By Julie Denice Griffin
Some local business men welcome a female house keeping business which due to a certain kind of pleneurial philanthropy helps brighten up the locale bright. Sunshine Cleaning Company, Inc. while not exactly your mother’s cleaning business rocks nasty smells and the reason behind unsightly odor right out the front door and not always dumped at the authorized dumpster of police choice. This post mortem film means dignity void of all dirty filth to dead ghosts and every skeleton emptied from each closet, a chicken in the pot of each house keeper, all the dirty window polished clean and a boost to the small town economy.
True grit and elbow grease and a sometimes propensity for biohazard doubled up by the occasional removal as opposed to building up a household or family, one sister begrudges the other sister’s affair with the man of her choice, perhaps out of a spiteful jealousy, or perhaps because the men in her circle reflect a certain plain look or boredom of behavior. All great true and real fun aside, the dead people of this small town seem merely drunk without the factor of any alcohol at all and at other times. A few of at least one of the femme’ fatales seems so over critical of the one loner woman that some sudden disappearances of a few of the good along with the bad seem only to remind us that the rain at times falls upon the just and the unjust alike. Each new frontier of house cleaning shows the two sisters who by mid-range of the film obtain a good control of the forensic, begin to see lots of true colors shining through.
The experience of the expression of dead eyes jelled with the shell of one boy who found not so good after all, the unmarried sister finally finds out she wants more out of life than a married man. But just like work men at film sets who tell a few supposed unknown locals who try to talk to them to get on out of the way, Good ole boys meant men who went home to their wives at night, and the sisters who felt like victims of the suicide of the mother years earlier ~ As children, at least one of them remembered that she had a bit part saying, try the pecan pie, as of course ours tasted the best to a famous Hollywood film crew just passing through. Some may wonder eternally what she spent the seventy dollars on before she took her life by her own hand, or as her grown daughter put to a girlfriend later, that her mother did an inside job. It was kind of a hands on thing.
The turning point of the film at hand therefore represented so much more than just making a person who wrote a book happy, or a town given some business. One woman wonders as a vapor of ghost death eternally why she got completely overlooked. She who lifted another for that chance up and held the ankles of a jittered train track underneath a mountain press for the rambling engine of humanity to pass over to a great success. Like other lone people without the endemic cult group, who live lives of daily desperation wonder also why it seems as if the whole world just passes them by. She went. She saw. She did. She left a great message for certain.
The business of winning souls dead more than alive, the girls know one great philosophy that carried the band Journey through their life in peace for years. And that is, anyway you like or want it, that’s the way you need it. And as business acumen is to new binoculars for little boys, then what stays aroused and alive is what love and life is to at least the main female star of this film. Yet, it cannot be denied that the truly dead don’t provide the greatest magical profit. And just as one of the daughters shows Mrs. Johnson more love than a Baptist church marm ever, the girls provide more than peace meal to the elderly woman who grieves her husband’s sudden suicide while seated at the easy chair amidst her bread room. She and Mrs. Davis cry together.
And with life, such reality spells an often reflection ~ As an image of some saint Catholic imprinted as a concrete round upon her door to the departure of her dear husband by self-gunshot, and even as the contrast of her love for a man she’ll now never fully possess drives her, the other sister to find one who she can. “I recommend the pecan pie.” Her mother, Rose, and her don’t remember her suicide or her much either. Just a box of things she once touched. “How did she die?” “It was a do-it-yourself kind of thing.” “What was I before I was born?” “If you already live in heaven, where do you go when you die?”
His mother climbs the train bridge and screams “Whoo hoo!” As she clings beneath, as if with bloody fingernails and as the excitement of the train’s disability to kill her, she remembers the pain of her mother dead in the bathtub as if it were yesterday, and she runs back into the sprinkler rain and with her bathing suit a small child dances the cry of a great grief. The funeral concierge, nearly the next day light and it is when she decides that she deserves the best in the way of a man. And yet in the same breath, she knows what her father says is true. “Yeah, well it’s tough bringing up a kid by yourself, isn’t it? Try two.”
But there is obviously so much to do at the Sunshine Cleaning Business. And a crime scene is a perfect place to start to streamline that goal. Ever making room for new product, the girls stay within close range of the nightly evening six o’clock news. So in this business, apparently the times when rotting stench seems more desirable than that which although fresh, at least one of the sisters of the two decides to keep her ideas and possibilities open for new clients, both young and old and like old anxiety, forgetting her past endearment for enemies both close and distant, and leaving the stench and rot of that past with them and them behind. So as the sun sets on brand new hills and the evil of them goes, she watches as she drives forward and notices that not only that this time it is their eyes and not hers that the smoke gets in, but that she cannot no longer see the corpses she alone buried in plastic trash bags and dumpsters and some along highways even if accidentally, and as she imagines such beauty, she cannot wonder that a heavenly Hunter S. Thompson is not looking down at her from that sweet palm desert sky and proudly smiling like God at her.