California Inferno

California, land of outrageous special effects spectacles, does not require great imagination, though it certainly seems to abound in the stuff. No, reality supplies plenty enough for starters.

Friday evening a couple of the big rigs that are such an irritatingly common sight on the highways and byways of this great nation collided. Not content with colliding, they did so in a tunnel traversing a mountain pass. In the brief eighth of a mile during which they were out of the gently falling rain, they managed to instigate a domino effect. By the time they were done, the visuals were pretty spectacular, along the order of the original Terminator movie, complete with flames shooting out of both ends of the tunnel and a lovely smog cloud blanketing the adjoining valleys to this day.

When I watch Hollywood spectacles, I often forget what it is to live in Southern California. Life during the brief two years I spent there was much like living inside a movie, with the daily news pretty much like that. The question was never whether or not anyone had been shot but rather how many had been shot. The question was whether the shooting was a drive-by or stationary. The question was how many millions of dollars in damage had been done. The question was how long the flames would burn and how many hundreds of firefighters and rescue workers were involved. The answers were more along the order of research for future reference rather than asked with any sense of awe or wonder in the more traditional senses.

Now that I'm back in the land of eternal liquid sunshine, my sense of normalcy is readjusting. Here the normal freeway speed is 35 m.p.h., with mainland drivers sticking out like sore thumbs as they tear out their hair and wait for fingernail polish or paint to dry. Here the Thunderbirds perform one week, the Blue Angels vie for attention the next. The military presence here is a palpable reality with fireworks and infernos something from which they seek rest, not reminders. The question is not military or civilian, but rather, which branch of the military? Here the concern is whether or not a proposed interisland ferry service will jeopardize the whale population, as opposed to Southern Cal's concern over potential traffic snarls because the I-5 has been lit up by the "lifeblood of the nation", i.e. trucks.

So - fire or water? rain or snow? heat or cold? heating or air-conditioning? trucks or boats (or airplanes)? fruit or vegetables? potatoes or rice?

But it's not a world of dualities, so I'll take noodles, thank you very much, and you can keep your flames and your quakes and your politics and and and ...

I think I need some lunch.

Caregiving

Recently I've been watching Clint Eastwood's recently released trilogy of WWII films, specifically the first two: Flags of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima. I'll go into detail about the films in another post, but for now I merely mention the fact because reflections on a character in the latter film, Saigo, made me realize something about how I'm spending my life right now.

A caregiver is like a baseball outfielder or a soccer (football) goalie in an essential way: when things are going well, life is easy and the workload is light. Life is, in fact, more of a spectator sport than a heated fray. When the action gets serious, however, the caregiver, like the outfielder and the goalie, is the last line of defense and, therefore, the most vital in the moment. There are gathered the greatest forces, there is required the greatest effort, there is the most to win or lose. Everyone else on the playing field has had their shot. If the ball gets past the last defender, it becomes the province of the world at large, moving on to a higher plane (the upper decks of the bleachers, as it were), and is no longer in the hands of the players.

When all is said and done, a caregiver can win a few, lose a few, but ultimately the ball will leave the field. That's just the way the game goes. In a game of inches, it's just a matter of paying attention at the right moments - or not; and sometimes it's just out of your hands, and there's nothing you can or could have done to make a difference. It is what it is.

(Does anyone know who said that last line recently to popularize its use?)

Fact-Based

My mother passed away in February 2001. We buried her on the 16th. Two days later a story broke in the news about the arrest of a man who had been a mole in the Intelligence community for over two decades. I vaguely remember something about the incident, but evidently my attention was elsewhere at the time.

Recently I was abruptly reminded of that period in my life in the oddest way: the date struck me as I was watching the dvd of the recently released film, Breach, starring Chris Cooper, Ryan Phillippe. Laura Linney, Gary Cole, and Dennis Haysbert, among others. The casting alone would have caught my attention. In fact, I do believe that the cast was the reason I initially borrowed the dvd, and I was not misled, as has been the case on other occasions.

I love pretty much anything and everything Chris Cooper does. He has the same kind of quiet presence that David Strathairn has, or perhaps it is simply that both gentlemen never cease to surprise, impress, delight, and challenge my thinking with the roles they play. In this film, Cooper plays a man we, the audience, know to be a consummate liar and national traitor, yet he manages to convey an innate dignity and worthiness that incites admiration while simultaneously managing to emanate a sense of creepiness. As we come to understand the depths of his depravity and treachery, the camera progressively reveals his clay feet. You can see Cooper's character getting increasingly wound up and distrustful, even as he wants desperately to believe that the relatively naive young man in his outer office is simple and trustworthy. I found watching his descent riveting.

Ryan Phillippe, on the other hand, has often left me cold in the past, Crash notwithstanding. This time I found him very effective as the ambitious younger employee bucking for agent status. Ironically, whereas I have generally found him to be too arrogant to be able to contain himself, this time he was almost too capable of subsuming his ambitions in service of the Greater Good. Overall, however, I found his moral dilemma sufficiently engaging for my viewing satisfaction.

Laura Linney can do no wrong, at least on screen. I don't know that it is so much perfect casting as just another superlative performance from an extremely talented and intelligent artist. Whichever is the case, Linney delivers as Phillippe's dedicated superior and supervisor in the sting operation for which the latter is recruited. I particularly like the editorial choice to leave her softer scenes on the cutting room floor, (or at least relegated to the "Alternate" and "Deleted" dvd offerings). Her character makes the most sense as a stern, no-nonsense agent whose dedication to her work is not overwhelmed by overzealousness or undue earnestness, yet who manages to convey all of that in a way that is palatable, or at least free from the more customary gag-inducing reflex.

And who doesn't have the protagonist's reaction when Dennis Haysbert appears on-screen? He doesn't have to be there long to project that ineffable presence. 'Nuff said.

Now, one of the things I really enjoy about today's dvds is the supplementary materials. I was fascinated to see the real Eric O'Neill and to learn that, contrary to the claim at the end of the film that he has been working in the D.C. area as a lawyer, he has, in fact, been shopping the narrative of his adventure around Hollywood for some time now. Phillippe's characterization was surely much more troubled by excessive earnestness than the original on which it is based, yet one might also pass off the bounciness of said original (O'Neill) to the euphoria that must surely accompany the completion at long last of bringing to life on-screen such a life-changing experience.

As I feel my language control to be fairly nonexistent today, I shall stop here... for now...

Odd Juxtaposition

Continuing my vidding kick, I've just been taking films in the order they arrive at the house. Recently this created a very curious sequence, much like catching a double- or tripleheader at the local plex might do.

Wild Hogs

This is a movie featuring four established actors supported by equally identifiable supporting performers. The result is better than the unexpected casting initially suggested when I first watched the previews for this film in theaters.

Tim Allen, Martin Lawrence, William H. Macy, and John Travolta play four mid-life suburbanites facing standard mid-life crises.

Allen is a dentist who has somehow lost the spontaneous edge that once made him "the Golden Knight" in his now long gone college days. Being married to Jill Hennessy, who looks like an only slightly older, more relaxed version of her Law-n-Order Claire character, doesn't help him. His son clearly thinks his father is a stodgy old man; consequently, the lad prefers to play hoops with his friend's father, who can dunk. His wife practically has to kick him out of the house to take the time off to go on the proposed road trip. The payoff, of course, is that he regains his self-esteem and wins his son's regard in the process. Unfortunately, all that esteem comes from getting into a fight with biker toughs. Entertaining as it is, I'm not sure that's a message that children in search of role models really need to receive.

Lawrence is an aspiring writer who has taken a year off from plumbing. Now that his year is up, his wife wants him back on the job. Clearly she rules the roost while he commands no respect from either his children or his live-in mother-in-law. His first client, a convenience store clerk, also deems Lawrence's character below himself in the scheme of life. The proposed road trip is a perfect escape for him. Unfortunately, he needs to lie to his wife in order to take it. It does buy him the time to reclaim himself, so that by the time she discovers the truth and comes storming after him, he is able to stand up to her and retake control of his marriage, or so we are led to believe. Unfortunately, this is probably the weakest of the narrative threads, even as Lawrence's character has some of the best sight gags. The intended message is that a man who can stand up to bikers should be able to stand up to one shrill shrew of a wife. That's not a great message.

William H. Macy's character walks a fine line between the kind of person mass media has taught us to fear and the kind we love to mock: he is a computer geek afraid of human intercourse, except with his suburban biker buddies. Macy plays his geek ingenuously, keeping the innocence and naivety clearly front and center and avoiding all but one suggestion of the online predator, which is intentionally played for laughs. His reward in the end is that he gets Marisa Tomei and masters his bike sufficiently to appreciate the bikini-clad beauties of Southern California while his friends finally fall down.

John Travolta has been cast in far more heroic roles than his fellow castmates. It is therefore no surprise that he is cast as the nominal leader of the group at the beginning of the film, or at least as the instigator of the road trip, though the audience is also presented with a clear view of his character's clay feet as well. This man who seems to have everything - a successful business and a supermodel wife - is actually bankrupt in the wake of his wife's departure and divorce. There is a lovely symmetry in watching this character's descent and dissolution as Macy's character grows into belated manhood. Reasonably, these are the two actors better known for their dramatic turns than their comedic roles, though they clearly do both with equal facility.

This film is an unqualified success at entertaining. The pace is excellent, the music fits like a comfortable old glove, and the faces are of old friends. Stephen Tobolowsky and John C. McGinley as the sheriff and highway patrolman respectively are familiar faces, if not names. For fans of Mystery, Alaska, Kevin Durand is a pleasant sighting, (though his resume reflects more television series work than film work).

As villains go, Ray Liotta plays this one a bit too flatly and heavy-handedly for my taste. He has shown much finer layers in some of his other work, but that may simply be a consequence of this script. There really isn't much room for him to demonstrate layers; he is simply asked to be a stock villain against whom the others may flail. Unfortunately, when he does finally get a chance to do some texturing, he doesn't. Ah well...

At least he gets to call one of the original Wild Ones, Peter Fonda, dad.

There is an ongoing homophobic riff throughout the film, overtly with McGinley's highway patrolman, less noticeably yet more consistently between Travolta and Macy, with the geek giving evidence of uncomfortable comfort in his own skin that way while the seeming stud is the one who is always squirming away. Again, there's a mixed message that is pervasive throughout the film, widely accepted as the norm in society, and just a little bit disturbing upon reflection.

Apocalypto

Mel Gibson's most recent offering, in contrast, is a very deliberate attempt to convey serious drama amidst the grand epic sweep of the great Mayan civilization in its death throes. It being a Mel movie, however, there are inevitable bits of locker room humor and the occasional nod to homophobia, Mel being an ardent and active espouser of the heterosexual lifestyle as the only sane, noncomedic choice among heroic warriors.

Like Wild Hogs, Gibson's Apocalypto quickly turns into a road trip, though the latter film involves more enforced travel than intentional meandering. Along the way would-be warriors are tested, with only one emerging a mature man by film's end which, coincidentally, also arrives at ocean's edge. Since Apocalypto is intended as a serious film, the failure of companions to meet each test encountered successfully results in death, in contrast to Wild Hogs, where failure merely results in decreased stature until all are equals instead of hierarchically situated.

As Gibson's film is more ambitious, the costumes and sets are much more lavish. The attention to detail alone makes this a film worth watching, despite the fact that sometimes the camera lingers a little too long on sets and scenery for the good of the narrative. Every stratum of society that has been discovered through painstaking research is meticulously depicted through costumes, accessories, body decorations, and assigned societal roles, making acting moot for many of the cast. Unfortunately, the few whose roles actually do require acting in addition to makeup, wardrobe, and placement are not always quite up to the task, a fact detectable despite the exclusive use once again of a language not much in use these days (Mayan). There is, of course, the possibility that I am not quite up to snuff on the topic of the eyes wide open school of acting...

Character-wise, Apocalypto shares with Wild Hogs the presentation of immature men who, through life or death confrontation, progress to a clearer sense of self. One senses, however, that the protagonist of the former film experiences significantly more growth than do the four riders in the latter. Sadly, the protagonist of Apocalypto retreats into the still free forest on the brink of invasion, exploitation, and destruction, whereas the Wild Hogs, who also return to their native habitat, i.e. the suburbs, arguably sustain a new lease on life (though a true cynic might see suburbia as just another beachhead for invasion, exploitation, and destruction of civilization as only an urban dweller can understand it).

One positive that both films share is the depiction of strong women, marginalized though they be in these male-centric narratives. Seven, the very pregnant wife whom Jaguar's Paws, the protagonist of Apocalypto, conceals in a well during the initial attack on the village, proves to be an able and fit mate and mother. Though clearly frightened, she presents a brave front for her young son, Turtle's Run. As the days pass, she finds creative ways to deal with exigencies that arise, from stitching up her son's gash with insects to gathering water for drinking to making a valiant if ultimately futile attempt to climb out of the well. She even manages to stay afloat and give birth amidst a torrential rainstorm while her erstwhile husband is pussyfooting around with deadly killers who have tracked him across two days, a Fugitive-esque waterfall leap, and limb-sucking bogs. What I don't get is why she is still required to wait for her husband to finally rescue her. Of course, this is a Mel movie.

If you're into cool weaponry, this is a great film to watch. In addition to extensive research of existing records, the weapons master who got his start in films working on Gibson's first hit, Braveheart, is back. He incorporates not only what exists in records, but what is plausible based on the materials available. Stone slingshots, obsidian-edged swords, and darts created on the spur of the moment from handy frog venom that are then shot through a giant rolled up leaf are among the weapons at hand. Of course, cool weapons mean creative blood spurting, another trademark of a Mel Gibson epic action film.

Ultimately, these are two films aimed at those interested in getting the testosterone flowing. There are some pretty cool stunts in each between long waits of scenery and narrative. Ostensibly, growth and maturity are achieved. One can always hope.

Finally Got through This Flick

Previews have a way of setting up expectations of what is to come, both in the theater and on tapes and dvds. Such has been the case with this next film. The horrific nature of the majority of previews caused me to postpone the actual viewing of the main feature for much of this week. Violence I can handle; horror not so much. So those previews gave me a funny feeling...

Premonition

Sandra Bullock made a decision not to be the next Julia Roberts, an accusation leveled against her in her early days when Roberts took a brief leave of absence from the limelight, (as she is once again doing now). Bullock's perkiness and willingness to please are, of course, the primary reasons she was so dubbed, along with the vacuum created when Roberts went into seclusion after her abortive engagement to Kiefer Sutherland. (Yes, I know way too much trash trivia for my sanity.) Once Bullock had achieved sufficient acclaim on her own merits, she began to work primarily on less upbeat projects that allowed her to give that million watt smile of hers a well-earned rest. Unfortunately, when she's not smiling, she does glum really really well, even when she's just going for serious. Ah well... She is getting more balanced as she matures...

Bullock is four years older than her co-star, Julian McMahon, son of a former Australian prime minister, and there are shots where she looks it. (As I said earlier, she does glum really well.) That said, the narrative itself is an interesting, if not particularly thought-provoking, piece. It takes its time leisurely unwinding, allowing the viewer to share in Bullock's character's confusion and increasingly conflicted feelings. When the story is finally laid out in its entirety, there is more a sense of relief that the film is over than rejoicing that the mysteries are solved. Hm... that doesn't seem like a good thing, does it? Oh well...

Bullock marries McMahon who buys her a house. Years later we learn that they are a suburban couple with a house, a mortgage, and two kids - what'd we expect? Hm... The setup for his infidelity is not great, while its revelation is fairly standard issue: mistress behind a tree at the outskirts of the burial. Do we still have expectations? The makeup sex is so tastefully suggested that the endshot pregnancy is almost a surprise. almost.

The surprise is a one-stringed affair, an explanation of premonition as presented by a Roman Catholic priest. What else did I expect? ah well...

Yet Another Review

It's been a very peaceful, mellow, blogging and vidding day with nothing but intermittent thunder showers to penetrate my reveries. This next dvd is one that I had eagerly awaited but failed to catch in theaters. Well, that is now rectified.

Fracture

Sir Anthony Hopkins, that knighted British talent whose American roles have been so very gruesome, seems to have hooked up with some of the brightest young talents America has to offer. He first came to my notice in the horror genre when he worked with Jodie Foster in her early adulthood. Since then he has worked with Julianne Moore, Edward Norton, and now Ryan Gosling in a similar role.

Fracture is a film that features Ryan Gosling in a role reminiscent of Keanu Reeves' turn in Devil's Advocate in that Gosling is a rising star in the prosecutor's office with a high conviction rate who is plucked from relative obscurity by the head of a highly successful private firm that specializes in the defense of wealthy clients of dubious morality. This film, however, focuses on the relationship between the ADA and the accused, rather than between the young lawyer and a high-powered head of any firm. As with Edward Norton, Hopkin's character takes pleasure in playing mind games, always seeming to be several steps ahead of his youthful adversary until said youngster bottoms out, has an epiphany, and is finally able to turn the tables on the old master. It's very much in keeping with the standard narrative skeleton on which so many martial arts films have been hung over the years. As with martial arts films, the pleasure comes not from the narrative, but from the characterizations, the stratagems employed, and a few really great unexpected moves. As morality tales go, it's pretty conventional. For viewing pleasure, Hopkins is his usual chilling self, and Gosling is great.

The dvd is also a pleasant surprise. It is enhanced for viewing on a computer, complete with website connections and supplementary materials. The alternate and deleted scenes make this viewer grateful for the eventual editorial choices made, as is usually the case. It's frightening to watch how easily the film could have taken some very bad turns.

More Vidding

From longtime favorite to more contemporary fare, Netflix continues to satisfy.

300

One of my favorite all-time tales is that of the 300 Spartans and their amazing achievement against seemingly impossible odds. I particularly like the fact that as much of their success can be credited to brains as to brawn and heart. Of course, it didn't hurt that the narrative served as the basis for one of my favorite sword-and-sandal films, originally released in 1962.

Recently Frank Miller produced a graphic novel recreating the drama and glory of that epic struggle at Thermopylae for another generation. As it did during the Vietnam era, the tale that inspired the comic and now the film extols a defiant gloss in the idea of sacrifice for glory, even as it illustrates the seemingly senseless waste of valiant souls while corrupt politicians attempt to reap profit from war.

This film version of that pivotal conflict struck me more as a preview of a potentially exciting video game, with wave after wave of opposing forces culminating in a gargantuan monstrosity each time, than as a smoothly flowing narrative. Still, it does promise to be an exciting game, with some Brad Pitt as Achilles-type moves in the bargain.

What I particularly dislike is that King Leonidas's wife is presented as lacking her husband's evident moral fiber, at least by conservative American standards. Though we are told that the men of Sparta have been taught to lie, cheat, and steal in pursuit of ultimate victory, somehow the queen's willingness to surrender herself to the politician who so openly opposes her husband strikes a false chord for me. The fact that she takes his life and reveals his treachery on the Council floor does not diminish the fact that she seems to have been willing to surrender without protest, had he kept his word. Though Leonidas is later seen to kneel before Xerxes before attempting to assassinate the invading king, the fact that Leonidas had always planned to attempt an assassination makes his kneeling more acceptable than Queen Gorgo's initial surrender, since her murder of her attacker seems reactionary rather than premeditated.

Similarly disturbing to me is the depiction of the invading forces as all ethnic minorities and deformed or mutant beings, though perhaps that former casting is more rather than less accurate. Still, it smacks of the sort of racism so evident in Tolkien's work, as so much of epic and empire too frequently do.

The fact that the accompanying 700 slaves and servants are minimized adds to the heroism of those who sacrificed themselves, even though it takes the film further away from historical accuracy.

Less disturbing to me is the sometimes evident use of computer graphics in the film. Personally, I like seeing all those rippling abdominal muscles.

Random Video Reviews

Trying this again, having lost it all late last night...

Babette's Feast (This has got to be one of my favorite foreign films. )

On a lonely windswept coast of Jutland live two spinster sisters, daughters of a deceased minister who have dedicated their lives to tending to their father's dwindling congregation, many of whom have already joined their spiritual shepherd in the hereafter. The young men who were attracted to the parish by the beauty of the daughters have grown up and moved on for the most part, taking the young women with whom they eventually paired off with them. Those left behind are aging, quarrelsome, and cantankerous.

When the daughters were younger, each had attracted the attention of a stranger who had passed through the small rural town while briefly retreating from the more hectic pace of urban life. One of these strangers sends to this quiet coastal town a friend in flight from the violence of civil disorder in Paris. This woman is taken in by the sisters and provided room and board in exchange for shelter. She proves to be modest, thrifty, shrewd, hardworking, and an excellent cook.

Years later, the second stranger returns himself, intending to verify that he made the right choice in his youth. Though he has risen to the rank of general and married a handmaiden of his country's queen, he still questions his youthful decision to forego pursuit of one of the sisters in exchange for pursuit of worldly ambition.

The young man who was once a silent suitor has become a pompous and loquacious general, but it is precisely because of this that the congregation members, the sisters, and the audience are able to learn of and appreciate the first suitor's gift of the modest woman who appeared so humbly as a refugee many long years ago and is now an integral part of the household and community.

The woman who now so quietly and efficiently runs the household was once one of the premiere chefs in all of Paris, an artist capable of turning any meal into a spiritual lovefest. When she wins the lottery in Paris, she takes the opportunity to practice her craft one last time by preparing a true French feast in celebration of the late minister's 100th birthday. The sheltered villagers fear the upcoming feast as they watch the arrival of the mysterious ingredients, which allows the audience to appreciate more fully the challenge before Babette, the chef. The contrast between expectations and actuality is wonderfully portrayed. From the fearful warnings and pleadings of the sisters to the quarreling the villagers cannot resist even as they approach the special meal, we see the allegorical human condition. As Babette toils and sweats in the stifling and primitive kitchen, we see the change come over those dining on unknown delights. There is a possible parallel with Jesus in the grave on Saturday, toiling to prepare spiritual delights for ungrateful mortals. This is the last feast Babette will prepare in this lifetime, reminiscent of Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples before his descent into death with no hope of respite until after his resurrection.

The general's narrative proclaims the greatness of Babette's achievements to an unresponsive audience that nevertheless is quietly yet surely altered for the better because of the fine meal laid before them. In the end, there is peace, reconciliation, unity, and singing under a starry sky.

Personally, I liked watching all the food preparations. :-)

New Toy! er... Tool...

Behold!

If you click on the title of this post, you will be taken to a picture of the latest member of my little family. if you hold your mouse over the far right selection, "Desert Sand Mica with Taupe Interior," you will see Sandy Sienna in all her glory. Yes, I do like to name my vehicles, though this is the first one to receive a female name.

Yesterday was delivery day when I was finally able to pick up my new baby. She has running boards on each side to assist my aged father as he attempts to step into the vehicle. After all, if it were not for him, I do not think that I would have chosen such a car. Certainly no one who knows me would have guessed that I would select such a vehicle, including me. Ah well... It holds both wheelchair and walker easily while still leaving ample room for other things, which is the primary point, after all. Better yet, there is a functional radio that I can set low enough so that Dad cannot hear it, though I can. Best of all, there is an mp3 player plug for my ipod. :-)

When I popped open my cell phone to share my delight in my new acquisition, I was laughingly reminded that I delight in big ticket items, parsimonious though I may sometimes seem in smaller things. Well, with my fading eyesight, if I can't see it, what's the point? Of course, I suppose I could settle for less digits and decimal places... Hm...

Of course, now that that is settled and the old cars are moving on to other homes and incarnations, I have nowhere to drive my beautiful new toy until Dad's next doctors' appointments. See, that's why I was able to demonstrate restraint and not sign up for the optional moon roof or dvd player. After all, as a driver on Honolulu roads, when am I going to be on the road long enough to watch anything? And if I'm the sole driver, what would I be doing watching anyway? It's not like an audio input after all...

And the moonroof: okay, here in Hawaii no one except a tourist would actually want all that sunshine pouring into the vehicle in the middle of an 80s or 90s degree day. What do you think all that heavy tinting is for anyway? The moon, now, that's a different story. It might be nice to have moonlight flowing into the car at night... or not... eh -

So here I sit, dwelling lovingly on the wonderful attributes of my brand-new automobile, peacefully sitting in my overcrowded garage gathering invisible dust on its beautifully camouflaged coat of desert sandiness...

So why did I want a new vehicle again? Who, me? excited about big-ticket items? No way --

Still Mulling Over HP

The term "vol" is French for flight + de (down or away from) + mort = death, so the former French teacher named her arch villain flight from death, which makes perfect sense.

The question arose again today, how many horcruxes were there altogether? Reflex suggests seven or eight, depending on how one thinks. Logic dictates the following breakdown:

1 - diary
2 - ring
3 - locket
4 - cup
5 - tiara
6 - Nagini

These six were intentionally made by Tom Riddle, whose query asked about splitting one's soul into seven parts. Reasonably, he'd need to keep the seventh part within himself in order to hold it all together; otherwise, he'd be no better than those kissed by dementors (not that he was anyway).

Accidentally, Lord Voldemort, (who actually became LV by beginning his flight from death when he committed his first murder of Moaning Myrtle in the Girls' Bathroom over half a century earlier,) split his soul into an eighth part when he sadistically killed James and especially Lily Potter. Before he could kill the littlest Potter, he'd already turned the child into a seventh horcrux.

To sum up: seven horcruxes, eight pieces of soul. Unfortunately for ambitious Tom Riddle, he overshot his intended goal. One wonders if missing that lucky seven is what really caused him to crap out...

Who has Vegas on the brain?