Have you seen or even remember this movie? Did you see it because of your never ending love for Andrew Garfield? Or because it was by the guy who did It Follows? Did you think ‘man that looks like shit who gives a fuck’ or did you hear about The Owl’s Kiss, think ‘ oh really I’m listening’ and then forget about it while no one seemed to like it and it withered away like that scab you got on the back of your foot from wearing new shoes? Either way, this presents some interesting concepts of hidden meanings in the Los Angeles area, Hollywood included, so I thought I’d give my two ducking cents since I just watched it again and make sure you’re sufficiently informed if and when you go to California to visit my old stomping grounds and build a shrine in my honor or if you’re looking for something to help pass the time when you’re supposed to be paying attention in church. Here comes the Film Miasma Real History^TM of Los Angeles as Gleaned from The Bushes and Arroyos of The Canyons, With or Without Peyote in my Brains^TM.

We have to go way back to start this off – I think when people think of the founding of America they think about those pasty white English people that came across the Atlantic with buckles on their hats and chastity belts on their thighs who made turkeys and ate yams with friendly brown natives before quickly deciding to run them off of their lands or just plain kill them. Well, that’s mostly true. You see, what the majority of folks don’t know – or forgot when school books started printing new editions is that those Puritanical son of a bitches weren’t just coming here to eat corn and potatoes, they were actually a group of heretical perverts chasing down a large group of Flemish fleeing their own persecution and brutal indoctrination into the “Unchaste Sex Industry” as the English Monarchy and their Dailey Orgeys were in need of replenishing. The Flemish had been under naval pursuit for months at the time they landed in the “New Frontier”; they had eaten only fish caught from the ocean by net, the occasional bird and, of course, leftover and refurbished tobacco- so many of them were weak as they fled into dry land. What you also haven’t been taught is that those of whom were caught, they were stripped of their rags by the evil British, and chained to a stone on the beachhead as a warning. The name chiseled above those poor people? “Flemish Rock”, later changed to “Plymouth Rick” by W Randolph Hearst, trying to fleece the shame of his ancestors.

The surviving Flemish, of which there were about 40, were lead by a man called Oort Vaan Voot, pale skinned and red hair covering his entire body. He lead his refugees first through the forests, then through the prairies and finally into the mountains overlooking another vast ocean. The trek had taken many years but Vood was a good leader, a brilliant bargainer, a vigilant warrior in combat and filled with the sperm of a thousand Dutch so, when they finally reached their new lands, their new home, their hand wagons overflowing with Bison hides, hollyhocks and hundreds of Flemish babies, Oort declared victory, screaming to the Flemish heavens in shocking violence against the English language, his red beard caked with mud and blood, that this was “hiis laand noow!! Noow aand foorever!! Good daamn iit !!!” And Voot’s Land was established 1625. (Approximately 60,000,000 acres by today’s standards).

The movement West or “Manifest Destiny” the U. S. politics layered as a cover to grab more gold and be rich from coast to coast, barely covered their own asses while raping and killing the natives but also convinced the press and media of the time that everything was legit and on the up and up and “our destiny”. what wasn’t mentioned in regular society was the antics of the rich and the English bred who still wanted to hunt down the runaway Fleming who had beguiled them almost two centuries earlier. Sure, the Hearsts and the Rockefellers and the people of New Hampshire had their “on staff” personnel for the now, discreetly named “Morning Tea Parties” which consisted of thorough humping (either dry or regular) at the bequest and demand of the property owner. Now let’s be sure here. This is not an account of the well publicized, terrible treatment of humans by other humans along the coastal states during these times. This is ONLY a true historical treatment of the British (and their rebellious descendants’) perverted desires to claim what they believed were theirs: The Flemish and their English desire to do orgiastic behaviors at any time and at any place on to those same Fleming. So they paid their men in The Colonies to track them down “even if it costs all of the beef Europe could corn”. And West they went.

In their original trek across what was called the United States, Vaan Voot and his growing tribe had made many allies with the natives, unlike the British who were asserting themselves with poisons, ammunition and a rich and monarchial tradition of venereal diseases. As the European mercenaries worked their way across the plains, mounting everything they could find, French Style, Voot’s allies were kept appraised via a series of strategically located poles, faces cut into them, describing the dangers to come. For example: a scrunched face dyed blue indicated the approach of soldiers wanting to lie down with you on cholera infested blankets AVOID DANGER. A yellow face with braids attached to the top meant FUCKING WHITE MEN KILLING US FOR NO REASON SHIT LOOK OUT FOR THESE FUCKERS and a red snake surrounded by bees tarnscribed, of course, as MORE LICE AND MITES NEAR NO SAFETY, &c, &c, &c. Seeing these portents, the Vaan Voots followed The Design of their ancient ancestors: some took up arms and moved into the mountains, covering their cold skin with bird feathers and the other half dug tremendous cities under the blooming earth. Subsequently, when the British arrived with their yellow, dripping generals and alcohol mushy brains, The Flemish were nowhere to be found aside from unclear symbols, abandoned living spaces, a landscape full of pretty flowers and a fairly large wooden marker that read VOOTS LAND.

Naturally, as things go, the invading pustulants moved themselves into Voot’s Lands and farms, creating their own erections, honoring their secreting ancestors and enslaving the Gurkha from The East India Trading Company that crossed their paths and their shores. And then one day, a fateful epiphanic day, that all changed when Voot’s Descendants came down from the mountains.

As the Record states: “The British were polishing their golden staffes (sic) and spitting juices on each other when Voot’s Sonnes and Daughters came for their Vengeanceas (sic).” Upon seeing them adorned in the feathers and beaks, the men of Britain took to their teachings from ancient bibles their king had let them read and proclaimed, in their best English “OY YOU BOLLOCKS AND ARSE, YOU MUCKERS! THE LORD HIMSELF HATH SENT HIS WINGED ANGELS WITH A THOUSANDE EYES DOWN UPON US TO REND OUR CLOTHING AND SLEEP AMONG US, SPREADING THEIR SEED AND SMITING US! SHITE AND CUNT! WE, THE WANKERS AND NOBBERS BEG FOR THY MERCY UPON OUR POOR BEGGING BOLLOCKS AND SPARE OUR ARSEHOLES OY! The Flemings, winged and hungry for something other than bird and mountain goat, eyeballed the British’ boiled and corned beef, sat with them, laid with them and a Pact was issued and notarized in the coming weeks. THE TREATY OF THE ANGELS it was called and effectively split Voots’ parcel of land down the middle, creating the City of the Angels and the Land of the Hollyes. The second being a reference to the overgrown and constantly reseeding itself Hollyhock genus brought over from what would become The Dakotas.

“But what become of the Voots that dug under the earth?” I hear my Jefe ask me. “What became of them??”

After years and years, decades, the poor and pitiful underground lives had expanded and expanded their living space in order to make room for their excrement and the disgusting odors that produced of it. Eventually, a hole was bored back into the surface, into the Earth’s air and the slimy bastards flopped back into the sunlight, leaving a glistening trail of horrendous and foul juice behind them. This would, of course, come to be known as S(l)imi Valley and has anything good ever came from there.

So, where does that leave us, now that we’ve talked nothing about Under the Silver Lake? It’s simple{ it’s all true. Odors and angels, hidden tombs under the seas and the mountains, unholy figures – born of man and bird – murdering men in their sleep, totems and hidden symbols, it’s all there and it’s all true.

I didn’t love the movie because I don’t really like Andrew Garfield but it did introduce me to Riki Lindhome who is currently in the popular Wednesday on Netflix. She’s also in The Wolf of Snow Hollow which is one of my favorite movies.

Under the Silver Lake’s not the worst movie ever mad in my opinion but… eh.

FILED UNDER: AT LEAST THEY TRIED