new stuff double feature round-up, woo!

What the WHAT? Two fantastic genre pics coming to actual thee-ay-turs? The place where they sell Sno Caps? I thought such a phenomenon was unpossible, but I was wrong. Eh, it happens.

[REC] 2

I'm a huge, huge, ha-yooooooooge fan of [REC] and as the sequel comes from Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza, the men behind the first film, I figured it'd be worth getting all tingly about. Turns out, it's definitely worth getting tingly about- but not only tingly! It's also worth getting zesty and twitchy about. I'll put it this way: [REC] 2 kicks so much ass that it kicks all the ass.

Picking up 15 minutes after the events of the first film, [REC] 2 features a SWAT team and a shady government official heading into the quarantined apartment building that's chock full of virus-riddled zombie-types. As they figure out what's going on, we figure out what's going on- that's right, [REC] 2 answers all your questions. What exactly is plaguing these victims? You'll find out. What happened to Angela Vidal, the plucky reporter from the first film? You'll find out. It's, you know, satisfying that way.

It's shot P.O.V.-style, much like [REC]. However, whereas that film was largely one camera and point of view, part 2 mixes it up with SWAT helmet cams, camcorders, and footage from part 1. I was struck by the innovation at work here- I honestly didn't think there was that much more that could be done to make P.O.V. horror feel fresh again, but I guess I was wrong. I hang my head in shame! It may not be quite as scary as the first film- some of the attack sequences get a bit repetitive- but really, that's akin to saying that chocolate chip ice cream isn't quite as awesome as mint chocolate chip ice cream. It's a difference in frights that's barely discernable. If you liked [REC] in the least, there's no reason why you wouldn't like this sequel just as much...unless, perhaps, your brain falls out of your ear hole on your way to the theater. [REC] 2 will get a limited theatrical run next month, so go go go GO. GO.

Centurion

Writer/director Neil Marshall is a bit of a gift to genre fans. Since 2002's Dog Soldiers, he's developed a resume that finds each film to be more ambitious than the last, particularly in terms of scale. Cast sizes and set pieces in films such as Doomsday and Centurion have increased vastly over earlier efforts such as The Descent, but whether it's got a cast of 6 or 600, each movie still feels distinctively Neil Marshall. He's one of the few modern horror directors who's developing a syle to his work that's deeper than, say, the superficial music video-style editing techniques utilized by so many of his peers. He's more like John Carpenter- no matter the genre of the film, be it post-apocalyptic action, monster-driven horror, or historical thriller, there's a sensibility to his work that's distinctively his own. The fact that he has flitted between genres and varied the scope of his work indicates, to me anyway, a real love of film. It's as if each idea stems from the simple desire to make a movie of a specific type- like, he loves flicks like Mad Max, so he made Doomsday. Maybe I'm projecting because I'm a fan, I don't know...but his work seems to come from a purer, more old-school place than simply jumping into the machine that turns out shit like the Platinum Dunes movies.

Centurion takes us back to the 2nd century as the Romans attempt to conquer all of Britain. Roman soldiers find themselves deep behind enemy lines, pursued by Pict tribesmen who refuse to give up their land. As the number of Romans rapidly decreaes, a small band led by Quintas Dias (Michael Fassbender) attempts to retreat, but they're relentlessly pursued by a group of Pict warriors, including the fierce (and beautiful, duh) tracker Etain (Olga Kurylenko).

The landscapes are both bleak and beautiful, from the misty forests to the frigid mountaintops. Sure, you could create a Centurion drinking game based on the number of sequences where the camera sweeps up and over a vista as a line of people runs across a crest, but it's relentlessly gorgeous so who cares? All the aspects you've come to expect from a Neil Marshall film are here, from the action to the touches of humor to the gore, the blood, the gory blood, and the bloody gore. Centurion is damn entertaining, plain and simple- and yet again, I'm anxiously awaiting Marshall's next effort. Check it out this August. CHECK IT OUT I SAY.

she's got a death curse...i think

Some people (you know who they are...I can't say anymore because they're watching me) claim that the 1977 thrilla from Manila Canada Cathy's Curse is a rip-off of The Exorcist. To compare the two films is like comparing a punch in the teeth to a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream; yes, they both have to do with the mouth, but that's where the comparisons end. Cathy's Curse and The Exorcist both deal with a child possessed, but other than that they've got precisely zip in common...and like a punch in the teeth squaring off against mint chocolate chip ice cream in a "What's awesome?" contest, only one option is enjoyable. Unless you're a masochist- which, considering the fact that on some level I did enjoy Cathy's Curse, I must be. This doesn't mean you should punch me if we ever meet, however- unless I ask you to. Which I won't. Unless I'm drunk...but even then, I won't ask you to hit me in the face, because that's my money-maker.

Here's the cockeyed set-up for the tale, which tells you...well, pretty much nothing:


Why we need a written intro for this, I have no clue- especially since we get the gist when the father speeds off into the night to find his wife, daughter Laura in tow: "Your mother's a bitch! She'll pay for what she did to you!" Before he can locate and, one assumes, beat the shit out of his estranged wife, dear ol' dad crashes the car. Flaming flames of fire engulf the car, killing dad and daughter.

In 1979 (yes, this 1977 film is set in the future!) George and family move into the house because...because...well, I have no idea why, as there was no narrative to explain that part of it. George is pleased because his daughter Cathy seems happy in their new digs, but his harridan of a wife finds his attitude...insulting, which gives way to some subtle, rich character development as she shrieks through gritted teeth (yes, that's possible):

Listen George, this is getting pretty ridiculous. You know and I know that I've had a nervous breakdown, right? Well, it's not hereditary and it isn't catching!

Some neighbors come to visit, and one of them just so happens to be a medium. She wastes no time getting her Madame Blavatsky on and going to town. She relives the fiery car crash, and it's none too pleasant of an experience. Still, when it's all over, she insists that they "must do it again sometime".

Meanwhile, Cathy has found a doll in the attic. Its eyes are sewn shut, and Cathy's mom keeps referring to it as a "dirty rag". No, it doesn't make sense...but don't worry! Nothing in Cathy's Curse makes sense.

The doll, it seems, once belonged to Laura. Apparently Laura has become eeeevil in her afterlife, for she possesses Cathy.


Now, on the surface, that's not so hard to digest; the devil, however, is in the details...and like Cathy's mom consistently calling a doll a "rag", the details in this movie defy all laws of everything in the history of ever, and none of it makes a lick of damn sense.

Infused with the mighty spirit of Laura, Cathy develops a bit of telekinesis. She stands there as objects fly around and crash into walls and a synthesizer makes a "peeeewwwwwwwww" sound. No one who witnesses these shenanigans seems to think this is unusual- least of all the housekeeper, who just cleans up the mess.

Cathy develops the ability to disappear and reappear at will, and her mother simply finds it annoying.

Like Regan in The Exorcist, Cathy begins using foul language once she's possessed, and boy oh boy...I curse like a sailor, but even I was taken aback when Cathy called someone a "filthy female cow"! The depths of depravity on display are astonishing- and to think, a child was forced to say these things!

I could go on and on with examples of head-scratchers. Sometimes, it's horrendous editing that leaves you wondering what the hell is going on, like when mom sits and zones out in the tub...but then the water turns to blood! Mom screams, and is somehow suddenly standing up, frantically slapping at what one can only assume are leeches.




Characters appear out of nowhere, only to vanish without an explanation, such as the scene where the medium shows up and stumbles into Cathy's Super Secret Possession Headquarters in the attic. Another old woman suddenly appears- she proceeds to insult the medium by calling her an "extra rare piece of shit", tries to make the medium swear she won't tell what she's seen in Cathy's Super Secret Possession Headquarters, and then...they scream together. WHAT?

Then, in perhaps the best moment of the film, the medium runs outside and promptly face-plants in the snow, never to be seen again. WHAT WHAT?

One wonders why Laura has decided to possess Cathy at all. Sure, she can make the requisite bugs, snakes, and rats appear at will, and a few people mysteriously die, but to what end? To what end, Laura's spirit? If she's trying to take revenge on mothers- those "dried up old whores"- everywhere for the slights of her childhood, then she doesn't do a very good job of it. One squandered opportunity, for example, comes when Cathy brings her mother lunch. As she waits outside the door, the food on the tray rots before our very eyeballs- surely that trick would freak out dear old mom! Instead, the food reverts back to normal and mom enjoys a lovely sandwich and apple.

Again I say: Cathy's Curse makes no sense. The big finale finds Cathy looking like a miniature extra crispy Lizzie Grubman, sitting on the bed clutching her dirty rag dolly. Mom walks in, grabs the doll, rips its eyelids open, Cathy is no longer possessed, the end. Seriously.

I find it hard to believe that this movie could get from the page to the screen without anyone noticing that it makes no GD sense. Cathy's Curse is a bit like having Mexican food as made by Chinese people, as I once did in Brooklyn (wud up, Happy Taco?). All of the elements were there: beans, tortilla, cheese, lettuce...but somehow it just wasn't right. It was missing that special something, whatever it is, that made me say, "Ah yes, I am having a bean burrito!" Cathy's Curse has actors, dialogue, and a semblance of a plot, but there's nothing there that makes me say, "Ah yes, I am watching a movie!"

And yet, as I noted earlier, I enjoyed myself in some way. Perhaps this is because on the surface of things, it felt like a real grindhouse flick: there was little violence, a mere few drops of blood, no stronger language than "shit"...but the cruddy film stock, all green-hued and scratchy, the jump-cuts, the horrendous acting, the supernatural 70s thang, and, of course, that cockeyed intro were like a comfy, stinky blanket I could wrap myself in. My very own dirty rag, if you will. I wouldn't say the film is so bad it's good...more like, it simply needs to be witnessed, like a two-headed baby in a jar.

so i made a movie, part one

I recently made a short horror film called Ludlow, starring Shannon Lark and Elissa Dowling. I thought I'd share all the boring details about how that came to be, because...you know...sharing is caring and if there's one I thing I do, it's care.

Remember that thing I did called Ghostella's Haunted Tomb? The lezzie horror webseries thingy that had some special guest stars and stuff, and some people kind of got the idea behind the whole thing and some people didn't? Huh? Yeah, well…I don't know what's happening with Ghostella. I haven't yet decided if I want to do a second season or not, or what it'll entail, or…but! This is not meant to be about Ghostella's Haunted Tomb.

Remember Fudgalicious gum? Which was gum, but…you know, it was chocolate? That's either the best or worst idea in the history of ever- kind of like the Spice Girls, or those bowls you can buy that come with a built-in straw for drinking whatever milk is leftover after you've eaten your Fruity Pebbles or whatever. Actually, you know what? Those bowls you can buy that come with a built-in straw are the worst, plain-n-simple. I mean, how effing hard is it to tip the bowl into your mouth if you want to drink the leftovers? There needs to be a straw?

Wait! This is not meant to be about Ghostella or Fudgalicious or stupid inventions or stupid, lazy people. This is meant to be about…umm…what was I...oh yeah! This is all concerning a short film I made last week, which I know you're all peeing your pants in anticipation to hear about. Well, pull up those pants and gather 'round, children, and let me tell you a little tale about a little movie called- and set in- Ludlow.

SHANNON LARK: Wud up, Ludlow??

It all started, I suppose, when my short film Taste of Flesh, Taste of Fear was accepted into the 2008 Viscera Film Festival, sponsored by The Chainsaw Mafia. Taste of Flesh, as I'm sure you're well aware, was the short featured in the very first episode of Ghostella's Haunted Tomb. It's the lesbo vampire short featuring 2 Dollar Store Barbie knockoffs and Posh Spice that's so EROTICALLY CHARGED that it's too hot. Too hot, my lady- you've gotta run for shelter…gotta run for shade! Or something like that.

Oh, Kool and the Gang, you provide the soundtrack for my life.

But really, people, feel the heat. That heat is hot!

SHANNON LARK: Taste of Flesh, Taste of Fear is and was simply pure genius. If a filmmaker can make a great film using barbie dolls, then she's gotta blow you away with live action. And she did! I became obsessed with Top Friends. I showed it to my Mom. I showed it to my dog, and he licked himself. That's a good sign!

But I digress! The point is, the merging of Ghostella and Viscera introduced me to actress, director, Chainsaw Mafia CEO, and Fangoria Spooksmodel extraordinaire Shannon Lark because…well, Viscera is her thang. We met face to face in March during the Paranoia Film Festival; the 2007 Viscera selections were screened, including Heidi "Ghostella" Martinuzzi's Wretched, and a grand old time was had by all. Actually, don't hold me to that- I wasn't conducting exit polls or anything.

Trapped aboard the Queen Mary, Shannon and I spent most of the afternoon in the bar, then moved to a restaurant in the evening. During the course of the many hours we spent together, Shannon let fly that she wanted to be in one of my movies. I was dubious, which speaks more to my insecurity than any insincerity on Shannon's part; however, she proceeded to bust out a napkin and write up a contract stating much the same.

You can tell it's official because of all the lawyer-y language, like "This here contract…" and how she ends some words with "-eth".

SHANNON LARK: I told Stacie a story about how a contract written on a napkin can hold up in court. So I whipped it out* over a margarita in a funny looking glass that gave me stomach cramps. I used all the fancy shmancy jargon I could muster, because I wanted to show I was serious. She looked confused. I was ecstatic, because my evil plan of doing a Film Festival so talented female filmmakers would flock around me and put me in their next productions was actually working out. Besides, Stacie Ponder is amazing.

I jumped at the chance to work with her because she kind of fucking ROCKS. She said she'd be back in Los Angeles in April for Fangoria's Weekend of Horrors to fulfill some of her spooksmodel duties…wouldn't that be the perfect time to shoot something?

Why yes…yes, it would. I went home all pumped and proceeded to freak out almost immediately- writing something…on purpose? For someone? I don't tend to work that way. Like with Ghostella, I just write 'em, pretending no one will ever pay attention. Then I fill the roles. Or even writing here at Final Girl…once I start thinking that someone's going to be reading this besides me, I get all nervous. It's like my brain is nude or something, and it's embarrassing to think that people are looking at it…not that my brain has anything to be ashamed of, because it's 100% pure 36-24-36, if you know what I mean...and I think you do…which is good, because I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about anymore.

SHANNON LARK: Haha! Stacie is totally nude!! Nude for Satan!

Oh, yeah! I was talking about writing a script for someone. Someone who's going to make a special effort to make a film with me. Ugh, nerve-wracking. Step one was to figure out what the eff I was gonna make this movie about. Actually, step one probably involved some Dunkin' Donuts coffee, or maybe some ice cream. Step two was to figure out what the eff I was gonna make this movie about. More on that to come.

Can I just say that my local grocery store AND my local Target have both discontinued carrying mint chocolate chip ice cream? That really does not fucking compute. It's kind of like the Catholic Church discontinuing God.

Anyway.






*Please note, the only thing "whipped out" was a napkin.

anticipation

I started writing...well, rants, or something, I guess, about how everyone is always cynical and cranky and no one seems to actually enjoy movies much anymore, even though more people than ever are making their voices heard and how that sucks and of course I realize that I myself have cranked out more times than you could count on, like, thirty hands but today my throat hurts and I'm suffering from a case of toomuchinternetitis, which means I should go smell some flowers or something and come back later when the negativity doesn't seem so tiresome.

In other words, maybe it's time for another one of these.

For now, though, I'm just going to draw your attention to a movie I'm really looking forward to: Walking Distance.


I can't seem to find any embeddable trailers, but check them out at other websites...I know, clicking sucks, but they're worth it:

Walking Distance: Black
Walking Distance: Red

I'm terribly intrigued. I have no idea what's going on, but I want to find out. Wow, mission accomplished, trailers! Adrienne King (Adrienne King!)! Reggie Bannister! Debbie Rochon! Shannon Lark! And did I mention Adrienne King? Those of you attending Fangoria's Weekend of Horrors in Los Angeles should catch the Walking Distance panel on Friday, April 17th. Otherwise, add 'em on MySpace for updates, if you're into that.

Yay, anticipation. I feel better already. Still, smelling flowers seems like a good idea.

Oh, and incidentally, my nightmares are decidedly mint chocolate chip.

more crap from me

If there's one thing you probably know about me by now it's that I love mint chocolate chip ice cream.

However, if you've really been paying attention then you may also know something else and that's that I can't seem to focus on any one thing forever before I get the urge to do something else. Creatively, anyway. I don't know if this is a good thing or not. Probably not. Eh, maybe I'll blame it on the fact that I'm a Gemini.

Having said that, I thought I should let you know that I've totally started making stick figure comics again- some of you may be wondering what "again" means. It means that I used to do it, then I stopped, then I got the urge to make more, and now I am. Toosday Toons is back, and it will be updated on...wait for it...Tuesdays. As I mentioned on another site where I was shamelessly pimping myself, if you read the first strip (posted today), you'll see why I had to start the comic again: obviously I have terribly important things to say. Check it out if you'd like.

All of this stick figuring got me digging through my old crap, and I found a bunch of stick figure sketchcards I'd made way back in the day. I made a Facebook album that features them and other stuff, if you're Facebookly inclined. In said digging I also found a box of blank sketchcards, so if anyone is sketchcardly inclined (stick figure or otherwise), then drop me a line. I heart commissions.

So yeah, comics. Updated Tuesdays. If I do any that are specifically horror-related, I'll post about 'em here. Otherwise there's a link in yon sidebar. I'll be doing them for a long time, I ho---ooh, what's that over there?

briefs

- Look at me, posting a link to my latest AMC column all timely-like! Head over and check out my 10 Reasons Why Phantasm Rules. Yes, of course the Lady in Lavender is on the list. What am I, some sort of rube? Some of my reasoning for including her didn't make it past the editor's steely gaze, but such is life.

- It's a great friggin' time to be a horror video game fan! First, when September 30 rolls around and Silent Hill 5: Homecoming is released, you can just kiss me goodbye. Pyramid Head and knifey nurses, and melty bathrooms? Ba-ring 'em on! Bloody-Disgusting has the creeptastic trailer for you to get creeped out by. Is it just me being a nerd, or is that Travis from Silent Hill: Origins making a cameo in the truck?

Bloody-Disgusting has also got a bunch of lo-down regarding Resident Evil 5, including 2 gameplay trailers that are totally drool-inducing. Uh, the awesomely scary bane of my existence- chainsaw baghead guy- makes a return. Guhhhhhhhshmlehhhhhhhhhhhh. I'm just thankful it's not being released until March 13, 2009- I'd hate for RE 5 to have to battle with SH 5 for my affections. It's like choosing a favorite spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream from a single bowl: it's just not possible.

for reals, y'all

OK, I'm really back this time. I mean it. 

For my "grand" return to Yon Blogge, I decided to watch a movie I figured I'd enjoy, even if it sucked- the 1978 anthology flick House of the Dead, aka Alien Zone. How sad, eh? Using one title, the film is mistaken for the Uwe Boll-helmed zombie crapfest, and using the other title is slightly misleading. By "slightly misleading", I mean it's a completely inexplicable title that has nothing to do with anything. No matter! My love for horror anthologies is like my love for mint chocolate chip ice cream- it can only lead to pain and suffering, but I can't control myself.

As it's a film from the late '70s, naturally House of the Dead opens with its own theme song, "The Sound of 'Goodbye'", wherein singer Steve March (sounding like a poor man's Dan Hill, which is really saying something) lets us know that the sound of goodbye is, in fact, the saddest melody of all. I enjoy these movie theme songs for their novelty value and the fact that they were such a big deal, but let's face it- they never set the right tone, do they? This is supposed to be a horror movie. I don't want to hear about sad melodies and goodbyes...save it for Love Story, ya wuss!

The wraparound story concerns a fellow named Talmudge (John Ericson) who gets lost in a strange town after an extramarital hump. He ends up seeking shelter from a rainstorm in a funeral home, where the "creepy" mortician (Ivor Francis) tells the stories of each of his dead "clients". An easy setup, no?

Segment the First

A cranky schoolteacher who seems to hate children goes home one afternoon in a particularly foul mood. Apparently we're supposed to be scared- the teacher, after all, seems scared and keeps looking out her window. She puts on an apron and begins to prepare her dinner, but she only gets as far as cutting a tomato in half before she has to take the apron off and hop in the shower. Yes, she's that freaked out. Lest you think this is simply a ploy for some gratuitous "Hot for Teacher" shower time, let me assure you that it most certainly is not.

The scene doesn't last long as the teacher gets freaked out again and heads back to the kitchen. Finally there's some cause for her anxiety- her front door is open, the phone line is cut, and there's some strange noises. Out of nowhere comes a bunch of kids dressed in their finest Ben Cooper finery.

"Hey!" thought I, "That's pretty creepy! Maybe I'm in for some Brood-style nastiness." Sadly, the kids pull off their masks to reveal some truly awful candy-corn-esque teeth, which we can assume they use to bite the teacher to death. Yes, I said "assume", because the scene cuts back to the funeral home.

Segment the Second

A weird man who loves photography sets up a motion picture camera in his living room and films himself killing blind dates. The mortician tells us he was caught and executed a year or so later.

YES, THAT'S IT!

And don't go thinking this was some sort of interesting Peeping Tom-style story, either, because it was positively dreadful. DREADFUL. We see everything through the camera the dude sets up, which means one stationary shot for the entire segment. It made me feel like I was back in acting class, sitting through everyone's boring-ass scene studies. Let me tell you...that's not a feeling I enjoy.

Segment the Third

Meet America's Greatest Detective, the Master Criminal Investigator, as he goes against all basic crime scene procedures (wear some fucking gloves, man!) to expound his theories on a hanging victim. He's such a Master Criminal Investigator that he quickly manages to deduce not only that it's murder (not suicide), but also just who the murderer is from such paltry evidence as ashes on a nearby table. Yes, just by looking at the ashes, this guy can tell that they're from one particular kind of cigar - a brand smoked only by one person in the entire city- clearly, the smoker must be the murderer! Even Jessica Fletcher weeps in jealousy over these superior sleuthing skills.

One man who's not weeping in jealousy, however, is Britain's Number One Sleuth, a Scotland Yard bobby who's come to America to witness America's Greatest Detective in action. Veddy good.

According to Rolling Stone magazine, you see, the two men are in contention for the title of World's Greatest Criminologist.

YES, I SAID ROLLING STONE MAGAZINE. I WILL NOW ALSO SAY, ROLLING STONE MAGAZINE? WHAT THE FUCK?

As the two men have a pissing match over a romantic candlelit dinner, America's Greatest Detective receives a threatening letter, one constructed of letters cut out from newspapers...it must be sent by a real criminal! The letter states that in 3 days, someone he knows will be murdered. America's Greatest Detective begins detecting right away- he sniffs the letter and deduces that Elmer's Glue was used, a glue he denotes as "very middle class". I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult.

After three days spent looking through magnifying glasses and microscopes (eat your heart out, CSI), America's Greatest Detective has solved the case- the letter was sent by Britain's Number One Sleuth! Britain's Number One Sleuth agrees with this conclusion and shoots America's Greatest Detective. In a shocking twist, however, America's Greatest Detective reveals he's wearing a bullet-proof vest...then he kills Britain's Number One Sleuth via a boobytrapped chair. In yet another shocking twist, America's Greatest Detective opens his briefcase to reveal a bomb, which explodes.

There's really no way to describe this segment beyond calling it just plain stupid. Did I like it? Well, yes, I did- it had me laughing my head off. It totally reminded me of something I would have written in 7th grade for a mystery-writing assignment. 2 "great" detectives, the worst police procedurals ever, magnifying glasses, 3 twist endings, and Rolling Stone magazine. I would have called it World's Greatest Murder, and my "author's bio" would have consisted exclusively of "STACIE PONDER #1".

Segment the Fourth

A man working in an office just doesn't get along with people. When a co-worker invites him to a new restaurant featuring 23 different hamburgers, the man refuses and thinks to himself "23 different morons!". Later, when a store clerk tells the man that no, they don't have any gum, the man thinks "Slob!". Even later, a crazy-looking homeless person approaches the man, who yells "Why don't you get a job!"

I don't know why, but I was really into the idea of 23 different hamburgers. I mean, it sounds incredible, right? Hardly believable, even. In reality, though, we all know that "23 different hamburgers" simply means 23 different combinations of hamburger toppings...then it doesn't seem so incredible.

Cranky Office Man inexplicably enters an empty storefront and gets locked in. Then he inexplicably falls down an open elevator shaft.

You know, "inexplicably" is a word that entered my thoughts often whilst I was watching House of the Dead.

It seems that Cranky Office Man has fallen into a trap that's sort of a prototype of those found in the Saw movies- we assume, anyway. It's never really explained. At any rate, he can't get out. Walls begin to move and he almost gets impaled on some magically-appearing nails- they stop short of killing him, however, and this causes Cranky Office Man's brain to break- we assume anyway. It's never really explained. Whoa, deja vu!

Some bottles of wine then roll into the room (yes, I know this makes no fucking sense- see? "inexplicably"!), and I guess Cranky Office Man has no choice but to drink them all. I mean, yeah, he's not forced to or anything, but if six bottles of wine rolled into the room right now, wouldn't you simply drink them all straight away?

As Cranky Office Man lies sleeping it off, a wall raises and Cranky Office Man is free to go. However, now he's all dirty and drunk and crazy- and when he approaches a man in a suit, the man says...yes...wait for it...

"Why don't you get a job!"

That's some poetic fucking justice right there.

Lest you think that Cranky Office Man could just get over his wine hangover and go back to work in a day or two, however, back at the funeral home the mortician tells us "Eventually, he died."

EVENTUALLY, HE DIED. That has got to be the lamest fucking ending to anything EVARRR. Eventually, he died??! That's IT??

The wraparound story finishes up exactly as you'd expect- Talmudge's infidelity leads to him becoming the mortician's fifth "client". Sigh.

House of the Dead didn't disappoint. I mean, it did, because it sucked, and yet there I was, enjoying it and all its inexplicablies. Maybe when the suckage is restricted to 15-minute segments I become more forgiving. Still, though..."eventually, he died". That's just bad. It's a good thing I love horror anthologies so much, or I may have punched the DVD over that one. Instead, I make like I'm going to punch it, but at the last second I give it a hug. That doesn't mean, of course, that I can recommend this movie. I can only give it 4 out of 10 kinds of hamburgers.

Day 1- Night of Endless Boredom

Maybe I need to get my priorities straight, or become more skeptical or more of a cynic or something. See, the problem is, I'll pick up something like 1969's Night of Bloody Horror and read:

During its promotion, filmmakers glorified the gory scenes saying the film was filmed in "Violent Vision"; while television commercials offered $1,000 to the families of viewers who dropped dead of fright, as well as claiming that many of the scenes were too violent to show on the commercials.

Couple that trivia with the fact that it stars Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad and I'm somehow sure I've stumbled across pure cinematic gold.

But why? Why on earth would I think that? I know it's not going to be as good as it claims. I'm sure I won't be scared. And for god's sake, since when do I get excited about the prospect of Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad being onscreen in anything?

I'm what you might call an eternal optimist about a select few things, the biggest being that I'm willing to give any horror movie a chance. No matter how many times the horror genre craps on my neck, I'm always ready to take more punishment. Yes, I might for a second think "Hmm. I bet this movie is going to crap on my neck...maybe I shouldn't--", but then I immediately correct myself with excuses, hope, selective reading, and a feigned dubious memory. "But!" think I, "Violent Vision! Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad!" and the next thing you know, the movie is in my DVD player, crapping on my neck. This endless hope is a blessing and a curse, I tells ya, not unlike mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Night of Bloody Horror opens with the sounds of a couple quietly humping. After fists have clenched bedsheets and the humping has ended, I was not pleased to see that the skinny fella who dismounted the humpee was none other than Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad. Having Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad in a movie is one thing...having Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad in a movie humping someone is quite another. The problem is, immediately I thought about the fact that in real life, he humps Delta Burke. Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with Delta Burke; she's lovely and I'm all about people with names torn straight from the Greek alphabet. The problem is that after thinking about Delta Burke, I began to think about Designing Women. When I think about Designing Women, I think about Dixie Carter and her fucking righteous soliloquies on that show and how she'd always rail against something for five minutes in some cheap "I am woman" way and she'd end with some sassy zinger and the audience would go crazy, clapping and whooping and...and then I found I was having a hard time concentrating on Night of Bloody Horror because I was blinded by rage at Julia Sugarbaker's soliloquies but moreso at the fact that I've seen enough episodes of Designing Women to have even developed a burning rage at Julia Sugarbaker's soliloquies. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but it puts my entire life into question.

Anyway, soon after the humping, Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad clutches his temples as if he has a headache this big while a pinwheel of color spins around in the air...one can only assume that the pinwheel indicates that we have now crossed into Violent Vision. Suffice it to say, it's a bit of a letdown...not that I had any clue what to expect, but still.

The next thing we know, the girl is getting stabbed in the eye while making her confession to a hooded priest. Hmm...is Violent Vision causing Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad to become...violent?

Fast forward a year and Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad has a new girlfriend, a pasty young nurse who took him home after he got roughed up by some hooligans one fateful evening. We learn of their budding romance through that most unique of cinematic devices: the musical montage. This montage, however, is leagues above all I've ever seen before for one reason. No, it's not the late-60s lite music playing...it's the fact that it's a montage of still images. We see the young couple walking past a roller coaster, standing by a tree, having dinner, and in my favorite photo, smoking together at the dinner table.

Soon enough, Violent Vision does its twirling thing and the pasty nurse has an axe in her chest.

And so on and so forth for another hour. There's fistfights, laughable special effects, a musical interlude featuring the psychedelic rock of The Bored (how appropriate), and some garbled family history for Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad involving shotgun "accidents", dead younger brothers, a shrew-y mom, and insane asylums. Is Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad really a cuckoo nutso killer? The answer lies somewhere in this secret recipe:

Take one brother accidentally killing another with a shotgun, the grief over which leads to their father committing suicide. Add to this a zesty sprig of the mother who has decided to store the bodies of her dead husband and son in the basement. Sprinkle on some spite towards the son who's still alive. Bake for 80 boring minutes and...no, Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dad is not the killer.

Perhaps Night of Bloody Horror would have been better if I were on drugs. As it was, I was only high on Diet Coke during the viewing and thus can only give this flick 3 out of 10 Gerald McRaney of television's Major Dads. Thanks for crapping on my neck, Day 1!

I Heart: The Fog

Midnight 'til one belongs to the dead.

Insomuch as that my last name is "Ponder", I feel it is my birthright to think...to ruminate, to mull, to dwell, and to philosophize. It then follows that I spend a good amount of time staring at the wall, asking myself such questions as "What is the nature of man?"..."What is art?"..."What time is it?"...and "If I were to be executed, what what would I request for a last meal?". Then I ponder, I stroke my metaphorical goatee, and I try to answer myself: "The nature of man is to be good and productive, free to act according to himself"..."Art is intent"..."It's 7:42" (or, if I'm feeling sassy, "Time to buy a new watch!")...and "Hmm, let's see...pizza from Adriatico's, Rachael's lasagna, malai kofta from that place on 27th & Lex, Nutter Butters with Nutella on top, and mint chocolate chip ice cream". Sometimes I also think "Given the seriousness with which I take the meaning of my surname, the world should be thankful that my name is not Stacie Killandeatallbabies". My rivers run deep, you see. Deep.

Folks, I promise...I'm only a little drunk and I will get to a point eventually. Wait, I think it's coming...ah yes, here it is.

I was watching The Fog (the 1980 version, of course) recently, and a few minutes into it- during the credits- I thought "Wow. The Fog is so awesome. In fact, there are so many of my favorite people in it and so many kickass elements throughout, it just may be my perfect dream movie. It is totally exactly like what my last meal before my execution would be- made up of a little bit of everything I love. OH MY GOD THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A BETTER METAPHOR FOR ANYTHING IN THE HISTORY OF EVER!"

In case you don't know what I'm talking about (since that metaphor doesn't seem so great after the crack high wears off), I'm talking about all these ingredients that make The Fog like a spicy jambalaya from heaven:

*The writing/producing/directing wonder twins John Carpenter and Debra Hill doing their thing!

*Oh, honey, the cast: Jamie Lee Curtis, Tom Atkins, Hal Holbrook, Nancy Loomis, John Houseman, Janet Leigh, Charles Cyphers, and...Adrienne Barbeau!

*ghost ships and drippy dead sailors that come out of...the fog !

100 years ago, the elders of the coastal fishing village Antonio Bay sent out a false light signal on a foggy night, sealing the fate of the sailing vessel Elizabeth Dane and the merry band of lepers she carried. As Antonio Bay celebrates its centennial, the long-dead Captain Blake and his crew from the Elizabeth Dane emerge from an otherworldly fog to claim their vengeance by taking six lives.

John Carpenter has stated that The Fog is his attempt at telling an old-fashioned EC Comics-style ghost story, plain and simple. While it certainly gives off a sweet let's huddle together under a blanket near the campfire for a scary story vibe, the movie is also undoubtedly 100% USDA prime John Carpenter.

Carpenter's earliest works, such as Halloween, Assault on Precinct 13, The Thing, and The Fog are a slow, slow burn. As a filmmaker, he is (or is that was?) a man of patience, unafraid to give audiences a slow and steady climb to the film's climax. Rather than being hit head-on with bombast from the get-go, Carpenter's audiences need to settle in for a long drive, and the resulting effect is simple: dread. Simple, I say, yet it's an element largely absent from most modern horror films. I don't know if audiences have changed over the last 25 years or if Hollywood has simply convinced audiences that they've changed, but horror is all jump cuts and gore now. Halloween went on for about an hour before the action really started- an hour that slowly filled audiences with tension as Michael Myers stalked Laurie Strode on the streets of Haddonfieldto the tune of Carpenter's haunting score. I'd hazard a guess that that patience on Carpenter's part is what you can expect to be missing from Rob Zombie's upcoming Halloween revamp. Instant gratification doesn't leave the viewer drowning in fear, but anticipation surely does. What I consider to be some of the finer modern horror films (The Blair Witch Project, Session 9, The Ring, and yes, The Descent) use this same slow approach to great effect.

However, this reliance on mood and atmosphere doesn't mean that The Fog is lacking in visceral thrills. While there's nothing explicitly shown in the movie, the ghostly crew of the Elizabeth Dane are a vicious lot. The crew of The Sea Grass are dispatched in short order by knives and hooks, and the fact that the audience sees virtually nothing doesn't make the scene any less brutal. The same can be said for the scene where poor Mrs. Kobritz answers the tap tap tap at her front door as the fog rolls in...the eerie black figures raise their weapons and it's bye bye Mrs. Kobritz! I tell ya, that sequence filled me with absolute terror when I was younger and it still gets under my skin now.

Visually, The Fog is a Carpenter masterpiece. Using his trademark anamorphic widescreen Panavision, Carpenter and cinematographer Dean Cundey immerse and surround the viewer in Antonio Bay. Whether it's a sweeping shot of the coastline, a wide shot of Stevie Wayne (Barbeau) driving her righteous VW Thing, the glowing fog rolling into town, or the lighthouse where WKAB is located, the movie is simply beautiful to behold.

Is The Fog a perfect movie? Certainly not. There's some major plot holes and general "What the-?" moments that can only be explained away by cries of "It's supernatural, dammit!" But the movie does have style, and it works for me. I could go on and on about The Fog and all the reasons I love it, from Nancy Loomis's typically smartass turn as Sandy to Hal Holbrook's turn as the drunken Father Malone to the final showdown between Father Malone and Captain Blake over the bling.

Instead, though, I'll just leave it to the chilling words uttered by Stevie Wayne at the film's end. It's best if you try to imagine Adrienne Barbeau's sultry voice while you read it, trust me.

I don't know what happened to Antonio Bay tonight. Something came out of the fog and tried to destroy us. In one moment, it vanished. But if this has been anything but a nightmare, and if we don't wake up to find ourselves safe in our beds, it could come again. To the ships at sea who can hear my voice, look across the water, into the darkness. Look for the fog.

Don't...open...that-door!

Stay Alive, the flick I talked about yesterday, is about a sort-of cursed videogame. If your character dies in the game, the player dies in real life. The movie opens with several minutes of "in game" play, setting up the first casualty- a character moves about a big spooky mansion in near-darkness as lots of gorked-out demon baby things attack randomly. While the graphics of the "game" are, as Brennon Slattery pointed out, decidedly sub-par in comparison to actual games on the market today, it looked as if Stay Alive had the potential to be a sweet little horror game. Later, after the movie, I thought "Hey, that would make a sweet little horror game. Boy, I sure love horror-based videogames!" Then I thought about how much I love mint chocolate chip ice cream and I ate some.

I've been a videogame junkie since the days of the Atari 2600. I remember that Smitty was the first kid on the block to get one, and even though the only game he had was Combat all us neighborhood kids were clamoring to play. His mom would let one person at a time in their house to go head-to-head against Smitty in a triangle vs. almost-a-square deathmatch. Eventually my family got a 2600, then a Nintendo (the one with the light gun and the robot), and so on. In the mid-90s, I remember renting the first Resident Evil (for PlayStation) game from Blockbuster. I'd never heard of it, but the giant spider on the box looked wicked cool. I brought the game to my friend Jim's house and we started in on it- my god. The game was like a revelation- it was like playing a horror movie! Two of my favorite things in the whole world, horror movies and video games, got together, made sweet sweet love, and had a baby. We spent the entire weekend playing, and when it was time to bring the rental game back, we went out and purchased a copy so we could finish it. The memories are a bit fuzzy, but there's a good chance that I was so happy I ended up making out with the controller, the game box, the TV, and/or the PlayStation itself. While the roots of horror gaming can probably be traced back to the original Alone in the Dark, for me the genre was born when Jill Valentine (the Master of Unlocking) and Chris Redfield ("I hope this is not Chris's blood!") were chased into the Spencer Mansion by a pack of zombified Dobermans.

Since the days of the original Resident Evil, many a horror videogame has come a-followin' in its footsteps, and my love of the genre has made me try most of them on for size. Here's some of my favorite horror video games in no particular order.

ALIEN 3

I don't really understand all the hatred people seem to have for the movie Alien 3. I saw it at the theatre twice and while it's a strange place to go after Aliens, I dig it (the fourth film in the series, Alien Resurrection, is another matter entirely). The pixelated counterpart, Alien 3 for the Super Nintendo system, is an absolute blast. You've got to guide Ripley through a series of varying environments (tunnels, exteriors, factories, etc) and accomplish different goals to complete missions. On one mission, you'll rescue prisoners that are all gunked-up with alien goo, while on another you'll have to clean all the alien eggs out of a hallway and weld the doors shut, and so on. For a 16-bit game, the graphics are fantastic. The action is intense- there's nothing like a room full of face-huggers to get your heart racing.

DOOM 3

I'm not a huge fan of first-person shooters, but this game completely blew me away. The graphics are unbeatable and the plot is completely secondary to the action; something something space marines something portal to hell something demons coming, look out. When things go wrong in Doom 3, they really go wrong, and you've got to shoot, pummel, and chainsaw your way through hordes of demons and demonized space marines, often in the dark. During one part of this game, you're led through a labyrinthine area of a lab by a scientist. There's power fluctuations or surges or something and the lights are out. Eventually, the surges short out your flashlight as well...as the single beam of light fades, you see something leap out of the darkness and kill the scientist- then everything goes black. Absolutely terrifying.

FATAL FRAME

The Fatal Frame series is very, very Japanese, if you get my drift. Like your typical J-horror flick, it's long on atmosphere, longer on black hair, and short on a linear plot. Armed with a special ghost-capturing camera as your only weapon, you run around haunted houses trying to solve a mystery. If you're willing to give yourself over to the game, you'll likely get goosebumps on top of goosebumps- the game is that chilling. That Ray Parker, Jr thinks he's so big- I'd like to see him go up against a vengeful spirit in some dojo in the middle of the woods! My only gripe about these games is the battle system; the camera is very clever and very unique, but it's also clumsy. Maybe I'm just uncoordinated, but I found myself wasting film taking pictures of the ceiling or floor while ghosts were attacking me relentlessly. The scares more than make up for this complaint, however.

RESIDENT EVIL

I talked a little bit above about my metaphorical boner for Resident Evil, and I do love the series...probably more than is good for me. I've read the cheesy (way, way, way beyond cheesy, actually) books, I've got the toys, I've seen the movies...I bought a Sega DreamCast expressly so I could play Resident Evil: Code Veronica, at the time an exclusive game for that system. Yes, I loves me some Rezzies. Here I'm just going to focus on my two favorite games in the series: first up, the remake of the first entry in the series. The remake of the first Resident Evil was made as an exclusive for the Nintendo GameCube, and guess what? When it hit the streets, I traded in my DreamCast for the GameCube, and man, was it worth it. The graphics are simply amazing, from the little puffs of dirt that rise when you run over an old, dusty wooden floor to the little puffs of stinky zombie breath blown in your face, it's really a beautiful game to behold. The basic plot of the original game remains intact- members of S.T.A.R.S. are investigating a series of "cannibal murders" and end up in a dilapidated mansion in the woods, confronted by zombies and various other horrors- but there's new subplots and new material to give a Resident Evil veteran plenty fresh thrills. This game is downright scary, there's no doubt about it. The first time a zombie that I killed- I know I killed it 'cause the puddle of blood oozed out from under him!- jumped up and started running after me, I nearly crapped my pants. Then I made out with my GameCube.

My other favorite game in the saga is Resident Evil 4. Leon, the Raccoon City cop from the second game, is now working for the Secret Service. When the President's daughter is kidnapped, Leon heads to some vaguely Spanish rural village in search of her. He encounters hordes of evil villagers and cult members out to kill him, and that's just the beginning. Resident Evil 4 is a huge game- I don't even know how many hours I've spent playing it, and I loved every minute of it. The gameplay really cannot be beat- this is one of the best games I've played in any genre on any system. And hell, you know any game that's got a dude with a sack on his head wielding a chainsaw is A-OK by me.

I also really dig Resident Evil 2 and Code Veronica...man, I just love 'em all.

SILENT HILL

What can I say about Silent Hill that I haven't said eight billion times? Not much. All I can tell you is that I like 2 and 3 the best, though it's hard for me to choose one over the other. Everytime I think "What about that part in 2 where Pyramid Head chases you down the long, twisty hall with that giant knife? I love 2 the best!", then I think "Yeah, but what about that room in 3 with the mirror? You know, the one where you're walking around, and the walls start to bleed and your reflection starts to bleed and then your reflection fucking stops and watches you...I love 3 the best!". I love the games like they're my own little shiny plastic children with holes in the middle. They scare me. But then you knew that.

THE TIFFANIES:

OK, so I just made up the term "Tiffany". What am I talking about? C'mon, I'm sure you're all big fans of the singer Tiffany, particularly that hit ballad she had...you know the one. I don't know the name of the song, but she sang so poignantly- "Coulda been so beautiful, coulda been so right..." That sentiment applies to so many movies and games I've seen or played! You know, like "close but no cigar", only more heartsring-tugging and less phallic. So, heretofore movies and the such that are really close to being good but ultimately aren't will be known as A Tiffany, so when I use the term I'll expect you all to know what I'm talking about. Here's a couple of horror videogame Tiffanies I've played-

CLOCK TOWER

I don't know why I keep buying Clock Tower games. I play them a bit, I get frustrated and/or get nowhere, I trade them in for something else. Oh wait, I know why- there's crazy dudes with big pointy things (by "things" I mean knives and scissors, ya perv) chasing you around. The best part about the game is the fact that you can actually hide from the crazy dudes- hiding in the broom closet while a crazy dude hunts for you, walking by slowly as his giant scissors go shhhhing! shhhhing! is an awesome experience. Actually playing Clock Tower, however, is not. The controls are clumsy, the crazy dudes can't be killed (or really even stopped for any length of time), and the "puzzles" are nonsensical and frustrating. That's it Clock Tower...like that mystery girl who made Michael Jackson cry, you're outta my life!


SIREN

The skies rain blood and everyone in town goes homicidal cuckoo-nutso. You, however, are still quite normal and you have to escape. The evil townies want you to die and do everything they can to kill you: they'll stab you, they'll shoot you, they'll throw things at you. They're just plain mean! Mean and crazy! This game is pretty spooky, and you've got the ability to "sight-jack" in your arsenal. This means for short periods of time you can see things through the eyes of the evil townies. A cool gimmick, but not just a gimmick- this is your only means of locating the evil townies in their proximity to you- and your only real means of escape is the use of stealth. I wanted this game to be awesome. I really, really did. But sweet jebus, it was difficult- or I found it to be difficult, anyway. I'm really bad at being stealthy when games require it. Some jerk would hear a leaf rustle under my foot and shoot me from a rooftop, or I'd come around the corner and get stabbed in the face. Ultimately, the difficulty level (or my stupid, noisy, lumbering self) got in the way of my enjoyment and Siren went bye-bye.

Horror videogames...two great tastes that something something.

Day 20- Motorcycle Mama

Until I read the review over at Terror Trap a minute ago, I thought perhaps I was the only person on the planet who likes today's feecha film, Night School (1981). Phew! I'm glad someone agrees with me. Tracking down info for this entry, I came upon bad review upon scathing review upon "If you like Night School, the terrorists have won" review. "Hmm," I thought, "DID I like it? Did I sleep through it? What's wrong with me? When I thought about liking Night School, was I really thinking about mint chocolate chip ice cream or Charles Nelson Reilly?". But you know what? I did enjoy this movie, so there. Kiss my grits.

Some weirdo in Boston is killing students taking night classes at Wendell College (for women). Said weirdo wears lots of black, rides a motorcycle, and uses a very large knife to decapitate the victims. Enter Harvard-educated detective Judd Austin (Leonard Mann) to solve the case. He meets sleazy Anthropology professor Vincent Millett (Drew Snyder) and his assistant-cum-lover Eleanor Adjai (Rachel Ward, in her screen debut), who both have a connection to all the victims: Millett taught them all the ways of Anthropology as well as the ways of love. Meaning, he was sleeping with almost all of his students. Austin puts 2 and 2 together a lot slower than the viewer will--it takes about 70 minutes--and figures out that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned...and it's a super wicked deadly fury when the woman is learned in the ways of Papua New Guinea headhunters.

That was really my biggest problem with Night School: there wasn't much of a mystery to solve. I mean, who would be killing these girls? Umm, most likely the guy sleeping with them or his jealous, pregnant main squeeze. There's a few other weak points as well. There's very little character development for the victims, and a completely gratuitous and silly sapphic frenzy. Well, it's less frenzy and more awkward, unsexy, and pointless. The rest of the movie, though, I really enjoyed.

For once in a horror movie, the cops (while slow to figure out who the killer is) aren't completely loathsome, inept individuals. They're even likable, and they get equal screentime with the bad guys. The death scenes are fairly standard slasher fare, however the killer always puts the victim's head in water after the decapitation, resulting in: head in a tank at the aquarium, head in a toilet, head in a bucket, and in a scene I thought was just fantastic, a head somewhere in a diner. I didn't know where it would turn up, and I don't want to ruin the surprise.

Night School was directed by Ken Hughes, who also directed Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Maybe that accounts for the feeling I had when the movie was over: if it had less blood in it, I think Night School could pass for a Lifetime movie. I'm talking about one of the wicked sweet Lifetime Movies, like Midwest Obsession (starring television's Courtney Thorne-Smith as a murderous Dairy Princess). It's more of a thriller with some slasher aspects, how's that?

Like I said, kiss my grits, everyone who gave Night School a bad review- I'm giving it 8 out of 10 "Mother May I Sleep With Danger?"s.

Oh, and this month...this month, with all these movies, my life and this blog have become a big mobius strip. First there was the 2 Gary Sherman movies thing (see yesterday's post), then today I saw my second head-in-a-toilet bowl of the month. And THEN, another movie for viewing this month arrived in the mail today, starring...Rachel Ward. Weird, wild stuff.