the memory will live on long after their corporeal bodies have expired. A lot of times we struggle to find the proper ways to express ourselves. Not everybody can be gifted with the ability to convey to the outside world the emotions and feelings that dwell within. So rather than strain to create something ourselves, those people seek solace in the art of others. A song in a recording studio  or performance in a movie created on a million dollar sound stage can take on a huge emotional significance to the right person. So when that particular artist dies and is no long able to create the art that has allowed us to seek refuge in the most emotionally rocky of times… we lose a bit of ourselves in the process. Despite these works being created and mass marketed to the widest possible audience, they still remain deeply personal to some and that’s why loss on any level whether it be a relative or someone who has inspired you on an artistic/emotional level is always going to be tough to deal with.

That’s why I’m convinced whatever ethereal energy that governs our planet really must love hate fucking the shit out of our emotions right now. To see so many pillars of the community of the arts to crumble and fall in such a short period of time is very disheartening. Sure these bastions of good music and film will forever live on in memory of what they’ve left behind, but knowing that we will no longer be able to create new memories or have them guide us through the myriad of new problems that we face every day. That makes this a truly dark day indeed.

2016… You can officially go fuck yourself with a poison filled cactus… Sans lube

About the author

Brodie Mann

I suppose my story begins(as most do) on the day of my birth. I mean, i’d like to sit here and tell you about the ticker tape parade that was thrown in my honor, or that my being vaginally farted into the world signaled a time of unbridled peace and love throughout the galaxy, but i will do my best to try and be humble about my epic origins. Truth is my real origin is as ordinary as apple pie. I was hobbled together from various body parts of criminals on death row who opted to be organ donors. I suppose you could say I’m the Bizarro six million dollar man (but judging by my appearance you couldn’t tell they spent more than a few shillings on me).

In between being chased by townsfolk with pitchforks and torches opposed to the “abomination” of my existence i have developed a passion for writing. The only thing that can match such lofty desires would be a lifelong passion for film. I mean I’m quite nerdy about lots of things (video games, comic books, music, etc…) but cinema in all its shiny golden splendor has captured my attention more than anything else. It’s something I try to share with the world at large, as much as possible. I figure if i can find the magic in such things, maybe i can help others do so as well.

I’ve written quite a few poems(mostly about my first few years as a dime store knockoff Mary Shelly creation) but have stuck to mostly movie reviews. I am quite elated to be able to relate my thoughts and opinions on all things film with those who take the time to read them. I hope to have a positive impact here on the site and am looking forward to not only working with the staff currently in place but being able to reach a wider audience as well.

P.S. If some of my work comes off a bit sloppy and meandering, its just because the doctor responsible for the stitch job on my cranial cavity didn’t do that great job and my brain has fallen out of the hole in my head they used to pump blood into. Cheers Mates!!