SHOCKtober: My Heart List

Who can get enough lists during SHOCKtober? Not any of us! By "any of us", mind you, I mean me.

Sure, I posted my Top 20 list several moons ago...but I've been thinking. It feels...insufficient or something, particularly after I posted Buzz's list and Amanda's list. My choices, while they truly are my favorite horror films, seem so staid. So typical! Halloween? The Exorcist? Bitch, please. Yes, I love them like I love...things I love, but even so, I can't fight this feeling of lack I've had since I wrote down numbers 1-20 in my wide-ruled spiral notebook. My list lacks! JA over at My New Plaid Pants knows of what I speak. So I figured- hey, I can either let this feeling continue to irritate me like an itch I can't scratch, or I can pull down my pants and scratch away. I say scratch away. Scratch away, one and all. Tomorrow we think of ointments and unguents and salves, but today, my friends, we scratch.

Mmm, that got weird. The point is, this new list! It's a list of movies I heart- movies that may not be are not good, but I heart them all the same. There's even a couple that I've seen but once and upon that once, I did not like the movie. Yet here they are, for reasons that are beyond me. I didn't like them, but now I think back on 'em and...well, they belong on this list. Life, she is mysterious! Okay, without further ado...because if there's one thing Final Girl needs this month, it's another fucking list!

As always, clickin' titles take you to reviews.


A Nightmare on Elm Street III: The Dream Warriors (1987, Chuck Russell)

I think the big secret of this movie is that it stinks, but we all pretend like it doesn't. Okay, it doesn't stink, but there's some corny-ass shit going on this movie- this cannot be denied, although we all pretend that it's not corny. That's totally okay, though, since the cornballs are all balanced out by some seriously creepy moments. Love.




Pieces (1982, Juan Piquer Simon)

I recently had the absolute pleasure of watching Pieces with someone who'd never seen it before, and lemme tell you- that's the way to see it! Unless you're the person who's never seen it, in which case I'll be right over with my copy. I want to be a Goodwill Ambassador who travels the globe clutching my battered Pieces tape, spreading gore and good cheer- not only so I can revel in the amazingness of this film, but so I can watch others revel in the "That doesn't make any sense!" of it all.



Killer Workout (1986, David A. Prior)

Killer Workout (aka Aerobicide, which is all sorts of title perfection) is a terrible, terrible film. I know, a slasher set in a health club seems like a can't-lose idea, but this movie proves it can lose. That is, it can lose its way right into my heart! Countless scenes (often repeated) of women shaking their lycra-covered parts, men who all look the same punching each other and running each other over with sports cars, club owner Rhonda sneering her way through life, tanning booth accidents, a soundtrack by Donna DeLory...Killer Workout has it all and then some. Part of that "then some" includes the picture of Marla Maples aerobicizing on the VHS tape cover. Delicious!

Shower of Blood (2004, Tiffany Kilbourne)

This abomination of a film features horrible acting, horrible writing, horrible foley work, the least sexy sex scene ever, computer graphics straight outta the Sega Saturn, and, in perhaps my favorite moment, the same model of Brother word processor I used in college masquerading as a 911 call center computer. It is...amazing. I adore this movie. Heidi Martinuzzi wrote a review for Pretty/Scary back in the day that will tell you everything you need to know so you don't actually have to sit through it, although you should because it kind of needs to be seen to be believed. Just don't see it alone! Not because it's so frightening, but because it's the type of misery that's best when shared. By the way, spoiler alert: Heidi will also be talking about this movie in her forthcoming Top 20 list.

Amityville IV: The Evil Escapes (1989, Sandor Stern)

AN EVIL FLOOR LAMP. THAT GOES OVER A CLIFF. AND EXPLODES. What more do you need to know? Take one part exploding evil floor lamp, add some Patty Duke-i-tude, and that, my friends, is a recipe for heaven.







Birdemic: Shock and Terror (2008, James Nguyen)

Going to see Birdemic in a theater will provide you with one of the most fun experiences you will ever have, unless you're immune to the very notion of "fun" or "theaters" or "going". I am just saying. As bad as you think this movie will be? It will be worse.






Graduation Day (1981, Herb Freed)

You know, I really didn't like Graduation Day the one and only time I saw it...but then when I think back on it, I can't for the life of me remember why I didn't. Even reading my negative review- it just sounds awesome! I think back to the football-with-a-sword-attached, and what's not to love? I think back on the roller skating scene and how there weren't enough skates for everybody so some people essentially just ran around in a circle, and I want to give this movie a hug. Huh.



The Child (1977, Robert Voskanian)

Whenever The Child comes to mind, I hear the horrible, horrible dubbed voices of the movie in my head- in particular that of young Rosalie shouting "I don't have to tell you anything!" If you haven't seen this fim, then you probably won't care about that, but there you go. It's not an entirely uncreepy, ineffective film, but it's definitely a 12-pack of coulda beens. What it IS, however, is dementedly delightful.




Dolly Dearest (1991, Maria Lease)

Dolly Dearest is so good- like we'd expect anything less from a horror movie released in 1991. Chucky can go screw- DD is where it's at. Girl power! You know, I figure the offensive maid stereotype I employed in In Satan's Closet is okay because it's an homage to the offensive maid stereotype in Dolly Dearest (and Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell). Troof.





Shark Attack 3: Megalodon (2002, David Worth)

I admit: sometimes I think I'm falling out of love with Shark Attack 3. I KNOW, RIGHT? How could this be? I'll tell you how: it's because the first hour, if not more, is almost unwatchably dull. Seriously, it's really tough to get through. I introduce people to the film and I find myself saying "Just wait...just wait...JUST WAIT!" and finally the payoff is beyond worth it, but man. You can only take the first hour so many times before your eyes start to wander. Look, I'm just being honest here. I mean, it's here in my heart list and I think it always will be, but it might not have all of my heart anymore. We're just growing in different directions, which is no one's fault- or maybe it's Shark Attack 3's fault, because of that first hour. Keeping it real, that's what I do!

Face of Evil (1996, Mary Lambert)

In a word, I give this movie ten metaphorical boners up. It has everything I love: bodies in suitcases, made-for-TV-ness, Shawnee Smith in a Blossom-style '90s bowler hat, Perry King with an awful ponytail, deception, artists doing art, murder, Tracey Gold, Tracey Gold, and Tracey Gold. My one regret in life is that when I met Mary Lambert, I wasn't clutching my copy of this (WHICH I BOUGHT AT THE GROCERY STORE) for her to sign. NOTE TO SELF: Always carry Face of Evil with you.


Eyes of a Stranger (1981, Ken Wiederhorn)

From my review: "A tracksuited Lauren Tewes as that old slasher flick staple, the mouthy anchorwoman in peril? Jennifer Jason Leigh as a blind-deaf-mute? Head in a fishtank? 1981? Yes folks, Eyes of a Stranger has it all, including the best strip club routine EVAR." 'Nuff said.






The Manitou (1978, William Girdler)

My one regret in life is that I let someone borrow my DVD of The Manitou, and now I don't hang out with that person anymore, so basically I gave away my copy of The Manitou. Yeah, it's replaceable but picking up a new copy...ehhh, I fucking hate replacing stuff I used to have. When I get the urge to watch a naked Susan Strasberg shooting lasers from a hospital bed that's floating in space, I want to watch it now. Hold on to your copy of The Manitou and hold on to it tight!




Mausoleum (1983, Michael Dugan)

Corn teeth. Demon boobs. Unique weather systems. Marjoe fucking Gortner. La Wanda Page, who seems to think- or, perhaps was told- that she's in a comedy. Man, Mausoleum lives the kind of life that I want to lead!







Rumplestiltskin (1995, Mark Jones)

Now, I know I've mentioned my love for this movie pa-lenty of times here at Final Girl. It's currently available on Netflix streaming, and I know that some of you have checked it out because I've mentioned my love for it and now you're caught up in a web of what the fuckery because it sucks. It does suck, and please, bear in mind this warning: I know not from where my affections for this film arise. They cannot be explained. Believe me, I've tried math, physics, and even a course in the Psychology of Motivation & Emotion from Life University to solve the mystery, and it simply cannot be solved. A human centipede made of Jessica Fletcher, Columbo, and Encyclopedia Brown could not solve this mystery! Like time itself, it just is. Here's the deal: I really kind of hate Rumplestiltskin while I'm watching it because as I mentioned, it sucks. It's just bad. Okay, the scene with the remote-controlled car posing as a real car is awesome, but otherwise it's a terrible movie. Yet...and yet! As soon as it's over, I find myself thinking about how awesome it is and that I should watch it again, and if anyone should ask, I'll tell them it's the best movie ever. AND I'LL BELIEVE IT. So I watch it again, and I'm all, "This movie sucks! Except the RC car part." and the cycle continues. I'm experiencing a moment of clarity right now, so I'll tell you: Rumpleskin (typo that stays) sucks, please don't watch it. I also feel myself wanting to tell you, however, that it's the best movie ever...so run away now while you still can! You know how when you're playing Mass Effect and you're on Noveria and you fight Matriarch Benezia and she has that moment where she's all, "Wait, I'm not a total bitch! That was just because my mind is under the influence of Saren! Here's the info you need. I'm being helpful!" and Commander Shepard is like, "You're hurt! Come with us and we can save you!" and she goes, "No! My mind is not completely my own and it never will be again AND NOW I KILL YOU!" and you fight again? This is like that. My mind will never be completely my own again. RUMPLESTILTSKIN RULES!

Bug (1975, Jeannot Szwarc)

Carnivorous cockroaches who can fart fire and spell things. If you need any more than that, then you need HELP, friend.








Cathy's Curse (1977, Eddy Matalon)

Earlier today I decided that I kind of just want to watch Cathy's Curse every day forever and ever. I haven't started yet, but it's on my to-do list, for sure.

Lena Headey is my number one Top Friend

As you may or may not remember, the season finale of Ghostella's Haunted Tomb, "Top Friends", featured a Person You May Have Heard Of, one Lena Headey of 300 and Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. After the episode aired, I really dug reading speculation on a couple of websites regarding how I possibly could have gotten her on my show. Blackmail? Did someone owe me a favor? Was it a mafia thing?

Alright, so I fueled that last rumor myself. But still, people wondered about it...but the answer is quite simple: I got her in Ghostella the way I've gotten everyone who's been in Ghostella in Ghostella. We're friends, and I thought it would be fun so I asked. Mystery solved- rest easy, internet! See, a mutual friend introduced us at San Diego Comic-Con and that was that.

LH: Quite sober, I think. We laughed, I remember, Ponder, and I was feeling very fond of you immediately.

SP: You made fun of my drink.

She did, and since I spent the night drinking whatever candy apple red thing it was they were giving away free, I probably deserved it.

We watch horror movies, we play video games, we both like Dallas, she gives me Toblerone, and neither of us can resist a photo booth. It's like having anyone else for a friend, except my mom gets excited because she'll go to Best Buy and, like, see Terminator: TSCC on the shelf.

Believe it or not, there's a point to all this, I swear! That point is, Lena stars in The Broken, one of After Dark's 8 Films to Die For, hitting a store shelf NEAR YOU on Tuesday, March 31. For my AMC column this week, I attempted to sit down with her for an interview. Upon transcription, however, I realized that what I'd recorded was an hour of...of...well, not quite madness, I suppose, but certainly nonsense. I cobbled together what I could and you can read it now at AMC.

But...AMC has, like, rules and stuff about length and format, you know? And there's an editor. All those ellipsis? That's where they made with the chop chop...which is fine, that's their bag. However, I think people (myself included) like to read interviews that aren't so TV Guide, Q & A boring. Cutting out quirky speech patterns or whatever makes everyone sound the same, and it's strictly dullsville. Take the last question, for example, where I ask her about being paprazzied; I think her full answer gives her a little more, you know, personality, and I think it makes the whole affair more interesting for someone who might want to learn more about the actor.

LH: I think I’ve been paparazzied twice in my life since I’ve been out here and it was sort of…horrendous, do you know what I mean? I don’t go anywhere. You know me. I’m such a big spaz, I’m happy to sit here with my dogs and hang out with people I like. All that doesn’t appeal to me. I do think it is a conscious effort of keeping your head down so you can remain anonymous. It’s very funny, I feel like I have this thing where they’re like, “She’s Sarah Connor!” Nobody knows what else I do or what else I’ve done. It’s funny to me, and it couldn’t be farther from me. But I do love shooting stuff!

Or maybe the question where I ask about The Sophisticates, the short film that marked Lena's writing/directing debut, the film she hopes to expand into a feature:

LH: As you know, directing is a long road and I’ve got many ideas and the movie that I’ve written, The Sophisticates, which is a comedy. Yeah, all these other things are exciting, but you know, I’ve never directed before so I need to make sure that people know that I can do it. In terms of that, The Sophisticates is a small ensemble comedy and I hope it’s charming and funny. I think female directors, first timers, always seem to set out and do a drama, a two-person drama. I think, oh fuck it, I wanna make a goofy movie. And I think making people laugh is really fucking difficult. Part of the reason for me writing The Sophisticates was sort of that Wizard of Oz element. I want people to go in and have a treat, be uplifted and charmed, and have a colorful thing to stare at for a minute. And not to please this sort of short memory we’ve got. But you know, I get into trouble for that, for saying no to things.


But anyway, I'm not going to go back and forth, comparing and contrasting. Rather, I'm going to post here what didn't make the cut...the ridiculous nonsense. Why? I don't know. It's like DVD special features or something.

SP: So if life was like The Broken, what would you do if you were out on the street and you saw someone drive by and it was, like, kind of…you? What would you do?

LH: I would just punch her in the face.

SP: “There’s only room for one Headey in this town!”

LH: “Stop trying to be so pretty!” Actually, I’d probably just ask her where she got her hair done. But if she had a better car than me I’d fucking steal that. If it was a Volvo PS 1800 I would kill the person that looked like me and I’d take it.

SP: I don’t even know what that is.

LH: It’s the coolest car ever made. Just that.

SP: I’m sorry, I thought The Love Bug was the coolest car ever made.

LH: No, not Bernie. What’s his name?

SP: Herbie.

LH: Ernie. Barbara!

SP: It should’ve been Barbara!

LH: Yes! “Love Bug 2: Barbara’s Revenge”. She kills Herbie. She makes Herbie go bananas, is what she does.

SP: Well played. Let’s get Hollywood on the phone. Lindsay can star in it again…

LH: Johnny Depp can play the car…

SP: You’re very much…umm…

LH: Kind.

SP: Very kind. You have a certain grace about you.

LH: Like a kindly swan.

SP: What’s your historical disease of choice: consumption, the plague, or the vapors?

LH: That…but do you die from the vapors?

SP: No, just…people fan you and then you’re fine.

LH: Well, it’s not really a disease, is it? Just attention seeking. A narcissistic disease.

SP: Mental illness and corsets…

LH: I’ve done a few movies in a corset, and let me tell you: no. You can’t eat a Fatburger, you can’t have a pint of beer.

SP: Let’s talk about The Cave!

LH: Alright, let’s do it, Ponder. Is that your favorite film of mine? Or of all time?

SP: It is. I’m not gonna lie.

LH: It’s got amazing power.

SP: Yeah, it really spoke to me.

LH: It changes lives. It does.

SP: They play it in children’s sick wards…

LH: When people do charity walks, they play it at the beginning to get everyone pumped up. I think they play it on Romania’s travel website…


SP: The impression I have of you…you know, you go on your first press junket and you listen to all the actors and you think, “Wow, this is so interesting!” Then you go on your second press junket and you realize that they’re all saying the exact same things that everyone on the first junket said. It’s all these standard answers, and it’s so boring. But knowing you beyond a press junket, it does honestly seem to be about the work with you. You’re always talking about ideas, we’re always talking about ideas, you’re up for anything, you know what I mean? So it’s cool to know that you’re out there.

LH: It’s a strange thing about acting- people almost think it’s some bestowed sort of honor, but it’s like, you’re fucking human. The fact is, it’s happened for us and there are many more talented people out there who haven’t gotten the work. But yeah, I don’t ever want to stop being curious about it, because when I do it’ll be over for me and I’ll go make cakes or something. Really shit cakes. But I love it. I love actors, I think there’s obviously and element of narcissism involved with being an actor, but I think there’s a bravery to it. The cinema for me is such a therapy. Even a silly movie- the lights go down and for that hour and a half you’re kind of lost. I love that. And to give people that experience- movies that move you, or make you laugh, or scare you, it’s just such a joy. And to come out of a movie, having really had an experience, that’s part of what makes me really want to direct. Working with actors, it’s a privilege to direct. Some directors don’t feel that- it’s just an excuse to yell and seek revenge for a playground experience.

We talked a bit about the internet and how there's up-to-the-minute, behind-the-scenes this and sneak peek that, how there's no waiting for a movie anymore, no real anticipation...you know, just general old people vs the internet bitchery.

LH: I have such a hard time on the TV show because they want me to do publicity for every single thing, speak to everybody, and I can’t- for me, it takes away everything that acting’s about. Why can’t we have mystery anymore? Why can’t people go and watch it and decide for themselves? But actors aren’t the advertisers, and I don’t think we should have to go and do all that. If I can sit like this and talk about everything, you know, that makes sense to me. But the sort of generic repetition…

SP: Well, you’re supposed to want the attention.

LH: Maybe that’s it. I have no interest in that.

SP: Alright, I think we're done.

LH: Are we? Did you get enough? We didn’t talk about anything, did we?

SP: It’s fine. I can weave some magic.

LH: You can. I don’t care what you say.

SP: Don’t worry, I won’t make you look any worse than you actually are.

Then we had pizza and watched Session 9. Holla!

VHS Week, Day 3: Demon of Paradise

As you may have noticed, I review a lot of movies here at Final Girl. Some of these movies are made of awesome, some are made of lame...this is to be expected. You take the good, you take the bad...you take them both and there, my friends, you have the facts of life. It's a rare film that crosses my path, however, that is so bad that I want to go back in time and stop myself from pushing play on the VCR. Even more rare is the film that makes me want to go back in time and stop myself from seeing the movie on the shelf...or further back in time so I can stop the filmmakers from beginning production. Or even further back so I can prevent the filmmakers' parents from having "intimate" "relations" so I can ensure the film will never get made.

This is how I feel about the 1987 Creature from the Black Lagoon wannabe Demon of Paradise.


Blah blah blah legend of prehistoric underwater lizard-man Akua blah blah oh no, he's really real blah blah blah let's follow the standard animal attack movie formula: we can't cancel the annual Parade Festival blah blah blah the scienceologist will save the day blah blah fucking blah.

Trust me, that description is way more exciting than what happens on screen. What happens on screen? NOTHING. So much nothing that when I looked over at one point and my viewing pals were asleep, I thought that maybe I was actually the one who fell asleep and I was having the most boring dream ever dreamed.

Let's take a look at some of the things I wrote whilst taking notes for this review:

• Reporter = die, please
• nothing happens. nothing happens some more. badly acted nothings happen.
• music = horrendous, always inappropriate
• more nothing happening = kill myself
• testing my resolve as a human being to overcome adversity and boredom
• why won't it end?
• hell = this
• when will it end?
• PLEASE END

Finally, it did end and I was left feeling like I'd just completed ten tours of 'Nam. Demon of Paradise was so bad then when the credits finally rolled I nearly went apoplectic, ranting and flipping it off so hard I'm surprised my middle finger didn't explode. There's no doubt that in those few moments, I could have legally been deemed a fire hazard- such was the white-hot intensity of my rage. I'm only shocked that lasers didn't shoot out of my eyeballs.

Oh, how Demon of Paradise angried up my blood! Why did Satan himself have to shit this movie into existence? Why did I have to see it in the 3-for-$5 bin at Video Hut? Why did the filmmakers not realize that a man in a rubber suit popping up out of the water every once in a while to wave at people off camera does not induce terror? Why did it have to be so boring that I couldn't even laugh at the waving monster?

Clearly, Demon of Paradise hates me as much as I hate it.

Originally, I didn't even want to bring the tape home with me: I really, really don't want this movie in my house. Since last night, however, I've reconsidered that stance and I think some good may actually come from this steaming pile of dook.

Some outreach program should take Demon of Paradise to all the Ebola clinics of the world and show one-minute clips to patients. Then they can say "See, Ebola patient? Your internal organs are liquifying and your face is being eaten away, but at least you don't have to endure the other 86 minutes of Demon in Paradise!", to which the Ebola sufferers will say "Hooray! I may have Ebola, but clearly my life could be a lot worse!"

Film Club: Eyes of a Stranger

"Let's talk about you, Mr Phone Freak."

Do you ever glom onto a film for some reason- usually some unknown reason- to the point where you're all "I really, really, really have to see this movie. Nothing else matters until I have seen it! My desire to see this movie supercedes all of my other desires...I can concentrate on nothing else! Only after I've seen this film can I finally focus on other important matters, like curing cancer or perfecting my fudge recipe"? I totally do. And for some reason, I glommed onto Eyes of a Stranger (1981) a looong time ago- I don't know, I read about it somewhere or something and it became this movie I just had to see. No one had ever said that it was particularly good, or particularly scary, or even very notable for anything at all. Yet there I was, every so often on eBay or Amazon or whatevs, toying with the notion of buying a copy of the long out-of-print videotape. In the end, it was always way too pricy for me and Eyes of a Stranger continued to elude my grasp.

No, I don't get it, either.

Finally my desires to see this film have been whetted, thanks to the magic of DVD. And...? What of it? Was it worth the wait?

Fuck yeah! Are you kidding? No, it wasn't great...but then, yes, it was great. A tracksuited Lauren Tewes as that old slasher flick staple, the mouthy anchorwoman in peril? Jennifer Jason Leigh as a blind-deaf-mute? Head in a fishtank? 1981? Yes folks, Eyes of a Stranger has it all, including the best strip club routine EVAR.

Some creep is raping and killing women all around Miami, and it's up to intrepid and opinionated anchorwoman Jane Harris (Tewes) to stop him! Why is it up to an anchorwoman to stop a rapist/murderer, you ask? Because she says so, that's why. It seems that Jane has a real problem with weirdo rapists, after an incident in which her little sister Tracy (Leigh) was kidnapped and, one assumes, raped. The trauma rendered Tracy a blind-deaf-mute (it's all psychological, see), and Jane harbors huge amounts of guilt since she left Tracy alone that fateful day.

At any rate, Jane gets her Nancy Drew on and after discovering a bunch of circumstantial evidence, decides that Stanley Herbert (John DiSanti), the creepy weirdo who lives across the way, is Miami's serial rapist/killer.

Are Jane's deductions correct? Will she turn the tables on the cuckoo nutso? How many times can she break into Herbert's apartment before she's caught? Will she move in with her pushy boyfriend? Will Tracy ever see, hear, or speak again? The answers to all of these questions- and more!- can be found at the business end of a pistol wielded by an anchorwoman in a track suit.

Though Eyes of a Stranger leans more toward 'thriller' than it does 'slasher', it's not without its effective sequences. There are echoes of Black Christmas (1974) as the killer calls and harasses his intended victims; there are echoes of Friday the 13th in the musical score, and there are echoes of He Knows You're Alone when someone's head ends up in a fishtank (which is totally gonna throw off the pH levels in the water; killing humans is one thing, but killing goldfish is quite another, Mr Rapist Killer Weirdo!). The stalking sequences are lengthy and tense (particularly the one in which Herbert is alone in the apartment with Tracy), and the rare instances of gore are all the more shocking- thanks, of course, to Tom Savini.

In addition to the nods to other films (whether they're intentional or not, I have no clue), there are also a few Easter eggs for horror fans hidden throughout: Jane and her boyfriend David take in a showing of Dawn of the Dead, while in another sequence Shock Waves is playing on t.v.- Shock Waves, of course, is another film by Eyes director Ken Wiederhorn.

Wow, nerd alert.

I hope the next film on my "must see for whatever bizarre reason" list is as much fun as Eyes of a Stranger. But more importantly, what has happened to the anchorwoman in peril motif? If there's one thing the world needs now- now more than ever!, it's more sassy anchorwomen fighting weirdos. Let's start an online petition!

Give it up, y'all, for the Film Club Coolies!

Something Wicked...
7 Dollar Popcorn
Askewed Views
More Than Meets the Mogwai
Kindertrauma
Mermaid Heather
Exclamation Mark
Evil on Two Legs
Johnny LaRue's Crane Shot

The Special People Club

You know, I hadn’t quite realized that Clive Barker’s Hellraiser has become a bonafide franchise, a juggernaut set to rival even those most stalwart of franchises, A Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th. In fact, previous to this past weekend, I’d still only seen the original Hellraiser. I was shocked- shocked, I say!- to find out that Hellraiser: Deader (2005) is the seventh film in the series, and it’s not the last. Where the hell(raiser) have I been?

Kari Wuhrer stars as Amy Klein (shut up I know I’ve totally been on a Kari Wuhrer kick lately but I can’t seem to control myself ok so shut UP), an ultracool reporter who writes ultracool articles with titles like “How to be a Crack Whore”. She’s so ultracool, in fact, that she got booted from The New York Post for being…I don’t know, too ultracool or something, and she’s now writing for an ultracool London newspaper.

One fateful afternoon, Amy’s editor (Simon Kunz) calls her into his office in order to check out a videotape he received in the mail. On the tape, a group of kids who call themselves “Deaders” stand around in a warehouse looking all mopey. A girl Deader is cajoled into blowing her brains out so the leader of the Deaders, Winter (Paul Rhys), can suck face with her and bring her back to life. What a cool club! The girl sits up and exclaims “I’m OK!”, oblivious to the fact that while she may be alive again, she’s now saddled with a giant hole in her head. That’s gross, not to mention unsanitary. Why didn’t she hang herself or something equally less messy, rather than shooting herself in the head to play this little resuscitation game?

I don’t mean to harp, but I just couldn’t get past the impracticalities of the whole thing. “Yay, I’m alive again! Boo, I have a large gaping hole in my head! Mayhaps I shall fill said hole with Spam, using the canned meat like so much caulk. Then I shall get mah hurr did- a little weave here, a little weave there and I’ll be all set!”

At the conclusion of the tape, it’s decided that The Deaders have “huge ultracool blockbuster story!” written all over them and thus Amy must get the scoop. Her only lead is the return address on the mailing envelope, and so it’s off to Romania for Amy Klein.

Once in Romania, Amy gets caught up in all sorts of wacky Deader capers when she finds a dead body, another videotape, and a strange li’l cube we’ve all seen before.

Somehow our plucky and ultracool reporter has become trapped in a battle between the Deaders and the Cenobites- I think. It was all sort of confusing and nonsensical, and there were so many “Omigod did that just really happen? No, it’s just a dream…no wait, it DID happen…no, it was just a vision...” sequences that I kind of stopped trying to figure things out. Eventually Pinhead and His Merrie Bande of Leather-Clad Weirdos show up and I decided to simply enjoy the visuals, the chains, and the goo.

The single biggest problem with Hellraiser: Deader is that it’s glaringly obvious that the film was not originally conceived as an entry into the Hellraiser mythos. It was meant to be an entity unto itself, but at some point a “shrewd” producer slapped the Hellraiser label on it, Pinhead was added, and POOF! Hellraiser 7.

Yeah, that approach? It doesn’t work. I mean, tacking Jason Voorhees into the last fifteen minutes of The Trip to Bountiful and changing the title to Jason vs Gramma doesn’t properly make it Friday the 13th Part 18, you know?

On the other hand, it would make it a film I’d very much like to see.

Had director Rick Bota and writers Neal Marshall Stevens and Tim Day not been bogged down with the need for some added-on Hellraiser stuff, Deader could have been an interesting little thriller. It’s still an ok movie, I guess, though I’m already forgetting about it- it’s another sequel of a sequel in a long line of exercises in character dilution. In the end, however, the film does raise an important question:

IS THERE ANYTHING KARI WUHRER CAN’T DO?

Film Club: Visiting Hours

Welcome, kids, to the second installment of the Final Girl Film Club. If you decided to hop on board this time, then you sat through the 1982 Canadian slasher flick Visiting Hours...to which I say, "We Film Clubbers sure are a hearty lot!"

The plot of this movie is quite simple: a cuckoo nutso (Michael Ironside) gets a murderous hard-on for TV news reporter Deborah Ballin (Lee Grant). He attacks her in her home but botches the job; Ballin survives and is taken to the county hospital. Mr. Psycho follows and attempts to finish the job.

Ah, so short and so sweet. I must say, the first 15 minutes or so of this movie are pure gold. Once the theme music started, I thought I was in for a real treat. Playing over the opening credits was some sort of awesome early-80s synth track that sounded like the byproduct of a night of sweet sweet lovemaking by the themes of Halloween and Friday the 13th...I was ready to roll, baby! Initially, the film didn't disappoint. The scenes in Ballin's home were definitely intense. Coming home to a quiet house...the shower's running, windows are open...knowing something's wrong, knowing someone's in the house but having no idea where- that's good horror movie mojo at work. By the time Ironside jumped out all naked but for an exorbitant amount of Deborah's clip-on jewelry, I was ready to proclaim my love for Visiting Hours. Girl, and don't even get me started on how much the dumb waiter rocked. I want a dumb waiter. I want to transfer snacks and my cats from floor to floor in an easy fashion.

The high points continued even after the cut-up-but-not-dead reporter was transferred to the hospital. I loved the scene where Mr. Psycho cuts the air hose of that poor old woman, mistakenly thinking she's Ballin. He sits on her bed and calmly watches her gasping for air, then starts taking pictures as she dies. That's hardcore! Very, very creepy. And who does a better creep than Michael Ironside?

Then, before I knew it, something went horribly wrong. It's as if the filmmakers simply ran out of ideas, so all these subplots entered the picture. See, that's the problem with these movies wherein there's one specific victim the killer is after: you know the victim isn't going to die before the movie's end, so there's never any real danger or tension.

You know, come to think of it, I wish there were more short horror films. Maybe that should be the new wave: half hour horror. Think of how many movies would kick ass if they weren't stretched out to 90-odd minutes! If the original When a Stranger Calls had been kept to a slim and sexy half hour, it would be the perfect horror film. Same goes with Visiting Hours, it seems. Keep it short and the world will be singing your praises and touching themselves because of your awesomeness. Added filler to hit the 90-minute mark just makes for BOREDOM. There are huge stretches where no one dies...movies become "thrillers" as opposed to "horror movies"...there's far too many subplots that no one cares about...I start thinking about other things, I fall asleep, or I wish I could fall asleep. I was shocked- shocked I tells ya- when Visiting Hours was over and I discovered that it was, in fact, less than five hours long. I thought for sure it was an Original Lifetime Televison Mini-Series Event.

All in all, I'd say this movie was more dull than it was bad. 'Tis a shame, too, because it started out pretty damn good. I'm afraid, ladies and germs, that what we have here is what is known as a Tiffany.

I did learn some things from Visiting Hours, though. Among them:

-I have now heard what can only be called The World's Most Fucking Irritating Baby Doll Cry

-Babysitters are very forward. They will sleep at your house in the nude and hop into bed with you whilst wearing naught but a towel.

-Hospitals keep dogs locked up in their basements

-A high heel pummeling a hand will make me laugh

-The tiniest bell can make the loudest sounds

-If your movie has a great tagline ("So frightening you'll never recover"), do not change it to a lesser tagline for the re-release ("There is no known cure for murder"). First of all, even if that first tagline is blatantly untrue, it still rocks. Second, kids figure out that second tagline the first time they step on an ant. It's just silly.

-Do not trust a pale, vaguely sweaty man in a leather (or perhaps pleather) tank top

-No one on Earth should ever wear a leather (or perhaps pleather) tank top

There you go, folks. Another one bites the dust. As always, if you watched and wrote about Visiting Hours on your own site, be sure to link to your review in the comments section.

Meeting adjourned!

Here are quick links to other awesome people who reviewed Visiting Hours for the film club:

*Chadwick Saxelid
*Craig Moorhead
*Fatally*Yours
*House of Irony
*he who is...Josh
*Mermaid Heather

Some other reviews of Visiting Hours:
*Moriarty of Ain't It Cool News
*Retro Slashers!

What could've been

I saw the 2002 disaster Halloween: Resurrection for the first time last October, during my Halloween marathon, aka Experiment in Masochism 2. If you weren't around Final Girl then, head right here to read my immediate reaction to that movie, the 8th tale in the saga of Michael Myers. HINT: I was ragin'. 'Roid ragin', but without the 'roids.

Yeah, it was a silly movie, it was a bad movie...but it could've been cheesy fun, like, say, Jason X. I strongly feel that had it ended with Halloween H2O, the series could've died with a little dignity intact. At the film's end, Laurie Strode beheaded Michael Myers, and that should've been that. Sister killing brother, game over after 20 long years. In a misguided attempt to squeeze a few more coins from Michael's teats, however, someone out in Hollywoodlandville came up with a simply brilliant idea: what if Laurie didn't behead Michael? What if it was someone else? "Yeah! Awesome! Michael switched clothes with some poor sap and he gets his head chopped off! Sweet. So. Smart. And plausible! Then we'll kill off Laurie in the first 15 minutes of Halloween: Resurrection in a totally ludicrous fashion- we'll give her a really indignant death after 25 years. Then we'll bring in celebrities like Tyra Banks and Busta Rhymes, and we'll create a plot about reality TV and the internet because kids love celebrities and the internet. Hollywood rules!"

Do you see why I was so full of burning hot anger? In fact, just thinking about it just...excuse me. I need to go do some Tantric breathing or something.

The only reason I'd go back to watch Halloween: Resurrection now is to see Katee Sackhoff, who stars as Starbuck on the current incarnation of Battlestar Galactica series. At the moment, I'm quite frankly a little obsessed with that show. Otherwise, the movie can completely, 100%-ly kiss my ass. Although I do dearly love some of these alternate titles for the movie, according to imdb.com:

-Hall8ween (exactly how does one pronounce that? anything with "ate ween" in the title is just naughty)
-Halloween H2K: Evil Never Dies
-Halloween: The Homecoming
and my personal favorite, quite possibly the worst movie title ever:
-Halloween: MichaelMyers.com

I told ya, kids love the internet!

While flipping through the back issue bin at my local comic shop recently, I came across Halloween III: The Devil's Eyes, a 2001 book from Chaos Comics. I picked it up to check it out, and I thought it was worth mentioning here as it's an adaptation of a screenplay treatment...in other words, it's the Halloween: Resurrection that could've been. Whether it's better than what made it to the screen is a tough call; it's just a comic book, after all, and it would be much different to see the story played out in flesh and blood. The plot is drastically different than the MichaelMyers.com crap, and that, at least, is good.

MichaelMyers.com- oh, man. That's gonna crack me up for a good long while.

The Devil's Eyes (written by Phil Nutman, pencilled by Justiniano, inked by Walden Wong) picks up right after the events of Halloween H2O. At an accident scene, the police have found a headless body burned beyond recognition. Both the corpse's head and Laurie Strode are missing from the scene, but the police believe that the body belongs to Michael Myers.

Meanwhile, poor little Tommy Doyle (the kid Laurie was babysitting in the original Halloween) is all grown up and is now a patient at Smith's Grove Sanitarium himself.

Apparently, in earlier issues, there was a church fire that resulted in the death of Sheriff Brackett and the authorities believe Tommy was responsible. Tommy is unconvinced that Myers is really dead and escapes from Smith's Grove. He heads back to Haddonfield, where he meets up with Lindsey Wallace (his movie-watching buddy from Halloween), who's now a reporter living in Chicago. She's back in Haddonfield to write the story of Michael Myers, hoping she can put the nightmare behind her once and for all.

It would seem that Tommy's right, though- Michael Myers isn't dead! Eyyyagh! Who else would put the bodies of Laurie's teenage friends Annie, Lynda, and Bob on display on a bed upstairs in Lindsey's old house? And isn't that a nice candle holder?

Yup, Michael's back, and he battles Tommy and Lindsey to near death. They all end up back at the old abandoned Myers house where Lindsey jabs Michael in the eye with something pointy while Tommy shoots him in the back. They pull off Michael's mask to reveal...

...Laurie Strode. She really did kill Michael at the end of H20, and now she's using his head as a decorative votive holder and picking up where he left off. What the f indeed, Tommy. What the f, indeed.

At the book's end, Laurie is incarcerated at Smith's Grove. Her shrink explains to Lindsey that Laurie suffers from "Psychotic Personality Transference", meaning she needed to relive the events of October 31, 1978 over and over again. She killed Michael and took his head as a trophy, but couldn't live without the idea of Michael- so she became him. Straight-up mental illness. Lindsey questions that assessment, though- is it just insanity, or is it something more? You know, like pure evil and stuff? Either way, Laurie's a bonafide cuckoo psycho nutjob at the end of it all, staring off into space just like Michael all those years ago...

So there you go. No karate-choppin' Busta Rhymes, no Tyra Banks, no internet. No...heeheehee...MichaelMyers.com. Is The Devil's Eyes a better ending to the saga than Halloween: Resurrection? Probably, although I don't know if I buy Laurie-as-psycho-killer. She was a pretty normal teenager up until Michael Myers re-entered her life and killed all her friends. I think she was treated realistically by Kevin Williamson and Co. for Halloween: H2O. She was alcoholic, addicted to prescription drugs, and neurotic. She hadn't gotten over the events of Halloween night, but she could have, had she sought treatment. She was a troubled, loving mother, not a mere blink away from becoming a murderous psycho. Ah well. At least in the comic she lives.

Day 2: (ring ring) "I'll get it... ee-y-a-a-a-a-h!"

So when the 2002 Korean film Phone arrived via Netflix and the description on the envelope read...

A vengeful ghost with a cell phone terrorizes anyone who answers its murderous ring in this twisty horror film. After exposing a sex scandal involving children, gritty reporter Ji-won begins receiving disturbing phone calls. She changes her number, but the ominous calls continue. Ji-won's search for the source of the mysterious calls reveals a rash of unsolved murders- and leads her straight to a serial killer.

...I have to admit I wasn't too excited. In fact, the only image I could conjure in my mind was this one:
Lucky me, though- instead of hokey prosthetics and an actual murdering phone (hey, it's not that outlandish- has anyone seen The Refrigerator?), I got a superior Asian-style horror movie/thriller.

I'm not going to go into the usual amount of detail I tend towards in reviews, because hopefully you'll soon see it for the first time, and I don't want to ruin anything. I will say that it's got the benchmarks you've come to expect from a Tartan Video/Asia Extreme release: vengeful spirits, grotesque imagery, incongruous elements juxtaposed, and lots and lots of hair, usually disembodied. Oh, and if you love to be freaked out by little kids, well, you're in luck. This film has one of the best child performances I've seen in a horror movie- by far the most creepy. Take that, Haley Joel Osment!

Visually, I thought it was stunning. Virtually every scene is bathed exclusively in shades of orange and blue to eerie effect...man, I love that liet motif shit. The soundtrack, including the repeated use of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, is noticeable only at the most opportune times- exactly what you want in a soundtrack, particularly in a horror movie. No need for Marilyn Manson blasting over the "scary" moments here.

I wouldn't be surprised if this is on the list for an upcoming watered-down American remake. But seek out this version now for a night of chills. I give it 8-and-a-half out of 10 "Can you hear me now? Mwa ha ha haaaa!"s.